by Rosie Clarke
It was a lie, but to tell him the truth would be cruel and make him feel guilty. Marco had tried to help her. He hadn’t intended her to fall in love with him…
31
Colin was in the library with a huge fire roaring and a pile of the estate books on the desk in front of him. He smiled at Maggie as she entered the room, warmly dressed in coat, hat a woollen scarf and mittens.
‘Off for a walk?’ he asked.
‘I wondered if you would like to come with me?’ she said. ‘But I can see you’re busy, Colin. You don’t mind if I walk to the village to post my letters? I thought I might buy a few bits and pieces in the shops. I’d like to make some gifts to send to London…’
‘For Christmas I suppose?’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Do whatever you like, Maggie. We usually send to a London store for whatever we need. They could deliver gift-wrapped if you wish?’
‘I’ve already made things myself,’ Maggie told him. ‘Marion has a baby coming so I’ve knitted a coat for her and I’ll make some bonnets and bootees for her. I’ve made scarves and a blouse for Sally. But there are a few more things I need to buy…’
Since coming to the estate, Maggie had rediscovered a love for sewing and embroidery that she’d put aside when she left school and started work, but now she needed something to fill the winter afternoons if Colin was wrapped up in his work. She could help with the books, but his visits to various farms and workshops were not for her.
Colin had bent over his books again and she left him to his task of getting the accounts in better order so he could begin to see what kind of shape the estate was in. She had no need to ask the servants to make sure his fire was kept made up or that coffee and biscuits were taken in to him. His devoted household catered for his every need and he had only to ask to have whatever he needed provided.
So, feeling satisfied that he would be fine, Maggie turned to head out for the village. The village was not big, but it had three shops, which flourished. Mrs Carter ran a haberdashery, which was amply stocked with everything a woman could need for her needlework, shelves filled with materials, ribbons, cottons and needles, also wool for knitting, a pastime Maggie particularly enjoyed when sitting watching Colin at work by a cosy fire. She liked doing lacy patterns that were intricate and required patience and skill.
Her days were usually filled, because she had taken an interest in the house and gardens and enjoyed making small improvements to their part of the house. Colin liked the way she’d made things cosier and more homely. Maggie didn’t venture into his father’s domain, other than at dinner when they sometimes gathered in the formal dining room. Guests came once or twice a week to dine and that meant Maggie was gradually making acquaintances, if not yet friends. Her real friends were still from her Harpers’ days, but she’d met two young women she’d liked, so in time their acquaintance might become friendship.
She had made various members of the household her friends and she knew most of those who worked on the estate. There was only one prominent member of Colin’s father’s people she actually felt uneasy with and that was their agent, Farringdon, who ran the practical day-to-day stuff and ordered whatever was needed for both the house and the land. He interviewed new workers and put the best forward to be approved or rejected and oversaw so much that he was probably indispensable to the family. However, there was something about him that made her skin creep – something in the way he looked at her. He had deliberately stopped her several times to ask if she needed anything.
‘I am always at your service, Mrs Morgan. We want you to be happy here and it must be lonely for a woman like you – used to so much more life in London and what you did in France. We all admire you for that, Mrs Morgan…’
His words were welcoming and polite, but something beneath them, something in his eyes when he looked at her, made her uneasy. She could not have said why, but she avoided him as much as she could.
Farringdon was nowhere to be seen as she left the house by the kitchen door and took the short cut the servants used across fields wet with the result of a frost melting. Her boots were stout and her ankle-length grey skirt, worn beneath a three quarter-length coat of red tweed, kept her dry as she walked at a good pace towards the village. Despite the chill of the day, the wintry sun made it pleasant enough and she was used to hard conditions at the Front and the English countryside held none of the terrors she’d witnessed these past years.
She smiled and began to sing to herself as she walked, thinking of the purchases she would make. It was good to keep in touch with her old friends and their letters brought her the news from Harpers and their own lives, which always made her feel that she was still a part of their world.
Maggie spent just over an hour looking at the wonderful selection in Mrs Carter’s shop. She had bales of pretty material and Maggie purchased some fine linen to make herself some nightgowns and a shirt for Colin. She knew he purchased fine things from London, but sometimes it was nice to wear a more comfortable shirt of a warm material and she would make one and see if he liked it.
‘I’ll send your purchases with my lad this afternoon, Mrs Morgan,’ the friendly shopkeeper said, looking pleased as Maggie paid her bill. ‘No need for you to struggle with packages – and you could pay me once a month if you chose?’
‘No, I shall pay when I buy,’ Maggie said. ‘Why should you wait for your money?’
She smiled and took her leave, returning the way she’d come with a smile on her face. Her thoughts were with her purchases and the gifts she intended to make and she took no notice of the sound of horse’s hooves other than to move to the verge so as not to impede whoever was coming.
Farringdon’s voice startled her and she turned her head to look as he brought the pony and trap to a halt beside her.
‘Good morning, Mrs Morgan,’ he said and his voice made her spine chill. There was a slight slur to his words and she had a feeling that he’d been drinking at the village inn. ‘Get in and I’ll take you home – save you a long walk…’
‘Thank you, but I enjoy walking. Pray go on, sir. I am sure you have work to do.’
Maggie hoped that her remark would remind him of his position, but instead it seemed to annoy him. To her alarm, he threw his reins over the pony’s head and dismounted, blocking her path. The pony stood obediently, and between the trap and the man, Maggie was trapped and could not walk on.
‘Pray stand aside and let me pass, sir,’ she requested politely.
‘Quite the lady of the manor, aren’t we?’ he said sarcastically and deliberately leaned towards her so that she could smell the whisky on his breath. ‘Think it will make me keener if you play hard to get, Maggie? You don’t need to do that – I’ll enjoy showing you what a real man can do in bed. That half a man you married can’t be enough for you after being with all those men over there…’
‘Sir, you are impertinent!’ Maggie said, alarmed. ‘Please do not insult me further. I am a respectable married woman and I’ve given you no cause to speak to me like that – in fact, I will not have it…’
‘Filthy little slut,’ Farringdon slurred, clearly the worse for the drink he’d taken. ‘I know what women like you want – all you nurses are the same. Stands to reason. No decent woman would wash and dress naked soldiers – only sluts do things like that.’
‘You insult women who have given their lives to bring hope to the injured, none of whom deserve your disgusting remarks!’
Farringdon continued to leer at her. Something had made him reckless and he suddenly made a grab for her.
Startled, Maggie screamed and stepped back.
‘How dare you?’ she demanded. ‘Farringdon, remember you place. I am your employer’s wife!’
‘Bitch, I’ll show you…’ he muttered and made another grab for her.
This time, Maggie was ready for him and she kicked his shins as hard as she could and then pushed her way past him, uncaring of the bramble bush that tore at her skirt and scratched her face. Once she was
free, she lifted her skirt and ran. For a moment she thought he would follow her, but one of the estate workers was walking towards them and Farringdon contented himself with a passing insult.
‘You’ll be begging for it by the time you’ve been here six months and then I’ll make you beg on your knees, bitch…’
Maggie did not bother to reply but ran for all she was worth. By the time she reached the house, she was out of breath, her cheeks red from the wind and her chest heaving. As she burst into the kitchen, Tilly looked at her in concern.
‘What happened, Mrs Morgan?’ she asked. ‘You look as if you’ve been attacked?’
Maggie put her hand to her cheek and felt the sting of the scratches and the dried blood. ‘I was insulted and a man tried to molest me…’ she gasped. ‘I…’
‘On our own estate?’ Colin’s voice sounded from behind her and she whirled round to see him in his chair. He must just have entered the kitchen, something he often did. ‘Tell me who it was – I’ll sack him, whoever he is.’ Colin’s expression was furious. ‘How dare anyone insult you?’
Maggie hesitated, then, ‘I think I must tell you, for if I do not, he may try again… It was Farringdon and he made filthy insinuations and tried to grab me. I had seen him look at me before but took no notice. However, I believe he had been drinking…’
Colin’s mouth hardened. ‘Did he harm you? If he did, I’ll have him arrested. If I had the use of my legs, I would thrash the bastard.’
‘I kicked him and ran,’ Maggie said. ‘I scratched myself getting past him. The only way through was a huge bramble bush – but you need him, Colin.’
‘You leave Farringdon to me,’ her husband said. ‘Look after her…’ he shot at his cook and went out of the door Maggie had entered earlier. ‘I’ll be back, Maggie…’
‘Colin, please,’ she cried, but he wasn’t listening.
‘Mr Colin can handle that scum,’ Tilly said soothingly. ‘He was brought up to be the master and Farringdon is rubbish – the rest of us have always thought it, but it wasn’t our place to say.’ She took Maggie’s arm gently. ‘Now you just sit down here and drink this brandy, Mrs Morgan – and I’ll bathe your cheek with a little warm water.’
‘But Colin is in that chair…’ Maggie stood uncertainly as if she would go after him.
‘He needs no protection,’ Tilly said. ‘Mr Colin knows how to handle bullies, don’t you worry; that’s why he was such a good officer. We’re all proud of what he did in the war. He hasn’t said a word, but we all know he got a medal for bravery on the field.’
‘Yes, he did.’ Maggie smiled. Tilly was right. Colin would not need her protection. Yet Farringdon was needed on the estate and had he not overheard her first breathless words she might never have told him. ‘Thank you, Tilly.’ She sipped the brandy and allowed the kindly woman to bathe her cheek, which stung now she was not running for her life.
‘There, that will heal soon enough,’ Tilly said as she rubbed in a little balm. ‘It won’t show once the scratches have healed.’
Maggie thanked her again and went upstairs to change into a clean skirt and blouse with a little fitted jacket. She was just restoring some order to her hair when the door opened and Colin entered. He had a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes and she guessed he’d gained it from whatever had passed between Farringdon and himself.
‘Are you all right, Maggie?’ he asked her anxiously. ‘I was afraid he might have hurt you.’
‘No, I kicked him and escaped,’ she said. ‘No real harm was done except to my dignity.’
‘Harm enough,’ Colin replied. ‘He’d been drinking at the village inn. He won’t come near you again, Maggie. I’ve dismissed him and told him I’ll have him shot if he’s seen here again.’
‘Colin, you wouldn’t!’ Maggie stared at him incredulously.
‘For two pins I’d have shot him myself,’ he replied angrily.
‘He isn’t worth it, Colin. He is less than nothing. I’ve met his sort before, which was why I refused to ride home with him. Usually, they slink off when you look at them in disgust, but he had been drinking rather a lot in the middle of the day when he was supposed to be working for you.’
‘I would have dismissed him for that,’ Colin said, ‘but he deserved a thrashing…’
‘Oh, I think you dealt with him well enough,’ Maggie replied and smiled. ‘Or shall we have him boiled in oil and served up to the pigs?’
Her teasing remark made him look at her and then he grinned. ‘Young Marks came with me – he works on one of the farms. He knocked him down and kicked him in the ribs a few times until I told him to stop. Yes, I think we’ve seen the last of Farringdon, Maggie. Any of my men would willingly shoot him through the leg and Marks would thrash him if I lifted a finger. I have some loyal men. He didn’t belong here and my father should never have given him so much freedom.’ Marks was a man in his forties, Colin’s head groom, an old soldier with strong shoulders and fists like hammers. He never spoke to Maggie but grunted and nodded each time they met and Tilly had told her his young nephew had been one of her patients. ‘And Marks is devoted to you, Maggie, so I pity Farringdon if he dares to show his face here again.’ Colin looked very satisfied at his own thoughts.
‘Since he has been thoroughly punished, perhaps we should go down to lunch before we upset your father?’ Maggie kept a straight face though her eyes smiled.
Colin laughed. ‘No wonder you’ve got the rest of them wound round your finger, Maggie. Yes, come on. Father will be upset enough that I’ve dismissed his agent without making him wait for his lunch.’
‘How is he?’ she asked. ‘Do you think his health is deteriorating – or was it a ruse to get you home?’
‘He won’t let us see it, but his health is not good,’ Colin told her. ‘I asked his doctor and he told me he doubts he’ll make old bones.’
‘I am very sorry,’ Maggie said. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘He wouldn’t let you, but I am grateful for the offer, Maggie. Now we must go because I need to explain why I dismissed his agent.’
‘Will he be angry?’
‘I don’t mind either way. Farringdon could not remain here after he distressed you. What good would I be as a husband if I just let it slide?’
‘Lead on, Sir Knight,’ Maggie teased and he grinned once more as she held the door for him to manoeuvre his chair through the open space. It was nice to think she was liked and respected and it made her feel that she had a place here. Her friends were not just those she’d worked with at Harpers, she had friends here, too. Yet Sally, Beth and Rachel would always bring fond memories…
32
Sally glanced up as her visitor was announced and smiled. She invited him to sit and asked Ruth to bring coffee and biscuits.
‘I’m so glad you came, Mick,’ she said. ‘I’d heard you were back in France for a few weeks and wondered how you were.’ It was now just over a week until Christmas and the war still went on. America had declared hostilities with Austria-Hungary early in the month and Britain had taken Jerusalem back from the enemy.
It was two months since Sally had been down for Maggie’s wedding. She had thought about Mick a great deal during that time. Knowing him, she did not believe he would throw his life away, even though she knew he’d been very upset after speaking to Maggie in the summer. He’d asked the young woman to marry him, but she’d turned him down and Sally was afraid it had broken his heart, but he was smiling now.
‘I injured my shoulder again and the powers that be decided I was no longer fit for active service,’ Mick told her with something resembling his old cheerful grin. ‘So, they’ve sent me back and given me a position, training others to do my job – and I now spend a lot of time sitting at a desk.’
‘Where are you situated – or shouldn’t I ask?’
‘You can ask what you like, Sally Harper,’ Mick said, and she saw the mischief in his eyes, ‘But I might decline to answer. It isn’t in London but
near enough to get back now and then – and that’s why I’m here, to take you to lunch. I want to know if you think my latest menus are up to scratch…’ Sally smiled, pleased to discover that Mick was still taking an interest in his restaurants despite his heartbreak over Maggie.
‘That would be delightful,’ she said, feeling relieved that Mick wasn’t allowing his pain to destroy him, though she did not doubt he was still suffering. ‘When?’
‘No time like today. I leave this evening…’
Sally jumped up immediately. ‘Then we’ll forget the coffee and go now. I’d like to hear what you’re doing, Mick – and ask your opinion about the store.’
‘I thought it looked as good as I would expect in wartime,’ Mick told her and helped her on with her coat. It wasn’t just Harpers that suffered from the shortages. Most of the big stores were struggling to find the right stock. ‘Where is Ben now – or aren’t you sure?’
‘He said it was on the South Coast, but I think he moves around a lot,’ Sally said and smiled apologetically at her secretary as she entered with the tray. ‘We’re off to lunch, Ruth. You have the coffee and biscuits yourself – and we’ll go through those sales figures when I come back.’
‘Yes, Mrs Harper.’ Ruth looked at her doubtfully. ‘I thought you were only working until lunch?’
‘Don’t you fuss,’ Sally said. ‘I get enough of that at home. I shall only do an hour or so – and I’m skiving off now, so it’s all right.’