Читать книгу Rescued By The Forbidden Rake - Mary Brendan - Страница 13

Chapter Five

‘Tell Miss Claire to hurry inside or her tea will be stewed in the pot.’

Bertram had been pulling off his boots by the kitchen door when his wife called out to him.

‘The young miss is stopping in town with Peggy,’ he replied, padding to settle wearily on a kitchen stool. Unaware of his wife glowering at him he flexed his toes in his woollen socks and sipped his tea.

‘Stopping in town with Peggy?’ Nelly barked. ‘Who gave her leave to do such a thing? Did you?’

Bertram frowned at her from beneath his bushy brows. ‘’Course it weren’t me, woman. Miss Claire said her sister knew she was to meet up with Peggy this afternoon.’

Bertram pulled from a pocket the bottle of lotion he’d got from the apothecary shop, placing it on the table and trying to ignore his wife’s muttering.

‘Oh, I was just bringing the tea to the parlour, Miss Shawcross.’ Nelly had noticed her mistress on the kitchen threshold.

‘Did you say my sister has remained in town with Peggy?’ Faye asked, frowning.

‘Miss Claire said she had your permission,’ Bertram began defensively.

‘Well, she did not, but no harm done,’ Faye said, with more insouciance than she felt. She didn’t want to increase the friction between Mr and Mrs Gideon who, though devoted, she was sure, constantly bickered about their respective families.

Although it was wrong of her sister to tell fibs, Faye understood Claire’s restlessness. Sometimes she, too, craved to roam the outdoors in fine weather, or to have a relaxing time with friends free of constraints of family duty. Claire was now sixteen years old and if they were contemplating her come out then she was more adult than child. She deserved a degree of independence and to be allowed to choose her friends. Faye was not a snob, but she realised that some people—Mrs Gideon in particular—might think her sister was becoming too friendly with a girl who might be a similar age but was beneath her class.

‘Bertram will go and get her as soon as he gets those boots back on.’ Mrs Gideon sent her husband a thunderous look.

‘I expect she’ll be back home under her own steam for supper,’ Faye said lightly. ‘She’s made the trek before. No need to rush back to Wilverton for her just yet.’

Bertram gulped down his tea, then clattered his empty cup down on its saucer, hoisting himself to his feet with the aid of the table edge. ‘No rest for the wicked,’ he mumbled, keen to escape his wife’s company. ‘I’ll get that vegetable patch turned over ready for sowing,’ he added. ‘Rain’s on the way and ground could do with a good soaking.’

Faye picked up the lotion and went upstairs to see her brother.

‘Yesterday you sounded cross when Claire let on that you’d been scrumping. But by telling us about it she assisted you in quickly getting the powder you needed to soothe your gripes.’ Faye began dabbing Michael’s rash with a piece of lint soaked with lotion. ‘If I asked you to tell me about something important that might help Claire, though she might not want me to know it, you would do so, wouldn’t you?’ She noticed that her brother avoided her eyes as she tended to him.

‘Michael?’ Faye grasped her brother’s chin, turning him to look at her. ‘What is it you know, but don’t want to say?’

‘Peggy put her up to it,’ Michael blurted out. ‘Edward told me that it wasn’t Claire’s fault.’

‘What wasn’t Claire’s fault?’ Faye felt a jolt of uneasiness. So something had gone on; she hadn’t imagined the guilty looks the two girls had been sporting at the fairground.

‘Peggy had been making eyes at one of the gypsy boys and Edward said he’d punch him.’ Michael chewed his lower lip. ‘I said I wasn’t getting into a scrap and went off swimming with Samuel Wright. Edward called us cowards, that’s why I had a fight with him on the grass and fell on the ragwort.’ He fingered the red bumps on his chest.

‘How has your sister got involved in any of this?’ Faye removed Michael’s hand from the rash he was scratching.

‘Peggy’s scared of Edward so she sent Claire to tell the boy to stay away or else he’d get thumped.’

‘I see...’ Faye said, standing up. And she did see. Peggy might try to enlist Claire’s help again this afternoon, as a go-between. Faye realised that Mrs Gideon would be horrified to know her niece was encouraging a gypsy swain. The lad would soon be gone though, travelling on with his kin in their colourful caravans.

Unwilling to let her brother see her agitation, Faye laced his nightshirt, tucked him up, and went out of the room.

Pacing on the landing, she wondered if the best thing would be to send Mr Gideon to Wilverton to fetch Claire back. Or to keep fuss and questions to a minimum, she could go herself. She knew where Mrs Gideon’s brother lived, but didn’t want to create a mountain out of a molehill. It was likely she might turn up and find the girls doing nothing more exciting than sitting on the grass, making daisy chains for their hair. And then she’d feel a fool for spoiling their innocent fun.

It was at times like this that she wished she had someone to turn to for advice. But, even were her fiancé still in the vicinity, she would try to sort out the matter herself, she realised. Peter would be sure to be critical and intolerant of Claire’s behaviour. Peter’s parents, impoverished or not, were sticklers for keeping up appearances. They wouldn’t like their son’s future sister-in-law consorting with riff-raff.

Peering out of the landing window, Faye could just glimpse Mr Gideon, shirtsleeves rolled back, digging over the vegetable patch. It would be an inconvenience for him to have to pack up his tools and harness the pony and trap. But Faye knew that if she didn’t seek out her sister and satisfy herself Claire wasn’t in trouble, she’d not have a minute’s peace.

She pounced on a valid excuse to make the trip to town herself: Anne Holly had sent a note, informing her that her husband’s relations were returning to town in a day or two. She’d suggested that Claire might like to get to know Sarah before her niece returned home. Faye had been on the point of declining because Michael had suspected scarlatina, but now the doctor had called and given his verdict, there was no longer a need to shut themselves away. Faye decided she could pay Anne a visit to thank her for the invitation and set a date to take tea at the vicarage. It would be nice for Claire to make a new friend, especially as they were due to make their debuts together. More at ease, Faye went downstairs to tell Mrs Gideon she was going out.

‘I’ll fetch Bertram to drive you.’

‘There’s no need, Mrs Gideon. I’m quite capable of taking the pony and trap out; I’ve done so on many occasions.’

‘But he’s only digging over and won’t mind.’

Faye pulled on her cotton gloves, giving the woman a smile. ‘I’ll not stop long with Anne Holly. Please don’t wait for my return. You and Mr Gideon must get off home at the usual time. If you’d just leave the stew pot simmering on the hob, that will do fine. No need to fret about Michael; he is feeling much better and itching to be back on his feet.

‘If you say so, miss,’ Nelly Gideon grumbled. ‘Will you bring your sister back with you?’

‘Yes...of course...unless she is already on her way home and we miss one another.’

Faye hurried out of the kitchen door before her housekeeper could find a reason to stop her. Luckily Bertram had left Daisy in harness, probably in readiness to collect Claire later that afternoon.

Bertram eased his weary spine by bowing backwards, hands on hips, as Faye passed him with a wave. Mrs Gideon had come to the kitchen door to watch her leave and Faye noticed that the couple wore matching frowns as she slowly drove herself away from Mulberry House.

They were fine people, loyal and caring, but sometimes their protectiveness seemed stifling. Faye had felt freer when her papa was alive and relying on her assistance. She knew that the Gideons took seriously their vow to Cecil Shawcross to keep a watchful eye on her and her siblings. But she was quite capable of coping on her own and, as kindly as she could, she must make the Gideons see it, too. From a young age she’d had no doting mama to fetch and carry for her, and much as her father loved her, he had allowed her her independence in order to get on with his own business. She had roamed far and wide when not under her governess’s care. Edwina Sharp hadn’t lived with them, but had driven her little gig from Moreton village every day to tutor her, then returned to care for her elderly parents. They were all gone now. Mr and Mrs Sharp had died within weeks of one another, and as though unsure if her duty were done, their daughter had followed them to the family tomb at Michaelmas the same year.

Once on the rutted road with the balmy breeze at her back Faye felt her tension ease. The pony settled into a trot and she loosened the reins. As she passed the brow of a hill she had a clear view of Valeside Manor nestling in all its glory in the valley below. She turned her gaze from it, concentrating on the road ahead; it seemed the more she learned of the new master of Valeside the less she ought to like him. A gentleman with a young Romany concubine and a careless attitude to what people thought of his morals was surely not somebody she should find charming and attractive. And yet...she did.

Faye urged Daisy to a faster pace, annoyed with herself for allowing such a fellow into her head when her fiancé should have first claim on her thoughts. She pondered on the lack of an opportunity to discuss her financial losses with Peter. He had left unnecessarily early for London; had he known that Michael didn’t have scarlatina they would have spent a few more precious hours together.

Approaching Wilverton Faye turned the trap at the turnpike, heading along the dusty main road towards the row of thatched cottages at the far end where Mr Miller lived with his children. Slowing down in front of the last cottage in the row, Faye caught sight of Edward Miller scything the grass and whistling as he worked. Of Claire or Peggy there was no sign. Edward stopped what he was doing to tug at his forelock.

‘Miss Shawcross,’ he mumbled in greeting, coming to the gate. ‘The doctor called on you, didn’t he? Is Michael ailing?’

‘He is getting better now, thank you, Edward.’

‘We heard he’d got spots on him.’ Edward took a cautious step back. ‘Is it something catching?’

‘Luckily it is not. The ragwort he rolled on after swimming gave him a rash.’ Faye gave him a stern look. ‘You had a fight with him yesterday at the fairground. You should know better. You’re a good few years older than my brother.’

‘Weren’t all my fault,’ Edward blustered, glancing about. ‘Have you come to speak to my pa about it?’

‘Not this time...but if it happens again, I will,’ Faye said flatly. She felt sorry for Mr Miller, widowed many years ago and coping alone with his four children. Peggy was the eldest at fifteen and Edward a year younger. ‘I’ve come to take my sister home. Is she inside with Peggy?’

‘Ain’t seen Peggy or Miss Claire this afternoon.’

Faye gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘If you know where my sister is, please tell me.’

Edward shook his head sending his sandy fringe flopping into his eyes. ‘Honest...ain’t seen ’em, Miss Shawcross. Peggy went out this morning to do chores for Mrs Bullman like she always do every day. Ain’t seen her since. And ain’t clapped eyes on Miss Claire since the fair. I’ve been helping Pa indoors ’cos his knees are bad.’ He jerked his head towards the wonky open doorway that led into the cottage. A girl of about seven was stationed there, sucking a thumb.

Faye knew that the butcher’s wife paid Peggy to help out in the shop in the mornings. But it was possible Peggy had met Claire later on.

‘I know about the gypsy boy you were going to punch because he was making eyes at Peggy,’ Faye said quietly. She didn’t want members of Edward’s family overhearing her, but Edward had to tell her more about what had been going on between the Miller children and the gypsies. Since her sister had got embroiled in it, it affected her, too.

Edward blushed and fidgeted. ‘His pal was after Miss Claire,’ he rattled off. ‘I reckon you should thank me for scaring ’em off, Miss Shawcross.’

Faye believed he was telling the truth and in an instant she felt her niggling anxiety over her sister’s whereabouts explode. Claire might have a more personal involvement with the gypsy boys than she’d imagined. Quickly Faye banished that awful thought from her head. Claire could be silly, but she’d never play such a dangerous game.

‘Do you want me to go and find them?’ Edward meekly offered.

‘I expect my sister has already gone home. It’s supper time soon.’ The tone of the youth’s voice indicated that he, too, suspected an upset might be brewing. Faye climbed aboard the trap, her heart feeling leaden. From a corner of her eye she saw Edward resume scything. She hoped he had not put too much store on her questions. If a rumour spread about Claire Shawcross and a gypsy boy, her sister’s reputation would suffer. With Claire’s come out in the offing they couldn’t risk a breath of scandal spoiling their plans.

Faye forgot about visiting Anne Holly and turned the trap to head home. She slowed down by the butcher’s shop, but the shutters were already closed for the day. It was midsummer and still sunny, but she guessed the time to be gone six o’clock. At the back of her mind whirred a fervent prayer that her worry was unfounded and her sister was already at Mulberry House. Yet...she feared Claire was not.

With a gasp of relief Faye glimpsed the unmistakable sight of Peggy’s bushy auburn tresses bobbing along further along the street. Faye pulled Daisy to a halt, then jumped down and hurried towards her.

‘Is Claire in the shop?’ Faye tilted her head to see past a few customers congregated in the doorway of the confectionery shop. The merchant kept his premises open quite late in the summer months to sell to those playing games on the village green.

‘Haven’t seen your sister, Miss Shawcross,’ Peggy said, edging away.

‘Are you sure about that?’ Faye lowered her voice to demand, ‘Have you and Claire been meeting some gypsy lads on the sly?’

‘Don’t tell me pa, will you, Miss Shawcross?’ Peggy whimpered. ‘He’ll take the stick to me back.’ She dodged past, running towards her home.

Faye was no mean sprinter and quickly caught up with her; grasping her elbow, she whipped the girl around. ‘You had better tell me where Claire is, or I’ll come home with you now and you can tell your father and me everything that has gone on.’

‘We went to the fairground earlier. I came back, but Claire stayed with Donagh because they’re packing up to travel on and she wanted to say goodbye.’

‘Donagh?’ Faye echoed with subdued alarm.

‘Donagh Lee is the chief’s son. He’s keen on Claire...’

‘Is she keen on him?’ Faye whispered, her mind jumbling with all sorts of imagined disasters.

Peggy nodded. ‘I told her to come back with me or she’d get in to trouble. But she said she’d stay just a few more minutes, then head home. They were by the copse where the ponies are tied up.’

‘Thank you, Peggy.’ Faye could feel the prickle of shocked, angry tears as she hurried back to the trap and climbed on board. At the back of her mind whirred a constant mantra. How could you be so stupid and selfish, Claire? How could you?

As she set the trap to a fast trot out of Wilverton her heart was thudding crazily beneath her bodice. She clung to the hope that her sister had gone home and was impatiently waiting for her to return so they could eat supper.

Home or not, Faye knew that she would tear a strip off her sister. She prayed that Peggy and Edward would keep what they knew to themselves in case their father found out they’d also risked trouble with the gypsies.

As the trap bumped and rattled over dry ruts Faye saw that her fiancé and Anne Holly had a point when warning her that the burden of her siblings might prove to be too much for her to cope with. She put up her chin, instilling fresh courage. She must not let this calamity intimidate her, but draw strength from it. Then in the spring when her sister went to London Claire would surely find a husband.

Faye blinked anxious tears from her lashes and flicked the reins, urging the pony on. Too late, her vision cleared and she tried to avoid a pothole just a yard or two from Daisy’s front hooves. The animal veered left to avoid it and the trap tilted precariously, then bounced up and down. It landed with a crunch as a wheel buckled and Faye was flung from her seat. She landed on the parched ground on her back with enough force to knock the breath from her body. For a second or two she was lucid enough to be furious at her own carelessness and then the sky above spun and turned black.