by Penny Jordan
Gesturing for Connie to come to the head of the head, Luke’s mother turned to the other two women, saying, ‘You two go and finish churning that butter, and make sure it’s done right. And we want some cream before evening, Rose. I’ve none on the cold slab in the pantry. And bring half a cheese while you’re about it.’ When the two continued to stand looking at her, their faces showing their distress, she said impatiently, ‘Well, go on, then. And take those looks off your faces. I’m not six foot under yet, nor do I intend to be for many a long day.’
As the two scurried off, Connie said quietly, ‘What do you want me to do, Mrs Hudson?’ She looked awful, Connie thought. As though all the blood had drained out of her. And her lips had a funny bluish tinge to them, and she was breathing funny.
‘Sit yourself down there, lass, and keep me company. Orders from the master.’ She always gave her son his title when speaking to others. ‘I’m going to shut my eyes for a minute. I’m feeling a mite tired, but I’ll be all right after a little nap.’
It was quiet in the bedroom, muted sounds from the farm filtering through the open window but not really disturbing the peace. Sunlight slanted across the floor which, like all the bedrooms, had a large square of carpet covering it, so only a foot or so border of floorboards was visible. Once a week Connie sprinkled tea leaves over the carpets and then brushed them off to bring the pile up. It was one of the many things Mrs Hudson had taught her since she had begun work.
As though Luke’s mother had followed her train of thought, she now said, with her eyes still closed, ‘You’ll be able to take care of things while I’m laid up, won’t you, Connie? You’ll manage?’
‘Aye—yes, of course,’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘You’re a grand little cook and an able housewife. You’ll do all right. You learn quicker than a cartload of monkeys, lass.’
Mrs Hudson was talking as though she was going to be in bed for some time. Connie stared at the grey face and concern for the older woman washed over her. She suddenly realised she had grown very fond of Luke’s mother over the last six months or so.
The doctor confirmed his patient’s suspicions once he had examined her. Leaving her sleeping deeply after the draught of medicine he had insisted she take, he came down to the sitting room just as Connie carried in a tray of coffee, along with a decanter of brandy from Luke’s study. He had been as white as a sheet when he’d returned with the doctor, and she felt he needed it. As she went to leave, Luke motioned for her to stay, so she quietly shut the door and stood by it as the doctor took a sip of the coffee she had poured for him and then spoke.
‘Heart,’ he said flatly. ‘But then we’ve suspected that for some time, haven’t we? So has she, although she’d never admit it.’
Luke’s mouth had tightened, but otherwise his expression had not changed. He nodded before saying, ‘How is she?’
‘Comfortable now, and at last accepting she has to be sensible. Bedrest for the foreseeable future—and I mean complete bedrest. I don’t want her coming downstairs until I say, Luke. If she does what she is told now her quality of life will not be too severely limited once she is better. If she doesn’t…’He shook his head. ‘This attack will have damaged her heart. How much only time will tell, but complete rest is of the utmost importance. Can you make sure she behaves herself once she starts to feel better and thinks she can carry on as before?’
‘You can count on it,’ Luke said grimly. He glanced across at Connie, adding, ‘You understand how things are?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, sir. And I can see to the house and things.’
‘Good, because I will need your help. Perhaps you’d go and check on her now while I talk further with Dr Taggart?’
Connie slipped out of the door and after making sure Mrs Hudson was still fast asleep went downstairs to the kitchen. It was as clean as a new pin. Mrs Hudson wouldn’t have it any other way. She walked into the well-stocked pantry, glancing round the shelves and opening the cold meat safe. She would make some soup for Mrs Hudson when she woke up; she’d manage that even if she didn’t feel like anything else. Rose had obviously brought the cheese in, although there was no cream as yet. Luke could have some slices of ham from the large joint on the cold slab, and she would fry some of these cold boiled potatoes with a couple of onions and eggs to go with the ham.
She had just got the pan of soup simmering on the range when she heard a movement behind her and turned round to see Luke standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Flustered, she stammered, ‘I—I’m doing some soup for your mother. I thought she might be able to eat that. It’ll just slip down, so to speak.’
‘Thank you.’ His face straight and his voice flat, he said, ‘Do you think you will be able to manage everything here as well as at the cottage? You’ll be doing the work you and my mother did together alone now, as well as seeing to her needs and supervising the women in the dairy, and countless other things.’
He didn’t think she was up to the task. Trying to keep all trace of indignation out of her voice, Connie said quietly, ‘Of course I’ll be able to manage.’ Compared to the twelve gruelling hours of back-breaking toil at the pickling factory this was easy. Well, no, not easy, she qualified silently. But doable.
‘My mother won’t be the easiest of patients, I warn you now. Not once she’s feeling a little better. The enforced idleness will drive her mad, and she’ll probably take it out on you. Such is her nature she’ll find it hard to relinquish her grasp on the household.’ The dark eyes were tight on her. ‘She’s never been able to sit and twiddle her thumbs. She’s not made that way.’
‘Then I’ll have to try and make sure she feels she’s still in charge.’ Connie’s chin had risen a little. He definitely didn’t want her here. Who did he want? Alice Todd, maybe? With her voluptuous figure and come-hither eyes?
‘You think you can do that? Convince her she’s still at the helm?’
For a moment the doubt in his voice compressed her lips. Then the hurt and anger she was feeling caused her to speak rashly, and in a way she would never have dreamt of doing normally. ‘I think it’s about time you gave me the credit for being stronger than I look,’ she said tightly, ‘and brighter too. I’m not about to make your mother feel redundant, whatever you may think.’
He blinked. This was a side to her he hadn’t seen before, he thought, studying the flushed face and sparking blue eyes with fascinated surprise. He had suspected that glorious hair might indicate a temper, but until now she had always been very circumspect. There were definitely hidden depths to Connie Summers.
He could tell by her face that she had suddenly become aware she had spoken out of turn. In spite of the circumstances he found himself wanting to smile when she added a small, ‘Sir.’
Keeping his face straight, Luke nodded. ‘Good.’ Folding his arms, he leant against the door. ‘You’ll be giving orders to the other women in my mother’s place—even a few of the men from time to time. You will do this with authority from the beginning and inevitably it will set you apart from the rest of them. Will this trouble you?’
She stared at him for a long moment before saying, and very seriously now, ‘I don’t think I was exactly a part of them anyway. Most of your employees were born here or have been with you for a long, long time. They’ve always been farm folk. I’m from the town, after all. That makes me an outsider to some extent.’
‘No one has been unkind to you?’ He’d have their guts for garters if so, he thought grimly. He was having none of that.
‘No, no, everyone has been lovely.’ Not counting Alice Todd.
Her eyes flickered as she spoke, and now he pressed. ‘Are you sure, Connie? I would prefer to know if that’s the case.’
‘Everyone has been kind,’ she said more firmly, ‘but nevertheless I’m aware I’m different. I’ve had a lot to learn and still have, especially about everything outside, but I know I can handle the house and all that Mrs Hudson might expect from me.’
She was differe
nt, all right. As different as a rose in a patch of nettles. Such thoughts had ceased bothering him. They were so frequent these days. Since the New Year, when she had first shyly presented herself on the doorstep, he hadn’t known a moment’s peace. As day had followed day he had become more surprised at himself, but try as he might he couldn’t put her out of his mind for more than two minutes. It was irritating and annoying and damn inconvenient, but there was something about her. He couldn’t put a name to it, but it was there. And she was right about one thing. She might look as though a breath of wind would blow her away, with her tiny waist and slender frame, but she worked hard enough for two women. She had won his mother round in a couple of months, and that wasn’t easy by any means.
Gritting his teeth against the feeling he kept under control at all times, he said quietly, ‘I know my mother would prefer you to become our housekeeper rather than a stranger from outside. And that’s what this will mean. She will be able to do very little in the way of physical work from now on. This present situation has been coming on slowly from the time my father died, but she wouldn’t admit to it—as the doctor mentioned earlier.’
Connie nodded, but said nothing. This was the first time he had spoken so freely. Normally he was so stiff and correct.
‘And…and the death of her grandchild hit her hard.’
‘Yes, it must have done.’ Unconsciously she gentled her voice. There was pain in his eyes—pain, and something else she couldn’t fathom but which she put down to the agony of losing his wife along with his son. He must have loved them so much, and for them both to go within days of each other…it was cruel.
‘Of course she wouldn’t listen to either the doctor or myself. Stubborn to the last.’ He forced a smile, but it was a mere twist to the firm, often stern mouth. ‘Now she has to listen.’
She dragged her eyes from his lips and said softly, ‘I think your mother is a very brave lady. She gets on with what has to be done, that’s all.’ He stared at her for so long after this that she became uneasy by his continued silence. Had she been too familiar about his mother? Was he angry at the way she had spoken to him earlier? ‘I…I better see to the soup, if there’s nothing else, sir?’ she said at last.
‘What? Oh, yes, yes.’ She watched him rouse himself, and then he surprised both of them when he said abruptly, ‘My wife and mother never hit it off. Not from the first day I brought Christabel to live here. My mother did her best, but…’
Connie stared at him. She tried to think of something to say and failed utterly.
‘I hope that wasn’t another thing that has brought her to her present state.’ The grey eyes were asking for comfort. She gave it.
‘I’m sure it wasn’t. I think your mother is very strong in spirit in spite of her body. Perhaps this…this attack is just a way of her body telling her she has to take it easier. It happens to everyone eventually,’ Connie said gently.
He nodded, turning and leaving the kitchen as abruptly as he had spoken, and closing the door quietly behind him.
Connie found her hand was trembling as she stirred the soup. He had spoken to her, really spoken to her, for the first time since she had been working in the farmhouse. Of course he must be terribly upset about his mother, she being all the family he had, but it had been her he had shared his concern with. Her heart was thumping so hard it threatened to jump out of her chest, and she could feel her cheeks were burning.
Of course it didn’t mean anything, she warned herself in the next moment. He had made it very clear in the last months that she was just another employee, and that was fine—of course it was. She expected nothing more. But still, if she was going to be the housekeeper now it would make her job easier if he just smiled occasionally and was less hostile. No, not hostile. He had never been hostile, more…Standoffish? Unapproachable? What?
She shook her head at herself. She didn’t know what he’d been, but it was very different from the last five minutes. And then, horrified with herself that she could feel such a sense of gladness when his poor mother was lying upstairs so poorly, she resolutely put the whole incident to the back of her mind and concentrated on preparing lunch. She was going to have more than enough to do over the next weeks and months, from the look of it, and she needed to focus on keeping things running as smoothly as she could. Ifs, whys and maybes could wait.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘OH, THIS is grand. To be out here after all those weeks lying in bed. It’s driven me half mad, being confined to that one room, nice as it is. But then you know that, don’t you, lass?’
Connie smiled at Luke’s mother. Yes, she knew that. When Mrs Hudson had had another attack ten days after the first, whilst trying to come downstairs—ostensibly for a glass of water—in the middle of the night, the doctor had told her quite bluntly she had put her recovery back weeks. And so it had proved. But now it was the middle of a hot August, and a few minutes previously Luke had carried her downstairs and into the front garden, where she and Connie were now sitting in the fresh warm air.
‘And my son tells me it was your idea to have this bench made?’ Maggie said softly, her eyes on the heart-shaped face in front of her. ‘And you sewed the flock cushions for it yourself?’
Connie nodded. ‘I thought it would be nice for you to sit out here when the weather’s clement. When you have time, that is,’ she added hastily. She had been careful to keep up the pretence that Mrs Hudson would be back to normal eventually.
Maggie sighed, leaning back against the sun-warmed wood, her eyes on a lark in the fields beyond that had suddenly risen from the rich green grass into the blue of the sky, singing as it went. ‘I think we both know I’m not going to be able to do what I once did, but I shan’t mind so much if I can get downstairs of a morning. I shall feel more like myself then. Less of an invalid.’
Connie put her hand on the older woman’s. It spoke of how close they had become that she felt quite at liberty to do so. ‘You’ve made marvellous progress,’ she said warmly. ‘Marvellous. And in a couple of weeks the doctor said he sees no reason why you shouldn’t come downstairs every day. But you have to take it slowly. He said today will tire you, and you must expect to rest in bed tomorrow. But see how you feel in the morning. All right?’
Maggie glanced round the garden. ‘It all looks bonny. How have you found the time to tend my flowers with all you have had to do?’ Her tone was not that of an employer to an employee but as friend to friend, and both women felt this was the case.
Connie smiled. ‘This was pure pleasure.’ She let her eyes feast on the bursting flowerbeds, where fragrant sweet peas and pinks, pansies and mignonette, larkspur and catnip all vied for supremacy. Honeysuckle and morning glory hung their perfumed bells and horns over the two trellises either side of the farmhouse, and Canterbury bells, their porcelain delicateness fragile against the metallic blue of a host of delphiniums, stirred softly in the warm breeze. ‘I’ve never been able to look after a garden before, but I can see why you love it so.’
‘It feeds the soul, doesn’t it?’ Maggie said quietly.
Connie nodded. That was it, exactly. Out here she could forget about the man who never could, never would be hers. A sated velvet bee tottered drunkenly out of the flowerbeds, humming lazily as it buzzed off into the blue beyond. She watched it until it was out of sight, envying the little bee’s uncomplicated position in life. And then she shook herself mentally, telling herself to stop her griping. This time last year she had been working in the stinking pickling factory and worrying where their next meal was coming from. She was lucky. They were all so, so lucky, and she mustn’t forget it.
Connie placed the book Luke’s mother had brought out with her in the older woman’s lap as she said, ‘I have to go and make sure Rose and Bess are all right in the dairy, and I’ve some bread proving on the fender. Once it’s in the oven I’ll bring you a cup of tea, Mrs Hudson. If you need me, ring your handbell.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Connie. I’m fine now I’m out
here. You get on with what you have to do and forget about me, lass.’
Once back in the farmhouse, Connie walked through the sitting room and into the hall beyond, past Luke’s study, where he was checking the farm accounts, and into the passageway leading to the kitchen. She knew he would go and sit with his mother shortly. She also knew he would not have done so if she had remained in the garden. Her soft mouth tightened and her shoulders straightened.
For the first little while after his mother had taken ill she had hoped he would be more forthcoming with her, and that had happened for three of four weeks. Then it had seemed the more his mother had recovered the less friendly he had become again. And she didn’t think she was imagining it. And as he had withdrawn so she had found rising up in herself a strong sense of hurt—and something else. Pride. She’d told herself she would do her job and do it well, she’d be the best housekeeper in the world, but she wouldn’t lower herself to grovel for a kind word or smile from him. And she hadn’t. It appeared she was very much her father’s daughter, she thought grimly, walking through the kitchen and into the large scullery beyond, where a narrow door opened into the dairy.
After checking Rose and Bess were aware of what was required from them for the day, Connie returned to the kitchen and popped the loaf tins in the bread oven. Knowing Luke’s mother’s liking for drop scones, fresh from the griddle and dripping with butter, she decided to make a batch to take out with the cup of tea. She’d just prepared the thick batter, and was about to put the first spoonful on the greased griddle, when Luke came into the kitchen.
She started slightly before controlling herself and saying, politely but coolly, in the flat tone she adopted with him these days, ‘I’m making some drop scones to go with the cup of tea I’ll be bringing out to your mother shortly.’ She did not say the mistress. She would not give Mrs Hudson that title any more than she would call Luke master. ‘Shall I bring a cup for you out there too, sir? Or would you prefer a tray in your study?’