by Janet Woods
She followed him out. Closing the door she locked it and then placed the key in his hand. Hoping he couldn’t hear the injury in her voice, she said, ‘Here’s the key, sir. Best you keep it in case my curiosity gets the better of me again. I’ll be in my rooms if you need me. I have time on my hands and have some mending to do.’
He almost growled, ‘When you’ve recovered from your sulk I’d like you to join me in the sitting room . . . and don’t keep me waiting for too long.’
Sara opened her mouth, thought better of it then shut it again and stalked off.
She kept him waiting for ten minutes – ten minutes in which she came to the conclusion that she’d been at fault and owed him an apology. Fetching a tray of tea she took it through to the sitting room.
His head turned towards her when he heard her footsteps.
‘I’m sorry,’ they both said together.
He smothered a laugh. ‘I was too snappy.’
‘No, it was me. I was too intrusive and inquisitive. I wouldn’t have stolen anything.’
‘Good gracious, I didn’t imagine you would.’
‘But you said . . . and there is a lot of jewellery lying about.’ She felt guilty and confessed, ‘I dusted a ring. I’ve never seen a real diamond before and it twinkled so in the sun.’
Pouring his tea, she placed the cup and saucer in its usual place, the plate next to it, and a snowy-white napkin across his lap. ‘There are two small apple tarts on the plate.’
‘Thank you, Sara. There’s a purse on the table. Inside is an envelope with your name on it. Keep the purse. I bought it in Taunton.’
‘Someone has written to me? But I don’t know anyone.’
‘It contains your wages from Reverend Pawley.’
She was astonished. ‘But . . .’
‘I wrote to someone I know who looked into the matter for me. Your former employer said he’d intended to pay you all along.’
‘Hah!’
‘Exactly my sentiments.’
‘How much money is it?’
‘Just under fifteen pounds.’ Drily, he told her, ‘Reverend Pawley deducted your keep and your train fare, and his own train fare as well. It’s fully itemised on the receipt. By the way, he said you have no respect for your betters.’
‘What makes him think he’s better than I am? He’s a man, not a saint.’
Her employer chuckled at that.
Sara collected the purse. It had a peacock embroidered on it. She couldn’t imagine having such a sum as fifteen pounds all at once, and she gasped out, ‘It’s a fortune. Thank you so much. It’s a very pretty purse.’
‘Oscar said you’d like it.’
‘I’ll have to find somewhere to keep the purse safe.’
‘It won’t take up much room, I’m sure. There’s a box in the library that’s disguised as a book. I’ll send Oscar to your quarters with it then you can hide it within plain sight of everyone. Nobody will think of looking for it there.’
She gave a short laugh. ‘Thank you, Mr Leighton. I like you much better than Reverend Pawley.’
‘I like me much better than the reverend, too. I’m pleased to have been of use. The key to my former wife’s room is also on the table. I’d prefer it if you kept it safely with you, since I’ve mislaid mine.’
‘I’ll keep the key in the box as well . . . and I’ll keep a lookout for your key, sir.’
‘You won’t find it here, it’s somewhere in my London home. I’m not usually careless, but I suppose it will turn up before too long. I’ll be going back to London in two weeks’ time.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Are you? Why?’
‘It’s been nice having you here. It made me feel as though I’m earning my keep.’
‘I’m quite sure you have earned it. But I’ll be back in time for Christmas.’
‘Do you ever invite your friends to stay?’
He chuckled at that. ‘I have plenty of opportunities to socialize with them in London. I enjoy the peace and quiet here.’
‘May I ask you something?’
‘Oh dear, the caution in your voice tells me I might not like the question.’ Laughter came into his voice. ‘You’re not going to propose marriage to me, are you?’
‘Mr Leighton! That would be most unseemly, besides, I don’t like you that much.’
‘In consideration of your planned spinsterhood it would be a contradiction on your part, too. I’d also have to decline, since I have no inclination to take a wife at the moment, especially one young enough to be my daughter. State what’s on your mind then, Sara. I can always tell you to mind your own business.’
‘You said it was your fault that your wife died.’
‘I said I’d killed her.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you want to know what happened, I suppose?’
‘I know there was an accident. How was that your fault?’
He drew in a breath. ‘We entertained guests that weekend. One was her admirer, and they were closer than they should have been. Diana liked going to the theatre and balls. She insisted on going back to London with them. I was angry, but I drove her to the station – too fast. There was the sound of a shot, someone game shooting, I suppose. They didn’t succeed since a deer sprang out of the hedge in front of us, the horse panicked and I couldn’t hold it. We went over a stump, the wheel sprung and we were tossed out. We both hit our heads on the same log. You know the result. If I hadn’t been driving so fast she’d still be alive.
‘Thank God Freddie turned up when he did . . . he’d left something at the house, he said.’
Sara curbed her instinct to place her hand over his. ‘How long ago was it?’
‘Nearly five years.’
‘Isn’t it about time you forgave yourself?’
‘That’s easier said than done. Enough of your prodding now, Sara.’
‘May I say something else?’
‘No, you may not. I will now exert my authority to tell you that this conversation is at an end. Go and do something housekeeperly.’ His hand jerked as he picked up the plate. The apple pies slid off the plate and into the napkin on his lap.
‘Damn and blast it!’ she said, before he could.
‘You’re a plague, Sara Finn.’ He burst out laughing.
When she got back to her quarters she placed the key back on its hook, and Mr Leighton didn’t ask her for it in the time remaining before he left for London.
‘The master stayed longer than he usually does,’ Maggie said as they watched the cart head off for the station.
‘Mr Leighton said he’s going to spend Christmas here.’
‘He was in a good mood with himself this time. Perhaps he’s beginning to get over her.’
‘He told me he had an argument with her on the day she died.’
‘Aye, the poor man. She wouldn’t settle to marriage. She married him for his money, and a generous man he was too. He gave her everything she wanted, and got nothing in return.’
‘I expect he’ll meet someone else to love eventually. He’s a handsome man.’
‘But he’s blind, so he can’t do much.’
‘That wouldn’t matter to a woman who truly loves him.’
‘It’ll matter to him, you mark my words. I’m surprised that Mr Frederick and Miss Milson didn’t visit while he was down here.’
‘Perhaps they didn’t know he was here.’
‘Likely he didn’t tell them, since he finds their chatter tedious. I can’t say I like the pair of them much, so I won’t miss them.’
‘Why don’t you like them?’
‘I don’t know, it’s a feeling I have about them. You’d best keep an eye on them if they do come. I don’t trust them, and neither did Mrs Cornwell.’
Sara and Fanny stripped the beds. They cleaned the rooms, aired them, then scattered lavender bags about the room before covering over the mattresses and chairs with the dustsheets.
Outside, autumn had set in w
ith a fiery display. Leaves twisted and fluttered through the air in shades of orange, red and brown. Baskets of fruit were brought in from the orchard. Some were stored and some became conserves. The bottles lined the larder shelves like soldiers standing to attention, ready for use in the lean months.
There was very little to do in the house, but Sara had a plan. She went to see Joseph Tunney. ‘I have an idea, Joseph.’
‘Have you now, Miss Finn?’
‘You know how Mr Leighton sits and looks out the window, and never goes out until Oscar takes him?’
‘That I do.’
‘What if we made him a path where he could safely walk by himself?’
‘I don’t understand, Miss Finn. How can he walk by himself if he can’t see where he’s going?’
‘Easy. We could put in some posts with a guide rope going from one to another. All he’ll have to do is keep his hand on the rope. It could go around the front meadow to the oak tree, visit all the flower beds, then take him around the side and the back of the house to the walled gardens, where he can sit and listen to the birds in summer if he wants.’
‘Or he can go in the other direction to where the loop ends, and go straight to the back,’ Joseph said, looking thoughtful.
‘Mr Leighton could even have his own garden patch to keep him occupied. Something that smells or tastes nice. Herbs, perhaps, or flowers.’
‘Or both,’ he suggested. ‘He used to take an interest in the garden when he had his sight.’
Unrolling a piece of paper she handed it to him. ‘See, I’ve worked out this plan. What do you think of it?’
Joseph smiled as he looked at it. ‘That’s a good plan, right enough.’
‘Can we get the walk done in time for Christmas?’
He nodded. ‘I’ll measure it and work out how many posts and how much rope we’ll need. Giles will take the list in and buy the materials on the account. You can dig the holes for the posts, seeing as you’ve got it all planned and know where they’re going to go.’
She experienced doubt. ‘I’ve never dug any holes before, and I’m not very good at measuring, but I’ll try.’
The gardener cackled with laughter. ‘I was only teasing, Miss. Digging holes is no job for a sweet little lady like you. The good Lord blessed Giles with strength for this very purpose.’
Within a fortnight the garden had grown a series of posts rooted in cement. Metal rings were screwed to them and a rope threaded through. Tying a scarf around her eyes Sara closed them for good measure and carefully made her way around the rope loop holding on with one hand. After five minutes she stumbled and let the rope go. It jerked away from her, and, although she groped around she couldn’t find it again.
She began to realize the difficulties Mr Leighton had to face and was nearly in tears when she pulled off the scarf and said to Joseph, ‘I don’t think this will work as well as I thought.’
‘Aye, it will, Miss. It’s a good idea and I don’t know why we didn’t think of it before. Remember, Mr Leighton is used to being in the darkness now and is careful of his step. You’re not.’ He began to undo the knots holding the lengths of rope in place.
‘I hope I never will be. Why are you taking the rope down?’
‘It will rot quicker if it’s left out in the weather when it’s not in use. We’ll put it back up when he comes. It will be a nice surprise for him. Giles thought it might be a good idea if he made some little signs with pointing arrows to hang on the posts, too, so Mr Leighton will know where he is, didn’t you, Giles?’
The lad smiled. ‘We’ll put “front door” on the one here. Then one at the gate.’
‘But how will he read it?’
‘Easy. We’ll write it on the wood and Giles will carve round the marks. The master can trace around them with his fingers and spell them out.’
‘What a wonderful idea, Giles.’
‘Aye, I reckon he can be proud of himself for thinking that one up. Mayhap you could help him with the letters. He hasn’t got much learning. He came from a big family, see, and his ma and pa didn’t get around to sending him to school.’
Giles blushed. ‘Pa reckoned I was too big and soft in the head to get any learning inside me.’
‘You’re not daft, Giles. You just haven’t been taught. We’ve got plenty of time on our hands when Mr Leighton is absent. I could teach you to read and write if you’d like. Could you spare him for two hours a day, Mr Tunney?’
‘Reckon he could get up an hour or so early to see to the horse and clean the stable. Teaching him to write would be kind of you, Miss.’
‘Very well. Starting from Monday I’ll have a school in my sitting room from ten a.m. until noon during the week. We’ll see how you get on.’
Sara was pleased when Maggie approached her on behalf of Fanny, who also couldn’t read or write. ‘She’s too shy to ask, and she’ll work ever so hard, won’t you Fanny, love?’
Fanny nodded.
Despite the hardship in her life, perhaps she’d been lucky to have received some education, else she would have ended up like Fanny and Giles, Sara thought. She found Mr Leighton’s library to be a treasure trove. He’d gone in there sometimes and he’d run his fingers gently over the spines of the books, tracing the gold leaf as if he was trying to read them with his fingers.
The pair was eager to learn, and Giles soon managed to write out the alphabet in a discernible hand. His eyes gleamed, as if he thought that his pa’s dismissal of his abilities might be wrong. By the end of the first month Giles could write his name reasonably well. He could recite the alphabet too, and he knew his vowel sounds.
‘Good. Now Giles, let’s see if you can write down some words.’
He gazed expectantly at her, chalk poised over the slate like a dog eager for a run.
She laughed. ‘It’s not going to be that easy. I want you to go into the garden for ten minutes and write down the things you see.’
‘What things, Miss?’
‘Anything . . . grass, sky, earth, leaf . . .’
‘But how will I know which letters to use?’
‘You’ll know when you sound them out. Try it.’
She turned to Fanny after he’d gone. The girl’s tongue circled her mouth as she laboriously struggled with her letters. She sat oddly with her left arm held behind her back. Fanny gazed up at her, smiling, as though happy with the thought that she was learning something. She didn’t retain information as easily as Giles.
‘You know, Fanny. You might find it easier to write if you held your chalk in a different way and put your other arm on the desk.’
‘I’m not allowed to use my other hand else you’ll cane me, Miss.’
Puzzled, Sara gazed at her, realizing what was wrong. A painful memory came to her of the workhouse schoolroom, and of children with their hands tied behind their backs! ‘Do you find it easier to use your other hand?’
‘Yes, Miss.’ She hung her head.
‘There’s nothing shameful about writing with your left hand. I want you to put the chalk in your other hand so I can see how well you write your name with it.’
It wasn’t a perfect solution because the side of her hand rubbed across the letters she’d written and smudged them, and it also looked awkward. But Fanny wrote faster, and the letters had more form to them, and once she graduated to a pencil it wouldn’t smudge.
‘That looks good, Fanny, well done. You’re making good progress.’
Fanny smiled proudly at the praise.
A week later, Giles’s sweetheart joined them. Jassy Bennett was a buxom lass with round rosy cheeks covered in freckles, hazel eyes and a ready smile. ‘Pa said I can come to school as long as he doesn’t have to pay anything.’
The glory that was September and October passed into a still, grey November with misty mornings that smelled of bonfires.
A message arrived from Oscar saying that he’d be bringing the master down halfway through November, and they’d stay until after Christmas. Fanny pu
t an extra shine on the furniture, Sara went through menus with Maggie and placed bowls of the fragrant pot-pourri she’d made in the summer around the house. The guide rope was threaded through the new walk and Sara went into Taunton to order the extra provisions they’d need, and to arrange for their delivery and the winter supply of coal for the fires. She also bought some small Christmas gifts.
Giles left Sara at the crossroads since he was visiting the farmer to pick up a flitch of bacon, and to take the opportunity to visit Jassy at the same time.
‘Tell the farmer that we’ll need an extra jug of milk every day, and tell Jassy there will be no more lessons until Mr Leighton has returned to London. Tell her she should keep practising with the chalk on her slate,’ she called out, as he headed towards the farm.
Her basket over her arm, and wrapped warmly in her grey, hooded cloak Sara enjoyed the walk. She enjoyed even more the sight of the house through the bare branches of the trees, and the smoke trickling from the chimneys. She didn’t think much about family because sometimes it hurt inside to remember things that she didn’t want to, like never feeling as though anyone had ever loved her . . . like the pain of the physical beatings and the hunger.
But there was a feeling inside her sometimes, of something different waiting for her . . . something better in the future, an adventure perhaps, and it was like a voice blowing on the wind. She held her hand against the flow of the air and felt the tingle of it in her palm and the excitement in her belly. But when she slowly closed her fingers over it she felt it all trickle away out of her reach.
Deep in thought, she didn’t notice the trouble waiting for her as she rounded the bend in the drive – until a menacing growl brought her back to the present.
In her path stood a rough-coated brindle lurcher, its teeth bared in a snarl, its neck fur hackled up into spikes as if it was wearing a collar of hedgehogs.
She stopped, holding her basket in front of her in defence, and said nervously, ‘Good dog.’ Not taking her eyes from the dog she edged round it and backed up the drive. The dog followed her, keeping its distance. When she got to the open space she ducked under the rope, intending to cut across the lawn.