Читать книгу Working Man, Society Bride - Mary Nichols - Страница 10

The Earl of Luffenham arrived home that evening in time to take dinner with his family. He was, Lucy noticed, not in a good mood. He snapped at the servants and criticised Rosemary’s gown, saying it was unsuitable for a young lady not yet out. ‘What is that shiny stuff?’ he asked.

‘Taffeta, Papa.’

‘What’s wrong with muslin?’

‘Nothing for day wear, Papa, but it is not the thing for dining.’

‘You are getting above yourself, miss, and I wonder at you, madam, for allowing it.’ This last was addressed to his wife.

‘It is not new, my lord,’ she explained. ‘It is one of mine I had remade. That deep pink colour suits Rosie and I thought it would recompense her a little for not having all the new clothes Lucy has had this year.’

Slightly mollified, he grunted and nodded at the footman to begin serving. His economies seemed unnecessary and inconsistent to Lucy. He grumbled about money spent on clothes, yet would never have dreamed of managing with fewer servants, particularly those, like the footmen, who were seen by visitors. He insisted on frugality at family meals, having only four courses, but, when entertaining, the food on his table was lavish in the extreme. His horses were the best money could buy, his hospitality at the annual hunt meeting was legendary, but he begrudged the repairs to his farmer-tenants’ buildings, maintaining that if they let them go to rack and ruin, why should he have to stump up for their negligence?

They ate in silence for some time until Lucy ventured, ‘Did you have a good journey, Papa?’

‘It was as abominable as usual.’

‘Did you come home by road, then?’

‘No, I did not. I came on the railway, but it kept stopping for no reason that I could see.’

‘I expect it was because you went from one company’s lines to another,’ Lucy said. ‘You have to be coupled up to their locomotives.’

‘What do you know of it?’

‘I read it in the newspaper. There was a report about a debate in the Commons about the number of lines being agreed to and Mr Hudson’s plans to amalgamate them so that there is no need for constantly changing in the middle of a journey.’

‘Not suitable reading for a young lady, Lucinda. And Hudson will come to grief, you mark my words.’

‘Why are you so against the railways, Papa? I should have thought they brought enormous benefit.’

He looked sharply at her. ‘What is your interest in them, young lady?’

‘It is only that I journeyed by train for the first time when we went to London and I found myself wondering about them. It is a very fast way to travel. Over forty miles an hour, we were told. It felt like flying.’

‘So it may be, but the countryside where they go is ruined for ever. They run over good farm land and are so noisy they frighten the cows so they don’t produce milk, the sparks from their engines are a danger to anyone living near the line, and they ruin the hunt because the fox can escape on to railway land where horses can’t follow. And that is after all the desecration to the countryside the navvies cause when they are building them. They throw up their shanty towns wherever they fancy and spend their free time drinking and quarrelling. Their children run round in rags with no education and no notion of cleanliness. Does that answer your question?’

‘Yes, Papa. What would happen if a landowner refused to allow the railway to go over his land?’

‘Then they would have to go round it. Now, enough of that. Let us have the rest of our dinner in peace.’

Lucy decided it was definitely not the time to mention seeing the surveyors, and after a few minutes of eating in silence her mother began to talk about their visit to Linwood Park. ‘I do not know how big the house party will be,’ she said. ‘Nor exactly what plans have been made for our entertainment, but we must go prepared.’

‘Naturally we must go prepared,’ the Earl said. ‘There will be riding and excursions, shooting and cards in the evening and undoubtedly at least one ball.’

‘I wondered if you might consent to allow Rosemary to accompany us. The invitation was for the whole family….’

‘Whole family,’ echoed Esme, speaking for the first time. ‘May I go?’

‘Certainly not!’ snapped her father. ‘But I will think about allowing Rosemary to go, if she behaves herself.’

‘Rosemary always behaves herself,’ Lucy put in, winking at her sister. ‘And I shall be glad of her company if we are to be with a crowd of strangers.’

‘They won’t all be strangers,’ the Countess said. ‘Many of them you will already have met in London.’

Lucy did not see the surveyors again and supposed they had either decided she was right about their trespassing or they had finished what they were doing and gone elsewhere. In a way she was sorry because she could not get thoughts of that tall man out of her head. She could see him in her mind’s eye, standing facing her with his feet apart, his hands carefully crumbling soil, his head thrown back and his lively eyes looking up at her. His stance had been almost insolent and she should have been repelled; instead, she found him strikingly attractive. She found herself wondering what it would be like to be held in those powerful arms and, even in the privacy of her room, blushed at the scenario she had created. She must stop thinking about him, because he was nothing but a labourer, a brute of a man used to working with the strength of his broad back, and, though she might be attracted by his physique, he would never fit in to the kind of life she led. He would, for instance, never be at home in a ballroom. On the other hand, Mr Gorridge was to the manner born and knew how to dress and behave among ladies. And Mama and Papa approved of him.

Linwood Park was not above thirty miles from Luffenham Hall and, for a short stretch, their lands abutted, so it was an easy carriage ride to go from one to the other, which was how the Countess and her two daughters travelled, followed by a second coach containing Annette, Sarah to look after the girls and the Earl’s valet, together with all the luggage piled in the boot and strapped on the roof. The Earl decided to ride so that he would have his own horse with him. Lucy would have liked that, too, but he had said arriving on horseback would not create the right impression; if she wanted to ride, she would undoubtedly be provided with a mount from the Viscount’s stables.

The house stood halfway up a hill above the village, which in times gone by had been known as Gorridgeham, from which the first Viscount had taken his name, but was now simply Gorryham. The house, at the end of a long drive, was surrounded by a deer park, an enormous lake, a large wood in which game birds were reared and several smaller woods and farmsteads. Behind the house the land rose to Gorridgeham Moor, shortened by the locals to Gorrymoor, a wild, uncultivated tract of country ideal for riding and hunting.

The house itself was built of stone with a façade at least a hundred feet in length. There was a clock tower at one end and a bell tower at the other. In its centre above the imposing portico with its Greek columns was a huge dome, above which fluttered the Gorridge family flag. The evenly spaced windows on the ground floor reached almost from floor to ceiling, though matching rows on the first and second floors were not quite so deep.

‘I was right,’ Rosemary said in awe. ‘It is a palace. Fancy being mistress of that, Lucy.’

Lucy did not comment. It was not the place that concerned her, but the people. The size and opulence of a house could never make up for arrogant, unkind people. Not that Viscountess Gorridge had ever been arrogant and unkind on the few occasions when Lucy had met her before going to London. And in London, when they had attended the same events, she had been most affable. She could not speak for the Viscount because she had hardly exchanged half a dozen sentences with him. He had a way of ending all his pronouncements with a barked, ‘Eh, what?’

As the carriage drew up, the doors opened and Lady Gorridge came out to welcome them. All the corsetry in the world could not disguise the fact that the Viscountess was fat. She had a round, rather red face, which gave her the appearance of jollity. And her welcome seemed to bear that out.

‘My dear Lady Luffenham, how glad I am to see you here at last,’ she said, as the Countess left the coach followed by the girls. ‘And Lady Lucinda. How do you do?’

Lucy curtsied. ‘Very well, my lady. May I present my sister, Rosemary.’

Rosemary curtsied. ‘My lady.’

Lady Gorridge acknowledged her and then said, ‘Do let us go inside. Tea is about to be served.’ As she spoke, the second coach rolled up the drive and disappeared round the side of the house. ‘Oh, good, your servants have arrived. They will be directed to your rooms and will begin unpacking while we drink our tea.’ She took the Countess’s arm to lead her indoors. ‘Come, my son and daughter are in the drawing room, waiting to welcome you. Gorridge will come in later. He had some business on the estate to deal with, which he could not leave.’

‘I understand,’ the Countess said. ‘Lord Luffenham is coming on horseback. He will arrive shortly, I expect.’

The hall into which they were conducted was vast. It was big enough for a ballroom, with a huge brick fireplace at one end. A lackey in livery sprang from a chair beside the door as they entered and stood stiffly to attention. The visitors were divested of capes and gloves, which were piled on his outstretched arms, and then Lady Gorridge hurried the little party forward into a second smaller hall lined with doors, one of which was open. ‘Here we are. Edward, Dorothea, our guests have arrived.’

Edward, who had been standing by the hearth where the empty grate was concealed by a screen painted with flowers, came forward to take the Countess’s hand. ‘Welcome, my lady.’ He turned to Lucy. ‘And you, my dear Lady Lucinda. Welcome, welcome.’ Before she could move, he had seized her hand and raised it to his lips. Startled, she withdrew it and put it behind her back. She had not liked the damp pressure of his mouth on her skin.

‘Mr Gorridge.’ She bowed her head.

‘And this is Lady Rosemary.’ He looked her up and down, as if sizing her up, and Rosemary blushed to the roots of her hair, bobbing a curtsy as she made a polite reply.

‘And this is my daughter, Dorothea,’ Lady Gorridge put in. ‘I hope you will become great friends. Dorothea, make your curtsy to Lady Luffenham and the Ladies Lucinda and Rosemary.’

Dorothea was about the same age as Rosemary, but, like her mother, on the plump side. She wore her dark hair in two plaits looped around her ears. She was evidently shy, because her response was hardly audible.

By the time all these introductions had been made, the tea tray had been brought in and her ladyship busied herself dispensing tea and sandwiches. ‘We have arranged some little amusement and diversions for your stay,’ Lady Gorridge told them. ‘But not immediately. We thought we would have a quiet evening with a little homemade entertainment and music. Time enough for jollity tomorrow when our other guests arrive, don’t you think?’

The Countess murmured her assent. Lucy, sipping tea and nibbling delicate sandwiches, used the opportunity to study Mr Gorridge. She wanted to see if he was any different in the country from his persona in town. Was he more relaxed, less formal? Was he dressed any differently? Were his eyes any less cold? Had he had time to change his mind about her, even supposing he had made up his mind in the first place? She realised suddenly that he had turned from speaking to the Countess and had caught her looking at him. She quickly turned her head away, but not before she had seen him smile. She could not make up her mind if it was one of amusement or condescension.

She dare not look at him again and turned her attention to the room. It was sumptuously furnished, with a thick Aubusson carpet, several sofas and stuffed chairs, like the one she occupied. There were little tables scattered everywhere on which small ornaments were displayed. The walls were crammed with paintings, from very small ones to large, formal family portraits. She rose, teacup in hand, and wandered over to the window, which gave her a view of a terrace with stone vases and statues lining the steps down to a lawn with flower beds brilliant with colourful summer blooms. It was all too perfect to be true. Beyond that was a park, and she could see the sparkle of water and longed to be outside.

‘Shall you like to explore?’

She whipped round to find Edward standing so close behind her he was brushing against her skirt. ‘Perhaps later, Mr Gorridge.’

‘Oh, yes, later. After dinner, perhaps.’

‘It depends whether Mama feels like it. She is often tired after a journey.’

‘Ah, the need for a chaperon. We must not forget that, must we? Perhaps Lady Rosemary would like to join us, if Lady Luffenham doesn’t feel up to it. The sun setting over the lake is a particularly beautiful sight.’

She did not commit herself, but he appealed to her mother, who graciously said she would allow Rosemary to chaperon her sister, which was not at all what Lucy wanted. She was reluctant to be alone with him and she did not think Rosie’s services would be adequate. Tea over, they were shown upstairs to their rooms to rest before changing for dinner. Lucy had barely sat down and kicked off her shoes, when Rosemary arrived from the adjoining room.

‘It is perfect, Lucy, just perfect,’ she said, sitting beside her sister on the bed. ‘My room is huge and there is a canopied bed and a dressing room that has a bath. Just imagine, a bath all to myself.’ She looked about her. ‘Yours is the same. Oh, Lucy, I am entranced and full of envy.’

‘It’s all show.’ If Edward Gorridge proposed, she could, one day, be mistress of this magnificent house. She had as yet not explored it and had no idea how many servants there were, but it was plain there were many more than were employed by her father. She could entertain, buy extravagant clothes, ride magnificent horses. But was that what she wanted?

‘Don’t be silly, even a show needs pots and pots of money. I thought we were wealthy, but this far exceeds anything we have. Our house is poky by comparison.’

Lucy laughed. ‘In that case, you don’t know the meaning of the word poky. Try going into one of the cottages on the estate and you’ll see truly poky.’

‘Ugh, no, thank you. And I did say by comparison.’

‘And I would rather have our comfortable home than this opulence. It frightens me.’

‘Why ever do you say that? You can’t stay at home for ever. You have to marry and move on, that’s the way things are, and you would soon get used to it. It isn’t as if Mr Gorridge is an ogre. He isn’t ugly, he’s handsome, and his manners are perfect. What more do you want?’

Lucy declined to answer. Instead she said, ‘Go and change. We mustn’t be late down for dinner.’

Rosemary left her and she sat a little longer, musing on the day so far. If she was going to do as her mother had asked her and try to think of Mr Gorridge as a husband, she was going to have to make an effort. A month before it would have been easier; she had returned from London thinking that perhaps she could learn to love him, but that was before she met a certain giant of a navvy who had warm brown eyes and a ready smile and who had somehow managed to mesmerise her. How else could she explain why she was constantly thinking of him and seeing things through his eyes? What would he make of Linwood Park and its occupants? What did he think about inherited wealth? He would despise it. Had he forgotten her the minute she had disappeared from his view? It was all so silly and so impossible and she was thoroughly vexed with herself.

The maid came in to help her to dress and she forced herself to concentrate on what she was going to wear.

It took an hour, but at the end of it she was ready. She had chosen a simple gown in lime-green silk. It had a boat-shaped neck and small puff sleeves; its only decoration was a band of ruching in a darker shade of green, which ran from each shoulder to the waist in a deep V and then crossed to spread in a wide arc down and around the skirt. The ensemble was finished with elbow-length gloves, a fan and a string of pearls her father had bought her for her presentation. Her hair was parted in the middle and drawn to each side, where it was secured with ribbons and allowed to fall into ringlets over her ears. Taking a last look in the mirror, she made her way downstairs. A footman in the hall directed her to the drawing room.

She was, she realised as he opened the door for her to enter, the first lady to arrive and the room contained her father, Viscount Gorridge, Mr Gorridge and Mr Victor Ashbury, Edward’s cousin, whom she had met in London. They stopped their conversation to acknowledge her little curtsy, and for a moment there was silence.

‘Am I too early?’ she asked, wondering whether to retreat.

‘No, no,’ the Viscount assured her. ‘It is refreshing to find a lady who is punctual. Would you care for a cordial or ratafia, perhaps?’

‘No, thank you, my lord.’ She seated herself on a chair near the window some distance from them. ‘Please don’t mind me,’ she said. ‘I shall sit quietly here until the other ladies arrive.’

Edward came and stood by her chair. ‘I fear you will be immeasurably bored by the conversation,’ he said. ‘They are talking about the railway.’

‘I do not find that boring.’

‘Lucinda has a lively curiosity and interests herself in many things,’ her father told the others, though whether he was praising her or excusing her, she could not tell. At least he was smiling and seemed more relaxed. ‘And her first journey in a railway carriage has excited her interest.’

‘How did you find it?’ the Viscount asked. ‘Not too noisy or dirty? Eh, what?’

‘It was both,’ she said. ‘But exciting, too. Do you think the railway will be the transport of the future?’

‘Oh, undoubtedly,’ he said. ‘It is exactly what I have been saying to your papa.’

The door opened to admit Lady Gorridge and Dorothea, followed by the Countess and Rosemary, and the conversation was dropped. Lucy was sorry, in a way; she wanted to learn more and it was all because of a certain navvy who had somehow inveigled his way into her head and would not go away. She could not tell anyone about him, could not talk about him, but discussing the burgeoning industry of which he was a part was the next best thing. She wanted to learn everything she could, though when she asked herself why, she could not provide herself with an answer.

She looked up suddenly to find Edward holding out his arm and realised that dinner had been announced and he was offering his escort into the dining room. She stood up and laid her fingers on his sleeve and they followed in line behind Viscount Gorridge with her mother, and Lady Gorridge with her father. Rosemary and Dorothea brought up the rear with Mr Ashbury.

‘Only a small, intimate gathering tonight,’ Lady Gorridge said as they took their seats and the table. ‘Almost, you could say, en famille. Tomorrow the rest of the company will arrive.’

Lucy looked at Edward to see if he had reacted to the obvious hint that they would all soon be related, but he was busy signalling to the wine waiter to take round the bottle. She felt as if she were being dragged into a deep pool and, unless she swam as hard as she could against the current, she would be dragged under. But it was definitely not an appropriate time to strike out.

Because it was informal, the dishes were set upon the table for them to pass round and help themselves and before long the conversation, which had begun with talk of the weather and the hope it would remain warm and dry for their stay, returned to the subject the men had begun before the meal.

‘You should invest in the new railways, Luffenham,’ Lord Gorridge said. ‘There promises to be rich pickings for anyone who gets in early. I have already made ten thousand pounds into fifteen.’

‘Everyone’s gone mad,’ the Earl said. ‘Railways here, railways there, loop lines, branch lines, connections. It’s becoming a mania and, like all manias, it will go out of fashion.’

‘Don’t agree, my friend. It’s here to stay. I’ve taken shares in the Eastern Counties. Hudson’s paying dividends on the promise of profits to come.’

‘A fool thing to do,’ the Earl maintained. ‘The line won’t earn a penny until it’s opened and in use and he’ll find himself in dun territory.’

‘His problem, not mine, eh, what? Anyway, I’ve put my profit to good use by taking shares in the Leicester to Peterborough. It’s being built by Henry Moorcroft and he’s solid enough. The line is going to cross my land down in the village and that in itself has netted me a few thousand for a tiny strip of land I won’t even miss. And I’ll get my own station into the bargain. I advise you to do the same.’

‘Gorridge, do you have to discuss business at the dinner table?’ his wife queried. ‘It is not polite. Our guests will become bored. Let us change the subject.’

Lucy was disappointed; the conversation was just becoming interesting. The navvy had told her he was surveying a line from Leicester to Peterborough, so it must be the one Viscount Gorridge was interested in. Would it go ahead? Or would her father’s opposition put paid to it? If the line went ahead, she might see the man again, but why did she want to? Striking and handsome as he was, he was no more than a common labourer and far beneath her socially, so why think about him? The trouble was that there was nothing common about him. He was extraordinary—he must be if he could set her pulses racing and her mind in a whirl. And he didn’t talk like a labourer.

‘Lucinda.’ Lady Gorridge interrupted her thoughts. ‘I may call you Lucinda, mayn’t I?’

‘Yes, of course, my lady.’

‘Do you sing or play?’

‘A little of both, my lady, but neither especially well.’

‘Lucy is being modest,’ Rosemary put in. ‘She is more than competent on the pianoforte and she has a pleasant singing voice.’

‘I am no better than you,’ her sister said.

‘Capital!’ their hostess said. ‘When the gentlemen join us, we shall entertain each other. Edward has a fine baritone. And perhaps later we will have a hand or two of whist.’

‘Mama, I promised to take Lady Lucinda and Rosemary for a walk in the grounds,’ Edward told her when the idea was put to the men.

‘You can do that tomorrow. It will be too late tonight by the time we have finished dinner. The sun will be going down and it will turn chilly. Don’t you think so, Lady Luffenham?’

Lady Luffenham agreed.

When the meal ended the ladies retired to the drawing room and the teacups, leaving the men to their port and cigars and their talk.

‘Now,’ Lady Gorridge said, setting out the cups. ‘We can have a little gossip of our own. Did you enjoy your London Season, Lucinda?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Lucy replied. ‘But I must admit to being glad to be home. London is all very well for a visit, but I prefer the country.’

‘I quite agree, which is why I did not stay in town the whole time. Gorridge wanted to come back for reasons of business—railways again, I am afraid—and I decided to come back, too. No doubt you saw something of Edward after we left.’

‘Yes, he was most attentive.’

‘What he needs is a good wife, and so I have told him. It is time he set up his own establishment. There is our house in Yorkshire, which is unoccupied except by a skeleton staff, and it needs to be lived in. It will make him an admirable country home.’

Lucy had no idea how she was supposed to respond to that and so she sipped her tea and smiled and said nothing.

‘I believe there is good hunting country in that area.’ The Countess added her contribution to what Lucy saw as persuasion.

‘Oh, yes. Edward loves to hunt. Do you hunt, Lucinda?’

‘No, I do not care for it. Rosemary is the huntswoman of the family.’

‘Is that so?’ Her ladyship turned reluctantly to Rosemary.

‘Yes, my lady,’ she answered. ‘We girls have been encouraged to take part since we have been old enough to leave our ponies behind and ride proper horses.’

‘We shall naturally invite you and Viscount Gorridge to bring Mr Gorridge with you to our next one,’ the Countess said quickly. The Earl was famous for the hunts he held on the Luffenham estate, which Viscount Gorridge had attended in the past. ‘That goes without saying.’

‘Thank you. I am sure Edward will enjoy that. Alas, my hunting days are over, but I shall enjoy watching from a distance with Lucinda.’

The gentlemen rejoined them at that point and Lady Gorridge busied herself with dispensing tea for them and then calling on Lucy to sing and play, which she did to warm applause. Then she played a duet with Rosemary, while Edward stood by the piano ready to turn over the music. After that he was persuaded to sing and chose ‘Greensleeves,’ the old ballad supposedly composed by Henry the Eighth, saying it was in honour of Lucy’s beautiful gown. He looked at her the whole time he was singing and she felt her face growing hot. When she tried to look away, he stepped round her so that he was in front of her again and took her hand so that she had no choice but to look at him or appear rude. Dorothea was next and sang to her own accompaniment, then the Countess played for the Earl to sing and they rounded the entertainment off by all singing a round song together.

‘Now, what about a hand or two of whist?’ Lady Gorridge said.

‘Mama, there are nine of us,’ Edward said. ‘I beg you excuse me. I have something I want to do.’

‘Me, too,’ said Victor, standing up to follow his cousin.

‘Edward, that is very uncivil of you,’ his mother complained. ‘And if Victor goes, too, we shall be seven.’

‘Can’t be helped, Mama. Find a game that does not require fours.’ He turned to Lucy. ‘If you wish, I will give you a tour of the house and grounds tomorrow after breakfast.’ And with that he took his leave and Victor scuttled after him.

‘Oh, he is too trying,’ his mother complained.

‘I prefer a game of billiards,’ Lord Gorridge put in. ‘How about it, Luffenham? I’ve a good table.’

The Earl jumped at the suggestion, leaving the five ladies to amuse themselves.

Myles and his two companions, having surveyed the proposed line from Leicester back to Gorryham village, arrived there late that evening. Waterson elected to go back to his lodgings, but Myles and Joe Masters decided to spend the night at the Golden Lion before continuing the work next day. They would need to take their calculations and findings back to the office and work on them, but they could see no great difficulty, except the short stretch to avoid the village. They were discussing whether a cutting or a tunnel would best serve when Edward and Victor burst in, talking and laughing.

‘Landlord, your best ale,’ Edward called out. ‘Dining at home and being polite to my mother’s guests is thirsty work.’

He leaned against the bar and looked round the company, which had fallen silent at their entrance. Most were villagers: tenant farmers, agricultural labourers, the blacksmith, the harness maker and the cobbler, all known to him, all in some measure dependent on the Viscount for a living. They touched their caps or forelocks to him, but none looked particularly pleased to see him. Then he caught sight of Myles and his friend. ‘Whom have we here?’ he asked. ‘Not the usual peasantry by the look of it.’ He picked up the quart pot the landlord had filled and put at his elbow and wandered over to them. ‘What business brings you here?’

‘Who’s asking?’ Myles demanded, deciding he didn’t like the man. He had seen the look of exasperation on the landlord’s face when he had taken his drink and made no effort to pay for it.

‘I am. You are not the usual sort of labourers, but certainly not gentlemen, so I guess you’re railwaymen. Am I right?’

‘You are.’

‘Ah, then you must be the advance guard of the Peterborough and Leicester.’

‘You could say that.’

‘There are some—’ and he waved the pot at the company ‘—who will not welcome you in their midst. Heathen rabble, some say, not fit to mix with civilised folk. And overpaid into the bargain.’

‘If you mean the navvies, sir, they are as hard a working set of men as you’ll find anywhere and earn their wages.’

‘You being one, I suppose.’

‘He’s—’ Joe began, but stopped when Myles laid a hand on his arm.

‘Aye, and proud of it.’

‘Is that so? What have you got to be so proud of? That you can outswear, outdrink and outwench any ordinary man?’

Myles laughed. ‘If you like. We can also outwork him. How many men do you know who can lift twenty tons of muck a day from the ground into a wagon, with nothing but a shovel?’

‘None, and I’ll wager you can’t, either.’

‘Oh, but I can.’

‘Would you care to prove it?’ He ignored Victor, who was pulling on his sleeve to persuade him away from the confrontation. ‘Twenty guineas says you can’t.’

‘Very well, twenty guineas, but you’ll have to wait until we start building this line. I’m not disrupting work or any other works in order to satisfy you.’

The men in the room, who had been listening to the conversation with undisguised curiosity, began to laugh. ‘Oh, there’s a put-off if you like,’ one said. ‘He’ll be long gone afore he’s put to the test. I don’ reckon he’ve got twenty guineas.’

For answer, Myles fetched a purse from his pocket and counted out twenty guineas. ‘There’s the stake and the landlord can hold it.’

He handed it over to the landlord, who looked to Edward for his stake, but he just laughed. ‘Why would I carry cash about me? I have no need of it. You’ll have to accept my word as a man of honour.’

It was a statement that made Myles laugh. ‘As you have declined to give me your name, how am I to know that?’

‘Edward Gorridge, at your service.’

‘The Viscount’s heir, I presume.’

‘You presume correctly.’

‘Very well, when the line reaches this village, you will find me among the men, doing my share of the work.’

‘Myles…’ Joe protested, but Myles took no notice of him. He held out his hand to Edward who, after a moment’s hesitation, took it.

‘Landlord,’ Edward called. ‘Let’s have a drink to seal the bargain.’

Drinks were brought and Edward and Victor sat down with Myles and Joe. Myles could see that Gorridge was already a little tipsy and wondered if he would remember the wager by the morning. Or perhaps he did not consider a bet with a navvy one that needed honouring. It did not bother him one way or another; he could make good his boast. His father might not be too pleased when he heard of it, but he was tired of having to defend the navvies’ reputation and it might help when it came to recruiting men for the works.

Edward, who had imbibed freely at dinner that evening, was not in a mood to be discreet. ‘Had to get out of the house,’ he said, by way of a confidence. ‘It’s full of women, chattering about clothes and balls and picnics. Want me to marry, you know.’

Myles smiled. ‘And you are not keen on the idea?’

‘Don’t see why I should when it’s just as easy to have my cake and eat it.’ He laughed and quaffed ale. ‘You married?’

‘No.’

‘It isn’t as if she has a decent dowry, though I don’t need money. No one in these parts would dare refuse me whatever I ask for. I bet I could take that whole barrel of beer off mine host and he would not ask for payment.’ He pointed to a giant barrel on its stand beside the bar.

‘Why would you want to do that?’

‘Because I can.’

‘What would you do with it when you got it? Could you carry it off?’

‘’Course not. I’d send someone to fetch it.’

Myles was aware of the look of consternation on the landlord’s face. ‘Supposing mine host refused to hand it over?’

‘He would not dare. The place belongs to the estate and he can easily be sent off with a flea in his ear.’

‘A bit hard on him, don’t you think? And it seems a waste of time to me to send someone to fetch it when you could have the pleasure of drinking it tonight.’ Myles was beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Pick it up and carry it out. If you can, I’ll undertake to pay for it.’

‘You’ll pay for the whole barrel?’

‘Yes—unlike you, I do believe in money transactions.’

‘What happens if he fails?’ Victor asked.

Myles shrugged. ‘A gentleman would offer to pay…’ He left the rest of his sentence unsaid.

‘Being a gentleman, I never welsh on a debt of honour,’ Edward said with heavy emphasis.

Myles ignored that and went to the bar counter to speak quietly to the publican, watched by everyone in the room. This was the best entertainment they had had in years and they longed for the Viscount’s pup to be taught a lesson. No one could lift that barrel single-handed, not even the giant navvy. Myles returned. ‘You can have it if you take it now.’

‘Right, lads, give us a hand,’ Edward said, addressing a group of labourers. ‘Bendish, go and hitch up your cart, we’ll put it on that.’

‘No, that’s not the deal,’ Myles said. ‘You have to carry it out of the door single-handed.’

‘Don’t be daft, man, it’s not possible.’

‘Pity. I was looking forward to sharing it with you.’

‘You can and welcome, if you help me get it out to Bendish’s cart.’

‘So, you will not take my challenge and yet you expect me to take yours.’

‘If you’re so clever, let’s see you carry it.’

Myles laughed and took off his jacket. ‘Hold this for me, Joe.’

He walked over to the barrel, flexed his muscles and, bending his knees, heaved it on to his shoulder. A gasp went round the crowd. It was three-quarters full and for a moment he wondered if he had taken on more than he could chew, but he stood for a moment to get the balance right and then walked out of the door, which was hurriedly opened for him by the nearest bystander. He set off up the street, the barrel on his shoulder, followed by everyone in the bar, including the publican. It was incredibly heavy and his knees began to feel wobbly, but just to prove a point, he broke into a trot. Everyone cheered. After a hundred yards he felt he had done enough and carefully set the barrel down on a low wall.

Joe joined him. ‘You’re mad,’ he said, as everyone rushed up, laughing and cheering.

‘Yes, but I might have made a few friends and that will stand me in good stead when the works reach here,’ he murmured, for Joe’s ears only.

‘Is that why you did it, to make friends?’

‘Not altogether.’ He had taken a dislike to Edward Gorridge for his arrogance. ‘Well, lads,’ he said to the men as Edward came puffing up, trailing in everyone’s wake. ‘I think we should take this back where it belongs and drink to the health of the navvies, don’t you?’

This was greeted by a resounding cheer and the barrel was rolled down the hill back to the inn and manhandled back on its stand.

Two hours later, the men, in various stages of inebriation, returned to their homes, until only Myles, Joe, Edward and Victor were left. Victor had tried his best to persuade Edward to leave but he would not go. The whole barrel had been bought and, as it still had some ale left in it, he was of a mind to try to drink the navvy under the table. Joe decided to go up to bed and advised Myles to do likewise.

‘I can’t leave him like that,’ Myles said, pointing at the comatose Gorridge. ‘How did he get here?’

‘In his gig,’ the publican said. ‘It’s in the backyard.’

‘He’s in no fit state to drive it.’ Myles had taken a few more than he was wont to do, but he was still reasonably in control of his faculties.

‘No, and neither is his friend.’

‘Nothing for it, I’ll have to see he gets safely home.’

‘Why?’ Joe demanded. ‘It’s not your fault he can’t hold his ale.’

‘Nevertheless, I feel responsible. You go to bed.’ He bent down and threw the drunken man over his shoulder and marched out with him, followed by Victor, who was just able to stand, though he rolled all over the place when he tried to walk and giggled like a girl.

One of the inn’s servants lead the gig out of the yard and Myles deposited Edward on the seat, helped Victor in and squeezed in beside them. Both men began to sing a bawdy song as they trotted down the street and took the turn on to the lane leading to Linwood Park.

Lady Gorridge was leading the ladies out of the drawing room towards the stairs, when they heard the sound of a carriage arriving and loud singing. They looked at each other in surprise that anyone should arrive so late at night, and Lady Gorridge looked embarrassed. They had not reached the foot of the stairs when whoever was on the outside beat a loud tattoo with the door knocker. The duty footman opened the door and a man marched in with the Gorridge heir slung over his shoulder like a sack of coal.

‘Where shall I put him?’ he demanded of the footman, and then, catching sight of five ladies standing in the hall with expressions of horror on their faces, checked himself. ‘I beg your pardon, ladies. The gentleman is a little under the weather. I think the other one can make it under his own steam.’ As he spoke Victor staggered into the hall.

‘So I see.’ Lady Gorridge moved forward, her face a mask of barely controlled fury. ‘Follow me.’ And to the ladies, ‘Please excuse me. If you need anything, I am sure Dorothea will be able to help you.’ She started up the stairs with Myles and his burden behind her. Victor, looking sheepish, bowed to the ladies and almost fell over in the process and then followed the little cavalcade, leaving the rest of the ladies looking from one to the other.

‘I think I had better inform Papa,’ Dorothea said and disappeared in the direction of the billiard room.

‘I think, girls, we had better go to our rooms,’ their mother suggested. ‘And tomorrow we will behave as if nothing has happened and not mention it. It is only youthful high spirits, but Lady Gorridge was clearly embarrassed and the sooner it is forgotten the better.’

‘I wonder who that man is,’ Rosemary murmured. ‘He did not look like the sort of person Mr Gorridge would associate with.’

Lucy did not answer, but she had recognised the navvy and, though she had tried to hide behind her mother, she was quite sure he had recognised her. It was only a glance, an exchange of messages. From him a kind of ‘Well, well, so we meet again,’ which was accompanied by a slight twitching of his lips that looked as if he might break into a broad smile if she gave the slightest encouragement. Her message was simple: ‘Do not, I beg you, betray the fact that we have met before.’ He must have understood, for he had quickly turned away and followed Lady Gorridge.

‘No, but it is nothing to do with us and we must forget all about it,’ the Countess said, preceding her daughters up the stairs to their rooms. She kissed them both goodnight outside her own room and disappeared inside. Rosemary and Lucy moved on and were standing outside Rosemary’s door saying goodnight, when Myles came out of Edward’s room and made for the head of the stairs. To do so, he had to pass the girls.

‘Good evening, ladies,’ he said, maintaining his navvy persona. ‘Fine evening, don’t you think?’

‘You may think so,’ Lucy said. She was unaccountably angry with him, as if he had somehow affronted her. That Mr Gorridge was drunk was clear and it was his fault. She had never seen Mr Gorridge even slightly inebriated the whole time they were in London and attending balls and parties, so he must have been plied with drink by the navvy. Everyone knew they were hardened drinkers and hardly ever sober. She ignored the fact that the man had been perfectly sober and polite when she had met him before and did not appear to be more than a little tipsy even now. And how had the two men met? She wished they had not, though she could not have said why she wished it, unless it was her own strange, mixed-up emotions that wanted them kept apart. She did not want to find herself comparing them, mentally listing the faults of each against their virtues. It was a futile exercise, anyway.

Myles compounded his unpopularity by smiling broadly. ‘It is indeed a fine evening when a man is privileged to meet two such charming young ladies.’

Rosemary giggled and Lucy pushed her into her room, hoping he had not noticed, but she knew he had. ‘Goodnight, sir,’ she said and turned on her heel to leave him.

He reached out and caught her arm, making her turn back to him. ‘I am sorry,’ he said contritely. ‘I had no idea you were here and I would not have subjected you or any of the other ladies to the spectacle we must have presented when we came in.’

She looked down at his hand on her arm. It was a large hand, brown and tough from the work he did, but surprisingly neatly manicured. It was not gripping her tightly; in fact, there was a gentleness about him that decried his size. She knew she should stand on her dignity, and demand to be unhanded, but found herself tongue-tied. He was so close to her, close enough for his legs to be brushing against her skirt. And for a second, discomforting time, she found herself wondering what it would be like to be held in his arms. Unable to look at him, she turned away and he released her.

‘Goodnight, sir,’ she said and disappeared into her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

He went downstairs and met Viscount Gorridge and the Earl of Luffenham in the hall, apparently on their way to find out what was happening. ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ he said cheerfully, as the footman opened the front door for him.

‘Who are you?’ Lord Gorridge demanded.

‘Myles Moorcroft, my lord. Your wife will explain my business here. You will find her with your son.’ And before he could be detained further, he hurried from the house.

He wished he had never become involved with Gorridge. He certainly would not have done so if he had known the Earl of Luffenham’s daughter was staying at Linwood Park…. She had been disgusted with him and who could blame her? Carefully nurtured, she could know nothing of drunkenness and the japes working men got up to to amuse themselves. And he had made matters worse by maintaining his pretence of being a navvy and teasing her. His apology had been too little and too late. And how to redeem himself he did not know.

But, oh, the pleasure of besting that young pup was not to be denied. The villagers would have sore heads in the morning, but he did not doubt they had enjoyed their evening and, when the navvies came to work in the vicinity, they would remember it with pleasure and there would be no trouble between the two communities, as there so often was when the railway builders arrived in a district. That would not be for some time because the survey had yet to be completed and approved, the legal side to be concluded with any landowners along the way, sub-contractors employed to do the work and a labour force assembled. When all that was done, he would make a point of inspecting the work at regular intervals and then he might meet the young lady again.

Seeing her tonight, he realised she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her hair was as lustrous, her eyes as lively, her figure as perfect and that green dress, simple as it was, had been just right, setting off creamy shoulders and a long neck. She had been angry, though. He smiled as he let himself in through the back door of the Golden Lion; he would meet her again, he was convinced of it, and perhaps in more favourable circumstances. And he would do his best to win her round. It was a question of pride, though. If anyone had suggested he was falling in love, he would have hotly denied it.