by Lucy Ashford
Isobel felt crushed. ‘Shouldn’t I report first to Mr Hamilton?’
‘Mr Hamilton is away until tomorrow. Which is why he suggested you didn’t arrive until then.’ And Haskins went inside again, leaving the door half-open.
Isobel stood paralysed with uncertainty. Was she meant to follow him? All she really wanted to do was pick up her bag and rush back down the long drive to catch up with Billy’s cart. Take me home, Billy, will you? This is all a huge mistake.
She realised Mr Haskins was calling out to her, his voice this time expressing downright impatience. ‘Are you coming in or not, Miss Blake? You may as well use the front door, seeing as you’re here.’
She followed.
‘Here is Mrs Lett,’ Haskins continued. ‘She is the housekeeper and she will show you to your room.’
Mrs Lett was small and middle-aged, with narrow dark eyes and a pursed mouth—another of Connor’s new appointees from London, Isobel assumed. Mrs Lett said primly, ‘Please follow me, Miss Blake.’ She glanced at the portmanteau. ‘Is that all your luggage?’
‘There’s a small trunk also. The carrier will bring it tomorrow.’
The housekeeper didn’t say another word, but led Isobel up the stairs and along a narrow corridor to a door that Isobel knew only too well. Her throat became dry. ‘Is there no other room?’
‘What is wrong with this one, Miss Blake? I was under the impression it was perfectly adequate.’ For a mere employee, Mrs Lett might have added.
Isobel didn’t know where to begin. It was, in fact, quite spacious—it was adequately furnished and was better in many respects than her room at the Molinas’ house. There was nothing actually wrong with it. Except that it was the room in which her mother used to lock her whenever she misbehaved—usually because one of her governesses had complained about her. ‘Isobel is simply refusing to do her lessons, Lady Blake! She is such a wayward child!’
Isobel struggled to sound calm. Reasonable. ‘Any other room will do, Mrs Lett. Any other than this one, if you please.’
Mrs Lett was clearly not pleased, but she took Isobel to another room, which was up an extra flight of stairs and was even smaller. But Isobel said, ‘This will suit me perfectly. Thank you.’
Mrs Lett pursed her lips again. ‘The servants’ supper is served at seven, in the basement hall. I’ll send one of the maids to fetch you when it’s time.’
And then she was gone and Isobel sank down on the bed, forcing herself to breathe deeply. This room is fine, she told herself. Indeed, from its windows she could see the distant woods and hills beyond the park—but what use were the views, when the whole place reminded her what a disaster she’d made of her life?
* * *
A maid arrived shortly afterwards. ‘I’ve come to help you unpack your things, miss,’ she explained timidly. ‘My name is Susan.’
Susan looked extremely young—sixteen at most, Isobel guessed. She also appeared very frightened of her—but then, of course, all the servants would know that Isobel once lived here. Isobel tried to speak lightly. ‘I fear, Susan,’ she said, ‘that I’ve upset the household routine today.’
Susan glanced at her and hesitated. ‘They weren’t expecting you till tomorrow, miss. Mr Hamilton is not back from London until then. And Mrs Delafield, she’s out visiting, with the little girl—’
A thump of alarm. ‘Mrs Delafield?’
‘If you please, miss, she’s grandmother to Miss Elvira.’
Of course. The mother of Connor Hamilton’s dead business partner. Isobel realised Susan was opening drawers to fold away her pitifully few clothes and asked her on impulse, ‘Do you like working here, Susan? Is Mr Hamilton a good master?’
Little Susan looked up, her face instantly alight. ‘Oh, yes, miss—ever so good! The servants left from the old days say he’s much, much better than Sir George, because Sir George was a—oh!’
She clamped a hand to her mouth, realising she was speaking of Isobel’s father—and didn’t utter a single word more.
* * *
By ten o’clock that evening, Isobel was beginning to acknowledge that returning to Calverley Hall was a colossal mistake.
She had gone down to the servants’ hall at seven for supper and no one at all had responded to her attempts at conversation. Some might have been tongue-tied because of who she was, but she guessed others viewed her as an unwelcome intruder. Mrs Lett set the tone by saying as soon as she came in, ‘Well, Miss Blake? I trust you haven’t changed your mind again about your room?’
‘The room is perfect. Thank you so much for your concern, Mrs Lett!’
By the time she was halfway through the meal, Isobel had given up any attempt to make friends with the servants on either side of her, who all talked among themselves and completely ignored her. Never having a large appetite at the best of times, she struggled with the plate of beef and boiled vegetables that was put in front of her and when the pudding was served—it was apple pie—she took a spoonful and almost choked.
Her portion had been dusted with a heavy sprinkling of salt. Glancing up, she saw one of the young footmen smirking—no doubt he was responsible. She rose abruptly from her chair.
‘Thank you,’ she said to them all. ‘It’s been an interesting meal and I’ve so enjoyed meeting you!’ Every eye was upon her. Amidst a chilling silence, she walked out of the room and took a deep, long breath.
She couldn’t do this.
She had to do this.
* * *
Once back in her room she stood gazing out of the window at the velvety night sky, studded with familiar stars. This house had been her home until she was eighteen and her father took her to London. He’d been desperate for her to make a rich marriage; but everywhere she heard the sneering whispers. ‘She’s Sir George Blake’s daughter. That’s right—Sir George Blake of Calverley Hall, the gambler...’
Her mother had died when she was nine. Her chaperon in London was an appalling lady called Mrs Sparlet—who Isobel quickly discovered was in fact her father’s mistress. Day after day Mrs Sparlet prepared her for some second-rate party, often to which they’d not even been invited. Isobel had thought the humiliation could not get worse, but it did. It was Viscount Loxley who saved her; Viscount Loxley who’d been her only friend. But then he had died and she really was alone.
Those servants downstairs had been trying to hurt her—but they didn’t know that she was used to far worse insults, far worse mockery. She was accustomed to having to be strong—but even so, there were two things that truly, deeply worried her. Tomorrow, she had to begin her duties at the chapel, teaching the Plass Valley children. And tomorrow—Connor Hamilton would be back.
That was what really frightened her. It was one thing keeping up a brave face in front of the staff here. It was quite another to pretend she didn’t care what he thought. Because seeing him again had not only wakened old memories, it had set completely new sensations sparking like fire through her body, making her imagine things like his lips on hers and his strong fingers caressing her.
Already, just by thinking about him, that tiny explosion of heat had begun again low in her abdomen, as fiery and as dangerous as his harsh gaze when he’d said the other day, ‘I’ve come here with a proposition that could just be the solution to your problems.’
And she’d thought—just for one heartstopping moment—that he was asking her to be his mistress.
He wasn’t, of course. But even so, she dreaded the fact that she would be living under his roof—and whatever he’d said to the contrary, there would be no escaping him. No escaping her own past, either, with the long shadows it cast—especially now she was here once more in the house that had seen her childhood dreams vanish into thin air.
Chapter Eight
The next morning Mrs Lett arrived in Isobel’s room a little before nine. ‘You didn’t come down for breakfas
t, Miss Blake.’
Hardly surprising. ‘No,’ Isobel replied. ‘I asked the maid, Susan, to bring me some tea and a little toast. I don’t have a huge appetite in the mornings.’
Mrs Lett’s frown didn’t lessen. ‘Well, Mr Hamilton won’t arrive back till later. But Mr Haskins and I feel he would wish you to start your preparations for the school as soon as possible—so, since you’re here, we thought you might like to inspect the chapel.’
‘Of course.’ Isobel smiled brightly. ‘What a delightful idea!’
Isobel followed the housekeeper down the servants’ stairs and out of the side door into the sunshine. Five minutes later they’d crossed the courtyard and covered the short distance to the chapel, where Mrs Lett unlocked the door and led the way in before turning to Isobel. ‘I imagine you’ll know, Miss Blake, that Mr Hamilton has gone to considerable expense to make this place ready so very quickly. Though goodness knows what state it will all be in by the time those children have had the run of it.’
‘I take it you don’t approve of Mr Hamilton’s educational venture?’ Isobel had kept her voice calm, but there was enough steel in her words to make the housekeeper suddenly wary.
‘Well, now,’ Mrs Lett began, ‘who am I to pass judgement on Mr Hamilton’s decisions?’
‘Who indeed?’ said Isobel sweetly. ‘Thank you so much for bringing me here. But don’t let me keep you any longer from your duties!’
As soon as she’d gone, Isobel looked slowly around.
The old chapel had always been airy and spacious, with stained-glass windows that tinted the sun’s rays as they fell on the terracotta-tiled floor. Recently the interior walls had been whitewashed—within the last few days, Isobel guessed. The dark oak pews were still there, but in the open area to the front had been placed several child-sized tables and chairs, while next to the pulpit was a blackboard and a desk on which were laid pencils, chalk and books.
She stood there thinking, How am I going to do this? How can I possibly cope with what is expected of me?
She walked back to the open door and stepped outside. To her left, across the gravelled courtyard, towered the Hall; to her right lay the gardens, whose woodland paths and secret glades had always been a refuge for her. A little farther on, half-concealed by a tangle of flowering shrubs, was an ancient headstone, a memorial to the distant ancestor who had this house and chapel built and the gardens laid out, long ago.
She was about to return to the chapel when suddenly she caught sight of a small figure in a long brown frock approaching her uncertainly. It was Elvie.
‘Has Mrs Lett gone?’ the little girl whispered.
‘Why, yes! But...’
‘Good. You’re starting the school tomorrow, aren’t you, Miss Blake? I came because I wanted to tell you that the children are talking about it.’
Isobel felt a moment’s stunned astonishment. ‘The children are... But how on earth do you know, Elvie?’
And Elvie told her. Elvie explained how she’d met up with the Plass Valley children regularly, ever since the day of the fair. It started by chance, she said, when she took Little Jack for a walk through the woods to the river.
‘On your own?’ interrupted Isobel. She’d led Elvie back into the chapel, where they sat at one of the small tables.
Elvie blushed. ‘I know I’m s-supposed to take a maid with me, but I much prefer it on my own.’ She was looking at Isobel anxiously. ‘You won’t tell Connor, will you? Or my grandmother?’
Isobel hesitated. No point in shattering this little girl’s unexpected trust in her. ‘No,’ she said swiftly, ‘of course not. But you shouldn’t really stray too far from the Hall, Elvie. And those children...’
‘I met them by the river,’ Elvie explained. ‘Yes, I know it’s Connor’s land, and they shouldn’t be there! But they were playing lovely games, sailing some boats they’d made from twigs and bark, and they asked me to join them. So I did and they taught Little Jack clever tricks—and now I go to meet them there whenever I can.’
Isobel said suddenly, ‘Little Jack’s not with you now. Where is he?’
‘Mr Haskins said he had to be locked in, because he jumped up at a maid and she dropped a jug of milk.’ Her eyes welled up a little. ‘But he didn’t mean to. Oh, Miss Blake, I heard him crying for me!’ And a tear rolled down her cheek. Isobel saw how Elvie tried to rub it away. ‘I feel so sorry for him,’ she whispered. ‘And I’m sad, too, because I’m lonely.’
Isobel took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Elvie. Did you know that once I used to live here, when I was a girl?’
‘You did?’
‘I did. I loved the gardens and the park, and I really want to see it all again. Since it’s such a fine day, shall we go and explore?’
Elvie’s face lit up. ‘Shall I take you to see the children?’
Isobel’s heart missed a beat. Elvie shouldn’t be meeting with them like this. Connor would most definitely not approve...
She saw Elvie’s face fall at her hesitation. ‘I suppose,’ Elvie said despondently, ‘you think you won’t like them very much.’
‘It’s not that at all,’ said Isobel warmly. ‘But, Elvie, you mentioned the children have been talking about the new school. What are they saying about it?’
The little girl looked hesitant once more. ‘They say they don’t want any lessons.’ Her face brightened again. ‘But perhaps you can make them change their minds, Miss Blake!’
She took a deep breath. ‘Well, let’s go and find out, shall we?’
‘Now? But what about Little Jack?’
Isobel laughed and replied, ‘We shall rescue Little Jack first thing.’
Elvie gazed at her in wonder. ‘Do you know what, Miss Blake? I think the children will like you very much. And I’ll tell you another secret. Sometimes I take them some food from the kitchens without Cook knowing, because they are always hungry...’
* * *
Of course, Isobel knew she was in trouble from the minute she entered the kitchen. The plump cook was placing a tray of bread rolls in the vast oven. Isobel said cheerfully, ‘Good morning, Cook! I’ll be taking my lunch outside, today, if you please, with Miss Elvira. I assume it’s all right if I help myself?’
And, having already spotted an array of cold foods laid out on a marble slab, she quickly piled some slices of cheese and cold meats in the basket she’d brought with her, adding handfuls of bread rolls, pastries and apples.
‘Now, you wait a minute!’ ordered Cook. ‘Who’s all that for?’
But Isobel, waving a hand in thanks, swept from the room.
Elvie was waiting for her out in the main hall and she clapped her hands with glee when she saw the jam pastries poking out of the basket. ‘Are you quite sure you’re a teacher, Miss Blake? You don’t act like one. You don’t even look like one.’
And you don’t look like the happy carefree child you ought to be, thought Isobel, noting how the little girl was dressed in a heavy serge gown that looked far more suitable for winter. ‘Come along,’ she said. ‘We’re going to find you something else to wear, Elvie!’
And so, like a pair of conspirators, they hurried up to Elvie’s room where Isobel quickly helped her change into a short-sleeved cotton frock and a sunhat. ‘There,’ Isobel approved, ‘that’s better.’ She herself was wearing a pink-chintz gown that was several years old, but it was still one of her favourites. ‘We look ready for an adventure now, don’t we?’
Elvie was laughing. Excited. ‘An adventure,’ she kept whispering to herself as they hurried back down the stairs. ‘An adventure.’
Isobel certainly felt like a conspirator. They crept out of the side door, then round to the stables to free Jack from his kennel, although the groom they encountered there proved almost as unencouraging as Cook—‘Mr Haskins gave orders that the creature’s to be kept in his kennel all morning, miss!’
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br /> Suddenly Isobel found herself speaking in the way she used to in the days when her father owned the Hall. ‘I’m afraid Mr Haskins made a mistake,’ she announced. ‘I’m taking Miss Elvira for a nature walk and Jack is coming with us.’
The puppy was ecstatic to have been released. ‘Jack,’ cried Elvie. ‘Oh, poor Little Jack, you thought you were being punished, didn’t you?’
* * *
They found the children just where Elvie had said, by the river that marked the boundary of the Calverley estate. There were six of them, barefoot and in patched and tattered clothes. Their ages ranged from around five to eight. They were brown as berries from the sun and laughed and chattered as they paddled in the water and played with some toy boats they’d made from twigs and bark, just as Elvie had described.
When they saw that Elvie had brought someone with her, their faces bore looks of alarm—alarm that swiftly vanished as the freckle-faced boy who was clearly their leader declared, ‘It’s her. It’s the lady who stuck up for us at the fair and who took some of us to the doctor’s that day we got chased by the men from the village.’
Elvie beamed. ‘That’s right. She’s Miss Blake and she’s nice. This morning Little Jack was locked in his kennel, but she rescued him!’
The boy with freckles nodded. ‘You can play with our boats if you want, miss,’ he said.
Little Jack had already bounded forward, clearly recognising friends. Isobel made one laughing attempt to join the children by the river and make a boat herself, but it sank straight away. After that she retired to the shade of a nearby clump of alders and occupied herself with a sketchbook and pencil as they played on with their miniature fleets or threw sticks in the river for Jack to fetch.