Marion pulled her mother into her arms, holding her silently for a while. Eventually, she spoke.
“Mother, we will survive. I know it. If selling the cottage is the only way, then we must do it. I want no debt hanging over you. But who will we sell it to?”
“Mr Barstow will be interested – he’s recently married, and I know that he was looking for a cottage for his mother. I suspect that his new wife does not enjoy sharing the manor with her husband’s mother.”
Marion nodded, remembering overhearing a conversation outside the church, after Sunday’s service. Jane went on, her expression serious.
“And young John Sawyer is looking to marry and will be wanting to be out of his parent’s home. He’s done well for himself, so he may well be able to afford it. I will go and speak to both of them tomorrow. If they each know that someone else is interested, perhaps they will offer a higher price.”
“That may be. But, if they buy, where will we go?”
“To start, we’ll simply take a room at the Inn. After that, I’m not sure. I’m still thinking about that.”
~~~~~
By the end of the second week, all had been arranged. The cottage was sold, to Mr Barstow, for a better price than Jane had expected, and he had paid extra for them to leave the furniture – which suited them, for they had no place to store it, and no way to carry it with them.
On a sunny July morning – a ludicrously cheerful seeming day for such a momentous event – Jane, Marion and Daniel left the cottage in Bridgemere for the last time. Jane had arranged a room at the Tower Arms Inn, and, on their arrival, settled Marion and Daniel in, with their meagre collection of belongings, before seeking out the bailiff, who she had seen in the Inn’s parlour when they arrived.
“Good day to you sir. I have here the required payment. I trust that you are able to provide me with a receipt for this, now, proving that I have paid, and that the debt is cleared?”
“Of course, Mrs Canfield. I am not one of those who would try to cheat a woman.”
He called for the Innkeep to provide pen, ink and paper, watched as Jane counted out the money, then wrote a formal receipt and statement of the debt being cleared, in a tidy hand. Jane watched, checking every word, then, once he signed it, he handed her that, and she passed him the money.
It was like giving away her life. If it were not for Marion, and now Daniel, Jane would have regretted ever marrying Peter Canfield. Still, they had loved well at the start, perhaps it had been worth it.
“Our business is done, Mrs Canfield. Thank you for being so reasonable. I wish you well in your life.” The bailiff bowed like a gentleman, and left the room.
Jane turned, and asked the Innkeep to send some food to their room, for small children knew no sense of important things – they were driven by simple desires, like hunger. She went up the steps with a heavy heart. It was real now. they had no home, and precious little money to live on.
~~~~~
The following day, after yet another night of broken sleep, troubled by nightmares, Jane rose early, and sat at the window, watching the village street below. It was odd that everyone went about their life, exactly as they always had, when her life had changed so momentously. What could she do now? They would not last long, paying for every bite to eat and every night a room at an Inn.
She had only one idea which might save them. She just wasn’t sure that she was brave enough to carry it out. But it was the only option left, after she had discounted the idea of either of them taking the age old option that impoverished women were forced to. She would starve before either of them sold their bodies.
Which left her no choice but to be brave. As a child, she had run a little wild in the servant’s halls, and the nursery area of Windemere Towers, whilst her mother had been Nanny to the children of the house. She had been especially friendly with the son of the house, who was now, she believed, the Duke. He had always been kind to her, even though she was so far beneath him in station. She had to trust that he was still a kind and good man.
She’d heard the gossip – he rarely came to the country now, he spent his time in London. Well, they had enough money to get to London. She had to believe that, if she went to him, he might help her. Might, hopefully, find room in his house for two more servants, and a small boy. Far better to work in a big house, for a good man, than to try for a position in a factory, or a shop in London.
She would tell Marion the minimum of it, in case it all came to nothing. Anyway, if she told Marion that they were going to appear, without warning, on the doorstep of a Duke, a man that Jane had not seen for more than 30 years, and ask for help, Marion would, no doubt, think her quite mad, and be afraid of the exalted status of the man they went to. Perhaps she was mad. But she could see no other way.
A sound from the room behind her broke her reverie.
“You’re awake then?”
“I am, Gran.” Daniel ran to her, all scruffy and tousled from sleep, and crawled into her lap. “What are you watching?”
“Just the people of the town, going about their business.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve never seen them from up high like this, before.”
“Oh. Alright. Can I have breakfast?”
Jane laughed, glad of a simple thing to deal with, and roused Marion, so that they might descend to the parlour and eat.
After they had eaten, they returned to their room, and settled Daniel in a corner with his pile of wooden blocks.
Once they were seated by the window, Jane turned to Marion, her face serious. She felt nervous, but reminded herself – there was no option but to be brave.
“I have decided what we must do, Marion. This is really the only option. There is a man I knew as a child, a good and kind man then. He is very wealthy now. I feel certain that, being the kind of man that he is, he will help us, perhaps even give us positions in his household, or recommend us for positions in the household of someone he knows. That would be far better than any other possibility I can see. He lives in London, so we will have to go there. And soon, for we must make our money last as long as possible – the sooner we reach him, the better, for then we will know if we have help, or not.”
“London!”
“Yes, London. I know it is a long way, and that, perhaps, after your father’s last year, when I was already living here, caring for your grandmother, your memories of London may not be good. But we have no choice. That is where my friend lives.”
Marion sat silent, fear and sadness coiling within her. She had never told her mother, not of her clandestine marriage, nor of the distaste her mother-in-law had held for her, nor of Martin’s death, or the horrible attentions of Martin’s so-called friends, which had finally driven her to flee. She had never even given her mother Martin’s name. It had seemed far better to let it all slip into the past, to mourn him in silence, and get on with her life. How could she expect her mother, then, to understand the distress that the mere idea of returning to London caused?
“Is… is that truly our only choice?”
“It is. And I pray that it is enough to save us. If you pack our things, I will go and arrange tickets on the afternoon mail coach. We can be in London in but a few days.”
“If I must.” Marion’s voice sounded shaky, and Jane wondered, for a moment, why she seemed so unhappy with the idea. Well, most likely, at this point, anything would seem terrible to her. Jane turned, and set off to arrange tickets.
Marion, dread making her feel ill, began to pack. What if, in London, they found her again? If she had not been able to obtain their respect as Martin’s wife, what hope would she have as a servant? It was a bitter and terrifying choice to make, but she would do it for Daniel.
Somehow, she needed to make certain that he had a home to live in.
~~~~~
Two months had passed, but the cycle of managing Hunter’s estates had finally brought him round to the Marston Arms again. Charles had sought out the farm hands, and
discovered where the women he had heard them mention lived. Now he stood on the stoop of a pretty cottage, in the village of Bridgemere, wondering if, after four years of searching, he might finally have found her. He rapped on the door, and waited.
A maid opened the door and looked at him enquiringly.
“May I help you, my Lord?” It seemed that even his least impressive clothes still marked him as a titled man, Charles thought, somewhat amused.
“I am looking for a woman, who I believe lives here, with, I think, her mother, and a small child. Her name is Marion. Have I found the right house?”
“Well, my Lord, you’d be right in that a woman named Marion lived here, and yes, with her mother, and a small child. But she’s not here anymore. They are gone, a few days past. The cottage has been sold, and now my mistress, Mrs Barstow the Elder, lives here.”
“Gone? Do you know what their direction is now?”
Inwardly, Charles was cursing – after four years, to have come so close, and to have missed her!
“Not for certain, my Lord. Maybe London? I think the Innkeep said.”
“Ah, a pity then. Thank you for your help. I’ll go and have a word with the Innkeep – perhaps he knows their direction.”
The maid gave him a perfunctory curtsey, and closed the door as he turned away.
The street was dusty, the summer sun warm on his back, as he walked the short distance to the Inn, his horse wandering along beside him, glad of the rest.
The Innkeep confirmed the maid’s words.
“Yes Milord, the women were Jane and Marion Canfield, and they had with them Marion’s little boy, who is called Daniel. They went on the coach two days ago, to London.”
“Do you know where, in London, they intended to go?”
“No Milord, Mrs Canfield did say something about going to the house of a childhood friend. But I didn’t hear a name from her, or any indication of a direction. All I know is which Coaching Inn in London their tickets will take them to.”
Frustrated, Charles thanked the man, took note of the Coaching Inn in London, and gave him some coins for his trouble. There was no choice – he would not give up. He would follow them to London. Turning back to the Innkeep, he arranged for a message to be sent to Hunter’s estate at Springmarsh, then set off to collect his belongings from the Marston Arms and follow the coach road to London.
Mary giggled, sipping her glass of wine.
“Oh my, I don’t think I’ve ever had wine before. Perhaps I shouldn’t have any more.”
Lady Farnsworth laughed.
“Nonsense girl. You’ve reason to celebrate. Take advantage of the moment.”
Lady Sylvia smiled at them all, sipping her wine and nibbling on a delicious small cake. The three small children sprawled at their feet, a tangle of disordered dresses and toys.
They were celebrating the fact that there were now four houses, counting the Duke’s, in a fit state to receive the first of the girls that they would help. The Duke was expected at any moment, to join the celebration. Lady Sylvia spoke softly.
“Mary, you, especially, should be celebrating, for it was your idea to contact the girls who lived near you, in that terrible place where we found you the winter before last.”
“They almost didn’t believe it was me,” Rose chimed in, “apparently I look so ‘upper class’ now, that they barely recognised me.”
The other three girls found this very funny, or else the wine was affecting them, and they all dissolved into giggles. Lady Sylvia laughed too.
“But it was an excellent plan – once they did believe you, they have obviously done as you asked, and spread the word through the people they know, and to their relatives and friends who work in the houses of the nobility. How many girls have sought you out now?”
“Six so far, Lady Sylvia. And I have checked on them all – they are genuinely in the same situation we were in. Can we really bring them to the houses this week?”
“Most definitely. I have employed some staff for each house, and everything is ready. We simply need to work out how best to approach them, to get them to come – I don’t want to scare them away. After all, it’s a very big change in their life.”
“It’s all right, I’ll bring them, if you can provide the hackney. They trust me, because I lived near them for years, even before Mary came to me before Sylvie was born.” Rose was utterly confident – and rightly so.
“And I have asked my staff, through Clarick, one of our footmen, to put the word out through their families and friends – for many of them work in other great houses.” As Lady Sylvia finished speaking, the door opened, and another voice joined the conversation.
“And I have done the same, with my staff. They are good people – they will help. Mrs Gammage, my cook, was quite overcome that we would do such a thing for disgraced girls. In the forty years that she has worked at Windemere Court, I’ve never before seen her in tears.”
The Duke stepped into the room, smiling at the happy scene before him.
“Good afternoon Ladies, and to you too, children.”
The three little girls looked up at him, eyes wide. They had now met him a number of times, but were still a little unsure. When he said nothing further to them, and did nothing more threatening than sit on a chair, they went back to their toys.
Lady Sylvia watched him as he sat. As always, the man quite took her breath away, making her thinking woolly and her body flushed. It was both delightful, and frightening, in a way. Every time that she had seen him over the last few weeks, as the project came together, she had felt like this. She was drawn to him, attracted by him, like a green girl in her first season, meeting a handsome man for the first time.
The depth of the attraction that she felt shocked her. She had thought herself past such things, freed from the demands of men’s desire by her husband’s death. For it was a desire that she had not, with any enthusiasm, reciprocated. Now, for the first time in her life, she began to have some idea of what truly desiring a man might feel like. Exhilarating and terrifying were two words that came to mind.
But she was being foolish. She knew it.
For, whilst he always looked at her with eyes that were kind, and which, she occasionally thought, perhaps, held rather more warmth than just kindness would explain, he had never been anything other than the perfect gentleman. She was quite certain that she was being a silly goose, reading more into the man’s looks than was there.
To be a silly goose at fifty was not a suitable pastime for a Lady, no matter how much she might desire it. For, after all, nothing could ever come of it, even if he did feel more than simple friendship when he looked at her. She would not, ever, consider an affair, even though, for a widow, it was almost acceptable, especially if the man in question was not married. Her family had borne quite enough scandal in the last few years, through the actions of her mercifully deceased elder son, and she would not add to that burden.
And if the Duke were to marry again, he would, obviously, need to marry a young woman, for he lacked an heir, beyond, she believed, a distant cousin. She was, at her age, rather past the point where another child would be possible. As all of those thoughts raced through her mind, she simply sat, sipping at her wine, watching him, as Mary presented him with a glass of wine and a plate of cakes. How she wished it might be different. But wishing did not make things real. She internally chastised herself for woolgathering, and rejoined the conversation.
“We have just been planning the arrival of the first girls, Your Grace. Rose hopes to bring the first few to the house next door this week. We will work our way along the street, towards your house, as they arrive, so as to keep them close to Mary and Rose as they adapt.”
“Indeed, that seems a wise plan. I expect that the change in circumstances will be rather difficult for some of them to accept.”
“Yes, Your Grace, Rose and I took ever so long to get used to the idea that we had staff to help us. After all, we were used to being the staff oursel
ves. It still feels wrong some days!” Mary shook her head as she spoke, an expression of wonder on her face.
“I am sure, however, that each of you will, at some point, want to work again, or to marry, if you meet the right person. Knowing that the children are cared for, when you leave this house to do anything, must be a great relief.”
“Oh yes, Your Grace, that is very true. I love working for Lady Sylvia, and knowing that Mary and Sylvie are safe whilst I do.” Rose looked at Lady Sylvia, her face alight with happiness.
“And Rose is the best seamstress I have ever employed. Rather better than some renowned modistes, in my opinion. Quite a few ladies of the ton have taken me aside, quietly, to beg me to reveal who my modiste is. I have simply smiled mysteriously, and refused to tell them. They are not pleased at my reticence.”
The Duke laughed – genuine laughter, as he imagined how Antonia would have responded to being refused such information. His eyes rested upon Lady Sylvia, and, suddenly, she felt all flustered again.
There was a warmth to his expression that she could not deny. She felt a flush rise to her cheeks.
~~~~~
Julian, meanwhile, was being captivated by Lady Sylvia, all over again.
She was so genuine, so kind, and yet mischievous. He could not help but compare her to Antonia, who had been so hard, so cold and arrogant, so focussed on the importance of her position in the world. The contrast could not be greater.
And the contrast made Lady Sylvia more desirable than any woman had been to him, ever before. Indeed, before he had met her, he had doubted that any woman could actually really be like this.
“Burrowes, I have a rather large task for you.”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“I want you to purchase, if possible, all of the houses on the other side of Ebury Street from the ones that Lady Pendholm has purchased.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Is there a budget for this, Your Grace?”
Finding the Duke's Heir: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 7) Page 4