Alexandra resumed her deep thoughts as she turned his words over in her mind. ‘Those he trusted let him down.’ Hmm… she could identify with that. She looked at the parson closely; he looked most uneasy. She didn’t feel too well herself – she could swear the platform was almost imperceptibly, but inevitably, like an afternoon shadow, creeping across the floor.
He pressed on. “No one understood his mission. Imagine, if you will, your very self growing up in a small town. People speculating on your parentage.” Alexandra glanced around. A while back she’d overheard unkind gossip about herself. The parson stood still and quiet for a moment and examined the faces of his congregation. He then brought his fist down hard on the lectern, “That is what the King of Kings had to endure from those to whom he had given the gift of life!”
The platform juddered, the chocks shifted and, unmistakably, Parson Raffles’ temporary rostrum rolled forwards toward the aisle. The shift of weight as he leaned forward to clutch the lectern caused the platform to gather speed. The parson’s eyes, out like organ stops, silently pleaded for somebody to rescue him from this indignity. But the congregation sat transfixed until he’d rolled past the Leigh-Fox pew, when Jack called out, “Come back, we want to hear the end of the story.”
~
After the service, Parson Raffles invited the Leigh-Fox family to the parsonage, though Jack declined to come. “A drink, I need a drink,” said Parson Raffles as he welcomed them into the drawing room, “though I confess I thought I must have had too much already when I found myself travelling along on a box on wheels.”
Catherine giggled, “Oh Mr Raffles, I think we shall all remember that sermon to the end of our days.”
“Perhaps that’s what God intended,” responded the parson with a wink. “If Adam hadn’t bounded down the aisle after me I cannot imagine my fate when faced with the central pillar. Let’s raise a glass to the hero amongst us.”
Each had been handed a glass of wine and Adam raised his and said instantly, “To Raffles, who kept going even when he’d gone.”
There was a fizz of smothered giggles except from Parson Raffles who waved aside the toast and said, “To Adam who caught the highwayman single handed.”
Silence fell.
“Did he not tell you? Oh Adam, your modesty astounds me. Think of the tale you could have told.” Parson Raffles looked around at the available seating, grinned widely and said “Sit down and I will tell you a story and all of it true.”
~
“I should never have doubted him, Alexandra. I’m so ashamed,” Catherine confided on their return to “Foxhills”.
“I admit it was a remarkable story. Adam, fleet of feet…”
Catherine smothered a giggle.
Alexandra continued with a wry smile, “required great courage to capture such a menacing villain.”
“Was it not extraordinary too that Adam rescued Jack from the clutches of this scoundrel and was able to save him from being robbed?”
“Indeed. I await the return of my diamonds.”
“Oh Alexandra, Adam will return them to you. He probably has them for safekeeping.” Catherine paused, “What I don’t understand is why he let the villain go with nothing more than a reprimand.”
“When I encountered the highwayman, some time ago now, he seemed well practised in his art, yet Adam seems convinced he will become a reformed character.” Alexandra’s scepticism was not well disguised.
Adam sauntered in to the sitting room where Catherine and Alexandra stood in front of the small fire.
“I believe the man, a poor farm worker, was in the pay of someone else; someone who paid a pittance for him to risk his life. And you know what Raffles always says in these situations,” he lowered his voice in an approximation of the gravitas Raffles reserved for his wisest words, “Repentance, reformation, and restitution.”
Alexandra rolled the words around in her mind. “Did he repent?”
“With a little help,” Adam raised his eyebrows, “Though I thought it best not to ruffle Raffles with the details.”
Alexandra allowed herself a flicker of a smile before bluntly asking, “How did they know about my diamonds?”
“They didn’t. It was thought, and correctly, that Jack was carrying the annual rents for the estate cottages and the tenant farmers.” Adam wandered over to the fireplace and turned to face the girls.
“Goodness,” said Catherine, “What was Jack doing with those?”
“Hoping to make more interest than placing them in the bank.”
“Gambling!” gasped Catherine. “Surely not with our rents?”
“It was fortunate, Alexandra, that you discovered your diamonds were missing otherwise I should not have known to pursue Jack and you might now have been discussing the downfall of the Leigh-Fox family.”
Father Fox entered and sat in his high-backed chair alongside the fire and clearly wished to contribute to the discussion. “We could not have afforded another year’s loss of rents. We shall have to raise them soon.”
“It is a particularly difficult time for our tenants. Many of the men are away at war. Do not trouble yourself about the finances of the estate, father. Matters are in hand and only I have the key to the drawing room.” He turned to Alexandra and said, “An unusually large safe, I admit, but it also affords me a place to work undisturbed.” Adam walked towards a cabinet and took out a bottle of Port. “Father?” he enquired.
Father Fox nodded happily.
“Let us both raise our glasses to the ladies. To Catherine for all that she has done in the past few months to manage the household.”
Catherine turned a little pink and began to protest.
“No, no, Catherine, do not demur. You have increased the comfort and happiness of this house, and we thank you.”
Good lord, thought Alexandra, this man is gracious. It’s no wonder the girls of the village are his for the taking.
“To Alexandra I say thank you. Thank you for joining our disintegrating household and for saving us from financial ruin.” He said it in a jocular fashion and with an exaggerated bow but his eyes never left hers and the sincerity they conveyed silenced her own intended rejection.
That night, sitting up in her bed, Alexandra wrote, ‘The damned man has charisma in spades. The way he carries himself draws the eye, then the flash of his rationed smiles, those lovely even, white teeth, the cut of his jaw, all framed by that glossy, dark chestnut hair – oh how I hate him.’ She knew that she didn’t and she couldn’t, but she would work at it.
Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dreams. Do they have any significance? Did this dream mean something? Alexandra knew it was the parson Raffles incident playing on her mind but the wheels in her dream bore no resemblance to the rolling rostrum. She must write it down before Millie tripped in with breakfast.
~
Later that day, Alexandra wrapped up warm and, hoping no one would see her, ran to the stables to find Billy. As she tried to slip around to the back, Adam’s groom greeted her with a smile and a brief nod of his head. Loyal to Adam, he missed very little, thought Alexandra. He raised an eyebrow in query. “Holly,” Alexandra enunciated. She returned his smile and deliberately sauntered around to Holly’s stable.
“Morning Miss Mulberry. See, I can call you that, if that’s what you wish.” Billy hadn’t waited for Alexandra to speak first though. He’d been watching her since she left the house; remaining silent proved impossible.
“Billy, I do wish for that and, more importantly, Mister Adam insists on it.”
Not in the least abashed, Billy said, “D’yer want me to saddle Holly? It’ll have to be side-saddle in that dress.”
“Not for the moment, Billy.” Holly snickered in her stall and Alexandra gave Billy a cheery smile as she turned away. “I’d better go say ‘hello’ to our black beauty.” She walked around to Holly’s stall and stroked her muzzle. ‘Black Beauty’, she mused; the name sounded fami
liar. She shrugged, turned back to Billy who was just a footstep away, and handed him a sheet of paper.
“What’s this, Miss?”
“Could you build that for me?”
He glanced at the paper. “Yeah, I reckon I could if I can get me hands on some wheels.” He considered for a moment. “What’s it for?”
“It’s to help people get around faster and these are not so accident prone as skates. Look,” she said pointing at the diagram she had drawn, “you put your foot on this board and use the other foot as a paddle.”
“Brilliant!” His congratulatory air didn’t last long though and he began to shake his head. “You seen the roads round here? They’re either all dirt and potholes or cobbled in town.”
“Oh,” Alexandra’s shoulders slumped. “In my dream the roads were smooth.”
“Yeah, in mine too.” Billy pondered and turned the diagram around several times. “Tell you what – it’d work well for old soldiers who’ve lost a leg. They’ll put up with a bumpy ride if it gives them a bit of speed. Lot of them around down the tavern.” He stood straight, as if in a passing out parade, looked proudly into Alexandra’s eyes and said, “ I’ll see what I can do, Miss Mulberry.” Alexandra’s smile was not just in gratitude: the thought of a handful of peg-legged soldiers all drinking together then affixing the wheeled board and paddling along the roads shouting, ‘On to Glory’, brought her alarmingly close to collapsing in undignified giggles. Billy clearly cherished Alexandra’s broad grin and said, “I’d do anything for you, Miss. You only have to ask.”
~
On her return to the house, Alexandra found Adam and Catherine deep in conversation by the pianoforte. “Here she is,” said Adam, “Not lost at all.”
“I’m so sorry, Catherine. I’ve been to see Holly.” She smiled at Catherine and looked at Adam’s feet. He was leaning against the piano, one leg firmly planted on the ground and the other nonchalantly across it. Damn, damn, damn! Why did he always churn her stomach and cause her colour to rise. Studiously ignore him, that’s what she must do, but be polite if he spoke to her. The memory of the money she had been asked to give him seemed to find its way into her thoughts at the most inopportune moments. It was always swiftly followed by the memory of his refusal. If it wasn’t for that, she might manage to ignore him without a trace of guilt, she told herself.
“You’re lost in thought, if not in person, Alexandra,” Adam said.
“Is something troubling you?” Catherine said as she left the piano stool and joined them.
How she longed to say ‘Yes. Adam is not the goody-two-shoes he allows us to think.’ Just like his stance, only one foot stands firm.
“No,” she said and shook her head. “But thank you, Catherine, for asking.” Had she lied? She hated lies.
“I regret it’s been difficult for you to use your workroom. I shall have a lock put in the door and only you shall have the key,” Adam said giving her an enquiring look and standing now with two feet firmly planted.
Legs astride made him look dependable, honourable and oh so bally attractive. He was trying to lift her low spirits and perhaps this was something she could give way on a little – he did, after all, have much to contend with. “Thank you, Adam. Perhaps it would be something that Billy could do for you.”
“No need – Johnson will call the locksmith.”
Catherine came alongside Alexandra and squeezed her hand. “We shall need a strong lock. Not one that can be easily forced, Alexandra.” Of course. She looked at Catherine – a true friend. How lucky she felt once again. “We were wondering if you would be able to fashion a silver candlestick in time for Christmas?”
“You must let me know what you need, Alexandra, and I shall obtain your requirements.” Adam glanced at her and she caught the gentleness of his look, cloaked by his formality.
The guilt had got to her. She looked at the ground and replied simply, “Thank you.”
~
Four days before Christmas, late in the afternoon, Alexandra, dressed in a new, deep red day dress, presented the silver candlestick she had made. She had withdrawn from most other activities to prove the talent for fashioning silver. She had found the test most satisfying. She chose a congenial time when Catherine, Adam, Father Fox and Jack were relaxing around a log fire in the sitting room. Though only five inches high, due to lack of silver, it was exquisitely designed, with silver holly leaves entwined around the stem and engraved with the family names on the rim of the base.
While it was being passed around and collecting complimentary appraisals, Alexandra glanced around her. The cream curtains were pulled and had acquired a golden hue in the firelight and a candelabrum on the mahogany side-table cast a gentle radiance. She caught sight of the beribboned wicker basket of cones sitting on a bed of pine needles. She’d presented it to Adam before she knew of his darker side, nevertheless, in the warmth of the fire, the scent evoked goodwill. Catherine patted the sofa and shuffled along to make room for Alexandra.
Adam was the first to comment directly. “Your letter of introduction said you were talented and you have certainly demonstrated in so many ways that you are. I believe you have created a unique treasure.” The words were gratifying but he seemed so formal, distant even, and he was still standing up.
“Identifiably belonging to the Leigh-Fox household,” said Father Fox glancing sideways at Jack who was helping himself to the last of the tea. Adam ignored his father’s cryptic rebuke of Jack’s purloining nature, pulled the bell chord and, when Johnson entered, he handed him the key to the caddy and asked for a fresh pot of tea.
“We have currant or caraway seed cake, Alexandra. Do have some,” Catherine said passing the plate to her. “You must be hungry. It will be lovely to have your company once again; I’ve missed you.” Reminded of the reason, she added, “It’s the most excellent candlestick I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you, Catherine,” Alexandra smiled at Catherine’s ambitious compliment. “I’ve enjoyed making it.” She flashed a nascent smile to Adam. It was Christmas, after all. Adam made himself comfortable next to Jack on the sofa opposite Alexandra; his dark eyes took her in and approved; of that much she was sure.
“I hope there will be a Frost Fair on the Thames again. Do you think there will be, Adam?” Catherine looked hopeful.
Adam laughed. “Dear Catherine, let us hope the winter is not so severe this year, though I grant you it was quite a spectacle.”
Jack stirred himself. “Lovely smell of pine, don’t you think?”
Adam raised an eyebrow as he inclined his head to Jack and said, “We have Alexandra to thank for that.”
“Oh,” said Jack, taking on the look of a mischievous imp by glancing between Adam and Alexandra, “does she like the scent of pine too?” The fire crackled in the hearth and rent the silence; Jack pulled himself up lazily, stretched, and sauntered over to the door, pausing to add, “You’re right, Father. She is like Laura.”
“Utterly deplorable,” said Father Fox. “You will have to marry.”
Alexandra quickly turned to look over her shoulder. Jack was still standing in the doorway. Was Father Fox talking to Jack or to Adam? Once Jack had left, Catherine sought to mend the severed conviviality. “Father’s always saying that, aren’t you father?”
Father Fox had more than the loss of a cordial atmosphere on his mind. “Marry for money. That is our only hope. One of you must.”
Catherine looked at Adam, “Has it reached that stage?”
Adam chuckled. “Well my dear little sister, do you have anyone in mind?”
“Adam!” Father Fox sought to curtail his fury by reaching for his pipe.
“I meant for Jack or myself, Father. Catherine is always teasing me.”
Alexandra thought of the girl in the village. She might be in need of a husband and father for her coming child, though that would simply add to the financial troubles. Unintentionally, she flashed Adam a disapproving look.
Catherine picked up
a patchwork quilt she had been mending and extended her efforts to repairing the harmony. She turned to Alexandra with exaggerated excitement. “We’ve been discussing the annual soirée after Christmas. The invitations have all been sent and…”
“Sir Charles and Lady Carpenter and their daughters are top of the list, aren’t they Catherine?” Father Fox lit the pipe he had been filling.
Catherine groaned and put the quilt back on the floor.
“Father, we are not desperate!” Adam exclaimed.
No doubt a wife would put a stop to his midnight excursions, thought Alexandra. A wife might also disapprove of her presence. She stood up. Contingency planning must begin.
“Alexandra – we wanted to ask if you would participate in the soirée?” Adam looked hopeful.
“Should be a ball,” Father Fox hissed and exhaled smoke in small, circular puffs. “She should come out in society at the proper season and in London. It’s most unseemly.”
“I shall explain our reasons, Father, and allowances will be made. She is, it should be remembered, in her own house,” Adam said. With more conviction he added, “Everyone knows mother’s talents and influence are sorely missed; we’ll introduce her in London at a suitable opportunity.”
Jack piped up, “She’s of marriageable age. Get her out in front of all the bucks you’ve invited.” Catherine looked close to tears; rightly so, thought Alexandra. Father Fox lit his pipe. A Christmas on eggshells, something she’d heard about but never experienced. Well, not that she could remember.
Catherine fought back. “I think if Alexandra could be prevailed upon to write and read a short story at the soirée, she will amuse us all enormously.”
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