by Anne Brear
Elizabeth sat forward. ‘Lord, it’ll be Mrs Kirkland. Are you coming in, Isabelle?’
‘No. Not yet. You know I’m not… easy in company.’
‘All right, my dear.’ Elizabeth carefully handed Bethan to Isabelle and then squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’ll not encourage her to stay long and then we’ll have some afternoon tea on the terrace.’
Nodding, Isabelle smiled her thanks and Elizabeth left them.
Hamish raised his eyebrows. ‘May I sit with you?’
‘Of course.’ She tucked Bethan more securely in her arms and gazed down at her.
‘She’s beautiful.’ He touched Bethan’s hand where it curled against Isabelle’s breast.
‘Yes...’ Isabelle stared at Hamish’s large, tanned hand so near to her.
As if sensing her discomfort, he straightened and crossing his legs at the ankle he stared over into the wood. ‘I settled Clarice in a good house. She’s near shops, the library and everything she needs.’
Isabelle swallowed, remembering her first sight of Clarice, obese and gasping for breath as she lumbered down the staircase. Ethan’s wife had greeted her with warmth and shyness that morning, the morning of his funeral.
‘Will she be happy there?’
Hamish nodded. ‘She seemed content the moment she walked into the house and met the cook and housemaid. Everything was as she wanted.’
‘Good. Ethan would approve.’
‘Yes. It was what he planned for her when she originally requested to leave. She is now free to do as she pleases.’
‘Just as I am…’ Isabelle sighed. Yes, she was free from Farrell but her future was very dim indeed. She had no money and three dependants. She lived by Elizabeth’s goodwill.
‘Will you stay with Elizabeth?’
She shrugged one shoulder. ‘I’m not sure. I feel like I’m taking advantage of her. We all live here at her expense. The boys-’
‘Ethan would want it this way.’ His blue eyes became tender.
‘What of you, Hamish? Are you to return to Australia and never come back to England?’
He sighed and it sounded sad. ‘Want I want is impossible to have.’
‘Oh?’
He bent down and snapped off a blade of long grass. He inspected it for a long time and she wondered if he was going to answer her. Finally he threw the stalk away and stood to stare out over the fields. ‘Peace of mind. I would like that back.’
His softly spoken words crushed her. He had killed a man. Because of her, he had shot Farrell and endured a trial that sullied his good name.
‘I am so sorry, Hamish,’ she whispered, tears gathering on her lashes. ‘I am so ashamed I caused you such hardship, such embarrassment and such loss.’
For a moment he said nothing, didn’t even turn around, then carefully, as though weighing up each action, he resumed his seat and faced her. ‘You have nothing to blame yourself for. I didn’t have to involve myself, but I did, mainly because I loved Ethan as a brother and wanted to help him, but also because of you…’ he swallowed, ‘and my feelings for you.’
Her eyes widened and her heart somersaulted in surprise.
Hamish chuckled softly. ‘I have nothing to lose telling you this, as we’ll never met again.’ He took her hand closest to him and kissed it. ‘I fell in love with you the moment I saw you in the garden at Meadow Farm. I’ve fought those feelings since then. I’ve tried to ignore them or at best hide them from everyone else. You were Ethan’s. He loved you and you loved him.’
‘Yes…’ She couldn’t think straight. His honesty stunned her into numbness. ‘I thought you hated me. You used to look at me with coolness…’
‘No, I never hated you. I hated myself for wanting you though. I felt I wasn’t being a true friend to Ethan. If I appeared rude at times, it was because I was trying desperately not to show I cared for you. Unfortunately, I wasn’t very good at it.’
She blinked in wonder. Hamish wanting her, it was unbelievable. How could it be? Yet, somewhere in the distant part of her being, something stirred.
‘I was so excited when you asked to travel to Australia with me. I was going to try so hard to make us firm friends. I knew Ethan would join us and that you would never be mine, but having you in my life as a friend was better than nothing. At least in Australia I knew you’d be safe, I’d be able to watch out for you.’
‘Oh, Hamish.’ She bit her lip and a tear trickled down her cheek. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
His gaze was full of loving, revealing the inner emotions he’d hidden for so long. ‘You don’t have to say anything at all. I do hope you’ll write to me though?’
She nodded. Bethan stirred and lifted her head to smile sleepily at her. She was such a happy baby that an overwhelming surge of love for her filled Isabelle.
‘Can I hold her one last time?’
Isabelle frowned as she passed Bethan to him. ‘Won’t you ever return?’
‘No. Australia is my home now, my future.’ He stood and jigged Bethan up and down to her delight. ‘Who’s a precious girl? Yes, you are.’
Isabelle watched them both. He was so tall, Bethan looked like a doll in his arms. Her heart constricted as he blew bubbles against Bethan’s neck and she squealed in pleasure.
He has feelings towards me.
She shook her head, amazed by his confession. She stared at him, really looked at him and analysed what she knew of him. He was kind, generous, loyal and caring.
‘Isabelle?’
Startled out of her thoughts, she blinked. ‘Yes?’
‘I must go.’ Hamish smiled. ‘The train leaves in an hour and this little girl is wet.’
He was going.
The gentle man who been such a strength to her since Ethan’s death was leaving her. She was so tired of being left.
Dazed, she rose and gathered the blanket. Together they walked back to the house, but with every step, Isabelle felt the urge to slow down. She wanted to think, to halt his plans until she was ready to accept what he’d told her. He had hit her with such a powerful revelation and was now going away. It was all too fast. Too confusing. Too emotional. She wasn’t ready to think or feel yet. The numbness that encased her after Farrell killed Ethan had been comforting, reliable. It stopped her from feeling pain. But now she felt it slipping from her like a cloak, revealing her to the world again. She couldn’t breathe…
‘Isabelle? You’re panting.’ Hamish stopped and took her elbow, ignoring Bethan’s attempts to pull his hair. ‘What is it? You’re pale. Do you feel unwell?’
She backed away a step, searching his face for answers. ‘Why? Why did you tell me?’
He knew what she meant and as he shrugged, she braced herself. ‘As I said I had nothing to lose. We’ll never see each other again and I’ve been carrying this heartache for a while now.’ He grinned to lighten the situation and took a step.
‘What… what if…if we were to meet again?’
He paused at the edge of the terrace and looked at her.
Isabelle took a hesitant step forward. ‘What if we were to travel to Australia one day?’
‘Is that likely?’
‘Perhaps.’
Hamish stood very still.
She took another small step, her blood pounding in her ears. ‘In time…when I feel able to…to move on…I might like to see where you live.’
His smile was slow coming but it reached his blue eyes, turning them to azure. He kissed Bethan’s cheek and then gazed at Isabelle. ‘Then you’d be very welcome.’
KNOX ROBINSON
PUBLISHING
London • New York
Chapter One
Leeds, England, 1870
Montgomery Woodruff scowled at the low, dirty clouds as though they had appeared just to torment him. He tugged at his lapels, jerking his greatcoat close as the wind tried its best to wrestle a way into his inner garments. The end of January had been unrelenting with blizzards, storms and freezing temperatures. Woodruff enter
ed his carriage and yanked at the folded blanket on the seat, his impatience sending it sliding to the floor. With a muttered oath, he arranged the blanket to better suit his needs, ignoring his clerk who stood dithering in the elements waiting for last minute instructions. Woodruff sent him a withering glare before a curt command from his driver, Sykes, sent the showy black horses away from the three-storey Georgian building to merge with the traffic in the bustling streets of the great Yorkshire town.
Sighing heavily, Woodruff stretched his neck from the starched collar, trying to relax as they traversed around pedestrians and vehicles. Winter gloom and the cold sent most people hurrying home, shop keepers were packing up, women scolded children towards their own hearths while business men headed for the warmth and smoky atmosphere of expensive clubs.
Woodruff grunted, he also should be ensconced in his club, cradling a brandy and discussing world issues, but too many men wanted him for than his views on politics and such like, no, they wanted much more — money!
He rocked sideways as Sykes guided his ebony beauties out into the surrounding snow-topped countryside and towards home. Home. His precious gem, and the only thing he cared about. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He wouldn’t lose it, couldn’t lose it. He’d sell his soul to keep it.
Drifts of snow driven by the wind and the gray evening light reduced visibility. Sykes slowed the pair, not wanting to damage their legs in the snow-filled ruts. When a figure, robed from head to foot in a dark brown cape, lunged desperately for the nearest horse’s bridle, the horses skidded in fright, dragging the person a few yards.
“What in Christ’s name?” Sykes cursed, in a mixture of fear and surprise. He reined in hard and applied the brake, halting his horses to an uneasy standstill.
The wild jolting of the normally smooth ride sent Woodruff careening onto his side. He swore violently. “What in hell are you doing, Sykes?”
“You, there!” Sykes threatened the staggering, shadowy figure. “Leave go, before I wrap my whip around yer ear holes!”
For a fleeting moment, Woodruff wondered if he was being held up. His heart hammered, then blood pounded in his temples as his rage took over. How dare someone rob me!
“I must speak to Mr Woodruff!” A woman’s voice beseeched from within the capacious hood.
He reached for the door, but it was wrenched opened. “What the …?”
“Mr Woodruff, you must hear me!”
The hooded figure’s desperate and needy manner instantly revolted him. “Leave at once! Can a person not travel the roads without assault?”
“Please, I must speak with you!”
“I know you not, Madam.”
With a sudden flash of a slim white hand, the hood was thrown back revealing a pale, pinched face with dark and imploring eyes.
“Olive?”
“Yes.”
Woodruff peered at his former mistress and sighed deep within his chest. It had been a while since he’d sampled her wares. Lately, he’d simply not had the time or energy. “What possesses you, woman, to come out here in the depths of winter and throw yourself in front of horses?”
“You’ve not been near for months and I’m desperate.” Olive shivered as she spoke, but Woodruff refused to offer the warmth of the carriage. To do so would be to accept her as one of his own class and that would never do.
“If you need money, then I’m afraid I only give if I receive in turn,” Woodruff sneered at the frail figure. “I assume you have gathered another customer or two by now, to keep you in comfort?”
“I wish I could, but I’m unable.” She snorted in contempt. “It’s not money, though of that I’m in need too. No, it’s something more serious.”
“Are you sick? Good Lord, you haven’t contracted a disease have you?” Woodruff’s skin prickled at the thought.
“No, of course not!” Olive glared. “It’s worse than a disease!”
“For God’s sake woman! Spit it out. I have no time for riddles!”
“I’m with child! Your child!”
Woodruff fell back in his seat. Ice trickled beneath his skin. “You think it’s mine?”
“I’ve been with no one else.”
“And I’m to believe that, am I? Do you take me for a fool?”
“You know there’s been no one else since you came calling. At one stage, you visited every night and during the day at times! How do you think I managed to entertain other men?”
Woodruff grunted. “Go home, Olive. I shall call and discuss this matter with you tomorrow.”
She gripped his arm. “You promise?”
He wrenched out of her grasp. “Yes. Now go. I’m late for my dinner.” He reached over and slammed the carriage door, forcing her to hurriedly step back into the snowdrift on the roadside.
The carriage lumbered away and he leaned back against the plush upholstery. If she spoke the truth, Olive’s news meant another burden he must bear. His fingers in many pies of business brought their troubles. Workers at his mill and factories had gone on strike against the low wages he paid. He refused to be held to ransom, to pay the dregs of society more money and give them better conditions! Oh, no, not he, Montgomery Clifton Woodruff. The thought of the unscrupulous working class bringing his small empire crashing to its knees nearly gave him a stroke. It wouldn’t come to that of course! No, he was working himself through some very long days trying to right the situation.
With luck, in a week he would have sold his mill in Halifax and paid off one loan. It made better sense to shift the mill and dabble in other ventures. Roads and railways held his interest, and the navvies, mainly the Irish, working on those particular schemes were glad to have the work, never mind low wages. They possessed no grand ideas to better themselves and that’s how Woodruff liked it.
He rubbed his forehead, his mind whirling. His bank manager sent him warning letters each week. He didn’t know how he could delay meeting the man much longer, but if he went to him with a plan, then perhaps he had a chance. He could reduce his expenditure some more in some areas...
The carriage slowed to turn and pass through the wrought iron gates of Woodruff House. As always, the manor and surroundings filled him with a surge of pride. He doubted there was a finer home in all of England. He felt nothing for draughty castles and cold palaces, or large impersonal mausoleums pretending to be homes. No, Woodruff House was his ideal place in the whole world. Satisfaction filled him as the carriage drove down the impressive white granite-pebbled drive, bordered by tall graceful silver birch trees.
Movement at one of the windows caught his eye and Woodruff paused before descending from the carriage. Yes, I am home, you lot of lazy good for nothing wasters!
He heaved his considerable bulk out of the carriage and climbed the wide sandstone steps to admire the impressive bronze knocker in the shape of Woodruff’s coat of arms decorated on the door. He checked it for smears but found none.
His old butler, Fernly, who’d served Woodruff’s father opened the door, his face impassive. “Welcome home, sir.”
The heat of the hall swept over him and again he nodded in approval. Divested of his outer clothes, Woodruff marched into the drawing room, hoping to catch his wife and children indulging in careless pastimes. He rubbed his hands together in glee at the thought of catching them out. It was a joy to harangue them for an hour or more on the benefits of their privileged life which he could squash at anytime he chose.
He detested his wife with a passion second to none, and regretted the day he married her. He conveniently disregarded it was her money that drew him to her in the first place. Nevertheless, their marriage could have been a contented one, if she had delivered him the son he longed for. The dreams of filling this house with a dozen, handsome, intelligent sons, and being the envy of all who knew him, slowly eroded with each birth of a girl child. Seven daughters had supplanted the longed for sons. They were the very curse of his life.
No one occupied the drawing room, which nonplussed him at
first. Quickly, he turned on his heel and strode into the parlour opposite. It too was empty. Annoyed, he stormed along the polished parquetry floor of the hall to the library. Here at last, he found one member of his family.
Curled up on the sofa, her slippered feet tucked demurely under the long skirts of her lemon organza dress and across from a roaring fire reclined Faith, the fifth and quietest daughter.
“Father, you are home,” she said, instantly putting her feet down.
“Have you nothing better to do girl than be idle all day?” He sneered.
Faith rose, slipping her book behind her back. “I’ve done all I was asked, Father. I’ve visited the soup kitchens in town with Grace ...”
“As if I care about that! Where are those other layabout sisters of yours?”
Faith blinked rapidly. “I believe Heather took Letitia, Phoebe and Emma Kate to the milliners, while Gabriella is out visiting and Grace is in the study.”
Woodruff glared at her. “Don’t let me catch you reading again. If you can’t find something useful to do, then stay out of my sight!”
He crossed the hall and entered the study, eager for a drink. “What the hell are you doing in my study?”
Grace slowly rose from behind the desk, her direct amber eyes meeting his furious scowl. “I’m writing up the house accounts.”
“This is my room! The one room in this whole blasted house where I can achieve peace away from tittering females!”
‘very well. I shall continue my work in the library.”
At five foot seven, Grace was as tall as he. Both she and Heather were the tallest of the girls and could eye him without having to look up. This annoyed him no end. “I want those accounts reduced, do you hear?”
“I don’t think anyone can accuse me of being frivolous.”
He stomped to the drink trolley. “When is dinner to be announced?”
“At seven o”clock, as always, Father.”
“Well it better be edible tonight. Last night’s meal was appalling!”
Grace paused by the door, one slender hand resting upon the brass doorknob. “Every meal in this house is edible, Father.” She left the room before his tirade began.