Читать книгу Rescued By The Forbidden Rake - Mary Brendan - Страница 11

Chapter Three

‘I’ve put the chicken and vegetables on the dining table, Miss Shawcross. I’ll be in the kitchen with Bertram, doing mending. Just ring, if you need me.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Gideon.’

Faye and Peter had been idling in the parlour, waiting for their dinner while examining their fairground gifts.

‘Mrs Gideon and her husband could surely go home now the meal is prepared,’ Peter murmured close to his fiancée’s ear, as he helped her to be seated. ‘I’ll gladly assist in clearing away the crockery if it means I get more time alone with you.’

‘You know Nelly’s a stickler for etiquette,’ Faye whispered a rueful reply, unfolding her napkin. Her housekeeper took pains to ensure that her mistress’s reputation was protected even if that meant returning home late, after visitors had left. Mr Collins might be Miss Shawcross’s future husband, but in Nelly Gideon’s mind one observed rules until vows were taken.

As Peter carved the chicken and helped hand around the dishes of vegetables Faye felt a twinge of melancholy that he couldn’t always show such tolerance to her brother and sister. Soon, he would want them out of the way as well so that he could have his fiancée to himself. When it was just the two of them Faye enjoyed his kisses and caresses although sometimes she wondered why she didn’t crave their privacy as passionately as he did.

* * *

‘When must you return to your ship?’ Faye asked when the children had left the table and she had also eaten her fill.

‘In less than a week, I’m afraid.’ Peter put down his pudding spoon and patted his stomach. ‘Your Mrs Gideon always turns out a decent dinner.’

‘She is a boon and I don’t know what I’d do without her or her husband helping us out.’ Faye rang the little bell to let Mrs Gideon know that she could clear the table. ‘If you have finished, we can go and sit in the parlour.’

‘I’d certainly like a little comfort before being ejected by your virtuous housekeeper to the frugal offerings of the White Hart.’ His hazel eyes darkened with desire as he pulled out her chair, then teased her nape with his fingers. ‘I can’t wait much longer for us to be husband and wife.’ His voice sounded rough. ‘Have you contacted that woman yet to advise her you are to be married and she must send for her children?’

‘I have not; as I have said, I’ve no idea whereabouts in Ireland my stepmother is.’ Faye felt a niggling exasperation tighten her insides. Despite her reply never altering, Peter regularly asked her the same question about ‘that woman’ as he called Deborah Shawcross. Faye truthfully did not know her whereabouts and, even if she did, she would not force her brother and sister to go and live with an adulteress who had rejected her own flesh and blood in favour of her lover.

At the time her brother had been just six years old and although Michael had been distraught for a while he now avoided speaking of his mother. Claire, at ten years old, had comprehended what had occurred between her parents and had been so hurt by her mother’s abandonment that she’d professed to hate her.

Humiliated by his wife’s betrayal Cecil Shawcross had dealt with it as best he could, but when it became apparent Deborah was not coming home he had banned any mention of her. They had all sensed that their father’s snapping and snarling was the outcome of him being deeply wounded and had obeyed his wishes. But none of them had forgotten that Deborah Shawcross had turned their lives upside down.

Peter’s frustration that his fiancée had been burdened with caring for her siblings was understandable, but in other ways Faye thought him unreasonable. She would happily marry immediately, but Peter had made it clear that the children could not have a permanent home beneath his roof. Even had Faye not promised her late father that she would see the children safely settled, she loved them too much to ever reject them as their mother had.

‘May I?’ Peter had picked up the decanter on the sideboard in the parlour.

‘Oh, do help yourself,’ Faye replied, settling on the sofa. The children had gone to their rooms as they always did when Lieutenant Collins paid a visit. Now that they were alone Faye knew she had a perfect opportunity to broach the unpleasant subject of her meeting with Westwood. But she was reluctant to spoil their harmony on Peter’s first day back and decided to wait until tomorrow to break news that was likely to create a bad atmosphere. But know about it he must.

‘So, the new fellow at Valeside has moved in lock, stock and barrel with his wife, has he?’ Peter made himself comfortable beside Faye, an arm slung negligently along the sofa’s velvet back as he sipped his port.

‘Oh, you mean Mr Kavanagh. I don’t think the lady we saw with him is his wife.’ Faye gave a tiny laugh. She had not expected the conversation to turn in that direction. ‘According to Anne Holly she is his chère amie.’

‘Is she indeed?’ Peter snorted amusement and took a gulp of his drink. ‘Deuced brass neck of the fellow taking her about with him like that. Ryan Kavanagh, you say, is his name?’ Peter put down his goblet and turned his attention to his fiancée. ‘Never mind about him... I’d sooner think about you and how much I shall miss you when I set sail.’ He leaned forward, brushing his lips against Faye’s. His hands travelled to her slender waist, shifting her closer to him on the sofa as his kiss deepened.

‘Actually, there is something I should say to you, Peter...’ Faye held him off a little. She’d had a change of heart and wanted to get the bad news over with, but he again hungrily captured her mouth with his own.

‘Oh...sorry... I should have knocked...’ Claire garbled out, having burst into the parlour. ‘Michael is unwell; Mrs Gideon is with him. She said to tell you to come and see him.’

Peter cursed angrily beneath his breath and surged upright. ‘I’ll be on my way. I’ll call tomorrow, if I may. Then I shall be in London for a day or two before returning to Portsmouth.’

‘Yes, please do come tomorrow.’ Faye gave her fiancé an apologetic smile. ‘Would you like a nightcap before you go?’ She was also disappointed that his visit had been abruptly curtailed.

Out in the hallway she heard the unmistakable sound from upstairs of Michael being sick. With a resigned sigh and a quick farewell peck on her fiancé’s cheek, she let Peter see himself out.

‘He’s got the bellyache and headache; it’s not the chicken I cooked,’ Mrs Gideon announced bluntly, holding a basin under the invalid’s chin.

‘He’s been scrumping today, he told me so,’ Claire said, wrinkling her nose in distaste before adding, ‘I’m off to bed.’

‘Scrumping, eh? Apples aren’t ripe yet...no wonder he’s got the bellyache.’ Mrs Gideon snorted.

‘I’ll see to him, Mrs Gideon; you and your husband will want to get to your own beds now.’

‘I’ll fetch Master Michael a powder to settle his stomach before I leave.’

‘Have you been scrumping?’ Faye asked when Nelly had left the room.

Michael nodded, screwing up his face as a cramp tightened his belly. ‘Claire shouldn’t have told on me. I don’t tell on her.’

‘What’s to tell?’ Faye asked mildly. She glanced at her brother, but he turned his face away on the pillow.

‘Nothing...’ he mumbled.

‘There now. Get that down you. And stay away from sour apples; you’ve probably taken in a maggot as well,’ Mrs Gideon scolded, handing over a tumbler of milky liquid. She picked up the bowl. ‘I’ll dispose of this and be by tomorrow as usual.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Gideon.’

Meekly Michael did as he was bade, sipping the brew with a grimace before allowing his sister to tuck him up.

Faye was still mulling over what Michael had said about telling tales on Claire. Before quitting his chamber, she asked, ‘Is there something going on that I should know about, Michael?’

‘I’m tired,’ her brother said, pulling the covers right up and closing his eyes.

‘You can rest in bed tomorrow to get over this.’

‘I was going to meet my friends at the fairground.’ Michael made to sit up but fell back, exhausted, against the pillow.

‘We’ll see about that in the morning.’ Faye closed the bedroom door.

A pearly glow was painting the walls of the corridor and she felt drawn to the window to gaze up at the silvery orb decorating the sky. There was still a faint summer light on the horizon and she leaned her warm forehead against the cool glass, observing a fox prowling in the shadowy garden below.

Peter had gone; there was no sign of his horse tethered by the gate. But it was the image of another man and another stallion that was imprinted on her mind as she stared into the twilight.

The look Ryan Kavanagh had given her as he sat on the grass with the superb steed close by was annoyingly unforgettable. She suspected that if he were to discover how affected she had been by clashing eyes with him just twice, that half-smile of his would turn to laughter.

She pivoted away from the moonlit scene, feeling ashamed for having allowed a stranger to push her fiancé from her mind. And there was something else: the niggling anxiety that her brother had been on the point of disclosing something important about Claire. Faye didn’t want to seem to be prying unduly into her younger sister’s life...but she was her guardian and the memory of the guilty look on Claire’s face earlier that day now seemed to warrant further investigation.

With a sigh Faye resolved to speak to her sister in the morning. Feeling suddenly quite weary, she went downstairs to check the locks, as she always did, before retiring.

* * *

The following morning Faye was seated at the parlour table, penning an invitation to Peter to dine with them later, when her housekeeper hurried in to the room.

‘You’d best come and take a look at your brother, Miss Shawcross.’

‘Why? What is it, Mrs Gideon?’

‘I took him up a breakfast tray. Master Michael’s still feeling poorly and I’d say there’s more to it than scrumping.’

Quickly Faye followed her housekeeper’s plump figure up the stairs. Michael had seemed fine when she checked on him before turning in for the night. He’d been sleeping soundly so Faye had blown out the night light she’d left burning at the side of his bed. This morning she’d risen early and gone straight downstairs, not wanting to disturb him.

‘He’s got a fever and I asked him to show me his chest as it occurred to me that when folk congregate at fairs, infections can spread.’

Nelly Gideon had acted as nurse to both of Mr Shawcross’s youngest children and had no hesitation in pulling open the lacings on Michael’s nightshirt to display a patch of red skin on his breastbone. ‘That rash tells me a doctor needs calling.’ Nelly had lowered her voice to an ominous whisper.

A burst of anxiety flipped Faye’s heart over. She sat on the edge of her brother’s bed and put a hand against his forehead. He felt very hot and clammy and she knew that if he did have scarlatina they should get a doctor to examine him straight away. Faye knew enough about infections to suspect the doctor would tell them to keep themselves to themselves for a week or two to prevent it spreading.

‘Would you ask your husband to fetch Dr Reid, please?’ Faye turned her blanching face up to her housekeeper’s furrowed countenance.

Nelly nodded and hurried from the room. The fact that stoic Mrs Gideon seemed alarmed increased Faye’s anxiety and she tried to block from her mind what Bertram Gideon had told her about folk dying of the disease.

Faye got to her feet and smoothed strands of lank fair hair back from Michael’s brow. He seemed half-asleep, but his breathing was noisy. He was young and strong, Faye impressed on herself. And there was a possibility that something less serious could be ailing him.

She rushed to the window and gazed out, seeking the doctor’s pony and trap although she knew it was far too soon for a sighting of the vehicle. But somebody was coming and she recognised the horse and rider...

Quickly she bolted down the stairs.

‘I’m sorry, Peter, but I think it best you don’t come in.’ Faye stood behind the half-closed door.

‘What on earth’s the matter?’ Peter demanded, taking a stride forward as though he might force entry.

‘Michael might have scarlatina. He’s very unwell and has a rash on his chest...’ Faye’s voice tailed off.

Peter immediately stepped off the doorstep. ‘I see; have you sent for the doctor?’

‘Mr Gideon has gone to fetch him. He should be back soon.’

‘I came over to apologise for being grumpy last night.’ Peter raked a lock of brown hair back from his forehead.

‘Well, if you were, it would be understandable,’ Faye said with a strained smile. ‘I hope I did not seem unwelcoming. I look forward so much to seeing you. It is just a shame circumstances are what they are.’

‘I shall leave earlier than planned for London. I had hoped we might dine together again this evening, but it seems we won’t.’

‘I had written you a letter inviting you,’ Faye said ruefully. ‘When will you be home again?’

‘In a few months, I hope. I’m off to Malta. But my application for an admiralty position is under review so nothing is certain.’

‘That’s wonderful!’ Faye pulled the door open, but remembered at the last minute not to rush forward and congratulate her fiancé with a hug.

‘I am only flesh and blood and I want a wife,’ Peter said. ‘You are not a children’s nanny, my dear, but my fiancée.’ He paced to and fro, fingers flexing at his sides. ‘As soon as I have the time I am going to Ireland to find that confounded woman. I’ll search everywhere for her and make her look after her children.’

‘You cannot do that, Peter,’ Faye said, stifling her annoyance. ‘The children don’t want to go to Ireland...and I won’t make them—’ Faye broke off at the sound of a vehicle rattling along. The hunched figure of Bertram Gideon, pipe clamped in his mouth, hove into view. And he was alone.

Faye immediately pushed open the door and sped to meet him. ‘Is the doctor coming soon?’ she gasped.

‘He’s been called out already this morning. Gone to the big house so his servant told me.’ Bert climbed down from the cart and lifted up one of his horse’s back legs, tenderly prodding it.

‘Dr Reid is at Valeside Manor?’

Bert nodded. ‘I’ve left a message with his housekeeper to send him right over when he do get back.’

‘Perhaps they have scarlatina at the manor as well.’ Faye paced to and fro in agitation. ‘Oh, how long will he be, do you think?’

‘I was on me way to Valeside to tell the doctor he be wanted here urgent, but Daisy threw a shoe so I turned around. Getting her and the cart down that hill and up again would have crippled her to bits, poor lassie.’

‘You mustn’t worry too much, my dear.’ Peter clasped Faye’s hands, giving them a comforting squeeze. ‘Your brother was fit as a fiddle just yesterday and eating like a glutton.’ He sighed. ‘I can’t be of much help to you so I’ll leave you be.’ He gave Faye a lingering look. ‘Write to me and we’ll speak more about a trip to Ireland when I return next time.’

‘I will write...and you must take care, Peter.’ Faye smiled weakly. ‘Good luck with your promotion.’

Mr Gideon also watched Peter mounting his stallion and waving farewell. He removed the clay pipe from his mouth. ‘That horse ain’t lame then,’ he said sourly.

Faye knew what Mr Gideon was hinting at: Peter could have offered to go to Valeside Manor and give the doctor a message to save time. People were always wary of coming into contact with disease and would avoid it if possible. Nevertheless, Faye felt disappointed that her fiancé hadn’t offered his assistance in that small way.

‘I’ll get the smithy to take a look at Daisy, then I’ll set off over to the manor and catch the doctor there if there’s still no sign of him.’

‘No! You can’t walk that distance, Mr Gideon.’ Faye frowned at the elderly fellow’s bowed legs. He had difficulty climbing up on to his cart at times due to his swollen joints; he’d never manage to walk over three miles. ‘I’ll go. I can run and perhaps the doctor might turn up in the meantime. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’