Nobody’s Girl

by Tania Crosse

  How long would that be? he wondered. Not too long, he hoped. He wanted to prove his innocence as soon as possible, for despite what old Stratfield-Whyte had said, he was determined to be back working as a chauffeur just as soon as ever he could.

  He was unlikely to land such a cushy job as this one at Robin Hill House, mind, with his own little cottage in the grounds. Nathaniel had been there approaching a year, and had relished every working day. The job was interesting. He drove his employer up to London each Monday, and collected him on Fridays. Sometimes he was required to stay in the capital to drive the boss to meetings, but sometimes he was required back in Kent to ferry Mrs Stratfield-Whyte on social calls or to her charitable events. There could be trips all over the place, and no day was the same. Back at Robin Hill House, the food was usually plain but plentiful, and Nathaniel had made sure he received more than his fair share!

  But now that was all in the past because of that damned farm cart. And as for that young girl, well, she was clearly going to do her utmost to make him pay when it was really all her fault! Well, hers and her parents’. But they were both dead now, he’d been told while he was still at the police station. Well, he had to admit that was a bit of a shock, but it was their own fault for driving a horse and cart on a public road. And he was going to have to give up his life of luxury because of it. What was he going to do now? He had some savings, but they wouldn’t last long. And then what?

  Nathaniel marched up the long drive to Robin Hill House, driving his fury into the ground beneath his feet. Dusk had fallen, but lights had been turned on in the house, illuminating his path around the side of the building and across the orchard to the row of cottages beyond. He’d deliberately whiled away the rest of the day before returning to Robin Hill as it would be less likely anyone would see him in the shadows and everyone would be busy with dinner. The house would be buzzing with the news by now. All the servants, he knew, were fiercely loyal to their employers, and now that Mr Stratfield-bloody-Whyte had seen fit to dismiss him, well, he didn’t fancy facing their hostility.

  He pushed open the door to the cottage so hard that it nearly slammed back in his face. Ah, there was an envelope addressed to him sitting on the table. A reference after all, perhaps? But no. When he tore it open, there was just a week’s wages in lieu of notice, it said. Huh! What good was that going to do him?

  Nathaniel stormed upstairs. He packed his suitcase and battered carpet bag as quickly as he could. He mustn’t miss anything as he certainly didn’t want to return, cap in hand, to claim some item he’d inadvertently left behind. His clothes, razor, shaving mug and suchlike, a few photographs, two books – he’d never been much of a reader – and his personal papers and documents. It wasn’t much to show for the twenty-four years of his life, but then he liked to travel light. He checked all the drawers and cupboards again, and under the bed. No. He had everything.

  Damn and blast and damn again. He could have been set up for life! Or at least until the old couple pegged out, which he judged wouldn’t happen for many a long year. He’d even fancied one of the housemaids, Esme, and she’d responded flirtatiously to his advances. She wasn’t the prettiest of them, but she would have given him the most fun! He’d convinced her that they needed to keep their relationship secret as it could have meant instant dismissal for both of them if it ever got out. But the real reason was that if she got herself pregnant, he could more easily deny it was his. Not that he’d ever got into her knickers – yet. But now none of that was on the cards any longer. And that young farm girl was to blame!

  Still, all was not yet lost. Once he’d cleared his name, Nathaniel could go in search of a post as a chauffeur elsewhere. If he was to be without a reference, he could easily make up some story to explain his lack of employment for the year he’d been at Robin Hill. Perhaps he’d saved up and gone travelling. Yes, that would be it.

  Satisfied with his plan, he pushed open the door and picked up his baggage. He left the door wide open in a final act of defiance, hoping the heavens might open later and rain drive inside the cottage and do some damage. Giving a cocky toss of his head, he sauntered across the grass, whistling airily as he went.

  ‘Psst! Nat!’

  Nathaniel halted in his step as a figure emerged from the shrubbery at the side of the house. Damn. His chest inflated with annoyance. He thought he’d got away without being seen, so now he’d have to play it mighty carefully.

  ‘Esme,’ he said cautiously.

  ‘Oh, Nat, we all heard what happened. It must’ve been awful for you.’

  The girl laced her arms about his neck. He indulged her for just a moment or two before pulling back.

  ‘Well, you’re the only one who’s thought that,’ he said bitterly. ‘Everyone’s blaming me, but it wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘I’m sure it wasn’t. But… what happened at the police station?’ Esme dared to ask, her eyes wide.

  Nathaniel suppressed an irritated sigh, but he supposed he ought to humour her if he was ever to get rid of her. ‘They kept me banged up overnight,’ he answered, ‘but the magistrate gave me bail this morning. A few weeks, and I can clear my name when it goes to court. And then I can look for another job.’

  ‘Oh. But where’ll you go in the meantime?’ the housemaid asked in a quivering voice. ‘I’ve been so worried about you, I hardly slept a wink.’

  ‘Well, that makes two of us,’ Nathaniel grunted. ‘Look, I’m not exactly sure where I’ll go. I gave my uncle’s address. He’s the one who put up bail. I had to, or they wouldn’t release me. But I won’t actually stay with him. I’ll just ring him every day until they give me a date for the trial.’

  ‘Oh, I see. But… what about us, Nat?’ Esme wailed, her voice rising to a crescendo.

  ‘Sh!’ Nathaniel dropped his suitcase so that he could put a hand over her mouth. ‘Someone might hear you. We don’t want anyone coming out and making things difficult for us, do we?’

  Esme shook her head in agreement. ‘I love you, Nat,’ she mumbled as he removed his hand. ‘I just can’t bear the idea of not seeing you again.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry.’ Nathaniel produced his winning smile. ‘When this is all over and everything’s settled down, I’ll send for you.’

  Even in the gloom, he saw her face brighten. ‘Will you? Oh, Nat, you promise?’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die. But in the meantime, you can see it’s even more important to keep you and me a secret. If this blooming lot knew, they’d try to keep us apart, and they might even give you the sack, and all.’

  Esme nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, I see that.’

  ‘Right. OK, then.’ Nathaniel was itching to get away. ‘Now just give us a kiss before I go, and I promise I’ll get word to you.’

  He put down the carpet bag as well, and taking her in his arms, gave her a hard, long kiss before pulling way. ‘There. I’d better go now, love. And you’d better get back inside before you’re missed.’

  ‘Yes, all right. Good luck. And I do love you, Nat.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. And I’ll be in touch, I promise.’

  He picked up his baggage again and walked off, not even turning his head as he rounded the corner of the house and strode off down the driveway. Stupid girl! Did she really think he’d go back for her? She’d been fun while it lasted, though not as much as he’d hoped. Did she honestly think she was any more use to him now? She must need her brains testing if she thought she was!

  Now, where should he go? It was getting late, so he’d best take a room for the night in the pub in the nearby village, but he wouldn’t want to stay there longer than that. Mrs Phillips, the cook at Robin Hill House, lived in the village and walked in to work daily, and he wouldn’t want to bump in to her! She could be very cutting when the mood took her. So tomorrow he would go further afield and try to find some other work to fill in the gap. Turn on his charm and use his good looks to win over some lonely old lady who needed a handyman, perhaps. Who knew what that might lead t
o?

  And in the meantime, he would work on his defence so that he was sure he would end up smelling of roses, and that farm girl – and the Stratfield-Whytes, too – could go and take a running jump into the ruddy lake in Robin Hill’s grounds. Hopefully they would all drown and that would give him the greatest pleasure!

  Brimming with delight at the thought, he turned onto the road. Bloody hell, he’d need a pint by the time he got to the village, carrying this heavy luggage. Although they knew him at the pub, and news might’ve reached there about the accident and his part in it, he could easily talk his way out of it, putting forward the same arguments as he would in court. But if they hadn’t heard the news yet, he’d have to spin a yarn to explain why he needed a bed at such short notice. It’d better be a good story, or he’d end up sleeping under a hedge, and he wasn’t having that! Oh, no! And he set his mind to concocting a plausible lie…

  Eleven

  ‘How are you managing, Miss Chandler?’ Ralph Hillier asked in a low, concerned voice. ‘Or may I call you Meg?’

  He tilted his head, eyebrows dipped tentatively. He’d been acting as temporary chauffeur while a replacement was being sought for Nathaniel Green. But though he had driven Mrs Stratfield-Whyte to the farmhouse on several occasions since the tragic accident, he had always waited outside. Meg Chandler appeared to have taken against him, and the last thing he wanted was to aggravate the situation. He could understand how he represented her overwhelming grief and anger, and the poor kid had enough to cope with without his making things worse.

  But today was different. It was the day of the funeral. Ralph had driven Mr and Mrs Stratfield-Whyte to the farmhouse an hour early, and had unloaded the promised hamper of refreshments for the wake. The parlour sparkled like a new pin and a crisply laundered tablecloth had already been spread out and laid with gleaming crockery – a best tea service, Ralph imagined. Mrs Stratfield-Whyte had helped Meg set out the food, the finest appropriate fare the Robin Hill House kitchen could produce, covering it all with the muslin their cook had provided to keep off any flies. The two females had exchanged the minimum of words as they worked, but Mr Stratfield-Whyte had kept his silence, lips bunched, as he and Ralph had busied themselves setting out glasses for the couple of bottles of sherry they had also brought along.

  Mrs Stratfield-Whyte stood back and nodded in grave approval. ‘I think that’s everything,’ she had said quietly. ‘Is there anything you want to change, Meg dear?’

  Meg glanced across at her, and slowly shaking her head, muttered something that Ralph assumed was some sort of thanks.

  ‘Well, then, I think it’s time we left for the church.’

  Not wanting Meg to think he was watching her, Ralph had observed out of the corner of his eye as her lips closed in a firm knot before she turned resolutely out of the door to the hall. Ralph followed respectfully behind Mr and Mrs Stratfield-Whyte, but threw a last glance back into the room. Autumn sunshine was slanting in hazy shafts through the lead-latticed windows, dust motes floating like tiny angels. All so calm and peaceful, as if ready for a celebration rather than a wake. It didn’t seem right. And, of course, it wasn’t.

  They had all gone outside. Mercury slipped past them and Meg turned to shush him back into the hall. She bent, ruffling the dog’s fur, before she locked him inside. The animal was all she had left in the world, Ralph reflected. And his heart went out to her.

  He held open the rear passenger door of the car for the ladies to climb aboard. Mrs Stratfield-Whyte had insisted on taking Meg to her favourite dressmaker in Royal Tunbridge Wells to have an appropriate outfit made for the funeral, and now the poor girl looked so frail in the black, tailored costume. Her face had been as immovable on the day they had gone to the shop as it was now, and Ralph wondered how she kept her emotions under such control. Ralph’s breast swelled with admiration as a lump hardened in his own throat. The sadness of the situation tore at his heart even though he’d never known Meg’s parents. What dignity the girl retained when she must be fighting such pain deep inside.

  Mr Stratfield-Whyte sat beside Ralph in the front. Although Ralph heard the mistress utter a few encouraging words in the back, they all travelled in virtual silence. Ralph guessed that Meg would be staring sightlessly out of the side window, looking older and world-weary in the costume and the small black hat on the back of her head.

  Once they’d arrived at the country church and taken their seats among the mourners, Ralph happened to look back towards the door and noticed Meg take in a deep, determined breath as she set off up the aisle behind the two coffins. She had insisted on doing it, and doing it alone. Ralph understood that there weren’t any other relations. Both sets of grandparents were apparently long gone, Mrs Chandler had been an only child, and her husband’s only brother had been killed back in the war. If Meg had any living relatives, she didn’t know who or where.

  Ralph had been surprised, then, to see how many people had come to pay their last respects. But he supposed that Mr and Mrs Chandler had farmed their land since before the war, and so were well known in the local community. He had felt like a fraud sitting in the second row behind his employers, when others were much better acquainted with the deceased couple while he had never met them. He was pleased, though, that Meg appeared to have chosen a young friend to sit beside her in the front row on the opposite side. But somehow there was an ache in Ralph’s heart. He really couldn’t explain why. It seemed madness when all Meg had done from the start was to treat him as if the accident had been his fault.

  As the mourners now began to take their leave from the farmhouse, though, and the crowded room had begun to thin out, Ralph had felt compelled to find out for himself how Meg Chandler had been faring. She looked pale and tired, so thin in the tailored black outfit that hugged her tiny waist. Smudges shadowed her eyes, although tears had only escaped them, Ralph had noticed, as she had thrown the first clods of earth into the double grave. But as he approached her, Ralph’s stomach was churning. She’d probably give him short shrift, but at least he would have made the effort.

  He was pleasantly relieved when her eyes focussed on him and her face softened from the stiff mask she had been using to hold her sorrow in check. Was that even the faintest shadow of a sad smile on her lips?

  ‘Oh, it’s been hard work, running the farm and then having everything else to deal with,’ she answered on such a deep sigh that it sounded as if she was talking to herself. ‘I didn’t realise how much red tape there is to go through when someone dies.’

  ‘Dare I suggest, then, that you’ve been glad of Mrs Stratfield-Whyte’s help after all?’ Ralph ventured, his heart fluttering.

  ‘Yes,’ he was surprised to hear Meg reply without hesitation. ‘I wouldn’t have known where to start without her. But still, as soon as everything’s been done, I want everything to do with her and her husband out of my life, and that includes you.’

  That fierce, determined light had come back into her eyes, and Ralph was caught halfway between disappointment and admiration. ‘I can understand that,’ he said cautiously. ‘But you have to admit that they’re amazing people. Most people in their position would never dream of rolling up their sleeves and pitching in. Look at Mrs Stratfield-Whyte, collecting up dirty plates. I heard our cook offering the services of one of the maids, but she said it wouldn’t be fair on you to have yet another stranger in your house.’

  Meg raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and once again Ralph was struck by such composure in one so young. But he sensed that she was ready to snap at the slightest thing, so he needed to be careful what he said.

  ‘Mr W’s the same,’ he continued, praying he’d chosen the right thing to say. ‘He should’ve been working today, but he wanted to come and support you.’

  Still Meg said nothing, but she was meeting his gaze steadily. At least she wasn’t trying to dismiss him, so perhaps he could go on safely. ‘He’s a very gifted engineer. Runs a massive factory in East London. Works ever so hard. A
very busy and clever man.’

  ‘Just too busy to notice his chauffeur was driving dangerously while he himself was in the back of the car.’

  Meg’s comment came back so sharply that Ralph recoiled a little and his mouth tightened. What an idiot! He should have thought not to praise his respected employer so much. Miss Chandler obviously hadn’t mellowed as much as he thought, and it had been entirely the wrong thing to say.

  ‘I-I’m so sorry,’ he stammered, instinctively putting out a pleading arm. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  Her eyes lowered with acid disdain to his outstretched hand, and she moved deliberately out of its reach. Ralph hoped she would say something to ease his own disquiet, but then surely no one could be suffering as much as she was this terrible day.

  ‘I imagine you’ll have the animals to see to later,’ he offered, relieved that he’d thought of a way to redeem himself. ‘Would you like me to stay on to help? I’m sure Mr and Mrs Stratfield-Whyte wouldn’t mind waiting a bit.’

  ‘What, and spoil your nice suit?’ Meg’s eyes sparked as she spoke the words, but then Ralph saw the tense lines about her mouth slacken. ‘Anyway, I’ve a boy from the village comes to help after school every day. My mum managed the farm all through the war with just a bit of help, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t do the same. Contrary to popular opinion, you need brains to run a farm and I don’t believe I’m short of those, even if I am just a girl.’

  Ralph raised a startled eyebrow. It was on the tip of his tongue to retort with I didn’t say you were, did I? But he quickly thought better of it. There was no point enflaming her resentment further. In fact, there seemed to be no way to appease Miss Chandler, so he might as well give up. It was a pity. He’d have liked to offer her some support, but it seemed she was determined to do things the hard way.

  He raised both his hands in submission, but Meg had spun on her heel and Ralph knew she hadn’t seen his gesture. Oh, well. After today, he’d probably never need to see her again. If he had to drive Mrs Stratfield-Whyte over here again, he’d continue to wait in the car as he’d done before. Besides, they were interviewing for a new chauffeur the following day, and as soon as someone had been taken on, Ralph could return to his duties as under-gardener. With autumn upon them, there were still some plants in the herbaceous borders that needed cutting back as they died down, and there were spent annuals to be pulled out. Plus, his father was slowing up and needed more and more help in the extensive kitchen garden. So Ralph could lose himself in his work and put Miss Chandler out of his mind forever. He didn’t know what would happen to the girl, but he was sure his employers would make sure she was all right, even if it was at a distance, given how grudgingly Meg had accepted their help.