Fairfield Hall (32 page)

James, suddenly overwhelmed with weariness, leaned on the banister. ‘Dorothea, I don’t like it any more than you do, but I’m sure Annabel would remind you – whether you
like it or not – that, but for an unfortunate accident of birth, the boy is your son’s cousin.’

Dorothea put her hand to her throat as she pulled in a sharp breath. James, tired of all the arguments, turned away and continued to climb the stairs. And Theo crept quietly up to the top floor
and the safety of his bedroom.

At breakfast, Dorothea was still angry. She had hardly slept, her wrath keeping her awake far into the night. ‘How long do you intend them to stay here?’

‘As long as it takes,’ Annabel replied calmly, helping herself to breakfast from the dishes set out on the sideboard. They were alone in the dining room. ‘And aren’t you
forgetting to enquire how they all are this morning?’

‘No, I’m not forgetting. I have no interest whatsoever in how they are. It would have been better if they’d all perished in the flames.’

Annabel whirled around on her sister-in-law. ‘Dorothea, that’s a wicked thing to say.’

The woman’s face twisted. ‘Oh, I’ll be even more wicked and add “and you along with them” since you seem to put such creatures ahead of your husband’s
wishes.’ Her eyes narrowed spitefully. ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Playing “Lady Bountiful”. Spending your own money on the estate, buying the
tenants’ affection, even buying James’s gratitude. Well, let me tell you something, he’ll never love you.’

As Annabel sat down at the table, Dorothea leaned across it and hissed in her face. ‘His marriage to you was just a marriage of convenience. The woman he loves lives in London. She’s
his mistress and he has no intention of giving her up, not even now he’s married to you.’

Annabel kept her hands hidden beneath the table as she clasped them together to stop them trembling. Surely it wasn’t true? Dorothea was just being vindictive; trying to make her leave
Fairfield Hall. The words were like a knife through Annabel’s heart and yet as she slowly raised her head to look into Dorothea’s eyes and saw the hatred and resentment there, her
resolve hardened. She’d known from the start that she and her sister-in-law would never be real friends, but she had begun to hope that they could rub along together. But in that moment,
Annabel knew that Dorothea was showing her true colours; she was her bitter enemy. From now on, she realized, she would have to be on her guard.

On the Monday afternoon, Theo sat alone in the nursery, surrounded by his books and toys, which had been collected in an earlier age before the family had fallen on hard times.
He read the same books his father and uncle had read, played with their toys, but he had no companion with whom to play toy soldiers or engage in rough and tumble; he had no idea what it was to
have a playmate of a similar age.

But now he knew there was another little boy in the house – on this same floor and just down the corridor. The main house was quiet; his mother had gone into town in the pony and trap and
his grandmother was taking her afternoon rest after luncheon. Aunt Annabel was down in the village and his uncle and the soldier, who’d rescued the little boy from the fire in their home,
were out too.

Quietly, Theo tiptoed out of the nursery and along the corridor. Now he could hear the piping voice of the boy and a softer tone – a woman’s voice – answering him coming from
inside one of the guest bedrooms. He knocked softly and heard the scrape of a chair. The door opened and Theo stared up at the pretty woman standing there, a startled look on her face.

‘Oh, Master Theo. You shouldn’t be here. Is – is there something wrong?’

Theo shook his head and craned his neck to look around her. ‘I’ve come to see the boy – to see if he’d like to play.’

‘Play!’ The woman, whom Theo guessed was the boy’s mother, was shocked but Theo nodded firmly. He was to be the next earl of Fairfield and one day this would be his house.
Surely, he could say what went on in it even now. ‘Yes, I want to play with him.’

‘Oh, well, I don’t know,’ Nancy still hesitated, but stood aside and held the door wider so that he might enter. ‘I don’t think your mother would—’

‘She’s out,’ Theo said matter-of-factly. ‘And Grandmama is resting. No one can hear us up here.’ He marched purposefully into the room and stood in front of the
other boy. ‘What’s your name?’

The little boy, his eyes wide, stood up slowly. ‘B-bertie,’ he stuttered and glanced at his mother for reassurance. Nancy gave a wan smile and a slight nod of encouragement. Now Theo
turned to speak to the woman.

‘May Bertie come to my room? It’s only just down the corridor. He won’t be far away. You can come and see, if you like.’ He glanced around the room that was devoid of
toys. He knew about the fire, knew that whatever the little boy had owned had been lost. The only thing Bertie seemed to have left was the battered knitted soft toy he was clutching.
‘I’ve lots of toys,’ Theo went on. ‘He can have some of them to keep, if he likes.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Master Theodore, but it wouldn’t be right.’

Theodore was only six months older than Bertie, but he acted and spoke with far more confidence than the younger boy. Theo had grown up with his mother’s undivided attention. Not only was
he advanced in his learning, but he was also mature for his age. Dorothea, ever mindful of the position her son would one day hold, had schooled him for that very role.

‘No one will know,’ Theo said and suddenly there was an unexpected mischievous twinkle in his eyes that was rarely seen. Under his mother’s strict guidance, ‘fun’
was not part of her curriculum. She never played with him; that was left to the nursery maid, but there had not been a nursery maid for months now. His Uncle James played occasionally with the
young boy, but his visits home were fleeting. Theo was lonely. He hungered for a playmate. On his rare trips out, he had seen boys playing in the road, kicking a tin can, or girls skipping, and
he’d yearned to join in. He’d even seen, and recognized, the loneliness of the little boy who lived in the cottage at the end of the village and, though he was too young to put into
words the feeling he’d had, he had empathized with him. And now that same boy was here in his house and Theo was determined not to miss such an opportunity.

‘Well . . .’ The woman was wavering. ‘As long as he comes back in here the moment your mother comes home.’

Theo nodded, his eyes shining. ‘I promise.’ He held out his hand to the younger boy. ‘Come on. I’ve got some toy soldiers. We can play going to war, like Uncle James
does.’

Nancy gasped and her eyes widened. Her fingers covered her mouth. Did the boy know? But then she relaxed. No, of course he couldn’t know, she tried to reassure herself. Theo was referring
to the earl as his own uncle. A five-year-old boy could not possibly realize that the little chap he was leading towards his own room and a mountain of toys shared the very same relationship to the
present earl, for James Lyndon was not only Theo’s uncle but Bertie’s too. Could he?

Nancy was wrong. Theo did have an inkling that Bertie was somehow connected to the family; crouching on the stairs, he’d overheard his mother’s conversation with Uncle James on the
night of the fire. He was too young to understand the full significance of their words, but all Theo wanted was a playmate. Now, he showed Bertie the lines of lead toy soldiers. ‘You can be
Napoleon Bonaparte at the head of his army and I’ll be the Duke of Wellington.’

Bertie had no idea who either of the men were, but he followed Theo’s instructions and the two young boys played happily together until Theo heard his mother’s voice on the landing
below. ‘Quick,’ Theo said, scrambling up from the floor and holding out his hand to Bertie to drag him towards the door. ‘Run!’ And Bertie ran.

Alone once more in the nursery, Theo set the soldiers that had been scattered by Bertie’s hasty flight upright as Dorothea came into the room.

‘I trust you haven’t been playing all afternoon, Theodore. I left you some reading to do. Have you done it?’

‘Yes, Mama,’ Theo said, not looking up. It was the first time he could ever remember deliberately lying to his mother, but he would not be caught out. He’d read that particular
book before and he had a good memory. If she questioned him about the story, he would be able to answer perfectly.

The Banks family stayed three nights until Annabel was able to arrange for them to move into the rooms above the grocer’s shop which they had occupied once before.

‘Back to where we started,’ Agnes murmured as Annabel led them into the upstairs rooms, which the village women had spent the last three days cleaning. They had all brought bits of
furniture and household goods to make the three people, who’d lost everything they owned, feel welcome. Agnes wiped the tears of gratitude from her eyes as she looked around her. Annabel put
her arms around the woman’s shaking shoulders. ‘There, doesn’t that prove they want to accept you back into the community?’

‘I – hope so,’ Agnes said. ‘Oh, I do hope so.’

‘When you’ve got settled in, we’ll buy you all the materials you’ll need to start up your dressmaking business again. You can start by making new clothes for
yourselves.’ Her glance went to Bertie, still holding Nancy’s hand as he gazed around the rooms that were to be his home from now on. Under his arm he carried a large box wrapped in
brown paper. It was so big it looked almost too heavy for him to carry, but it seemed he would not be separated from it. ‘And toys. We must get some toys and books for Bertie.’

Bertie looked up at her. ‘I’ve got one toy; a rabbit called Hoppy that Granny knitted for me when I was born. I was holding him when Mr Jenkins rescued me. And now I’ve got
another. A train set. Theo gave it to me.’

‘Theo?’ Annabel was startled. She hadn’t realized that the two boys had even met; Dorothea had been careful to see to that. But Bertie was grinning. It was the first time
Annabel had seen the solemn-faced little boy smile since the dreadful fire that could have cost them their lives.

‘It was when you were all out the other day. He came to find me and took me back to his room. We played for ages until we heard his mother come back.’ Now Bertie frowned.
‘He’s frightened of his mama, isn’t he? Is she cruel to him?’

Annabel bit her lip, not knowing quite how to answer. She couldn’t possibly tell the little boy exactly why Lady Dorothea didn’t want her son playing with him. ‘Not cruel,
no,’ she said carefully, ‘but she’s very strict.’

‘He says he’s going to come to the village school when it opens again after Christmas. We could be real friends then.’

‘Would you like that?’

The young boy was thoughtful before he said, with a poignancy that struck at Annabel’s heart, ‘I’ve never had a friend before.’

With a catch in her voice Annabel said, ‘I think you’ll make lots of friends when you go to school.’

‘But I’d really like Theo to be my friend. And he would too. He said so.’

Poor little boys, Annabel thought, as her heart went out to both of them. They’d both led such a solitary life, but for very different reasons. Well, she vowed silently, if I can,
I’ll change that.

The fire had been reported to the police in Thorpe St Michael, but the culprits – believed to be Nancy’s former Friday-night visitors – had suddenly declared
to their families that they had found more lucrative work ‘up north’ and had disappeared, leaving no forwarding address. Not even their wives knew where they had gone. But all that
mattered to Annabel was that Nancy, Bertie and Agnes were safe and miraculously unharmed.

Bertie had not been the only one to make a friend following the fire. The next morning, when the homeless family were waking up on the top floor, Private Harry Jenkins approached John Searby.
‘Mester Searby, I’d like to see Nancy, but I don’t want to cause more gossip and speculation about the lass.’

John Searby had eyed him suspiciously. He knew what soldiers were like. Even his own master had a mistress in London, if the rumours were to be believed. ‘You’d better talk to Mrs
Parrish. She’s in charge of the women-folk in this household at the moment. She’ll tell you what’s best.’ But Nelly Parrish had shrugged her shoulders. ‘’Tis
nowt to do wi’ me. I’m just carrying out her ladyship’s orders. Though I’d be careful, young feller, while they’re in this house.’ She dropped her voice.
‘Lady Dorothea’s in a temper about it all now, so—’

‘I want it to be all above board, ma’am. I’ve spoken to her ladyship – Lady Annabel, that is – and she said she’d speak to Miss Banks, but then the fire
happened and – well – I don’t rightly know what to do now and we’re going back to camp in a couple of days. I don’t want to go without speaking to Nancy.’

‘Is it just speaking you want or summat more?’ Nelly asked bluntly and, hardy soldier though he was, the colour flooded Harry’s face.

‘I just want to talk to her, ma’am. I promise you that’s all.’

Nelly regarded him for a moment and then suddenly seemed to make up her own mind about him. She gave a brief nod. ‘I tell you what,’ she said. ‘You help me this morning –
if it’s not beneath you. With all these extra folks about the place, I don’t know if I’m on me head or me heels, and when she comes down, you can have a little chat with her right
here in my kitchen.’ She wagged her finger at him. ‘I rule the roost in here and don’t let anyone else tell you different.’

Harry grinned at her. ‘I wouldn’t dare, ma’am. You’re far more frightening than any drill sergeant. Now, what do you want me to do?’

‘Them potatoes need peelin’ if we’re to eat today and there’s no need to call me “ma’am”. I’m Mrs Parrish.’

Harry laughed. ‘Right you are, Mrs Parrish, and I’m a dab hand at peeling spuds. In the Army, it’s a punishment and I’ve done a fair few in me time.’

‘It’s not a punishment today, lad, but,’ her eyes twinkled, ‘it could earn you a reward.’

Harry set to work in the scullery but he kept glancing out of the doorway to see if Nancy might be there. Nelly chuckled to herself. ‘Eh, what it is to be young.’