Fairfield Hall (30 page)

‘Then I will write to Mr Porter and invite him to come to see us.’ A suggested date was agreed upon and they moved on to the next item on the agenda, which Richard had prepared.

‘How did it go?’ Lily asked when Dan arrived home, sat down in his chair and bent to unlace his boots.

‘Fine,’ Dan answered, and he recounted all that had happened in the meeting. When he had finished, he glanced around. ‘Where’s William?’

‘Gone to bed. He’s shattered, poor lad.’

Dan grunted. ‘He’s trying hard, I can see that, but his ploughing’s not up to much. Reckon I’d better show him how it’s done tomorrow.’

Lily hid her smile and sent up a silent prayer of thankfulness, remembering to thank the Good Lord for the arrival of the new Lady Fairfield in their midst.

Eli Merriman remained obstinate and Annabel decided to leave things as they were for the time being, but there was still one household in the village she had not visited since
the day she had brought Agnes Banks home from the workhouse and it was now the first week in December. On the Friday morning, it rained but the afternoon was fine so Annabel decided to visit Nancy
and her family. She walked down the village street while it was still daylight so that all the villagers should see exactly where she was going. She knocked on the front door of the cottage and
smiled when a wide-eyed and flustered Nancy opened the door.

‘May I come in?’

‘Oh – er – your ladyship. Yes, yes, of course.’

Annabel stepped inside. ‘How is your mother?’

‘She’s well. She’s in here.’ Nancy opened the door to the front parlour where Agnes sat near the window, embroidering a large linen tablecloth, with huge butterflies in
each corner. When she saw Annabel she began to get up, but Annabel waved her to sit down again. ‘Please don’t disturb yourself. My, what fine work, Mrs Banks. How clever you are.’
Annabel laughed. ‘Despite my mother’s best efforts to have me instructed in all the creative arts that a woman is supposed to possess, I can’t sew or knit or even paint a passable
watercolour. And as for playing the piano, my poor music teacher despaired.’ She sat down in a nearby chair and came straight to the point of her visit. ‘Have you thought any more about
starting up again as dressmakers?’

Agnes looked up quickly at her daughter. ‘We’ve thought of nothing else, m’lady, but I don’t see how we can.’ She dropped her gaze as she murmured,
‘Who’d bring their patronage to the likes of us?’

‘Now, now, Mrs Banks, that’s all behind us now. The villagers are courteous to you, aren’t they?’

‘They serve us in the shops, if that’s what you mean. And some of them are quite friendly in the street.’

‘But they ignore us when we go to church,’ Nancy said softly. ‘I’m sure they don’t think I should set foot in there.’

‘Give it time,’ Annabel said gently. ‘Hopefully, the school will be open again soon and Bertie will be able to go to school. If he—’ She stopped, startled by the
look of fear that flitted across Nancy’s face. ‘What is it?’

‘He can’t go there. He’d be bullied, taunted. Called all sorts of – of horrible names.’ She blushed furiously and hung her head. ‘And worse still,
they’d be true.’

‘No one will call him names or mistreat him,’ Annabel said firmly. ‘I’ll see to that.’

Nancy smiled wistfully. ‘I know you mean well, m’lady, and I’m – we’re so grateful for what you’ve done for us already.’ She moved to her mother’s
side and placed her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. ‘You don’t know what it means to have my mother back with us and – and to know that she has forgiven me for bringing
shame—’

‘Now, now, no more talk of that. We’re interviewing a teacher for the school and if he takes up the post, I’ll have a word with him – ask him to watch out for Bertie.
Where is Bertie, by the way? I’d like to see him.’

‘He’s playing in the back garden.’

‘Still on his own?’

Nancy nodded and bit her lip.

‘He’ll make friends when he goes to school,’ Annabel said with a confidence in her tone that she wasn’t feeling inside. These villagers had long memories and their
youngsters would have overheard the gossip.

A few moments later, Nancy ushered Bertie into the room. Shyly, he came to stand in front of Annabel and, obviously coached by his mother, he said, in a clear, piping voice, ‘Good
afternoon, Lady Fairfield.’

‘Hello, Bertie. I’ve brought you some books. Would you like me to read a story to you?’

The boy blinked and, above his head, Annabel saw Nancy and her mother exchange a startled glance. Bertie put his thumb in his mouth and nodded, sidling a little closer to Annabel. As she opened
one of the books she had brought, he leaned against her knee, following her finger moving along the line of printing as she read and looking at the pictures in the illustrated book. When she closed
the last page, she looked down into his upturned face and found herself staring into his huge soft brown eyes. She smoothed the flick of dark brown hair back from his forehead. There was no
doubting whose family this boy belonged to; he was a Lyndon and no mistake.

‘I’ll come another day and read to you again,’ she said softly as, with an impetuous gesture, she dropped a kiss on his forehead. ‘But now I must be going. It’s
getting dusk.’ She didn’t add that she was hurrying home to read to his cousin.

As she left the cottage, Annabel didn’t notice two men lurking behind the hedgerow of the field opposite.

‘That’s ’er,’ whispered Sid. ‘That’s me fine lady what spoilt our Friday evening’s bit o’ fun. What I wouldn’t like to do to ’er . .
.’

‘Too dangerous, Sid. We’d best take our revenge on Nancy and her brat. Villagers won’t miss them, I can tell ya.’

‘Aye, mebbe you’re right. We’ll think about it, plan it careful, like. But tomorrow night, we’ll be back. They won’t be expecting us on a Saturday night, now will
they?’

As the darkness closed in around them, the two men crept away.

‘James! How lovely!’

When Annabel arrived back at the house, it was to find James striding up and down the hall, a deep frown on his face. Private Jenkins was standing to one side watching his superior officer,
whilst Dorothea was standing in the doorway into the dining room, a satisfied smirk on her face.

Annabel ran towards her husband, her arms wide, decorum forgotten in her pleasure at seeing him. But instead of enfolding her in his embrace, he caught her by the shoulders and held her fast,
glaring down into her face.

‘Where have you been until this hour?’ he demanded harshly.

Annabel gasped. ‘James, you’re hurting me.’

He released her quickly, almost throwing her off-balance by the sudden movement. She resisted the urge to rub her arms where his strong fingers had bruised her flesh. She faced him calmly, but
defiantly. ‘I’ve been down in the village,’ she began, but then stopped. She didn’t think James would be pleased to hear where she’d been for most of the afternoon and
she certainly didn’t want Dorothea to know.

‘On your own?’

‘Why, yes. Oh James, you should see how things are taking shape. We have livestock back on the farms, the fields are being ploughed and two of the shops are open again. Even Jabez Fletcher
has given his notice in at the place he works in town and is to reopen his smithy. There’s only . . .’ She had been about to say that there was only Eli Merriman to come round and
everything would soon be as it once had been, but James was still glowering.

‘If you still insist on involving yourself in running the estate, you will oblige me by taking your maid with you everywhere you go. Everywhere, do you understand? A
lady
would
never dream of going anywhere without her maid and she certainly wouldn’t be seen in the company of the estate bailiff without a chaperone.’

Annabel was about to burst into laughter at the veiled suggestion that lay beneath his words. It was a preposterous notion, but she could see that her husband was deadly serious. She stared up
at him as she said softly, ‘I will do as you ask, James, because I respect your wishes, but I promise you, you can trust me implicitly. And Jane has been busy helping care for your
mother.’

His expression seemed to soften a little. ‘I am thinking of your reputation, my dear.’

Annabel inclined her head and said, ‘Of course,’ even though she didn’t think that was the case at all. James was unaccountably possessive, but, strangely, the thought that he
cared enough about her to be jealous warmed her.

‘And besides,’ he went on, ‘Mama is much improved now. And I –’ he hesitated before saying stiffly as if words of thanks did not come easily to him, ‘I do
realize that we have you to thank for that.’

‘Please,’ Annabel smiled up at him and linked her arm through his, ‘don’t let’s mention it again. I have so much to tell you. Will you come up with me while I
change for dinner?’

‘Of course.’ As they moved towards the staircase, James glanced back over his shoulder. ‘I won’t be needing you again tonight, Jenkins. I’m sure you can find
something to amuse you, though I’m sorry the pub hasn’t reopened yet.’ He smiled mockingly. ‘Obviously, it is not one of my wife’s priorities.’

Annabel glanced back too, an anxious frown on her face. She couldn’t say anything, but she fervently hoped that Private Jenkins would not go to Nancy’s cottage. Once in the privacy
of their bedroom, however, all thoughts of the soldier and even of Nancy were driven from Annabel’s mind as her husband lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

‘And now, how about a proper welcome home for your husband?’

There had been no time left for her to relate everything that had taken place since he had last been home before it was time to dress hurriedly for dinner. And at the table,
Annabel had no intention of talking about estate matters in front of Dorothea, but it seemed that Theo had other ideas. He had been allowed to dine with the grown-ups as a special treat because his
uncle was home and also because it was the first time his grandmother had come downstairs since her illness. But the child did not know that Annabel had had a hand in all the improvements; he only
knew the changes he had seen.

‘Uncle James, we’ve got horses in the fields and cows and sheep. And Aunt Annabel says they’ve got pigs at the farms and hens. Oh, all sorts! Isn’t it wonderful? And the
farmers are ploughing their fields. Next year, Aunt Annabel says, there’ll be all sorts of crops growing.’

James raised his eyebrows and glanced at his wife as the boy continued excitedly, ‘And yesterday, we went out in the new pony and trap. Luke took us and we drove all around the estate.
Aunt Annabel pointed out all the farms. I know all their names and who lives there now.’

‘Then you know more than me, Theodore. But a new pony and trap, you say? How has that come about, then?’

There was silence around the table until Dorothea was obliged to say, grudgingly, ‘Annabel bought it for the household to use. It will save having to use Jackson’s.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ he murmured and Annabel knew at once that he was pleased because she would not be calling on Ben any more to take her wherever she needed to go.

‘And,’ Dorothea went on, taking a deep breath, ‘your wife has offered to employ a tutor for Theodore until he is old enough to go to boarding school. The school both you and
Albert went to, of course.’

James turned his head slowly to look at his sister. ‘I think you should get in touch with your errant husband to ask him to support his son’s education. It shouldn’t fall to
either me or my generous wife.’

Annabel kept her eyes firmly on the plate in front of her but the revelation had startled her. She had assumed – obviously incorrectly – that Dorothea was a widow. She glanced at the
woman beneath her eyelashes, to see that Dorothea had blushed scarlet.

‘James,’ Dorothea hissed, ‘how could you? Not in front of the boy, please.’

James shrugged, unfazed by her anger. ‘He’s got to know the truth one day. The younger he is, the better he will deal with it.’

‘Nonsense,’ she whispered so that Theodore, sitting further down the table near his grandmother, could not hear. Though Annabel’s sharp hearing could pick up the gist of what
was being said, she was careful to give no sign that she was aware of what they were saying.

‘There’s no need for him ever to know,’ Dorothea went on sotto voce. ‘Henry Crowstone is out of our lives and I want it to stay that way.’

James smirked. ‘You know, I can’t help feeling rather sorry for Crowstone. You used him, Dorothea, to get what you wanted, a son and possible heir for Fairfield, and then you made
the poor fellow’s life such a misery that he found solace elsewhere. One can hardly blame him.’

‘Oh, in just the same way as you have used your
wife
, you mean? You’ve got what you wanted out of her, haven’t you? Her money!’ James face darkened. Dorothea was
treading on dangerous ground, but she carried on heedlessly, picking up on what was dearest to her heart. ‘And what do you mean a
possible
heir? Theodore is your heir. You promised
me.’

‘If I don’t have children of my own – or if I only have daughters – he will certainly be my heir. But if I do have a son –’

Two bright pink spots still burned in Dorothea’s cheeks. ‘But you promised. You swore to me that your marriage would be in name only.’

James gave a wry laugh. ‘I grant you that, originally, that was my intention, but I had reckoned without the delectable young woman I have married.’

They were carrying on the quarrel in such low voices, confident that Annabel could not hear what was being said, but as their anger grew, they both became unguarded and now Annabel could hear
every word quite plainly, though still she gave no sign and pretended to involve herself in Theo’s chatter with his grandmother.

‘So, what about your marriage vows? What about the “forsaking all others” bit? Have you given up your amour in London?’

Annabel could detect that her remark angered James. ‘That, my dear sister, is none of your business.’

Now it was Dorothea who, feeling she had the upper hand, leaned back in her chair with a smug smile. ‘It is, if I choose to make it so,
my dear brother
.’