The Gamekeeper's Wife

by Clare Flynn

  Christopher felt the blood rushing to his face, wondering how to reply, but Lord Bourne evidently didn’t expect a response.

  ‘I’d like to get this settled soon. Have to follow proprieties, but you and I can agree, man to man, and let the ladies sort out the finer details later. I thought we’d announce the engagement in a couple of months. I’ve invited you and your mother to come to Harton Hall. End of June. After Ascot. In the meantime you can take the gal to the theatre or dinner a couple of times. Go through the motions – she can’t abide the theatre – who can blame her? – but she’ll play the game. Like her father in that regard. Can’t stand opera either. Once you’re married you can do what you like.’

  Christopher listened, barely able to take in what he was hearing.

  ‘Told you about her blessed dogs, has she? Horrible little things. I swear to God, one day I’ll accidentally step on one and squash it to death. Can’t say she hasn’t been warned.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘Good luck to you with them. Horrible, yappy little creatures.’

  He tapped the top of the table with his knuckles. ‘Your late father and I had already sorted out all the financial aspects when she and Percy became engaged, so we’ll stick to those. No need to waste any more time. Percy, or you – makes no difference in the end. Not when I have a roof that needs mending. The place will be yours and Lavinia’s when I go anyway. No son to leave it to any more. Need you and Lavinia to provide an heir to my title.’ He was in full flow now. ‘No entail on the estate or the title so Lavinia’s children will inherit. As to the house. Draughty old place. Damp too. So it makes sense to get the repairs done sooner rather than later. These days we spend most of the time in the town house. My wife and Lavinia hate the country. But Harton Hall has been in the family for centuries so we can’t let it go to rack and ruin.’

  Christopher didn’t know how to respond to being so overtly described as a fair exchange for a new roof on a country house.

  Lord Bourne leaned back in his chair and puffed on his cigar. ‘Well?’ he said at last.

  ‘As I said, I’ve not had an opportunity to consider all this. I’ve only been home from the rehabilitation hospital for a month.’

  ‘What? Nothing to consider.’

  ‘I happen to think there is.’ Christopher got to his feet, trying to ignore the way the room was spinning. ‘Now, Lord Bourne, I believe the ladies will be expecting us in the drawing room.’

  After they drank a hurried and awkward tea with the two older women, Lavinia having already excused herself and gone to bed, Christopher was approaching his bedroom when his mother intercepted him on the landing. ‘Well?’

  ‘Well what?’ He realised his speech was slurred.

  ‘Don’t be tiresome, darling. How did it go with Lavinia? And what did you discuss with Lord Bourne?’

  ‘Lavinia surpassed all my expectations.’

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful, darling.’

  ‘She’s not only dim, she’s completely unable to think about anything other than herself and her beloved dogs.’

  ‘Really, Christopher, you’re such a tease. Be serious.’ She peered at him. ‘Are you intoxicated?’

  ‘Yes, I am indeed intoxicated. Only way I could get through the bloody evening. And I’m deadly serious. That was the dullest evening I’ve ever had the misfortune to spend.’

  ‘You don’t have to find the girl interesting. You just have to marry her. How hard can that be?’

  ‘Hard? It’s impossible.’

  ‘We’ll talk about this tomorrow,’ she hissed. ‘When you’re sober. In the meantime, please, please, be civil to the woman.’

  ‘I’ve never been anything but civil, Mother. The model of manners and courtesy.’

  ‘Well, thank heavens for that at least. Goodnight.’ She proffered her cheek to be kissed and went back along the corridor to her room.

  Safely inside his own bedroom, Kit leaned against the back of the door for a few moments. He staggered towards the bed, slumped on top and fell into an immediate sleep. He hadn’t even removed his leg.

  Chapter 8

  The following morning, nursing a sore head, Christopher went down to breakfast in the morning room. To his relief, only Edwina was there and she told him that Lavinia and her mother had not yet risen and were unlikely to appear before luncheon and Lord Bourne had left for a round of golf with Geoffrey Harrington-Foster, one of the dinner guests expected that evening.

  ‘I hope you’re in a better frame of mind this morning, Christopher?’

  ‘My mind is perfectly framed.’

  ‘Do you have to joke all the time? You know exactly what I’m talking about. I must say you do look dreadful. You and Lord Bourne gave the port a hammering last night. Bannister says you demolished a whole decanter.’

  Christopher chose not to respond.

  ‘So? Did Lord Bourne raise the question of you marrying his daughter?’

  ‘He did indeed. Rather bluntly, I thought. Told me the arrangements would be exactly as agreed between him and Father for Percy; that it made no substantial difference to him which of us married her, although he made it clear that Percy would have been the preferred choice; told me being a botanist was no profession at all; that you had assured him I would be more appropriately occupied in the management of the estate in future, and that he would like to conclude matters as quickly as possible in order to have the funds for a new roof.’

  Edwina clasped her hands together. ‘How splendid! I hope you told him that would be ideal for us too.’

  ‘For us? I think you mean for you. Marriage to Lavinia on any terms is not ideal for me. In fact, it’s not going to happen.’

  His mother’s hands flew to her face. ‘I hope you didn’t tell him that!’

  ‘No. I told him I needed time to think about his offer, that I had only just finished my convalescence. He managed to squeeze in the fact that apparently Lavinia is rather put out by my lack of a leg. I wanted to say not nearly so much as I am.’

  ‘He said that?’ Her eyes widened.

  ‘Along with some mutterings about sacrifices for king and country and his belief that the girl will eventually come to accept the missing leg. As long as she doesn’t ever have to look at it. He meant the stump, presumably.’

  Edwina walked over to the sideboard and helped herself to another portion of kedgeree. She sat down again and shook her head. ‘Don’t take it to heart, darling. She’ll come round.’

  ‘I hope she doesn’t. It might be my best chance at her turning me down. That is if she has any say in the matter, which I imagine she hasn’t.’

  ‘Your marrying Lavinia is the perfect solution for everyone. We’ve been through this so many times.’

  ‘It’s the perfect solution for everyone except me – and probably Lavinia. Please, Mother, for once, can we have a proper conversation instead of flinging platitudes across the table?’

  His mother frowned, puzzled and reining back her annoyance.

  ‘Let’s talk about why you want this marriage so much. About why you want to push me into doing something that runs completely counter to everything I want and everything I believe. Does my happiness not even enter into your calculations? Not even slightly?’

  ‘Your happiness? What about your duty? What about the family honour? What about your responsibility?’

  ‘Don’t you think serving my country and losing my leg in the process was sufficient discharge of duty and honour? Spending two years in the trenches, sending other men to their deaths and narrowly avoiding my own? As to responsibility, my only one is to see that you are provided for, Mother. I don’t give a fig about uniting the Shipley name with the Bourne family tree. I happen to be proud of my heritage. Proud of the fact that my granny worked in a woollen mill and my grandfather started off pushing a cart round the streets of Huddersfield.’

  ‘Don’t be vulgar.’

  ‘Vulgar? Sometimes you are a complete mystery to me.’ He poured himself a cup of tea and reached for the sugar. ‘Yo
ur father worked in a factory and then made his money from using his powers of invention. What is there to be ashamed of? And your grandfather was an immigrant to America from Poland.’

  ‘Stop it at once. You’re distressing me now, Christopher. Are you deliberately trying to make me unhappy?’

  ‘Unhappy? I’d like to understand why it’s perfectly acceptable for you to consign me to a future of unhappiness. Tell me why this matters so much to you. Explain to me why it will make you happy to see me in misery.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She pushed her plate away, having barely touched the kedgeree. ‘Once you get used to the idea, marriage to Lavinia will be perfectly fine. Misery indeed! No one expects to marry for love, except the lower orders. Marriage is a business arrangement, and marrying a woman as beautiful as Lavinia should make that less burdensome. Your poor dear brother understood that perfectly and so should you.’

  ‘Poor old Percy. I discovered last night that the only thing Lavinia is sorry about is that his dying meant she didn’t get to wear her wedding gown. And what good is her beautiful face if I can’t bear to be in the same room as her?’

  Edwina’s face twisted with pain at the mention of Percy. She was silent for a moment then said, ‘Your brother was awfully fond of the girl. Why are you saying such terrible things? Lavinia was fond of him too. Everyone said so. They were a beautiful couple.’ She sniffed and dabbed at her nose with a lace trimmed handkerchief. ‘As you get to know her better, you will grow fond of her yourself. Give her a chance, Christopher.’

  ‘If a “good marriage” is so important to you, why don’t you make one yourself? Now Father’s dead there’s nothing to stop you. But please forget about trying to arrange mine. You can live here in peace for the rest of your life off the dividends from the business. I’ll hire a manager to run the estate if you want to keep it on, but I’ll have no part of it. I may even go abroad again.’

  Edwina rose from her seat and flung her napkin on the table. ‘I have a headache. I’m going to lie down. I suggest you reflect on the terrible things you’ve said. I’ll expect your apology before dinner.’

  * * *

  This time he didn’t hesitate. He pointed Hooker in the direction of the woodland as soon as they walked out of the stable yard and he rode across the park by the most direct route, uncaring if anyone noticed where he was heading.

  When he reached the little house in the copse, there was no smoke from the chimneys and no sign of life. He pressed his face against the windowpane and saw that the fire in the tiny parlour was laid but unlit. Where was she? He moved around the back of the dwelling, opening the doors to the empty sitting house, store rooms and wash-house, then went down the slope to the long brick building that housed the kennels. When Walters had been alive and the shooting a regular occurrence, there had been birds in the nesting boxes and more than a dozen dogs in the kennels. Now there was only dust and cobwebs.

  Behind the house, there was a small plot with rows of vegetables. The soil appeared to have been freshly weeded. The clothes-line hung, limp and empty, across the patch of thin grass between the cottage and the vegetable garden.

  Kit hadn’t prepared himself for the possibility that she might not be at home. Had she gone for good? Changed her mind about working in the garden? Was it the kiss?

  Filled with anxiety, he took off his hat and sat on the step, looking up hopefully every time he heard a twig snap from the movement of a bird or rabbit in the undergrowth.

  It was more than an hour before Martha appeared. Kit’s stomach lurched as she approached down the dirt track that led from the village. She was wearing a coat over her usual drab brown dress and her hair in its loose bun was partly hidden beneath a shabby felt hat.

  Lost in thought, she didn’t notice Kit at first, as he watched her approach. When she saw him, she halted for a moment, then came slowly up to where he was waiting on her doorstep.

  ‘You shouldn’t have come,’ she said. ‘We have to stop these meetings.’

  Ignoring the remark he asked, ‘Where were you?’ His anxiety that she’d gone away lifting from him.

  She told him she had been taking flowers to lay on her father’s grave in the village churchyard, as she did every Saturday morning.

  Unbuttoning her coat, she settled beside him on the step and he reached for her hand. His own was shaking but this time it was because of her proximity rather than his shattered nerves.

  She paused, then reached up her other hand and stroked his hair away from his forehead where it was flopping over one eye. ‘What’s wrong? There’s something the matter, Kit.’

  He gave a long low sigh. ‘I’m being put under pressure to agree to marry Lady Lavinia.’

  ‘Is that such a bad thing?’

  ‘It’s the worst.’

  ‘No, Kit. It’s not the worst. Believe me.’ She stared into the distance.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to compare my situation with what you went through.’

  She got up from the step and opened the door. ‘I’ll make some tea.’

  How had they come to this? In a few short days, Kit had already formed a habit of visiting Martha, of their tea-drinking ritual. The thought that a day might come when he arrived at her house to find it shuttered up and empty was too much to bear.

  She stood behind him when he sat at the table, placing her hands on his shoulders, and bent over to drop a kiss on the top of his head. He pulled her into his lap and she leaned her head against his chest. They sat there silently, until the whistle of the kettle on the range drew her into the kitchen.

  She sat down again, this time opposite him.

  ‘I can’t marry her. I won’t marry her.’ He faced Martha across the table, realising that he loved this woman whom he had only known a few days. ‘I want to marry you.’

  He had been afraid she would laugh at him, or accuse him of patronising her, but she had sadness in her eyes.

  ‘You know that can’t happen. Wealthy men don’t marry their servants’ widows. Please don’t say that again. I beg you.’

  ‘Even though I only met you a few days ago, I feel I know you, really know you, and that you know me too. That you understand me. That we understand each other.’ He breathed slowly then said, ‘I think I love you, Martha, and I want to be with you all the time. I can’t stand to think of life without you. When I got here today and you weren’t here, I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t bear it. The thought of you being gone. It’s unimaginable.’

  He saw her lip trembling and he thought for a moment she was going to cry. Reaching across the table, she clasped his hand. ‘There is a strong feeling between us. I can’t deny that.’

  ‘You feel the same?’ he said, eagerly.

  ‘I like to be with you.’ She hesitated then barely above a whisper added, ‘This week has been the happiest I have ever known.’

  Kit made a small choking sound, relief flooding through him. ‘I want to make you happy all the time.’

  She shook her head. ‘Stop it, Kit. Don’t torture yourself. Don’t torture me. We both know there’s no possibility for us. Being together is a beautiful dream. There’s nothing wrong with dreaming. Sometimes it’s the only way we get through life. But that’s all it is, Kit, a dream.’

  He moved around the table and knelt at her feet, heedless of the pain in his stump. He clutched her hands. ‘No. It’s not dreaming. I’m serious. We could go away. I’d be glad to see the back of Newlands. It means nothing to me. Money means nothing to me. Reputation, connections, commerce, hunting, shooting and fishing, drinking drinks with stupid names, dining with boring people, making trivial conversation while eating too much food. I despise it all.’ He gulped. ‘And as for being married to that simpering, baby-faced halfwit who wants only to talk about her dolls and her dogs and refuses to ride, or even walk in the garden for fear it will upset her sinuses. Oh, Martha, it’s unthinkable.’

  ‘Then don’t marry her. No one can force you. There’ll be someone else for
you, one day. Someone more congenial. Someone of your class. But forget about me.’

  ‘Why? Why must I forget about you? How can I? I love you.’

  ‘We’re from different worlds. I’m ten years older than you. Your mother would have a heart attack.’

  ‘My mother would get over it. She’s hardly out of the top drawer herself. She’s an American – the landed gentry love nothing more than enjoying American money while feeling superior. Her father was a factory worker who happened to invent a piece of kit that made my grandfather’s weaving machinery work more efficiently and cost less to produce than the competition. He made a fortune until Grandfather bought his business and my father got Mother as part of the deal.’

  The pain in his leg now biting hard, he got up, pulled her out of the chair and sat down, drawing her onto his lap. She leaned her head against his chest and pulled his hands in front of her waist, girdling her, her own hands on top of his.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ she said.

  Kit hesitated a moment, distracted by the warmth of her body against his, then went on. ‘My mother and her family mistook wealth for status and she got a rude awakening when she discovered Father wasn’t a bona fide member of the upper classes – people like the Bournes look down on the Shipleys as social-climbing tradesmen. It’s been Mother’s life’s work to put that right, and my marrying Lavinia was to be the clincher. But Mother will survive – she’s weathered worse than this. Not least losing Percy.’

  ‘Your mother married your father as an arrangement, so it’s understandable she should expect you to do the same. Is that really so bad, Kit?’