With that he turned on his heel and started to walk away from them, leaving Ellie to stand staring after him, consumed with pain and humiliation.
They had almost reached the Bull and Royal when John burst out, ‘Why didn’t you marry Gideon, Ellie? If you had done so then we would all have been happy, because Connie and me and the baby could have lived with you.’
And then he ran the rest of the distance to the hotel, leaving her to follow him.
The aunts and uncles were lined up waiting in the private parlour, immediately demanding an explanation for Ellie’s absence, whilst her Uncle Jepson had grabbed hold of John by his ear and was loudly berating him.
‘How dare you leave this place without my permission? A sound whipping is what you deserve, my lad, and a sound whipping is what you shall get.’
Ellie stiffened, all her protective instincts aroused at this threat to her brother.
‘No,’ she protested. ‘You must not blame John, Uncle. I am the one who is to blame. Until Connie reminded me, I had forgotten that John had asked me if it would be all right for him to go and see his dog.’ Ellie could see the fury in her uncle’s eyes but she refused to be cowed by it. She would not stand by and see her brother whipped!
‘Indeed, and since when have you had the authority to say what anyone should and shouldn’t have permission to do, miss?’ her Aunt Emily demanded peevishly.
‘I am truly sorry, Aunt,’ Ellie apologised, hanging her head penitently.
‘Whether he had spoken to you about the matter
or not, John still had no right to take himself off anywhere without informing us first,’ her husband announced coldly, adding ominously, ‘And I intend to ensure that he is punished accordingly.’
‘Oh no, please do not punish him,’ Ellie begged. ‘Truly, it is all my fault.’
The look in their uncle’s eyes warned Ellie that she was wasting her time but to her relief her Uncle Parkes, who had made no comment as yet, came over to her and took both her hands in his, giving her an avuncular smile as he did so.
‘Come, Jepson,’ he smiled, ‘you are distressing Ellie and she is far too pretty to be distressed. Will it help if I were to add my pleas to hers that on this occasion young John be spared his undoubtedly rightful punishment?’
Ellie held her breath, waiting for her Uncle Charles’s response. She could see from the expression on his face that he was not best pleased by Mr Parkes’ interference.
She could see too the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he swallowed before responding with obvious reluctance, ‘Very well, Mr Parkes, since you are disposed to take such a generous view of the situation I suppose I can hardly do other than follow suit.’
‘And you will not punish John?’ Ellie pressed him, anxious to have a firm declaration that her brother would not suffer.
‘No,’ he confirmed curtly, ‘I shall not punish him – on this occasion.’
‘There now, puss, that should put the pretty smile back on your face,’ Uncle Parkes declared indulgently as he pinched Ellie’s cheek and laughed.
Grateful though she was to her uncle, his touch made Ellie feel actually uncomfortable. Uneasily, she remembered how she had felt in the drawing room of the Hoylake house the evening she had dined alone with him. For some reason she suddenly had a very clear mental image of Gideon’s contemptuous expression when he had thrown his insults at her, and tears burned the backs of her eyes.
‘Ah, there you are, Ellie my dear. There is something I wish to discuss with you.’
Ellie tried not to flinch as her uncle came up to her and gave her waist a little squeeze.
It was nearly six weeks since their return from Preston – six weeks during which there had not been a single day, indeed not a single hour, when she had not relived over and over again inside her head the events of that brief visit.
At night she was constantly woken from her sleep by nightmares; the sound of Gideon’s laughter taunting her as he walked away from her, his arm round the waist of a redheaded woman; Connie’s cruel insults; and John’s stubborn silence. Even the baby cried whenever she went to cradle him. Shivering in the darkness of her bed Ellie felt as though her whole family hated her – and not just her family. Gideon hated her as well. He had as good as told her so.
Gideon, Gideon, Gideon – why was she wasting
her time thinking about him when she had far more pressing problems?
Increasingly, Ellie was feeling uncomfortable and ill at ease whenever she was around her Uncle Josiah. She tried to tell herself that she was being foolish and that her uncle’s familiarity towards her was his way of making her feel welcome in his home. Her Uncle Will was another who gave her such physical attention, but somehow with Uncle Josiah it was different, although why it should be so, Ellie could not say. She just knew that the comforting presence of her Uncle Will’s arm around her as he gave her a boisterous hug was a world away from the chilling feeling that ran down her spine whenever Uncle Josiah placed his arm around her and drew her close.
But more worrying to Ellie than Uncle Josiah were her sister and brother. Neither of them had written to her since her return to Hoylake, despite the many urgent letters she had sent to them begging them to understand that she was only doing what she believed to be in their best interests. When they had said their goodbyes, John had been sullen with her, refusing to return her hug, whilst Connie had been openly bitter.
Ellie had tried to reason with herself that they were young and did not understand, but still she had been left feeling miserable and isolated.
John’s angry comment about her marrying Gideon had lodged in her heart, though, and had refused to go away, and even now, thinking about it made her
eyes blur with tears. It had been for her mother’s sake that she had sent Gideon away, not for her own. Gideon’s contemptuous words had left tiny barbs lodged in her heart, which ached every time she remembered them, no matter how much she tried not to let them do so.
Her aunt had not been at all well since their return from Preston, and increasingly she shut herself away in her room, allowing only Wrotham access to her. Ellie was grateful for the fact that Cecily, newly married and living in Liverpool, had turned to her for companionship, regularly inviting Ellie to visit her, and introducing her to her husband’s family, including his sister, Iris, who was studying to become a doctor and, shockingly, as Cecily had confided to Ellie, was a member of the women’s movement!
Ellie had expected to find Iris somewhat intimidating, but in fact she had been surprised to discover how much fun she was, and now found that whenever she visited Cecily, or went with her to take afternoon tea with her mother-in-law, she always hoped that Iris might be present.
Now, rather hesitantly, Ellie positioned herself as close to the door as she could whilst Mr Parkes settled himself behind his huge desk. Ellie never felt at ease in the study. Its thick Turkish carpet muffled any sound, and the heavy ruby velvet curtains hanging at the north-facing windows took away the light. Bookcases filled two walls, and even the mantel of the fireplace was dark. The telephone
stood on the desk within his reach. But Mr Parkes was not seated behind his desk now. He had got up and was standing with his back to the fire, rocking slightly on his heels.
‘Why, Ellie, you look quite frightened. You’re not frightened of me, are you?’ he demanded genially, whilst Ellie blushed and shook her head in denial, inwardly berating herself for feeling the way she did. No one could have been kinder to her than Mr Parkes. In many ways he concerned himself more about her happiness than her aunt did, and Ellie felt very guilty about how she felt whenever she was in his company.
Ellie did not know why she felt so wary of him, but she did know that her discomfort had increased after her visit to her own father. It was, of course, impossible for her to discuss with anyone what she had witnessed – even Cecily, who was a married woman.
‘Ellie, I need your help,’ Mr Parkes announced.
Ellie looked at him in surprise.
‘As you know, your aunt is not in the best of health at the moment.’ His smile was replaced by an angry frown. ‘And because of that we have not been entertaining very much of late,’ he continued. ‘However, I have a duty to my clients, many of whom are extremely wealthy and whose hospitality your aunt and I have enjoyed on many occasions, and I have decided that the best means of repaying them is for us to have a ball here.’
A party! Ellie could not help feeling a small surge
of excitement. For all that Connie believed she lived a giddily exciting life, the truth was that they lived very quietly.
‘Ah, I see that you like the idea,’ her uncle continued, his smile returning. ‘Excellent. Then you will have no hesitation in agreeing to my proposal to you, Ellie, which is that you help me to organise this event.’
Ellie’s smile faltered. ‘Me? But I do not think –’
‘There, there, Ellie. I did not mean to alarm you.’
Somehow or other, Mr Parkes had crossed the Turkish carpet and was holding one of Ellie’s hands between his own and patting it reassuringly. ‘I have every faith in you. After all, I have seen how competently and discreetly you have taken over many of your aunt’s domestic duties.’
‘Well, only because she asked that I might,’ Ellie stammered.
She wished that she might remove her hand, but it seemed impolite to do so whilst Mr Parkes was still holding on to it and, indeed, squeezing it as though in reassurance.
To be entrusted with the responsibility of organising an important party! Ellie acknowledged that there was a part of her that relished the prospect. But another part of her wondered apprehensively if she was competent to do so. She would hate to disappoint her uncle or let him down.
‘I, I…will be happy to do everything that I can,’ she told him, ‘but I do not have the experience…’
Something in the way her uncle was looking at her made Ellie stop speaking. He was squeezing her hand quite hard, and she couldn’t stop herself from tugging it away.
‘You must not worry your pretty head about that, Ellie,’ he told her smoothly. ‘I have more than enough experience for the two of us.’
Gideon rubbed his hand over the finished surface of the kitchen cupboard. Mary had left an instruction that he was to present himself in her workroom when he had finished. Normally when she had something she wanted to say to him she came and did so whilst he was working. Was the unusual formality because she had a complaint to make about some of his work? He hoped not. She had been a very good customer to him and through her he had secured a great many commissions. What was more, unlike the majority of his customers, she always paid him in full and on time. Gideon wished he might have a dozen customers like her.
He gave the smooth surface another brief check, even though he knew the finish was perfect. He could not delay any longer. Making his way over to the sink, he rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands, too deep in his own thoughts to be aware of the quick look of invitation the tweeny was giving him.
Upstairs in her workroom, Mary straightened the already straight blotter on her desk. She had
been putting off this interview for over a week, knowing how Gideon was likely to react. But she had made up her mind, and she was not going to change it!
Gideon knocked on the workroom door and waited to hear Mary’s cool ‘Come’, before opening it.
She was seated behind her desk, and the look she gave him was grave and unsmiling. Gideon felt his heart lurch. He was just about making ends meet and covering all his costs. Mary had already hinted that she had further work for him. If she was displeased with the work he had already done and decided to change her mind…Gideon’s mouth compressed but he held his head high as he approached her desk.
Mary gave a small sigh as she saw the pride in Gideon’s stance. This was not going to be easy!
‘Gideon, please sit down,’ she invited him, and then fell silent, her fingers toying with her pen for so long that Gideon could feel his apprehension increasing.
At last she put the pen down and looked at him. ‘Gideon, do you have your sketchbook with you, the one you dropped in the kitchen a few weeks ago?’
‘No, no, I don’t,’ he told her, wondering why she should ask such a question.
Mary persisted, ‘You had a sketch in it as I remember, of a conservatory – my conservatory, in fact.’
Gideon’s mouth was dry. He could remember
how Mary had looked at that sketch, and how anxious he had been about her scrutiny of it, fearing that she might demand an explanation for its existence.
‘You do remember the sketch I am referring to?’ she asked him almost sharply.
‘Aye,’ Gideon agreed reluctantly.
Mary sat back in her chair and beamed at him. ‘Excellent!’
Excellent? Gideon was still pondering her comment when she continued calmly, ‘You see it has occurred to me, Gideon, that since your drawing was far superior to that of the young gentleman I had approached to design the conservatory for me, then if you were not only to produce the drawings for my conservatory but also to oversee its construction then I would, no doubt, save myself a good deal of money.’
Mary held her breath as she waited for Gideon’s reaction. So much depended on how he reacted; so much that she had not even allowed herself to hope for yet, never mind express to him!
Gideon stared warily at Mary, wondering if he had perhaps misunderstood her. ‘But I am not an architect, I am a cabinet-maker,’ he reminded her almost angrily, in a tone that could not quite conceal his longing.
‘You may not have the training or qualifications of an architect,’ Mary corrected him, ‘but you most certainly have a good eye for line and design, Gideon. I am not exaggerating when I say that I
found your drawing to be far superior to that of Mr Hartman.’
‘Why are you saying such things to me?’ Gideon challenged her suspiciously.
‘Because I mean them,’ Mary answered him calmly. ‘First and foremost, Gideon, I am a woman who likes to get value for money in her business dealings. You have already proved to me through the work you have done that you are an excellent craftsman who does not overcharge.’ Looking away from him, Mary continued, ‘I have recently received some rather disquieting reports on Mr Hartman. My chancing to see your sketches merely confirmed what was already in my mind, that being that I should look elsewhere for someone to design and construct my conservatory.’
Would he accept what she had said? Would he guess the real motive behind her suggestion? If only she could tell him what was in her heart. But Mary knew that she could not. If her secret became known she would be risking public censure, not just for herself but for him as well.
Gideon’s eyes narrowed. He took a deep breath and repeated slowly, ‘You want me to design a conservatory for you and be responsible for its construction?’ – just so that he could hear the words again before reality buried them and he was told that he had got it wrong!
‘Yes,’ Mary repeated firmly. ‘I want you to design it, Gideon.’
Somehow Gideon managed to resist the temptation to give a great yell of euphoric excitement!
And somehow he managed to hang on to sanity and reality enough to point out, ‘Drawing something is one thing, but I’m not trained and –’
Mary looked at him very directly. ‘Do you want the job, Gideon – yes or no?’