Rags-to-Riches Bride

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I am unkempt, my father is in hospital and I must be on hand to visit him; besides, you could not have told her ladyship the whole sorry story.’

  He knew what she meant. ‘No, that is between you and me and no one else’s business unless you choose to tell them.’

  ‘Oh.’ She paused to reflect; she could not keep her job and look after her father at the same time, and yet she needed to earn if they were to live. It was a problem that would have to be faced, but at the moment she was too exhausted to think about it. ‘Would that not be dishonest?’

  ‘I do not see why. Your father is ill and he is not going to be in a position to go wandering off on his own for a little while, is he? Why stir up more problems for yourself?’ He turned to look at her. She was very pale; there were dark circles under her troubled blue-grey eyes and her hands were shaking in her lap. He put one hand over hers. ‘Our secret, eh?’ Even as he spoke, he wondered what he would say to the dowager if she asked him what he had discovered? What had Great-Grandmother seen in her that had made her so anxious to probe? The whole business was on the way to distracting him from his main purpose, being elected to Parliament and having his book published. He thought becoming an MP ought to come first, but he had heard nothing from Peel or Chadwick.

  ‘Thank you.’ She looked down at his strong brown hand covering hers and it felt so comforting and so right, she did not withdraw it as she ought to have done, but a minute later he was obliged to put both hands on the reins to steer the pony to a stop in order to pay the toll over Waterloo Bridge and the moment of intimacy was gone. ‘But I still do not think you should take me to Harecroft House. I am an employee, it is not fitting…’

  ‘That makes no difference as far as the old lady is concerned. When she says do something, we all jump to obey.’ His voice softened. ‘Do not be alarmed. She will not eat you. You will be given a room where you can rest and refresh yourself and later someone will take you to visit your papa. It is better than going back to those dismal rooms and the uncouth Mrs Beales, is it not? You could never rest in the daytime there.’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘I suggest you accept, it will be easier in the long run.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She leaned back and shut her eyes and let him carry her forward, though she could not help feeling she was being manipulated, losing control. Accustomed to directing her own life, of looking after her mother before she died and her father since then, she was not sure she liked it. But she was too tired to argue, much too tired…

  Chapter Three

  Harecroft House was an imposing residence, four storeys high with a porticoed porch to its front door reached by a short flight of steps. Richard pulled up outside, jumped down and handed Diana down. By the time they were walking up the steps, the door had been opened by a footman.

  ‘Tell young Johnny to take the tilbury round to the mews, will you, Braithwaite,’ Richard said, ushering Diana into the marble-tiled hall. Then, to Diana, ‘Come, I expect Mama is in the drawing room.’

  He took her arm and guided her up a magnificent cast-iron staircase, turned along a short corridor, and ushered her ahead of him into a large room whose windows looked out on to the square. The dowager and a younger woman were sitting on sofas, one on either side of the hearth. The younger woman’s erect posture was due, Diana surmised, to stiff corseting that diminished her waist and emphasised her bosom, now clad in forest-green taffeta. ‘Here she is,’ Richard said. ‘Mama, may I present Miss Diana Bywater?’

  Diana, still feeling bewildered, bowed her head. ‘Mrs Harecroft.’

  ‘Miss Bywater, you are welcome.’ It was said with rigid correctness and made Diana wonder if she really did welcome her. She turned to the old lady, who was smiling like a child who had got her own way. ‘Lady Harecroft.’

  ‘Sit down by me,’ the dowager said, patting the seat beside her. ‘I was very sorry to hear of your father’s illness. Richard tells me he has had a seizure. How is he?’

  ‘They think he will pull through, but it is too soon to talk of a full recovery.’

  ‘Oh, dear, I am very sorry to hear that, very sorry indeed. I hope he has been made comfortable?’

  ‘Yes, thanks to Mr Richard Harecroft. I do not know what I would have done without him.’

  ‘I did nothing,’ he said. ‘It was fortuitous I was there.’

  ‘Why were you there?’ his mother demanded.

  ‘Father asked me to escort Miss Bywater home last evening. She had been working late and Stephen had already left or he would have taken her.’

  ‘I told them it was not necessary.’ Diana felt she had to explain. Already she had a feeling that Mrs Harecroft disapproved of her and, remembering Richard’s expression when he had come upon her and his father in the office, she certainly did not want her to think there was anything untoward going on. ‘But in the event I was very glad Mr Harecroft was there.’ She paused. ‘I did not expect to be brought here today and would not, for the world, intrude—’

  ‘Stephen wished it,’ Mrs Harecroft said. ‘And it is time we met, I think.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Miss Bywater is worn out, Mama,’ Richard said. ‘She has been sitting up with her father all night. Can you not leave the questions until later, when she has rested?’

  ‘I ought to go to work,’ Diana said.

  ‘Certainly not!’ the dowager put in. ‘Time enough for that on Monday. Richard, ring the bell for Mathilde.’ She turned to Diana as Richard obeyed. ‘Mathilde is my maid. She will show you to your room and look after you. Poor thing, you look done in. Have you had any breakfast?’

  ‘No, but I am not at all hungry.’

  ‘I will have something sent up to you,’ Mrs Harecroft said as a maid entered the room and bobbed to Lady Harecroft.

  She was of middle years, very thin and upright. ‘My lady, you rang?’

  ‘Yes. This is Miss Bywater. She has had a very trying night and needs to sleep. I believe a room has been prepared for her.’

  After expressing her gratitude, Diana was conducted up another flight of stairs and along a corridor to a bedroom. ‘Here you are, miss.’ The maid pushed open the door to a large well-furnished room. It had a Turkey carpet on the floor and heavy silk curtains. Diana recognised the material from the stock at the shop. ‘This room is next to her ladyship’s. Where is your baggage?’

  ‘I do not have any. I have not come to stay beyond a few hours. I shall just remove my outer garments and lay on the bed a little while. Wake me at noon, will you please?’

  ‘Very well, miss.’ The expression on the woman’s face would have made Diana smile had she not been too tired and worried to do so. The maid was obviously not used to such strange behaviour. Guests sleeping in the middle of the day and turning their noses up at a stay at Harecroft House was probably unheard of!

  After the maid had gone, Diana took off her dress and sank on to the bed. She was almost too tired to sleep and there was so much going round and round in her head that it felt woolly. What was she doing here? Had she become so weak willed that she could not say no and mean it? It was Mr Richard Harecroft’s doing. He had as good as abducted her, taking the place of Stephen, so he said. As for their father, why did he favour one over the other? Was Richard really a black sheep? What had he done? What had she done to merit the attention she was receiving?

  There was a knock at the door and a maid entered with a tray of food which she put on the table near the window. ‘Do you need anything else, miss?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘The mistress says to sleep as long as you like. Mr Harecroft and Mr Stephen will not be back before three.’

  It was a clear instruction to stay out of the way until the rest of the family arrived home and Diana managed a brief smile before sitting at the table to eat the scrambled eggs and bacon, the bread and butter that had been provided along with a pot of coffee. She had not had such a luxurious breakfast for years. It ma
de her realise how much her life had changed since her mother died. And it was all here for her, if she accepted Stephen.

  The food eaten, or as much of it as she could manage, she returned to the bed and flung herself across it. To her own surprise, she slept.

  Diana did not wake until a maid brought hot water and told her Mr Harecroft and Mr Stephen had returned home and it was time to dress for dinner, which would be taken at five o’clock, in deference to the dowager who hated eating late in the evening. Diana sprang up in dismay; she had asked to be woken at noon, fully intending to return to St Thomas’s hospital to see her father and then go home without troubling the Harecroft family again. She was overset with guilt; poor Papa would think she had deserted him.

  It took only a few minutes to wash, put on her dress again and scrape her hair back, then she ventured downstairs, carrying her cape and bonnet. She stopped outside the drawing-room door, knowing she must express her gratitude before leaving and trying to frame the words that would convey her appreciation without bowing and scraping. After all, she had her pride, it was only ill fortune that made it necessary for her to work.

  ‘You could have gone yourself.’ It was Richard’s voice coming from beyond the door. ‘Papa would not have prevented you.’

  ‘Unlike you, I choose to work. I cannot take time off when the fancy takes me.’ This was Stephen.

  ‘Fancy, eh? Is that what she is?’

  ‘No. I am seriously inclined to marry her.’

  ‘You cannot mean it.’

  ‘Why not? I have much to offer…’

  ‘Oh, indeed you have, brother. Have you told her exactly what it is you are offering her? Apart from your name and a stake in the Harecroft business, I mean.’

  ‘Is that not enough?’

  ‘It might be for some. I do not know the lady well enough to judge, but if you want my advice—’

  ‘I do not. Just because you helped me out of a hole does not give you the right to tell me what to do.’

  ‘Of course not. I leave that to Papa. Was it his idea?’

  ‘Not at all. I am perfectly capable of making up my own mind. And it has nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I spoke with no other motive than brotherly affection, but if you disdain my advice…’

  ‘You would not take it upon yourself…’

  ‘Me? Good Lord, no! I will say nothing, I promise you, but you have a moral obligation to do so.’

  ‘You are a fine one to talk of moral obligation, Richard.’

  Diana had no doubt they were talking about her, though she was puzzled, she could not stay there eavesdropping. She crept halfway back up the stairs and then turned and came down again, clattering her shoes on the marble of the floor, before entering the room.

  They both turned towards her. ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’ She took a certain pride in knowing her voice was light and even.

  ‘Hallo, Diana,’ Stephen said. It was only the second time he had used her Christian name, no doubt to impress his brother. ‘Are you rested now?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘I was sorry to hear about your papa. I hope he is being looked after.’

  ‘Yes. I must go and see how he is.’

  ‘Of course. After dinner, I will take you.’

  ‘I had not planned to stay here that long. And there really is no need to inconvenience yourself or your family.’

  ‘It is no inconvenience. Work is done for the day and we are dining early on account of Great-Grandmama. I will have the tilbury brought round at six-thirty.’

  ‘Miss Bywater is about to say she can easily walk,’ Richard said, giving her a sardonic smile that annoyed her. ‘It is her panacea for everything. You will have to persuade her that you desire her company above everything.’

  Stephen glared at his brother. Richard turned away as a bell sounded somewhere in the house. ‘The dinner bell. I am going to fetch Great-Grandmama down.’

  He left the room and Diana turned to go too, only to find her way blocked by Mr John Harecroft and his wife, who had just entered. ‘There you are, Miss Bywater,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘How is your father today?’

  ‘When I left him this morning, he had rallied, but I am anxious to return to see how he is.’

  ‘I am sure you are. Stephen will take you after dinner. Ah, here is Richard and my grandmother. We can go in now.’

  Diana had caught a glimpse of Richard and the old lady through the open door. He had carried her down the stairs as if she were a child and was setting her on her feet, ready to escort her into the dining room. Mr and Mrs Harecroft followed and Diana found herself walking beside Stephen.

  Still in the clothes she had been wearing the day before and in which she had spent the long worrying night, she felt dishevelled and untidy and could not bring herself to take part in the conversation with any animation. Mr Harecroft, busy talking about something that had happened in the shop that morning, did not seem to notice or if he did, hid it very well. Stephen was not so good at hiding the fact that he would rather have introduced her to the household in different circumstances when she was suitably attired. Richard was silent except for such comments as politeness demanded. The air was charged with tension and Diana was glad when the meal came to an end and Stephen told her the tilbury was at the door.

  ‘We missed you at work today,’ he said as they set off.

  ‘Yes, I am sorry about that. I will endeavour to make up for lost time when I come back. If I come back.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean? Of course you will come back.’

  ‘I may have to spend more time with my father. I am told he will need nursing.’

  ‘Then a nurse will be found for him.’

  ‘Mr Harecroft, you cannot think my wages will stretch to a nurse?’

  ‘No, of course not. It will be my privilege to provide the necessary.’

  ‘I cannot expect you to do that. I would never be able to repay you.’

  ‘Nonsense! Have you so soon forgotten that I asked you to marry me? When that comes about, your father’s well-being will be one of my chief concerns. After your own happiness, that is.’

  ‘Mr Harecroft, I have not agreed…’

  ‘I know, but I can be patient. I said so, did I not? And do you think you could call me Stephen? At least when we are away from the shop. It would not be appropriate there.’

  ‘That would imply I had accepted you.’

  ‘But you are going to, aren’t you?’

  ‘I do not know. I cannot think of anything but my father at the moment.’

  ‘Of course. I understand. St Thomas’s, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why choose that hospital?’

  ‘It is the nearest to my home and Mr Harecroft said there was not a moment to lose.’

  ‘Good in a crisis, is my brother Richard.’

  She was not sure if it was said with irony or not, but decided to take his words at face value. ‘Yes, he was. I could not have managed without him.’

  ‘I did not know you were still at work when I left last evening or I would have been the one to take you home. In future when you work late, let me know and I will wait for you.’

  ‘Thank you, but I do not want to be treated any differently from the other clerks.’

  ‘They are men. And I am not going to marry them.’ It was meant to raise a laugh and she dutifully obliged.

  He paid the toll and took them over the river and they were soon at St Thomas’s. He helped her down and accompanied her into the hospital, following her as she made her way to her father’s room. He was awake and had a little more colour than when she had last seen him.

  ‘Papa, how are you today?’ She bent over to kiss his cheek, noting with relief that his face had lost some of the contortion that had accompanied the seizure. ‘I am sorry I did not come back sooner, but I overslept.’

  His smile was a little lopsided and he did not speak, but it seemed he had understood her.

  ‘Papa, I
have brought Mr Stephen Harecroft to see you.’ She turned and indicated Stephen, who was standing behind her. He came forward and held out his hand but the patient could not take it. Instead of reaching for it, Stephen dropped his own hand back to his side, while Diana sat on a chair by the bed and told him everything that had happened since she left him.

  ‘Everyone has been so kind,’ she said.

  He struggled to speak, but his words seemed to be a muddle of incoherent sounds and his frustration was evident. ‘Hush,’ she said. ‘Do not distress yourself. You are being well looked after here and as soon as you are well enough I shall take you home and look after you myself.’ He tried to speak again and this time she understood the word ‘Toby’. ‘Mr Harecroft took Toby home last night, Papa. Mrs Beales is looking after him.’ This was followed by more mumbling on his part.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, addressing Stephen. ‘He is worried about his dog. Mrs Beales, our housekeeper, is not always kind to him.’ She turned back to her father. ‘I shall go home as soon as I leave here. Do not worry about him.’

  She chatted to him a little longer while Stephen stood at the foot of the bed looking uncomfortable, when the nurse came to tell her that it was time to go, he seemed relieved.

  ‘What a dreadful place!’ he said as they made their way back to the gig. ‘The smell!’

  ‘I do not suppose they can help that and they are doing their best for my father.’

  ‘Could your papa not be nursed at home?’

  ‘He will be as soon as he is well enough to be moved.’ They had reached the gig. ‘Thank you for bringing me, I am most grateful.’

  ‘I am glad I did. I had no idea your father was in such straits. We must have him moved to a private hospital and employ some decent nurses. I am appalled that Richard took him there.’

  ‘Your brother did what was best at the time and I cannot afford private nursing, Mr Harecroft.’

  ‘Stephen,’ he corrected her. ‘I thought we agreed on that. And your father’s well-being is my concern. I told you that before.’

  ‘I have not yet agreed to marry you and until I do—’