Tall Poppies

by Janet Woods

  ‘I still can’t marry you, Richard.’

  ‘Why not? Is it because of what my father has done to you?’

  Her head jerked up. ‘How did you know about that?’

  ‘Beamish told me about the state my father was in, and gave me the torn-up cheque. I put two and two together and spoke to my father about it. He confessed to what he’d done, so I sent him packing.’

  ‘And now you feel it’s your duty to marry me.’ She placed her hands to her face and tears trickled between her fingers. ‘I’m so ashamed . . . he was drunk and I couldn’t fight him off, and couldn’t shout for help because he had his hand over my mouth. I didn’t want you to know, Richard . . . didn’t want you to worry . . . or think I led him on. He . . . he hurt me.’

  When he pulled her hands down and gazed into her eyes he could hardly breathe for the bewildered hurt he saw there. ‘Believe me, Livia, it’s got nothing to do with duty. I’ve thought it through.’ He placed a kiss against her temple. ‘Nobody need know about the assault. I love you . . . and I thought you cared for me a little.’

  ‘I do care for you . . . I care for you a lot. I just can’t marry you. It wouldn’t be fair.’

  ‘Why the hell not?’

  The tears began to flow again. ‘Because . . . I’m not sure, but I think I might be expecting a baby.’

  Her words came as a shock to him. He hadn’t considered . . . no wonder she’d been down in the mouth lately. He considered it now, but only for a few seconds. Nobody could accuse him of not being decisive, he thought wryly as he summoned up a smile. ‘So, if we marry I’ll have a legitimate heir to pass on the Sinclair estate to. That will solve that problem.’

  She looked shocked now. ‘But it wouldn’t be your child, so that would be dishonest.’

  ‘Nobody but us would know that . . . and dishonesty doesn’t come into it. I’d be related to the child by blood, and since he’d be my brother he’d be my heir anyway, even though the Sinclair strain would be well diluted. He wouldn’t inherit if he were born on the wrong side of the blanket, though. As it stands, my name can go on the birth certificate and everything will be hunky-dory.’

  ‘I don’t know, Richard. I don’t feel right taking advantage of your kindness.’

  ‘Kindness, be damned! Haven’t you been listening, woman? I adore the hell out of you. Did you have a better plan for the infant, my dear? A visit to some grubby woman in a backstreet who calls herself a midwife, perhaps?’

  She placed her hands over her ears and shuddered. ‘Don’t, Richard. I won’t listen.’

  He pulled her hands away, kissed the soft skin at each temple. ‘Marry me and we’ll all have our needs met. Your respectability will remain intact. The Sinclair trust will have an heir, the baby a name as well as a home, and you and the twins will have a future together.’

  He knew she was going to agree when the tension drained from her body. He held all the cards and she had nowhere else to turn. She knew it, too. Her brown eyes engaged his, still wounded, but considering the possibility. He turned the screw, just a little.

  ‘To be honest, my dear, I’d quite like people to believe I was manly enough to be a proper husband and father a child, even if it turns out that I’m not.’

  A delicious blush dusted her face and a smile edged across her lips as she gazed at him. All the same, she looked troubled, and she had reason to be. Damn his father for ruining this girl with his bullishness. She was his girl!

  He took her face between his hands before she could turn away, and engaged her eyes. ‘I wouldn’t insist on anything physical between us.’

  ‘I know you wouldn’t, Richard. But yes, I’ll marry you, and I wouldn’t deny you anything that would make you happy . . . not you, my dear.’

  He kissed her mouth very gently and pulled away, doubtful of whether the question of intimacy would arise, and in more ways than one.

  ‘There is something I haven’t asked you, but need to, Livia. Can you bring yourself to love this baby?’

  ‘How can I not love an innocent baby? Will you?’

  ‘Yes . . . I’ll love him, just as long as I can.’

  ‘There’s one thing I’d like to say, Richard.’

  ‘Which is?’

  Her hands went to her stomach in a protective manner. ‘You talk about this infant as though it’s going to be a boy. It could quite easily be a girl, you know.’

  He chuckled. ‘Better still, especially if she looks like you. It wouldn’t make any difference to the trust.’ He took the ring from his pocket and slid it on her finger. ‘This belonged to my mother. I didn’t have time to go into town before I came here, but I will buy you one of your own if you prefer.’

  ‘You needn’t, this one is lovely, and it fits perfectly. I won’t wear it at work, though.’

  He laughed. ‘You won’t be working for me for much longer. I shall have to find a new housekeeper. I was thinking that Beamish and Florence might like to live in the cottage until Beamish is no longer needed. They’ve planned to wed, and he has long-term plans of his own.’

  ‘I’ll be sorry to leave this cottage when we’ve just settled in.’

  ‘We’ll have to do the legalities quickly, and privately, though I’ll have to inform Beamish. I’ll make an appointment with the bishop to obtain a special licence and we can be wed in three or four days.’

  ‘What will we tell him?’

  ‘The truth.’ He chuckled at the alarm on her face. ‘Half of it, anyway. I’ll tell him that going through the usual rigmarole will be too gruelling for my condition. Then we’ll alert the reverend. We’ll go to the church, and the staff can act as witnesses. Will that suit you?’

  Denton came into her mind and she was beset by unease as she wondered what he would say in the letter he intended to write to her. He didn’t seem like a man who would be put off easily. But then, he was unaware of all the circumstances surrounding her, something she wasn’t about to tell him. If he found out, she hoped he wouldn’t feel too badly of her.

  ‘Can we invite Doctor Elliot and Helen, since he’s more of a friend than a doctor, and we can’t invite one without the other. He can let Denton know . . . afterwards.’

  He nodded. They were both taking the coward’s way out where Denton was concerned. He hoped his childhood friend would understand when he discovered the reason for the hasty marriage.

  Livia needed him, when it was usually the other way round. He liked the feeling.

  Eleven

  Livia had been tempted to wear the gown the late Margaret Sangster had given her, the one her mother had designed. But the wedding was to be a quiet one, so a ballgown would be out of place. Amongst the rather old-fashioned wardrobe she’d inherited was an unfussy but elegant pink suit with a tunic top. The skirt had a handkerchief hem, the points of which reached her ankles, and she found a pair of kid shoes with Louis heels and a strap across the instep.

  Esmé helped, choosing from a variety of hats a wide-brimmed cream creation weighed down with pink silk roses.

  ‘It’s rather large; hat’s are smaller now,’ Livia told her.

  Esmé looked disappointed. ‘But you’re a bride, and the hat looks pretty with the suit.’

  It seemed as though Esmé was developing their mother’s fashion sense, and Livia smiled at her. ‘Yes, I suppose it does. All right, I’ll wear it just for you.’

  She removed half of the flowers, which made the hat lighter, and sewed them on to a pink velvet ribbon to wear at her wrist.

  She hoped the frantic gasps of the mad March wind wouldn’t carry the hat away.

  ‘You look like a princess,’ Esmé said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

  ‘So do you.’ Livia had kept Esmé home from school for the occasion, and had made her a pretty pink-flowered cotton frock with puffed sleeves, using the sewing machine that lived in the back room. She’d bought her a pink mohair cape with pearl buttons to wear over it, and in her hair she wore a large pink satin bow.

  They
telephoned Chad at school to tell him the news. Cautiously he asked her, ‘Does that mean the captain is going to be my stepfather?’

  ‘No, since I’m your sister, not your mother. Richard will be your brother-in-law.’

  ‘Super, I wouldn’t mind having a big brother. I mean, girls are all right, but sometimes they don’t understand a chap as well as another chap. Good luck then, Livia. How is Esmé keeping now?’

  ‘Her cough has almost gone and she’s eating more and has more energy.’

  ‘Oh, jolly good. And Bertie? I expect he misses me.’

  ‘I expect he does, but he’s sprightly, and we keep him busy so he doesn’t pine. Whiskers chases him around the cottage and we take him for walks every evening. Oh, by the way, we’ll be moving into Foxglove House.’

  ‘Wizard! Mrs Starling is a much better cook than you are. I say, Livia, would you send me some of her gingerbread. They starve us half to death in this school.’

  Livia doubted it. ‘How’s your Latin going?’

  He said casually, ‘Oh, not so bad. I came fourth in class in the exam, thanks to the captain cramming me.’

  ‘Well done!’

  ‘It was nothing really. I don’t know why I was so worried about it. You can tell the captain if you like. He should be pleased, I imagine.’

  ‘He’s here if you’d like to talk to him yourself.’

  ‘Rather!’ And the comment was voiced with such enthusiasm that she nearly laughed.

  ‘Hello, Chad, I hope you don’t mind me marrying your sister.’

  Their faces touched as they shared the earpiece, and Livia heard the conversation clearly.

  ‘No, I don’t mind, if you don’t, Sir. Congratulations.’

  ‘How’s school treating you? Have you made any friends yet?’

  ‘Crumbs, lots of them . . . I’ve made a best friend, too. His name is Peter Laker. He’s a spiffing chap, and is going to teach me how to play tennis when summer comes.’

  ‘I’ll have to buy you a tennis racquet then.’

  The conversation became a man-to-man of sports and school, including the fact that Richard had been the captain of the first eleven in his final year, while Denton had merely won the biology prize by dissecting a cow’s eye.

  ‘I wonder if he killed the cow first; I must ask him,’ Richard said, and laughed. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen any one-eyed cows wandering around the school grounds?’

  Chad burst into howls of laughter.

  ‘It wasn’t that funny,’ Livia said. ‘As for you, Richard Sangster, ugh, you’re horrid. I shall never look at Denton the same way again.’

  ‘Never mind. Look at it this way. I expect he needed to develop his sadistic side.’

  ‘Men! I shall go and make us some tea while the pair of you are playing at being magnificent males,’ she whispered, and Richard drew her to his side, kissed her ear and whispered, ‘I love you,’ before allowing her to go.

  Livia smiled, thinking how confident Chad was becoming since he’d left the orphanage. She would never do anything to spoil his progress, and Richard had known that, and had used it. But in her own way she loved Richard, and nothing would ever change that.

  Sliding the engagement ring on to her hand, she waited for Beamish to pick them up for the church.

  The letter from Denton arrived just before Beamish, conveyed on a post office tricycle with a huge wicker basket on the front. It was in a pale blue envelope, addressed to Miss Livia Carr, in firm, clear handwriting.

  In half-an-hour she would no longer be Miss Livia Carr, but Mrs Richard Sangster. Nerves sang along her spine as she wondered again: was she doing the right thing?

  She had no choice. Without opening the letter she pressed her lips against the seal and whispered, ‘Forgive me, my Denton,’ then reluctantly slid it unopened into the desk drawer when she heard the car. She didn’t want to think of Denton and feel guilty on her wedding day.

  Beamish smiled at her. ‘May I say you’ll do the captain proud, Miss Carr. You look as though you’ve dressed for each other . . . and you as well, Miss Esmé. The pair of you are as pretty as a picture.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Beamish. Did everyone get to the church without any bother?’

  ‘Yes. It caused quite a stir when they realized what was going on, and their tongues have been clacking ever since. Florence isn’t speaking to me because I didn’t tell her . . . I must be thankful for small mercies, I suppose.’

  Livia laughed.

  ‘Some of the villagers have turned up, too, though God knows how they got wind of it. From the reverend’s wife, I expect.’

  Livia handed Esmé a little basket of silk roses to carry and smiled at her sister, thinking, if it weren’t for Richard the girl would still be in the orphanage, and probably ailing from lack of nourishment. ‘Come on then, Esmé, let’s go and get married.’

  She had half expected that Richard would have worn his uniform, but waiting for her was a dapper young man in an almost flamboyant cream suit. He looked like a young God with his fine-featured, boyish face, his golden curls and exquisite blue eyes. He had a sprig of pink blossom pinned to his wide lapel. No wonder Beamish had said they’d dressed for each other.

  He looked handsome and healthy, as though he was about to spring from his seat, take her in his arms and dance a foxtrot. Then he stood painfully and shuffled into position, breathing heavily and supported on Beamish’s arm, before eventually being transferred to hers and a walking stick. Fine tremors wracked his body. Beamish took a step back so he was within reach should he be needed.

  She drew in a breath when Richard gave her a wide, happy smile.

  She was less sure of this marriage, and tried not to think of Denton’s letter waiting for her. She was very aware of the fact there was probably an infant growing inside her, a little being, who in innocence and ignorance would have a claim on her time and her love. It was the ultimate lie, she thought. The child could never know its creation was less than immaculate, and would probably never know, or remember, the man who’d unselfishly offered his name as a birthright. Enabling the child to grow within the security of his name as it lived its life was the ultimate proof of Richard’s love. She would tell the child his father was a hero.

  The sun chose that moment to briefly illuminate the window behind the altar, and they were bathed in colour as though the marriage was being blessed.

  The reverend gently coughed and the ceremony began.

  It didn’t take long to dispose of her blemished spinsterhood. Richard repeated the vows in a clear, calm voice, as if absolutely certain that what they were doing was the right thing in his eyes.

  Resentment flooded through her at the thought that this beautiful man had made his sacrifice, and was standing in the queue waiting for God to collect him. Short of a miracle, there was nothing anybody could do about it. Meanwhile, he was trying to snatch just a little normality and happiness out of his suffering.

  She felt every word of the ceremony with acute but useless anguish.

  Now it was her turn to give account of herself, and her voice reflected the emotion in the moment.

  ‘I take thee, Richard Sinclair Sangster, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and to obey, till death do us part . . .’

  There was a poignant moment in the ceremony when her voice faltered and tears pricked against her eyelids. She wanted to shout out: It isn’t fair! Richard’s hand gently squeezed hers, strengthening her as she completed the vow, ‘ . . . according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.’

  As they left the church a boisterous gust of wind snatched off her hat and sent it bowling across the field.

  Richard laughed when Beamish was about to run after it. ‘Let it escape. By the time you catch it, it will be covered in mud. I’ll buy her a new one.’

  Dr Elliot arrived to join his wife. He waylaid them to give Livia a kiss and
to shake Richard’s hand. ‘The best of luck you two. I can’t see your father anywhere, Richard, couldn’t he make it?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. Are you coming back to the house, Doctor? We have champagne.’

  ‘I can’t, I have my rounds to finish. How lovely you look, Livia. I’m almost tempted to make my patients wait . . . though I don’t think Mrs Miller’s baby will appreciate it. Hmmm . . . I’ve missed one cheek, so you look a little lopsided.’ He kissed her again on the other cheek, laughing, ‘There, that’s better.’

  ‘May I point out that kissing Livia is now my privilege,’ Richard said.

  ‘And kissing you is mine, Doctor Elliot,’ Helen reprimanded, and the doctor laughed and surprised his wife with a kiss on the lips.

  They crowded into the Austin, the staff squashing into the back seat, laughing and making jokes as they splashed through the potholes.

  Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow Livia would interview a new housekeeper, and she, who’d not long ago been the maid-of-all-work, would take her place as the mistress of the house.

  Beamish had arranged for a photographer to record the wedding. They posed in the conservatory, Richard seated, Livia claiming him, standing with her ring hand on his shoulder so the platinum band was obvious. Esmé was at the front, clearly loving being dressed up, but looking self-conscious at being noticed.

  The photographs would be a reminder for her in the years to come, the players gazing stiffly out at her from silver frames lined up on the piano. Except for Richard, who looked as though he was about to burst from happiness. It was humbling to realize that a man like Richard could love her.

  He began to look tired when they got to the champagne toasts. Livia stayed by his side while Beamish made a short speech. Richard responded, his voice shaking a little. He flinched at the end when Matthew Bugg popped the cork from a second bottle of champagne prematurely, and she witnessed a moment of fright and panic in his eyes.