The Master of Calverley Hall

by Lucy Ashford

  She indicated her own figures then and he scanned them swiftly. She was absolutely right. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  She shrugged. ‘I’m sure you have highly skilled staff who could have done exactly the same.’

  ‘In London, yes.’ He was shaking his head slowly. ‘But what’s been done here is nothing less than sabotage. And I’d rather as few people as possible know about it.’

  Especially as the person who’d had these figures prepared and sent to Connor post-haste was Roderick Staithe. With an accompanying note.

  I thought I’d let you know what you’re up against, Hamilton. My experts have worked out the costing of your offer of iron for the docks based on your price per ton. And, as you can see, it comes to far more than your rivals’ figures.

  I’m afraid you’ll have to lower your price or lose the deal...

  Connor was meeting Staithe in London tomorrow. Staithe would say jovially, ‘Seen the figures, Hamilton? Not good, are they? I’m afraid the Parliamentary committee is going to take some persuading to back you, once they catch sight of these!’

  And Connor could guess, too, what Staithe would demand in return for bringing the committee round. Staithe had Connor neatly lined up as an extremely wealthy brother-in-law. Tomorrow Staithe would doubtless ask for a substantial sum of money for himself and a proposal of marriage for Helena. And Staithe was going to be disappointed all over again.

  He was about to tell Isobel, who was still sitting silently—tensely—at his desk. For God’s sake, she deserved to know everything about all this! Only then from outside came the clattering of a horse’s hooves and the shout of a groom. Connor went quickly to the window to look out into the lantern-lit courtyard. ‘It’s Carstairs. He was still supposed to be in London. He must have urgent news.’

  Isobel stood up slowly. She’d been at his desk for two hours, working non-stop—she looked exhausted. And he realised he’d never wanted anything, or anyone, so much in his entire life.

  ‘I must go,’ she was saying. ‘Mr Carstairs will want to see you straight away.’

  ‘Yes.’ He was shrugging on his coat. ‘But stay here. We will talk. We must talk.’ He went out, leaving the door open—she could already hear Carstairs’s voice.

  ‘Mr Hamilton? This is urgent, I’m afraid.’

  * * *

  Out in the corridor Carstairs spelled out the news to Connor immediately. ‘We’ve got trouble,’ he said. ‘These rival bids have suddenly appeared for the docks contract and it all rests on the Parliamentary committee that meets tomorrow. I’m afraid you may no longer be the foremost choice.’

  Connor’s reply was harsh. ‘Staithe chairs the committee and he’s trying to foul up my bid.’

  ‘But why on earth—?’

  ‘It’s rather complicated. The point is, Carstairs, there’s been some dirty work here and I’ll have to go to London straight away to sort it out.’

  ‘Tonight?’ Carstairs looked appalled. ‘But, sir. Your injuries, from the other day. Are you sure you’re sufficiently recovered?’

  ‘Absolutely sure.’ Connor glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll just get a few things together for the journey. Tell the grooms to get my horse ready, will you?’

  Carstairs left and Connor turned to go back into his study. He needed to talk to Isobel. He needed to say to her, Please. Stay at the Hall, at least until I get back from London, because I have so much to say to you... But she’d gone. She must have slipped away like a ghost while his back was turned—and he had no time, now, to find her.

  Connor uttered one of the few prayers of his life. Let her be here when I get back. Let me be given a second chance. Although, he thought bleakly, he would be lucky if he hadn’t earned her everlasting scorn—because he’d not believed in her.

  London

  The next morning shortly before eleven, Connor rapped on the front door of Staithe’s house in Clarges Street, Mayfair. The butler looked surprised—‘It’s rather early, sir!’—but Connor announced that he’d wait.

  Shortly afterwards, Staithe came down the stairs in a silk dressing gown. ‘Hamilton,’ he drawled. ‘I didn’t think you would prise yourself away from your rural idyll so quickly.’

  Connor thrust out the papers containing the false figures. ‘These were wrong. If they’d been presented to the committee this afternoon, they would have lost me the contract for the docks. But I rather think that was what you intended, wasn’t it?’

  Staithe raised his eyebrows. He looked rather pale. ‘Be careful, Hamilton. These are harsh accusations.’

  ‘And they are true. Why did you do it?’

  Staithe hesitated, then sighed. ‘This is all rather unfortunate, wouldn’t you say? If only you’d been a little more co-operative in the first place.’

  ‘If only I’d offered you a bribe, you mean?’ cut in Connor. ‘To get your committee on my side? Remind me. What’s your price?’

  ‘I want,’ said Roderick Staithe, ‘you to marry my sister and give me fifty thousand pounds, plus a twenty per cent share in your London foundry. And then there’s the matter of Miss Isobel Blake. Get rid of her. Expose her for the whore she is.’

  ‘No.’ Connor was surprised at how calmly it came out. ‘No to everything. But most of all to your demand that I get rid of Isobel Blake.’

  Staithe leaned forward. ‘Are you forgetting about her sordid life with Loxley? Believe me, you’ll be a laughing stock if you persist in dallying with her.’

  ‘I’m not dallying with her. I’m going to marry her.’ Connor folded up the sheets of calculations and put them back in his coat pocket. ‘I’m also going to visit the members of your Parliamentary committee and show each of them these false figures your accountants concocted. I’m going to tell them it was all a ruse for your own advantage and I’m going to warn them you should not only be kicked off their precious committee, but you should be thrown out of Parliament, too.’

  He set off for the door. Staithe hurried after him. ‘Hamilton. Wait. Listen...’

  Connor walked on without a backward glance, out into the street where he paused and looked around. The sky above the splendid white houses was clear and blue, and sparrows chirruped in the leafy trees.

  Yes, he was going to visit Staithe’s Parliamentary allies. But before that, he was going to ask a few discreet questions. He was going to make enquiries about Viscount Loxley’s relatives—and Loxley’s will.

  He remembered again what Isobel had said. ‘“I’m going to make sure your future is secure, Isobel”—those were his actual words.’

  Connor had already found out the name of Loxley’s lawyer, who had an office in the Strand. He hailed a cab and settled back for the ride, a glint of steely determination in his eyes.

  He had a feeling he was going to rather enjoy all this.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was some days later and Isobel had given her final lesson in the old chapel. The children had brought her gifts: posies of wild flowers and cakes their mothers had made. Mary read out a poem she and Harry had written about their time at Plass Valley and after that they all left one by one. Isobel waved to them until they were out of sight.

  * * *

  She rose early the next morning and walked into Chipping Calverley to take the public stagecoach for the six-mile journey to Bath. Alighting in the centre, she found her way to an agency whose address she’d carefully copied from the Gloucestershire Herald—an agency that specialised in providing suitable companions to the genteel ladies of the town.

  On showing the manager, Mr Jennings, a note of recommendation that Laura had written for her, Mr Jennings, clearly impressed, talked with her a while, then told her that she might very well suit an elderly widow in the town, Mrs Gregory. Since Mrs Gregory lived only ten minutes’ walk away, he suggested they go to visit her and the meeting was a success. Isobel found Mrs Gregory to be kind and
charming—a little like an older version of Laura. There was no formal interview—instead they chatted over cups of tea and Mrs Gregory suggested that Isobel should move in and take up the position of companion in three days.

  * * *

  By the time Isobel got back to Calverley Hall, it was late, but Laura was still up and waiting for her.

  ‘I’m extremely sorry that we’re losing you, my dear,’ Laura said. ‘But you no doubt know what’s best. Unfortunately it could be several more days before Connor can return from London. Won’t you at least stay until he’s here again? I’m afraid he won’t be very pleased with me for assisting you in this!’

  ‘He will understand,’ said Isobel quietly, ‘and I’m very grateful for your letter of reference. I shall miss you and Elvie. Thank you for the friendship you’ve always offered me.’

  * * *

  On her last afternoon at Calverley Hall, Isobel packed her few possessions, then walked up the familiar path to tell the Molinas her news.

  ‘Will this lady in Bath be kind to you?’ Agnes asked anxiously and Isobel assured her that Mrs Gregory couldn’t be kinder.

  But Agnes didn’t ask Isobel about herself. Agnes could no doubt read everything she needed to know in Isobel’s eyes. Agnes would guess Isobel hadn’t been sleeping and she would be right, because nights, for Isobel, were the worst. She tried not to think of Connor, but every night she dreamed of him. All she knew was that he was still in London—living his other life. His real life.

  She didn’t expect him to get in touch with her again. Why on earth should he? He would have realised—just as she did, on overhearing that conversation he’d had with Carstairs—that she was a hindrance to him and worse.

  The new docks meant everything to him—not just the money, but the jobs and welfare of his workers. Roderick Staithe had the power to wreck the entire project and Connor had no alternative but to keep to the promise he must have made long ago—to marry Staithe’s sister.

  Even if he didn’t love her? Yes—because that was the way the rich and powerful lived their lives. Everything was done for profit and social advancement. Helena Staithe was beautiful and well born. And with her at his side, Connor’s industrial might would go from strength to strength.

  Isobel understood. Yet she couldn’t forget being in his arms that night and being loved by him. She didn’t want to forget. The memory was part of her life now and Connor was part of her being.

  * * *

  Mrs Gregory’s elegant town house in Bath was very close to the Assembly Rooms. There were four servants: a butler, two maids and a cook, and all of them were pleasant and respectful to Isobel. Within a few days she’d grown used to Mrs Gregory’s gentle routine and learned what she was expected to do: to provide company, to listen to the old lady’s memories of her youth, to help sort her silks for her embroidery and drive out with her in her carriage when the weather was fine.

  But Isobel still had too much time to spare. Too much time for her own memories.

  And then, one September afternoon as she sat with Mrs Gregory in her sunny parlour, she heard the clatter of a horse’s hooves in the cobbled street outside. Moments later somebody was knocking at the door. Mrs Gregory, who was rather deaf, didn’t hear it, but Isobel did. She heard the butler’s voice; she heard the abrupt tones of the caller—and her heart began to thud as if it would burst.

  Swiftly she hurried to the hallway and said to the butler, ‘Thank you. I will see to this.’

  Connor stood there, his eyes dark with emotion. She was aware of the blood draining from her face and felt her pulse race, making her dizzy.

  ‘Isobel,’ he began. ‘Laura told me you were here. I know you left Calverley of your own free will and I realise you would rather not see me any more, but I have things I must tell you. Can we be private somewhere? Could we perhaps go for a walk in the Sydney Gardens?’

  She closed her eyes briefly. And open herself up to more hurt? Fresh pain?

  But Connor himself was hurting. She could see that in the set of his mouth, the darkness of his eyes—and she couldn’t bear it. One last time, Isobel. Summon up your strength one last time.

  She drew a deep breath. ‘I’ll just tell Mrs Gregory. She needs some more silk threads for her sewing. I can get those for her on the way.’

  * * *

  Her memories of the day in the gardens with Connor and Elvie all but overwhelmed her as he led her down one of the paths away from the crowds, then turned to face her. He said, ‘That night, Isobel. The night we were together, at Calverley Hall. To me it felt so right. I realised it was what I longed for, to be with you. But I know now that I made so many mistakes. I rushed you into it. No wonder you regretted it—’

  ‘Regretted it?’ She couldn’t help it; the words tumbled out. ‘Oh, Connor! How could I?’

  His expression changed then. Instead of despair, she saw something that was almost hope in his eyes.

  By now they’d reached a secluded section of the woodland path, where there was a stone bench overlooking a waterfall. No one else was around. He made her sit next to him on the bench and said, ‘I had to go to London, Isobel—I had no choice. And while I was away you said goodbye to the children and you said goodbye to Laura and Elvie. You packed your things and you left, though Laura told me she begged you to stay...’

  ‘Because I was no good for you, Connor!’ The words wrenched at her heart. ‘Don’t you see?’

  ‘No!’ He sounded angry. Bewildered. ‘I don’t see at all.’

  She was looking straight ahead at the waterfall, whose foaming cascade tumbled over glistening rocks. She said at last, ‘I heard Mr Carstairs talking to you. He said that Roderick Staithe had the power of decision over your docks project—and I know Staithe expects you to marry his sister in return for his support. I expect that Helena will make you very happy—’

  ‘No one will make me happy,’ he said abruptly, ‘except for you. I want you, Isobel. Haven’t I made that clear?’

  ‘For your sake, Connor, that’s not possible! Staithe would drag up the old stories about me and try to ruin you.’

  ‘No, he wouldn’t.’ He suddenly grinned mischievously. ‘While I was in London, I gathered a few willing witnesses to prove that Staithe is a cheat and a liar.’

  ‘Connor—how?’

  ‘Those figures you looked at for me proved it. He’s resigning from Parliament today, as a matter of fact. If he does start spreading stories about you, I can make sure that he’s in even worse trouble. Believe me, I’d enjoy it.’

  Did she dare to hope? Could she afford to hope? She wanted to reach out and touch him, but instead she asked carefully, ‘So your docks are safe? Your workers’ jobs are safe?’

  He smiled again. ‘Of course they’re safe. I think you’ve always rather underestimated me, Miss Blake. Just as you underestimate yourself. Now, you asked me why I’m here.’ She’d slipped her hands away, but he took them again.

  ‘I want you,’ he went on, ‘to come to London, to be at my side when I tell people about the school for the Plass Valley children. As you know, I’ve been talking to some other businessmen who are interested in setting up similar schools. I thought that together, you and I could explain how it worked and what we achieved.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I know you’re going to tell me you can’t spell. In spite of that, you’ve succeeded beyond my hopes. Forget your spelling! As I’ve told you before, it’s your ideas and your personality that are the key factors.’

  ‘I see,’ she said. Her voice was very small. ‘And that’s why you’re here?’

  ‘That,’ he said, ‘is only a small part of it. This is the real reason why I’m here.’

  He was reaching into his coat pocket and holding out a small leather box. With unsteady hands, she opened it—and saw an exquisite diamond ring. He took it from her, put it on her finger and kissed he
r palm. ‘Marry me, Isobel,’ he said.

  She felt something aching in her chest. ‘Now this,’ she responded with an effort at lightness, ‘is taking things a little too far, Mr Hamilton.’ Her voice had a catch in it, but still she tried to smile. ‘Do you truly want to ruin yourself?’

  Suddenly she felt his arms round her, drawing her close. ‘Isobel,’ he was saying. ‘Isobel.’ He was tenderly stroking her hair back from her face. ‘I mean it. I want you to be my wife.’

  ‘But those things you heard,’ she cried desperately, ‘they actually did happen, Connor! My father put me up for auction and Viscount Loxley bought me. Yes, I was his companion, not his mistress. But who will believe that?’

  ‘Everyone,’ he said, ‘by the time we’ve told them the truth.’

  ‘But I tried to, believe me!’ Despair coloured her voice. ‘I told you, I think, how Loxley promised he was going to do something to make me safe. But I never knew what and, after the funeral, various relatives of Loxley’s—cousins who’d scarcely ever visited him—declared me to be a harlot. When I tried to defend myself, I was thrown out of the house, without money, without friends or family. That was when I met Joseph Molina and he invited me to live with himself and his sister, back in Gloucestershire...’ Her voice faded a little. ‘Only then, Connor, I learned that you were buying the Calverley estate. I thought of moving away again. But I didn’t.’

  His arms held her more tightly. ‘You should have told me everything, straight away! On the day of the midsummer fair!’

  She looked at him steadily. ‘I suppose that by then I believed I’d lost you for good. Perhaps by not even trying to tell you what had really happened to me in London, I was trying to protect myself from any further hurt.’

  ‘You mean—you feared I might not believe you?’

  ‘Yes.’ But it didn’t work, she was saying to herself. It didn’t protect me, Connor, from what I feel for you.