The Master of Calverley Hall

by Lucy Ashford

  She gave that little shrug of her shoulders. ‘I suppose I didn’t realise,’ she said, ‘when I agreed to take on this job that it was all to impress some grand committee in London.’

  He linked his hands together and rested them on his desk. ‘You’re referring to that report I asked you to write?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He met her gaze steadily. ‘It’s true that I told some friends about the school—but only because the idea of universal and free education is one of my dreams. You can surely guess why.’

  For a moment she looked vulnerable. That shadow had crossed her face again. ‘Because you had to fight so hard for your own education?’

  ‘Exactly. Isobel—Miss Blake—I’m sorry. I didn’t intend this to be an interrogation.’

  ‘No?’ she queried politely. ‘Then may I go?’

  And he had a sudden idea. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Before you leave, why don’t you try asking me some questions about my week and what I’ve been doing?’

  Her eyes opened wide. ‘You mean—ask you about your work?’

  Of course. What else? he was on the verge of saying. But then, she probably imagined he’d spent the whole week in convivial dining, drinking and quite possibly womanising. Dear God, she must think him a real bastard. And why not? He hadn’t done a great deal to make her change her mind.

  She lifted her chin. ‘It’s as I suspected, then,’ she said with outer calm. ‘I think you invited me here to make me me feel small, Mr Hamilton. You must surely realise I would not understand one word about your business affairs in London.’

  Connor leaned forward, feeling the faint glimmer of a smile curving his lips. ‘Try it,’ he urged. ‘Ask me why I might shortly need a vast quantity of wrought iron.’

  He heard her intake of breath, then she nodded and said, ‘Pray tell me, Mr Hamilton. Why might you shortly need a vast quantity of wrought iron?’

  He pointed to the plan laid out on his desk. ‘Come and sit here—’ he reached to drag a spare chair closer to his ‘—and take a look.’

  She hesitated, but her curiosity was getting the better of her, because she sat exactly where he commanded and the delicate scent of lavender assailed his nostrils... Concentrate, you fool.

  He picked up a ruler. ‘This, Miss Blake, is what I’ve been working on. A contract to provide iron for some new docks on the Thames, just east of the city. Look.’ He pointed with the ruler. ‘Here’s the Isle of Dogs and here’s Wapping, which is where the docks are being built. The West India docks, here, are already completed and in use. Gradually London is being transformed as a port, providing far bigger and safer berths—which means no more ships moored out in the river, waiting to be unloaded for days on end. No more thievery, or damage to the valuable goods in the waiting ships’ holds. The Wapping docks are an extension of the improvements already made—a great deal of iron is needed and, if everything goes to plan, my foundries will provide it.’

  She had been gazing at the map intently, but now she lifted her eyes to his. ‘You appear to have a very profitable venture on your hands, Mr Hamilton.’

  ‘I’ve told you—it’s not just about money.’ His voice had become more intense. ‘Once, years ago, I had such dreams...’

  And then he stopped. And he thought, Once, no doubt, so did she.

  ‘Congratulations,’ she said lightly, but he thought she looked a little pale. ‘You must have long ago fulfilled your dreams—I’m only surprised you still take such pleasure in new ventures.’

  ‘I take pleasure in achievement,’ he said. ‘And in the sense of complete independence that money brings.’

  She nodded. ‘And independence brings power. Such a contrast, to the time when everything was against you, when you were a boy. You’ve got your own back—in truly spectacular fashion.’

  He realised suddenly. ‘You think that’s why I bought Calverley Hall? To get my own back?’

  He saw her shrug. ‘You must surely guess that’s what people say.’

  He wanted to roar with exasperation. But he had asked for all this. She hadn’t even wanted to come into his office just now! He forced down his churning emotions and kneaded his forehead. Then he said, ‘You must have had dreams, too, Isobel. What were they?’

  He noticed she didn’t even pause to consider his question. ‘I had none.’

  No. No, Connor couldn’t believe that! ‘Isobel,’ he began, ‘when you were eighteen, your father took you to London and there were stories. Now, I know as well as anyone that London gossip can be vicious—’

  She was on her feet. She’d gone very pale. ‘And you’d like me to say those stories are untrue? I take complete responsibility for my own actions, Mr Hamilton. I do not shirk my past, I assure you!’

  He tried again. ‘Life’s been difficult for you. You perhaps haven’t deserved what’s happened to you...’

  ‘How can you say that?’ she interrupted. Her voice was low but passionate. ‘How can you claim to be sorry for me, when I was responsible not only for you losing your home all those years ago, but quite possibly for the death of your father?’

  He rose, too, and drew a deep breath. ‘I did not—I have never, ever held you responsible for the destruction of the forge. Besides which, my father was already sick and close to death when it all happened. And London? You were young. You had no one to guide you...’

  And I cannot believe everything I’ve heard, he urgently wanted to say. Please tell me, Isobel, that the stories aren’t true.

  But all he could add was, ‘What else can I say, except that you’re more than making amends?’

  Her eyes glinted dangerously. ‘Making amends,’ she echoed softly. She shrugged and smiled. ‘But I’ve tried often, Mr Hamilton, to tell you that—for various reasons—I really am one of the worst possible people you could have chosen for your school. And now I want to tell you that I wish to resign.’

  He watched her for a moment, then said quietly, ‘If you truly want to leave, I shan’t stop you. But the children would be distraught if you abandon them now. You must know that yourself. What more can I say except to beg you to stay for the children’s sake?’

  ‘Ah, but there’s more. I have, in fact, managed to antagonise almost all of your staff.’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

  ‘Really?’ She sounded amused. ‘And you’ll have heard an interesting version, I assume?’

  ‘I prefer to make my own judgements.’ In fact, Haskins had come to Connor about Isobel the moment he returned from London. We’ve tried to be forbearing, sir, Haskins had intoned. But her high-handed ways really are too much.

  Connor didn’t like Haskins. He really didn’t like him very much at all. Now he said to Isobel quietly, ‘I want you to stay. Please.’

  Again he saw the uncertainty shadow her face; told himself, For God’s sake, you fool, you ought to let her resign, for her own good and for yours! She should take those melting green eyes and that impossibly tempting body of hers and get the hell out of here, away from the shadows of her family home and far away from the vicious gossip. Yet he wanted to protect her. Save her from herself...

  He was, he realised, in big trouble. ‘You signed a contract,’ he added.

  And something about her seemed to crumple. In a small voice she said, ‘So I did.’ Then she summoned one of those smiles again. ‘Well, I really shall have to think about it all. Shan’t I? Is it all right, Mr Hamilton, if I go now?’

  Without waiting for his answer she was heading for the door—clearly she couldn’t get out quickly enough—when, on impulse, he said, ‘A moment. I don’t think you answered me, when I asked you if you ever had dreams of your own.’

  She gave him one of her disconcertingly direct gazes. ‘Why should I have dreams, Mr Hamilton? I’m content as I am.’

  And he had a sudden, overwhelming desire to prove to her that she should not be con
tent. That she needed someone. Someone like him? She would laugh at that.

  She was murmuring, ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ and in another minute she’d be out of that door.

  He found himself getting to his feet and saying, ‘Miss Blake. Tomorrow is Sunday, as you’ll know. And I’d like to take you out for the day.’

  She looked so astonished it was almost laughable. ‘A day out? When you must have a thousand things to think about?’

  ‘All work and no play does nobody any good,’ he said. ‘And we’ll take Elvie, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said rather faintly.

  ‘We can call it,’ he went on, ‘an educational trip.’

  She nodded, clearly still uncertain. ‘Where?’

  ‘You choose.’ He smiled teasingly. ‘Bath? Or Wells Cathedral, perhaps?’

  And Isobel suddenly said, almost hesitantly, ‘Bath? The Sydney Gardens?’

  ‘A good idea,’ he approved. ‘I’ll tell Tom to prepare the barouche. I wonder, what time should we set out? Shall we say eleven o’clock?’

  ‘Excellent,’ she said lightly. ‘So, since you’re actually abandoning your plans to rebuild large sections of the country for almost a whole day tomorrow, I’d better leave you to cope with what’s already on your desk.’

  He smiled and she felt something inside her hurt, actually hurt, at that smile.

  She was almost at the door when he called, ‘Wait!’, and came over to her. She felt the colour flare in her cheeks as he lifted his hand to her face. ‘You have a feather,’ he said softly, ‘in your hair.’

  Carefully he drew it out and he handed it to her, his eyes never leaving hers. She snatched it from him and made for the door, aware that he was still standing there, his face unreadable.

  She hurried up to her room, trembling inside. A few more feathers had drifted to the floor, and despite the open window the air still smelled of manure.

  She closed her door and leaned against it, wondering, How much longer can I endure this? But she was thinking not of the servants’ vendetta against her, but of Connor. Most of all of Connor.

  She stayed there, trying to calm her stupid, dizzy heart-rate. She told herself over and over again, There’s nothing in it. He’s simply being kind. He’s thinking of Elvie and feeling sorry for me.

  She didn’t want his pity. As for him, what did he want? Money, of course, and power, to compensate for the humiliation of his upbringing. Yet sometimes, she saw such bleakness in his eyes, almost despair—as if there were wounds in his past that just couldn’t be healed.

  She felt she could deal with him best when he was being harsh and autocratic. She could then summon her usual mask of defiance and bravado; it was her shield against a hostile world. But when he was kind, she felt her defences fall. He’d once been her only ally, but she’d lost him. And all she wanted now was for him to respect her again, for him to actually like her and laugh with her as they’d once done...

  Who was she trying to fool? No one, least of all herself. She wanted a lot more—and that was impossible.

  A day of pleasure tomorrow? She was dreading it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Elvie couldn’t stop dancing with excitement when Isobel went to collect her the next morning. ‘An outing!’ she kept exclaiming. ‘With Connor!’

  A maid had already dressed the little girl in a sensible flannel gown, but Isobel quickly searched Elvie’s wardrobe and found her a short-sleeved pink gingham frock instead. ‘The sun is going to shine all day,’ Isobel promised her, ‘and we’ll take a shawl for you in case it gets chilly later.’

  Since she’d moved in here, Isobel had worn nothing but sombre browns and greys. But today, on sudden impulse, she put on one of the few outfits she’d saved from London, but never worn since—a blue day dress with a dark blue spencer, demure but stylish. To go with it, she chose a straw bonnet with a blue ribbon—and when they went down to meet Connor in the courtyard, she thought she saw his eyebrows lift in approval. ‘Miss Blake,’ he said, ‘you look most elegant.’

  And Isobel felt her own heart do a little dance of pleasure, because Connor looked wonderful in a well-cut coat of olive-green kerseymere. As ever, his hair was a little too long for fashion and was already ruffled by the light summer breeze—but somehow it only emphasised the chiselled lines of his strong face and she found her senses singing in answer to his smile.

  Elvie was already running to the open carriage in excitement, the ribbons of her large sunbonnet fluttering. She is happy, Isobel thought suddenly. And I would be happy, too, if only I didn’t keep wanting too much from life. Like wanting Connor. Like wanting her past to be obliterated. But ‘if onlys’ were for fairy tales—everyone knew that. I will enjoy today, she vowed to herself. No matter what happened afterwards, today would be special.

  Tom sat up high to take the reins of the open carriage and Elvie sat between Connor and Isobel. Little Jack had been left with the other dogs for the day. Elvie chattered merrily to Connor almost all the six miles to Bath and, by the time they’d reached the Sydney Gardens, the sun was high in the sky and the tree-shaded walkways were crowded with visitors. Tom took charge of the carriage and horses, while Connor held Elvie’s hand and gave Isobel a quizzical glance. ‘Since this was your choice, Miss Blake, what would you like to see? Where would you like to go?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘You see, I’ve never been here before. I just heard that it was beautiful.’

  ‘Then shall I be your guide?’

  ‘Yes!’ cried Elvie. ‘Yes, Connor. Show us everything!’

  And he did. He showed them the formal flowerbeds and grassy lawns, Merlin’s Grotto and the ruined castle by the waterfall, and—Elvie’s favourite—the Punch and Judy show. Connor hoisted Elvie onto his strong shoulders so she could see the puppets above the crowd and she kept looking down at Isobel to exclaim, ‘Can you see them? Can you see how the naughty dog’s run off with the sausages? Little Jack would never do that!’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure.’ Connor winked at Isobel, while Elvie shook her head and insisted, ‘No, he wouldn’t, Connor! You’re wrong, you’re wrong!’

  An elderly couple passing by smiled and said to Isobel, ‘What a lovely family you have.’

  She started to say, ‘They’re not my...’ but then stopped. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

  They bought some hot pies to eat by the boating pond, then Connor took Elvie into the famous Labyrinth. Elvie clutched Connor’s hand tightly as he led her into the hedge-lined maze and Isobel saw how the little girl was almost ecstatic with delight. Elvie is lucky to have him. And some day, Isobel thought suddenly, he would surely have children of his own...

  Of course he would. He was the owner of a thriving business empire; he would want a family, he would want heirs. It was inevitable that he would marry. Connor had always been ever-present in her thoughts and dreams since she was a girl, but she had to remind herself that once this summer was over, his memories of her would vanish as swiftly as those fireworks that were starting to blaze above the park in the sky, even though the light was only just beginning to fade.

  For a while they sat to watch the fireworks, then Isobel took Elvie for one last look at the lights twinkling around Merlin’s Grotto. But as they walked to rejoin Connor, Isobel pulled up. Connor wasn’t alone. Roderick Staithe was there; he was talking to Connor, but as Isobel slowly approached with Elvie’s hand in hers, Staithe’s eyes devoured her. Connor looked grim-faced and Isobel felt very cold suddenly.

  ‘Well, well,’ Staithe chuckled. ‘This is a lucky meeting. Saw you in the distance, Miss Blake, in that pretty blue gown of yours. A teacher, eh? Now, Connor, what kind of trick was that to play on my sister and me that night we visited you? Why on earth didn’t I recognise this young beauty instantly? Miss Isobel Blake, as I live and breathe. Your servant, ma’am!’

 
; His words were tainted with mockery and when he took her hand and bowed over it, Isobel almost snatched it away.

  ‘So you’ve managed to get yourself back in your father’s house, Miss Blake,’ Staithe went on. ‘By hook or by crook, as they say. And Connor’s a sly dog. A mighty sly dog.’

  Connor was stony-faced. Isobel stood there, her heart hammering, with Elvie’s hand clutched tightly in hers. Then Connor said, ‘I told you, Staithe. It’s growing late for Elvie and it’s time we returned to Calverley Hall.’

  ‘Of course. A cosy set-up.’ Staithe’s face had grown a shade darker as he looked once more at Isobel. ‘No wonder, Hamilton, that you’re neglecting your business in London to rush back to Calverley—’

  He broke off, because Connor had stepped forward almost menacingly. ‘I neglect nothing.’ His voice, unlike his demeanour, was clear and calm. ‘And watch what you say, Staithe. You understand me?’

  Isobel saw Staithe’s face grow suddenly pale. Then he gave a stiff little bow and walked off. Connor turned to Isobel and Elvie, and said, ‘It’s time to go home.’

  * * *

  Connor was an expert at hiding his feelings. All the way back to the carriage he held Elvie’s hand and chatted lightly to her about the fun they’d had today, while Isobel followed.

  But his mind was actually reeling. Staithe had come up to him when he was on his own, with a gloating expression on his face.

  ‘Your secret’s out,’ he’d said. ‘Saw your pretty teacher with you and Miles Delafield’s child, half an hour ago. She’s Sir George Blake’s daughter, isn’t she? And despite that demure expression, I’ve heard she’s taken after her father in more ways than one. She’s got his appetite for mischief, especially in the bedroom—I’ve heard that Viscount Loxley taught her some pretty tricks and rumour has it that if he wasn’t up to the job himself, he’d pay his footmen and watch.’ He’d chuckled. ‘Now, I could take offence at what you’ve been up to, for my sister’s sake. But we all have our little secrets, don’t we? Though I must say I’m rather surprised that you let her openly associate with Miles’s daughter...’