Читать книгу Rags-to-Riches Bride - Mary Nichols - Страница 7

Chapter Two

‘Well, what do you think of Miss Bywater?’ her ladyship asked Richard as their driver negotiated the traffic in Bond Street.

‘Should I be thinking of her?’ he asked mildly.

‘I am intrigued by her,’ the old lady went on. ‘Her situation is strange. She is educated, well spoken, deferential and neat in her appearance, but there is something secretive about her and I should like to know what it is.’

‘I cannot tell you.’

‘I wonder if it has anything to do with her father,’ she went on as if he had not spoken. ‘She says he is an invalid and is very protective of him. It is because of him she needs to work.’

‘But if she does her work well, is her private life any of our business?’

‘It is if Stephen wants to marry her.’

‘Good Lord! Does he?’

‘I think so. He asked me to invite her to my party.’

‘And did you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what did she say?’

‘She protested she could not leave her father and when I said bring him too, she began to make all manner of excuses.’

‘Then perhaps you should leave well alone.’

‘I do not want to. I need to know more. You could help me. Find a way of meeting her father, talk to him, discover all you can about his antecedents. I want to know about his family and his childhood, where he spent it, where he was educated, what happened to his parents, his mother’s maiden name. If either had any siblings, if Miss Bywater has brothers and sisters.’

‘To what end? To find out if Miss Bywater is a suitable person to marry Stephen?’

‘If you like.’

‘Then ask Stephen to do it. He is the one who will have to decide.’

‘Stephen does not have your finesse, Richard. He might alienate the man and that is the last thing I want.’

‘And is Miss Bywater to know of this inquisition?’

‘I would rather she did not. Not yet.’

‘Great-Grandmama, I cannot approve.’

‘’Tisn’t for you to approve or disapprove. Just do as you are told. Be easy, I bear the child no ill will, but I need to be sure.’

‘Is there something you are not telling me? I am very busy, Great-Grandmama, and acting the spy is not to my taste…’

She looked sharply at him. ‘Busy doing what?’

He smiled wryly. Why did everyone assume that just because he was not seen to go to work like his father and brother, that he was idle? Six years in the army had taught him many things. Serving with men from all walks of life had opened his eyes to his privileged position. Rubbing shoulders with the educated and the abysmally ignorant, those who knew no other life than soldiering and those who had enlisted as a matter of patriotism or because they were out of work or needed to escape the law, had taught him to judge a man on his merits, irrespective of his position in what his parents chose to call society. Unlike most of his fellow officers, who would not have dreamed of associating with the men under their command, he had taken the trouble to find out about their homes and their families. And what he had learned had horrified him and made him determined to do something about it.

He soon realised his attempts to help the poor and lame were too piecemeal: a good deed here, a generous donation there; taking poor artists into his home and providing them with pleasant conditions in which to work; writing articles that the more die-hard newspaper proprietors refused to publish, so they found their way into the more radical publications, which were frequently being shut down by the government on the grounds that they were seditious and encouraged unrest. He risked imprisonment himself every time he fired a broadside at those who ought to have been helping and did nothing. He had come to the conclusion that it would be better to work within the establishment. Hence his visit to the Commons.

The old lady tapped his arm with her fan. ‘Well? Will you do this for me?’

He had always found it difficult to deny her anything, but on this occasion he was adamant. ‘No, ma’am, I will not. It is an infringement of the young lady’s privacy unless you have reason to believe she is up to no good.’ He paused to study her lined face. ‘Do you?’

‘That’s what I want to find out. If you will not oblige me, I must find other ways of discovering what I want to know.’

‘And what happens if you find out she is not all she seems—what then? Will you expose her?’

‘I do not know; it depends on what turns up.’

He knew her well enough to realise she was up to something and it was more than a desire to protect Stephen. Did she already know more than she was telling about Miss Diana Bywater? It intrigued him, but not enough to comply with her request.

They turned into Grosvenor Square and drew up at the door of Harecroft House and he jumped down to lift her out of the carriage and help her into the house and up to her room. He had a feeling he had not heard the last of Miss Diana Bywater.

Diana was still at work at eight o’clock, when Mr Hare-croft came into the little cubby hole where she worked. ‘Still here, Miss Bywater?’

‘I have been trying to catch up on lost time.’

He smiled. ‘Grandmother can be a little disruptive. But stop now. I have my tilbury outside. I will drive you home.’

‘Thank you, but that will not be necessary. I can easily walk.’

‘It is the least I can do. It was not your fault you were behind with your work.’

She smiled suddenly. ‘Would you offer to drive one of the men clerks home?’

‘No, certainly not.’

‘I do not wish to be treated any differently. It was part of our bargain when you took me on.’

‘So it may have been, but circumstances have changed. I am wholly converted to lady clerks.’ He smiled as he spoke. ‘At least to one of them. You have proved yourself more than capable and I take back any reservations I might have had.’ He picked up the ledger she had been working on, made sure the ink was dry, and shut it firmly. ‘Now come along, I will accept no argument. I would have asked Stephen to take you, but he has already gone home.’ He bent and put his hand under her elbow to raise her to her feet.

They were standing close together, his head bent towards her, his hand still under her arm, when Richard came in. He had changed into a black evening suit, which, even more than the clothes he had worn earlier in the day, emphasised his strong lean figure. He stopped on the threshold, his blue eyes taking in the scene.

Thoroughly embarrassed, she drew her arm from his father’s hand and he, following the line of her startled gaze, turned to look at his son, watching them from the doorway.

‘Richard, what are you doing here?’ His voice sounded pleasant enough, but Diana thought she detected an undertone of annoyance.

‘Looking for you. You were not in your office…’

‘Well, now you have found me. I suppose there is a reason for you to set foot on the premises for the second time in one day.’

Diana sank back into her chair, feeling awkward. She wished she could leave the tiny room and find fresh air.

‘Great-Grandmother is a little truculent. She says she expected you home hours ago, she wants to talk to you. If I had not promised to come and winkle you out, she would have commanded Soames to get out the carriage and come looking for you herself.’

‘I had business to do and it was her fault, taking up so much of our time this afternoon.’

‘Are you ready to leave now?’

‘I must take Miss Bywater home first. She has been kept late on company business and I cannot allow her to go home alone at this time of night.’

‘Oh, please do not trouble yourself,’ Diana said. ‘I can walk and Lady Harecroft is waiting for you…’

‘Yes,’ Richard put in, looking down at Diana, unable to make up his mind about her. His great-grandmother had triggered his own curiosity, heightened by the sight of his father’s apparent intimacy with Diana. Was she up to no good, worming her way into the company in order to take advantage of an old lady? But his great-grandmother, though old, was not vulnerable or simple; she was as astute as they come, so what was it all about? ‘She will wait up until you get home, Father, you know she will, and she has had a tiring day. Besides, Mother is expecting you and she is not very good at coping with the old lady in one of her moods. I will take Miss Bywater home.’ He realised, as he said it, that he was doing exactly what his great-grandmother wanted, that she had probably guessed if she sent him back to fetch his father something of the sort might happen. He almost laughed aloud.

His father sighed. ‘If Miss Bywater agrees, then it might be best.’

‘But…’ Diana began again. She did not want either of them seeing how she and her father lived.

‘No buts,’ Richard said firmly. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

‘How did you arrive?’ his father asked him.

‘In a cab. I have kept it waiting. Great-Grandmama’s instructions were to make sure you came home.’

‘I will take the cab. You take Miss Bywater in the tilbury.’

‘Please do not trouble yourselves, either of you,’ Diana begged, reaching for her bonnet and light cape from the hook behind the door and following the two men from the room. ‘I am quite used to walking home alone.’

Neither listened. They seemed to be having the conversation with each other over her head; it was almost as if she were not there.

‘Are you staying at Harecroft House tonight?’ father asked son.

‘Yes, but I will probably be late back, so do not wait up for me.’

‘I gave up waiting for you years ago, Richard. Do not wake the household, that’s all.’

They reached the ground floor and left the building, while Mr Harecroft senior locked the premises, Diana tried once again to say she could manage on her own.

‘You are very stubborn, Miss Bywater,’ Richard said. ‘But rest assured I can be equally obdurate. You are not to be allowed to walk home alone and that is an end of it.’ He led the way to the tilbury and helped her into it, then unhitched the pony and jumped up beside her, the reins in his hand. ‘Now, you will have to direct me. I have no idea where you live.’

‘Southwark. I usually walk over Waterloo Bridge, so if you let me down this side of it, you will avoid paying the toll.’

‘Miss Bywater, I am not so miserly as to begrudge the few pence to take you across,’ he told her, setting the pony off at a walk.

The streets were not quite as busy as they had been earlier in the day and the vehicles on the road were, for the most part, those taking their occupants to evening appointments. A troop of soldiers were rehearsing their part in the coronation parade, a man with a cart was hawking the last of the flags and bunting he had set out with that morning. A flower girl was offering bunches of blooms that were beginning to wilt and a diminutive crossing sweeper stood leaning on his broom waiting for custom. The evening was like any other, but for Diana it was different. She was riding and not walking for a start and, instead of thinking what she would make for supper, her whole mind was concentrated on the man at her side and how to persuade him not to take her all the way home.

The prospect of him seeing the run-down tenement in which she lived, and, even worse, her equally run-down father, was enough to make her quake. She could imagine his disgust, the tale he would carry to his father. And they would say, ‘We cannot have a person like that working at Harecroft’s. It lowers the whole tone of the establishment and who knows what pestilence she brings with her? I knew it was a mistake to employ her.’ And she was quite sure Lady Hare-croft would not intervene on her behalf a second time.

‘Do you enjoy working for Harecroft’s?’ Richard asked her, breaking in on her thoughts.

‘Very much.’

‘It is a strange occupation for a woman,’ he said, as they turned down the Strand. ‘How did you manage to persuade my father to take you on?’

‘If you are implying that I—’ She started angrily, remembering the disapproving expression on his face when he had entered her office and seen his father’s hand on her arm.

‘Heavens, no!’ He lifted one hand from the reins in a defensive gesture. ‘There was no hidden implication in my question, do not be so quick to rise. I was simply commenting on the fact that I have never heard of a female clerk and I am sure the idea never entered my father’s head of its own accord.’

‘I saw the advertisement for a clerk and applied.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘I do not think he would have even considered me but for your great-grandmother, who arrived while I was talking to him. She told him to give me a trial.’

‘That sounds like Great-Grandmama. How long ago was that?’

‘A year.’

‘And now you are an indispensable adjunct to the business.’

‘Of course not. No one is indispensable, but I pride myself that I have justified Lady Harecroft’s faith in me.’

‘She has rather taken to you, you know. I gather she has invited you to her party.’

‘Yes, it was kind of her, but of course I cannot go.’

‘Why not?’

‘Saturday is a working day, besides, I cannot leave my father for long. He is an invalid.’

‘And your mother?’

‘She died fourteen months ago.’

‘I am sorry to hear that. Is that why you must work?’

‘Only the rich can afford not to work.’

‘True,’ he said. ‘But could you not have found something more suitable than becoming a clerk?’

‘What’s wrong with being a clerk?’ she asked defensively.

‘Nothing at all, for a man, but it is evident you have had an education, you could perhaps have become a teacher or a lady’s companion.’

‘I think, sir, that a companion’s lot is harder than a clerk’s. At least with Mr Harecroft my work is clearly laid out and I do have regular hours and can live at home.’

‘Except when you decide to work late.’

‘Sometimes it is necessary. It is best to be flexible.’

‘And what do you like to do when you are not working?’ Having stopped to pay the toll, he steered the tilbury on to the bridge, but she would have known where they were even with her eyes shut; the overpowering smell of the river assaulted her nostrils, a mixture of stale fish, sewerage, damp coal, rotting vegetation and goodness knew what else.

‘I read to Papa and we go for walks in the park on a Sunday afternoon if he is not too tired.’

‘He is your constant companion?’

‘Yes. He needs me.’

‘But you leave him to go to work.’

‘He is used to that and our housekeeper keeps an eye on him for me. When I am late she cooks him supper.’ Housekeeper was an euphemism; Mrs Beales, their landlady, lived on the ground floor and did as little as possible for them and then only if she was paid.

‘Will he be concerned that you are so late home tonight?’

‘He knows I sometimes work late to finish a particular task.’

‘My goodness, how conscientious you are! No wonder my father sings your praises.’

‘Does he?’

‘Oh, yes. I have heard him using you as an example to the others.’

‘Oh. I wish he would not. I do not like to be singled out.’

He laughed. ‘Too late, you have been. Stephen thinks you are a paragon of virtue and industry and Great-Grandmama has a mischievous gleam in her eye whenever your name is mentioned. She is up to something, I know it.’

‘I cannot think what it could be.’

Neither could he. He did not think it was simply concern that Stephen should not make a mistake in marrying her. ‘Now we are over the bridge, which direction shall I take?’

‘You can let me down here. I am not far from home and can walk the rest.’

‘Certainly not. I am going to take you to your door. What do you think my father would say if I admitted to him I had left you short of your destination?’ He looked about him at the people in the street. Working men and women trudging home, seamen, dockers, costermongers with their empty carts, a brewer’s dray with its heavy horses, a stray dog worrying something it had found in the gutter. It was not the place to leave a young lady on her own and it was obvious that if she was not a lady in the accepted sense, she had been brought up genteelly. She had said she did not want to stand out, but she did. She was well spoken, educated and neatly if not fashionably dressed, so why was she living in an area that was only one degree above a slum? ‘Come, direct me.’

Short of jumping out of a moving vehicle she could do nothing and reluctantly directed him to turn left into the next street, which had a row of tenements on one side and warehouses fronting the river on the other. A hundred yards farther down she asked him to stop. ‘This will do, thank you.’

He looked up at the row of tenements. ‘Which one?’

‘It is round the corner, but the way is narrow and it is difficult to turn a vehicle there.’

‘Very well.’ He drew to a stop and jumped out to hand her down.

She bade him goodnight and turned swiftly to cross the road, hoping he would not follow. A speeding hackney pulled out to overtake the stationary tilbury just as she emerged from behind it, almost under the horse’s hooves. Richard, in one quick stride, grabbed her and pulled her to safety, while the cab driver shook his fist but did not stop.

‘You little fool!’ Richard exclaimed, pulling her against his broad chest. She was shaking like an aspen, unsure whether it was because of the close call she had had or the fact that he still held her in his arms. ‘Is my company so disagreeable you must run away from it?’

‘No, of course not.’ She leaned into him, shutting her eyes, saw again the bulk of the horse rearing over her, heard again the yell of the cab driver and the frightened neighing of the horse and shuddered at what might have happened. ‘I did not see the cab. He was driving much too fast.’

‘Indeed hewas. Areyou hurt?’ He held her away from him to look down on her. Her bonnet and the silly cap she wore under it had come off, revealing a head of shining red-gold hair that reminded him of someone else with tresses like that, but he could not think who it might be. Surely if he had met her before he would have remembered the occasion? She was too beautiful to forget.

‘No, just a little shaken.’ She pulled herself away. ‘Thank you, I can manage now.’

‘I do not know why you are so determined I should not see you home. Is your father an ogre? Will he suppose I have designs on your person?’

‘He is not an ogre. He is kind and loving. As for having designs…’ She turned to look directly into his face. ‘Have you?’

He was taken aback by her forthrightness and then laughed. ‘Certainly not. Let us go to him. I shall explain why I felt it necessary to escort you home. And how right I was, considering you nearly got yourself killed.’

She gave a huge sigh of resignation and led the way down the side street. Here the tenements were huddled together, grimy and dilapidated, built years before to house the dockers and those working on the river and in the warehouses. Oh, how she wished she could be going home to the villa in Islington, which had been their home four years before. It had not been grand, not up to the standard of the Harecrofts’ residence in Grosvenor Square, which she had taken a look at out of curiosity when she first joined the company, but even so it had been solid and well maintained and her mother had made it comfortable and welcoming. She would not have been ashamed to take him there. And this was what she had come down to: two rooms in a slum, which all the cleaning in the world could not improve.

Two ragged urchins, a girl of about seven and a boy a little younger, stood on the pavement and watched them approach. Suddenly they smiled and two grimy hands were outstretched, palms uppermost. ‘Who are they?’ he asked.

‘I do not know, but they often appear as I am coming home. I usually give them a penny each. I think they spend it on bread.’

She went to open her purse, but he put his hand over hers to stop her, then delved into his pocket and produced a sixpence. ‘Here,’ he said, offering it to the girl. ‘Go and buy a meat pie and potatoes for your suppers.’

The waif broke into a wide smile, grabbed the coin in one hand and the boy with the other and they scuttled off up the street.

‘Poor little devils,’ he said, as they resumed walking. ‘Where do they live?’

‘I have no idea, but they seem to have adopted me.’

‘No doubt because you give them money.’

‘Perhaps, but it is little enough. The government should do something for the poor and I do not mean build more unions where they can be conveniently forgotten. They are no better than prisons and most people would rather beg and steal than enter one.’

He agreed wholeheartedly but, until something was done officially, it was up to individuals to make their plight known. He had no voice except through his writing. He did not see himself as a novelist, like Charles Dickens, who was also concerned with highlighting poverty, but he could write books and pamphlets pointing out the facts. And the facts made horrifying reading. It was a pity too few people troubled themselves with them. Something else had to be done to make the government pay attention. His visits to the Commons to listen to debates had made him realise that although most of its members paid lip service to the need for action, few were prepared to do it. It was one of the reasons he wanted to join them. ‘You evidently feel strongly on the subject,’ he said.

‘I have seen what poverty can do.’ She opened the door of one of the houses, slightly better than the rest for the curtains were relatively clean, the step scrubbed and the door knocker polished. He followed her inside, as she knew he would. ‘I live on the first floor,’ she said, turning to thank him again and hoping he would take it as a dismissal, although the damage was already done.

‘There you are!’ A woman came out from the back regions of the hallway. She was very fat, wore a black skirt, pink blouse and an apron that had seen better days. Her greying hair was pulled back so tightly into a bun at the back of her head it seemed to stretch the skin on her face, making her dark eyes look narrow. ‘About time, too. I never did undertake to be his warder, you know. I can’t keep him in if he is determined to go out.’

‘Oh, dear, I am sorry, Mrs Beales. Has he not come back?’

‘No, you know he won’t shift until they throw him out. I gave him a luvverly plate of stew for his dinner, luvverly it were, and he just looked at it and grunted that he needed food, not pigswill, and slammed outa the house. If you think I’m goin’ to put up with that sort of treatment, miss, you can think again. I c’n find plenty of tenants who’d be more appreciative.’

‘I am sorry, Mrs Beales. He can be a little difficult about his food sometimes.’

‘Don’t I know it! You shouldn’be so late home. You know it sets him off.’

‘I’m afraid I had to work late.’

‘Hmm.’ The comment was one of derisory disbelief.

‘Thank you, Mrs Beales,’ she said levelly, aware that the woman was looking Richard up and down, summing him up and probably coming to quite the wrong conclusion. ‘I’ll go and look for him.’

‘Do you know where he has gone?’ Richard asked the woman. ‘I came especially to see him.’

She grunted. ‘I wouldn’t put money on you gettin’ much sense outa him tonight.’

‘I think I know where he is,’ Diana said, giving up all hope of keeping the truth from him or the rest of his family. He was looking at her with an expression she could not quite fathom. Was it curiosity or disgust or compassion? Those blue eyes gave nothing away, but he could not have failed to understand what Mrs Beales had been hinting. She wished the ground would open and swallow her.

‘Lead the way,’ he commanded, as Mrs Beales plodded back to her own quarters.

‘This need not concern you, Mr Harecroft. Please tell Mr Harecroft senior I shall be at work as usual tomorrow.’

‘I will do no such thing. Take me to your father.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ he repeated impatiently. ‘Do you think I am slow-witted? It is as plain as day what is wrong with him and I doubt if you are strong enough to get him home alone.’

‘It is not like that. He is not well.’

‘Your loyalty is commendable, Miss Bywater. Now let us go and find him.’ His apparent abruptness marked a deep concern. How did someone as young and beautiful as she was come to such a pass? Long before he went into the army, he had become aware of the deep chasm between rich and poor, a chasm that the rich for the most part ignored, salving their consciences with donations to charity. The poor had always been part of the population, but in this young lady’s case, he was sure it was of recent duration. That she had managed to hide it so successfully said a great deal for her pride and determination. Was that the sort of thing his great-grandmother wanted him to find out?

Without answering him, she turned and went out again. Neither spoke as she walked swiftly down the street, holding her grey working skirt out of the mire, with him in attendance. Why had Papa slipped back, after being good for so long? And tonight of all nights.

They could hear the sound of raucous singing long before they reached the door of The Dog and Duck. She hesitated with her hand on the latch, but it wasn’t as if it were the first time she had been obliged to enter that establishment, so she took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

‘Stay here,’ Richard said, putting a hand on her arm to detain her. ‘I’ll fetch him out.’

‘He won’t go with a stranger.’ It was said half-heartedly. Now her horrible secret was out, the invitation to Borstead Hall would be withdrawn, there would be no marriage to Stephen, probably no job either. She was not so concerned about the invitation or Stephen’s half-hearted proposal, but the job was important. And she had a dreadful feeling one depended on the other.

The tavern was crowded with working men, some of whom were singing lustily. James Bywater was sitting in a corner between two scruffy individuals apparently deep in conversation. His suit of clothes had once been smart and his cravat had been clean that morning, but was clean no longer. On the table at his side was a tricorne hat that he had once worn when commanding his ship. Diana hurried over to him. Oh, let him be sensible, she prayed. Make him come home quietly.

The trouble was that, even sober, he was difficult to handle, rather like a truculent child determined to have his own way. And yet, like a child, he was warm and loving and he never meant to hurt her. For her dead mother’s sake she persevered with her effort to help him to help himself.

From his corner seat he saw her and waved his full glass at her, slopping the contents over his fingers. The strong weatherbeaten seaman was gone and in his place was a shabby middle-aged man with an empty sleeve and brown stains on his cravat. His dog, Toby, sat patiently at his feet, waiting to lead him home because that was what had frequently happened in the past. ‘Diana, what are you doing here?’ She was thankful his speech was not too slurred.

‘Looking for you, Papa. I was hoping you would be at home. I have brought someone to meet you.’

He looked past her to where Richard stood. ‘Your young man?’

She felt the colour flood her face. Just lately he had been talking to her about making a good marriage, telling her to encourage her employer’s son, as if that would solve all their problems. ‘You would be well set up there,’ he had said. ‘No more scrimping and trying to make ends meet and we could leave this sordid place.’

‘No, Papa, this is Mr Richard Harecroft.’

James shrugged as if it was all one to him. ‘Join me in a drink, young feller.’

‘Thank you. I’ll have a pot of ale.’

Diana gasped. She had been relying on Richard’s help to extricate her father, and here he was encouraging him. ‘Papa—’ she began.

‘Sit down.’ Richard spoke quietly, but it was a command and she found herself obeying, even as she opened her mouth to protest that she did not frequent taverns and had only ever stayed long enough to haul her father out and that had not happened for nearly a year. ‘Say nothing,’ he murmured. ‘He has a full glass and he will not come away until it is empty, so be patient a minute.’

That was all very well, she thought as Richard beckoned a waiter. Papa would not want to leave even when his glass was empty; they would still have a fight on their hands. It was nerve-racking and exhausting and all she wanted was to go home and hide and never have to face the world again.

‘You work at the shop with your father?’ James asked. The two men who had been with him had disappeared at a nod from Richard and the three of them were alone at the table.

‘No, trade is not for me. I am a writer.’

‘Writer, eh? What sort of writing?’

‘Papa, you should not quiz Mr Harecroft,’ Diana said.

‘Oh, I do not mind it,’ Richard said. ‘I only wish more people were interested. I write about the common soldier and the trouble he faces finding employment when his services are no longer required.’

‘Not only soldiers,’ James said meaningfully. ‘Sailors too.’

‘True, but I know very little about the navy. You could perhaps enlighten me, tell me about the men and their children. Particularly the children.’

‘Like children, do you?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you have none of your own.’

‘I am unmarried.’ He began to wonder who was quizzing whom, but he was also aware that he was playing right into his great-grandmother’s hands.

‘Time enough to remedy that.’

James finished his drink, but before he could suggest ordering another, Richard drained his tankard and stood up. ‘Time to go home.’

‘Later, let us have one for the road first.’

‘Papa.’ Diana stood up and bent to take his arm, but he pulled himself roughly from her grasp.

‘Do not rush me, girl. You know I hate to be rushed.’

‘Papa, please come home.’

Richard turned to Diana. ‘You take his arm and I’ll take the other side and off we go. Do not give him a chance to struggle.’

It worked like a charm. Diana held firmly on to his one arm and Richard put his hand on his shoulder on the other side and more or less propelled him out to the street. Diana marvelled at his sheer strength and command of the situation. When anything like that had happened before, she had had to plead with her father, but because her strength did not match his, even when he was drunk, she had not been able to drag him away before he wanted to come. He was always sorry afterwards and begged her forgiveness, promising not to let it happen again. And for nearly a year he had kept that promise. Until tonight.

With Toby trotting behind, he walked fairly steadily between them; though he did not appear to need their support, neither released him. He was not as bad as Diana had thought at first, hardly more than slightly tipsy. At any rate the two men were chatting quite amiably. She began to revise her opinion of Richard. Although he was firm, he did not appear to condemn, he simply accepted the situation, almost as if he were used to it. She could not imagine Mr Harecroft senior or Stephen imbibing too much or even condoning it in others, but Richard had been in the army and no doubt that accounted for it.

‘How long were you in the army?’ the older man asked the younger.

‘Six years, most of it in the colonies.’

‘I am a naval man myself, man and boy, never knew any other kind of life—’ He stopped suddenly and buckled between them, and taken by surprise, neither could hold him. He sank to the ground at their feet.

‘Papa!’ Diana cried, bending over him. ‘Do get up, please.’

Richard gently pushed her to one side and crouched beside the unconscious man, bending his head to listen to his chest and then leaning back to look at his contorted face. Diana stood looking down at him with her hand to her mouth while the dog whined round them in agitation.

‘Stay with him, while I fetch the tilbury,’ Richard said, straightening up. ‘He is not drunk, he has had a seizure. We must take him to hospital.’ They had attracted a small crowd. He turned to them. ‘There is nothing to see, my friends. The gentleman is ill. Give him air, if you please.’ He ushered them away and then sprinted up the street, leaving Diana to kneel beside her father and lift his head on to her lap. She was angry with herself for the unkind thoughts she had been having about him and wished he could hear her apologising.

Richard returned with the gig very quickly and, hardly appearing to exert himself, lifted the unconscious man into it and propped him in the corner, then helped Diana up beside him. There was now no room for a driver, and so he led the horse, breaking into a run as they reached the end of the street. Diana, cradling her father, called out to him. ‘Where are you taking us?’

He called back over his shoulder. ‘St Thomas’s. It is the nearest. We must not waste time.’

He did not want to take them there, but he could see no alternative. Hospitals catered for the poor whose purses and living conditions precluded them from being treated at home. People who could afford to pay for their treatment expected nurses and doctors to visit them, not the other way about. If that were not possible, there were private nursing homes. He would have had no hesitation in paying for the captain’s treatment, but realised that would not be appropriate, and in any case speed was important.

He turned back to look at Miss Bywater. She was very pale, but appeared calm. He was full of admiration for her courage. To live as she did, looking after a difficult parent in conditions only one step above squalor, and yet put in a day’s work at Harecroft’s showed a strength of character that was at odds with her femininity. He wondered how much Stephen had told her about himself. Or how much Stephen really knew about her. He had a feeling the party at Borstead Hall would bring everything to a head. Would she come? She had declined the invitation even before this had happened. But Great-Grandmama was a strong character and if she wanted the young lady there, she would find a way of bringing it about.

He pulled up outside the hospital and lifted the older man down and carried him into the building, leaving Diana to follow. In no time, because the Harecroft name was known and they had given generous donations to the hospital in the past and because Richard promised more, Mr Bywater was put into a small room on his own and a nurse was delegated to his care.

The next few hours were a nightmare to Diana. She moved like an automaton, sitting when told to, drinking endless cups of tea that Richard sent out for, unaware of anything except her concern for her father and her own feelings of guilt. She had misjudged Papa and if Richard had not been there, she might have been slower to realise that his condition was caused by illness and not drink. Telling herself that on past performance she could be forgiven for it did not make her feel any better, nor the fact that it was Mr Richard Harecroft, of all people, who was on hand to help her.

At dawn she was still sitting on a bench outside the room where her father lay fighting for his life. Richard had left to take Toby back to Mrs Beales and then he was going home himself. ‘I will tell my father what has happened,’ he had said before leaving. ‘You will not be expected to go to work today.’ She wondered what else he would tell his father and the rest of the family. She was thankful that it was Saturday and there was all the next day before she need worry about her job.

If her father lived, she would devote herself to him and try even harder to help him overcome his problem and she would put all ideas of marrying Stephen out of her mind. In any case, as soon as he knew her circumstances, Stephen would make excuses not to take her out again and the subject of marriage between them would be tacitly dropped. It was not that she minded about that. She was not in love with him and had only been considering it because her father had told her not to dismiss the idea out of hand. But Stephen’s strange way of proposing had made her wonder if he too might be having pressure put to bear on him. Though why? She was no catch. She had no dowry, no fortune and no more than average good looks.

Thinking about that set her thinking about Lady Harecroft’s party. In normal circumstances she might have been thrilled to be asked, would have anticipated it with pleasure, but the circumstances were far from normal. What was going on in that old lady’s head? She did not appear demented, but perhaps she was, perhaps she was mistaking her for someone else, someone far more suitable as a bride for her great-grandson. And from those thoughts it was a simple step to thinking about the other great-grandson.

Mr Richard Harecroft had shown himself to be masterful and completely in charge of the situation. He had not turned a hair at having to go into that low tavern, nor shown any kind of disgust, either at their dismal lodgings or the state of her father. And he had known at once that Papa was ill. He had saved both her life and her father’s in the space of a couple of hours, and he had paid for the private room. She owed him more than she could ever repay.

She looked up and jumped to her feet as a nurse approached her. ‘How is he?’

‘He is a fighter, I will give you that. We think he will pull through.’

Diana let out a long breath of relief and scrubbed at her eyes with an already sodden handkerchief. ‘Thank God. Can I see him?’

‘Yes, you can go in and see him for a few minutes, then I suggest you go home and rest. The worst is over and now only time will tell how far he will recover.’

‘What do you mean, how far?’

‘He will need careful nursing and a great deal of help and patience. He will have to learn to manage his disability…’

‘You mean the loss of his arm. He manages that very well.’

‘No, I mean the paralysis of his left side and not being able to speak properly. We do not know how permanent that is. He might recover some speech and movement in time. It is in God’s hands. We have done all we can.’ She pushed open the door of the sickroom. ‘Captain Bywater, here is your daughter, but she must not stay too long and tire you.’ She turned to Diana, who had followed her. ‘Take his hand and squeeze it now and again,’ she murmured. ‘You never know, you may arouse a response.’

Diana moved towards the bed. Her father’s normally weatherbeaten face looked grey and still had that contorted look, which had so frightened her. She sat in a chair beside the bed and took his hand. ‘Papa, it’s me, Diana.’ He turned to stare at her, but she was not sure if he had taken in what she said.

His lips moved slightly, trying to frame a word, but he gave up and she realised he could not speak and that made her want to cry again. ‘Do not try to talk,’ she said, determined not to let him see her tears. ‘Just squeeze my hand.’ But he did not; his own hand lay limply in hers.

‘Mr Harecroft took Toby home,’ she said, making herself sound cheerful. ‘He said he would make sure Mrs Beales looked after him. You remember Mr Harecroft? He came home with me last night. I do not know what I would have done without him. I will go home when I leave here and see how he is.’ She forced a laugh. ‘Toby, I mean, not Mr Hare-croft. I expect Mr Harecroft has gone back to Harecroft House and I did not have a chance to thank him properly.’ She prattled on. He neither moved nor spoke and only his eyes seemed to have any life as they searched her face.

The nurse came in. ‘Time to go, Miss Bywater. Your father needs to rest and so do you.’

Diana bent over to kiss her father’s forehead. ‘I must go now, Papa, but I will come back soon.’

He moved his lips and she heard him utter the word, ‘Kate’. It was her mother’s name and she turned away blinded by tears.

In the corridor the nurse asked, ‘Did he say something?’

‘Only “Kate”. He thinks I am my mother.’

‘Do not let it worry you. Saying anything at all is a good sign. Now off you go. He is in good hands.’

‘I know and I cannot begin to thank you.’

‘You do not have to. It is our job.’

It was more than just a job, Diana thought as she made her way out of the hospital, it took courage and dedication, both of which would be required of her in the next few days and weeks. Or perhaps it would be months and years. How was she ever going to manage?

‘Miss Bywater!’

She looked up and was surprised to see Richard Harecroft striding towards her. And suddenly she felt more cheerful, simply because he was there. ‘How is he?’ he asked.

‘Comfortable. He is being well looked after and I have been sent away to rest.’

‘Quite right, too. I have brought the gig to take you home. Stephen would have come, but he has gone to work, so I have come in his stead.’ He took her elbow to usher her towards the patient pony. ‘I know, you are going to say you can easily walk…’

‘No.’ She managed a smile. ‘I am glad you came, I wanted to thank you for what you did for my father last night. And for me.’

‘I did nothing.’ His tone was brusque, dismissing her gratitude.

‘All the same I am grateful, and I am sure Papa will be too, when he understands what happened.’

He helped her into the gig, climbed in beside her and set the pony off at a trot. She was silent, too tired to make conversation, until they came out of the end of the street and turned towards the river. ‘Mr Harecroft,’ she said, sitting forward in dismay, ‘this is not the way. You have taken a wrong turn.’

‘I do not think so. Great-Grandmama instructed me to take you home and that is what I am doing, taking you to Harecroft House.’

‘Your home! Oh, no. I cannot go.’

‘Why not?’

‘I am unkempt, my father is in hospital and I must be on hand to visit him; besides, you could not have told her ladyship the whole sorry story.’

He knew what she meant. ‘No, that is between you and me and no one else’s business unless you choose to tell them.’

‘Oh.’ She paused to reflect; she could not keep her job and look after her father at the same time, and yet she needed to earn if they were to live. It was a problem that would have to be faced, but at the moment she was too exhausted to think about it. ‘Would that not be dishonest?’

‘I do not see why. Your father is ill and he is not going to be in a position to go wandering off on his own for a little while, is he? Why stir up more problems for yourself?’ He turned to look at her. She was very pale; there were dark circles under her troubled blue-grey eyes and her hands were shaking in her lap. He put one hand over hers. ‘Our secret, eh?’ Even as he spoke, he wondered what he would say to the dowager if she asked him what he had discovered? What had Great-Grandmother seen in her that had made her so anxious to probe? The whole business was on the way to distracting him from his main purpose, being elected to Parliament and having his book published. He thought becoming an MP ought to come first, but he had heard nothing from Peel or Chadwick.

‘Thank you.’ She looked down at his strong brown hand covering hers and it felt so comforting and so right, she did not withdraw it as she ought to have done, but a minute later he was obliged to put both hands on the reins to steer the pony to a stop in order to pay the toll over Waterloo Bridge and the moment of intimacy was gone. ‘But I still do not think you should take me to Harecroft House. I am an employee, it is not fitting…’

‘That makes no difference as far as the old lady is concerned. When she says do something, we all jump to obey.’ His voice softened. ‘Do not be alarmed. She will not eat you. You will be given a room where you can rest and refresh yourself and later someone will take you to visit your papa. It is better than going back to those dismal rooms and the uncouth Mrs Beales, is it not? You could never rest in the daytime there.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘I suggest you accept, it will be easier in the long run.’

‘Thank you.’ She leaned back and shut her eyes and let him carry her forward, though she could not help feeling she was being manipulated, losing control. Accustomed to directing her own life, of looking after her mother before she died and her father since then, she was not sure she liked it. But she was too tired to argue, much too tired…