She had to trot to keep up with the steward. Mr Farrow was stamping his cold feet and blowing into his cupped hands as he waited outside the shop door for her, but he knew better than to complain to the steward. He said, ‘I trust everything is in order, Mr Stanton.’
‘I need to speak with you about your maid,’ the steward replied. ‘Call into my office at the stables after his lordship’s Boxing Day hunt.’
‘Of course, sir.’ He pushed open the shop door as the steward went off to collect his horse from the churchyard. ‘What have you been doing, my lass?’
‘Nothing, Mr Farrow. Honest, I haven’t.’
‘Well, something must have gone on for him to want to see me. Whatever it was, don’t you go saying nothing to Mrs Farrow. I don’t want her upset until I know what this is about.’ He looked down at her with a pitying expression on his face. ‘Dear me, lass, you’ve been such a boon to us so far, I hope you’ve not gone and done summat daft. You’d best not venture out without Mrs Farrow until I’ve listened to what Mr Stanton has to say. I’ll not have a scandal linked with my shop.’
‘Boyd promised me a riding lesson tomorrow.’
‘You heard what I said. If you’ve been up to something with one of them stable lads – ee, lass, I thought you knew better.’
Daisy gave up her protest. She knew what people thought when young girls got wed all of a sudden, especially if it was to somebody they hadn’t walked out with. Mr Farrow was going to think the worst when he found out the steward’s plans for her. Mrs Farrow might believe the truth though, Daisy thought wearily as she lit a candle and climbed the creaking stairs to her attic. She would be sorry to leave the butcher’s house. Mrs Farrow had put a wrapped hot brick on top of her nightgown in her bed and Daisy undressed quickly, snuggling down into the warmth. It was Christmas Day already and she dreamed of catching a glimpse of Master James at the Boxing Day hunt.
Mr Farrow, his bulging tummy wrapped in a clean blue apron, stood in front of his shop with a broad smile on his face and wished the compliments of the season to all who passed whether they were buying from him or not. It was a busy Christmas morning in Redfern Village and the Farrow household was no exception.
Daisy carried the Christmas pudding, well wrapped in a greased cloth, to the pan of water simmering on the range. She had helped Mrs Farrow make it weeks ago and had never seen so many dried fruits go into one pudding. Mrs Farrow had put just as much in the fruit cake that stood in the small parlour beside a slab of crumbly Wensleydale cheese for Christmas tea by the log fire. Daisy thought that the butcher’s wife was justly proud of her pudding for she used a recipe that had come from the Abbey kitchen. She looked forward to tasting it and resolved not to eat too much Yorkshire pudding to begin with so she would have room.
Mrs Farrow was fully occupied cooking Christmas dinner while Daisy fetched and carried for her as well as helping at the shop counter. Beef was still the most popular choice for Christmas dinner in the village, although Mr Farrow told her about the turkeys that the chef cooked at the Abbey. ‘Much bigger than a goose,’ he commented, adding, ‘Too much for the three of us, but I might buy in one or two for the shop next Christmas.’ As the morning wore on she became intoxicated by the mingling smells of burning Yule log and roasting goose that reached every corner of the house. At mid-morning Mr Farrow poured glasses of sherry for all of them and within minutes Daisy’s cheeks were glowing.
Mrs Farrow was more excited than her usual cheerful self as they took their seats to eat a meal that was large compared to their regular Sunday feast. She was to see her son and grandchildren this afternoon and Daisy knew that nothing pleased her more. She had helped Mrs Farrow wrap new toys as presents for the children.
‘You are quiet this morning, Mr Farrow,’ his wife commented. ‘I do hope you’re not coming down with anything.’
‘’Tis nothing, my love,’ he responded. ‘Did the gypsy lad polish up the trap?’
‘He did that. He’s not a gypsy, dearest, he just looks like one. He buffed up the tack and rubbed down the pony, too, and his pa was right pleased with their rib trimmings and suet when he called to collect him.’
‘Have you plenty to keep young Daisy busy while we’re out visiting?’ Mr Farrow asked.
‘She is going over to the stables to see her brother.’
Her employer turned on his serious expression. ‘She saw him last night at church. Didn’t you, lass?’
‘He said he would give me a riding lesson,’ Daisy explained.
‘Oh I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you, lass.’ Mr Farrow stared hard at her until she replied, ‘No sir. The ground is too frosty.’
‘When our own lass were at home,’ he went on, ‘on a Christmas afternoon she made pies to take out to hunt followers on Boxing Day and turned in a tidy penny or two. It stood her in good stead for when she asked for a new gown.’
‘Indeed it did, sir,’ his own wife echoed. ‘And Daisy will be wanting new boots before this winter is out. That is a splendid notion, husband. She will be too busy to be lonely while we are out. Will you leave her a few coppers for the Lucky Birds?’
‘Aye, they’ll be round after dinner as sure as God made little apples.’
This cheered Daisy for she liked children and they sang a Christmas hymn before knocking on the door and adding, ‘We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Please may we be the Lucky Birds here!’
Mrs Farrow smiled at her. ‘We’ll be back before you know we’ve gone and we’ll bring Spanish chestnuts to roast around the Yule log.’
Daisy managed a smile in return. She didn’t mind not having a riding lesson, but she was desperate to see Boyd and talk about last night. She was sure he had been as upset as she by the steward’s plans. Mr Farrow’s insistent stare at her had not been about the riding. It concerned her staying away from the stables until he had spoken with the steward about her apparent misdemeanour.
Mr Farrow continued his paternal control. ‘We shall all go over to the Abbey for the hunt tomorrow. What do you say, Mrs Farrow?’
This seemed to settle the matter and Daisy spent a pleasant enough Christmas afternoon and evening giving her plenty of time to reflect on her reasons for not wedding some estate worker chosen for her by the steward.
Mr Farrow drove his wife and Daisy in the trap with her baskets of pies. It was another sharp day and the grass was crisp underfoot. The sun was out but it never climbed high in the sky at this time of year and there was no warmth in its weak rays. The trap overtook a constant straggle of village folk, shoulders hunched against the cold, walking in the same direction, anxious not to miss the opening spectacle, and already folk were buying her pies.
It really was a very grand occasion, one of the few where servants and villagers were allowed on the parkland in front of the Abbey. Gentry from across the Riding paraded astride beautifully groomed horses with plaited manes and tails and steam pushing from their nostrils, and they champed at their bits impatient to begin their gallop. Incredibly, Daisy thought, his lordship surveyed the gathering from his Bath chair at the top of the stone steps outside the Abbey entrance.
Master James was there, splendid in hunting pink. He was so dashing and handsome on a fine chestnut horse that Daisy was distracted enough to drop a pie so that it broke apart in her basket. She was too far away for him to notice her and there were hunting ladies in neatly tailored jackets and matching skirts spread attractively over their side saddles to catch his attention.
Indeed the ladies’ headgear fascinated Daisy too. They wore high hats with veils that covered their faces and underneath their long hair was caught up in velvet snoods. She watched one elegant lady lean down to take a glass of stirrup cup from a servant with a silver tray. The rider carefully lifted the edge of her veil to tip the warming drink down her throat.
Hungry hunt followers crowded around the trap.
‘What pies have you, miss?’
‘Bacon or mutton,’ Daisy answered automatical
ly and handed the coppers to Mrs Farrow.
More riders walked their mounts from the stables to join the group and then the dogs arrived, snapping and yapping and wagging their erect tails, anxious to be away and pick up a scent. It seemed, to Daisy’s inexperienced eye, a scene of total chaos.
Then she heard the horn and the atmosphere became charged as riders marshalled their horses into order. Barking reached a crescendo, the pack broke away, the horn called again and the horses followed, their hooves thundering across the cold hard ground.
‘Redfern Moor!’ someone yelled. ‘He’s drawing across the moor!’ and an excited band of followers chased after them, some riding, others running and the rest walking.
‘Old reynard’ll lead them a merry dance over yonder and if he’s fast they’ll lose him. He’ll go to ground in the woods.’ Mr Farrow picked up the reins and turned the pony’s head. ‘They’ll end up in Redfern woods and walk back down the drover track. We’ll pick up the followers there.’
‘Oh, Mr Farrow,’ his wife exclaimed, ‘that track is very rocky. It’ll jolt me to pieces.’
‘You’re right. It won’t do my trap any good either.’
‘But what about the pies I have left, Mr Farrow?’ Daisy added.
‘We’ve sold the best of them,’ Mrs Farrow commented. ‘Shall we set Daisy down with her basket? She can walk back to the village when they’ve all gone.’
Daisy was ready to agree, but Mr Farrow was not. ‘She stays with us,’ he said.
‘Well, take the trap round to the stables. She can sell what’s left there.’
‘Aye. I have an interview with the steward.’
‘You have, Mr Farrow? What does he want with you?’
‘It’s business, my dear. You’ll find out soon enough.’
Daisy kept her eyes on the pie hamper on the trap floor as Mr Farrow walked the pony down the tradesmen’s track to the stables at the back of the Abbey. If Mrs Farrow knew that she knew, she wouldn’t stop pressing her until she had the truth. Anyway, she might see Boyd so Daisy cheered at the prospect. Boyd was on her side and he would have thought of a way out for her.
Mr Farrow drove the trap through the archway under the clock tower and tethered his pony while he went in search of the steward. Several coaches with monogrammed doors were lined up without their horses in the middle of the square. Outside the servants’ housing, coachmen and footmen in liveries that Daisy had not seen before talked and laughed, huddled in small groups.
Mrs Farrow stood up suddenly. ‘I cannot sit in here any more. My toes are chilled to the bone. That’s the Fitzkeppel coat of arms on that coach over there. Surely they haven’t come back from Italy? I’m off to find out. Daisy, you run along to the stalls with your basket and find a few hungry stable lads. Half price for what’s left.’
‘Mr Farrow said I had to stay with you.’
‘Do as I say, dear. There’s a good girl.’
Effectively dismissed, Daisy did as she was told and went to look for Boyd only to find that he had been sent out early on horseback to flush out the fox. Disappointed, she left her basket on a mounting stone and wandered into the stable where Boyd kept his ponies. The doors were wide open, the stalls empty and swept. Daisy sighed. She was tired from yesterday’s baking and today’s early start. She climbed the ladder to the hayloft, which was actually full of straw, to wait for him. She took off her bonnet, lay back, closed her eyes and let her mind drift …
First of all she was aware of the straw rustling and then a soft voice.
‘Daisy?’
Where was she? For a second she could not think. She blinked. It was daylight. A piece of straw scratched at her neck and she shifted awkwardly. A pair of riding boots crossed her line of vision. Expensive boots, new boots, barely scuffed at all.
‘Daisy?’
She sat up straight. ‘Master James?’
‘I saw your pie basket on the mounting stone.’
‘What are you doing here, in that jacket?’ It was a plain dark one, the kind worn by the stable lads for church.
‘I borrowed it so I wouldn’t be noticed.’
‘But shouldn’t you be with the hunt?’
‘They won’t miss me for a while. I saw you in a trap earlier and doubled back to find you.’
Her heart leapt but her eyes were troubled. ‘You mustn’t! I’m not allowed to talk to you.’
‘Who says?’ He sounded genuinely surprised.
She looked up and saw a face that was hurt and puzzled at the same time. ‘It was Mr Stanton—’
‘Oh him? He thinks he can behave as my guardian does.’ He sounded more resigned than angry about this.
‘He doesn’t want us to be together.’
Master James sat down on the straw beside her. ‘I want us to be together. Since I first saw you on the track by the gates I’ve wanted to find out about you. Every time I have seen you I have wanted to know more about you.’
Daisy stared at him. She felt the same but dared not say so. ‘I shouldn’t talk to you. You’re the master and I’m a servant.’
‘It doesn’t make a difference to us, though. Does it?’ Daisy became wary and wondered what he meant. He went on, ‘I’ve tried to work out what it is that attracts me so. It’s you, just you. I want to be with you.’
‘And I you,’ she murmured.
‘Do you feel it, too?’
Daisy chewed her lip, regretting her admission, and asked, ‘What is it you want from me, Master James?’
‘I want to know who you are and why I am so drawn to you and—’ he stopped and lifted her chin gently to look directly in her eyes. ‘Why should you think I must want something from you? Because one day I shall be the master, you believe I shall demand my droit de seigneur from you?’
She blushed at his directness and he shook his head slowly. ‘You do not know me, Daisy, and I wish to rectify that. We must meet and talk so that we may learn about each other properly.’
‘We can’t. Mr Stanton won’t allow it.’
‘He cannot stop us. His job is to show me how the estate is run so that I’ll do the same when his lordship – when my real father inherits.’
Daisy wasn’t sure if she was supposed to know about his real father. But she did, so she asked, ‘Won’t he – your real father – want to do that for himself?’
‘He’s not interested in running the estate. It’s the only thing he and my guardian agree on, though they haven’t the least notion of it because they have never spoken to each other.’
‘Never?’
‘Apparently not,’ Master James shrugged. ‘Lawyers write letters instead.’
Daisy thought he sounded sad and could think of nothing helpful to say. Suddenly, he picked up her hand and traced the lines on her palm with his index finger. ‘I was cheered no end to see you in church and you looked so lovely in your bonnet. I wanted to stay behind and talk to you then but it was difficult to get away. Lord Redfern insists that I am beside him for most of his waking time. Are you living in the village?’
‘I have a position and lodgings at the butcher’s.’
‘You do? That is excellent news. We shall be able to meet when I’m home from the university.’
Daisy gave a slight shake of her head. ‘Mr Stanton won’t allow it.’
‘I’ve told you. He cannot dictate what I do.’
But he can order my life as he sees fit, she thought. She pressed her lips together in a personal gesture of defiance. If Master James took her side he might persuade the steward to see reason. Yet even as the notion flitted across her mind she dismissed it. It would make the situation worse in Mr Stanton’s view. Besides, she daren’t ask Boyd to risk his position and she was already disregarding the steward’s wishes.
Master James bent his head and kissed the palm of her hand making her skin tingle. ‘You do like me, don’t you?’ he asked.
I love you, she thought. It was strange to feel this way about someone she hardly knew so she kept her silence as he tu
rned back her cloak and pushed up her sleeve. He bent his head and very gently trailed his lips along her arm. She didn’t stop him so she supposed he had his answer.
She was finding it really difficult to resist him and made no attempt to move away. No one had so much as kissed her hand before and she became lightheaded as though she were sickening for something. As his mouth explored the crook of her elbow, the tingling spread to more private areas of her body and she wanted to kiss the luxuriant dark hair on the back of his head.
The sound of voices drifted up through the open stable door and brought her sharply back to reality.
‘I left her in the trap with my good wife, sir, but her basket is here.’
‘Well, she isn’t in here with her brother. I cannot spend any more time on this. You understand what you have to say to her?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good man. You can be sure the Abbey chef will order mutton from the new breed on your son’s farm.’
‘Thank you, sir. Good day to you, sir.’
The voices drifted away.
‘Stanton.’ Master James sat up. ‘He mustn’t find me here.’
‘He’s with Mr Farrow, my employer. I’ll go down and show myself.’
‘Very well.’ He kissed her palm again as she scrambled to her feet and picked straw off her gown. ‘Wait.’ He tugged at some persistent stalks from the back of her skirts. ‘I’ll come and find you in the village.’
He clambered after her to kiss her forehead as she climbed down the ladder but it only served to make her frown and she hoped he hadn’t noticed. She wasn’t stupid. Would anyone believe that she had not encouraged him? Reluctantly, she realised that no one would and why would they when it wasn’t true? In spite of James’s reassurance, she remembered Boyd’s warning about the gentry and the way they treated their maids.
The Lost And Found Girl Page 27