by Tia Siren
As usual, she walked home with Lizzi. When they reached the green, their usual parting place, Victoria turned to her. ''Lizzie, do you think you can come and help me. I should go through father's things, but it is terribly upsetting. Would you come and sit with me while I do so?''
''Of course.'' Lizzie took hold of her arm. When they got to the cottage, Jack was hanging on the metal fence that surrounded the tiny garden.
''Were you waiting for me?'' Victoria asked.
''Er.....'' he said, put off by Lizzie's presence. ''Yes I was, but I can see you have company. I'll come back another time.''
''He wants you,'' Lizzie said when he'd gone.
''I know, awful isn't it? He looks like a pole.''
Lizzie nodded in agreement as she watched him cross the far side of the green and disappear between the pub and the church. ''But he could offer you some security, and you wouldn't be alone anymore. His dad's foreman and Jack could be one day.''
''Lizzie Earnshaw. If you weren't my friend, I'd wallop you. How could you think that I'd have the slightest interest in Jack?''
Lizzie was only trying to help. She still had her parents and couldn't bear to imagine what it would be like to lose them. ''Sorry.'' The two went inside, Lizzie suddenly aware of the finality of death.
The cottage was just like all the others, tiny. The front door led to a short corridor, the sitting room to the right and the stairs straight ahead, to the side of the stairs, a kitchen. The two ladies took off their coats and bonnets and hung them on a hook in the corridor.
''I'll light the fire in father's bedroom, it's a chilly evening,'' Victoria said. Upstairs there was a small landing with two bedrooms off it. When the fire was roaring, Victoria closed the door and took a deep breath.
''I really don't want to do this, but I suppose I can't leave father's things here forever. Lizzie will you take the things from the chest of drawers and put them in these boxes.'' She pointed to some tatty cardboard boxes she had taken from goods inward at the mill. ''It's mostly socks and underwear, and the odd belt and pairs of braces. I'll start in the wardrobe.'' She remembered when she and her father had gone through the same process after the death of her mother. Her father hadn't been able to cope, and he'd gone downstairs and left Victoria to it.
''Mr. Pickford has asked me to be one of his assistants,'' Victoria said, eager to divert her attention away from the job at hand.
''No.'' Lizzie gasped. ''You know what that means don't you? My mother told me what his assistants do, and it had precious little to do with anything at the mill.''
''I refused him, but he told me I should think very carefully about it otherwise he would cut my wages and make me work longer hours.'' Victoria put one of her father's jackets to her nose, hoping to gain some comfort from it, but it only smelled of moth balls.''
''How terrible. I sometimes think life would be far easier if one were plain. Men would leave you alone then,'' Lizzie observed. She was pretty but not beautiful like Victoria. She was shorter, and her bosom was more obvious, as was the curve of her hips and bottom. Brown hair and blue eyes also set her apart from her friend. Mr. Pickford had considered Lizzie for a job as an assistant but her father was over six feet and revered in the village after he'd beaten three men in a fight. The men, drunk at the time, had insulted his wife outside the village shop.
''You are right. What am I to do? If I become one of his ladies, no man will want me.''
''I don't know about that. Plenty of them get married and leave. If you're beautiful, men will turn a blind eye.'' Lizzie took a handful of socks and put them into one of the boxes. ''What shall I do with this green box?'' It had appeared when she'd moved the socks that were covering it.
''Let me look.'' Victoria took it from her. It was wooden, about the size of a shoe box. She put in on the bed and sat down next to it. The lid came off easily, and inside she saw a disorderly pile of letters and documents. When she lifted the papers, she saw three military medals. Lizzie, feeling depressed by the task at hand, sat down on the bed next to her. Perhaps there would be something intriguing in the box to make the event happier.
Victoria took out a brown envelope and looked at the front of it. There was just one line, written in black ink, 'The Landsborough Estate.' Inside there was a solitary piece of white paper.
''What is it?'' Lizzie asked anxiously.
''I don't know. It's a letter from an architect about some building works on a place called Landsborough Hall on the Landsborough Estate. She took out the next envelope. It was a letter from a firm of solicitors, Jones, Acheson, and Hopkins in the town of Haslemere. ''Lizzie do you know where Haslemere is?'' Lizzie shook her head and looked down at her frock. It was covered in filth from the mill, and she wished she could go home and change. ''Who is Captain Landsborough?'' Victoria asked, knowing full well Lizzie didn't have any idea. ''And what is the Landsborough Estate?'' She thumbed through a few more letters and in every one of them found a reference to the Landsborough Estate and Captain Landsborough. Almost at the bottom of the pile, she found something different. An unopened letter addressed to 'The Duke of Haslemere, Easingborough Hall.' Victoria put her dirty fingernail under the sleeve and opened it
''What is it?'' Lizzie asked when she saw Victoria's mouth open.
''Listen to this.'' She began to read out loud.
My Lord,
As you know, my wife and I have vacated Landsborough Hall, and it is now yours to do as you will.
I am afraid I have wronged my wife and the child she is carrying by my ridiculous behavior. I will never be able to forgive myself for what I have done to her.
All I ask is that you look after the tenants of the estate, in the same way, I have tried to, fairly and in a dignified manner.
May God forgive me and cure me of my gambling affliction
Yours,
Captain W Landsborough
''And do you know what the most curious fact is in this?'' Victoria said as she placed the letter in her lap and looked at it. ''This is my father's handwriting.''
''But you father isn't called Landsborough. He was called Lambert,'' Lizzie was eager to point out.
Victoria was beside herself with curiosity. Why had her father written a letter to a Duke and why had he done it as Captain Landsborough? ''I'm stunned Lizzie. I don't know what to do.''
In their relationship Lizzie was often the one who just listened to Victoria's dreams and ideas. She was intelligent but lacked Victoria's optimism. As far as she was concerned, her life was the mill, and hopefully one day, a nice husband who didn't beat her. If she were lucky, she would be blessed with children and live to see them trudging up the hill to the mill, as she had done. Victoria was not resigned to her fate, and often dreamed about a handsome man who would come and sweep her away to a far off land where it was warm, and there were fresh fruits. On occasions, Lizzie would tell her she was a dreamer and that she should recognize reality. But Victoria didn't want to, and Lizzie's words would cast her into despair for days until the handsome man reappeared.
''I know what you should do,'' Lizzie said. Victoria looked at her, shocked. Lizzie wasn't often inspired, but she'd had a moment of rare clarity. ''You should go to that firm of solicitors, what was their name?'' she picked the letter up. ''Yes here look. You should go to, Jones, Acheson, and Hopkins and ask them about the Landsborough Estate and Captain Landsborough.''
*****
Mr. Anthony Acheson looked down his nose at the young lady sitting in front of him in the leather button backed armchair. Cheaply clothed in a green dress with puff sleeves and a square decollete, she was no better dressed than other working women, but much more beautiful.
Victoria had told Lizzie to tell Mary that it was her time of the month and that she was incapacitated. It was the only affliction Mary had any sympathy for. Victoria had wrapped herself in a large headscarf so as not to be recognized and taken the coach to Haslemere via York. The village postmaster had informed her that Haslemere was fifty miles f
rom Ashworth and that it would take five hours to get there, changing coaches in York. She'd arrived at her destination just as the clerk was locking the door for the night. A young man himself, he'd only opened up because she was beautiful. When an equally young Mr. Acheson came to see who he was talking to, he eagerly took over.
''You have an impressive bundle of documents with you Miss Lambert, and I must say it is a very intriguing tale. I'm afraid I shall have to ask Mr. Jones, my partner, to join us; He's a lot older, and I'm sure he can shed some light on the matter.'' He got up and went out of the room. Victoria looked around and started to count the books in the glass bookcase behind his mahogany desk. When she got to 43, she heard someone shouting.
''Doesn't she know what time it is, my supper will be ruined?'' Mr. Acheson reappeared with an elderly gentleman in a pair of red breeches. ''Well, young lady,'' he shouted, ''what is it?''
Victora decided he was deaf, not angry. ''I've come about the Landsborough Estate. My late father left some documents pertaining to the estate, and I would like to know what his connection to it was.''
Mr. Jones looked sternly at Acheson, who stood up and offered him his seat. ''The Landsborough Estate. Yes, I remember, it was quite something.'' He stared out of the window as if the view of the Inn opposite would assist his memory. ''Captain Landsborough was a gambler.'' Before he could continue Victoria gasped. In the letter, it had mentioned gambling. ''If I may continue,'' he wasn't used to being interrupted, ''Captain Landsborough was a gambler, and one evening he was playing cards with the Duke of Haslemere and a couple of others. The old Duke was well known for his prowess at three card brag, a game that requires a considerable amount of skill in the art of bluffing.'' Victoria was interested in the game, just the outcome. ''Apparently Captain Landsborough got into difficulties early on in the evening and kept upping the stakes in order to recoup his losses, in my opinion, a very foolish strategy.''
''What was the outcome of the evening, Mr. Jones?'' Victoria asked, trying to avoid a lengthy account of the game plan Mr. Jones would have used had he been at the table.
''Lost the lot, put up his house and his land in the last hand and lost it to the Duke.''
''But, surely,'' she gasped, ''surely the Duke could see that Captain Landsborough had an affliction. Why did he take the estate and not tell Captain Landsborough not to be so foolish.''
Mr. Jones looked across at the Inn again. It was time for his daily ration of rum, and he was eager to cross the road. ''The old Duke was a mean man, quite different to his wife. Why she married him, nobody knows.'' His voice got louder, to the point where Acheson went and stood next to the door. ''No, the Duke took the estate and Landsborough disappeared with his wife, who I seem to remember at the time was expecting a baby.'' He stood up and looked at Victoria. His demeanor softened when he noticed how young she was. ''We did the transfer, and if Mr. Acheson would care to look, the file will be in the archive room under L for Landsborough. I wish you a pleasant evening.'' He walked past Acheson and tutted.
When Acheson had retrieved the file, he put it on his desk and opened the lid slowly as if he was afraid the contents would jump out and frighten him. He pulled out a large document with a red seal on it.
''This is the contract of sale. Here are the signatures of the Duke and Mr. Landsborough.'' He turned the paper to Victoria, who stood up and looked at the signatures.
''It's the same signature as that on the unsent letter I found in my father's room,'' she said. She sat down with a thud.
''It says here that Captain Landsborough was in the Irish Guards. Did you find any evidence of that among your father's belongings?'' Victoria reached into her travel case and pulled out the medals. Engraved around the edge of each were the words, Irish Guards.''
*****
Roberts was a tall man who over the years had gained a significant stoop. As a young footman, he'd been expected to carry heavy coal scuttles to the fireplaces in the house. The old Duke had enjoyed having guests to stay, and most weekends the house had been full, and each bedroom had had a fire than needed providing for.
''My Lord, there is a young lady to see you, she says her name is Lambert.'' Edward put down his newspaper and peered at Roberts, who seemed to be getting closer to the ground by the day.
''What does she want, I'm not expecting anybody?''
''She won't tell me, my Lord.''
''Really, what time is it?''
''Gone eight, my Lord.''
Victoria had spent a long time discussing the estate, and its transfer with Mr. Acheson. Kind Mr. Acheson had offered her a lift in his carriage and she'd gratefully accepted. His motives were not entirely honorable and when she'd stepped down from the carriage he'd put his hand on an inappropriate place, in the name of assisting her. Victoria had something of her mother's temper, and it soon became clear to him that it hadn't been a good idea.
''Then, show her in,'' Edward said.
Victoria hadn't managed to see much of the house from the outside; it was quite dark. If the interior were anything to go by, it would have been a magnificent sight. Her cottage could have fitted into a third of the entrance hall. Roberts took her bonnet and coat and hung them on the coat rack behind the potted palm. It wasn't a palm plant, more a palm tree that reached up the side of the grand staircase to the first floor. The drawing room was to the left through an impressive mahogany double door. She followed Roberts.
''Miss Lambert, my Lord.'' Roberts left the room and closed the door.
The Duke stood up and walked towards Victoria, his black hair bouncing. ''I'm Edward, Duke of Haslemere. How may I be of assistance?''
Victoria was instantly taken by his looks. His father may have taken the family estate in a beastly way, but his son was a fresh looking young man with a continental look to him.
''My Lord, please forgive me for intruding into your evening. I come on a matter of great importance to myself, and I fear I will be obliged to throw myself upon your kind nature.''
Edward took pity on her. She appeared cold, and she looked tired. ''Please, come and sit by the fire. I will have Roberts bring us some tea.'' She sat down gratefully and held her hands out towards the warmth. ''Tell me what I can do for you.''
''It is a very long and confusing story, my Lord. But I shall try to make it as clear as possible.'' She sat upright and prepared herself for the undertaking. ''My father died recently, and when I was looking through his belongings, I found some documents regarding an estate called Landsborough.'' Edward was listening attentively but was slightly distracted by the grace with which she spoke; It was not in keeping with the way she was clothed. Her dress was not of the most expensive cloth and at some point it had been altered. ''It seems from the documents and the information I was able to gather at Jones, Acheson, and Hopkins, firm of solicitors in Haslemere, that my father's name was Landsborough and that he lost the estate in a card game. The man he lost to was your late father.''
So that's it. That is what the letter was about. He'd won the estate in a card game, felt guilty about it and decided to give it back, except, he never sent the letter. ''As you may or may not know,'' he paused when Roberts arrived with the tea. He smiled at Victoria as he poured her drink into a cup and saucer of the finest quality. ''Sorry, as you may know, my father also passed away recently. I have taken over the running of the estates we own, and I too found out that the estate was won by my father in a card game. Quite extraordinary.'' He shook his head and smiled. ''You introduced yourself as Lambert.''
''Yes, I have always thought our family name to be Lambert, but it now appears that it is Landsborough, and we were wealthy landowners until my father's foolish behavior. Mr. Jones, the eldest of the lawyers in town, told me the story. My poor father had a terrible gambling affliction.''
''Where do you live now?''
''In a village, fifty miles away called Ashworthy. I work in the mill there.''
''Indeed,'' he said. ''I don't know anyone who works in a mill. Alright, we seem
to have established that you father lost it, and my father won it, what do you want?''
''My Lord, I understand that my father was foolish. Indeed, it was not only foolish but selfish. My poor mother spent the rest of her life in poverty, far from the life she should have enjoyed.'' She looked at the fire as it spat a piece of coal onto the hearth. ''However, I must add that your father hardly acted in a gentlemanly fashion. He should have realized that my father was not of sound mind and refused to accept the bet.” Victoria looked the Duke straight in the eye. “I would like you to return the estate to me.''
He nodded. He'd expected it, as soon as he had become aware who she was. She was a beautiful woman, and he had no desire to hurt her in any way, but requiring him to give the estate back, after so many years, was a tall order. ''I understand your position. I hope you will allow me time to consider how best to resolve the situation.''
''Of course, my Lord.''
''Miss Lambert, it is late, and I suggest you stay here. I will ask one of our maids to look after you.''
''That is very kind of you. I don't think there is any transport back to my village at this time of the evening, and I don't want to stay at an inn alone.''
Edward asked Rosie, a ladies maid who had no lady to look after, to make up a fire and warm the bedsheets in the green room. They continued to drink tea and talk until Victoria was no longer able to keep her eyes open. When she entered her bedroom, she was astounded at the luxury. A giant four poster bed, a large marble fireplace and the very best Turkish rugs on a polished wooden floor. Rosie was waiting for her with a hot bath and clean nightdress. When she helped Victoria undress, she could see Victoria's was used to manual work. It was slender and the muscles well formed. The bath was warm and as the fire crackled Victoria didn't want to get out. When eventually she did, she fell asleep instantly and slept for ten hours.