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‘One of them is your Uncle Cecil,’ Charlotte told them. ‘The other two are his guests.’
‘The new Lord Hobart?’ queried Lizzie.
‘Yes.’
‘I knew I should not like him,’ Fanny put in. ‘And I do not. I wish they would all go away again.’
‘I am afraid that is unlikely,’ Charlotte said. ‘We must get along with your uncle as best we may. You never know, he might turn out quite charming.’ She did not believe what she was saying, but she must not allow her prejudices to influence them. ‘He has asked that you join us for pudding this evening, so I want you on your best behaviour. And, Fanny, please, please do not let your dislike show and speak only when you are spoken to.’
‘My lady,’ Miss Quinn gasped, ‘surely that is hardly appropriate. Those men…’
‘I know, Quinny, I know, but I shall be there, and I shall not allow the girls to stay more than a few minutes. Bring them when I send for them and stay close at hand to take them back.’
‘I don’t know what the world is coming to, that I don’t,’ Miss Quinn went on. ‘I’m with Fanny, I do not like those men. Lord Hobart is bad enough, but those two fops…They fill me with dread. I saw them poking in all the rooms, laughing and commenting on everything, saying there were some mighty fine pieces. I heard the thin one say, “We’ve fallen on our feet here, Gus, no doubt of it.” And then they both laughed. Horrible sound it was too, like hens cackling. How long are they proposing to stay?’
‘I don’t know,’ Charlotte answered with a sigh. She was too distressed to scold the governess for speaking her mind.
‘If it weren’t for my darlings needing me, I’d be gone this very night—’ She stopped suddenly when she realised Lizzie was looking at her in great distress and Fanny had begun to sob. ‘Oh, my little loves,’ she said, gathering them into her arms. ‘Quinny didn’t mean that. She would never leave you, never, never.’
Dinner was a nightmare. Charlotte tried to keep up a normal polite conversation, but it was impossible. Everything she said, they seemed to twist, and they asked such impertinent questions that she refused to answer, which made Cecil laugh, though his laughter was hollow. How long had the Hobarts occupied Easterley Manor, they wanted to know, and did she know the value of everything in it? And when she said she did not know and it was the province of his lordship’s man of business to provide him with an inventory, they had laughed loud and long. ‘I expect him tomorrow,’ Cecil said. ‘Then we shall see.’
Worse was to come when he insisted she send for her daughters. ‘I wish to make their acquaintance,’ he said. ‘After all, they are part of the job lot, aren’t they? Kith and kin I must include in my reckoning.’
‘You are mistaken there, my lord,’ she said, reluctantly nodding to Foster to fetch Miss Quinn and the girls. ‘They are my responsibility.’
‘But only this morning you were reminding me of my duty towards them.’
‘I did not mean you should tot them up on your inventory.’
‘You mean I am not to be responsible for their keep? How glad I am of that. Food, clothes, wages for that Miss…What’s her name?’
‘Miss Quinn.’
‘Miss Quinn. From now on you pay her yourself.’
Charlotte did not protest. She would not throw herself on his mercy, though how she was going to manage she did not know. She looked up as the door opened and Miss Quinn ushered her charges into the room. They looked very fetching in white muslin dresses, with deep satin sashes and their hair brushed until it gleamed and tied back with matching ribbons. Lizzie’s was blue and Fanny’s pink. Quinn gave them a little poke in the back and they both executed a neat curtsy.
‘Very pretty,’ Augustus chortled, surveying them through his quizzing glass. ‘What say you, Roly, ain’t they pretty?’
‘Yes, remarkably handsome. Cecil, old man, I think you should be more generous with your dead brother’s children. Put them on the inventory.’
Cecil pretended to laugh. ‘Come, girls, come to me and let me see you properly. Don’t be afraid. No one will hurt you. I am your Uncle Cecil, home from abroad to take care of you.’
They approached the table to join their mother, reluctant to go to him. ‘They are shy,’ Charlotte said. ‘Not used to strangers.’
‘I am not a stranger!’ he shouted, banging his fist on the table, making the crockery rattle. ‘I am Lord of the Manor, Squire of Parson’s End. Home from abroad. Home, do you hear me?’
‘My lord, please do not shout. You are frightening them.’
His voice softened, but was no less menacing. ‘Then remember not to behave as if I were an uninvited guest you cannot wait to get rid of. It is you who are the guests, you and your daughters, and that one…’ He nodded towards Miss Quinn hovering in the doorway. To the children he said, ‘Would you like to sit with us and have some apple pie?’
Both girls, too frightened to speak, shook their heads. He beckoned to Miss Quinn. ‘Take them away, they are not as amusing as I thought they might be.’
Quinn disappeared with her charges and a few moments later Charlotte made her excuses and left the men to their port and cigars and went up to her room to sit in a chair by the window, gazing out with unseeing eyes. Her head was reeling. How could she endure living under the same roof as her brother-in-law, she asked herself, supposing he did not decide to throw her out? Even so soon after meeting him, she knew him to be self-serving and pitiless. And she did not like the manner of his two companions who ogled her, almost undressing her with their eyes. And the way they had looked at Lizzie and Fanny made her shudder with apprehension. She would have to watch them and, if they stayed beyond a week or two, she would have to think of moving out—not only moving out, but finding an occupation.
It was at such a time she missed not having a husband. She had loved Grenville dearly and mourned him for a long time and because she lived comfortably under his father’s roof, loved and cared for, she had never given a thought to marrying again. ‘I am content as I am,’ she had told Quinny. But now, now where was contentment? Where was security? Where, oh, where was love? Why did she suddenly feel so bereft, so lonely and not a little frightened? That was silly, she told herself, she feared no one. But how long dare she remain under her brother-in-law’s roof while she found a way of earning a living that would have to include a roof over her head, not only for herself but her children?
Something must be done and done quickly. She sat at her little escritoire and took from it a small velvet bag. It contained a few guineas—not enough to keep the four of them for more than a day or two, for she must include Miss Quinn, certainly not enough to pay coach fares and at least two nights’ accommodation for them to go to her great-uncle. She could write and ask him to send the fare, but her stubborn pride would not let her do it. He might refuse to have anything to do with her and that would be too humiliating to be borne.
Besides, she had made her home here, at Parson’s End. She had grown to love the area, the cliffs, and the sea in all its moods, calm as a pond one day, raging and pounding over the shore almost to the base of the cliffs the next. She loved the pine woods carpeted with needles that crunched under your feet as you walked, and she liked the people, farming people and fishing folk, hardworking, dour and courageous. And as for their children, they were what made her life worthwhile, watching them grow, being able to help them to better themselves with a little education. It was an ongoing, self-imposed task and she did not want it to end, which it surely must if she did not have the means to continue it.
She remembered the stranger on the cliff with a wry smile. He had taken her for a schoolteacher and she remembered thinking that was what it might come to. A school was the answer, one that took boarders, young ladies from wealthy homes whose parents were prepared to pay to have their daughters educated and given some polish before being brought out. If she did that, the village children could still have their school. The wealthy could subsidise the poor. But did she have the right qualifications to attract the wealthy? She would need teachers beside herself and premises and connections. She weighed the coins in her hand and laughed at her foolishness.
She went up to say goodnight to the girls and quietly told Miss Quinn to make sure their doors were locked, though the poor lady did not need to be told; she was already in fear of her life. ‘Tomorrow we will make plans,’ Charlotte told her before returning to her own room and making sure that that door was locked.
She could hear the three men downstairs, laughing drunkenly. They had called for wine and a new pack of cards which was evidence enough that Cecil had not changed his gambling ways. She did not sleep until long after she heard them stumbling up to bed in the early hours and the house had gone quiet.
The next morning, she and the children slipped out of the side door to go to the village. She noticed a carriage arriving at the front as she passed the corner of the house, but, guessing it was John Hardacre, the family lawyer, she decided not to stay to receive him. Foster would alert the still-slumbering Cecil that he had arrived.
They crossed the stable yard to a path that led into the kitchen garden and from there through a side gate of the estate wall on to the road into the village. The damp hedgerows dripped onto the newly thrusting primroses at their base and the burgeoning trees in the meadows on either side moved softly in the breeze and sheltered the new lambs. It should have been a joyful time, this time of new life, but for once it did not raise her spirits. She had too much on her mind.
‘My lady,’ the Reverend greeted her. ‘I did not expect you so early, you do not usually come until after noon.’
‘No, but I need to speak to you, Reverend.’
‘Then come into the church, I was on my way there.’
She sent the children to the classroom and followed him into the church. ‘Reverend, I hardly know how to begin,’ she said, after they had genuflected to the altar and seated themselves in one of the pews. There was a chill in there that matched the chill in her heart. ‘My life has taken a dramatic turn…’
‘I had heard the new Lord Hobart had arrived.’
‘My goodness, news travels fast. Yes, he came yesterday morning and he is not prepared to go on as his father did and that means—’
‘You will no longer be able to teach, is that it? We shall all be very sorry.’
‘No, Reverend, it means that I must teach. And I must be paid for doing it.’
‘You know the village children cannot pay.’
‘Yes, I know that. But I must find pupils that can. And premises. The village children could be included later, when everything is up and running—’ She stopped, daunted by the task ahead of her.
‘I see.’
She knew he did see and was glad that she did not have to explain. ‘What I need to ask you is whether you know where I might find a house…?’
‘For a school?’
‘Yes, but also living quarters for me and my children and their governess.’
‘You surely have not been asked to leave Easterley Manor?’
‘No, but I do not wish to stay. Lord Hobart is a bachelor. It would not be fitting.’
‘No, I see it would not. But what about the uncle you spoke of? Would he not give you a home?’
‘I do not know. I have never even met him and how do I know I won’t be jumping from the frying pan into the fire? Besides, I love living at Parson’s End, my children were born here and they love it too. I do not want to leave the area.’
‘Then, my lady, you really do have a dilemma.’ He smiled suddenly and patted her hand. ‘You are welcome to stay at the Rectory until you have found somewhere. I am sure Mrs Fuller will raise no objections. But as for premises, we will have to put our thinking caps on because I do not want to lose you from the district and I am sure I am not alone in that sentiment.’
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
He rose and she knelt for his blessing. As they left the church she could hear the children arriving for their afternoon lessons. ‘Will you take your class today?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, of course. The children expect it and I want everything as normal as possible for Lizzie and Fanny.’
‘Then while you are with your pupils, I shall go up to the hall and pay my respects to his lordship.’
Charlotte managed a smile as she passed him to go into the schoolroom, wondering, as she did so, what kind of reception he would get.
The children were noisily chasing each other round the room, but quietened when they saw her. ‘Back to your seats, children,’ she said. ‘And out with your slates. Lizzie, you can help Josh with his sums and Fanny can amuse the little ones. I will hear your reading one by one.’
The quiet industry of the classroom soothed her a little, but the worry at the back of her mind would not go away. She could not take advantage of the Rector’s generosity; it would not be fair to him and his elderly wife. And though she had no qualms about being able to run a school, the problem was financing it and finding pupils. She would have to try and borrow the money against future income. If Mr Hardacre was still at the hall when she returned, she would try to see him privately and broach the matter with him. Not for the first time she wondered how he was faring with Lord Hobart.
‘Miss.’ She felt someone tug at her skirts and looked down to see Danny White looking up at her, anxiety writ large on his face. ‘Meg wants to go home. She’s got the bellyache.’
She looked at the lad’s tiny sister, only a toddler, certainly not old enough for school, but if she had not been allowed to come neither would Danny and he was a bright child and deserved whatever education she could give him. Soon he would be able to join the select few who took more advanced lessons from the Rector himself. Meg was holding her stomach and crying. Charlotte scooped her up in her arms to comfort her. Her forehead was hot and she was obviously in some pain. What should she do? She could not let the child go home alone, not even if she sent Danny with her, and she was reluctant to leave her class when the Reverend was absent.
There was nothing for it but to take them all. ‘Enough of lessons,’ she said, suddenly making up her mind. ‘We’ll all take Meg home, shall we?’
The idea was greeted with enthusiasm and, having left a message with the Reverend Fuller’s wife, they set off, headed by Charlotte carrying Meg, Danny beside her and Lizzie and Fanny following with the others in a double file.
The strange crocodile was greeted by smiles from the village women they met, all of whom knew the good work Charlotte did, not only for the children, but the old and infirm. She brought food and clothes, but, more than that, she brought hope. ‘Mornin’, me lady,’ they called. Charlotte returned their greeting and went on her way, with the children singing ‘One man went to mow’ behind her.
The children waited outside while she took Meg into Dr Cartwright’s to ask him to check on her, fully accepting that the account for his services would be remitted to her, for the poor child’s parents could not pay. He felt all over her stomach. ‘What have you been eating?’ he asked her.
‘Nuffin’.’
‘Yes, you have. You’ve been stuffing yourself with something bad, haven’t you?’
‘It were beans,’ Danny put in. Charlotte had not realised he had followed them in. ‘I told her she shouldn’t have.’
‘Beans, what beans?’
‘In the bag in Farmer Brown’s barn.’
‘Seeds,’ the doctor said. ‘Not meant to be eaten. They are for setting in the ground. You’re old enough to know that, Danny, aren’t you?’
‘Course I am. Weren’t my fault. She’d downed a handful afore I saw what her were adoin’.’
‘I thought you were supposed to be looking out for her?’ the doctor demanded waspishly.
Danny looked as though he were about to burst into tears.
‘Don’t blame him, Doctor,’ Charlotte said. ‘You can’t watch children every minute of the day and he’s only a babe himself. Tell me, how serious is it?’
‘Not serious. I’ll give her a dose to help it on its way. She’ll be as right as rain tomorrow.’
Relieved, Charlotte watched while he held the child’s nose and forced a spoonful of foul-tasting medicine down her throat, then they rejoined the other children and were soon at the door of the cottage where Danny and Meg lived. It was no more than a hovel; the pigs up at the hall lived in better conditions, and they even smelled sweeter, but Charlotte pretended not to notice as she explained to Mrs White why she had brought her children home.
‘I’m sorry you’ve been troubled,’ the woman said, taking the child from Charlotte’s arms. Then, to Danny, ‘See what you’ve done, you great lump. That’s what all that book learnin’ does for ye, makes ye forget what ye’re supposed to be adoin’. Yar pa will dust yar breeks when he come home.’
Charlotte was forced to be mediator; she didn’t want Danny forbidden to come to lessons again. Having soothed ruffled feelings, she returned to the remainder of her flock. It was then she saw the stranger again, standing outside the smithy, watching her with the same look of amusement that had so disconcerted her two days before.
Chapter Three (#u814ebcf5-caa2-506e-80da-0b63f368f620)
Stacey wandered over to where she stood and swept off his hat. ‘We meet again, ma’am.’
When the blacksmith had taken longer to see to his horse than expected, he had not minded, had even welcomed another night in the village, wondering if he might meet the schoolmistress again. Whiling away the time, he had found Easterley Manor, but had not ventured up the drive. His walk had taken him round the surrounding wall, and along the path to the cliff where he had seen her the day before, but the beach had been deserted except for a couple of men walking along the water’s edge. They were not fishermen, being wrapped in cloaks against the wind, but then he had forgotten them to return to the village to see if his horse was ready. And here she was, followed by her little urchins, chanting a song. He was reminded of a German fairy story about a piper who lured children from their parents because they reneged on the payment they promised him for ridding their town of its rats. It made him smile.
Charlotte, who had no idea why he was smiling, felt herself blush from the roots of her rich brown hair right down to her neck, aware of the children giggling behind her. ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ she said, drawing her cloak more closely about her, a defensive gesture that added to his amusement. ‘I am surprised to find you still in the neighbourhood. Parson’s End has little to offer visitors.’
‘On the contrary, I am finding my stay vastly rewarding.’ His eyes twinkled again as he took in the rosy flush and the smoky blue-green eyes. She was not a seventeen-year-old débutante, but a woman of mature years with a couple of daughters, but she seemed discomforted. ‘You are still giving outdoor lessons, I see.’
‘I had to bring one of the children home, she was not well, and I could not leave the others.’ She gave him a smile, just to prove she was in control of the situation. ‘They would have caused mayhem left to themselves.’
‘Ah, so they do find mischief. And here was I thinking you had them so well under control they would not dare misbehave whether you were present or not.’
‘Sir, you are bamming me. Again. And we have not been introduced.’
‘Oh, I see you did not mean it when you denigrated the manners of polite society. Introductions are important to you. You must not speak to a man to whom you have not been introduced. But if we had been made known to each other by a third party, then one presumes it would be acceptable to tease?’
‘Your own good manners should tell you the answer to that one.’
‘So I am to be given a lesson in manners, am I?’
‘If you think you need one.’ She was heartily sick of self-opinionated men who thought they could treat her with disdain. Cecil Hobart and his cronies had begun it, and now this man, this very superior man whose name she did not know, was doing the same. Perhaps he was one of them, perhaps that was why he was in the village, a forerunner of the congenial company that Mr Augustus Spike had asked Cecil to send for. ‘Now, if you will stand aside and let me pass, I will be on my way.’
‘Back to your school?’
‘Is that any of your business?’ She swept past him, ushering the children before her.
He stood a moment watching them, and then strode after them. ‘I am curious about it,’ he said, falling into step beside her. ‘At this moment there is nothing that interests me more than education.’
‘Then, Mr Whoever you are, I suggest you consult others better able to enlighten you.’
‘But I want you to.’
‘Just leave me alone,’ she hissed under her breath. The children were drinking in every word and none more so than Lizzie and Fanny. ‘I have nothing to say to you, or others like you. Good day, to you, sir. I suggest you leave Parson’s End and find your amusement in town, where there are those who might enjoy playing your game, for I do not.’
