Newborn Under the Christmas Tree

by Sophie Pembroke

  There was that word again. ‘And so she hired you. To do what, exactly?’

  ‘To fundraise for and organise events that make the castle available to local women in need.’ The words came out in a rush, and Liam blinked as he processed them over again, to make sure he’d heard her right.

  ‘Like a refuge?’ Because that was basically the last thing he’d expect from Great-Aunt Rose. After all, she hadn’t even offered him a refuge when he’d needed one and he, whether she liked it or not, was her own flesh and blood.

  Maybe Rose had changed over the years, but he doubted it. So what was he missing here? He guessed if anyone knew, it would be Alice. Which meant he needed to keep asking questions.

  ‘Sort of,’ she said, waggling her head from side to side. ‘A lot of the girls and women we help, they don’t feel they can spend a lot of time at home. So they come here instead.’

  ‘They’re abused?’ Liam met her gaze head-on, looking for the truth behind her words. ‘Then why don’t you help them get out? Not just set them up with some knitting needles to make cardigans in some draughty castle?’ He knew abuse; he’d seen it first-hand at some of the foster homes he’d been sent to. Suffered it too—both there and at home, with his mother’s boyfriends.

  But, more than that, he’d seen what it had done to her. It had broken his mother’s spirit, if not her body. Somehow, he knew that it was the emotional and physical abuse that she’d suffered, the rejections and the hate, that had convinced her it wasn’t worth fighting for life any longer. Medicine might not be able to prove it yet, but he knew in his bones that if she’d not felt so worthless she could have beaten the cancer that finally took her life when he was ten.

  He could see it now—the fear behind the eyes of the women who’d met him at the door. He’d assumed it was just the uncertainty that came with his arrival, but he should have known better. Should have recognised what he saw. Had he been away from that world, safe in the land of money and prestige, for so long that he’d forgotten what fear looked like?

  ‘We don’t... Okay, yes, sometimes we hold classes and today’s was knitting. But they don’t knit their own cardigans.’ She frowned. ‘At least, not as far as I know. And that’s not the point, anyway. You asked why we don’t get them out of abusive situations. We do, if they’re ready to go. We give them the support they need to make that decision, and put them in touch with the charities that can do it properly. But for some of them...’ Alice sighed. ‘The women and girls who come here, they all have their own stories, their own lives, their own individual situations. Some aren’t abused; they just need something else in their lives. Some are still torn about what to do for the best—for their kids, for themselves. And it’s easy for us to say, “You need to get out, now.” But sometimes it takes them a while to see that.’

  ‘So you just set up craft classes to distract them from all the things that are wrong in their lives?’ Fat lot of good that would do anyone.

  Alice glared at him. ‘So we provide educational opportunities—computer classes, job interview training, talks from the local college about what courses are available, that sort of thing. We help rewrite CVs, we run food banks for those local families struggling to make ends meet, or clothes swaps and donations to provide school uniforms or interview clothes, we help decipher benefits claims forms, we hold meditation groups, exercise classes, cooking classes, breastfeeding workshops for new mums, help with childcare...everything we can think of that will make everyday life easier or provide new opportunities for the women and families of this village. And if they need to get out of a situation, we help them do that too. And we do it all on donations, persuading people to volunteer their time, and by making do with what we have. So no, it’s not just knitting.’

  Her eyes were blazing now, her cheeks red and her pale hair had frizzed a little in the steam from the tea—or her anger. And Liam realised, with a sudden, sinking certainty, that Alice Walters wasn’t a gold-digger. She was something much worse—for him, at least.

  Alice Walters was a do-gooder. A determined, stubborn, dedicated doer of good. And while he might admire that kind of zeal in someone else, right now he was mentally cursing it. Not because he didn’t want to help all those women—he did. That was the problem.

  Because his vision for Thornwood Castle, his big middle finger to the society and family that had rejected him, sure as hell didn’t include groups of troubled women and kids tramping around his personal space, while Alice harangued him to give more, help more, do more. He could see it now—a supplier meeting interrupted by a crying woman, or a visionary design lost to some child’s scribbles.

  They couldn’t stay, that much was obvious. But he couldn’t just throw them out either. It wasn’t that she’d got to him or anything, with her speeches about safe places and refuge and need. But if Thornwood had become essential to the local community, he needed to convince the local community—and, more importantly, Alice—that their needs would be better served elsewhere, so he could get on with his own plans.

  That, he suspected, might take time. Well, time he had—Thornwood had stood for this long waiting for him; it would last a little longer while he sorted all this out. The castle would be his, and only his, eventually. Liam Jenkins was renowned in business for always getting what he wanted—no matter how long it took.

  But for now the only thing to do was to gauge exactly what he was up against. And whether he could buy his way out of it.

  Reaching for a biscuit for the road, he said, ‘You’re right. I had no idea of the scope of your work here. Why don’t you show me round the place while you tell me more about the work you do and the fundraising you’ve got going on?’

  At least the surprise on her face was a small consolation for the work he had ahead of him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE MAN WAS impossible to read. Alice had always heard that Australians were open and honest, friendly but blunt. Clearly Liam had more of his father’s side in him than his upbringing would suggest, because he was giving nothing away. Every relaxed shrug or bland stare hid his thoughts all too effectively.

  He’d nodded politely as she’d shown him around the bedrooms, barely even acknowledging the king’s room, where past monarchs had slept. She supposed that the history of the crown might not mean that much to him, but she’d expected at least a flicker of appreciation at the giant four-poster bed, or even just the place Thornwood held in the heart of the nation. Still, nothing.

  ‘And do the women ever stay over here?’ he asked as she shut another bedroom door.

  ‘Sometimes,’ Alice admitted. ‘Not often, because even with this many bedrooms if we started setting up some sort of bed and breakfast we’d be swamped in days. We simply don’t have the resources—and, to be honest, a lot of the bedrooms aren’t really in a suitable condition for guests.’

  ‘No beds?’

  ‘No heating. Or insulation. Or glass in the windows, in some cases.’ She shivered. ‘Thornwood in winter is not a warm place.’

  ‘Hence the cardigans.’ What was his obsession with knitwear? Alice wondered, as Liam strode off down the hallway. He had a good stride, she couldn’t help but notice. Strong, muscled legs under his trousers, a long step and a purposeful gait. He looked like a man who was there to get a job done.

  Alice just wished she had some idea what the job at hand was, for him. Because obviously he had plans. A man like Liam Jenkins didn’t just show up at Thornwood Castle with a vague dream of medieval re-enactments or something.

  ‘So, which room is yours?’ Liam called back, and Alice scurried to catch him up.

  ‘Um, I have a box room on the ground floor.’ Near the boiler, and close to the kitchens. It was the warmest place in the castle, and Alice loved it—even if it wasn’t all that much bigger than her office. Small spaces were comforting. There was no space for anything—or anyone—to h
ide, there.

  ‘Rose had the master suite, along here, though,’ she added, taking a left turn in the corridor and leading him to a large oak door. ‘We’ve cleared it out already, and it’s made up fresh if you’d like to use it?’ She hoped so. Rose’s suite was one of the few bedrooms in a suitable condition for long-term accommodation. If he said no, Alice had a feeling it would somehow become her job to clear out and do up another room to suit him.

  Somehow, a lot of things around Thornwood became Alice’s job, mostly just because it was quicker and easier to take care of things herself than expect anyone else to do it.

  Actually, not just around Thornwood. Alice’s rule for living number two was: don’t expect anyone to do anything for you. She figured if they did it was a pleasant surprise. And at least she was never disappointed when they inevitably didn’t.

  Technically, Rose had hired her as a fundraiser—to raise money to help keep Thornwood running, without having to open it up for tours. Alice had convinced her that the best way to keep the house open, useful and sort of private was to use it to help the local residents. Rose’s sense of duty had been tickled, and now here they were. Alice raised money—through begging phone calls to donors, or fundraising activities on site—but she also organised the seminars and classes they held, as well as took care of the women. Her salary—small as it was—was paid from the money she raised, so she rarely took more than her room and board, and money for essentials. She was all too aware of the other uses that money could be put to.

  Everyone else on site was a volunteer—except for Maud, the cook-slash-housekeeper, who’d been in Rose’s service for decades. Even Heather, who practically ran the place when Alice was busy, did it for nothing. And she had quickly claimed responsibility for taking care of the women who came to them in real trouble, which Alice appreciated. They’d managed to put together a stockpile in the pantry, full of all the essentials women, children and babies might need—especially if they couldn’t go home again. Some just needed enough food to see them through until payday. Others needed clothes, toiletries, nappies, a pay-as-you-go phone with a number no one had—and a way out. Alice was proud that their work meant they could help all of them—or at least get them to the best place for them to find real long-term help. She’d built up great connections with refuges and charities nationwide, and the work they did at Thornwood was well respected. Women came to them now from across the county, not just the local villages.

  She just hoped Liam’s sense of duty was as strong as his great-aunt’s.

  Opening the door to the suite of rooms, she let Liam walk in first, ignoring the slight pang in her chest she always felt when she saw Rose’s space empty.

  Alice couldn’t honestly say that she and Rose had been friends, but she had certainly developed a great deal of respect for the old woman in the time she’d been working at Thornwood. Rose’s beliefs and opinions might have been from a bygone age in lots of ways, but when it came down to the essentials she was practical and—to Alice’s great surprise—compassionate.

  Rose could have sold Thornwood for millions twice over, or she could have hired a company to make it into a tourist attraction. But instead she’d hired Alice, and told her to ‘make Thornwood useful again.’ Not in a large, flashy, lucrative way. In a way that served the community, and filled a gap in society. In a way that helped people—women just like Alice had been four years ago. Desperate.

  Leaning against the heavy door, she watched Rose’s great-nephew explore the room—running a hand over the antique dresser, sticking his head into the more modern bathroom. Then he crossed to the window and stared out at the gardens beyond.

  ‘What do you think?’ Alice asked when he didn’t turn back. ‘Will it suit?’

  ‘Hmm?’ Liam turned back, apparently startled out of his own thoughts. ‘Oh, definitely. The space out there will be perfect for—’ He cut himself off. ‘You meant the rooms. Yeah, they’ll be fine. I don’t imagine I’ll be spending much time in them, anyway.’

  Which begged the question—where was he planning on spending his time? And doing what? Because he sure as hell hadn’t been thinking about the bedroom when he’d been looking out of that window. He’d been making plans—plans he clearly had no intention of sharing with her.

  And that made Alice very nervous indeed.

  ‘Ready to show me downstairs?’ Liam flashed her a smile, as if the last few moments hadn’t happened at all.

  Alice narrowed her eyes. He was hiding something, that much was clear. But what? And how much harm could it do to everything Alice had built up at Thornwood?

  She supposed there was only one way to find out.

  She took a deep breath and stretched her face into a bright and happy smile. ‘Absolutely.’

  * * *

  Liam followed Alice back down endless, labyrinthine corridors, still thinking about the large expanse of forest he’d seen from Rose’s window. It would be perfect for an outdoor pursuits centre. He could see go-karting and paintball, maybe a ropes course. Plenty to keep the kids entertained while the parents took high tea up at the castle, or whatever it was people wanted from a stately home. Regardless, there was plenty of potential there.

  Once he’d dealt with the castle’s current residents, of course.

  After one last sharp turn in the corridor, they were suddenly spat out into a wide-open landing, leading to a grand double staircase, which joined halfway down to provide steps wider than he was tall. The dark wooden bannisters had been twined with glossy dark green leaves and bright red berries. Below stood an enormous Christmas tree, already strung with lights and glass baubles, the angel on top almost reaching the very top of the stairs. Liam couldn’t imagine how they’d even got it in through the doors.

  ‘Impressive tree,’ he said, nodding towards it.

  Alice gave him a small, tight smile. ‘We like to celebrate life every way we can here. Now, after you?’ She gestured towards the stairs.

  Liam frowned. The staircase was clearly wide enough for both of them to descend at the same time, yet Alice hung back in a way she hadn’t before. She was the one who knew her way around, so she’d led the way for most of the tour. What was different now? Was this some sort of prank?

  He took the first step gingerly, relieved when it felt perfectly solid and ordinary under his foot.

  Behind him, he heard Alice let out a long breath of relief, and knew that this was just another puzzle he’d need to figure out before he could leave Thornwood.

  Safely at the bottom, Liam turned to admire the staircase. It would be a grand welcome for guests, a great way to make them feel they really had bought a piece of the English aristocracy experience. Then he blinked, and realised he wasn’t looking at the staircase at all.

  He was watching Alice.

  She skipped down the stairs easily enough, one hand bouncing along the bannister in between the greenery. The tension he’d heard in her voice when she asked him to go first was gone, and instead she looked...what? Guarded, maybe? As if there was something here she was trying to hide—something more than leaky ceilings and missing windows. Something other than just Thornwood.

  Something about her.

  He frowned as she reached the ground floor and glided across to straighten an ornament on the tree. Why, exactly, had Alice Walters come to Thornwood in the first place? He’d assumed she’d just been an eccentric hire of Rose’s, but now he was wondering. Obviously she had to be good at her job, and have great organisational skills, if she was keeping all the courses and sessions running that she claimed—even if her office was a bomb site. And Rose had never had any patience for slackers, so she must be a hard worker. Not to mention good at eliciting donations, to pay for everything.

  Those sorts of skills could command a significant wage in the business world—far higher than he could imagine Rose paying her. So what kept her a
t Thornwood? Was it just the desire to do good—and, if it was, what had instilled that need in her?

  Or, and this seemed like more of a possibility than he’d previously considered, was Alice one of the women who had needed the safe haven of Thornwood?

  For some reason the idea filled him with horror—far more than the usual pity or anger he’d expect at a women being caught in such a situation. The idea of Alice—fired up, determined, intense Alice—being diminished by someone, a man, he assumed... That was unacceptable.

  She turned to him, her bright smile firmly back in place and her honey-blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders. Suddenly, she didn’t look like a victim to him any longer. She looked like a strong, capable woman—one he needed to negotiate with before he could move on with his plans.

  He was here for business, not to save people. Besides, he’d never been any good at that, anyway. He hadn’t been able to save his mother, had he? And for every fight he’d got in the middle of, how many of the people he’d protected had just gone back and got beaten up again the next day? Probably most of them.

  Better to focus on what he was good at—designing buildings and making them a success. That he knew how to do—even if Thornwood was a little different to his usual projects.

  And Alice was a lot different to his usual challenges.

  * * *

  Relief settled over Alice as she saw that the river from that morning had been thoroughly mopped up and the main hall was looking its usual impressive self again, ready for its new owner. The Christmas tree appeared perfectly festive, as did the garlands on the banisters. And hopefully Liam hadn’t noticed anything odd about her behaviour by the stairs—although, given how observant he seemed about other things, she wouldn’t like to place a bet on it. Still, even if he had noticed, why would he care? He wasn’t likely to worry about it enough to ask questions and find out what her problem was.

  People usually didn’t, in Alice’s experience. No one wanted the second-hand trauma and misery of another person when they were already dealing with their own.