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‘I should think not! Ladies, Lucinda, do not speak of passion. I believe you have been reading too many novels, or perhaps Miss Bannister has been filling your head with nonsense. If that is the case, then we shall have to reconsider her position.’ Lilian Bannister was governess to the family; though Lucy no longer needed her, she was still employed looking after Rosemary and Esme and young Johnny until he was old enough for a tutor.
‘Oh, Mama, of course she has not. I’ll swear Banny doesn’t know the meaning of the word.’
In spite of herself, the maid smiled. She was not supposed to hear the conversations of her betters, much less react to them, but she could not help it. A more stiffly correct figure than Miss Bannister would be hard to imagine, but as Bert, the footman she was secretly walking out with, was fond of saying, ‘Still waters run deep.’
‘Perhaps not, but I beg you not to let your papa hear you say such things. You must conduct yourself with decorum, or you will find Mr Gorridge looking elsewhere.’
Lucy would not have minded if he did, but decided it would be unwise to say so. ‘Is he looking at me for a future wife?’ she asked innocently. ‘If he is, he gave no sign of it.’
‘Perhaps he was waiting for a little encouragement.’
Lucy doubted it. They had been carefully chaperoned the whole time, but on one occasion, when she had been strolling in the garden to cool down after a particularly strenuous dance at one of the balls they had attended, he had come upon her and flirted outrageously, even taking her hand and bending to kiss her cheek. She was sure that given the encouragement her mother was talking about he would have behaved even more disgracefully. She was glad when other dancers came out to join them and he returned to being the polite, courteous man he had been hitherto. ‘I cannot dissemble, Mama, it is not in my nature. When I meet the man of my dreams, he will need no encouragement to know how I feel.’
‘Oh, I am losing all patience with you, child. When we go to Linwood Park next month, it is to be hoped you will have come to your senses and realised you cannot let such a chance slip through your fingers.’
‘I wonder if Mr Gorridge is being told the same thing,’ Lucy mused.
‘Very likely,’ her mother said.
There didn’t seem to be any answer to that and Lucy sat back and mused on what her mother had said. She did not think she was truly ready to commit herself to marriage and she was afraid of making a terrible mistake. It was all very well to talk of the man of her dreams, but who was he? How was she ever going to meet him? And what about Mr Gorridge? Why could she not oblige her mama and take to him? Was she doing him an injustice calling him a cold fish? Perhaps, in the surroundings of his own home, he might improve.
‘It’s been a long day—’ the Countess broke in on her thoughts ‘—and not over yet. I would much rather have travelled in the old way and stopped for a night somewhere. We could have stayed at a good hotel or put up with Cousin Arabella in Hertfordshire and arrived home feeling fresh. I am exhausted.’
‘You will be able to stay in bed until luncheon tomorrow if you want to.’
The Countess laughed. ‘I might very well do so, seeing that your father is not due back until tomorrow evening. I do not know why he could not have done his business days ago and returned with us.’
The Earl had escorted them to some of their social engagements, but much of the time was closeted with bankers and lawyers on business; as he did not consider it necessary or desirable to acquaint his wife with the nature of the business, she had no idea what it was all about.
They fell into silence as the heat of the day cooled and the shadows lengthened. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves and the rumble of the wheels were soporific and they were almost dozing when the carriage turned off the main road on to a lane that wound uphill. When they topped the rise, they could see down into the valley where Luffenham Hall nestled, shielded from the prevailing east wind by the hill down which they were descending and a small stand of trees.
Lucy roused herself to look out of the window as the carriage turned in at the wrought-iron gates. Ahead of her, at the end of a long drive, was the imposing fa?ade of the house, with its redbrick walls covered in generations of creeper. At each corner of the building was a white stone turret with glazed slits for windows. Lucy always supposed her father’s forebears had been undecided whether to build a warm country house or a castle. The result was an incongruous mix, which she was happy to call home.
Before the carriage came to a stop on the wide sweep of gravel at the front entrance, the door was flung open and a small figure in a nightshirt dashed down the steps to greet them. ‘He should be in bed,’ the Countess said, but she was smiling because Johnny had wrenched open the door before the coachman could do so and clambered inside to embrace his mother.
‘Oh, Mama, I’m so glad to see you. You’ve been gone ages and ages and I wanted you to see me riding Peggy. I jumped him over a fence and Collins said I’d make a huntsman yet.’ The little pony had optimistically been named Pegasus by Johnny, who was convinced he was a flyer, but the name had been shortened to Peggy.
‘I’ll see you ride tomorrow,’ his mother said, pushing him off her lap. ‘Do let us go indoors.’
They trooped into the house, the inside of which was an eclectic mix of old and new, some large airy rooms, but many smaller rooms that had, over the years, been designated for particular purposes, which in a more modern house would have been included in the overall plan. The hall itself was large and covered in black-and-white marble tiles. Here they were met by the butler and Miss Bannister, who had come looking for her charge. ‘I’m sorry, my lady, but he would come down.’
‘So I see, but take him to bed now.’ And in answer to her son’s wails of protests that he wanted to hear all about their trip to London, she said, ‘Tomorrow will be time enough for that, Johnny. I am very tired after my journey, so run along, there’s a good boy.’
He went reluctantly. Lucy could not help comparing the way he was treated by their mother with the way she and her sisters had been brought up. They would never have had the courage to defy Miss Bannister and come downstairs after they were supposed to be in bed and would certainly not have dared to argue with their parents about it. But it was understandable, she supposed. After having three daughters, her mother had given up hope of a son, and then Johnny had arrived, eight years after Esme, so was it any wonder he was the apple of his parents’ eye and they could not bring themselves to punish him when he was naughty?
Annette, the maid, followed the governess and the boy upstairs to take off her bonnet and make sure there was hot water for her mistress in her room and her nightclothes were put out in readiness. Sarah, the most senior of chambermaids, would have done what was necessary for Lady Lucinda.
‘Miss Rosemary and Miss Esme are in the small saloon,’ the butler told them. ‘They have waited supper for you.’
‘Oh, dear, and I thought I would have supper in my room and go straight to bed,’ her ladyship said, not to the butler, of course, but to Lucy, as they made their way past an anteroom that served as a cloakroom and, ignoring the doors that led to the large reception rooms, proceeded down a gallery lined with pictures to one of the smaller rooms towards the back of the building where they sat when they had no visitors. ‘I really do not think I have the energy for their chatter.’
‘Then go to bed, Mama. I am sure they will understand. I will tell them all they want to know.’
‘I think I will,’ she agreed, joining her other daughters.
Rosemary, at seventeen, was as tall as Lucy, but her hair was darker and piled up in loops and ringlets that had taken the maid who looked after her ages to produce. She was wearing a yellow-and-white striped dress with a cream lace bertha and tight sleeves ending in a fall of lace. Lucy, who was not so particular over her appearance, except when Annette was helping her to get ready for an important function at which she was expected to shine, had often thought that her sister was more in tune with what their mother expected of a daughter than she was. Lucy did not have the patience for elaborate hairstyles, preferring to tie her hair up and back and let the light-brown tresses fall in ringlets where they would. After her long journey, she yearned to brush it out.
Fourteen-year-old Esme’s hair was lighter and was worn very simply tied back with ribbon. She had not yet lost her puppy fat and had plump, rosy cheeks and blue eyes. Her dress was a pale cream colour with a wide green sash. She was sitting on a stool beside the window, but jumped up when her mother and sister entered.
The Countess stayed long enough to receive a dutiful peck on the cheek from each girl and a murmured, ‘We are glad to have you home, Mama,’ before leaving them.
As soon as she had gone the girls launched into quizzing their sister. ‘What was it like travelling by train? Did you meet the Queen? Did you see Prince Albert? Is he as serious as they say he is? Did you go to many balls? What did you wear? Did you have all the beaux falling at your feet? Did you get a proposal?’
‘Hold you horses, I can’t answer all your questions at once, you know. I’ll tell you all about it while we have supper.’
She hurried to her room, washed and changed into a light sprigged muslin and brushed out her hair. Feeling fresher, she rejoined her sisters in the smaller of the two dining rooms. Lucy was ravenous, having eaten only a light repast at the inn two hours before—and that had been the first food to pass her lips since they had set out from London before eight that morning. The meal was a cold collation and, once it was on the table, they were left to serve themselves.
‘Now come on, Lucy, don’t keep us in suspense,’ Rosemary chided her as she filled her plate. ‘We want to know everything, don’t we, Esme?’
Lucy indulged them with a description of her first ride in a train, which had had her heart in her mouth until she became used to the speed, of tales of the balls she had attended, the picnics she had enjoyed, the rides in Hyde Park, the people she had met.
‘Did you really meet the Queen?’ Rosemary asked.
‘I was presented in a long line, if you can call that meeting her. She’s very tiny and quite pretty, but I could see she was determined to stand on her dignity. I imagine Prince Albert has his hands full, though she seems besotted by him. It’s funny, isn’t it? Mama was only telling me today that one could not expect to fall in love with the man one marries until after the wedding. It seems to have happened to Her Majesty.’
‘What about you?’ This from Esme. ‘Did you fall in love?’
‘No.’
‘Why not? Did no one express undying love for you?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, how disappointing.’
‘Not at all. There’s plenty of time. I did meet one young man Mama and Papa seem quite keen on.’
‘But are you?’
‘I don’t know what to think. He’s pleasant enough, I suppose.’
‘Pleasant? Is that all? Who is he?’
‘Mr Edward Gorridge, heir to Viscount Gorridge.’
‘Of Linwood Park!’ Rosemary exclaimed. ‘Oh, Lucy, that’s a palace. Just think about being mistress of all that. Did he propose?’
‘No, he did not. It’s much too soon. We have to get to know each other better, so Mama says.’
‘How are you going to do that?’ Esme asked. ‘Is he coming here?’
‘No, Mama and Papa are taking me to Linwood Park at the invitation of the Viscount. We are going to visit for a few days next month.’
‘Oh, how I envy you.’
Lucy smiled at her younger sister. At fourteen she was not yet out of the schoolroom. ‘Your turn will come.’
‘Not before I’ve had mine,’ Rosemary said. ‘And you can be sure I shall not turn my nose up at someone like Mr Gorridge, simply because he is merely pleasant. Pleasant will do for me if a place like Linwood Park comes with it.’
‘Rosie, how can you say that?’ Esme said. ‘That would be asking to be miserable. Wealth is no guarantee of happiness.’
Rosemary laughed. ‘No, but I could be miserable in comfort. Love is all very well, but it cannot survive in a garret. I certainly should not like it.’
‘It’s a good thing we are not all alike, Rosie,’ Lucy said. ‘Or no poor man would ever marry.’
‘Like marries like,’ Rosemary said flatly. ‘It’s the way it is. A lady cannot marry a labourer, any more than a princess would marry a pauper.’
‘Well, I am determined not to wait until after I’m married to fall in love with my husband,’ Esme put in. ‘Supposing you married someone and then met someone else and fell in love with him, it would be too late, wouldn’t it? I would rather not risk it.’
It was a sentiment with which Lucy concurred. She would give herself a chance to fall in love with Mr Gorridge and she hoped it would happen because, if she refused him, she did not know what her parents would say or do. Did the labouring classes have these problems? she wondered. Did their parents dangle prospective partners in front of them and expect them to marry on the slightest acquaintance? What incentive would there be to do that? They were not encumbered by titles and wealth and the need to marry well. Sometimes she regretted her father’s rank and the need for her to conform. On the other hand, Rosie was right; she would not like living in a garret at all. If garrets were anything like the servants’ rooms on the top floor of Luffenham Hall, they were too small to swing the proverbial cat and where would she keep all her clothes? There wasn’t much chance of that happening, considering she was unlikely to meet a labourer socially. How else did couples meet and fall in love? She resolved to try very hard to love Mr Gorridge and the best way to do that was to concentrate on his good points and ignore those she found less attractive.
As soon as they had finished their meal she told her sisters she was tired after her journey and, dropping a kiss on the cheek of each, went up to bed.
She woke early next morning to the sound of birdsong and, without waiting for the chambermaid, hurried out of bed to draw the curtains. The window looked out on the stable yard; beyond that was a paddock and on the other side of that the park that made up the grounds of the Hall. The village of Luffenham could not be seen from the house because of the screening of trees, but the top of the steeple was visible against a clear blue sky. It was going to be another scorching day. She washed in the cold water left on the wash stand, scrambled into her habit, tied back her hair with a ribbon and pulled on her riding boots. Grabbing her hat, she hurried downstairs to the kitchen.
‘My, you’re about early, Miss Lucy,’ Cook said. ‘I’ve only just started preparing breakfast.’
‘A glass of milk and a piece of toast will do, Mrs Lavender. I’ll have it here, like I used to when I was little. I want to have a ride before it gets too hot.’
‘Miss Lucinda, you are not little any longer. You are a young lady who is well and truly out, and I am not sure your mama would approve of you eating in the kitchen.’
‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy, Mrs L. Besides, Mama is still fast asleep in bed.’ It was said with an engaging smile. ‘If I wait to have breakfast in the dining room, the morning will be half gone.’ And with that she put her hat on the table and sat down, knowing she would have her way. The cook sighed and poured her a glass of creamy milk, just delivered from the cowshed, and pushed a toasting fork into a slice of bread. ‘I’ll do it,’ Lucy said, taking it from her. ‘You get on with whatever you were doing.’ She sat on the fender in front of the range and opened its door to toast the bread.
‘You’ll spoil your complexion sitting so close to the fire,’ Cook said. Her own cheeks were rosy from working in constant heat. ‘Hold something in front of your face.’
Lucy laughed and ignored her. ‘What has been going on while I’ve been away? Has Sally-Ann’s young man proposed yet?’ Sally-Ann was one of the maids who was walking out with a groom. ‘Has your sister had her baby? Have they started haymaking on Home Farm?’
The cook laughed. ‘You don’t change, Miss Lucy. Still as full of questions as ever.’
‘How can I learn if I don’t question?’
‘And that’s another one. In answer to your first, yes, Andrew has proposed, but they’ve decided to wait a year before naming the day, and you are burning that toast.’
Lucy hastily pulled it off the fork and turned it over before holding it to the fire again. ‘And the rest?’
‘My sister has had a boy, but it was touch and go. It was a difficult birth and she lost a great deal of blood and the infant was weak—’ She stopped suddenly, remembering her audience was an unmarried and carefully nurtured young lady. ‘But I should not be telling you such things. Suffice to say he is beginning to put on a little weight now and is to be called Luke after his father. And I forget your last question.’
‘Have they started the haymaking?’
‘I heard they were going to make a start today. Why do you want to know that?’
‘I like to watch the men at work.’
‘Miss Lucy!’ The cook was shocked, knowing, as Lucy did, that the men worked in shirtsleeves, many of them with their sleeves rolled up, displaying muscular arms and, in the absence of collars and ties, a certain amount of neck and chest.
Lucy, laughing, removed the toasted bread from the fork and returned to the table to spread it thickly with butter. ‘There’s no harm in seeing how the work is done. I admire the skill of the men, all working in unison. It must be back-breaking, but they are all so cheerful.’
‘So they would be, considering the wet winter we had and everything so late. They are glad to be working again. Are you sure you won’t have any more to eat? That’s hardly enough to keep you going all morning.’
‘It is quite enough, Cook. For the last two months I’ve had nothing but seven-course meals, tea parties and complicated picnics. I have had my fill of food.’
‘You enjoyed yourself, then?’
‘Oh, yes, it was wonderful, but I’m glad to be home.’ She finished the milk. ‘Now I’m off to have Midge saddled.’ With that she picked up her hat and danced out of the kitchen door, munching the last of the toast as she went.
The outside staff were all busy. Some were working in the garden, others grooming the horses that had brought her and her mother home. Some were cleaning out the carriage; others were saddling up some of the riding horses to exercise them. The horse master had a young colt on a long lead and was training him to answer to the bit. She watched for a moment in admiration and then went into the stables where Midge put her head over one of the doors and snickered. She stroked her nose. ‘Have you missed me, old thing? Well, let’s go and have a good gallop, shall we?’ She opened the door and slipped inside to saddle her.
‘Miss Lucy, I’ll do that for you.’ It was young Andrew, Sally-Ann’s intended.
‘Thank you, Andrew, but, if you are busy, I can do it myself.’
‘Not too busy, miss. I mean, my lady.’ He hurriedly corrected himself, remembering she had just returned from her dеbutante season in London and that meant she was grown up and a proper lady now and must be treated as such. ‘I must make sure the girth is properly tightened or his lordship will have my head on a plate.’
She laughed. ‘Miss will do fine, Andrew.’ She watched as he deftly saddled the mare. ‘I believe congratulations are in order.’ And, because he looked puzzled, added, ‘I understand you have spoken for Sally-Ann.’
‘Oh, yes, miss, thank you, miss.’ He led the horse out into the yard and bent to clasp his hands for her to mount. ‘Mind how you go. She hasn’t had much exercise lately.’
‘I will.’ She accepted her crop from him and trotted out of the yard towards the drive. Halfway down she turned and cantered across the grass and on to the parkland that surrounded the Hall.
Midge was frisky and Lucy decided that the park was too restricting and made her way to a gate, which led on to a lane. From there, she found her way on to a wide, grassy track between a meadow and a field of growing wheat. Due to a cold, wet spring, the second year in succession, the wheat had struggled to grow and the harvest would be late. She had heard tell that there was new machinery being tried that would do the job of several men and wondered if they would accept that, or would they be afraid of being thrown out of work, as the cotton workers had been a few years before? Life was hard enough for them as it was, what with one poor harvest after another and the price of corn kept artificially high, but how would they fare if farmers began to mechanise jobs that until now had been done by men?
The haymakers were busy in one of the meadows and she reined in for a minute to watch. The men were moving steadily forward, their muscular arms, tanned from the sun, working to an age-old rhythm. Swathe after swathe fell to their scythes and behind them the women raked it out to dry in the sun. She rode on and up on to the heath, where she let the mare have her head and before long they left the cultivated fields behind. The heath was covered in scrub and a few trees, where sheep nibbled at the heather and sparse grass. Skylarks nested up here, and butterflies flitted from flower to flower. Overhead a kestrel hovered.
She drew the horse to a walk as they topped the rise and then stopped to sit, looking down on to a valley with a river snaking along the bottom. Down there were more cultivated fields, and a few farm buildings. Across the valley more sheep grazed on more meadows. It was all her father’s land, acres and acres of it that had been in the family since the Reformation, as he was very fond of telling anyone who would listen. It was good hunting-and-shooting country, too, and later in the year her father would invite friends and relations to stay for a week’s shooting and again just after Christmas for the hunt, as he did every year.
She put her hand up to her face to shade her eyes when she spotted three men in the valley. They were certainly not labourers, because two were dressed in top hats and tailcoats. The third was more casually dressed. They appeared to be examining something on the ground and she spurred her horse down the steep slope towards them, crossed a narrow wooden bridge over the river and cantered up to them. She realised as she drew near that they were using a theodolite and one carried a notebook in which he was making notes. They looked towards her when they heard the horse and the youngest of the three, who had been squatting down examining the ground, stood up.
He was a hugely impressive specimen of manhood. Well over six feet tall, his shoulders were massive, straining the cloth of his tweed tailcoat. His chest was broad and his hips, clad in plain brown trousers, were slim. He wore a loosely tied neckcloth and, unlike the other two, he was hatless. His curly light brown hair was worn collar length. He had large hands that, at the moment she reined in and stopped, were crumbling the soil between his fingers.
He smiled, displaying even, white teeth. ‘Good morning, miss.’ His accent, while by no means uncouth and certainly not betraying the patois of the peasant, was not refined as a gentleman’s would be. She found it difficult to take her eyes off him and, though she knew there were two others present, she was facing him and him alone.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, without returning his greeting.
‘Surveying, miss.’
‘Surveying what?’
‘The land, miss, for a railway.’
