by Ann Cliff
The person beside Jim was Violet Ward, the young teacher, who saw Rachel first.
‘I was just going,’ she twittered nervously. ‘I brought Jim a cup of cocoa to keep him warm.’
Jim looked up from his work in surprise when he saw Rachel. ‘What are you doing here?’ It was not a friendly greeting.
Rachel noticed he was wearing a knitted scarf that she’d never seen before. He usually rejected scarves and gloves, as being for old men. She forgot her good intentions; here he was, alone with a young woman, who was gazing at him with a rapt expression.
‘Nice scarf you’re wearing, Jim. Did Miss Ward knit it for you?’
The girl blushed bright red and moved from one foot to the other. Rachel continued, ‘I wonder, shouldn’t you have a chaperone, out here alone together like this?’
For a moment he looked guilty, and then he turned back to the wood. ‘Too busy to talk to you, Rachel,’ he muttered. ‘Got to get home for milking.’ Then he glanced at Violet and his expression softened. ‘Stay here, Violet, there’s no call to leave.’
At that moment, Rachel knew with finality that her future would not be with Jim, after all. His quarrel with her the other day had been deliberate. He’d used Alex Finlay’s presence as an excuse to distance himself from her.
The cold wind blew round her and Rachel shivered. The feeling of rejection was not pleasant … but was some of it her fault? She’d never explained to Jim how she loved to write. If he had known about her work for the Herald, he would have understood her much better, but would he have approved? He wanted a farm girl, after all.
Well, Violet Ward was a teacher, but since she came from a farm, she might suit Jim’s plans quite well. She was very pretty, but too small for rugged farm work.
‘Good luck, lad,’ she said as she turned to go home. At the gate, she looked back at the pair; Jim was saying something to Violet and he was holding both her hands.
If Jim had been honest, he would have told Rachel that he’d changed his mind.
FOURTEEN
The sound of raucous singing made its way into the Major’s bedroom, waking him from a deep sleep.
‘What the …’ he struggled out of bed. It sounded like peasants from the village, disturbing his peace.
In dressing gown and slippers, the Major went out to the top of the staircase. Moonlight filtered through a window above the stairs, revealing bodies down below. Were they being invaded?
‘What is going on?’ he shouted above the din.
On the staircase, a dishevelled figure was crawling up, one step at a time. He was the source of most of the noise. Two village louts, evidently having delivered the body, were backing away. ‘Goodnight, General, here’s your lad. He’s caused enough trouble in village. Don’t let him out again.’
Beer must have made them brave; villagers would not normally speak to him like that. It could not be allowed to go on. Guy was still singing and it was no use trying to talk to him. Major Potts kicked him into his bedroom, hurting his slippered foot, and closed the door.
Lady Agnes came out from her room, anxiously peering into the gloom with the aid of a candle. ‘Charles! Is it a robbery?’
‘Go back to bed, Agnes. I will deal with Guy in the morning.’
For the rest of the night, Major Potts tried to devise strategies to deal with his son. The dignity of the family name was being compromised and the sooner they could send him away, the better. If only Guy had an interest, something to occupy him … there was evidently nothing for him to do on a country estate except get into trouble.
That morning’s post held out a solution, at last. A military contact of the Major’s wrote after some delay to offer to look after Guy, with a place in his regiment assured.
He will not receive special treatment, of course, but I will make sure he is treated fairly, his colleague wrote from India. Send him out on the next boat. We are about to move in about three months, he needs to be here before then if possible.
The letter ended with the hope that Guy had been given a good education and an appreciation of military discipline, otherwise it will be hard for him to fit in. But since he is your son, I am confident that he will do very well.
In his present mood, the Major didn’t care whether Guy was treated fairly or not. He had no confidence that Guy would do well, but it was essential for him to begin some sort of career.
‘We should have packed him off years ago,’ he muttered. It was shameful that he, an army major, could not control his son.
The Major read the letter to his wife at breakfast and saw the relief on her face. ‘We will send him off to London straightaway and ask Smithers to make his travel arrangements.’
Smithers was in charge of their London house, a born organizer and a reliable servant.
When Guy emerged from his room at about eleven o’clock, pale and bleary-eyed, the Major told him to report to the library in an hour’s time and meanwhile to make himself respectable. He got out the railway timetables and rang for the groom.
‘Metcalfe, I want to you to take Mr Guy to the train early tomorrow morning, to travel to Ripon and then to London.’
He noticed a faint smile cross the man’s face. The servants would all be glad to see the back of Guy.
‘Yes, sir. I believe the train leaves at eight thirty.’
Waiting in the library at the appointed time, the Major copied out the address of his contact in India and wrote down a suggested travel route. Guy would need the right clothes, but he could get them in London. Smithers had access to funds, which was just as well; he did not want to trust Guy with cash. He wrote a long and detailed letter to Smithers.
Guy still did not appear, but there were sounds from the gun room next door. The Major strode in and glared at his son, who appeared to be cleaning a gun.
‘Is it that time already? Sorry, Pa. Well, we might as well talk here.’
‘You must apologize for your disgraceful behaviour last night. I suppose you can remember what happened? I really cannot allow this sort of thing to continue.’
Instead of looking contrite, Guy continued to fiddle with the gun. ‘I’m sure you must have got drunk when you were young, Pa. Don’t make such a fuss over nothing.’
It was a waste of time to reason with Guy, to appeal to his better nature. Speaking calmly and slowly, the Major delivered his sentence.
‘Last night you disgraced us once again, but it will be the last time you do it in Firby. I have arranged for you to join the regiment immediately. You will take the train to London tomorrow morning, and Smithers will make arrangements for you to sail to India.’
The effect on Guy was immediate. Still holding the gun, he turned bright red, his temper flaring. ‘No! I will not go to India. I never thought you would send me to that hellhole! You hated it yourself, I know you did. I am your heir, I should be here. It’s my rightful place. I will not join the damned army!’
In all his army career, Major Potts had never come across insubordination such as this. He looked at the young man, flabby and unfit, the opposite of how he had been as a young man. He had a cold feeling that it might be too late to redeem Guy.
‘Put that gun down, you fool! You have no sense at all, you are not fit to be my heir. I will disinherit you—’ the Major walked towards him.
‘No, you won’t do that,’ Guy said quietly.
He raised the gun he was holding and pulled the trigger. In the small room, the explosion was deafening and he dropped the gun with a clatter.
The Major fell, shot at close range, a terrible groan escaping him. As the echoes of the shot died, Guy set up a wail.
‘What happened? I never meant to do it …’
Lady Agnes had been waiting for the outcome of this meeting in the library next door and now she rushed into the room.
‘Guy, what happened? My God! Charles! Can we help you?’ But it was too late. The body on the floor was lifeless, a mass of blood. ‘My poor Charles!’
She knelt by his
side, weeping. The Major had died instantly, his life ended by a second’s decision.
‘Pa was cleaning that gun, it went off, it was an accident,’ Guy babbled. He had dropped it so that it was close to his father. ‘Mother, you’ve got to believe me, they’ve all got to believe it was an accident. Pa and me were the best of friends, we were just having a friendly talk …’
For a few minutes his mother knelt, frozen with horror, gazing at the body of her husband on the floor. It had come to this – after all the dangers of army life, to die in his own house. She must act quickly, it was up to her to preserve what she could of their shattered lives.
This was no time for tears. An army wife, Lady Agnes had always been prepared for the worst and now she took charge.
‘Be quiet, Guy. Of course it was an accident. Pull yourself together.’
Cold and calm, Lady Agnes rang the bell and when Ruth answered it, she asked her to send for the doctor. ‘There has been a dreadful accident,’ she said, with just a slight tremor in her voice. ‘The Major has been shot.’
Ruth made herself take a look at the body on the floor, before running to find Donald. The groom set off for the doctor without delay, shocked at what Ruth told him. It was his duty to hurry, just in case the Major could be saved. Strange for a military man to make a mistake with a firearm, though.
The next few days were full of comings and goings, organized by Lady Agnes. PC Bradley took statements and sympathized with the bereaved.
‘Dreadful accident,’ he echoed. Guy Potts kept to his room for most of the time, seemingly devastated by shock and grief after witnessing his father’s death. Bradley felt sorry for him. The lad had a lot to learn, but this tragedy might make him grow up a little, take some responsibility.
It was established beyond doubt that the Major himself had pulled the trigger of the gun in a freak accident. The gun had been faulty, Guy said and they were discussing what to do with it. Major Potts had been talking to his son and turning the weapon in his hands. There had been nothing that the horrified son could do.
The undertaker was called in and the funeral arranged, with a grave in the special plot in Firby churchyard reserved for the Family. Lady Agnes engaged a dressmaker to make mourning clothes and summoned her brother, Lord Danby to support her.
The servants were assembled once more in the big dining room. Lady Agnes looked round the subdued faces and realized that they were truly sorry that this had happened; she felt their sympathy, which was unusual. The Major had been calmer of late and not so likely to shout; Kit Garnett had had several good conversations with him. He had even treated his wife with more consideration.
‘The Major would want us to carry on with the work of the estate,’ she said, ‘and that is what we must do. He had decided to stay here, not to sell and to extend the farming business. I will continue with this work and I expect you all to support me. Your place here is secure, for the present at any rate, unless they take the land for a reservoir.’
Guy was standing to one side and she looked at him. ‘Mr Guy has given up a career in the army to stay at Firby and work with me,’ she continued.
He looked grim, but said nothing. The servants’ expressions changed to those of resignation. Mr Guy was not going away, after all. He’d been no trouble since the tragedy, but …
The funeral was a large one, presided over by the vicar at his gloomiest. People were shocked by the accident, realizing that it could have happened to any one of them.
‘It’s easily done,’ they said to each other. They recalled that the year before, a gamekeeper had been badly injured when his gun went off while he was climbing over a stile.
One man had his doubts about the official story. Mr Sutton said to Kit in passing him outside the church, ‘I wonder. That young man will bear watching. I haven’t forgotten the pheasant shoot.’
Kit himself had grave suspicions that Guy was responsible, but kept them to himself. ‘Er … yes, sir.’
The large man put a hand on Kit’s shoulder. ‘If you find yourself and your family without a job, let me know. I won’t steal you from Lady Agnes, she will need your support at the moment. But if you leave, I would be glad to give you a farm to run. I can’t imagine how you could work with Guy.’
‘Thank you, sir. I would be pleased to work for you, if we have to leave.’
‘Well, I like what I’ve seen of your work, the Major’s estate is in good order. It has none of the neglect that you see so often, where the owners are abroad.’ He paused and looked round, but there was nobody within hearing. ‘Watch your back, Garnett. That youth is dangerous.’ Mr Sutton winked at Kit and moved on, a cheerful figure on a gloomy day.
That conversation removed a burden from Kit; at least the Garnetts had an alternative, if they were forced out of their home. Mr Sutton seemed to be a man of good sense and a kindly one. He treated servants as though they were human beings.
After the burial the mourners moved back to the Hall, where Ruth and Rachel had laid out food and drink in the old dining room. There were a few military uniforms among the crowd, but most were the local gentry and the Major’s tenants.
Lady Agnes, dignified in black, presided. ‘I apologize for my son’s absence, he has gone to his room,’ Rachel heard her tell one guest. ‘He is overcome with grief.’
In fact, he had taken a bottle of whisky with him, saying to his mother, ‘I’ve had enough of these boring people. I can’t stand soldiers and the farmers only talk about sheep.’
It was only a few days after the funeral that trouble started again at Firby Hall. Guy Potts knocked on the farmhouse door one evening while the Garnetts were at supper, walking straight in and standing with his back to the fire. They all looked at him with astonishment.
‘As the owner of this estate I am going to make changes,’ he announced with a smirk. His eyes travelled over Rachel as he spoke. ‘You Garnetts have had an easy life for far too long. You are dismissed, the lot of you. I will give you a month to leave Firby Hall for good.’ He folded his arms and watched their faces.
Kit Garnett stood up so that he was level with the youth. ‘I will talk to Lady Agnes. She assured us that she wishes to keep the farm going, with me as the manager. Mr Guy, I advise you to go carefully. The estate needs careful management and you can’t do that without staff.’ He paused. ‘Your father trusted us for many years.’
‘The more fool he. I don’t need you to tell me what to do, Garnett. The whole estate will be sold as soon as it can be arranged. It won’t need your interference.’
Guy strode to the door and banged it on his way out.
‘Poor Lady Agnes!’ was Ruth’s first thought. ‘To have a son like that!’
Kit shook his head. ‘I was wondering how on earth we could work with a man like Guy. Now it seems that we won’t have to.’
Soon after Guy had gone, Roger came in for supper. He was horrified at the news, but said he wasn’t surprised. ‘Bromley told me that he’s had a letter from Guy saying he wants to sell and that puts the Firby reservoir site back on the map, so to speak. Sutton was always in two minds, you know, and Judge Rupert would probably agree with Sutton.’ He sat at the table and looked round. ‘After all the ups and downs of the past few months, this is hard for you.’
Mr Richards the solicitor brought the Major’s Will to present to the widow and the heir.
‘Apart from a few small bequests,’ the man told them, ‘the estate is left to Mr Guy.’
‘Of course, we didn’t need you to tell us that.’ Guy glared at him.
The solicitor pursed his lips and continued. ‘There is the matter of debt, of course. Some of that is yours, Mr Guy, I believe. It will probably be necessary to sell some land, in order to clear the debt. After that, the estate will need careful management, in order to avoid debt in the future.’
‘That is what we have in mind,’ said Lady Agnes. ‘My husband suggested we sell one of the outlying farms to the tenant. I miss his guidance, at the moment.’
‘Of course, but the plans we have in mind will ensure your future, Guy,’ his mother said. ‘We can—’
Guy interrupted impatiently. ‘And I intend to sell the whole place as soon as possible, and go to live in London. I have an appointment with Bromley from Leeds Corporation tomorrow, there is still a chance that the reservoir will be built here and I intend to pursue it.’ He turned to the solicitor. ‘I instruct you to offer the estate for sale on the open market, in case the dam project falls through. Either way, you will have no need to worry about piffling debts. Most of them were caused by Pa buying bad shares, anyway.’
Lady Agnes said, her voice shaking, ‘You can’t do this, Guy!’
‘I can and I will. You can go where you like, Ma, and as soon as you like. I’m dismissing the Garnetts, for a start. I’ve already given them a month to get out. And I’ll sell off the antique furniture. Probably arrange an auction sale and advertise, get rid of the shabby old stuff! I hate it here, the whole place smells of hundreds of years of boredom.’
The solicitor was alarmed. ‘Mr Guy, I beg you to consider – do nothing rashly. No doubt your sad loss has affected your spirits, this is quite usual after a bereavement and the Major’s passing was entirely unexpected. Let Lady Agnes direct you.’
‘No!’ Guy strode up and down the hearthrug. ‘I’ve had enough of direction, and now I’m in charge. You have the Will, Richards, you know very well you can’t stop me!’
Gone was the grieving son; Guy was enjoying himself. Richards was amazed and Lady Agnes realized that the lawyer had never met Guy before and had thought that he was genuinely feeling his bereavement. She knew by now that Guy had no feelings at all.