Nobody’s Darling

by Nobody’s Darling (retail) (epub)

  ‘Aren’t you surprised?’ Cicely insisted. ‘Doesn’t Ruby look wonderful?’ She was standing between the two of them now, looking from one to the other. ‘Have you ever seen anyone so beautiful, Father?’ she said in awed tones.

  It was a seemingly endless time before he answered. All he could hear was the one word, ‘beautiful’. And, yes, Ruby Miller was certainly that. He was shocked by the vision she made. He had always seen her as little more than a child; although in truth it was not unknown for a working girl to wed and bear a man two or three children when she was not all that much older than Ruby was now.

  Beneath his scrutiny, Ruby stood tall and confident. It was almost as though, in putting on this gown, she had become someone else, someone more important. Someone worthwhile. It was a good feeling. Oh, how she would have loved for her mother to see her now. Yet, it wasn’t to be. All the same, Ruby hated having to deceive her mother. She so much wanted to share this experience with the one who meant more than anything in the world to her. But Lizzie could never understand, and the knowledge that she would have ripped the gown from her daughter’s back dissipated Ruby’s pleasure. She stood, straight and still, her throat tight and her limbs slightly trembling, while the master continued to look at her with curious eyes. It would have been a shocking revelation to her if she had only known how Jeffrey Banks was mentally comparing her to her mother.

  His gaze wandered over Ruby’s lovely face. He wanted to see Lizzie there. He looked for her, but no, Ruby was infinitely different. Where Lizzie had been pretty, her daughter was strikingly handsome. Where Lizzie had charm, Ruby had something more devastating… a certain presence, a charisma that struck at the heart. Lizzie had stirred pleasure in him, and love, and a need for her companionship. Ruby, however, struck him dumb, as she would any man. Suddenly, Cicely’s words came into his mind: ‘She’ll make you proud’. That was what she had promised, and now he understood. That was exactly how he felt in that moment. He felt proud of Ruby! Just as he had always felt proud of his own daughter. He recalled something he had said to her earlier. ‘Ruby is low-born, and you are high-born.’ That was what he had said. But now he continued to gaze at Ruby, and was aware of the stupidity of his words. For all her ordinary background, Ruby Miller showed a quality that many women from noble families might envy. She had a rare natural elegance. There was something about her, something uniquely special, and all of his resolve to disapprove of her melted away. ‘You really are a surprising and lovely young lady,’ he murmured.

  At once there was a cry from Cicely as she ran to plant a kiss on his face. ‘Oh, Father, I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me,’ she told him. ‘So it’s all right? Ruby can attend the dinner party as my friend?’

  He dropped his gaze. In his mind he could still see Ruby, and Lizzie, and knew he could not refuse. ‘She will need you,’ he reminded her, ‘but you must not neglect our guests.’ He raised his eyes then and looked hard at Cicely, saying in a low strong voice, ‘But this will be the last time. Do you understand that?’ She nodded, and he turned his attention to Ruby.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she answered, and he was satisfied.

  ‘Very well. Leave me alone now.’ He needed time to compose himself. Very soon, this library would be filled with men of consequence, and it would befall him to entertain them. After the trauma of this evening, he hoped it would not also befall him to hurt Lizzie, by ending her daughter’s term of employment within this household. No doubt she had been kept as much in the dark as he had been with regard to the ‘arrangement’ between his daughter and Ruby.

  He poured a small measure of brandy into his glass and sipped at it thoughtfully. ‘Your daughter is certainly beautiful, Lizzie,’ he murmured with a smile. ‘And like you, she’s blessed with a lovely nature or Cicely wouldn’t adore her as she does. But Ruby isn’t contented like you, is she?’ he asked. ‘More ambitious, perhaps?’ He thought a while, then chuckled. ‘Still, there’s nothing wrong with being ambitious.’ He raised his glass to an imaginary figure. ‘Here’s to you, Lizzie Miller. And here’s to that handsome girl of yours. I have a feeling that, one of these days, she’ll bounce the world in the palm of her hand.’

  * * *

  Luke Arnold slouched in his chair, one leg crossed over the other and a sly grin on his face as he watched his sister preen herself in the hall mirror. ‘My, my! Aren’t we the little fusspot?’ he said in a cruel voice. ‘I’m sorry, sister dear, but Ackroyd won’t be able to appreciate your finer qualities this evening. You’ll be inside the carriage with me and Father, and that young skunk will be outside in the cold, where he belongs.’

  She reached forward and coolly regarded him in the mirror. Her voice was equally cutting as she replied, ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do… like playing cards or bedding street women?’ When he merely grinned wider, she said in a wicked voice, ‘Or perhaps you might be better employed in polishing Daddy’s shoes?’ She knew that his greatest frustration was in not yet having been given greater authority in his father’s business, and it always delighted her to play on his bitterness.

  ‘You little bitch!’ He sprang from the chair and rushed towards her, but a stern voice from the drawing-room doorway made him stop and swing round.

  ‘Just for once, try and act like civilised human beings?’ Oliver Arnold had heard every word and was furious at these two, his eldest daughter and his only son. Teresa and Luke were two of a kind, with a selfish and greedy streak to their natures. Even as infants they had always brought out the worst in each other, but over recent years, without the steadying influence of a mother to temper their behaviour, their mutual antipathy had grown almost out of control. It was a source of great sorrow to him, because for all their faults they were his children and he loved then dearly.

  ‘Sorry, Daddy.’ Teresa smiled beseechingly, and as usual he forgave her.

  ‘Always remember that you were born a lady, and there are certain ways in which a lady should behave,’ he reminded her. Turning to his son, he asked, ‘Have you arranged for Thomas to bring the carriage round?’

  ‘When are you going to see how useless that old man is?’ Luke replied sulkily. ‘The old fool’s taken to his bed again.’

  Taking a deep breath, Oliver eyed him wearily, saying impatiently, ‘I think you were there when I went through this with Teresa, were you not?’ He did not wait for a reply but went on angrily, ‘Thomas is neither old nor useless. He works a long hard day, always on hand, ready to be called out at any time. And if he’s presently under the weather, then he’s done right to take to his bed. We may all have to take to our bed at some time or another.’ He lowered his voice, adding, ‘And, by the same token, there will always be some people who are more useful than others, wouldn’t you say, Luke?’

  ‘Ackroyd is bringing the carriage round,’ he answered, deliberately keeping his eyes averted.

  ‘Good. Then I trust we’re all ready to depart?’ He looked from Luke to Teresa, who had returned to the mirror and was preening herself again. ‘You look bewitching,’ he said generously.

  And she did. Her tall elegant figure was clothed in a gown of blue, and around her shoulders was the prettiest dark cape, trimmed with an abundance of fur that matched the muffler on her arm. Her brownish hair was piled into curls on the top of her head, the surplus of which spilled down to form a cascade round her face. At her father’s words, she turned about, her brown eyes glittering. ‘Thank you, Daddy,’ she purred, at the same time stepping forward, ready to link her arm with his. He didn’t see her intention as he went hurriedly towards the front door. But Luke saw, and infuriated her by laughing softly in her face.

  ‘We’ve a few minutes yet,’ Oliver remarked, peering anxiously into the darkness beyond the window. ‘All the same, we don’t want to make a bad impression by arriving late.’ He glanced at the grandfather clock down the hall. It was almost ten minutes to seven. The distance between this house and Jeffrey Banks’s abode on Billenge End was nothing to speak of. In fact, it woul
d probably be quicker to walk it than to wait for a carriage. But of course that was out of the question.

  ‘If we’re very clever, and everyone’s the merrier for his best brandy, we might see an opportunity to talk Banks into selling the foundry after all.’ Luke knew that if he were to shine in his father’s eyes, he would have to achieve something very worthwhile, and what could be more so than bringing about his father’s dearest ambition? ‘You can’t tell me you’ve really had a change of heart where that foundry’s concerned?’ he asked slyly.

  Oliver confronted him with a grim face and forbidding eyes. ‘No. I haven’t had a change of heart,’ he confessed. ‘Of course I would like to put my own name over his foundry gates.’ His eyes glittered as he paused to let the words sink in. ‘But if and when I resume talks with Banks is a matter for me to decide, and I say that the matter is not for discussion at the moment. And even to contemplate raising such a delicate business proposition in a gentleman’s home, especially when we have been kindly invited to celebrate Christmas Eve with him and his daughter, is unthinkable.’ He waited for Luke’s apology. When all that greeted him was a dumb silence, he said sharply, ‘There will be no talk of business this evening. Is that clear, young man?’

  ‘If you say so.’ Luke realised he had gone too far, and he was wisely anxious to make amends. ‘Of course you’re right, Father,’ he said. ‘And I do apologise.’

  ‘Good!’ Oliver patted his son on the shoulder. ‘You’re learning,’ he said with a little burst of pride. ‘I’m convinced you have the makings of a good businessman. It’s all a matter of timing… knowing when to make a move, and when not to.’ He glanced at the clock again. ‘Young Ackroyd should have been here by now. Oh dear, I do hope Thomas hasn’t taken a turn for the worst.’

  * * *

  Grabbing the bed-head on either side with two hands, Thomas hoisted himself up against the bolster. The effort took a good deal out of him and he lay there a moment, panting and breathless. ‘Get off to the house, lad. They’ll be kicking their heels,’ he wheezed. ‘Leave me to meself. I’ll be fine.’ His face was the shade of parchment, and his whole body was trembling. ‘Don’t keep the master waiting.’ He shoved at Johnny’s chest with the flat of his hand. ‘Go on!’ he said gruffly. ‘Away with yer, else we’ll both find ourselves outta work.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’ Johnny had seen the old fella worsening slowly over the past few hours, and was deeply concerned. ‘If you ask me, I’d say you want a doctor.’

  Thomas was horrified. ‘I’ll have no doctor messing me about,’ he declared angrily. Then, realising that Johnny meant well, he assured him kindly, ‘Truly, I’m fine, lad.’ He shook his head impatiently. ‘Or I will be when you’ve gone away with that there carriage.’ He coughed into the bedclothes. ‘It’s a chest cold, that’s all. When you come back, you can brew me a strong mug o’ tea and we’ll drop a measure o’ the good stuff in it.’ He chuckled. ‘That’ll do the trick, you’ll see. Now get off with yer… or I’ll have to rise from me bed and do the job meself, bugger it!’

  Knowing that Thomas was not one for making idle threats, Johnny did as he was bid, leaving the old fella with the warning, ‘If I find you’ve been out of that bed while I’m gone, I’ll fetch a doctor whether you want one or not.’ And Thomas knew that this was no idle threat neither.

  ‘Yer a hard man, Johnny Ackroyd,’ he muttered, but there was the merest gleam of a smile in his eyes. ‘So, I reckon I’d best do as I’m told, eh?’ Though he had kicked and fussed and put up every kind of argument, Thomas had been unable to dissuade Johnny from staying the night. He had already told his mother that he wouldn’t be home until the morning, and the bed was made up in the spare stable beneath Thomas’s quarters.

  ‘Aye, I reckon you’d better,’ Johnny said, slowly moving his head up and down and thinking what a tough old bird Thomas was.

  * * *

  ‘Come on, Teresa, hurry now.’ Oliver Arnold was not surprised when his son climbed into the carriage before him. But he was irritated when his daughter took too long in following. She seemed more interested in the horses than she did in making haste away from there. Or at least he thought it was the horses that held her interest, when in fact it was Johnny she was eyeing with such passion. For his part though, and sensing that she wanted him to turn his head and gaze on her, Johnny deliberately kept his attention on untangling the reins.

  ‘Sorry, Daddy,’ she said sweetly, hurrying to his side and allowing him to help her into the carriage; and thinking how she would much rather it was Johnny’s hands that were round her waist, Johnny urging her to come away with him on this starlit night. ‘I was just asking after Thomas,’ she lied.

  ‘Well then, you needn’t have bothered,’ Oliver remarked, dropping himself into the seat beside her. ‘If you had been paying attention, you would have heard me ask about Thomas the moment we came out. Apparently he’s got a chest cold, but it’s nothing serious.’ He beamed on her, saying with a surprised voice, ‘All the same, my dear, it’s good to know that you’re concerned about Thomas.’ He nodded his head and settled back as the carriage moved away. ‘Yes, indeed. I’m pleased to see it,’ he muttered with satisfaction. ‘Very pleased indeed.’

  In his heart, Oliver Arnold was convinced that all of his children would make good. His highest hopes were for Luke. A man needed his son to make his mark on the world. He glanced across the carriage interior at Luke’s face; such a handsome face, although perhaps it could be softer, gentler, when all too often it was set like stone against the world. There were still a few rough edges to his character, together with a slight insensitivity with regard to the men who worked his father’s foundries, and though he had not yet quite grasped the essence of good business, he was impatient to learn, too impatient sometimes. But still, that could often be a good thing, because it showed a keenness to get on.

  There was nothing wrong with Luke having his sights set on being in full control of health and safety matters throughout his father’s empire; indeed, Oliver had been very impressed by his son’s enthusiasm. As a matter of fact, he was on the verge of entrusting immense responsibility to Luke because lately he had been inspired by the managers’ reports on their protégé. From these reports, Oliver had unwisely read only what he wanted to read. By all accounts, gone was the immature and useless rebel who had caused him so much heartache and shame. In his place was now a young man with potential. And every day, growing ever more weary and inevitably older, Oliver was nearer and nearer to relinquishing more of the workload to his only son.

  The iron-clad horses’ hooves played a rhythmic tune over the jutting cobbles as they went across the road and wended their way in between high stone pillars. The wide entrance to Billenge House was not easy to negotiate off the road, although it was much easier on the way out because there was room for the carriage to turn and straighten before coming back onto Billenge End. ‘Whoah… whoah there.’ Johnny eased the horses to a halt before jumping down to help the passengers out. First came the master, then his son. ‘What time will you want me to collect you, sir?’ he asked Arnold senior. He was thinking about Thomas. He was a stubborn old bugger, and would never admit that he needed anybody.

  ‘Make your way back about eleven o’clock,’ Oliver told him. ‘We’ll be ready by then, I think.’ The invitation had been open-ended, but it was Christmas Day tomorrow and he wanted to be up early in order to spend every minute with his beloved Ida.

  ‘Right you are, sir.’ Johnny sensed Teresa’s eyes on him as she came slowly out of the carriage. When he leaned forward to help her down, she slid her gloved hand into his, deliberately squeezing his fingers and holding on even when she was safely to the ground. With her father and brother looking towards the house, she thrust herself towards Johnny and cupped his hand over her small firm breast. ‘Do you see what you are missing?’ she whispered wantonly, gently laughing when he swiftly withdrew his hand. ‘You can’t refuse me forever,’ she murmured. ‘I wil
l have you, Johnny darling. I always get what I want eventually.’

  ‘Teresa!’ Oliver was growing impatient. ‘Quickly now.’ He was a few steps ahead, but now he turned to wait for her.

  Coming, Daddy.’ She hurried to his side, glancing back only once to watch as Johnny climbed into the driver’s seat. The more he refused her, the more she wanted him. And the more she planned her days to that end. Even now, a plan was forming in her devious little mind. ‘Daddy?’ she said in a low voice designed so that neither Luke nor Johnny would hear. ‘Don’t you think it’s unwise to leave poor old Thomas alone all night long?’ She cast a surreptitious glance at Johnny, and her meaning was unmistakable. ‘I’m sure Ackroyd wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on his old friend?’

  ‘Why, how thoughtful,’ he declared. ‘But you’re a little behind the times, my dear, because it has already been arranged. Young Ackroyd saw the need before any of us, and asked my permission to make up a bed in the stables.’ He looked at her in the moon-glow, and thought he saw something in her he had not seen before. Perhaps she was not altogether unfeeling after all.

  Without any more ado, he went towards the front steps and up to the door. Here he lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it clang hard against the wood. At once there came the sound of footsteps from inside. He felt a little nervous. For so long now he had looked on Jeffrey Banks as a rival to be fended off or bought out. Tonight though that ‘rival’ had extended the offer of friendship by inviting the enemy into his house. It was a magnanimous gesture, and Oliver felt the onus was on him to make it a pleasant evening.