The Master of Calverley Hall

by Lucy Ashford

  ‘I don’t think that he does always like London,’ Elvie said. She was looking up at the blackboard, where Isobel had started writing up tomorrow’s lesson. ‘Miss Blake, you’ve spelled “dandelion” wrong—you’ve forgotten to put in the “e”. Grandmother says Connor has to go and talk to some nasty businessmen who’ve been trying to make trouble for him. But Grandmother says he’s more than a match for them.’

  ‘And I’m sure your grandmother is quite right,’ said Isobel. She pitied his business rivals, whoever they were. They’d be taking on a formidable opponent.

  Without Connor here, she’d told herself she ought to feel calmer—safer, even. There was no chance of him interrupting her lessons or confronting her as she hurried to her room in the Hall. No opportunity either for her to confess her many sins—chiefly, that she, Isobel, simply couldn’t spell and relied on Elvie to help her.

  She was safer, maybe. But she still thought of him, all the time.

  * * *

  One morning at eight, when Connor had been away for four days, Elvie’s grandmother caught Isobel as she was setting off for the chapel. ‘My dear, I believe it’s going to be a beautiful afternoon. Will you come with Elvie and me to explore the gardens? Now, before you say anything, I know you often work for an hour or two after the children have gone, but perhaps we could set off at, say, three? Would that be acceptable to you?’

  * * *

  That afternoon a footman brought Laura to the chapel in a bath chair that was designed for the outdoors. Then Isobel took over—‘I can manage perfectly well,’ she assured the footman—and together they ventured deep into the wooded gardens, while Elvie skipped ahead with Little Jack.

  When Isobel had returned to Gloucestershire from London three years ago, she’d noticed that the Calverley lands were rapidly returning to the wilds, all the pathways overgrown with brambles. But Connor had changed all that, swiftly. He’d put a team of groundsmen to work in the spring and now hardly a weed or bramble or stray sapling dared to rear its head.

  Connor and his money were changing everything.

  ‘Isobel, dear,’ Laura said, breaking into her thoughts, ‘I’ve heard that you’re doing a marvellous job with the Plass Valley children. But they must be hard work, surely?’

  Isobel suddenly realised they were almost at the river. She spotted a level place for Laura’s bath chair and found herself a seat on a mossy rock so she could sit beside her. Elvie had already gone racing ahead to throw sticks in the water for her puppy.

  ‘I don’t find them hard work at all, Mrs Delafield.’ Isobel smiled at Laura. ‘I find them delightful, even if they are always full of energy.’

  Laura said cheerfully, ‘There you are! That’s exactly why they’re such hard work—all that chatter, all those ideas. But Connor has told me you appear to manage admirably.’

  She’s lovely, thought Isobel. But what would she think if she realised that Isobel was only getting by with Elvie’s help? ‘I enjoy the teaching,’ she said. ‘Really I do.’

  ‘Well,’ said Laura, ‘I just wanted you to know I hear that you are helping the children a great deal. And perhaps Elvie and Connor also.’

  This last was said so quietly that Isobel wasn’t even sure if she heard her aright. And she couldn’t have replied even if she’d wanted to, because by then Elvie was rushing towards them with Little Jack at her heels. ‘Miss Blake! I saw a kingfisher—a real kingfisher, with a fish in his beak!’

  * * *

  All too soon they were on their way back and Calverley Hall came into view, its windows glittering in the afternoon sun. ‘It’s so beautiful,’ Laura said and then broke off. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Isobel! You must find it very difficult, my dear, having grown up here...’

  Isobel shook her head. ‘Not at all. Even when I was a child, I realised my father was in deep financial trouble and I remember there always seemed to be a dark cloud hanging over the Hall. It was almost a relief to move out.’

  Laura nodded sympathetically. ‘And yet the place does cast a spell over you, doesn’t it?’ She hesitated. ‘You knew Connor, didn’t you? When he worked nearby, in the village?’

  Isobel was still gazing at the Hall as she spoke. ‘Yes, he worked at his father’s forge and I used to pester him rather, I’m afraid. I was always turning up, always asking him questions. He worked so hard and I think everyone knew that some day he would find something bigger and better to do with his life.’

  Laura nodded. ‘My son, Miles, said he’d never met anyone with such energy and such determination. “Mark my words,” Miles said to me, “that young man will go far.” For a while, in London, Connor lodged with us and I remember that in his room he had a map of Gloucestershire on his wall. And beside it was pinned a sheet of paper that never failed to intrigue me, because, you see, it was a detailed list of all kinds of facts relevant to the place—oh, things like land prices, wheat yields, the amounts the local estates and farms sold for. I realised he must have had the local newspapers sent to him in London, every week! And he must have thought about Calverley night and day...’

  Laura chattered on, not noticing that Isobel had gone very still. Very pale. Suddenly, the sunshine didn’t seem as warm. And Isobel thought, So it’s as I suspected. Connor has always planned to get the Hall and all its lands.

  And now, how satisfied he must feel.

  * * *

  She got back to her room to find, as soon as she opened the door, that there was an almost unbearable stench. Panicking, she looked around and saw that someone had cut several large slits in her pillows and had tossed the feathers all over the floor.

  The stench came from the pillows. She went over to them and realised they’d been filled with lumps of dried horse dung.

  Then she saw a large scrap of paper, lying on her chest of drawers. LADY MUCK was scrawled across it. It must be the footmen again.

  Feeling sick, she ran to fling open the windows, then put her hands to her face, her spirits lower than they’d ever been in all her life. How could she deal with all this? How? There was no point in reporting it to Haskins or to Mrs Lett. They wouldn’t take a bit of notice.

  Connor had told her to let him know, instantly, if she had trouble from any of the staff, but he was away—besides which, the person she was most afraid of in this entire place was Connor himself.

  That kiss. How could she have let herself permit it? Even worse, how could she have let herself respond to it so ardently? She closed her eyes, found herself touching her lips and suddenly thought—had that kiss, too, been part of Connor’s revenge?

  * * *

  The next day she realised Connor had found a new way to twist the knife in her already taut emotions. Since it was a Saturday and there was no school, she decided in the afternoon to walk to the Molinas’ house, taking the grassy track through the valley. It was wonderful to see Joseph and Agnes again, but it also made her realise how she missed them. She had a few moments alone with Agnes in the kitchen, while the kettle boiled on the stove for tea. ‘How is Joseph?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s so much better,’ Agnes reassured her. ‘Ever since the roof was repaired and all the windows, too! You remember all those draughts and leaks? Mr Hamilton had them fixed. He’s also been sending us fruit and vegetables from his garden and he says we’re not to worry about fuel for the winter, because he will provide it. But surely you knew?’

  ‘No,’ said Isobel. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  Agnes was gazing at her anxiously. ‘Dear Isobel, are you sure you’re all right? You know, you can come back to us any time you wish!’

  Isobel smiled at Agnes. ‘I’m fine where I am for the moment. My pupils are an absolute delight.’

  ‘And what about all those servants at the Hall? Are they kind to you?’

  ‘Oh, it’s like being part of one big, happy family!’

  By now Agnes was pouring out the stron
g tea. ‘And what about Mr Hamilton? As you can guess, he’s quite a favourite with us. Goodness, he’s such a handsome man!’

  ‘I actually see very little of him. And he’s in London at the moment.’

  Then Joseph joined them, rather to Isobel’s relief, and he started telling her about his latest paintings. ‘I’m getting commissions again, Isobel,’ he told her proudly.

  So of course Isobel had to admire his new work, then Agnes made another pot of tea and pressed her to eat more cake—‘Wasting away, you are!’ Agnes said darkly.

  All too soon, it was time for her to walk back. The setting sun was scattering rays of red-gold light across the fields and hills, and in the distance the multi-paned windows of Calverley Hall shone like jewels. And the same old fear clutched at her heart—the dread she used to feel as the Hall cast its long shadow over her. But this time, it was her own feelings that tortured her.

  Connor. How could he be so harsh one minute, then so kind the next? The Molinas couldn’t praise him enough. Of course, their house was his property and it was in his financial interest to keep it sound. But to provide them with fresh produce from his garden? To promise them fuel for the winter?

  She couldn’t understand Connor, and she couldn’t understand herself for letting him make her feel the way she did. He despises you, she reminded herself. Yet he made her heart race whenever he was near; he made her lungs ache with the need for air. And she couldn’t forget that kiss. It was as if he’d branded her as the shameless wanton he clearly believed her to be.

  She’d spent so long now, trying to cut herself off from everyone except the Molinas. From early childhood, she’d grown used to fending off scorn: the scorn poured on her for being stupid at lessons and for being the child of a drunken gambler. She’d learned to hide her feelings so no one would know how much she hurt inside. The stories that had spread about her time in London only strengthened her sense of being utterly alone. She’d learned to be resilient, she had built up a stone wall around her heart.

  But that didn’t mean her heart didn’t ache within its defences. She didn’t want the person who took that wall down piece by piece to be Connor Hamilton—Connor, with his cynicism and his scorn for her family, and most of all for herself. She couldn’t be feeling what she did for him—she just couldn’t!

  Was he, perhaps, making the Molinas comfortable so that she, Isobel, would feel she could not displease him? He was ruthless enough. He had to be, to have climbed as high as he had. And now, Laura had let slip that Connor had planned to buy Calverley Hall since the day he was banished. As for the school, she suspected that he’d most likely only set it up to impress his London friends and to humiliate her, Isobel—and he had no idea yet just how cruel his punishment was.

  She would not be humiliated. She would cope somehow. But her resolution shook as she approached the Hall and realised that Connor was back. His travelling carriage was standing in the front yard. She hurried to the side entrance—the servants’ entrance—to make her way up to the shelter of her room, but she was stopped at the foot of the servants’ stairs by one of the footmen. ‘Oh, you must be in trouble,’ the footman said.

  ‘Why? What do you mean?’

  ‘Mr Hamilton wants to see you in his study, straight away.’

  Very slowly, Isobel made her way towards that closed, forbidding door.

  * * *

  Connor stared at the paperwork that had accumulated on his desk with a mounting sense of frustration. Everyone was asking him if he’d enjoyed himself in London, but enjoyment hadn’t come into it—his week had been a hectic frenzy of meetings with suppliers, investors and bankers.

  And two days ago, Roderick Staithe had invited him over to his club for a meal. Staithe had spent the first quarter of an hour on trivialities, until at last Connor broke in. ‘And when am I going to hear the verdict from this Parliamentary committee you’re on, Staithe? When will I learn whether or not the government’s going to approve my construction work at the docks?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Staithe, leaning forward confidingly, ‘now there’s the thing, Hamilton. Some members of the committee need a little sweetening.’

  Connor’s lip had curled. ‘Money, you mean?’

  ‘Good God, no!’ Staithe had looked mildly wounded. ‘Nothing as sordid as that. But I think several of the waverers would very much welcome a taste of the high life, on my Berkshire estate. After a few days of fine dining and champagne and gentlemen’s sports, I think I can guarantee that they’ll look kindly on your project.’ He was stroking a large signet ring on his finger—Connor noted it bore his family crest. ‘But it would all be rather expensive, so perhaps you should consider that it could be me you’ve got to sweeten.’

  Connor had said flatly, ‘How much?’

  Staithe had looked hurt again. ‘Now, Hamilton,’ he’d said, shaking his head, ‘surely you’ve not forgotten my beloved sister? Helena wants to marry you—that’s the sum of it. In fact, she’s got her heart set on it...’

  The rest of the meal, for Connor, had passed in a haze.

  The marriage was what most men in his situation would have agreed to promptly. Helena wouldn’t bring a vast dowry—but Connor already had all the money he could want. What the marriage would give him was far more important—access to the upper ranks of society and contact with even more powerful backers for his ambitious schemes.

  And Helena was eager. Connor didn’t need Staithe to confirm that. She was widely held to be a beauty and she would know exactly how to conduct herself as a rich man’s wife.

  But for all the rest of the week in London, while Connor visited his foundries and assessed contracts and met more potential investors, one person was at the forefront of his mind. He found himself unable to forget Isobel’s bright, defiant smile. Unable to banish the sound of her voice as she made her swift retorts to his multiple criticisms and rebukes.

  And for God’s sake, he should never have kissed her. That was a terrible mistake, but she’d tasted sweet as honey! Those little sounds she’d made as he held her close drove him wild and he’d imagined he almost felt the fluttering of her heart through the thin layers of her clothing...

  But always, he realised, she was guarding herself. Putting up a barrier. And no wonder—he’d done everything wrong, he knew that. But he hadn’t guessed, while he was in London, just how much he would miss her.

  Well, now he was back and a mountain of unopened correspondence awaited him in his study. But the first thing he did, once he was seated behind his desk, was—to send for Isobel.

  A few moments later, she knocked and entered. ‘Mr Hamilton,’ she said lightly. ‘As you see, I obey your summons.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Connor felt something tug at his heart at the sight of her. Gladness? Lust? For God’s sake, she was in a drab and shapeless gown, her blonde hair was scraped back in a style that was as unbecoming as possible and she probably hated him. He observed how cautiously she entered, in spite of her flippant words. He recognised the wariness in her eyes.

  She would probably rather be anywhere else but here.

  Yet even now his self-control was slipping. He had never wanted a woman so much—a woman he knew to be inappropriate and impossible, and who moreover didn’t remotely like him. As she gave him her usual challenging smile, he detected the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, saw the way her body had tensed as she confronted him, like someone expecting a physical or mental blow.

  Damn it. He didn’t once let his dark frown slip. One thing was for sure—she would never guess that all he really wanted to do, at this moment, was to pull her into his arms and kiss her again—and he had to keep it that way. The woman was a liability and quite possibly posed a threat to everything he’d worked for all these years, yet he couldn’t seem to do anything but remember that sweet, hot kiss. And the passion lurking beneath that could ruin them both...

&nb
sp; He stood up, keeping his face expressionless. ‘Miss Blake. I trust everything has gone well for you while I’ve been away?’

  He could have sworn he saw some emotion in those green-gold eyes of hers that might have been utter despair. But she forced a smile that somehow pierced him. Made him hurt for her.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I haven’t invited every child in the neighbourhood to join the school, if that’s what you fear. Even I have to realise there are some limits.’

  ‘I meant no criticism. I merely hoped you were finding your role enjoyable.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said enthusiastically, ‘everything is going so well, you cannot imagine! So far we’ve covered the seasons and the months, and measurements. And all sorts of useful topics, just as you requested!’

  He nodded. He tried not to let his eyes wander to the elegant line of her hips and narrow waist. He wanted to say, Have you been unhappy here, Isobel? Do you still resent the fact that Calverley Hall is no longer yours? Do you hate me for buying it? And did you miss me while I was away?

  Just then the door opened and Connor’s secretary, Robert Carstairs, came in. ‘Oh.’ He pulled up when he saw who was there. ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt—’

  ‘No,’ Isobel said quickly, ‘it’s all right, I was just going.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’ Connor held out his hand to stop her. ‘Carstairs, come back in ten minutes, will you? And, Miss Blake, you are to stay.’

  Carstairs quietly closed the door after him.

  You are to stay.

  For God’s sake, Connor rebuked himself, did he have to make it sound like a military command? Did he have to go out of his way to be such an utter bastard to her? He saw how Isobel stood there—once more with a look on her face, he realised, that was almost fear. Hardly surprising. ‘Please,’ he said tiredly. ‘Sit down.’

  She did so, perching on the very edge of the chair to which he’d pointed, and he faced her from behind his desk. ‘I’m glad,’ he went on, ‘to hear that the children are enjoying their lessons. But how about your week, Miss Blake? How has that been?’