“Aye!” smiled Sam, a little disappointed that it was not something more. “Mr. Charles has a grudge agin trains.” He took another swig at his ale.
The two men lapsed into a comfortable silence. Caleb was only three years younger than Sam but, looking at the two men, it seemed hard to believe.
Sam’s youth had been taken by the salt. He’d worked hard and long since he’d been ten years old, his father dying before his time and leaving young Sam to care for his mother and the ones who were left.
But, in spite of the wide separation of their backgrounds, Caleb was in closer communication with Sam than anyone, and both men remembered fondly the times of their boyhood when the older youth had carried the rods for young Master Vyne to the Salwarpe, and of the fish they’d shared later with Sam’s mother, Maria and his sister, Sal, in their tiny cottage.
Caleb asked quietly, “How is Sally, Sam?”
Sam frowned and shrugged. “Mam’s not too happy with her, Master Caleb. She seems too peaky by half.”
“I’m sorry!” Caleb didn’t want to betray to Sam just how worried he was about Sally; that her health was of some concern to him. “Perhaps it was wrong of me to put you both to work at Annesleys. Perhaps Miss Annesley’s foreman is putting Sal to work too hard and too soon after her last sickness?”
“May be so, Master Caleb,” muttered Sam, “but it’s no use talkin’ to her, she’s stubborn is my sister. None of us can get anything out of her, try as we do.”
Caleb nodded sombrely. “Sally’s a close one, I grant you,” adding with feigned nonchalance, “I didn’t think she looked too well in church last Sunday.”
For a while Sam didn’t answer, sitting there taking long draughts of his ale. Then, with a fleeting smile he went on quietly, “No, she wasn’t, and right worried we all were.” He paused again, scratching at the long fair hairs on his arm; fair hair that was also revealed by the open two top buttons of his flannelette shirt.
Then he smiled a little self-consciously, “all we salters would be better off in Upwych, I shouldn’t wonder, if you had charge of things. But getting us away from Mr. Charles was no mistake - take my word for it.”
Caleb stirred uneasily on the hard chair, his dark eyes sharp and knowing he’d just been paid a high compliment.
“You know I have no say in the employment nor conditions of our salters, Sam. That’s still left to my grandfather, even though he is turned eighty and only seems to listen to Charlie these days.”
“Aye, and pity it is, sir. One of the old school he is. Just like Mr. Herbert Annesley was before Mr. Bertram and Miss Elizabeth.”
Sam drained his tankard, setting it down again noisily. “But times change they say, and now there’s another takin’ charge. Funny, ain’t it, Master Caleb, how women seem to be runnin’ the whole of Upwych these days?” He shook his head.
Sam was glad his mother, Maria, took notice of him. He wanted to be the only master in his house! Caleb looked up from his glass.
“Another taking charge, Sam?”
“Aye, sir, wi’ Miss Elizabeth. A new heiress from all accounts, come up from London.”
“From London? How do you know of this?”
Sam shrugged. “There ain’t much that passes the salters.”
“Have you seen her?”
“No, I haven’t had the pleasure yet. But I hear tell she came today on the noon train. At least, so rumour has it.”
“Is that so?” Caleb stared thoughtfully at the dark sockets of the window above Sam’s head. The watery moonlight glimmered momentarily and then retreated, but Caleb’s thoughts had turned again to the girl he’d seen that morning. A lovely girl with green wide-set eyes and stubborn chin.
“My ma went to see to Mrs. Blacket this morning and thinks it must have been her she saw getting into a carriage wi’ Miss Elizabeth.”
“Is that so?” Caleb repeated thoughtfully. Perhaps he had seen the latest Annesley heiress, after all! Then shrugging off his vague conjectures, he asked, “Why did your mother go to see to Mrs. Blacket? Is she ill again?”
Sam drew his shirt sleeve across his mouth and grinned. “No, not ill exactly, she had a run-in wi’ the bear.”
Caleb’s dark eyebrows rose in surprise. “The bear? Pemberton’s bear?” and when Sam nodded, Caleb asked, “Why? What happened?”
Sam chuckled, only too pleased to relate the story again of the most entertaining couple of hours Upwych had witnessed in a long time. “That old dancing bear o’ Pemberton’s always guarantees some good crack, Master Caleb. He had the poor, wretched creature doing his tricks on the High Street this morn and the constabulary were right nonplussed about it - said ’e was barring the Queen’s highway and ’e’d have to move on. Well --”
Sam chuckled again before going on with his tale, “ --they tell me that old Pemberton led Bruin to this very tavern, and the locals were paying for their entertainment with ale.
“Yon bear likes a good brew truth to tell, but I fear he ain’t got the head for it. Next thing, the old bear passes out stone cold and nobody could move him. The whole street came to a stand-still - a fair old dither it was.”
Caleb shrugged. Pemberton’s brown Russian bear doing his antics for biscuits or sugar - and especially for the tavern’s good strong ale - was nothing new in Upwych. “But what had all that to do with Mrs. Blacket?”
Sam’s pale eyes gleamed mischievously, clearly enjoying his recollections of the morning’s spectacle. “She was coming back from the market in her cart and ran headlong into them. It caused a right upset. She screamed like a mad woman, scaring the daylights out of everybody!
“Next thing, all the horses were bolting and the dogs were fighting and Mrs. Blacket fainted in fright at the sight of the old bear fast asleep on her doorstep.”
Sam lapsed into a loud guffaw and, over more ale, the conversation drifted from bears to cock-fighting, and from cock-fighting to the price of salt.
Then Caleb remembered more important things he needed to discuss with Sam and turned back to the matter of his brother and this morning’s hunt. He tried, as well, to discover more about the present frailty of Sam’s sister.
He was worried about Sally Shrike. She seemed so pale and withdrawn, so alienated. It disturbed Caleb a great deal and he felt he owed an obligation to her. He feared the worst and desperately wanted in some way to help.
There were other things, too - like Charlie’s behaviour in general. He was determined to do something about that and he needed Sam’s reasoning influence to guide him! But, in spite of a sympathetic ear, even Sam was unable to provide Caleb with an answer to any of his problems.
So, when Caleb left The Talbot over an hour later, he was still in a dark mood. He pulled the high collar of his coat more closely about his neck and set off back home. He pondered on the changes that were needed in Upwych - changes that would improve the lot of everyone - and prayed for the strength to one day, with God’s will, bring them about.
And would the new owner of the salt works make any difference? He doubted it. Not that slip of a girl! For, if his instincts were proved right, this new young heiress was surely the girl on the train.
As the wind whipped around his boots, his mouth was clamped tight. Changes had to be made in this town! And, to Caleb, these things were much more important than a dancing bear or a pretty young girl who wore a hat more suited for a London park than for an Upwych winter!
*
The first and greatest difference that Lydia Annesley discovered, once her trunks had been unpacked and she had found her way around her aunt’s great house, was that she hardly ever seemed to be alone.
In London, she had always been so! She had been here almost a week now and, although immensely happy with her new lot, Lydia was growing restless.
Annesley House was perfect in every way, from its rolling grass and high elms, its croquet lawn and its ornamental ponds. And her aunt had been kindness itself. Every day since Lydia’s arrival in Upwych, they had walk
ed arm-in-arm around the gardens, well wrapped against the sharp frosts of winter.
On these excursions, her aunt told her of the history of her father’s family, and instructed her in the responsibilities that would soon be hers at the works. She learned about the salt and the pits, of the shafts and the springs, and of the inexhaustible store-house of brine that eventually found its way around the globe as the very existence of other important industries.
And, almost reluctantly, Elizabeth Annesley told her briefly of their rivals, the Strettons. And how that family’s fortunes seemed to increase year by year while theirs, the Annesleys, diminished.
When Lydia had asked what could be done to stem her family’s financial descent, she was told affectionately that that was something she wasn’t to worry her pretty head about just yet.
Lydia Annesley had learned all of this but, so far, had not witnessed any of it at first hand and she was already impatient to do so...
Her eyes followed the maid’s movements as she entered the bedroom, bringing in honey-tea and sweetmeats on a silver tray.
“Miss Elizabeth says to tell you she will be in to see you directly, miss,” the maid said, giving a little bob.
“Thank you, Sarah.”
The maid withdrew and Lydia sipped at her tea until, a few moments later, her aunt came into the room and settled herself comfortably in a chair.
The astute Elizabeth Annesley sombrely studied the expression on her niece’s face. She bitterly regretted that she hadn’t brought the girl to Upwych sooner, knowing now what an awful time Lydia must have had with that monster Brodrick Fortey. Damn the man to hell! Still, she was here now and, even though she had known her for so short a time, Elizabeth Annesley was well pleased with her niece.
“We need to talk more about our trade, my dear,” she began, “and trade is a word that you must learn to say without offence or embarrassment.”
“I’m not offended nor embarrassed, aunt.”
The old lady gave a satisfied smile. What a girl her niece was! How forthright! And how right she’d been in her judgement of her!
Elizabeth Annesley went on, “You will soon learn that time is money and, even though I loved my dear brother - your father, he never really learned the true sense of urgency. That is why,” the old shrewd eyes drifted to the portrait above the grand marble fireplace, “your grandfather became exasperated with him on more than one occasion.”
Lydia’s eyes followed her aunt’s and she stared at the stern face of the old man hanging there. She had inherited the Annesley green eyes! That was confirmed in the picture’s focal point and there was a familiar stubbornness about the mouth and chin.
“I wish I’d known Herbert Annesley,” she murmured, “I think I would have liked him.” But Lydia was also discreet. And although she admired the strength of the old man’s face, she saw in it also the definite signs of irritability. A family trait she hoped had perhaps followed him to the grave.
“He would have enjoyed your presence in this house very much,” her aunt returned softly. “I feel you have inherited a portion of his ways.”
“Thank you, aunt.”
“It’s getting near the time for you to visit the works. Soon now, I will arrange a suitable time and chaperone for you.”
Lydia bit her lip. She was impatient to see the factory, but even more so to see Upwych. Oh, how she longed to see the whole of the town!
But her joy of exploration would be ruined if her aunt insisted on a chaperone and she replied demurely, “That’s very kind of you, aunt, and, of course, I will need someone to accompany me to the works - not least to explain things to me, but --” Lydia hesitated, putting a nervous hand to the loop of tiny pearls around her neck, “ -- is it not permissible that I see a little of Upwych by myself?”
Her aunt gave another small smile, settling back in the chair and sighing audibly. “My dear, whatever would the good people of Upwych think of me if I let you wander unaccompanied around the town?” And as Lydia shook her head silently, Elizabeth Annesley gave a girlish chuckle. “But, of course, you will go anyway, won’t you, whether I approve or not?”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you in any way, aunt.”
Her aunt smiled as she rose from her chair, moving across to plant an affectionate kiss on Lydia’s cheek. “You are no trouble to me, child,” she said, looking up again at the portrait. “When I was young I used to prefer going off on my own too... it’s far more fun...” She chuckled a little more.
“I was just thinking what my dear brother Bertram would have said. Somehow, I do not think he would have approved of his daughter walking abroad alone in certain parts of our town.”
“I would not go anywhere of which you wouldn’t approve, aunt.”
“Perhaps not, Liddy,” Lydia did not resent the pet name from Aunt Elizabeth, “but how will you know of which parts I disapprove?”
The old lady sighed gently, adding, “Nevertheless, I understand how a young girl needs a little freedom and you may have your time to explore.”
“Oh, thank you, aunt.” Elizabeth Annesley put up a small, restraining hand.
“But only on one condition..”
“What condition, aunt?” Lydia enquired softly.
“That you will allow Blanchard to follow behind with the brougham. That way my mind will be at ease and, if you venture too far, you will no doubt need it.”
“But I don’t need a carriage, Aunt Elizabeth.” Lydia’s eyes were glowing now at the prospect of a few hours on her own. “Please? May I go out this afternoon?”
Elizabeth Annesley’s eyes flitted from Lydia’s radiant face to the portrait, and back again. “You may, dear. But I must insist on Blanchard following behind, if only for the sake of our family’s honour.”
Lydia gave in gracefully. She knew when she was beaten. “Very well, aunt.”
When Lydia set out a little later, snugly wrapped in a deep-burgundy wool cloak and a velvet hat tied under her pert chin in a cloud of pink gauze, the small carriage rolled round from the stables and proceeded behind Lydia down the long straight drive.
Erect and immaculate in his livery, the good Blanchard was also discreet, keeping the horse and carriage several yards behind the straight slender shape of his young charge.
He was a loyal retainer who knew Miss Elizabeth well. Experience of her sharp tongue had taught him long ago to follow her stern instructions to the letter. He would not let Miss Lydia Annesley out of his sight for one second!
And, although Lydia knew he was there, she pretended he was not. For a little time at least, she was determined to enjoy herself in her own way, not only to get to know the little town of Upwych, but mainly, to bask in the luxurious feeling of simply being alone.
Annesley House had been built, like most of the town’s important houses, at the top of a hill. And when Lydia reached its brow, she paused, looking out over the magnificent views spread before her like a patchwork.
The day was clear and cold but the overnight rain had left the narrow rutted track puddled and, starting off again, Lydia hitched up her skirt to avoid them.
She set off down into the town, towards the church, remembering her aunt’s warning to avoid the huddle of salters’ houses known as the Vynes. She wasn’t exactly sure where they would be, but no doubt Blanchard would put her right should she stray too near. Lydia shrugged inwardly as she glanced at the pretty houses around her. It all looked peaceful enough now.
Walking the narrow High Street gave Lydia a dizzy feeling. The shops and houses leaned crazily where the salt subsidence had weakened their foundations, making them quite out of line with each other.
She gave little nods of acknowledgement to the people who passed her by, all of them probably curious as to who this stranger could be, and Lydia smiled to herself a little.
If she was any judge, the gossips would have signalled her arrival long before now, so perhaps the friendly smiles were tinged with kindly inquisitiveness rather than impertinent s
nooping.
Lydia had to cross the road by the Royal Hotel to reach the park. Almost as though Fate had shown her a way to throw off Blanchard, she suddenly felt quite daring.
Without a backward glance at the coachman, she turned quickly and disappeared though its gates, leaving him no option but to rein in the pony and wait for her to emerge again. The brief feeling of guilt that momentarily gripped her was soon shrugged off - she was free and alone at last.
The cinder path crunched under her boots and she snuggled her hands more deeply into her muff. Lydia was revelling in the glow that the cold, clear air was bringing to her cheeks and, as she walked beneath the great canopy of oak and elm trees, she wondered if her mother and father had walked together along this path, too, when they were young and first in love.
Footsteps sounded behind her, heavy and hurried, and Lydia felt a small stab of alarm. Without looking back she paused, stepping under one of the trees to let the man pass but, instead of walking by as she’d expected, the sound ceased and she looked up quickly to see the laughing blue eyes of a man she vaguely recognised.
She was alone! It was a most awkward situation! But as she gathered herself, the man bowed, raised his hat and acknowledged her most correctly.
“Good afternoon!” His tone carried an accent which Lydia found hard to place.
Now she knew who it was! It was the red-jacketed huntsman who had so boldly approached the train on the day she came to Upwych!
Lydia inclined her head slowly, silently praying that Blanchard would appear through the trees with the comfort of the blessed brougham.
The man was certainly handsome, with his fair hair tied back into a narrow silk ribbon and his wide slightly insolent mouth smiling quite brazenly. And he was tall, very tall. He stood with his back to the sun and Lydia had to squint from its dazzle as she looked up into his intense eyes.
“Tell me, ma’am, have I the pleasure of speaking to Miss Annesley? Miss Lydia Annesley?”
“You have, sir, but I am not accustomed to speaking to gentlemen without first being introduced.”
“Then permit me to amend the oversight right away.” To Lydia’s discomfort, he placed a gloved hand on her muff. “As we are alone in the park, I have no alternative but to introduce myself. My name is Charles Sheridan.” He gave another small bow before adding, “However, this is not the first time we have met.”
The Price of Beauty Page 3