Duelling Fire

by Anne Mather

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Just for an instant, Harriet’s face showed a bitter impatience, and then she controlled it again, and tucked a friendly hand through Sara’s arm. ‘Come along then. We’ll have tea, just as you say.’ She smiled. ‘You can tell me all about your trip to Buford.’

  Sara nodded, but as they walked into the sitting room Harriet cast a thoughtful glance over her shoulder, as if silently promising that Jude had not heard the last of this.

  CHAPTER SIX

  By the end of her first week at Knight’s Ferry Sara was beginning to feel she had been brought there under false pretences. It wasn’t that she was made to feel idle for not earning her keep. On the contrary, had it not been for Jude, she would have found her new life very comfortable. But the fact remained, there was nothing for her to do, and she knew herself to be the parasite she had once accused Jude of being. But what could she do? When she broached the subject of working with Harriet, she was put off with smiling excuses: ‘Don’t worry,’ was her aunt’s usual comment. ‘Take it easy for a while. Enjoy your freedom. I doubt if living with your father was ever a rest cure.’

  And of course, it hadn’t been. Sometimes Sara had worried herself sick over where the next week’s rent was coming from, but Charles Shelley had never seemed to be concerned. So long as he had enough money to play a decent game of cards, he had been content, and Sara had never dreamed he was losing the amounts he had been losing. Looking back on it now, she realised she had been unrealistic, and for this reason, if for no other, she wanted to feel her present life had a purpose.

  Living at Knight’s Ferry was so different from that uncertain existence. For one thing, each day had a definite pattern. And if she sometimes missed the characteristic quirks of her father’s personality, that had created the peaks and chasms of their life together, the memory of his betrayal was sufficient recompense.

  Of Jude himself she had seen little. During the day he was away, of course, eating breakfast in the kitchen before she was up, and not returning until late in the afternoon. On the two occasions her aunt had had guests for dinner he had remained to play host at the opposite end of the table, a dark and brooding Malvolio in his velvet dinner jacket and pleated shirt. But most other evenings he seemed to prefer other company. Not that he was always out. Janet, who despite her harsh tongue seemed to dote on him, had mentioned once or twice that he was eating in his room, and if Harriet’s lips had thinned at this information, she had made no comment. If their relationship continued its stormy passage after Sara had gone to bed, she chose not to think about it, burying her head beneath the quilt and closing her ears to any verbal altercation.

  Nevertheless, she did sometimes wonder whether her presence had some bearing on Jude’s behaviour, but it was not something she could bring up with Harriet. Instead, she grew increasingly uneasy of her prolonged inactivity, and even considered the possibilities of asking Lord Hadley himself for employment.

  She had learned through Harriet that their aristocratic neighbour was presently writing his memoirs, so perhaps he would have use for a typist, and this was one thing she had mastered. She had often typed her father’s reports for him, and while her expertise would not stand professional comparison, she didn’t make many mistakes. But she could hardly write to Lord Hadley without asking Harriet’s advice, and besides, it might look as if she had some ulterior motive. Like wanting to work with Jude—which couldn’t have been farther from the truth. But Jude was Lord Hadley’s assistant. He looked after the business affairs of the estate, surely far removed from his employer’s personal life, which represented the theme of his autobiography.

  It was in this uncertain frame of mind that Sara returned from a walk to the village to find Harriet waiting for her, waving a cream manilla envelope. Her aunt looked excessively pleased with herself, and Sara knew a sudden unwillingness to hear the news she was bursting to impart.

  ‘It’s an invitation,’ she exclaimed, as Sara removed her waterproof coat and hung it in the cloakroom. ‘From Linden Court. We’re invited to a dinner party they’re having on Friday evening. What do you have to say about that?’

  Sara moved her shoulders in a doubtful gesture. ‘Are you sure the invitation includes me?’ she asked, wishing she felt more enthusiastic. ‘I mean—well, I hardly know the Hadleys, do I? And actually, I’ve been considering asking Lord Hadley for a job.’

  ‘Sara!’ Harriet’s tone was full of reproach. ‘After all I’ve said! I’ve told you, I don’t want you to look for employment. That’s why I’ve given you an allowance—to give you independence.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I do feel—useless!’ Sara exclaimed, following the older woman into the library. ‘Everyone else has an occupation. I can’t just go on living the life of a lotus-eater!’

  ‘Why not?’ Harriet turned to her with outspread hands. ‘My dear, I invited you here to be my friend—my companion. How can you possibly accomplish that task if you go out and find yourself a job?’

  Sara sighed. ‘Harriet, when I got your letter, I thought you wanted someone to care for you, to look after you, to do things for you that you couldn’t do yourself…’

  Harriet shook her head. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Oh—–’ Sara was embarrassed. ‘You know.’

  ‘I don’t.’ Harriet seemed determined not to make it any easier for her, and Sara was forced to improvise.

  ‘Well—like shopping for you,’ she said, avoiding any mention of changing library books, when they were surrounded with volumes of literature. ‘Making meals, keeping the house tidy—–’

  ‘Walking my poodle?’ enquired Harriet ironically, and Sara made a helpless gesture.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘In other words, you thought I was some decrepit old lady, in need of care and attention?’ Harriet snorted incredulously. ‘Sara, for heaven’s sake, how old did you think I was?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Sara moved restlessly about the room. ‘You know what it’s like when you’re a schoolgirl. You tend to think everyone over twenty-one is past it.’

  Harriet nodded. ‘I see. And were you terribly disappointed?’

  ‘No!’ Sara hurried to reassure her. ‘I was delighted to find I’d been wrong, but—–’

  ‘You don’t like it here?’

  ‘No!’ Sara gasped. ‘I mean, of course I like it here. It’s just—different, that’s all.’

  ‘I still need companionship, Sara,’ Harriet pointed out sadly. ‘Oh, Janet’s a treasure and I love her dearly, but she’s not family.’

  Sara shrugged. ‘I want to help, you know that—–’

  ‘You see, Jude can be so selfish at times,’ Harriet went on, as if Sara had not spoken. ‘You must have noticed how provoking he can be.’

  ‘Well—yes—–’

  ‘He doesn’t mean to be unkind, of course. It’s only his way. But—well, I know I can confide in you, my dear, there are times when I think he doesn’t care for me at all. And that’s when I need a friend.’

  Sara was appalled. She didn’t know what to say. For some reason she had never anticipated being the recipient of Harriet’s emotional confidences, and her conscience smote her with the reminder of her own guilt.

  Harriet sniffed and pulled out her handkerchief, blowing her nose firmly before returning it to her pocket. If anything, it made Sara feel even worse, and it successfully neutralised any protest she might have been going to voice.

  Instead, she shifted a little uncomfortably and said: ‘If there’s anything I can do—–’

  ‘I knew you’d understand, darling.’ Harriet touched her shoulder with an affectionate hand. ‘Your being here is a source of great happiness to me. Don’t spoil it, there’s a good girl!’

  It wasn’t until later that Sara reflected how cleverly she had been diverted from her course. By appealing to her sympathies, Harriet had successfully destroyed any hopes Sara had had of becoming self-supporting, and although she told herself that this was why she had come to Knight’
s Ferry, she couldn’t help wishing Harriet was not so generous.

  The dinner party at Linden Court provided a much-needed outlet for her thoughts. It loomed ominously two days away, and despite Harriet’s reassurances Sara was not looking forward to it. Jude, it appeared, was to accompany them, a circumstance that evoked uneasy emotions of another kind, and she spent some time convincing herself that their initial hostility was no longer a complication. On the two occasions he had joined herself and her aunt for dinner, he had been unfailingly polite, speaking to her only when necessary, and treating her in much the same way as he treated Harriet’s other guests. Any discomfort had been on her part, and evidently Jude was not troubled by a guilty conscience.

  On Thursday morning Sara was awake early, and with the prospect of the following evening to disturb her equilibrium, she did not linger long between the sheets. It was a sunny morning, and as there had not been too many of them since her return to England, she decided to enjoy it. It only took a few minutes to wash her face and clean her teeth, and dressed in old denim jeans and a thin knitted sweater, she let herself out of her bedroom.

  She was walking towards the stairs when the door to Harriet’s room opened and Jude came out. He, too, was dressed, in tight-fitting black denims and a shirt of the same material, a dark green leather jacket draped casually over one shoulder. His appearance was so sudden and unexpected, Sara had no time to think of stepping back and remaining unobserved, even had she wanted to. She was obliged to acknowledge that she had seen him, and her face flamed in hot embarrassment as she met his mocking gaze. Did he have to be so brazen about it? she thought bitterly, wishing she had waited those few extra minutes before leaving her room. It was as if he enjoyed humiliating her, and she drew an uneven breath when she realised he was waiting for her to catch up with him.

  ‘Good morning,’ he drawled, his lazy eyes missing nothing of her confusion. ‘Sleep well?’

  His audacity was infuriating, and Sara cast him a malevolent look. ‘Very well, thank you,’ she retorted tautly. ‘I suppose I don’t have to ask you.’

  ‘That’s very civil of you,’ he remarked, allowing her to precede him down the stairs. ‘I’ll assume you mean I look well rested. I am. I passed a very—comfortable night.’

  ‘Do you have to be so aggravating?’ Sara exclaimed, glancing round at him angrily. ‘I’m not interested in your sleeping arrangements. How you choose to dissipate your talents is no concern of mine!’

  ‘Jealous?’ he suggested in an undertone, close behind her at the bend, and she almost stumbled down the remaining steps in her eagerness to refute his claim.

  ‘You really are despicable, aren’t you?’ she choked, clinging to the banister grimly, and he bowed his head in mock shame as she made it unsteadily to the hall.

  However, when she would have left him there, his hand curved abruptly round her arm. ‘Where are you going?’

  Sara gasped. ‘I don’t see that that’s anything to do with you!’

  ‘It’s not.’ His eyes were suddenly conciliatory. ‘Have breakfast with me.’

  Sara stared at him. ‘I didn’t get up early to have breakfast with you.’

  ‘I know you didn’t.’ When he wasn’t mocking her, his face was disturbingly attractive. ‘But humour me, anyway. And I’ll take you to see Midnight’s foal after.’

  Sara hesitated. ‘I was going for a walk.’

  ‘So—walk to the stables.’

  ‘I saw the colt the morning after he was born—–’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘And I’m sure Mr Barnes would show it to me again, if I asked him.’

  ‘I’m sure he would.’ Jude released her arm. ‘I would have liked to have shown you myself, but if you insist …’

  Sara sighed in exasperation. She was hesitating. She was actually hesitating about letting him walk her to the stables. She must be out of her mind!

  ‘I don’t eat breakfast,’ she heard herself say primly, and Jude’s mouth parted in a grin.

  ‘You can always watch me eat mine,’ he invited, his silver-grey eyes alight with amusement, and the temptation was almost irresistible.

  Janet’s eruption from the kitchen at this point effectively prevented the continuance of their conversation. She was evidently surprised to see the two young people together, but her words were the same, Sara felt sure, as they would have been had Jude been alone.

  ‘Are ye coming for this food?’ she demanded, addressing herself to him. ‘It’s been spoiling these five minutes past. I was just coming to call ye.’

  Jude gave Sara a rueful grimace, and then turned to the old housekeeper. ‘I was just suggesting that Miss Shelley might like to have breakfast with me, Janet,’ he explained, ‘as she’s an early riser.’

  ‘I wouldnae call seven o’clock early,’ Janet retorted, sniffing contemptuously. ‘And Miss Shelley doesnae eat breakfast. Nought but a slice of toast, anyway.’

  Sara resented Janet’s tone. It was obvious she would not welcome her in the kitchen, and some streak of perversity made her say things she would never otherwise have contemplated.

  ‘I do like a good breakfast occasionally, Janet,’ she declared sweetly. ‘But if it’s too much trouble …’

  Jude’s expression seemed to reveal his understanding of the situation, and Janet was not easily duped. ‘It’s nae trouble,’ she retorted shortly, her accent thickening. ‘If ye’ll gae me a moment, to gae the young master his breakfast, I’ll lay the table for ye.’

  The young master! Sara’s gaze tilted towards Jude. But he merely returned her stare blandly, and she was left feeling somewhat outmanoeuvred. The last thing she wanted was to have to wait for Janet to serve her a huge breakfast in the dining room. The open air beckoned. And besides, she wasn’t hungry.

  ‘There’s no need, Janet,’ she said now, half apologetically. ‘Really, a cup of coffee would suffice—–’

  ‘What she means is, she’d rather eat in the kitchen with me,’ Jude declared irrepressibly, and Sara’s colour deepened as Janet absorbed this new development.

  ‘T’wouldn’t be fitting,’ she stated at last, but Jude only scorned her assertion.

  ‘I’m sure we can waive the formalities for once, Janet,’ he told her firmly, and Sara was left with the realisation that she could not now refuse.

  ‘Weel, if that’s what ye want …’ Janet’s expression was taut with disapproval, but she disappeared through the door that led to the domestic apartments of the house without another word.

  As soon as she was out of hearing, Sara sighed. ‘Really, I’d much rather not,’ she said, as Jude made a courtly gesture that she should follow the housekeeper. ‘She doesn’t want me. I’m the intruder.’

  ‘You did impugn her capabilities,’ Jude reminded her drily. Then he grinned again. ‘Come on. The young master commands it!’

  Sara knew she should have been angry with him for joking about something that was not funny, taken in its truest context. It was not something she cared to think about. It made her too acutely aware of his relationship with Harriet, and the irreverent attitude he adopted to that commitment. How could she even think of having breakfast with him, knowing he was as untrustworthy as he was unpredictable? And yet she could not deny his sensual attraction—and the unwilling remembrance of her own body’s responses to his undoubtedly experienced advances.

  With a guilty sense of betrayal she preceded him into the short corridor that led to the back of the house. To avoid being alone with him longer than was necessary, she quickened her step, and Janet looked up dourly as they entered the kitchen.

  It was a huge kitchen, and Sara surmised that in the old days it had probably been cold and inefficient. But now, the stone-flagged floor had been tiled in warm, rust-coloured tiles to match the copper hoods on the split-level oven and the barbecue spit. The walls were lined with fitted units, incorporating every labour-saving device she could think of, and although the hollow of the open fireplace still remained, the chimney had b
een closed off and the interior lined with shelves. The heat in the room was provided by an Aga stove, and presently the room was fragrant with the smell of grilled bacon.

  ‘Go on, sit down.’ Jude nudged Sara in the back, and she stepped rather gingerly into the room to take a seat at the long pine table. Across the scrubbed board Janet was arranging a dish of porridge at a place that was already set, and Jude moved round the table to put a casual arm across the old woman’s shoulders.

  ‘You’re not cross with me, are you, Janet?’ he exclaimed, his expression teasing, and Janet dug him sharply in the ribs with her elbow.

  ‘Yon mistress is nae going to like this, laddie,’ she muttered, but Sara heard her, and the malicious glance that the housekeeper cast in her direction only added to her feelings of disquiet.

  Jude shrugged, however, in no way put out by Janet’s words. His only concession to her aggravation was to fold himself up when her elbow found its mark, moaning in mock agony as he sank into his seat.

  ‘Och, ye’ve bones like rapiers, Janet!’ he groaned over his porridge. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to tell me something. What did I do to deserve this?’

  Janet clicked her tongue impatiently, but she could not quite keep her unwilling amusement at bay. It was there in the suspicious brightness of her eyes and the unwary quiver of her lips, and watching them, Sara was struck once again by the deep affection between them.

  It was odd, she thought, that Janet should have such a soft spot for Jude. After all, she would have expected the housekeeper to be of the old school, to whom sexual liberation was an anarchic revolution. And yet she obviously adored a man who at best was a rogue and a philanderer, and at worst a self-seeking adventurer. A man, moreover, who treated her mistress with a certain amount of contempt. It didn’t make sense, particularly when Janet seemed so deeply attached to Harriet …

  Sara abandoned her reverie as a plate of unwanted porridge was dumped unceremoniously on the table in front of her. Lukewarm and lumpy, it resembled something quite disgusting, and Sara gagged at the unwelcome comparison.