by Mary Mackie
A man beside me – whom I discovered to be Robert Wyatt – said, ‘You should be inside, Rose. There’s nothing more you can do tonight. Let me take you up to the house.’
His fingers fastened just where my arm was burning from the shot-gun pellets, making me wince away from his hold. I saw Geoffrey watching, his face bathed in pale lamplight, bleak with weariness, grimed with dirt, his eyes dark expressionless pools. What had he surmised from that small intimacy of Robert’s?
‘Are you hurt?’ Robert asked sharply.
‘It’s nothing.’
A flash of white drew my attention as a portly figure, until then anonymous in the darkness, stepped into the light and took out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. ‘What excitement! I gather the villain has been apprehended. Not only an arsonist but a desecrator of game preserves, it seems. He’ll be severely punished. Rest assured of that, Mrs Pooley.’
I peered at him, trusting neither my eyes nor my ears, but both senses continued to confirm that the Prince of Wales himself stood before me. He had been in the shadows with three other men whom I now identified. One of them, unmistakable as he stepped smiling into the light, bowing elegantly to me, was indeed the handsome Francis, Duke of Teck. The second was the Maharajah of Jaipur, and the third I did not know, except that he too had been among the Guns that morning. All of them were dressed for the evening, and even in that light I could see that their fine clothes were dishevelled, damp and smoke-smudged.
All the indications said the prince and his companions had been deeply involved in that evening’s adventures. The prince was carrying one of the shiny brass helmets worn by his fire engine team, and his white gloves were smudged across the palms and fingers. Had he ridden on his own fire appliance to come to my aid?
‘I’m impressed,’ he informed me. ‘I’ve witnessed a fine show of community spirit here tonight, my dear Mrs Pooley. You evidently have a great many friends on Sandringham estate. It bears out what I’ve been discovering – which in turn confirms all that my dear wife has so often told me. She is very fond of you, you know.’
‘Sir?’ I managed, a hand to my spinning head.
He came closer, taking my arm to draw me a little apart so that he might speak to me privately. ‘After our little chat the other day I had someone make a few enquiries,’ he informed me in an undertone. ‘I learned only this evening that you were right about Beck – he’s been more than zealous in his duties. If I had known what was happening I should not have allowed it to continue, but no one bothers to tell me these things.’
Because you generally refuse to listen, thought I.
‘However,’ he added, ‘I intend to make amends.’
‘You’re very kind, sir,’ I murmured, not without misgivings – his idea of ‘making amends’ was usually to issue invitations and order his toadies to do the same, as if his patronage could heal every slight.
‘Not at all. Not at all.’ He took my hand, patting it consolingly. ‘Things will be different from now on. Why…’ Noticing someone standing nearby, listening, he peered through the shadows, ‘Who’s this? Can it be your brother?’
‘Yes, sir. My brother John Hamilton.’
Putting off his intimate, confiding self, the prince resumed his favourite public persona, bluff and hearty, affable man among men, greeting Johnny with a warm handshake. ‘Well, now, young Hamilton, you’ve chosen a fine time to come home, it appears.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Johnny mourned. ‘Just when Orchards is facing ruin.’
‘Nonsense, boy! Don’t be such a pessimist. You should try to cultivate some of that fine fighting spirit your sister’s always shown. Damme if she hasn’t had me on the hop more than once!’ He laughed uproariously – his high humour said he had enjoyed his adventure of that evening. ‘A fine woman. Fine blood in her veins.’ Struck by a thought, he turned again to me, adding, ‘Your mother was a Colworth, was she not? Yes, I thought so. Can’t let that strain go to waste. You ought to be married again. We’ll have to see who we can find for you. Someone with grit in his craw, eh?’
The thought of having a husband chosen by His Royal Highness was less than blissful, but another thought bothered me more. Although it was hardly the time, there might never come another moment like this; so I said, ‘And what of Orchards, sir? Unless my brother retains the tenancy, everything my father worked for will—’
‘Oh, pish and tush!’ His Royal Highness chided, waving a hand in my face. ‘What do you take me for, Mrs Pooley? Am I an ogre? Am I so high-handed? Of course your brother shall have the farm. I’m delighted to welcome him home to Sandringham. Be ready to accept invitations, both of you. As to the farm, my solicitor will draw up a new agreement – concerning future rights, and due damages and suchlike. We must have these things clearly understood. The papers will be ready for you to sign in a week or two, young Hamilton. If there’s anything my chap’s forgotten, have your sister go down and chivvy him, eh?’
Johnny, bemused by such largesse, stammered something.
‘Oh, and – those new cottages I’m building in West Newton,’ His Royal Highness went on. ‘I’ve told Beck that two of ’em are to be allocated for use by Orchards men. You can assign them to those that best deserve them. Will that please you, Mrs Pooley?’
Such unlooked-for generosity, at such a moment, overcame me. I couldn’t speak for emotion.
‘Oh, come now. Come! Don’t weep, my dear.’ He put his handkerchief into my hands and laid his arm about my shoulders, pressing me close to his side, saying in an intimate undertone, ‘Come, it’s not so bad. Orchards will thrive under your brother. I’ll see to that. Pray, don’t distress yourself.’
The note in his voice, allied with the probing of his fingers on my flesh, made me feel hot. In another moment I might have pushed him away and undone all the benefits I had won, but—
‘Excuse me, sir,’ Geoffrey’s voice sounded firm as he intervened, easing me away from the prince’s unwelcome attentions.
‘Huh?’ His Royal Highness squinted up through the lantern’s gleam. ‘Well! Devlin! What—’
‘In all the excitement, you may have forgotten that you’re expected at Chelderton Manor, sir. You have an engagement to dine with Lord Endersleigh.’
‘Good Lord! Hah, hah! So I have. Completely forgot.’
‘And perhaps a change of clothes…’ Geoffrey murmured.
The prince glanced down at himself. ‘You’re right, Devlin. Can’t appear in public soaked to the skin and grimy with smoke, eh? Though it would put some pep into the party, damned if it wouldn’t. Stir ’em up a bit. D’you think old Endersleigh will believe our excuse for being late? He knows I find him a pompous old bore. Still,’ with a sly grin for me, ‘he won’t dare sit down to dine without us.’
Laughing, he and his party departed, brushing off the thanks I belatedly called after them.
His going made the few who remained as spectators start to move away, heading for the house and the promised refreshment. Johnny went with them, surrounded by a group of delighted men who suddenly saw their future secured. The new master was home; the prince was smiling again. It augured well.
I found myself standing between Robert and Geoffrey, aware of the animosity tingling in the silence between them.
‘Well, if you’ll excuse me…’ Geoffrey began.
Was he leaving? I turned to him in dismay, and saw him give me a tight little smile.
‘I too am expected at Lord Endersleigh’s for dinner. I was about to dress for the evening when I saw the fire from my window. Perhaps we can talk tomorrow.’
‘Yes. Yes, come tomorrow. Please.’
He gave me a grave, intimate look. ‘I shall be here. Good night, Mrs Pooley,’ and, with a nod for Robert, ‘Good night, Wyatt.’
As he strode away I suddenly wanted to weep and I realised how tired I was – physically tired, emotionally wrung. My body ached and my arm was throbbing. I daren’t even think what the morrow’s dawn would reveal.
‘You’re a
damn fool, Rose,’ Robert said roughly. ‘How long can you go on playing with fire? I thought you were going to come away with me and forget him.’
‘That’s one thing I shall never do,’ I replied.
‘What – come with me?’
‘Forget him.’ Shivering a little in the cold and damp, I looked up into his face. ‘Knowing that, Robert, would you still want me?’
* * *
Another sleepless night followed. Though the doctor had removed the shot-gun pellets and dressed the wound with a bandage, it remained painful.
At first light I went down to the yards to see what awaited me. The men were gathering, wandering curiously about and discussing the fire. Perhaps a third of the stackyard was a sodden, blackened mess. Some of the other corn was soaked through and might have to be written off. Clearing up would be no easy task.
‘Well, what about it?’ I asked Ned Plant. ‘Heaven knows our new steward will have his work cut out, but the job’s yours, if you’ll take it.’
Yesterday he had glowed at the suggestion, today he only looked glum. ‘I’m not sure as I warrant the honour, Miss Rose.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well… I blame myself for all o’ this trouble. I knew he was a wrong ’un. But – blast if I thought he’d a gone this far. I never dreamed as how he’d wholly turn against you, Miss Rose.’
‘Don’t blame yourself,’ I sighed. ‘None of us guessed it would come to this.’
‘Still, I should’ve known.’ He shuffled his feet, looked at me askance.
‘Beating our breasts and apportioning blame isn’t going to get this farm back to rights! I need you, Plant. The farm needs you. What do you say?’
He drew himself up, taking a long breath. ‘That’ll be a privilege, Miss Rose. Thank you, Miss Rose.’
‘Don’t thank me,’ I said ruefully. ‘I’ll expect you to earn your pay. Gentlemen!’ The call drew the men towards me. ‘From now on you’ll take your orders from your new steward – Mr Plant. I know I can count on all of you to give him your best support. Very well, Mr Plant, take over. I leave you in charge.’
‘Right, then.’ Wearing his new authority with pride and assurance, Plant began to assign the men to their morning tasks. I had a feeling he would do well.
As I moved away, Johnny came striding across the yard, pale and bleary-eyed, looking as if he had leapt straight out of a deep sleep, dragged his clothes on and come out. He stopped beside me, staring at the state of the rickyard, shaking his head and sighing. ‘It’s even worse than I feared. What are we going to do?’
‘What we always do in such cases. We lick our wounds, count our losses, thank God it wasn’t worse – and carry on. It’s a challenge for you. But it’s not total disaster.’
A shudder ran through him. He folded his arms, hugging himself for warmth, his eyes on the activity in the rickyard. ‘You know I said that… that you’d have to leave when I came home?’
‘Yes?’
His face twisted as he glanced at me sidelong. ‘Miss Wyatt thinks you’re going to set up home with her. And last night her brother hinted that you might be thinking of emigrating with him.’
‘Those are two of my choices.’
‘Then you haven’t decided yet?’
‘Not entirely.’
Squinting against the growing light in the sky, he huddled closer into himself and looked up at the barn, where a cock was crowing as if trying to rouse the entire county. Whatever Johnny was trying to say was evidently difficult for him; his Hamilton pride was squirming. ‘One reason I didn’t want to come back…’ he said eventually. ‘I think I was afraid. Father assumed I could do it, but I wasn’t so sure, and last night when I finally realised what a responsibility it all is… I don’t think I can do it without help, Rose.’
Knowing what it had cost for him to make that admission, I tucked my hand under his arm and regarded him fondly. Despite the scent of burning that still haunted the yards, despite the ruined cornstacks and the mess everywhere, I felt a spring of optimism rise in me. ‘Whatever made you think you had to?’
‘I wanted to be like Father.’
‘Father didn’t start out alone! He had Farmer Pooley as his mentor. And he made mistakes. We all do.’
‘Then… will you stay, at least until I get settled? Without even a steward…’
‘We have a steward,’ I informed him, a little wryly. ‘I’m afraid I appointed Ned Plant, just this morning. I should have consulted with you first, I suppose. You’ll have to bear with me, I’ve become too used to making decisions on my own.’
A trace of a smile lightened his gloom. ‘He’s a good man.’
‘You’ll not find a better. We’re fortunate to have him. In fact… I think we can count ourselves fortunate in many ways.’
‘Fortunate? We’ve just lost half our harvest!’
‘We might have lost it all,’ I reminded him. ‘But it had been raining heavily, so everything was damp. And Jack Huggins had his wits about him, so we discovered the fire sooner rather than later. We might have lost lives, too, if McDowall had had his way. So, yes, I’d say we were lucky.’
‘Even though we’ll make a financial loss this year?’
‘There are more important things. Anyway, Uncle Jonathan may be more willing to talk about a loan now you’re here – especially while we’re in favour with the big house. If we get that new agreement the prince promised… You know, I’ve a feeling he’s under pressure – from his mother and his wife – to be more reasonable over the game. Oh, it will never be easy, playing tenant to His Royal Highness, but let’s make the most of it, while he’s smiling on us.’
Walking beside him, my hand under his arm – in the way I once walked with Victor – we returned to the house for breakfast.
* * *
Orchards House was busier than it had been for years. In one room Mary McDowall rested, with her children not far away. In another Jack Huggins lay with his ribs tightly strapped, being looked after as if he were a lordling because – as he himself immodestly claimed – ‘It was me what saved Miss Rose’s life. That villain would’ve shot her, if it hadn’t been for me.’ Well, it was true, so how could I begrudge him his glory? Felicity had taken charge of both invalids and was happily busy with so much caring to do, while in the kitchen Mrs Benstead planned menus and the maids came and went about their chores.
In a quiet moment before breakfast, I went into the drawing-room, where a newly-built fire was licking its yellow flames round the coals, making them start to glow and send out heat. From above the mantel, Mother’s portrait gazed out, her eyes seeming to meet mine levelly, gently… expectantly?
She didn’t belong here any more, I realised. She was my mother, but not Johnny’s. This was his place now, and when he felt more secure he wouldn’t need me any more. When I left, I would remove Hester from Orchards and leave Johnny free to replace her with a portrait of Mama, his own mother, if he so wished. When I left…
It struck me that I didn’t belong at Orchards any more, either. My task was done, my quest fulfilled, the promise kept that had been made to Father. In a short while, when Johnny was settled, I would be free to leave.
And go where? So many options lay open to me. The childless Aunt Beatrice would welcome me at Weal House as a companion for her old age; Felicity offered a place as her companion. Or I could become a governess, or a schoolteacher, as Aunt Agnes had planned.
Should I choose to remarry? Should I go to New Zealand with Robert Wyatt? Or should I risk the gossip – and the formidable Lady Devlin - assuming that Geoffrey still wanted me?
So many roads… But I already knew which one I most wanted to take.
As I stood there, communing with my mother’s ghost, I realised that for the first time in my life I was free to make my own choice, for my own reasons. No constraints remained – no father, no husband; no farm to make demands, not even convention or the possible disapproval of society – or even of the Hamiltons – for I had been throug
h that fire and it no longer held terrors for me. For the first time in my life I was myself: not a daughter needing approval, not a niece to be moulded by a maiden aunt, not a child to be chastised or a wife unwanted. I was a woman in my own right, tempered by fire – Rose Mary Hester Hamilton Pooley.
‘Hester’s girl,’ I murmured to myself, believing I saw an answering gleam in my mother’s eye. Perhaps at last I had become the woman she had wanted me to be – the daughter she had given her life for. I had a feeling that she – and Father – would have been proud to see me now, despite my imperfections.
‘’Scuse me, Miss Rose.’ A flustered Swift dipped a curtsey from the doorway. ‘I said you hadn’t had breakfast yet but he—’
‘I couldn’t wait,’ Geoffrey finished for her as he pushed the door wider and stepped past her. He was still wearing evening clothes; he was unshaven and he looked tired, but there was determination in his eyes and the set of his mouth. ‘I know it’s early. Or perhaps it’s late. I haven’t slept. I was at Chelderton Manor until after three. Talking with the prince. And now I want to talk to you. And I want you to t-talk to me. Once and for all, Rose—’
‘Thank you, Swift. That will be all,’ I said, nodding at the goggling maid. ‘Close the door behind you. And make sure we’re not disturbed.’
Let the kitchen make of that what it would.
When she had gone, Geoffrey threw off his cloak and came to crouch by the fire, holding his hands to the growing blaze. ‘It’s chilly this morning.’
‘Yes, I noticed.’ Unable to resist some small contact, I touched his hair, feeling the silky strands against my fingers. ‘You should have had some rest. Though I’m glad you came.’
He didn’t answer me at once. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, staring at the fire; then all at once he turned to kneel at my feet and fasten his arms about my waist, burying his face against me. ‘I didn’t get your message until this morning. When I got home from Chelderton the girl gave me your note. I didn’t even wait to get changed. Rose, my love… You did need me, after all.’