‘Osbert’s wife,’ Peggy put in, ‘died two days after Joe’s mother back in ’05.’
Miles frowned in puzzlement. ‘I don’t understand . . .’
‘Me mother was buried in Lincoln,’ Joe explained. ‘Dad said at the time that she wanted to be buried with her own folk and that’s where she’d come from.’
‘Was that true? I mean – did her folks come from Lincoln?’
‘Oh yes. We used to go there to see me grandad and grandma. And Mam had brothers and sisters there too, though we’ve lost touch now.’
‘So what are you saying, exactly?’
‘It just seemed odd that me dad didn’t want to be buried alongside her. They were a loving couple, none closer, but he bought a plot here in the churchyard at Ravensfleet.’
‘Presumably you went to your mother’s funeral in Lincoln, so you know—’
‘No, sir, that’s just it. None of the family went from here. Dad insisted he went alone. After Jack Layton, the undertaker in Ravensfleet, took her from here, we never saw her again.’
‘And when was Mrs Crawford buried?’
‘Two days after Mother.’
‘It does sound a little odd, as you say. And maybe Reverend Iveson knows more, but like you say, we can’t expect him to divulge whatever it was your father confided in him.’
Miles stared round at them, biting his lip. Slowly, he said, ‘Thank you for your confidence in me. And now, it’s only fair that I explain the reason for my visit.’
Nineteen
All four members of the Warren family sat waiting expectantly. But now it was Miles who sought their reassurance that they would not betray his trust. ‘I went to Buckthorn Farm this morning, mainly to enquire after Miss Charlotte.’ He glanced at Jackson. ‘And to return her hat and coat. Edward said that she was indisposed, so I asked to see Mr Crawford.’ Miles shook his head wonderingly, still unable to believe it had not all been a dream. ‘He was obviously still very angry with Miss Charlotte for her “unseemly behaviour”, as he called it. And then – ’ he glanced round at them all – ‘he came out with the most preposterous suggestion I’ve ever heard in my life. It seems’ – he ran his tongue nervously round his lips – ‘that he’s taken a fancy to my sons, especially my eldest, Philip.’ He paused a moment, overcome by the enormity of what he was about to tell them. ‘Mr Crawford tells me that he plans to make a will leaving everything he possesses – land, buildings, livestock, everything – to Philip.’
There were shocked gasps from each and every member of the Warren family. They stared at him in disbelief.
‘Can he do that?’ Jackson blurted out.
Miles shrugged. ‘I think a man may do anything he wants in his will.’
‘Would she be able to contest it?’ John asked thoughtfully.
‘She could. But it would take money to do that and – as far as I see it – he intends to leave her penniless. I know,’ he said simply, as if reading their minds, ‘it’s outrageous, isn’t it? But that’s not all. In return for my son being left such an inheritance, I have to marry Miss Charlotte.’
Now their mouths dropped open.
‘That’s – that’s blackmail,’ Jackson burst out. Then he blinked and glanced around him, seeking confirmation. ‘Isn’t it?’
Miles sighed. ‘I agree with you. It is a sort of blackmail.’
‘But – but – ’ Even Joe was spluttering with indignation. ‘I mean – do you want to marry Miss Charlotte? Does she want to marry you?’
Miles’s face was suddenly grey with sadness. ‘I – I’d never looked to marry again. I lost my beloved wife, Louisa, when Georgie was born. I adored her and I still miss her every day.’ He bit his lower lip. ‘I’d never even thought about it.’
‘Then you don’t love Miss Charlotte,’ Jackson burst out. ‘It’d be a marriage of – of – what is it they call it, Mam?’
‘A marriage of convenience,’ Peggy said quietly, her gaze on the squire. Surely, he wouldn’t think of doing such a thing, just to gain land and property for his son? He would plummet in her estimation if he were seriously to contemplate it.
‘Jackson,’ Joe said warningly and the young man apologized swiftly.
‘Begging your pardon, sir. I meant no disrespect. But I’m fond of Miss Charlotte. We’re friends. I’d not like to see her forced to marry someone who doesn’t love her.’
‘Your defence of her does you credit, young man. And no offence taken, I assure you. And I have no intention of agreeing to his absurd suggestion.’
Peggy breathed a sigh of relief. She’d not been wrong in her estimation of the new squire. He was, as she’d thought, a man of honour.
‘According to her father,’ Miles murmured, musing aloud, ‘she’s never had any suitors and,’ his tone hardened, ‘in his opinion, is never likely to have.’
Jackson sprang to his feet. ‘That’s a cruel thing to say.’
‘His words, not mine, I assure you.’
‘Sit down, son,’ Joe said softly and Jackson sank back into his seat.
‘Her father has never allowed her to have a young man,’ Peggy put in quietly. ‘She’s never had the chance to meet anyone other than the young fellows who work on the farm.’ She nodded towards her own son. ‘Like Jackson says, Mr Thornton, him and Miss Charlotte are friends – have been since they were little – but if the old man got wind of it, he’d sack Jackson on the spot and likely throw us out an’ all.’
‘We don’t want him to hear about it,’ Jackson said shortly and glared at Miles almost warningly.
Miles grimaced. ‘He’s none too pleased about you dancing with her last night,’ he warned. ‘He’ll be having a word with your father, he said.’
Jackson groaned and muttered, ‘Oh, heck! I didn’t mean to get her into more trouble. I was just so pleased to see her there.’
‘So,’ Miles said slowly, his gaze still on the hotheaded young man, ‘would you like to court Miss Charlotte? Are you fond enough of her to want to propose to her?’
Jackson stared at him. The thought had quite obviously never crossed his mind. ‘Um – er – well, I am fond of her,’ he stuttered, forced suddenly to examine his feelings for Charlotte. ‘Very fond, but I don’t think I’d call it the sort of love you should feel for the girl you want to marry.’ Now he shook his head in a swift decision. ‘No – no, I don’t think of her like that.’
‘So – is there anyone else who’s shown an interest in her?’
The Warrens glanced at each other.
‘What about the vicar?’ John suggested. ‘He was dancing with her last night.’
Miles laughed wryly. ‘Her father noticed that, too. I think that’s what incensed him. He’s threatening to have him removed from his living here. But, as it happens –’ he smiled at them – ‘I know the bishop. I can put in a good word for him if necessary.’
There was silence for a moment. Joe shook his head in disbelief. ‘I’ve never heard the like. Really I haven’t.’
‘Of course,’ Miles said, thinking aloud, ‘years ago marriages were arranged amongst the gentry to unite families for money, possessions or power. And widowers often married again to give their children a mother.’ He sighed. ‘Just between ourselves, I get lonely. I thought it might be better when we moved here, away from the house that held all the poignant memories. But it isn’t. It’s worse, if anything.’
‘But you have your boys,’ Peggy said softly. ‘You seem to have a wonderful relationship with them.’
‘Oh I do, I do. But it’s not the same, is it? They’ll grow up and lead their own lives. I hope we’ll always be close, but it’s not like having a – a wife.’
Peggy and Joe glanced at each other. They understood – even if their sons didn’t at this moment. They couldn’t imagine what it would be like for either them if something happened and one of them was left alone. They couldn’t even bear to think about it.
Miles said no more. Though he felt that Joe and Peggy perhaps understood, he could
see from their faces that the two young men thought it incredible that anyone should marry other than for love. He smiled sadly to himself, thinking of all the arranged marriages that had taken place through all the different cultures – and were still taking place in some parts of the world. Even here in Britain, particularly amongst the aristocracy, he was sure that parents still decreed that their offspring should marry ‘suitably’.
‘I mustn’t keep you good folk any longer. Thank you for your time.’
They all rose and Joe held out his hand. ‘And thank you for your trust in us, Mr Thornton. That means a lot.’
Miles took his hand and shook it warmly. ‘If there’s anything I can ever do, you’ll let me know, now, won’t you?’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘And now I must go home and break the news to my eldest son that I have just refused a handsome inheritance.’
‘You’re going to tell him about it?’ Joe was surprised.
Miles nodded. ‘I try to instil honesty and trust in all my boys and therefore I always try to be open and truthful with them. I know Philip’s still only young, but when his mother died, being the eldest, he had to grow up quickly.’ He sighed and murmured, more to himself, ‘Maybe too quickly.’
‘You mean you said “no”?’ Philip spluttered. ‘You’d no right to do that. It’s me he wants to have his farm. What right have you got to deny me an inheritance?’
He’d listened to his father’s explanation with growing excitement, but Miles’s final words had shattered his hopes. Philip faced him angrily across the broad surface of the leather-topped desk. Outside the door of their father’s study, Ben and Georgie crept closer to listen. Seeing them, Wilkins smiled and tiptoed away, wishing he could eavesdrop too.
‘I’ve every right,’ Miles said mildly, not rising to anger like his son. ‘For several reasons.’
‘Name them,’ Philip snapped.
‘One,’ Miles ticked them off on his fingers, ‘the farm should go to Charlotte, his daughter.’
‘But he doesn’t want her to have it. You’ve just said so yourself.’
Ignoring him, Miles went on. ‘Two, part of this – this bargain is that I should marry Charlotte. Do you want me to do that?’
Philip glared at him, hesitating. His glance strayed to the portrait of his mother, which had hung over the fireplace in his father’s study in whatever house they’d lived in for as long as he could remember. He stared at the lovely face. The portrait had been painted at the time of her engagement to his father. She’d been eighteen then, young and lovely, and her sweet smile, captured for ever on the canvas, was like no other he’d ever seen. And it wasn’t just the portrait that reminded him of his mother, for Philip, being the eldest, could remember her well. He could remember her voice, her laughter and, if he closed his eyes, he could almost feel her love for him reaching out even from beyond the grave.
Seeing the torment on his son’s face, Miles said softly. ‘Do you really want me to marry Charlotte Crawford?’
The fight and the anger drained out of the young man and he sought the armchair behind him and sank down into it. ‘No,’ he said huskily. ‘No, I don’t.’ He saw his dream of becoming a landowner fading into the distance.
There was silence and Miles heard a scuffle outside the door. He raised his voice and called, ‘Come in, you two scallywags. I know you’re there.’
Sheepishly, the two boys entered the room.
Georgie, the bolder of the two, approached his father’s desk. ‘I wouldn’t mind if you married Miss Charlotte, Papa. I think she’s lovely.’
Miles noticed Philip’s lip curl disdainfully. ‘That’s only because you don’t remember our mother. But then, you wouldn’t, would you? Seeing as she died having you.’
‘Philip!’ his father roared, for once roused to swift anger. ‘That’s enough.’
He glanced at his little son and saw Georgie’s mouth quivering. ‘Come here,’ he said gently. The boy moved round the desk and clambered on to his father’s knee. Miles stroked the boy’s fair curls. ‘You should all know, but especially you, Georgie, that each of you was a much-wanted child. You all were. And yes, your mother did die just after giving birth to you, Georgie, but she was willing to sacrifice her own life to bring you – to bring any of you – into the world.’ He glanced at her portrait. ‘See, she’s smiling down at us. She’s watching over us. All of us.’
‘But,’ Georgie’s eyes were still brimming with tears, ‘you wanted a girl, didn’t you? Not another boy?’
Miles smiled sadly. ‘I’ll not lie to you, Georgie. I hope I’ll never have cause to lie to my sons. It would’ve been nice to have had a daughter, yes. I think all men dream of the day they’ll walk their daughter down the aisle. But no, you’re very precious to us all, Georgie, and I wouldn’t change a hair of your head.’
Now the little boy beamed as he said, ‘But you could walk me down the aisle, Papa, because when I’m grown up, I’m going to marry Miss Charlotte.’
There was a moment’s stillness before they all burst out laughing.
The following morning neither Osbert nor Charlotte was at church. Nor were Edward and Mary.
Cuthbert Iveson, his pale faced blotched with patches of pink, conducted a nervous service and then dismissed the children.
‘Papa, Papa!’ Georgie cried, running after the rest of the family as the Thorntons climbed into their car. ‘Miss Charlotte’s not here to take the Sunday school. Mr Iveson says we’re all to go home.’
He scrambled into the front seat beside his father. ‘Papa, could we drive to Buckthorn Farm and see if she’s all right?’
‘I don’t think that would be a very good idea, Georgie. Not today.’
The boy’s face fell. ‘Oh.’
Miles smiled gently at him. He was proud that Georgie cared so much about others. It was a trait that seemed to be sadly lacking in his eldest son. As for Ben, the boy was so quiet and reserved that Miles hardly knew what he was thinking most of the time.
‘I’ll have a word with the vicar,’ Miles murmured, climbing out of the vehicle again. ‘Perhaps he’ll know something.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ he heard Philip mutter impatiently, but chose to ignore the remark. As the last member of the congregation shook Cuthbert’s hand and left, Miles approached him.
‘Mr Iveson – a word, if you please.’
The vicar, about to turn away to go back into the church, hesitated. ‘Mr Thornton . . .’ He ran his tongue nervously around his lips.
‘Have you heard anything from Buckthorn Farm? I’m concerned for Miss Charlotte.’
For a moment, Cuthbert stared at him before saying hesitantly, ‘Would you step into the church a moment? There is something I would like to tell you.’
Together they stepped into the dim interior once more. Sitting down in one of the pews, they faced each other.
‘I had a hand-delivered note from Mr Crawford this morning,’ Cuthbert began, his already high colour deepening yet further, ‘informing me that he intends to write to the bishop about my disreputable behaviour at the Harvest Supper and asking – no, demanding – my dismissal from this living.’
‘Then I will also write to the bishop and tell him that your behaviour was perfectly correct. You were merely joining in the harvest celebrations. And even dancing with Miss Charlotte – ’ Miles spread his hands. ‘Well, that’s perfectly in order. I mean, you’re not married, engaged or anything, are you?’
Cuthbert shook his head. ‘No – no. There’s no one.’
There was a slight pause before Miles asked, ‘But are you – shall we say – interested in Miss Charlotte?’
Cuthbert sighed. ‘In a way. It’s best if a young vicar is married, you see. And I thought she might make a suitable wife for me.’
Poor Charlotte, Miles thought with compassion. No declaration of love or even affection. Just that she would make a ‘suitable’ wife for him. How cold and calculating. The man was almost as bad as the g
irl’s father. Miles bit back a retort and, instead, asked, ‘And was there any indication in his letter as to how Miss Charlotte is?’
Cuthbert shook his head. ‘No, none. I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see what happens,’ he murmured, but Miles had the distinct feeling that the young man was more concerned for his own future than for Charlotte’s. He almost regretted his promise to write to the bishop on his behalf, but his innate sense of fair play came to the fore once again. The vicar had done nothing wrong and it was only right that the bishop should hear the truth.
Miles rose. ‘I’ll visit Buckthorn Farm again. See what I can find out.’
Cuthbert rose too. ‘He’s a manipulative and dangerous man,’ he burst out suddenly. ‘He seems to think he can run the lives of all those around him. Certainly, the lives of the people who work for him.’
Miles stared at him. ‘What d’you mean?’
Cuthbert turned away. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve said too much already.’
Miles watched him as he hurried up the aisle towards the altar steps where he knelt and bowed his head in prayer.
Twenty
In the afternoon, Philip was missing.
‘I think he’s gone to Buckthorn Farm, Papa. I saw him riding in that direction.’
‘Has he indeed?’ Miles said grimly. He suspected his son had gone to plead with his benefactor to lift the condition attached to his inheritance. Miles had to admit, with sadness in his heart, that his eldest son was utterly selfish. Ruthless, even. After a moment’s hesitation, he left the room. Minutes later, Georgie, watching from the window, saw his father galloping in the same direction.
‘Oh, Georgie,’ Ben murmured, ‘now what have you done?’
Miles was shown into the sitting room at the farm to find his son and Osbert sitting opposite each other on either side of the fireplace. They both turned to look at him as he strode towards them. ‘This nonsense has to stop. I shall not allow you to make Philip your heir.’
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