by Sophia James
With care, she stood and faced him directly.
‘When you did not tell the world about my ill-conceived visit alone to your town house that first night I knew you were honourable. I once told you that I would have married anyone with the deeds to Athelridge Hall in their pockets, but that was not quite the truth. My father had said that your honour would be the ruin of you and I remembered his praise of you, for he seldom allowed anyone a compliment.’
‘Including you?’
‘This conversation is not about me, Mr Morgan. It is about a child to whom you have given a home and now you want her to feel as if she belongs. I can help with that.’
‘I would be grateful.’ Rifling through his desk, he came up with a letter and handed it over. ‘This came for you first thing this morning from your friend, Mr Thompson. I give it to you, Adelia, with the warning that I should not like to be cuckolded, for any reason and with any man.’
‘You will not be.’ With care, she tucked the letter into her pocket. ‘I promised you my loyalty and I meant it.’
‘Good to know.’
She was glad he said no more. A cut and dried man. A man who would not whine on about his problems like her father had. As she looked around the room, her eyes touched on a portrait behind his desk of an older man with dark hair and a smile.
‘My uncle,’ he said suddenly. ‘He died six years ago.’
‘The one who took you in? You look like him.’
‘He was actually my mother’s uncle.’
‘But you took his name?’ She saw the words on the plate beneath—‘James Morgan’ engraved into gold, the dates of his birth and death under that.
‘Family has to be earned, I think. My mother never quite got the trick of it.’
‘In truth, I don’t think my parents did, either.’
‘Your father hurt Flora.’ He said this quietly, almost in a whisper.
New words. New worries.
‘How?’
‘He tried to strangle her. Catherine walked in just in time. I think it is why she died a matter of days later. Lionel Worthington wanted no one else to know what he had tried to do, but she had already written to me. Did he ever hurt you that way?’
‘Often. He hurt Charlotte, too, and because she was so much smaller than I was it was up to me to stop him.’
‘How?’
‘In the daytime I kept her with me and in the night… I ceased sleeping in my room and sat in hers whenever he was home. He knew why I did it.’
‘You had many bruises on your skin the first time I saw you.’
‘I told you when he died I was relieved and I meant it. The only person in my family who truly shed a tear after his death was Mama, but then she had only ever imagined the good in him.’
‘Was there any?’
‘None. He was a cheat and he was cruel. I used to hope my mother might tell me that he was not, in truth, my real father and that she had enjoyed another lover in Scotland who was kind and good and honourable. But of course she didn’t.’ Looking up, she smiled at him, there through the afternoon light, his eyes a soft gold and his hair very dark. ‘I’ve never told anyone that before.’
‘All children with imperfect parents hold that dream, Adelia.’
‘Do you think Flora will recover?’ Adelia could not imagine all the horrors the little girl had been through.
Simeon leant back and though he looked relaxed, Adelia could tell that he wasn’t.
‘I do because she has to. Sometimes there is no way to look back and live. You have to go forward.’
He was speaking of himself, she knew it. He was talking of his childhood and allowing her a window into it and the quiet tone he spoke in belied another truth. What had happened to him? What demons sat upon his shoulders? Something told her that both she, her sister and Flora had got off lightly compared to his trials. It was there on his face, in the ghost of memories and fury.
‘I sent your father a letter after hearing of what he had done to Flora. I threatened him with death if I ever saw him near the child again. I followed it up later with a visit to him and he killed himself soon afterwards. The letter eventually ended up in Catherine’s effects, but I don’t know whether he took it home first and you read it or not, but if you did, I wanted to explain it.’
‘Because you thought I might blame you?’
‘After our conversation today I rather think you would be more likely to thank me, but you never know. Generally, in business, I always find the truth to be valuable.’
‘And is this what this is? Business?’
‘Isn’t it?’
The room seemed smaller, the air lessened. She suddenly desperately needed to know the answer to her next question.
‘Is Flora my father’s daughter, Simeon?’
‘No. Her father was a man Catherine Rountree married in Manchester eight years ago. He died shortly after she gave birth to Flora.’
‘Would you have killed my papa if he had not heeded your warnings about Flora?’
‘Without a doubt.’
She believed him and was glad. She had never felt this way with anyone before, this breathless gravity. She had never known what the true power of loving someone was until she had been in his company.
Love.
The word made her stand abruptly lest he suddenly see it clearly written on her face.
‘I will help you with Flora in any way you see fit. You just have to ask.’ Then she turned on her heel and rushed out of the library.
In her own room a few moments later, she sat down on her bed, her head in her hands. My God. She loved him. She did. She loved Simeon with all her heart and soul and she knew exactly why. He was honourable and clever and honest and direct. It had nothing to do with his money or his possessions or the fact that as a self-made man he stood at the helm of business.
She had tricked a saint into marriage.
That thought made her smile because he would hardly see himself as that. But to her…
Another thought struck. How was she to go on from here? She had never felt this way before and she could already sense a difference in herself. A joy. A gratitude. An appreciation that had always been missing in her life.
She did not deserve him was her next consideration, but that one, too, disappeared into the following realisation. He had given her Alex’s note unopened.
Tearing the paper apart she looked down at the words and saw a sheet of self-importance and weakness. Alex blamed her for all that had happened to him. He had been to see her mother and had laid all his arguments before her and was pleased to see that she agreed with him. He asked for her to meet him, at his house, at night where they might go on from where they had left off. He told her that no one truly understood him apart from her and that the world was a place that had been cruel to him and harsh. It was not his fault that things had turned out as they had, but his father’s. There ought to have been better provision for his mother and for him—after all, how was a man to live and prosper on nothing? He said he had heard of the evil in Simeon Morgan. He finished by saying that she was his love and always would be, until the very end of time.
She ripped up the note after she had read it and placed all the pieces in her bin. The truth of Alexander Thompson rang out from every single written word. He was insubstantial, needy and narcissistic and was a man who would end up exactly like her mother. A bitter shell. A believer in nothing.
Simeon had been born into a family who had no time for him, yet he had forged ahead and succeeded, despite opposition, regardless of birth.
He had triumphed over adversity and without complaint. He had found a position in the world even though he had been born without one. He had not expected anyone else to provide for him.
Tears came to her eyes.
He was still doing it now. With her. With Flora and Catherine R
ountree. With Athelridge Hall. With her mother and her sister. With those poorer people who would benefit from the new rail connection to London. And those were the ones that she knew of.
Well, there was only one thing for it. She had to show him that she was worthy of him and to do that she needed to be here, in London, beside him. She could begin with Flora. She would begin with a child her own father had tried to kill. There was at least some justice in that.
* * *
Early in the afternoon she came across Flora Rountree in the garden to one side of the building. She was sitting on the ground picking buttercups and daisies, her scraggly posy reminding Adelia of her young years when she used to do exactly the same.
‘Do you thread them sometimes into a necklace?’ she asked softly, not wishing to startle the child.
‘No.’ Her little face was solemn as she sat up straight.
‘Shall I show you, then?’
The slight nod was encouraging.
Finding her own long-stemmed daisies, Adelia pushed her thumb nail through the thick stem and threaded a new flower through. Then she did the same to the next flower and the next one after that. The ring of daisies began to grow.
‘The small buttercups work, too, but you have to get the ones with the thickest stalks otherwise it is much more difficult.’
‘You are very pretty, Mrs Morgan. Prettier than anyone I have ever seen. Prettier even than a princess.’
‘Thank you, Flora.’
‘My mama always said I was plain.’ She did not look up as she said this, the posy in her hand twirling around and around.
‘Well, beauty is something that is not always seen. Kindness is beautiful.’
‘So is the truth.’
This was unexpected and Adelia waited, hoping for an explanation. A moment later she got it.
‘Uncle Simeon tells the truth. He never lies. That is beautiful to me.’
‘I like that, too.’
‘He said I can stay here for ever with him, until I don’t want to. He does not break his promises.’
‘No, I don’t think he does.’
‘A man tried to kill me.’
This came from nowhere and Adelia felt her teeth clench together. A man. Her father.
‘Mama stopped him, but he hit her, too. Now she is dead.’
Adelia sat on the lawn beside her. ‘You are safe here, Flora. No one will ever hurt you again. I promise.’
‘That’s what Uncle Simeon said, too. He gave me this.’ She pulled at a plaited leather strap around her neck and a small ceramic bird came into her hand. ‘It was his when he was young and he told me that it helped.’
‘Helped with what?’
‘Dreams. He said you could fly off to the land of dreams with this around your neck and sleep well because of it.’
The poignancy of what was being said and what wasn’t left a lump in Adelia’s throat.
‘Perhaps we could all go on a picnic together. Would you like that?’
A short nod followed, not as convincing as Adelia might have wanted, but it was at least a start.
‘I will ask Uncle Simeon, then, and see if it is possible.’
The next nod was more solid, although when her governess came through to the garden, Adelia knew that their chat was over. Watching the little girl disappear, she was surprised as her husband came out to join her.
‘So that is a daisy chain…’ he said and stopped.
‘You have not made one before?’
‘Meadows of flowers in bloom were few and far between in the back streets of Manchester.’
He looked away then, and Adelia sensed he would have liked to have said more, but he did not. The distance was back and the caution.
‘I promised Flora a picnic as soon as we were able to organise it.’
‘Where were you thinking of going?’
‘Hyde Park, perhaps. Somewhere by the Serpentine might be nice and we could sail leaf boats.’
‘Another of your childhood games?’
‘Mama used to be less sad once and was a woman who enjoyed life.’
‘And your father?’
‘Was seldom there, so I hope you can come. Presenting a united front might be just the thing needed to pull Flora from her melancholy. She remembers my father trying to hurt her.’
‘I know.’
‘Are there other children around here that she might play with? Someone around her age?’
‘I am not sure.’
‘Perhaps we could ask my sister Charlotte to come to London, then. A holiday would do her good, I think.’
‘The one who looks about as sad as Flora does?’
‘Well, isn’t it said that misery loves company?’
He laughed. ‘If you think it a wise idea, I will send a message up with my driver asking if your sister can come here. A maid could be dispatched to go with them to bring her back to London.’
‘I think she would like that.’
She saw a muscle throb in his cheek as he glanced up at the house, all the windows of the place overlooking the garden. Awareness rang between them, holding them still, but then he moved back and the spell was broken, a gardener turning the corner with a barrow even as he did so.
Had Simeon heard him coming, for he always seemed very aware of his surroundings? A vestige from his childhood, perhaps? She had been exactly the same around her father, never relaxing for a moment in his company lest he lash out in anger.
Simeon was large and well muscled and gave the impression that he could handle anyone or anything that might come at him. But that was now. She thought about the small child who might have known things very differently, a boy lost between adults with little honour until the old uncle with the kind face in the painting had come to save him.
No wonder he had empathy for Flora Rountree. No wonder he wanted to help her. Perhaps he saw a lot of himself in the young girl, scowling and untrusting, a boy from the hard streets of life with little to recommend it.
She made herself smile and gave him some advice. ‘If you could find some time for the picnic, I am sure Flora would appreciate it.’
His nod was quick before he turned.
At least he was not yet leaving for the north and she was not being packed off to Athelridge Hall. The suggestion of bringing Charlotte down to London had merit, too. Her sister had had her struggles and perhaps a complete change of scenery might be good to pull her from her sadness. Adelia was certain she would be kind to Flora and that was another bonus, two young girls with their secrets and fears and the hope that maybe by sharing stories they could both begin to heal.
* * *
Charlotte arrived the next afternoon and for the first time in a long while Adelia saw excitement in her face.
‘Mama did not much want me to come, Adelia, but I told her that I would run away if she did not allow it, run away and never come back and I meant it. Athelridge Hall is just so very tedious at the moment and Mama’s sadness is like a blanket over everything.’
‘Well, I hope you will enjoy it here. I have put you in the room next to mine if you are agreeable to that. Otherwise, if you prefer it, you can sleep in my room with me.’
‘No, I would like a room of my own. Does it have a view?’
‘It does. You can see the church spire and the outline of London’s buildings across the trees. Tomorrow I was hoping we might have a picnic on the grass in the nearby park early in the afternoon. Mr Morgan has the care of a girl called Flora who needs cheering up as her mother has just died and we were hoping that you might be a friend to her, Charlotte.’
‘Of course I shall. It is all so wonderful to be asked to London for a holiday. Will Mr Morgan mind me being here? He was not very happy at the wedding and I thought perhaps he did not like any of us. Mama has never forgiven him for the lack of a weddi
ng breakfast and for leaving us at the chapel in Hyde Park without even a ride home. She speaks of it all the time.’
‘Sometimes being an adult is difficult, Charlotte, and the wedding was stressful, but Mr Morgan and I have sorted things out between us now, so don’t worry.’
‘You being away from home has made me appreciate how much you do for us all, Adelia, and I don’t think I ever thanked you for that. With Father and everything…you took a lot of his anger on yourself and it was unfair. Mother should have been stronger, I think, but she is just not.’
Adelia held out her arms and pulled Charlotte in for a hug. When her sister was younger they had been close so it was nice to feel that again.
‘Life is what you make it and Mr Morgan is a good man despite what Mama says.’
* * *
That evening when both the girls were asleep Adelia went downstairs to see if she could find Simeon. He had asked her to come for a drink when she was less busy and she located him again in his library working diligently on some large plans spread out across his desk.
‘Are the girls settled in?’
‘They are. Flora asked if she might sleep in with Charlotte and my sister was most agreeable. It seems they will be friends.’
‘A further triumph, then. You are very good at making the world right about you, Adelia.’
‘I have had lots of practice and under difficult circumstances.’ She looked at the plans, intricate angled drawings of cross sections and beams and fastenings. ‘Are these for your new railway?’
‘They are. I am looking at the gradients and trying to work out angles, though as I told you I need another challenge after all this. Something different.’
‘Well, I am certain you will come up with one. Everyone at the Greys’ dinner party who I talked with thought you were a genius.’
‘Make enough money and people are bound to say that.’
‘I don’t think it was just the money, Simeon.’
He looked up when she used his name.
‘I think it is more the fact that they can never quite work out who you are.’