A Second Chance

by Shayne Parkinson

  ‘Of course,’ Henry said resignedly. He glanced up the stairs, but Susannah was already out of sight. It seemed unlikely that whatever was going on between those two needed his further involvement; Henry resolved to try and forget it.

  16

  ‘There’s a gentleman at the door asking to see you, Miss Sarah,’ said Nellie. ‘He sent in his card.’ She passed Sarah a small silver tray.

  Sarah took the card from it. ‘Mr Taylor,’ she murmured. ‘Well, well.’

  For a moment, she considered having Nellie send the man packing. Had Amy still been with her, she would certainly have done so. He had called several times before, asking for Amy; on each visit Sarah had instructed the maid to tell him Mrs Stewart was out, until the last such occasion when Mr Taylor had been informed, quite truthfully, that she had returned to Ruatane.

  There had been no further visits since then until today, and this time it was Sarah herself he was asking to see. He would be sure to call again; and again. Sarah had generally found it better to deal with unpleasant tasks promptly.

  ‘Send him through to my study in a few minutes, Nellie,’ she said. ‘There’ll be no need to bring refreshments, he won’t be staying long.’

  Her study was the obvious choice for Sarah when it came to receiving this unwelcome guest. She always felt at her strongest here, where the very furniture held memories of her father. With his massive desk placed between her and the world, she felt ready to take on a far more formidable opponent than she expected Mr Taylor to be. The photographs of her father were placed so that he appeared to be watching her as she sat at his desk, lending his silent support. Sarah’s eye fell on the picture of herself with Amy; she took it up and carefully placed it in a drawer. She would not allow that man to leer at it.

  She sat behind the desk and ran through the possible reasons Taylor might have for inviting himself to her house. A purely business meeting seemed unlikely. And he knew that Amy was no longer in Auckland. So the most likely explanation was something Sarah had known to be a possibility ever since Amy had reported her meeting with the man: he had discovered his connection to herself.

  He entered the room wearing a smile Sarah was sure he considered charming. ‘My dear Miss Millish,’ he said, leaning forward and waiting for Sarah to extend her hand. But she left both hands resting lightly on top of the desk.

  ‘Mr Taylor,’ she said coolly, nodding towards the chair she had placed before it. She had made sure it was the least comfortable the room held. ‘To what do I owe this unexpected visit?’ She had no intention of referring to it as a pleasure; still less as an honour.

  He kept his awkward leaning posture for a moment, then accepted that she was not going to proffer her hand. He took the indicated seat and perched on its front edge, still smiling brightly.

  ‘I imagine that what I’m about to tell you will come as quite a surprise—a pleasant one, I hope.’

  ‘I rather doubt that,’ Sarah murmured. That smile of his was becoming more and more irritating.

  ‘I hardly know how to begin.’

  ‘Then let me begin for you. Let us waste no more of each other’s time, Mr Taylor. I’m quite aware of who you are in relation to me. When Mrs Stewart was staying with me and had that rather unfortunate encounter with you, she told me all that I needed to know.’

  ‘Oh, that makes it so much easier.’ He gazed at Sarah with what she took for a proprietorial air. ‘My dear girl. You talk of wasting time—the years we’ve wasted through not knowing each other! To think of our living in the same city and not knowing we were father and daughter!’

  Sarah felt herself stiffen. He had no right to the name of father; her father was the man who had sat at this desk. She gripped the arms of the chair that had been his, and stared coolly at the man who dared try to usurp his title.

  ‘Let there be no more wasted time. My dear Sarah—I may call you that?’ His expression made it clear that he felt he already knew the answer.

  ‘No, you may not,’ Sarah said sharply. ‘Mr Taylor, an accident of blood links us. Nothing more than that. I have no desire for a closer acquaintance with you, and I suggest you put such an idea out of your mind.’ She pulled the bell cord to summon a maid.

  His smile barely wavered. ‘I’m prepared to be patient, my dear. I realise how strange this must seem to you—I’m still getting used to the idea myself of having such a lovely daughter.’

  ‘ “Strange” is not precisely the word I would have chosen.’ Sarah looked up when she heard Nellie enter the room. ‘Nellie will show you out, Mr Taylor. Good day to you.’ She lowered her gaze to examine some papers on her desk, glad of the excuse to remove that maddening smile from her view.

  ‘I’ll call on you again soon,’ he said as he rose from the chair.

  ‘I suggest that in future you request an appointment first,’ she said, not looking up from the papers. ‘I have a good deal to occupy my time.’ She waited until she heard the front door closed behind him before she pushed the papers aside. That, Sarah hoped, would be the last time she would find herself allowing Mr Taylor into her home.

  *

  Jimmy Taylor left the Millish house feeling thoroughly pleased with himself. Meeting Amy again the previous month had reminded him of that delightful summer long ago; it had also revived his almost extinguished hope of having an heir in spite of Charlotte’s failure to provide him with one. But not in his wildest fancies had he dreamed of acquiring a daughter like Sarah Millish.

  She was close to perfect. Quite apart from being a young woman any man would be proud to have fathered, she presented opportunities for making his life a good deal more agreeable than it currently was. He foresaw an end to the aggravation of having constantly to ask Charlotte for more money, and the resulting humiliation of being interrogated by his own wife as to where the money was going. It was, of course, completely inappropriate for Charlotte to question him in such a way, but Charlotte sometimes showed herself sadly lacking in proper womanly qualities.

  Jimmy blamed his father-in-law for that. Not only had the man put the house he had bought them into Charlotte’s name; he had also given her sole control of a substantial bank account, regularly augmented by the generous allowance he paid her. No wonder she was inclined to fancy herself as knowing how to manage money.

  The same character flaw was likely to exist in his daughter, unfortunately. Not that it was the girl’s fault. But cautious enquiries among his acquaintance had told him that Sarah had complete control of her financial interests, with no man’s guiding hand. It was a ridiculous state of affairs, and one that Jimmy intended to rectify.

  He would have to tread carefully. Sarah was used to having her own way (another flaw she shared with Charlotte), and it would take her some time to trust him. But it was worth being patient when the prize was so valuable.

  He would leave it a few days before visiting again; that would give Sarah time to think things over, and perhaps to wonder if he would return. A small gift next time would do no harm. He needed to gain her affection, and get her to see that he had her best interests at heart. The girl was probably anxious over all her responsibilities, despite her outward show of confidence.

  Once he had gained her trust, it would simply be a matter of getting the appropriate legal documents drawn up, giving him overall responsibility for her affairs, and getting Sarah to sign them. That was the good side of Sarah’s having complete control over her holdings: all he needed was her signature. There was no one else whom he needed to convince that Sarah’s own father was the proper person to watch over her interests.

  He had always wanted a son, of course, but in these circumstances a daughter was infinitely preferable. A son would take more convincing that he needed the guidance of a mature man, but women were naturally more malleable, and less capable of understanding complicated matters of finance.

  Jimmy stopped in his tracks as a dreadful thought struck him: what if Sarah were to be married? It would be disastrous. And she could be a targe
t for any number of fortune-hunters with selfish motives. That made things rather more difficult. He would have to move more quickly than he had planned, but not so quickly as to risk her taking fright and fancying that his intentions were other than benevolent. In any event, things must be properly settled between them before Sarah married.

  It was somewhat odd, though certainly fortunate, that she had not already married. Not only was she a substantial heiress; she resembled her mother enough to be a pretty girl. She could do with being more womanly, of course. It was a pity she hadn’t inherited something of Amy’s amiable nature, though that made the whole business more of a stimulating challenge.

  He lost himself briefly in pleasant recollections of Amy’s warm and obliging ways. There had never been any other woman quite like her. If only circumstances had not made it impossible for him to marry her. If only he could have found someone with Amy’s nature and Charlotte’s material advantages. Jimmy rather thought he might have managed to be faithful to such a woman.

  He pulled out his watch and checked the time. Almost four o’clock; it was hardly worth going back to the office now. A few drinks and an early dinner at his club, perhaps. Then a game or two of cards; his luck at the table had not been the best lately, but it must be due to change. Fortune was certainly smiling upon him with the discovery of his daughter.

  There would be no need to hurry home after that. There was a certain establishment where they knew his particular tastes. Damnably expensive, but he could afford to treat himself. He could afford a good many things now.

  *

  Jimmy sat in his office chair, staring absently at the far wall as he mulled over his plans. It was almost three weeks since his conversation with Sarah. He had attempted to call on her several times since then, but on each occasion had been told she was otherwise engaged. No doubt she was a busy girl, but he suspected it was more a case of her not yet being ready to meet him again. There was probably an element of shyness, which was quite becoming in a girl. He briefly considered penning a letter to her, but rejected the idea almost at once. It was best not to put anything in writing just yet.

  A soft knock at the door broke into his thoughts. Jimmy looked over to see his young clerk, Osborne, standing in the doorway.

  ‘What is it, Osborne?’

  ‘Mr Hobbs is here again. He’s quite insistent, sir,’ Osborne said quickly, before Jimmy could tell him to send the man packing.

  Jimmy sighed. ‘All right, then, send him in.’ He leaned back in his chair and assumed the expression of a man bestowing his valuable attention on one scarcely worthy of the honour.

  Mr Hobbs owned a brass foundry; a small concern, with a handful of workers. Jimmy had done him something of a favour by putting an order for the fittings in a row of worker’s cottages into his hands. The order had been large enough, coupled with Jimmy’s suggestion that more business would be likely to come his way, for Hobbs to sell him the fittings at rather a good price, and Jimmy had to admit that his staff had told him the foundry’s workmanship was excellent. But the man had become tiresome since, constantly nagging about his payment. Surely he knew that a business the size of Jimmy’s could not be expected to pay every little invoice straight away? And naturally Jimmy needed to see that the more important suppliers were paid first. Men like Hobbs simply had to wait their turn.

  Mr Hobbs slipped into the room, clutching his hat in his hands. He was a small, balding man in a worn-looking suit. He looked in awe around Jimmy’s well-furnished office as he approached the desk.

  ‘Ah, Hobbs,’ Jimmy said expansively. ‘Sit down, won’t you? Now, what can I do for you?’

  Mr Hobbs perched on the edge of the indicated chair. ‘It’s about the money, sir. The account’s got quite overdue now.’

  ‘Has it indeed? Dear, dear—I shall have to speak to my clerks about that.’ The invoices concerned were in a well-stuffed folder somewhere in his desk, along with others liberally ornamented with “Overdue” or various synonyms.

  ‘It’s two hundred and thirty pounds. That’s a lot of money for a man such as myself.’ Mr Hobbs looked around the wood-panelled office again. ‘I’ve wages to pay, you see, and a family to feed. I’m sorry to be a bother about it,’ he added, lowering his gaze.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m in a similar position myself, you know,’ said Jimmy. ‘The men’s wages have to be paid, even if it means going short myself. And cash is just a little tight at the moment—business is brisk enough,’ he added quickly, ‘but much of my cash is tied up in some promising new developments. You know what it’s like, Hobbs, you and I are both men of business. Sometimes one has to be patient with these things.’

  Mr Hobbs turned his hat around in his lap. ‘Not wanting to be rude, sir, but I’ve been patient over this for six months now. Patience won’t put food on the table, or pay the wages. And now I’ve got rent due on the factory, and all manner of things I need money for. I need that bill paid, and that’s the truth of it.’ Having been roused enough to make such a bold speech, he seemed to shrink in on himself.

  Jimmy took out his wallet and opened it. ‘Now, I’ll tell you what—here’s five pounds out of my own pocket, just as a gesture of good faith.’ He handed the note across his desk. After a moment’s hesitation, Mr Hobbs took it, and studied it rather uncertainly.

  ‘And there’s no need for you to worry yourself about the rest of it,’ Jimmy said. ‘I’m going to take you into my confidence, Hobbs. I can see you’re an honest fellow, so I’m going to trust you with this. You know of Sarah Millish, I suppose?’

  ‘Miss Millish? Of course, sir.’

  ‘Well—remember, this is in confidence—Miss Millish and I are on the point of coming to a business arrangement that will be highly advantageous to us both. Once that happens, any current difficulties regarding cash will become irrelevant.’

  He watched Mr Hobbs puzzling it out. ‘So you have dealings with Miss Millish?’

  ‘Yes, I do. It’s early days yet, but it’s all looking very promising. And, I might add, once things start going forward I’m likely to be able to put a good deal more business your way.’ Jimmy saw from Mr Hobbs’ eyes that the man had taken the bait. He reeled him in carefully. ‘Access to the Millish business, eh, Hobbs. That’s worth a bit of patience, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so. I can’t wait for the whole amount, Mr Taylor.’

  ‘No one’s asking you to,’ Jimmy said breezily. ‘I’ve given you something on account, and if you come back in a week or two, I’ll tell the clerk to have a little something more ready. The Millish business, Hobbs. Just think of that.’

  He stood up and strode around to the front of his desk, extending his hand. Mr Hobbs hesitated before shaking the proffered hand. ‘Well, I’m sure you have things you need to be doing, Hobbs, so I won’t keep you any longer. We’ll be speaking again before too long, I’ve no doubt. Just remember,’ he added, giving Mr Hobbs the grin of a fellow conspirator, ‘keep the Millish business under your hat for now.’

  ‘I will, Mr Taylor. Thank you very much, sir.’

  Mr Hobbs allowed himself to be shepherded out of the door, and Jimmy resumed his comfortable chair. It was time, he reflected, to try another visit to Sarah.

  *

  Sarah’s letters continued to give Amy the sense that she was preoccupied with an irritating matter. But even if she had been pressing Amy to visit her again, Amy would have felt herself unable to leave the farm. For she had begun to suspect that Beth was unwell.

  After having a barely perceptible bump for months, Beth seemed to have swollen almost overnight, so that her pregnancy looked more advanced than its five months. She moved clumsily, and seemed short of breath much of the time. Amy thought the baby must be lying awkwardly, though she was careful to say nothing to Beth that might alarm her. She told herself she was probably worrying needlessly. Beth had always been a healthy girl; there was surely no reason to think she was in any real danger.

  Lizzie seemed unconcerned, though Amy suspec
ted Beth made an effort to appear more cheerful when her parents came to visit, as Amy did herself. It helped cover the awkward silences when David and Frank were in the same room. And Lizzie had not been a frequent visitor of late; Benjy had been somewhat feverish during a recent bout of teething, making Lizzie reluctant to take him out of the house since.

  But it wrung Amy’s heart to see Beth grimace in pain if she moved incautiously. She would only allow Beth to help with the lightest of the household tasks, ones she could do while seated. Beth made little protest; she seemed to have barely enough energy to drag herself around the house.

  Her moods swung between lethargy and irritability, both of them uncharacteristic, and with lethargy increasingly gaining the ascendancy. More and more often Beth chose to stay indoors rather than go outside with David. Amy could see that David was becoming anxious, and she did her best not to make him more so. But Beth loved to be out on the farm with him, and to see her unable to rouse the strength worried Amy more than anything else.

  Beth rose ponderously from the table and carried a bowl of shelled peas to where Amy stood at the bench. As she turned to go back, she stumbled and almost fell. Amy hurried to her, and helped her back to her chair. She stood with an arm around Beth’s shoulders until she saw her relax a little.

  ‘Was it the baby moving?’ Amy asked.

  Beth shook her head. ‘No, it just went all blurry for a bit, and I felt sort of dizzy. I had that yesterday as well.’ She rubbed at her belly and grimaced. ‘It does hurt here, though, like it’s digging into me. Is it going to be like this the whole time?’

  Amy hesitated before answering. ‘I don’t really know, Beth,’ she said, choosing her words with care. ‘It’s different every time. I had a lot more bother with Mal than with Dave.’ And the worst time of all with Alexander, but she was careful not to mention that pregnancy, with its sad ending.