Hide in Time

by Anna Faversham

  “A ride in an opulent carriage, with the excuse of being a chaperone! I’ll be delighted to do that for you, Catherine.”

  Catherine returned to her favourite subject. “From the moment I wake up, I think about him. Does that mean I am in love?”

  “It’s a good start, Catherine. The best advice I can give you is to spend as much time as possible with him before you make any commitment.”

  “It will mean that one day I shall be a Lady.”

  “You will make a very good Lady, especially if you also love him.”

  “Papa says I must wait. I am too young, he says. So we should talk about something else now to help the time go more quickly until I am old enough.”

  Alexandra laughed. “And just what do you think we can talk about that would make time go that quickly?”

  Catherine glanced around the room and visibly battled to force James Frobisher from her mind. Eventually she won. “Adam enjoys reading your stories. He said your writing is indecipherable sometimes. He also said he was quite taken with the one about the wreck of The Alexander on Chesil Beach. How tragic – Easter and so many lives lost. Was that your point, Alexandra?”

  “No, not at all. I just woke up one morning and it was as if I had dreamt it, only clearer. There were just five people saved and none of them could speak English. I decided to develop it into their story. Strangers in a foreign land – that sort of thing.”

  “I liked the one about being able to fly to the moon. That was so funny. Who would want to go there?”

  “Well Catherine, this very morning I have received confirmation that they will be published as a collection of short stories and I shall receive twenty guineas.”

  “Twenty guineas? Alexandra, you’re going to be rich too!”

  “That was the idea. However, I can see that even if I write all day, every day, I will never make a fortune. Sufficient to live independently but not in any great comfort, that’s for sure.”

  “Oh Adam would be so disappointed if you ever decided to leave.”

  “Disappointed? Catherine, I think he has plenty of female company; he certainly doesn’t need mine.”

  There was a knock on the door and Martha bustled in with more logs for the fire. “Oh ’tis good to see you up, Miss Mulberry.”

  “Hello Martha. You have been so helpful; we shall surely miss you.”

  “Fuddles, girl,” she wrinkled her nose, “But the parson says he’s got first claim and he’s good to work for. He’s right, of course; he don’t mind my chatter. I asked him what he was giving up for Lent and you know what he said? He said he was giving up being good. Being good – him!” she snorted. “Course, he’s really given up ‘strong drink’, as he calls it. Says he’s going to set an example to his flock and all the flopping louts in the town – some hopes, eh? But,” she said conspiratorially, “I’d give me arms and a leg to work for Mister Adam. You’d best snap him up, girl,” she paused then tried again, “Miss.” At this point she seemed to remember she was clutching a pile of logs. “I’d best put these down.” She did, with a thud, and a cloud of dust rose. “I’ll get me duster. Wait there; I’ll be back.”

  Alexandra and Catherine watched her leave then burst into laughter, stopping themselves with difficulty when she returned with her duster to try to clean up the dust in the marble hearth.

  As she laboured, her buttocks swinging rhythmically, she chattered unselfconsciously “You’ve heard about the ship sinking, have you?” Not waiting for an answer she persisted. “Well, the Easter gales wrecked an East Indiaman. ‘The Alexander’, it was. Johnson says I’m not to say anything to Mister Adam, but it’s all right to tell you, isn’t it Miss Leigh-Fox?”

  Catherine and Alexandra exchanged glances. “Where was this, Martha?” Alexandra asked.

  Martha stopped cleaning, crumpled her duster into her pocket, stood up and put her forefinger to her chin, “I don’t know that I know.”

  Adam put his head around the door, “Wrecked on Chesil Beach. Just five people saved.”

  “All foreign?” queried Alexandra.

  “Indeed,” responded Adam.

  Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  It was early April; the air was sweet with blossom and meadows were soft under foot, tempting Alexandra to walk, ride and find ways to fully appreciate the promise of new life. Her writing was, as Martha said, ‘being talked about high and low and in between’. Having wobbled at length in her opinion of Adam, she now decided he was nothing more than a play-acting philanderer, weak and not worthy of her attention. She would do her best to erase him from her thoughts. He was, of course, worthy of her gratitude; she would be sure to make that clear; indeed, she would insist upon a fair contribution to her keep. She had always… Well she believed she had always supported herself – if only she could remember. Her mind made up, she could not have been happier nor stronger in resolve, at least until she was about to enter the sitting room.

  “He is systematically stripping this house of all the centuries of treasures you inherited, Father. It cannot go on.”

  “Adam, calm yourself,” said Father Fox raising his palm as if he were Jesus calming the stormy sea. “If he takes it now, he cannot inherit it later.”

  “And neither can anyone else! He has even sold the far paddock. Was that with your collusion?”

  Alexandra stepped back to where she could not be seen.

  “Don’t distress yourself. There will be plenty left.”

  “That is not what concerns me, Father. How can Catherine hold her head high? She has a drunken, philandering gambler for a brother, who is constantly needing to sell the family silver – and much more – to pay his debts. The whole county knows. We now no longer have a housekeeper because of his behaviour; nor a butler. The few servants we have left are young and untrained and the running of the household is becoming too much for them.”

  “We must employ more servants.”

  “Father, you do not seem to remember. You have allowed Jack to borrow more than he can repay. There is no money left! Surely you can see that is why he had to sell the paddock?”

  “He must marry.”

  “No one wants to marry someone who is likely to end in a debtors’ prison.” His tone had changed from harnessed anger to a forlorn acceptance of Jack’s pending fate.

  “You must not speak so.” Although there was a semblance of command in his expression, Father Fox did not raise his voice; it was as if it were all too much trouble – why fight?

  Forlorn acceptance was banished as Adam now retorted, “You are the only one who has the authority to withdraw his allowance and use it to replenish the household reserves. Withhold his funds or reduce them drastically and I will see that he causes as little embarrassment as possible to the family name. Consider Catherine: she was to have a dowry of twenty thousand pounds, little enough in this day and age, and you have given half to him as a loan, while you, sir,” Adam paused, “you denied me the right to be made aware of this. If he had not flaunted it, I should never have known. Catherine’s chances in life are all but ruined.”

  Alexandra, stunned, withdrew unseen. Catherine had said nothing about this. Perhaps she didn’t know. Wasn’t Adam being somewhat hypocritical calling his brother a philanderer while he was clearly consorting with someone in the village and having to support her? Better to leave and miss something than to be found eavesdropping, albeit unintentionally, so she hurried away, unaware of the sea change to come.

  “He has taken far more than his share already and, if it were to continue, he would be the cause of your daughter’s unhappiness for years to come. I have respected your love for your troubled son but I vow to you now, father, in consideration of mother’s wishes and grandfather’s instruction to both you and me, I will not let Jack take one more penny out of this house.”

  ~

  “Alexandra, shall we go riding this afternoon?” said Catherine with a winsome look. “James is unable to visit.”
>
  “Oh Catherine, how disappointing.” Alexandra, seated on the sofa in the morning room, stretched her long legs in front of her, wiggled her toes, and took a look at her new purchase, some pale blue, kid slippers.

  “His father has work for him to do, though I cannot imagine what.”

  Afraid she might reveal something of what she had heard, Alexandra attempted to steer the subject away from Catherine’s future; clearly the new footwear had not done the trick. Failure presented an opportunity to discover more of the family history. “Catherine, has Jack always been wayward?”

  “Oh no, not until mother died. He started drinking then. Not too much at first but enough for Laura to distance herself from him.”

  She must handle this conversation carefully; there was much to learn. “Oh, did he like Laura too?”

  “He worshipped her. Followed her everywhere but one day, when they were out walking, he’d drunk enough to make him uncommonly bold, and he struck her when she resisted.”

  “Attacked her? Was she all right?”

  “Adam was not far behind, fortunately. Though he is the younger, he’s always been the stronger for as long as I can recall. Adam pulled him away and they fought. Jack drew a knife and slashed at Adam – that’s how he acquired the scar on his face. Adam hit him so hard that Jack fell badly and could hardly walk for days; had to have his ankle bound.”

  “How awful.”

  “Papa was very angry with Adam and has called him ‘Wild’ ever since.”

  “Adam? I thought he was called ‘Mild’.”

  “Well that would make more sense,” said Catherine with a smile, “But papa likes his little jest.”

  “Do you suppose your father knows more than we do?” Alexandra said.

  Catherine thought for a moment before saying, “Why do you say that?”

  “Perhaps he calls Adam ‘Wild’ to let Adam know that what he gets up to is known to him.

  Catherine laughed. “Adam has no time to get up to anything. He is the kind and sweet one – always fishing Jack out of deep water. Papa says he is like wild honey.”

  “Wild honey? This is all so confusing. And why does your father call Jack ‘Mild’?”

  “He had always been mild until mama died. He has become, papa says, as mild as mustard.”

  Alexandra could say no more. How could she? Catherine was soon to have some very bad news indeed and to raise the question of either of her brothers’ morality or dwell any longer on her father’s odd ways would be insensitive. Things were becoming clearer. Poor Jack, the origin of his behaviour lay in the anger he felt. Such a destructive emotion. She thought for a moment then said, “Catherine, I’m just going to speak to Billy. I’ll ask him to saddle the horses later. I shan’t be long.”

  Something had popped into her mind and only Billy would know the answer. She found him with William sitting on a bench outside Esky’s stable, both enjoying a large tankard of steaming broth.

  “Billy, may I have a word with you?”

  Billy and William leapt up and Alexandra waved William to sit down. “Billy, on that night when we arrived back to find ourselves locked out…”

  “Who could forget, Miss Mulberry? We all feared for your life. ’tis good to see you looking so well now.”

  “Thank you, Billy.” The flow had been stopped; she now had to think of the best way to ask. “Billy, you remember we saw someone in the village?”

  “Yup.”

  “Which horse had been out?”

  “Mister Adam’s horse was hot and steamy; definitely been galloping. I saw William here brushing Esky down.”

  William looked up at Billy, narrowed his eyes, and pulled his forefinger across his throat.

  Alexandra had asked her question, had her suspicions confirmed and now knew it was time to change the subject. “Saddle Holly and Black for a mid afternoon ride, Billy. We’d like to make the most of this lovely spring day.”

  “Be glad to do that for you, Miss Mulberry. Very pleased to help at any time, in any way.” He turned and gave William as good a look as he had received.

  ~

  “A picnic? Oh Adam, what a wonderful idea. When?”

  “Well, my dear little sister, there’s no point in planning too far ahead in case the weather changes. I have made the arrangements for tomorrow. Raffles says it will be fine weather – something to do with God wanting him to show off his new hat. Or so he says.”

  “Is Mr Raffles coming?”

  “Indeed. And a few other friends and much-loved family members.”

  Alexandra watched Adam teasing his little sister, he twirled her hair as he added, “Best picnic finery to be worn. Mister James Frobisher will be there to appreciate it.”

  ~

  “Goodness! What a lot of people,” said Alexandra as she watched the parson’s carriage conveying Martha, Millie, Johnson, the good Mrs Lamb, and three large hampers up the hill ahead of the main party.

  Charlotte Carpenter came with her chaperone, an older cousin “from the distressed side of the family” – a phrase she enjoyed repeating often. Today it was said to great effect as she lolled in the new landau, with one hand on her bonnet and the other haughtily stroking the glossy yellow coachwork. As Jack approached on horseback, the stroking became distinctly sensuous.

  “Do you think she chose her bonnet to match the paint or the paint to match her bonnet?” whispered Alexandra to Catherine who was obliged to stifle a giggle.

  “No, no, Alexandra. James is approaching. I mustn’t be seen to be giggling like a child.”

  Catherine, who had been watching over her shoulder for the arrival of James, now stood tall and serene, and Alexandra greeted the young man, who would one day inherit his father’s title, with the greatest respect. Respect which would advance dear Catherine’s prospects, she hoped. She then strolled towards the Leigh-Fox carriage, giving Adam, who was leading Esky slowly towards the front of the procession, the slightest hint of a smile as she passed. His look! The merest flicker of his eyes told her he’d registered her smallest possible smile and it had hurt him. She also read in that look something akin to desire. It set the rabble of butterflies free again. They had been under such strict control and yet he could undo her best efforts in less than a second. Drat! Her discomfort increased when he overtook her easily and opened the carriage door for her. She’d have to smile more. It would be ungracious to cause further hurt. She notched up the smile, but lowered her eyes as she mounted the steps and sat next to the silent Father Fox and opposite Raffles.

  “Thank you, Adam,” was all she could manage.

  “I hope you will be comfortable. I shall look forward to seeing you when we arrive.”

  Nothing flowery; nothing to which she could object.

  The carriage door had barely closed before it was enthusiastically flung open by James Frobisher for Catherine who tumbled in, clutching her skirts. Alexandra could sense Raffles noticing the difference.

  “A fine young man,” he ventured to Catherine. “Fine and upright and so like your good brother, Adam.”

  Alexandra shifted in her seat a little as the carriage rumbled ahead and she endeavoured to respond civilly with a smile and nod to Raffles, who had turned to include her in the conversation. Adding weight to his assessment, Raffles continued, “If he is also as wise as Adam, you could make no better match, Catherine.”

  Alexandra wondered if Raffles knew of Catherine’s loss of dowry.

  “He is so handsome, don’t you think, Mr Raffles?”

  “Indeed.”

  How important it is to consider what others think of our ‘intendeds’, thought Alexandra. If it were left to Catherine alone, she might accept him on looks and her prospect of being a Lady. Raffles was clearly of a similar opinion for he added one final observation. “Sometimes we are not in possession of all the facts before we choose or reject a partner in our life’s pilgrimage. It is judicious to heed the counsel of those who know them better. Would you not agree, Miss Mulberry?”
>
  Miss Mulberry nodded, but nothing more. Miss Mulberry was registering the formality; it was one step shy of a reprimand. To Catherine? Or to her?

  The responsibility of the ritual to entertain the ladies fell upon Raffles for Father Fox simply observed, but hardly spoke throughout the journey.

  As the carriage slowed, Adam drew alongside and dismounted as they drew to a halt. His graciousness in assisting her to alight was commendable in Alexandra’s eyes but it simply could not alter the fact that she had evidence he was almost as dishonourable as Jack.

  Philanderer or no philanderer – his planning abilities were excellent. This much she must concede. A marquee, erected on an elevated strip of land, faced the river bank. Willow trees shaded chairs and tables covered in pristine white cloths. Vases, filled with colourful wild flowers, stood on the table, and covered jugs of lemonade had been prepared for the thirsty travellers. Boxes of fishing tackle stood nearby. Behind the marquee the woods were carpeted with bluebells and the scents of the flowers, new buds, and the meadow enticed Alexandra to take a deep breath and sigh that surely this was heaven.

  Raffles drew close and murmured, “Indeed, indeed. Heaven above in soft blue, earth below in deep green, and flowers of every colour; such blessings for those whose eyes see.” Alexandra looked up at the kindly face of the parson and with the keen observance of a writer, she realized he saw more than most, and loved it more.

  Lunch was a splendid repast laid out in front of the marquee, and the conversation was peppered with laughter. Alexandra had been seated between Adam and Raffles and the wit and wisdom that passed across captured her interest, though, initially, she would not admit to more. They swapped stories of the great ships that had been built from the trees in the nearby forests; how Henry VIII’s navy had been put together from the oaks of Kent. Raffles, in his deep bass voice, started singing “Hearts of oak are our ships, Jolly tars are our men.” It was fortunate that Catherine had eyes only for James or she might have seen even more to gladden her heart: Alexandra was visibly weakening as Adam’s eyes sparkled like the sunlight on the river. She couldn’t keep her eyelashes lowered perpetually and gradually she added her own gaiety to the company.