Lavinia shrugged. ‘They have lain in a drawer in the nursery at Treetops Manor for many years,’ she said quietly. ‘I have accepted that I will never need them now and so I decided that they should be used.’
Verity saw the sadness on the other woman’s face and her heart went out to her.
‘Then I can only thank you sincerely.’ She reached out to squeeze the woman’s hand gently, then wishing to change the subject she asked, ‘And how is my Aunt Zillah?’
Verity’s aunt was Lavinia’s personal maid and prior to that she had been her nanny, so they were very close indeed.
Lavinia’s face instantly brightened. ‘Oh, she is fine. To be honest it was she who encouraged me to join the board of guardians and I’m so glad she did now. I’m afraid I had become something of a recluse. After the loss of my last child I found it very difficult to even think of venturing out of the house.’
The baby stirred then and lifting her from her crib Verity placed her in Lavinia’s arms and they talked of other things for a time until Lavinia reluctantly passed the child back to her mother, saying, ‘I really should be going now. Ashley’s attorney is coming to dinner this evening and my husband insists that everything is just so.’
It was clear that Lavinia was not too happy about the visit but Verity wisely didn’t comment on it and saw her to the door herself instead of calling for Minnie.
‘Do come again soon,’ she urged. ‘It’s been lovely to see you, and you are welcome any time. Oh, and do please tell my aunt I’m looking forward to seeing her on her day off.’
‘I most certainly will – and thank you.’ Lavinia leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on the baby’s forehead then hurried away to the carriage that was waiting outside for her.
Treetops Manor, Lavinia’s home, nestled on a hilltop close to Hartshill Hayes, a village on the outskirts of town, hence its name. It was a large, imposing house, with a breathtaking view of three counties on a fine day. It had stood the test of time and also withstood the elements, and Lavinia loved every red brick of it. The Manor had been a present from her late father on her marriage to Ashley and on the day they had moved in after returning from their honeymoon in Italy she had imagined all of the nine bedrooms ringing with children’s laughter. But it wasn’t meant to be and now she was resigned to being childless. She tended the three tiny graves of her stillborn daughters religiously and knew only too well that, had it not been for Zillah, she would probably have ended up in Hatter’s Hall by now. Her marriage had been a bitter disappointment to her and now she kept to her own wing of the Manor for much of the time, only seeing her husband when it was absolutely necessary. The couple lived on a generous allowance that had been left to Lavinia by her paternal grandmother and she was all too aware that Ashley blamed her for not presenting him with a son. Had she done so, he too, would have inherited a business and a large fortune from his late uncle – but only on condition that there was a live male heir. Lavinia knew perfectly well that Ashley kept a mistress in a small cottage in Stockingford, but it had long since stopped troubling her. And the woman in question had obviously never conceived or someone would have informed her.
On their wedding day, which had been a grand affair, she had floated down the aisle in a flurry of silk and lace on her father’s arm to marry the man she loved and who she believed loved her. It had been one of the happiest days of her life but, sadly, soon afterwards her father had passed away. Her mother had died some years before, leaving her father to bring her up alone, and she missed him dreadfully. As she was an only child he had adored her and they had been very close, but she had consoled herself that she still at least had a loving husband. However, she had soon realised that Ashley had only married her for her wealth and the son she would bear him. It had come as a bitter blow for Lavinia had been besotted with him but, over the years, thanks to her beloved maid, Zillah, she had come to accept her way of life. It was only on days such as today when she saw a newborn infant, or when she visited the workhouse, that she realised all over again just how much she had missed by being childless. Had it been left up to her she would have taken a baby from the workhouse and brought it up as her own years ago, but Ashley would not agree to it and so her arms, and her heart, had remained empty.
Now she leaned back against the leather squabs in the carriage and sighed as she absent-mindedly straightened a crease in her gown. The carriage moved on and eventually pulled onto the tree-lined drive leading to Treetops Manor. As always, Lavinia craned from the window for her first glimpse of it, for even now she loved the grand old house as much as she had on the day she went to live in it. It finally came into view; the bricks had mellowed to a soft golden colour over the years and the long windows sparkled in the sunlight. A gardener was rhythmically scything the grass of the lawns that ran down to it and the flower beds were ablaze with spring blooms.
The driver drew the pair of matched horses to a halt in front of curved stone steps that led up to two heavily carved oak doors, set between towering marble pillars.
‘Thank you, Briers, that will be all for today.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Briers touched his cap as he helped her down from the carriage then began to lead the geldings towards the stables.
The two oak doors opened as if by magic as Lavinia reached them and a little maid in a frilled white apron and mob cap bobbed her knee in greeting.
‘Good afternoon, my lady. The master is in the drawing room waiting for you.’
‘Is he?’ Lavinia frowned as she removed her bonnet and gloves and handed them to the maid. It was unusual for Ashley to be in during the day – or night, for that matter. Crossing to the mirror, she patted her fair hair into place then approached the drawing room in a rustle of silk skirts.
Ashley was standing looking out through the window with his hands clasped behind his back, and as he turned she noticed the new, expensively tailored waistcoat he was wearing. No doubt she would be getting the bill for it very soon, she thought wryly.
‘You wished to see me, Ashley?’
He scowled. ‘Yes, I did, but you were out. You’re always out lately. No doubt at that stinking workhouse again. Why you should wish to consort with such people is a mystery to me.’
Crossing to an elegant little velvet chair with spindly legs she perched on it and folded her hands neatly in her lap. ‘As it happens I went to visit the vicar’s wife and took her some gifts for their new baby. But what did you wish to see me about?’
‘I wanted to speak to you before Mr Wilde arrives for dinner tonight.’ He began to pace up and down and she could see that he was agitated. Ashley’s uncle had died some fifteen years before and left a complicated will. In it he had stated that his vast wealth should pass to the first of his two nephews to produce a male heir – and Ashley was devastated that as yet it hadn’t been him. His younger brother Lewis was still a bachelor, thank God.
He paused to stare at Lavinia closely for a moment. Something had changed. Now that she was getting out and about again and taking a pride in herself once more, he realised with a little shock that his wife was still an extremely attractive woman.
‘I just wanted to verify that you had spoken to Cook about the menu this evening. You know how fussy Mr Wilde is with his food.’
She nodded. ‘Don’t worry. She will be cooking all his favourites.’
As he resumed his pacing she got the idea that there was something more he wanted to say so she waited patiently and eventually he began, ‘I’ve been thinking . . . this living in separate rooms at our age is silly. Perhaps it is time we thought of sleeping together again?’
Lavinia turned pale as she saw in her mind’s eye the three tiny graves in the orchard. She wasn’t sure that she was strong enough to go through all that heartache again. But then Ashley was her husband . . . how could she refuse him if he wished to come to her bed?
‘I think perhaps we should give this some thought. You know how the other times turned out, and how angry and upset you were,’
she reminded him gently.
‘That doesn’t mean to say that the same thing would happen this time.’ He stopped in front of her once more. ‘Don’t you want a child? Are you unnatural?’
‘That isn’t fair – you know I do,’ she objected hotly as colour flooded her cheeks.
‘Then that’s an end to it. Tell Zillah that I will be sleeping in your room this evening and when Mr Wilde arrives we shall present to him as a loving couple.’
Lavinia knew better than to argue with him when he was in this mood, and a tiny part of her still loved him for all she knew that he was unfaithful and shallow.
‘Very well,’ she agreed quietly, and with a satisfied smirk on his face her husband strode from the room, leaving his wife to her thoughts.
Chapter Ten
As he sat at the head table in the workhouse, Albert Pinnegar kept his eyes firmly fixed on Sunday as he wolfed down his meal, a fact that was not missed by Miss Frost who found that for once she couldn’t eat a morsel. Over the last few days he had come up with any excuse he could drum up to have Sunday sent to his room and now the matron could hardly wait for the girl to be gone. She glowered at her now, for sitting there looking so pretty. Even the harsh haircut she had administered had done nothing to spoil the girl’s beauty. Now that it had grown slightly it curled softly about her head like a golden halo and peeped from beneath the ugly cap to frame her heart-shaped face.
I’ll have the little temptress on her hands and knees scrubbing floors today, Miss Frost vowed as she viciously speared one of the fat, juicy sausages on her plate before pushing it aside.
‘I was thinking that the walls in my office could do with a lick of whitewash.’
Mr Pinnegar’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘But of course. I shall send one of the boys in to do it immediately,’ she told him ingratiatingly.
‘No, there will be no need for that.’ He waved her offer aside. ‘The boys tend to be so clumsy. You can send Sunday Small to my office after breakfast. At least I know she will do a good job.’
The smile slid from the woman’s face and ugly red patches appeared on her cheeks. She wanted to protest but in this domain the housemaster’s word was law; should she upset him, she could find herself dismissed and forced to be apart from her beloved. Instead she merely inclined her head.
When she read out the list of chores after breakfast and told Sunday to report to Mr Pinnegar’s office, the girl’s face fell. What on earth can he have found for me to do now? Sunday thought gloomily, but like Miss Frost she knew she had to do as she was told.
She knocked on his office door with her heart in her mouth, dreading the day ahead. Most of it would probably be spent submitting to his lewd attentions, but within minutes of entering the room she discovered she was wrong.
‘Ah, there you are, my dear.’ He smiled pleasantly and motioned to a bucket of whitewash and a large brush he had ready. ‘I know how conscientious you are. I fear one of the boys would have slopped it everywhere and it wouldn’t do if it were to get onto my paperwork.’
‘No, sir.’ Sunday lifted the brush and began to paint the nearest wall, keeping a watchful eye on him all the time, but as the morning wore on he behaved like a perfect gentleman, even plying her with tea when Miss Frost personally brought in the tea tray – containing a china cup for him and a tin mug for the girl, as requested.
His plan meantime was growing in his head. He had already located a small cottage that was for sale in Coton and if his plans came to fruition he intended to install Sunday in it as his young mistress just as soon as she reached her fourteenth birthday in September and could officially leave the workhouse. No other young woman had ever fascinated him as she did, and just the thought of being able to visit her at will made him excited. But first he must win her trust, although it was hard to keep his hands off her.
‘So how’s the smelly old toad behaved?’ Daisy hissed as they sat together at lunchtime.
Dipping her dry grey bread into the slimy vegetable soup, Sunday grinned. ‘Good as gold, as it happens. Perhaps he’s finally realised that I can’t stand him.’
Daisy glanced towards him. The housemaster was shovelling food into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten for a month and the sight nauseated her. ‘Let’s hope it lasts then,’ she muttered. ‘I’ve had quite a good day too, as it happens. I’ve been working out in the garden and Tommy was there as well so we managed to spend a little time together.’
Sunday was pleased for her and wished she could have been there with them.
Thankfully, the afternoon in Albert Pinnegar’s office continued in exactly the same way. Sunday had completed half the room by then and the fat man had even helped her to move the cupboards so that she could reach behind them. Miss Frost continued to find excuses to enter the room at every opportunity but each time she came in she found Mr Pinnegar seated at his desk and Sunday busily sloshing the whitewash onto the walls. All appeared to be just as it should be, and the woman gradually relaxed as the day progressed. It seemed to her that the housemaster’s latest obsession had finally burned itself out, much to her relief.
Sunday completed the task by the middle of the following afternoon and Mr Pinnegar was profuse with his praise.
‘I am sure that not even a professional could have done a better job,’ he said, gazing around the room as if at some great work of art.
‘It’s only a bit of whitewashing,’ Sunday replied as she wiped her hands on a piece of rag. ‘I’m sure anyone could have done the same.’
‘No, no, credit where it is due. And now I must reward you.’
Sunday frowned as he began to rummage in the drawer of the desk, and then he produced a small bag with a flourish and held it out to her.
‘Please take it as a sign of my appreciation,’ he urged.
When Sunday made no move towards him he sighed and tipped the contents of the bag into his hand, revealing a small brooch in the shape of a flower. He had purchased it from the market and it had no monetary value whatsoever but to Sunday, who had never owned pretty things, it was beautiful. Even so, she shook her head vehemently and backed away from the desk.
‘Thank you, sir. It’s very nice of you but I’m afraid I can’t take it. Can you imagine what Miss Frost would say, were she to see it?’
‘Miss Frost needn’t know about it,’ he assured her smoothly and this unnerved her even more. Turning away, she lifted the bucket containing the remainder of the whitewash and inched towards the door. Before Pinnegar could say another word she was gone and he scowled as he flung the brooch down onto his desk. Seconds later there was a tap on the door and Miss Frost slid into the room, glancing around at Sunday’s handiwork.
‘Ah, I see it is all finished.’
‘Yes, yes, it is.’
Her sharp gaze then settled on the brooch, which he hadn’t had time to return to the bag, and her eyes lit up.
‘Oh, Albert!’ She pounced on it much as a cat would have on a mouse. ‘Is this for me, you dear man? But how did you know it was my birthday?’
She was already pinning it to the bodice of her austere bombazine dress and the man was at a loss as to what he should do. He could hardly tell her that he had bought it for Sunday, could he?
‘I err . . . knew it was round about now but couldn’t remember exactly what day it was,’ he blustered as he nervously fingered his moustache.
She was positively beaming as she admired her new bauble.
‘Well, it is most thoughtful of you and now I must do something for you in return. Would you join me for a glass of sherry in my rooms this evening when we have attended to all our duties? I must not let the day pass uncelebrated after you’ve gone to so much trouble for me.’
Albert inwardly cringed although he managed to keep his smile in place. It was bad enough having her interrupt him throughout the day, he thought, without having to spend his free time with her as well. However, he could see no way out of it so he answered politely, ‘That would be very pleasant. Sh
all we say eight o’clock, Miss Frost?’
She simpered coquettishly as she turned about. ‘That would be perfect. And please, Albert . . . when we are alone, surely we could cease with the formalities after having known each other for so long? My name is Fanny.’
He almost choked as she swept from the room and had to run his finger about his stiff, starched collar to loosen it. Fanny Frost! The name ‘Fanny’ always conjured up images of wanton whores to him, whereas Miss Frost was as cold as a fish. But then he supposed she could not be blamed for what her mother had chosen to call her. A picture of Sunday’s heart-shaped face and deep blue eyes flashed before him then and he wiped his forehead. His first attempt to woo her hadn’t gone at all as he had planned but he wasn’t finished yet, not by a long shot!
They were all at supper in the dining hall that evening when Sunday noticed the brooch pinned to Miss Frost’s chest and spluttered on a mouthful of tea as she wondered how Mr Pinnegar had managed to talk himself out of that one.
She was in a happy mood today because Daisy had told her that their temporary teacher, Mr Jacques, had informed them that Mrs Lockett would be paying them a visit the following day. Sunday could hardly wait and wondered if Verity would bring the new baby along. She was longing to meet her. The board of guardians were also paying them a visit tomorrow, which meant that the children would all eat well, so Sunday was humming softly to herself as she made to leave the dining hall. She had gone no more than a few paces, however, when Miss Frost called her back. What now? Sunday wondered. The woman found fault in everything she did, but she was used to it by now.
‘Yes, Matron?’
‘One of the local women who comes in of an evening to work in the nursery is off sick,’ the woman informed her tightly. ‘So tonight you will take her place. I’m sure you are quite old enough to be trusted to do that now. The other member of staff who is on duty up there will show you what to do.’
‘Very well, Matron.’ Sunday was actually quite happy at the prospect but was careful to keep her face expressionless as she left the hall and headed for the stairs. The nursery was located in the attics and when she arrived there she tapped on the door gently.
Mothering Sunday Page 8