With a defiant sparkle in her eyes, Charlotte said, ‘I can’t answer for my father, but yes, I’d be delighted to come to your dinner party. Thank you.’
She raised her glass to him and they smiled at each other.
‘Papa,’ Georgie said, ‘Brewster and Wilkins have put the tree up in the hall. Please can we decorate it now?’ He came to Charlotte’s side and slipped his hand into hers, beaming up at her. ‘And may Miss Charlotte stay and help us?’
For a brief moment, Miles hesitated, his expression suddenly melancholy, but then he forced a smile and said quietly, ‘Of course.’
They went out into the hall where Philip and Ben were coming down the stairs, carrying down the boxes of Christmas decorations for the tree. Georgie hopped excitedly from one foot to the other. ‘Where’s the fairy for the top? Papa always puts the fairy on last. We’ll do the bottom branches, Miss Charlotte, and Philip and Ben—’
As Charlotte touched the paper decorations in the box, gently lifting the first one out, Philip said harshly, ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’
She looked up to see him glaring at her, his face thunderous.
‘I—’
‘Miss Charlotte’s going to help us decorate the tree,’ Georgie said, rummaging in each box, trying to find his favourite ornaments.
‘Oh no, she isn’t,’ Philip snapped. ‘That was always Mother’s job and no one – no one – is ever going to take her place.’
As he glared at her, Charlotte could see that he was not just referring to the decorating of the family Christmas tree. She dropped the paper chain as if it was burning her fingers. Huskily, she said, ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Phil, please—’ Georgie began, but his brother rounded on him.
‘You can’t remember. How could you? But I do. And Ben does.’
Charlotte saw Ben’s head drop and he said nothing. Then she saw tears start in Georgie’s eyes. She squatted down in front of him. Taking a deep breath, she smiled and said as brightly as she could manage, ‘I ought to go, anyway. I’ve so much to do at home.’
It was a lie; there was nothing to do at home. Christmas was not celebrated at Buckthorn Farm.
‘I’ll come and see your tree when you’ve got it done. I promise.’
She stood up, turned away and walked quickly to the front door and all the while she was acutely aware of Miles watching her with troubled eyes. She pulled open the door and paused, just a moment, to look back. Georgie was delving into the boxes, his excitement overcoming his brief disappointment. Ben now avoided her glance, but Philip caught and held her gaze, a smile of triumph curving his mouth. It was a double victory for the scheming young man.
The news Philip had given her stunned Charlotte and, as she walked home, she was proud of herself that she’d managed to carry off her conversation with the rest of the family without giving away the fact that she was in a state of shock. Who else knew about this? Did Mary or Edward? And how could she find out anything more without causing embarrassment to them? If nothing else, the knowledge that her father intended to leave her quite penniless strengthened her resolve. She would indeed, she told herself, need to plan her future carefully. But how – and where – to start? That was the problem.
Apart from a slight change in the usual food, Christmas at Buckthorn Farm was a dull affair. Mary cooked a goose with all the trimmings and proudly presented a plum pudding she’d made weeks earlier. Charlotte, Mary and Edward exchanged small gifts but their dinner was eaten, as always, in the kitchen whilst Osbert ate alone in the gloomy room across the hallway.
Charlotte couldn’t help her thoughts returning to the manor. How she’d love to have seen Georgie opening his Christmas presents. She could imagine his excitement and his indulgent father and brothers watching. They’d make the day special for the little boy. Even Philip would unbend a little, she was sure. There’d be warmth and laughter and love in that household. How she longed to be a part of it.
But, despite the shattering news about her inheritance, Charlotte carried on as normal. She was as courteous and obedient as ever to her father, affectionate as always to Mary and Edward – and to Peggy, who’d now become a part of the household. She wondered if Joe knew about it.
And then, the day after Boxing Day, she suddenly realized that there was someone she could confide in. Someone she could trust with her life. Jackson. She could talk to him. He would tell her, if he knew anything. And if he didn’t, then he was the very person to find out.
But that same morning, Peggy came with news that halted Charlotte’s plan – at least for the moment.
‘Our Jackson’s got the influenza. He’s ever so poorly.’ Peggy bit her lip. ‘We even had to get the doctor.’
If that was the case, Charlotte realized, then the young man must be very ill. People like the Warrens didn’t often call the doctor in, if they could help it. Doctors needed paying and country folk, knowledgeable in the ways of Nature’s remedies, seldom called upon Dr Markham’s services.
‘Jackson must stay off work as long as he needs to,’ Charlotte reassured her.
‘Thank you, miss. I’ll tell him what you’ve said.’
Later that day, Charlotte inspected the contents of her wardrobe. It was dismally inadequate. There was nothing there that was suitable for another dinner party. She fingered the dress she’d worn the last time she and her father had dined at the Manor. She allowed herself a wry smile; it was the only dinner party she’d ever attended. She turned away with a sigh and sat down at her dressing table and regarded her reflection critically. She had a well-proportioned face, with smooth skin that was lightly tanned from being out doors in all weathers. Removing her spectacles, she leaned closer to the mirror. Her eyes were violet, with thick, black lashes. Her nose was the right size and shape for her face and her mouth generous and turned up at the corners as if she were ready to smile at any moment. And, despite the harshness of her life, she was. Until now, she’d never really stopped to compare her life with that of others. She’d always been housed, clothed and fed. She’d always had the affection of Mary and Edward, the friendship of the men and boys who worked on the nearby farms – and in some cases, that of their wives too. And as for the lack of love from her father, well, she’d never known any different. So how was she to know that her life was unduly harsh, very different to what it would have been as the daughter of a loving father? But now she was becoming painfully aware of the differences. She remembered all the times she’d visited the Warrens’ cottage home. How there was affection between each and every member of the family for one another. How Joe treated his daughter, Lily, with the same love he had for his boys. If anything, Charlotte thought wistfully, it was a love that was even more tender and protective. And Lily’s brothers looked out for her too. Charlotte smiled at herself in the mirror. And that was how she thought of Jackson. He was like a brother to her.
Lost in thought, she didn’t hear the quick footsteps on the stairs and she jumped when an urgent knock sounded on her bedroom door.
‘Miss Charlotte, Miss Charlotte. Come quickly.’
Charlotte rose at once and hurried to the door, flinging it open. ‘What is it? What’s the matter? Is it my father?’
‘No – well – yes, in a manner of speaking.’ Mary was standing there, twisting her fingers together agitatedly.
‘Is he ill?’ Charlotte hurried to the head of the stairs and began to run down.
Mary, following close behind, said, ‘No, but he will be if he carries on like he is doing.’
As they reached the hall, Charlotte heard raised voices in the sitting room, her father’s voice loud and angry above another, female, voice. It was not a voice she recognized. She hurried into the room.
There were two visitors in the room with her father, but it was immediately apparent that they were not welcome. Osbert was standing in front of the fireplace, holding on to the mantelpiece as if for support. But he was shaking his fist at the woman standing straight-backed before him and
shouting, ‘Get out! Get out of my house.’
The woman was middle-aged. Tall – stately, Charlotte thought irrationally – and elegantly dressed. Tiny curls of brown hair escaped from beneath her tight-fitting felt cloche hat and she wore a knee-length crossover coat trimmed with fur at the collar and cuffs and fashionable, pointed-toe T-bar shoes. Behind her, a man was standing near the window, keeping out of the altercation. Of medium build – neither fat nor thin – balding and sporting a moustache.
As Charlotte entered the room, they all turned to look at her – the man and the woman with interest, her father with anger. ‘And you can keep out of this, girl. Go to your room and stay there.’
The woman was smiling and coming towards her, her arms stretched wide to embrace Charlotte. ‘My dear, dear girl. We meet at last! Come, kiss your Aunt Euphemia.’
Twenty-Four
In a trance, Charlotte submitted to the woman’s embrace and kiss on her cheek. Then the stranger stood back and held Charlotte at arm’s length. ‘Let me look at you. My, my, such a pretty little thing . . .’
Charlotte smiled weakly, more at the misplaced compliment than anything else. ‘Did you say aunt?’
‘I did indeed. I am your father’s sister.’
Charlotte gasped in surprise. ‘Father’s – sister? I didn’t know he had a sister.’
The woman threw back her head and laughed. ‘Dear me, am I such a black sheep that he hasn’t even mentioned me in all these years? I hoped you might remember us, but then you were only four – or was it five? – when we were last here.’
‘Euphemia . . .’ The warning note in Osbert’s voice was unmistakable, but the woman carried on smoothly, as if she hadn’t heard him and certainly as if she intended to take no notice.
‘I’m the older by four years. And this is my husband, Percy. Percy Bell.’ She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the man standing near the window. He smiled towards Charlotte and gave a courteous little bow. But he made no attempt to approach her, to kiss her cheek or even to shake her hand.
‘We’ve been abroad for many years. Percy worked for the Foreign Office, so we’ve been all over the world. But we’ve come back home to England now Percy’s retired.’ Euphemia linked her arm through Charlotte’s and drew her further into the room. ‘Your father and I had a silly quarrel when—’
‘Euphemia!’ Osbert roared, this time successfully cutting off whatever she had been going to say. ‘That matter is never spoken of in this house. I’ll thank you to hold your tongue.’
She stared at him for a long moment, before saying, with surprising meekness, ‘Very well, Osbert. If you say so.’
‘I do. And you will speak to no one about it. No one, do you hear?’
Charlotte watched the change on the woman’s face. She was staring at her brother, frowning, as if trying to read the reason behind his words – his demand. She gave a slight nod, but this time she made no promise.
Euphemia turned back to Charlotte with a bright, rather forced smile. ‘We’ve taken rooms in Ravensfleet. At the White Swan.’ She patted Charlotte’s hand. ‘You must come and see us there. We can go to Lincoln on a shopping spree and—’
‘She’ll do no such thing,’ Osbert spat. ‘I don’t want her looking like some – ’ he gestured towards his sister – ‘some woman of the streets.’
‘Oh I say, old boy, steady on,’ Percy murmured and began to move towards his wife, as if in support. But Euphemia waved him away, ‘Don’t worry, my dear; I’m used to my brother’s insults.’
Osbert moved stiffly from his stance near the fireplace to sit in his chair. He made no offer of refreshment for them nor did he even invite them to sit down. ‘I wish you good day, Euphemia. You are not welcome in this house.’
For a moment there was stunned silence. But then the woman laughed gaily. ‘Nonsense, Osbert. You are my only living relative. I want us to put the past behind us.’ She released her hold on Charlotte and moved to stand on the hearthrug in front of her brother. Charlotte glanced at her uncle. He was watching the proceedings, but taking no part now.
‘We were close once, Osbert,’ Euphemia said softly.
‘We were never close,’ Osbert barked, his frown deepening. He nodded towards Percy. ‘You married him against Father’s wishes and ran off to Timbuktu or wherever it was.’
‘India, actually, old boy.’ Percy spoke for the first time. ‘And we didn’t run off, as you put it. My work was out there already, as you very well know.’ He spoke with a well-bred, superior tone of voice, but his eyes twinkled merrily when he glanced at Charlotte. She watched him stroke his moustache and heard a low chuckle.
He’s enjoying this, Charlotte thought. I wonder why?
Osbert was scowling at them both now. ‘Nevertheless, you were out there when Father died and I was left to run this place on my own. At twenty.’
Euphemia laughed, a merry sound that was at once infectious. ‘And you’re trying to tell me you wanted it any other way? What could I have done? A mere girl?’
Charlotte caught her breath. So, she thought, her father’s antagonism against girls went even further back. It sounded as if his attitude towards his sister had been the same as it was now towards his daughter. But at her aunt’s next words, Charlotte realized that the feeling went back a generation further.
‘Father always made it perfectly clear that I – as a daughter – would inherit nothing.’
‘That’s why he wanted you to marry well. So that you’d be provided for and not be a burden on me.’ He glanced with a sneer at Percy, who was still smiling benevolently. Charlotte doubted the man could be offended, however hard one tried. And it seemed her father was trying to do just that.
Osbert sniffed. ‘He didn’t think a junior in the Foreign Office would ever amount to much.’
‘Well, he was wrong,’ Euphemia said tartly. ‘Percy did amount to something. He rose to an important position, as a matter of fact. We’ve had a wonderful life and he’s retired on a very nice pension which allows us to do just what we like. But I would have married him anyway. We, Osbert dear, married for love, but of course you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you? When I think of poor, dear Alice—’
Osbert sprang to his feet with an agility that Charlotte had not seen for years. He thrust his face close to Euphemia’s and spat out the words, his spittle showering her face. ‘Her name – is – not – to be spoken – in – this – house. Do – you – hear – me?’
Euphemia blinked, but remarkably she kept her composure. ‘I can hardly fail to, Osbert,’ she said calmly.
‘No need for that, old boy,’ Percy put in mildly.
Osbert turned his venom on his brother-in-law. ‘I am not your “old boy”. I believe I am a good ten years younger than you, if I remember rightly. And now I’d be obliged if you would leave my house. As I said, you are not welcome here.’
‘But Father, surely – ?’ Charlotte took a step forwards, but her father flung out his hand towards her, pointing his forefinger threateningly. ‘And you can hold your tongue, girl. This is no concern of yours.’
‘Oh, but I think it is, Osbert. Surely even you would not stop me becoming acquainted with my own niece? Especially if, in view of Percy having done so very well in his career, I give you my word, brother dear, that I shall never become a burden on you or your daughter when she inherits. That’s if I outlive you, of course.’
Osbert’s eyes gleamed. ‘There’s no fear of that.’ His voice was silky with malice.
Euphemia laughed. ‘What? That I shall outlive you?’
Osbert shook his head. ‘No, not that.’ His eyes narrowed as he said, ‘Of my daughter’ – he said the word as if the very feel of it on his tongue was abhorrent to him – ‘inheriting Buckthorn Farm.’
Euphemia gaped at him and Charlotte couldn’t prevent a startled gasp.
‘I don’t understand – ’ Euphemia’s glance went from one to the other.
‘It’s not for you to understand,’
Osbert snapped. ‘It’s none of your business.’
‘But she’s your only child, isn’t she? And she’s not married, is she?’ She turned to Charlotte. ‘Are you?’
Wordlessly, Charlotte shook her head.
There was silence in the room. Everyone seemed like a statue, stunned into stillness. Osbert, having delivered the bombshell, calmly sat back down in his chair.
‘You mean to tell me,’ Euphemia said, her own temper rising now, ‘that you are not going to leave the farm to your daughter? Your only child?’
‘That’s correct.’
Charlotte, her eyes wide, stared at her father and put out her hand to the nearest chair to steady herself. Her legs felt weak and her head was swimming. So it was true. She was hearing it now from his own mouth. He was not going to leave the farm to her. She knew only too well that her being a daughter had disappointed him deeply, but she’d never thought that his bitterness was quite so vindictive.
‘My dear girl.’ Percy moved solicitously towards her. ‘Are you all right? You look as if you’ve had a shock. D’you mean to tell me that you’d no idea?’
‘Not – not really.’
‘Appalling,’ the kindly man said. ‘Absolutely appalling!’ But whether he meant the fact that she was to be left penniless or that she hadn’t known her fate was unclear. Probably he meant both, Charlotte thought.
Her aunt was still locked in a battle of wills with Osbert.
‘You’re quite right, as always, Percy dear,’ she murmured, though her gaze was still on her brother. ‘That is exactly the word for it.’ She paused and, with her head on one side, added, ‘Then who, if I might be so bold, is to inherit?’
‘Philip Thornton.’
As her legs finally gave way beneath her, Charlotte sank into a chair.
‘And who’s he when he’s at home?’ Euphemia demanded.
‘None of your business,’ Osbert snapped again.
At last, summoning all her strength, Charlotte said quietly, ‘The Thorntons have just come to live at the manor.’
Sons and Daughters Page 16