ELIZABETH ELGIN
I’ll Bring You Buttercups

Dedication

To my father Herbert Wardley

whose book this is

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

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About the Author

By the Same Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

1
1913

Alice Hawthorn had never been so happy, and not in her seventeen years past nor surely in the seventeen to come could she be this happy again.

To London! She was going to London by railway train; rushing and thundering through six counties to a city which was to her only a far-away fairy tale. Not that she didn’t know all there was to know about that city. Miss Julia had spoken often of the parks and the genteel folk who strolled through them, and the shops – streets and streets of them – and theatres and music halls and squares of townhouses. Oh, and people everywhere and the King and Queen reigning over half the world!

She wriggled deeper into the feathers of the mattress and pulled the blankets high over her ears. She was so happy she was afraid, for sure as anything could Fate snatch back her happiness. Fate always had, ever since she could remember. That was why she had hurried to tell it to the rooks, for not until she had told it, shared it, could this happiness be safely hers to keep. It was important the rooks should know. Rooks kept confidences and held secrets safe. You told them all: of birthings and dying, of sorrow and joy and hopes and fears. You always told them.

Rooks, it’s Alice here. She had stood, eyes closed, beneath the tallest tree in the wood, leaning against the trunk as though to link herself to the black birds that nested in it and wheeled and cawed above it. You know me. I’m sewing-maid at Rowangarth and I’m to go to London with Miss Julia and I’m that excited I shall burst if I don’t tell someone …

She had almost gone on to tell them about Tom Dwerryhouse but had decided against it, though heaven only knew why. Tom and Alice. Even their names seemed to fit; sounded so right together that it sent a glow of contentment from the tip of her nose to the tips of her toes. Tom, the under-keeper with whom she was walking out – well, almost walking out. Tom who was tall and twenty-two and had fair hair and blue eyes and a smile that completely transformed a face inclined to seriousness.

She was glad he was clean-shaven, because when he kissed her – and one day very soon now he would – she didn’t want it to be spoiled. Cousin Reuben had a moustache and he’d kissed her cheek the day he visited Aunt Bella with whom she once lived. She couldn’t have been more than eight at the time, but the memory of that prickly kiss lived on through the years. Reuben wasn’t really her cousin, though she called him that out of politeness, and because he was old.

She smiled, closing her eyes. She’d been on her way to Reuben’s cottage the day she met Tom – and all because of a lovable, lolloping dog who’d caused more trouble in the few months he’d been at Rowangarth than two dogs in two lifetimes.

‘Off you go, boy,’ she had whispered, slipping his lead, smiling as he hurtled into the green deeps of the wood, and hardly had she placed a hand on Reuben’s garden gate when she heard a roar so enraged that the whole of Rowangarth must have heard it, too.

‘Drat you, dog, you great daft animal! There’ll not be a game-bird left in this wood!’ The man who strode towards her carried a shotgun over his right arm, his other hand firmly grasping the collar of a bewildered spaniel. ‘Does this creature belong to you?’

‘N-no, but he’s with me.’ Alice gazed up into eyes deep with anger. ‘He belongs to Mr Giles and he isn’t a creature. He’s called Morgan and what’s more he’s got every right to run where he pleases,’ she ended, breathlessly defiant.

This was him, it had to be: the new under-keeper whose coming not two weeks ago had sent housemaids and kitchenmaids for miles around into a tizzy of delight; the man who had been so oh’d and ah’d over at table that Mrs Shaw had been obliged to tell them to stop their foolish talk, and if he were as tall and broad and good to look at as they made out, didn’t it stand to reason he’d be married, or at the very least promised?

‘That animal runs where I say he can, and where I’ve got pheasants sitting on eggs, he isn’t welcome. There won’t be a bird to show for it come October if he frightens the hens off the nests. And Morgan? What sort of a name is that for a dog, will you tell me?’

‘It’s the name Mr Giles chose.’ Alice tilted her chin.

And this was Mr Giles’s wood, like all the woods on the estate, or his as made no matter with his elder brother away in India. ‘And what’s more, I think Morgan suits him!’

‘So it does. A daft name for a daft dog, and likely you aren’t responsible for an animal not your own. But I’ve bother enough with hawks and magpies taking chicks and eggs: I can do well without that animal adding to my troubles. Now do you understand me, miss?’

‘But I always walk him here.’ Her mouth drooped at the corners.

‘Not any more you can’t, so best keep him near the house; trees enough for him there. Or you could let him run in the big meadow – if he isn’t afraid of cows, that is.’

He threw back his head and his laugh showed white, even teeth, and made her want to laugh with him. But she refused to give him the pleasure, for even though there was no denying that all she had heard whispered about him was true – he was as handsome as the devil – she tilted her chin still higher, for the new keeper was bossy and full of his own importance. Taking the lead from her pocket she murmured, ‘Come on home, Morgan.’ They wouldn’t stay where they weren’t welcome. She would call on Reuben tomorrow and, anyway, it was almost time for tea.

Servants’ tea at Rowangarth, when the big brown pot was set beside the kitchen range to warm and Mrs Shaw presided over bread and jam and fruit cake, was a happy time; the kitchen a haven of laughter and warmth where Alice Hawthorn could forget this slight.

‘Bid you good day,’ she had murmured in her most ladylike voice, deliberately refraining from using his name, though she knew it to be Tom Dwerryhouse. Everyone had known it; even the servants over at the Place.

Now she poked her nose out of the blankets to let go a sigh of relief, grateful that her hoity-toity behaviour hadn’t frightened Tom off for good. And well it might have, she admitted, had it not been for Morgan and his disorderly ways, for to Tom a dog so undisciplined was a challenge, a creature to be taught its place. And she had to admit that no dog she’d ever known was as tiresome and unbiddable as a spaniel called Morgan – and no dog so lovable. She would miss him when she went to London.

‘London,’ she whispered into the darkness. So far away that the journey could take hours and hours and they would have to eat luncheon on the train from a picnic basket, Miss Julia said. And when they arrived at King’s Cross station it would be she, Alice, who would call a porter with a raising of her forefinger and the slightest inclination of her head and instruct him to procure a cab for them. He would place their luggage on his trolley – Miss Julia would have three cases at least, as well as a hatbox and a travelling bag – and wheel it to the cab rank. Already Alice had been well-schooled by Miss Clitherow, the tall, thin housekeeper whose back was as straight as a ramrod and who carried her head so high that when she looked at anyone it seemed she was looking down her nose at them. The housekeeper, if she consented to let a body get to know her, was a kind, lonely woman who was neither below stairs nor above and had long since learned that to keep herself to herself was by far the best solution.

Yet she had taken to Alice, right from the day the nervous girl of almost fourteen had presented herself in her ill-fitting clothes and too-big boots for the close scrutiny of Rowangarth’s housekeeper; had found the girl’s innocence and candour pleasant after some of the pert, badly spoken young women she had interviewed. Without hesitation she had given the position of under-housemaid to the brown-eyed child who came without references but with a glowing report of her docility from the aunt who had brought her up and from Reuben Pickering, head keeper at Rowangarth, related to the girl through a niece, once removed. And though she was never to know it, it had been on Miss Clitherow’s recommendation that she was accompanying her employer’s daughter to London, and the well-instructed Alice knew exactly how a lady’s maid behaved; exactly how much money she should carry in her coat pocket and how much to tip – if the service had been good, that was. Because a lady like Miss Julia never called a porter or a cab, or stooped to ask the cabman how much, Miss Clitherow stressed, let alone proffered a tip. It was why a lady never travelled without a maidservant or chaperon. It was why, Alice exulted, she was going to London in two days’ time and, even though it would part her from Tom for almost a fortnight, she wouldn’t have missed it for all the tea in China or, to be fair to Rowangarth, in India!

‘To the mews off Montpelier Place,’ she would tell the cab driver in a softly spoken, genteel way; to the Knightsbridge home of Miss Anne Lavinia Sutton, maiden aunt to Robert, Giles and Julia, elder sister of the late Sir John of Rowangarth, God rest him, who had gone to his Maker before his time and at great speed: at fifty-eight miles an hour, to be fatally exact.

Alice closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. Tomorrow she must be up early, for there was unfinished work in the sewing-room; buttons to sew on Lady Helen’s tea gown – fifteen of them – and heaven only knew how many darts and tucks her dinner dress needed.

Poor Lady Helen. It would make her sad to wear that long, full gown in lavender slipper-satin. Alice was prepared to bet she would have gone anywhere at all in it rather than to Pendenys Place. After all the long months in mourning for her husband, must she not be dreading this first public engagement for three years, Alice brooded. Wouldn’t it have been better had she been able to accept some other, kinder ending to her years of black drapes and widow’s weeds, for Pendenys was not the friendliest of houses to visit, even at the best of times.

But the Suttons of Pendenys Place were kin to the Suttons of Rowangarth, and it was to kin that a woman turned when her mourning had run its course and she was able to step back into society again – even kin she disliked.

‘Lady Helen has lost weight,’ Miss Clitherow remarked to Alice only the week before as together they shook out and pressed the morning dresses and tea dresses and dinner dresses and ball gowns put away for the period of milady’s mourning. There would be a lot of work to be done before her sewing-maid went flitting off to London, she suggested pointedly, or where would her ladyship be, after so long in nothing but dreary black and purple? And Alice had fervently agreed and made a mental promise that Lady Helen’s clothes would all be seen to in good time, for she cared deeply for the mistress of Rowangarth, would always be grateful for the stroke of good fortune that landed her with the Rowangarth Suttons and not the Suttons of Pendenys Place. To have been in service at Pendenys, with the ill-tempered Mrs Clementina and the need always to be on the lookout for young Mr Elliot who thought all servants fair game, would have been unthinkable. She wondered why Lady Helen did not employ her own personal maid; why she preferred the aid of the housekeeper to help her dress and herself, the sewing-maid, to look after her clothes when Mrs Sutton of Pendenys had a lady’s maid from France to keep her clothes immaculate and even to style her hair.

Alice sighed, and thought instead of the lace-trimmed, blue-flowered tea gown and the pernickety sewing-on of fifteen shanked buttons in mother-of-pearl. And so fiddling a job was it that she was soundly asleep by the time she had bitten off the cotton attaching button number three.

‘I heard it whispered,’ said Mrs Shaw, who stood on a three-legged stool in the servants’ sitting-room, ‘that you and Tom Dwerryhouse are walking out.’ She had been longing to ask the question, but had refrained from asking it in public since it was obvious the lass wanted it kept a secret.

‘Not walking out exactly,’ Alice whispered from the swinging folds of Mrs Shaw’s hem. ‘But he does seem to have taken Morgan in hand: sits when he’s told, that dog does now, and comes when I call him – or most times he does. And you can’t say it isn’t an improvement, and not before time, either.’

Alice didn’t usually sew for Rowangarth staff, it being understood that when she had attended to the needs of her ladyship and Miss Julia, any spare time was spent repairing household linen. But Lady Helen was taking her afternoon rest, Miss Clitherow was away to town on Rowangarth business, and Miss Julia was out bicycling, so no one would be any the wiser if Alice spent a little time pinning up the hem of Cook’s newly acquired skirt. And it was, remarked Mrs Shaw, an ill-wind that blew nobody any good because here she was, the recipient of a quality skirt, passed on by a friend in service in Norwich as a direct result of the sinking of the SS Titanic and the late owner of the skirt having no further use for it, so to speak. And more bounty to come. A good winter coat, Mrs Shaw had been promised, and anything else the poor unfortunate lady’s executors thought fit to dispose of.

‘He’s a well set-up young fellow, yon gamekeeper,’ Mrs Shaw pressed.

‘Yes, and he likes dogs. Even sees good in Morgan.’ Alice was not to be drawn. ‘Can make him do anything. Now me – still sets me at defiance, sometimes. Fairly laughs at me – aye, and at Mr Giles, too. Turn round a little to your left …’

‘Was Mr Giles that found him – the dog, I mean. By the side of the road, wasn’t it?’

‘It was, Mrs Shaw, and in a terrible state, all battered and bleeding. Wrapped the poor thing in his jacket and carried him to the village, to the veterinary. Vet said the dog had been whipped something cruel, and neglected too, and it looked as if he’d run away or been abandoned. Best put the poor creature to sleep, he said.

‘But there were no bones broken, so Mr Giles brought him back to Rowangarth and him and Reuben got him on his feet again, between them.’

‘Aye. And a nuisance he’s been ever since, the spoiled animal,’ the cook sniffed. ‘For ever knocking things over; always in the kitchen, begging for scraps. And when I go to chase him back upstairs he looks at me with those big eyes. Well, what’s a body to do, will you tell me?’

‘Just like Mr Giles to bring him here, though. He don’t like animals suffering.’ Alice removed pins from her mouth. ‘Don’t like it when the shooting season starts. Not a one for killing, not really – well, that’s what Cousin Reuben said. A waste of two keepers Rowangarth is, though it might have been better if Mr Robert had been here. You can step down now, Mrs Shaw …’

She gave her hand to the small, plump cook, who said that now the pinning was done she could see to the sewing herself and thanks for her trouble.

‘No trouble, Mrs Shaw. And if your friend at Norwich sends you anything else, I’ll be glad to help alter them. But tell me about Mr Robert? Why didn’t he stay at Rowangarth after his father died? Why did he go back to India when her ladyship needed him here?’

‘Mr Robert? Sir Robert it is now, him having inherited. And as to why he came home from India after Sir John got himself killed and saw to everything and got all the legal side settled then took himself off again with indecent haste leaving his poor mother with the burden of running the estate …’ She inhaled deeply, not only having said too much for the likes of a cook, but had run out of breath in the saying of it, ‘… beats me,’ she finished.

‘But there’s Mr Giles here, to see to things.’ Alice liked Mr Giles. It was one of the reasons she took Morgan for a run every day.

‘Happen there is, and I’m not saying that Mr Giles isn’t good and kind and it isn’t his fault he’s got his nead in a book from morning till night.

‘It’s his brother, though, who should be here, seeing to his inheritance and not bothering with that tea plantation, or whatever it is they call it.’

‘A tea garden, Miss Clitherow says it is, and it’s tea that keeps this house on its feet,’ Alice reminded. Tea came every year from Assam; two large chests stamped Premier Sutton and the quality of it unbelievably fine.

‘Yes, and a tea garden that could well be looked after by a manager and not by the owner, my girl,’ came the pink-cheeked retort. ‘But it’s my belief –’

‘Yes, Mrs Shaw?’ Alice whispered, saucer-eyed.

‘It’s my belief there’s more to it than tea. More to it than meets the eye.’ Nodding, she tapped her nose with her forefinger.

‘A woman?’

‘A woman. Or a lady. Can’t be sure. But one he’s fond of, or why did he go back to India when his duty’s here, now that Sir John is dead and gone? Why doesn’t he marry her and bring her back here as his wife, eh?’

‘You don’t think she’s a married lady!’

‘A married woman.’ corrected Mrs Shaw from the doorway, ‘and if you ever repeat a word of what I’ve just said –’

‘Not a word. Not one word, Mrs Shaw. And I’ll be off, now, to give Morgan his run.’ And maybe see Tom, and perhaps discover where he would be working tonight, for gamekeepers worked all hours, especially when there were pheasants and partridges to see to, and poachers to look out for. ‘See you at teatime, Mrs Shaw.’

Oooh! Young Sir Robert and a married woman! And him in love with her, or so it would seem. But it was easy to fall in love, Alice acknowledged, thinking about Tom and how far they’d come since that first stormy meeting. Very easy indeed.

Reuben Pickering spooned sugar into the mug of tea then handed it to the young man who sat opposite at the fireside. He was pleased enough with the underling who had recently come to Rowangarth and who, if he behaved himself, would one day be given the position of head keeper. When he, Reuben, had presided over his last shoot, that was, and snared his last rabbit and shot his last magpie, and gone to live in one of the almshouses on the edge of the estate; in the tiny houses where all Rowangarth servants ended their days, were they of a mind to. And when that day came, young Dwerryhouse would leave the bothy where he lived and come to this very cottage with his wife, like as not – a thought that prompted him to say, ‘Kitchen talk has it that you and young Alice are walking out.’

‘Then talk has got it wrong, Reuben.’

‘So when you meet her this afternoon it’ll be by accident and not by design? Trifling with the lass, are you then?’

‘Trifling? No. But what do you know –’ He stopped, eyebrow quizzing.

‘Know that whenever she brings that dog of Mr Giles’s along the woodland path you always seem to be there, checking nests or just plain hanging about!’

‘It’s the only way I can see her,’ Tom coloured. ‘She’s like a dandelion seed, is Alice Hawthorn. You think you’ve got her, then puff, she’s away. But I didn’t know there’d been talk, for there’s nothing to tell,’ he shrugged.

‘Didn’t hear it from gossip – not exactly,’ Reuben chuckled. Hadn’t he seen the pair of them; seen them often? It hadn’t been all that difficult. A gamekeeper learns quickly to move like the shadow of a passing cloud; learns to drift in and out of sunlight dapples and to tread carefully and soft-like, so that neither beasts nor poachers know he’s there, watching or waiting or following. ‘Fond of the lass are you, Tom?’

‘That I am, though I’ve held my tongue. Wouldn’t do to tell her. I’ve a feeling she’s a lass that might be easily frightened off.’

‘So you haven’t even kissed her?’

‘That I have not!’ The head jerked up and blue eyes blazed, staring into Reuben’s paler ones, growing dim with age. Though it was more fool him, Tom silently admitted, for Alice’s mouth was made for kissing, her tiny waist for cuddling, and that pretty, pert nose made him want her all the more when she tilted it, all hoity-toity.

‘Then best you get a move on, or you’ll be beaten to it.’ By the son of Rowangarth’s head gardener for one, who was serving out his time at Pendenys Place, or by the young red-haired coachman for another. ‘Well, if you’ve got decent and gentlemanly intentions towards her, that is,’ he added solemnly, him being related to Alice in a roundabout way and therefore responsible for her because of it.

‘You think I don’t know it? But I can’t seem to make any headway. She’s a fey one.’

‘So are all lasses. They play you along like a fish on a line till they’re ready to pull you in. Unless,’ said Reuben, placing a log on the fire, ‘you show her you mean business.’

‘And how am I to do that? She tells me nothing; doesn’t even talk about her family nor where she comes from; no, nor even if she has a young man back home. Won’t give me a straight answer.’

‘Nor will she, Tom. She has no family – save for me and my niece Bella. It was Bella took on the rearing of Alice when she was nobbut a bairn – and did it with bad grace, an’ all. Many’s the time that woman nearly packed the lass off to the workhouse. Well, stood to reason, didn’t it; another mouth to feed on nothing but charity. Had her for seven years and begrudged every mouthful the bairn ate. Mean, my niece is.’

‘Poor little Alice,’ Tom said softly. ‘To lose her folk, and her so young …’

‘Younger than you think. Only a babe of two when her mam died, so her father left her with his mother and went off to be a soldier, the barmpot, and got himself killed at Ladysmith. And the old granny didn’t last long after that, neither, so Alice was farmed out again.’

‘An orphan at three,’ Tom frowned. ‘She’s never known a childhood.’ Not like his own. Not a growing-up secure in the care of parents and a brother and two sisters to fight and squabble with and stand solid against the rest of the world with. ‘Never known anything, really, but charity.’

‘Aye, and charity that’s given grudging is a cold thing, and as soon as the lass was old enough she came here, into service. The only good thing that woman did for Alice was getting me to speak for her to Miss Clitherow, or she might have ended up with the wrong Suttons; might have gone to that martinet over at Pendenys Place. And heaven help any lass that ends up there – especially one that’s bonny to look at. The Place Suttons have no breeding, see? Brass, yes; background, no. Not the right background, any road.’ Like all servants who were fortunate enough to end up with a family of quality, Reuben was a snob, and looked down on the Suttons at the Place.

‘Now the Suttons here at Rowangarth – the Garth Suttons – have breeding. Goes back hundreds of years. Pedigree. That’s what counts.’ Reuben knew all about pedigree, from gun dogs upwards. ‘So be sure to give Pendenys as wide a berth as you can, lad, for even their head keeper is crooked as they come and feathering his nest.’

‘But she’s all right now?’ Tom didn’t care about the Pendenys Suttons. All he wanted was to talk about Alice Hawthorn who had scarcely been out of his thoughts since the afternoon he met her. ‘Alice seems happy enough at Rowangarth.’

‘Oh my word, yes. A different young lady, these days. And done well for herself. Her mother was a dressmaker, so I’m told, and Alice seems to have inherited her skills. She’s sewing-maid, now, and answers to nobody but Miss Clitherow – and Lady Helen, of course. And her’s going to London, maiding Miss Julia.’ To London, and her not eighteen till June. All that way away when most folk never strayed beyond the Riding, let alone set foot outside of Yorkshire. ‘Ah, well,’ he consulted his pocket-watch, checking it with the ponderously ticking mantel-clock, ‘if you’ve finished your sup of tea we’d best get on with the rounds. You take the woodland and I’ll see to the rearing field.’

‘Right, Mr Pickering.’ Tom jumped instantly to his feet, giving the older man his full title, which was only polite once in a while. ‘There’s still a few nests not hatched out yet.’

Nests? Reuben chuckled, eyeing the fast disappearing back, when Alice and that Morgan dog should be walking the woodland? Always did, wet or dry, before servants’ tea. And to be hoped when the lad met her he talked about summat more interesting than dogs and the weather, or he’d lose her, sure as eggs was eggs, he would. And Reuben didn’t want that to happen, for he’d found a lot of good in young Dwerryhouse and he was more than fond of the lass who took the edge off his loneliness and was ever willing to sew on a patch, or a button or two, for an old widower. To have her settled with Tom would please him greatly.

‘Sure as eggs is eggs,’ he muttered, pulling on his hat.

Helen, Lady Sutton, sighed deeply and gazed at the lavender dinner dress draped carefully over the bed; at the matching satin shoes, the white silk stockings and the garters laid beside them. She did not want to wear those clothes, for when she had bathed and had her hair pinned and finished the time-consuming ritual of dressing, she would be going to dinner at Pendenys Place and she did not like Pendenys, nor anything about it, nor care overmuch for anyone who lived there – except Edward, that was.

‘Why the frown, Mother?’ Julia Sutton slammed shut the door behind her. ‘I told you not to wear the lavender, didn’t I? You’re out of mourning now and lavender and mauve and purple are mourning colours and you shouldn’t –’

‘Julia! When will you learn to knock on a bedroom door and please, don’t ever tell your mother anything! And what do you expect me to wear, newly out of black? Red, should it be, like a music hall soubrette?’

‘Blue would have been lovely. Pa always liked you in blue.’

‘Your papa is no longer here,’ she whispered, her voice sharp-edged with remembered grief.

‘No, darling. Sorry.’ Julia brushed the pale cheek with gentle lips. ‘And the lavender is perfectly acceptable, come to think of it, for a visit to Pendenys. Shall you wear your pearls?’

‘I think not.’ She didn’t want to wear the pearl choker tonight; not her husband’s wedding gift. ‘Just the ear-drops, and flowers. They’re in the pantry now, keeping fresh.’

Flowers. She would be wearing Pa’s flowers, Julia frowned; she should have known it. Her mother had carried orchids as a bride, and thereafter Pa had ordered the cream-coloured beauties to be grown in the orchid house at Rowangarth. No one was to pick them without milady’s permission, and no one was ever to wear them but her ladyship. A dashing declaration of love it had been, for though their marriage was arranged, they had loved deeply, too. And she, Julia Sutton, would marry for love or not at all. One day she would find the right man, and at the first meeting of their eyes he would know it and she would know it and …

‘Darling Mama.’ She hurried to where her mother sat, dropping to the floor at her feet, resting a cheek on her lap. ‘I know how awful it will be for you without Pa, this coming out into the world again. But Giles will be with you tonight. And I think she meant to be kind, asking you over there when she knew the time was right.’

‘She, Julia?’ The voice held a hint of reproof.

‘Aunt Clementina, I mean, only I do so dislike calling her Aunt. It means she’s really family …’

‘Which she is,’ Helen Sutton sighed.

‘Well, Uncle Edward married her, I suppose, though the poor old love had to, him being –’

‘No one has to do anything. How many times have I told you that?’

‘Then when you say I must marry, can I remind you of what you just said?’

‘I merely meant that Edward married her of his own free will.’

‘And for her money …’

‘Married Clementina Elliot of his own free will, Julia, and what else was he to do? What else is a second son whose expectations are nil to do?’

‘Hm. I suppose Giles will have to do the same, poor pet – marry for money, I mean.’

‘Your brother, I hope, will eventually love where money lies. It would be to his advantage were his wife to have some means of her own.’

‘I don’t think Giles will ever marry,’ Julia shrugged. ‘It’s a pity he can’t go to Cambridge. He’d be happy, there. Why must he stay here, just because Robert is too selfish to –’

‘Julia! You mustn’t speak of your brother in that way.’ Helen Sutton rose swiftly to her feet and strode to the window. Mention of her eldest son always agitated her – and the secrecy he wrapped around himself; his selfishness in returning to India.

‘Why mustn’t I?’ She was at her mother’s side in an instant. ‘You know he should have stayed here after Pa died. Why should Giles have all the bother of Rowangarth when it won’t ever be his? Why can’t Robert come home and marry and do what’s expected of him? Why? Will you tell me?’

‘Because your brother is his own master. Because he’s a grown man and –’

‘Then why doesn’t he act like one? He’s needed here, now, but he’s oceans away, growing tea.’

‘Tea keeps Rowangarth going – and besides, Robert loves India.’ They were on dangerous ground and her daughter, Helen Sutton was forced to acknowledge, was altogether too blunt for her own good. ‘And I don’t wish to talk about Robert.’

‘No. Nor his love for India – though I’ll bet anything you like that isn’t what her name is!’

‘Julia! I will not –’ Her voice trailed away into despair and she covered her face with her hands as if to block out the conversation.

‘Mama! I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I know it’s just three years since Pa went and I shouldn’t be talking like this because you’re the dearest mother anyone could wish for. You know I didn’t mean what I said.’

‘I know you didn’t. But could we talk about tonight instead? Could I tell you how much I’d rather stay home – how much I’d rather do anything than accept Clemmy Sutton’s hospitality.’ Her lavish, ostentatious hospitality; her patronizing of the Garth Suttons, who were poor compared to the Suttons of Pendenys. Why did they irritate her so when it was obvious to anyone that jealousy was at the root of Clementina’s discontent; because not all the money in the Riding could buy the one thing she – and yes, her father, too – coveted above all else and would never, could never possess.

She had come to Edward Sutton, that only child of an Ironmaster, with nothing to commend her but her father’s riches, knowing she was tolerated but not accepted by the county society into which she had married. Her father was in trade – it was as simple as that, and Clementina was considered to be as vulgar as the house her father’s money had built. An obscenity in stone and slate was Pendenys Place; a flat-roofed, castellated building that had set out to be a gentleman’s house and ended up believing itself a castle, so much pride and defiance had gone into it. For old Nathan Elliot’s imagination had run wild when he built his daughter’s house, and the architect, being young and ambitious and extremely poor, had not gainsaid his patron.

Pendenys boasted a butler, a housekeeper, two footmen and many servants, most of them young and poorly paid. It stood out like a great grey scab on the beautiful countryside, the only thing to commend it being that it could not be seen from the windows of Rowangarth.

Pendenys Place stood brash on a hilltop, a defiant monument to the pride of a self-made man, lashed by wind and rain and still not one iota mellowed by them.

Helen Sutton signed, becoming aware that her daughter’s eyes regarded her with an openness she had come to expect, a frankness that was a part of her.

‘Is something wrong?’ She drew her fingers across her cheek. ‘A smut?’

‘No, dearest. Whilst you were miles away, thinking, I was thinking how beautiful you are and wondering why I’m not in the least bit like you.’ Why she had not inherited the fineness of her mother’s bones, her clear blue eyes, her thick, corn-yellow hair.

‘Not like me? And you aren’t like your father, either. I think you favour your aunt Sutton, child. You have her independence and her courage. But don’t grow into an old maid like she is, because you have your own special beauty, though you won’t admit it.

‘Why do you freeze men out, Julia? Because you do, you know. Sometimes I think you go out of your way to do it.’

‘I know I do. But it’s only because the right man hasn’t come along yet, and you did say, you and Pa, that you’d never interfere and let me marry where I wished. And I shall know him, when we meet. I’ll know him at once, so don’t worry about me. Let’s talk about tonight, shall we, and Aunt Clemmy and her awful Elliot?’

‘Must we?’ Helen Sutton shuddered. She intensely disliked her brother-in-law’s elder son; wondered why a stop hadn’t been put to his extravagant ways, his drinking and his women. And especially to his whoring.

Blushing, she checked herself at once. She had allowed herself to think a word no lady should even know. But whoring – and there was no other word for it – and Elliot Sutton were synonymous, and she would rather her daughter entered a convent than marry a man with so dreadful a reputation. ‘Must we talk about Clementina and her everlasting complaining about the cost of servants and the amount they eat?’

‘Perhaps not.’

‘Nor about her son who is no better than – than he ought to be.’

‘Elliot … I suppose you can’t entirely blame him for being as he is.’ Julia Sutton was nothing if not fair. ‘After all, his father spends his time buying books and reading books. I think Uncle Edward loves learning better than he loves his son, and you can’t, as Mrs Shaw is always saying, make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Elliot can’t ever be a gentleman with a mother like Aunt Clemmy. She’s common!’

‘That is unfair! And Mrs Shaw shouldn’t say things like that,’ Helen gasped, though her eyes were bright with mischief and her lips struggled against a smile. And hadn’t her John always said that a man could choose his friends, but his relations he was stuck with and must make the best of.

So tonight she would try her best to be kind to Clemmy and her eldest son. She would wear her almost-out-of-mourning gown because it would be expected of her, and she would take the arm of her younger son for support and wear John’s orchids with love.

Tomorrow it would be all over, and she could pick up the threads of her shattered life and face the world alone. And tomorrow, too, she would wave a smiling goodbye to Julia and Hawthorn and do nothing that would cast the least sadness on their great adventure.

‘Let’s talk about London,’ she smiled.

‘So what’s this, Alice Hawthorn? You dog-walking again tonight, an’ all?’ The young keeper’s face so reflected his pleasure that he even forgot to reprimand her for bringing a dog to the rearing field, where coops and runs for game chicks stood in orderly rows. ‘Thought Mr Giles usually gave him his late-night run?’ He bent to pat Morgan’s head and fondle his ears and the spaniel whimpered with delight and wagged his tail so furiously that his rump wagged with it. ‘Gone out, has he?’

‘Gone out with her ladyship, and Miss Julia’s away into Holdenby for supper at the vicarage, so Cook said staff could eat cold tonight and I wasn’t needed to help out.’ She finished, aware she was blushing furiously on account of her being here, because Reuben had told her when she passed his gate that Tom was in the rearing field shutting up the coops for the night, and that if she hurried she might just catch him there.

‘Don’t know what you mean,’ she’d said, all airy-fairy as she strolled past, but she had run like the wind the moment she was out of sight of the cottage, desperate to see him. They were leaving for London early tomorrow morning, and if she didn’t see him tonight, she had thought despairingly, she didn’t know how she would live out fourteen days away from him.

‘There now. That’s the last of them done.’ He placed a board against the slats of the coop, leaning a brick against it. ‘I’ll walk you back, if you’d like.’

‘You don’t have to, Tom …’

‘No trouble. It’s on my way to the bothy.’ He smiled again. ‘Come on now, Morgan. Keep to heel,’ he said in the stern voice he kept for the dog, nodding his satisfaction as the spaniel did exactly as it was told. ‘So Lady Helen is visiting? Gone to Pendenys, so the coachman told me’

‘Mm. Sad for her, isn’t it, without Sir John? And she looked so beautiful tonight. We all stood in the hall to see her go – and so she’d know we wished her well, poor lady.

‘There was Cook and Tilda from the kitchen, and Bess. And Mary who waits at table, and me. And Miss Clitherow gave her a hand downstairs. That frock has a bit of a train on it, so she had to walk very straight, and careful.’ And proud, Alice thought, with her lovely head held high. ‘She smiled when she saw us, Tom, and we all gave her a curtsey, though she don’t ever expect it.’ Not like one she could mention who – though she wasn’t a lady and never would be, Cook said – had her servants bobbing up and down like corks in a bucket.

‘Not a lot of staff at Rowangarth,’ Tom offered his hand at the woodland stile. ‘Not for a gentleman’s house, I mean.’

‘Happen not, but we manage. After all, Sir Robert’s in India, Miss Julia’s no trouble at all and Mr Giles is as often as not shut up in the library. And with her ladyship being so long in mourning and her not going out or receiving callers or giving parties – well, we haven’t been overworked, exactly.’

‘Do you remember what it was like at Rowangarth, Alice, before Sir John was killed? I reckon there’d be some fine old shoots, here on the estate?’

Alice didn’t know about the shooting, she said, but she remembered one or two parties.

‘They’d just had their silver wedding when the master was taken. My, there was half the Riding at that do. But I’d only been here a couple of months, then the house went into mourning when Sir John was killed.’

‘A motor accident, wasn’t it?’

‘Aye, and all the fault of King Edward and his speeding.’ All because the King had driven at sixty miles an hour, would you believe, along the Brighton road. After that, every motor owner had donned cap and gloves and goggles and tried his damnedest to do the same. But the Prince of Wales – they’d hardly got used to calling him King when he died – had waited so long to get his throne, Cook said, that he lived life fast and furious as if he’d known he’d get less than ten years out of his crowning. ‘Sir John tried to drive faster than the King, you see, and skidded at a bend, and –’

‘And that’s why her ladyship won’t have a motor,’ Tom finished, matter-of-factly.

‘That’s why. And Mr Giles and Miss Julia both able to drive and desperate for motors of their own and not daring to buy one. Miss Sutton in London has a motor – it’s at Aunt Sutton’s house we’ll be staying when we’re in London. Oh, who’d have thought it? Someone like me maiding Miss Julia!’

‘And what do you mean by that?’

‘Well, someone – ordinary.’

‘But you aren’t ordinary, Alice Hawthorn.’ He stopped, resting his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. ‘You’re extraordinary pretty, to my way of thinking.’

‘Pretty?’ Her eyes met his and she felt trapped and excited and peculiar, all at the same time. ‘Oh, but I’m not! If you’d wanted to see what pretty is, you should have seen her ladyship tonight. So lovely she was, and all shining in satin. And no jewels at all, ’cept for her earrings. And her orchids, Tom; her own special orchids, all creamy-white, same as she carried to her wedding to Sir John.

‘They were special between them, those orchids. Oh, mustn’t it have been wonderful, them loving like that – and romantic, to be given orchids. But listen to me going all soft. No one will ever give me orchids,’ she sighed.

‘Happen not, pretty girl, but it isn’t all women are suited to orchids, and you are one of them. You, lass, are more in keeping with –’ he bent to pluck some of the flowers that grew wild in the grass at their feet, smiling as he tilted her chin – ‘to these. You’re a buttercup girl, Alice. All fresh and shining you are, so hold yourself still so I can see if you like butter.’ He held one of the flowers to her throat and smiled at the golden glow that shone from the whiteness of her skin. ‘Oh, aye, you’re a buttercup girl, and no mistake.’

‘I am?’ She closed her eyes because his mouth was only a kiss away and she had wanted so long for him to kiss her.

‘That you are. Let them keep their fine flowers, Alice. I’ll give you buttercups, my lovely lass, and they’ll be more special between us than the rarest orchid that ever grew.’

He touched her lips gently with his own and fire and ice ran through and left her shaking and afraid to open her eyes lest he should see what shone there. And when he gathered her to him it was like a homecoming, and she lifted her arms and wrapped them gently around his neck because it was the only way she knew to tell him that she would like to be kissed again.

‘You’re my girl, aren’t you, Alice?’

He had never expected it would be like this; never thought he would feel tenderness for her along with his wanting, nor once imagined he would feel like throttling with his own hands any man who threatened to harm her innocence.

‘I’m your girl, Tom …’

‘So we’re walking out steady, now, and you’ll sit by me in church?’

‘When I’m back from London.’

‘Then look at me, and tell me so.’

‘Tom?’ All at once it was easy and she looked smiling into his eyes and whispered, ‘I’m your girl, Tom Dwerryhouse, and I love you. There now, does that suit you?’

‘It does, sweetheart. It suits me very nicely.’ His eyes loved her as he handed her the buttercups. ‘Very nicely indeed.’

She closed her eyes again and sighed tremulously. In her lonely youth she had longed for this; yearned to be close to someone, and special. Not so long ago she had been so happy about London she had told the rooks she was fit to burst of it, but this was different. This was even better than happiness. Tonight, Tom had kissed her, and she was loved.

2

London seethed and shimmered and sang with magic: nothing but houses in streets and terraces and squares; trees in May leaf and parks pink and white with blossom; elegant ladies and elegant shops; costermongers yelling their fruit for sale; motors honking, and cab drivers shaking their whips at motors for frightening their horses and oh, just everything.

‘I said you’d like London, didn’t I, Hawthorn?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She did, now that she had become as off-hand about it as Miss Julia; used to the size and the speed and the sound of it and learned to keep out of the way of motor drivers and cab drivers, all determined to run her over. Already they had window-gazed and walked in Hyde Park and St James’s Park and visited Westminster Abbey and stood, shaking with excitement, at the gates of Buckingham Palace – though not so much as a glimpse of the King and Queen had there been. And now they sat, feet aching from the London pavements, in the kitchen of Aunt Sutton’s tiny, tucked-away house, eating sandwiches and drinking tea and discussing where to go tonight.

‘We mustn’t waste money on theatres and things, Hawthorn. A lot of London is free, if you know where to go. Soon we shall take a trip on the Underground, but tonight we must try to find a meeting.’

‘A meeting, miss?’ Alice frowned, all the while thinking fearfully of trains that hurtled through dark tubes dug deep beneath London.

‘You know what kind of meeting.’

She knew, but like riding on a tube train, Alice was determined not to think too much about it, though it wasn’t any use ignoring the fact that Miss Julia was looking for a political meeting – a Votes-for-Women meeting – and if Lady Helen ever got to hear about it there’d be no end of a to-do.

‘Take care of my daughter, Hawthorn. Don’t let her lead you a dance,’ she’d said as they left Rowangarth, but when Alice thought about it, there wasn’t a lot a sewing-maid could do if her young mistress was set on going to one of those meetings; nothing, save go along with her because that, really, was why she was in London. But downright ridiculous it was, and a waste of time, because what would a woman do with a vote, even supposing she got one? At least that was what Cook wanted to know when they talked, one teatime, about the suffragettes who’d been sent to prison for causing an affray and had straight away refused all food. And the prison warders were compelled to force-feed them – for their own good – which couldn’t have been very pleasant, Alice remembered thinking.

‘Force-feed,’ Tilda scathingly remarked. ‘Isn’t nobody can make you eat if you don’t let your throat swallow.’

‘Happen not. But they force a tube down your throat,’ Cook had retorted, red-cheeked, ‘then they pour slops down it, so you’d be forced to eat. Force-feed, see? That’s what they mean by it.’

‘Meeting, miss?’ Alice closed her mind to the horror. ‘One of Mrs Pankhurst’s meetings? I don’t think her ladyship would like that, nor Miss Sutton.’

‘But my mother isn’t here, nor Aunt Sutton.’

No. Nor Miss Sutton’s maid, either. Indeed, they were alone in this house – apart from the cleaning woman who came mornings. It was unheard of, Alice brooded. Lady Helen would never have allowed the London trip had she known her sister-in-law’s live-in maid would be away in Bristol for a family wedding, and staying on there for a holiday.

‘I don’t know why Miss Sutton didn’t think to mention it to her ladyship – about us being here on our own, I mean.’

‘Nor do I,’ Julia grinned, ‘but I’m glad she thought she’d mentioned it.’ Always forgetful, her father’s elder sister – when it suited her, that was. ‘And you aren’t going to mention it when we get back home, are you, Hawthorn?’

Alice said she wasn’t, though she didn’t like being a party to deceiving Lady Helen. Suffragette meetings were illegal now; had been since last year when there’d been terrible trouble over breaking windows and knocking off policemen’s helmets and the forced feeding in prison. But Miss Julia was set on going, though if they ran away quickly when the police arrived, then surely no one need be any the wiser.

‘If we were to find one of those meetings, miss, you wouldn’t do anything awful, would you?’

‘Of course I wouldn’t. I just want to be there, that’s all. Oh, isn’t it nice doing exactly as we please and no one at all to boss us about?’

Alice had to agree that it was. It was better than nice, in fact, because Miss Julia was no end of a good sport who, since they’d been in London, had treated her almost like an equal. And wasn’t she being stupid, Alice asked of her conscience, to start making a to-do about a meeting that might never come about when she was having such a fine time?

Where was the wrong in one forbidden gathering when Miss Julia hadn’t so far done anything awful, like meeting a young man or going without a gentleman escort to a music hall, even though she had the spunk to do either had she been of a mind to. Miss Julia had more about her than her brother Giles, who was quiet and bookish. Julia Sutton, it had more than once been remarked upon, should have been born a lad, so much devilment had she in her.

‘Exactly as we please? We won’t be looking for trouble, will we? Well, I am responsible for you and –’

‘You? Responsible for me? Oh, Hawthorn, you’re only a child!’

‘I’m eighteen!’ Well she would be, come June.

‘And I will be twenty-one soon, so it is I who must look after you.’

She was right, Alice conceded silently. Not only was Julia Sutton older but she was wiser, too, if you thought how far afield she had been: to Switzerland and France and to London ever so many times; whilst she, Alice Hawthorn, had never set foot outside the Riding until now.

But she was here: just to think how it would be when she got back, with everyone demanding to know what London was like, and gasping and exclaiming when she told them about sitting in a ladies-only first-class compartment, and riding through the crowded London streets to the house of Miss Anne Lavinia Sutton, so near to Hyde Park you could see the tops of the trees from your bedroom window. Indeed, the whole of Holdenby village would be curious about it. The comings and going of the Garth Suttons and the Place Suttons provided a fair proportion of Holdenby gossip – not to mention the goings-on of Mr Elliot Sutton.

What a journey it had been: such speed, and the two of them eating luncheon as the rest of the world rushed past the window of their compartment. It was only the second time Alice had been on a railway train, the first time so long ago that she couldn’t recall it at all and had had to take Aunt Bella’s word for it. So she wasn’t going to say anything about them being alone in Miss Sutton’s house, nor about trying to find a Votes-for-Women meeting, because these two weeks in London would stay with her for the rest of her life and be brought out fresh and bright when she was old to be lived through again. And the things she would have to tell Tom!

She smiled to remember that night – the buttercup night – and the yellow flowers which now lay carefully wrapped in tissue paper and placed inside her Bible at her favourite place. Luke, Chapter Two: And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn … Tom’s buttercup, and the Christmas story.

‘Hawthorn! What are you brooding about now?’

‘I – er – just about what you’ll be wearing tonight. Best tell me, miss, so I can give it a brush and a press.’

‘Something plain I suppose, and ordinary. Well, I shan’t want to look frivolous and uncaring, shall I? Women getting the vote is important – to be taken seriously.’

‘And you agree with it, miss – that some women should be given the vote?’

‘Not some women – all women over twenty-one. And not given it. It should be theirs by right.’

‘Yes, miss. I’ll put out the blue costume and the pale blue blouse, then?’

‘Whatever you think. And Hawthorn – nothing will happen tonight and, anyway, there mightn’t even be a meeting because they don’t exactly advertise them now. Wouldn’t do to have the police waiting to stop it before it had even started, now would it? So don’t look so worried.’

‘All right.’ There wasn’t anything else to say, come to think of it, because tonight something would happen, she was sure of it, though whether good or bad or a mixing of both, she couldn’t for the life of her tell. But they would be there, the two of them, at Speakers Corner, hoping to find a meeting. And finding trouble, like as not …

‘Thank you, Mary.’ Helen Sutton smiled as the parlourmaid set down a tray bearing afternoon tea.

‘Is it muffins?’ Her son lifted the plate cover.

‘No, it is not. Muffins are consolation for winter, Giles. It’s May, now, so it’s egg-and-cress sandwiches, I hope. Now pour my tea, won’t you? I feel like being spoiled today.’

‘What did my sister say in her letter?’ Giles Sutton demanded, passing the cup.

‘Julia seems to be having a grand time and says that Hawthorn is, too.’

‘Dear little Hawthorn. I miss her.’

‘Don’t you mean that you miss her looking after your dog?’

‘Well, I’ve got to admit that Morgan misses her too, but giving him his outings does get me out, once in a while.’

‘I don’t know why you spend so much time in that dull old library.’

‘I like it there.’ He liked the library better than any room in the house: the smell of old books and wax-polished furniture, the slow, soothing tick of the clock, and dust-motes hanging sunlit on the still air. Peace, there, and words for the reading. It was all he ever wanted, come to think of it, except to go to his father’s old college at Cambridge. ‘But how do you feel, Mother, now that it’s all behind you?’ He referred, hesitantly, to her period of mourning. ‘It’s good to see you out of that dreary black.’

‘That dreary black was necessary. I wore it for your father, Giles. Not because society demanded I should, but because it suited my mood.’

‘You still miss him, don’t you, dearest?

‘I miss him.’ And not so old, yet, that she didn’t want him, too, and the comfort of his nearness. ‘And I don’t know what your father would have thought to both his sons still being unmarried. One son interested only in tea-growing, and the other never so happy as when he’s got his nose in a book!’

But they were men, both of them, for all that. It was just that neither had yet decided upon a suitable wife. And at least they didn’t flaunt their masculinity like some not so far from this very house. Why, even the other night at Clementina Sutton’s dinner party, Elliot hadn’t been able to keep his eyes – or his hands, if she hadn’t been mistaken – off the parlourmaid who helped at table. She could almost feel sorry for her brother-in-law’s wife and the embarrassment their eldest son must cause her.

‘Why the sigh, Mother?’

‘Nothing, really. Just a sigh. A coincidence, I suppose, that I happened to be thinking about your cousin.’

‘Elliot? It’s a butcher’s daughter now, I believe. And trouble, so I heard.’

‘Giles! You mustn’t listen to kitchen gossip!’

‘Not even when it’s true? They were talking about it in the stables. I heard them. The man’s a fool. Why can’t he do his carrying-on in London, though I suppose he’s at it there, too, when it gets too hot for him around here.’

‘I think you’re right. One of these days, Elliot will find himself in real trouble.’

‘Which he’ll be promptly bought out of with old Nathan’s money.’

‘I fear so.’ She stirred her tea reflectively. ‘What that young man needs is a good whipping, and more’s the pity his father doesn’t give him one before he’s beyond redemption.’

‘Don’t blame his father. Like me, Uncle Edward was born a second son.’

‘And second sons must shift for themselves – I know; though it seems that both you and your uncle would have been better suited to the academic life. For Edward it was a choice of the army or the Church – so the poor man chose Clementina.’

‘Aunt Clemmy chose him, don’t you mean?’ Giles laughed, making his mother wonder why this serious, bookish son of hers didn’t laugh more often, and why he didn’t marry and give her grandchildren; for it seemed that her other son, whose duty it was to provide an heir, had little intention of doing so in the foreseeable future.

‘Must go, dearest,’ Giles kissed his mother’s cheek with affection, ‘and give Morgan his outing. When will Hawthorn be back?’

‘Not for a while yet; and Giles,’ Helen murmured, eyeing his pocket with mock severity, ‘that animal will always be fat if you insist on spoiling him with titbits.’

‘Just a macaroon. He’s very fond of them.’ He grinned, boyishly disarming, which made his mother love him all the more and send up a small prayer of thanks that her younger son at least did not prefer India to the springtime greenness of Rowangarth.

Rowangarth. So dear to her. Built more than three hundred years ago at the time of King James’s dissertation on witches and the evils of their craft. Small, by some standards, for the home of a gentleman of ancient title, but built square and solid against the northern weather, and with a rowan tree planted at all four aspects of the house, for witches feared the rowan tree and gave it a wide berth, their early ancestor had reasoned. And should a rowan tree die of age or be uprooted in a high wind, another was always planted in its place. It was still the custom, and thus far the Suttons had prospered, having had no generation without a male heir, so the descent was direct and ever would be, Helen Sutton fervently hoped. And above all else, Rowangarth was a happy place in which to live – which was more than could be said for her brother-in-law’s home, if one could call Pendenys Place a home.

‘Pendenys,’ she murmured, shaking her head. Completed little more than twenty-five years ago, the newness was still on it, with its carefully arranged trees little more than saplings still, and the house proud and cold and loveless. It made her feel sorry for her husband’s younger brother, and the need for him to love where money lay. Edward Sutton had not been cut out for clerical orders, and even to think of being a soldier had left him cold with apprehension. So he had married Clementina, daughter of Nathan Elliot, an Ironmaster of prodigious wealth, whose ambitions for his only child were boundless. Thus brass, so local talk insisted, had married breeding, as so often happened these days.

Clementina had come to Edward Sutton possessed of a dowry that built Pendenys Place. The house had been named for Clementina’s grandmother, Cornish-born Mary Anne Pendennis who, talk had it, had scrimped and saved and even taken in washing to help fund that first, long-ago Elliot foundry.

Yet Clementina had done her duty by her marriage contract, Helen admitted with scrupulous fairness, and had given Edward three sons in as many years, then straight away closed her bedroom door to him, enabling him to live his own life again, more or less, and return, duty done, to his beloved books. And his wife, secure in her loveless marriage, ruled Pendenys like the martinet she was, doing exactly as she pleased, for it was she who paid the piper.

Helen clucked impatiently, wishing Clementina would mellow just a little, be less belligerent. Clemmy was so insular; could not forgive anyone she deemed better born than herself; still clung unconsciously to her roots and sheltered behind the power her father’s money gave her. Defiantly, she had called her first son Elliot, determined her maiden name should not be forgotten; her second-born she named for her father, Nathan, and her third child for her father’s father, Albert. Her eldest son wanted for nothing, and coveted only one thing: the knighthood his father had not received, despite the many and bountiful donations made by his mother to Queen Victoria’s favourite charities.

Now Elliot secretly hoped that pestilence would strike down his Rowangarth cousins Robert and Giles, thus ensuring the baronetcy would pass, eventually, to him. Not, Helen frowned, that she could be sure that Elliot thought it, but she was as certain as she could be that he did.

‘And her servants,’ Helen confided to the vase of lilac reflected in the window-table. ‘She screams at her servants, too.’

Clementina harangued her domestic staff as no lady would ever do. Reprimands to servants should be given to the housekeeper to pass on, for a lady never stooped to such behaviour. Not ever, Helen sighed. And now, she supposed, she must return Clementina’s kindness – if kindness the recent dinner invitation to Pendenys had been – and ask her to Rowangarth. And since her husband would find an excuse to decline, he being so embarrassed by his wife’s loud voice, and since it always left him pained to visit the home he had been born in; it would be Elliot Sutton who would accompany his mother to Rowangarth, and his braying laugh and doubtful jokes would be a discomfort to all, except to his doting mother.

Helen set down her cup. The tea had gone cold and she decided against sending for a fresh pot. The servants would be taking their own tea now, and it wasn’t kind to send one of them hurrying to answer her ring.

She sighed again, tears rising to her eyes. Instantly, she blinked them away. ‘Oh, John,’ she whispered to the empty room, ‘I do so miss you, my dearest.’

Alice held the flat-iron an inch from her cheek, satisfying herself it was hot enough, then rubbed it in the tray of powdered bathbrick to clean and polish it, relieved that Miss Julia’s blue costume had travelled well, with hardly a crease in it to press out.

She glanced around the kitchen, easily the largest room in the house, at the brown sinkstone and shining brass taps; at the wooden plate rack above it; the red-tiled floor and the white, bright paintwork. All this pretty little house was white. It was the new fashion, Julia said. There was white furniture, too, in the bedrooms, and pots and pots of ferns: aspidistras were completely out of favour, now. It was so different, this light, bright house compared to Rowangarth in the far-away north.

To recall her home – for Rowangarth was her home now, and she wanted never to leave it, except with Tom – brought a pang of longing for the ages-old house that lay gently in a fold of the hills, sheltered and secure.

Rowangarth had been built with mellow stone, pillaged from a roofless priory nearby. It was an early Jacobean house, with mullioned windows and twisted chimneys. Inside there was oak in plenty – wall panels, staircases and uneven floorboards – and rooms built smaller for warmth in winter yet with high, wide windows to let in the summer sun. Rowangarth smelled of wax polish and musty tapestries and wood fires, and of smoke, too, when the wind blew from the south – which wasn’t often – hitting Holdenby Pike and gusting down chimneys to send smoke and soot billowing. But mostly the wind blew from the north-east; a fire-whipping wind that sucked smoke from the ancient flues and reddened fires and heated ovens with no bother at all. Rowangarth was a winter house that wrapped itself around those who lived there; Aunt Sutton’s house was a bright, summertime house that had once been part of the stables at the back of Montpelier Place. Stables, indeed, and Miss Anne Lavinia Sutton a lady born!

But perhaps it was one of Miss Julia’s jokes. You never knew when to believe her and when to take what she said with a pinch of salt, for she was always teasing or laughing, though once she had given up her tomboy ways she would grow into a very beautiful lady. Miss Julia was fair-to-middling now, but mark Cook’s words, those beautiful bones of hers would come into their own before so very much longer, and there’d be young men killing themselves for love of her. And when, Cook had plaintively demanded, was the girl going to get herself wed? There was nothing Cook would like better than a wedding at Rowangarth, now milady’s mourning was over, with dinner parties beforehand and such a wedding feast that the skill of Rowangarth’s Mrs Shaw would be the talk of the Riding for years to come; the yardstick by which all other wedding feasts were measured!

Alice smiled down at the blue jacket, shook it gently, then draped it on a chair-back. Blue of any shade suited Miss Julia; it seemed to shade her grey eyes and make them look larger than ever. Julia Sutton’s eyes were beautiful, and her brown hair waved softly so it was a pleasure to dress and hardly ever needed hot tongs.

Alice wondered if she should press her long scarf, for didn’t folk say it could be draughty on that Underground railway, and mightn’t it be wise if she were to tie down her hat?

She sighed, wishing the trip on the tube train had never been mentioned, though it was safe as houses she was assured, with people riding on the Underground every day of the week. And what Miss Julia said was doubtless correct: that she would be glad that she had done it. It wasn’t given to many around Holdenby to ride on a tube train, even though Alice didn’t think it natural to burrow beneath a city like moles.

Carefully she carried the costume upstairs, laying it over the bed with the blouse, then took out a clean chemise and drawers and black silk stockings. Later, she would help Miss Julia to dress, pulling and tugging at her corset laces from the back until the girl cried, ‘Enough!’ and was satisfied with the shape nature had never intended her to be. Corsets, said Julia, were the very devil, and one day women would refuse to wear them, just see if they didn’t! It was good, Alice smiled, that the dress of servants was far less bothersome; good that her shape was her own.

Closing the bedroom door she took the narrow, twisting stairs to the attic in which she slept, thinking of the costume in finest grey flannel she had been given.

‘Take it, for I’m sick and tired of black and grey!’ Julia Sutton had said when her mourning for her father came to an end. Children were luckier than their elders; needed only to shut themselves away in drabness for one year, not three. ‘And take this black skirt, if you’d like it, and these white blouses!’

Alice had gratefully accepted such bounty, for were not grey and black the colours servants wore, and mightn’t it be fine, now that she and Tom were walking out officially, to have so beautiful a costume to wear for him; to walk proudly at his side in, with pink satin roses on her hat?

Tom. Thomas Dwerryhouse. Her cheeks pinked just to think of him; to think how she missed him and loved him and how very much she wanted him to kiss her. And though she was enjoying every minute of her stay in London, she wouldn’t complain when they boarded the train for home. And meantime, there was Miss Julia’s shoes to polish, and her own boots too, and a meal to prepare before their evening outing.

Life was all rush and bustle. Life was wonderful!

They walked through Hyde Park in the direction of Marble Arch and Speakers Corner, looking like young ladies of quality, Alice thought with delight, with Miss Julia stepping daintily because of her fashionable long hobble skirt, and herself in the grey flannel and a flower-trimmed hat.

‘What a beautiful evening, Hawthorn. It’s much warmer here than at home.’

It was, Alice had to admit, with none of the northern sharpness in the early night air. It was a perfect evening in every way, because even if they did find a meeting and even if the police got wind of it, they’d just take to their heels and run, wouldn’t they, laughing at the fun of it, though sad that it would be one adventure that neither would ever dare speak about when they were back home again. But Rowangarth and parental authority were a long way away, and this was a May evening in London, and they still had a week to run before they must leave it all behind.

She wondered what she would say to Tom after so long apart, and he to her. Maybe, though, there would be no need for words; just a whispered ‘Hullo’, and she closing her eyes and lifting her chin, the better, the sweeter for him to kiss her. It was, she thought happily, so nice to stroll companionably at Miss Julia’s side and daydream of Tom.

The sooner a woman took charge of her own destiny, Julia reasoned silently, the better; though if the men who ruled their lives had anything to do with it, she would wait long and maybe in vain, for even though a woman was now allowed by law to keep her own money when she married, she still belonged to her father in her youth and to her husband in marriage. A woman, she frowned, was allowed no opinions of her own. Politics was men’s business.

‘I think here will do nicely.’ She stopped at a bench on which they could sit and wait and later stand so they might miss nothing of the speakers, if any speakers arrived, that was, and were not discovered by the police – which they almost certainly would be. ‘And all this is our own fault, Hawthorn,’ she fretted. ‘We are our own worst enemies. We come into this world precisely made for the bearing of children, and men take advantage of the fact!’

Women, she reasoned, died too young, worn out by too many pregnancies. ‘You must have no more babies,’ doctors would warn, but women were never told how, for birth control and the advocating of it was illegal, and those women who campaigned for the vote were still dependent on the indulgence of a government made up entirely of men. And men were afraid that a vote would give women an undue advantage, for weren’t there far more women than men? To allow a woman such a weapon would be nothing short of madness; a surrender, some even went so far as to say, to bitchpower.

‘And I’ll tell you something else, Hawthorn. Until women can have babies when they want them, if they want them, we’ll never get anywhere!’

‘Miss! Don’t talk like that,’ Alice wailed. ‘You’ll get us locked up. Having babies is what women are for!’ Who ever heard of a man having a baby? ‘It’s what the good God intended us to do!’ It was as plain as the nose on your face, and nothing – not even giving a woman two votes – would change it.

‘Did He now? Intended us to be wives and providers of heirs. And to scrub and clean, too, and be grateful to some man for putting a ring on our finger? A servant for life, that’s what you’ll be, and me not so much better!’

‘But, Miss Julia, that’s what I am. Being a servant is all I’ve ever known and I – I think I shall like very much being married,’ she hesitated. ‘I want to marry Tom.’ She could think of nothing nicer, in fact, than having her own home – her very own home – and being beholden to no one. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Tom? You haven’t got a young man,’ Julia gasped. ‘Oh, not Dwerryhouse? But, Hawthorn, they’re all in love with Dwerryhouse!’

‘Then I’m the lucky one, aren’t I? Because Tom and me are walking out seriously. On the night milady went to Pendenys – that was when he asked me. And I said yes, so those others had better find someone else to be in love with!’

‘Oh, my dear, I’m so glad for you, I truly am. You lucky girl! Are you really in love? Really and truly, I mean?’

‘I don’t know, miss, and that’s for sure. It’s the first time it’s happened to me, and the last, I hope. But if being in love makes you feel contented all over, and special, and if the sun comes out every time you see him – even on a rainy day – then yes, I suppose I am.

‘Mind, I haven’t told anyone, yet. Not even Cousin Reuben. Tom and me can’t marry, you see, till Reuben retires. There’ll be nowhere for us to live till then. And I’m only eighteen, so that gives me three years to get used to it and to –’

‘To be quite sure you’re both suited?’

‘Yes. Though I know we are. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life before.’

‘Then I envy you. I would so like to be in love,’ Julia sighed. ‘Not engaged, or anything. Not something arranged by the families, but a real romance and me knowing, the moment I set eyes on him, that he’s the one. And I shall know. The minute I see him, I’ll know …’

‘The minute,’ Alice confirmed, yet wondering why, when Miss Julia had been presented at Court, something didn’t happen for her then. After all, that’s what it was really about. The season in London was really a marriage-market, and the gentry, if they were honest, would be the first to admit it. Most young ladies of Julia Sutton’s age and station in life were wedded and bedded by now – aye, and some were with child. ‘Hadn’t you thought to meet your husband when –’

‘When I ought to have done, you mean; when I made my curtsey to the King and Queen and had my London season?’

‘Well – yes …’

‘Ah, but Hawthorn, at the beginning of my season, Pa was killed and there was an end to my coming-out before it had hardly begun. Mourning for a year for me, and for Aunt Sutton too. And three years in purdah for my mother. Betrothal and marriage just don’t arise when a house is in mourning.

‘But do you know, those three years haven’t been wasted, because they gave me time to think about what I really wanted to do with my life, and one of the things that came out of it was the certain fact that I wanted to choose my husband for myself.’

‘Choose your own –’ Alice gasped. But the upper classes never chose their own husbands!

‘Indeed. And what was more, my mother said I might. She even said Pa would have agreed with her, too, because though their marriage was arranged, they’d been in love for ages beforehand, and kept it a secret.’

‘Oh, how lovely.’ Tears misted Alice’s eyes and she felt suddenly closer to her employer’s daughter and found herself hoping that she too could know the joy of loving and being loved. ‘And maybe you’ll meet him, soon. Maybe he might be just around the next corner.’

‘The next corner we come to will be Speakers Corner and I’m almost sure that the only men who’ll be around there will be policemen and I very much doubt –’

‘Look, miss! Over yonder!’ Alice pointed excitedly to the roadway and the carriage drawn by two splendid white horses. ‘Those horses! There’s a wish on a white horse. One for you and one for me. Close your eyes and cross your fingers and wish, quickly, afore they’re out of sight!’

Foolishly, fervently, they wished, neither confiding in the other, for both knew that a wish shared was a wish wasted, and Alice let go her indrawn breath and opened her eyes and Julia did the same. Then smiling, she said, ‘We mustn’t tell, Hawthorn.’

‘No, we mustn’t.’ But oh, when Miss Julia met him, let him be tall and broad and handsome and let him be rich enough to keep her in the manner to which she’d been born – please?

It seemed there would be no meeting that night; at least, not at Hyde Park Corner, for there was no gathering of waiting women, no banners, no policemen lurking.

‘Shall we go back, miss?’ Alice murmured with relief. ‘Looks as if nothing’s going to happen, and if we go home by way of the bandstand, perhaps there’ll be music.’

‘No, Hawthorn. We must stay just a little longer. Someone might come.’

They sat down again, stubbornly to wait it out, for it stood to sense, didn’t it, that forewarned was forearmed, Julia declared. If the police knew exactly when a meeting was to be held, they could all the more easily prevent it. The police, she flung, were the instruments of their masters, the Government, and wasn’t that government made up entirely of men; men ruling women’s lives?

‘It’s the way of the world,’ Alice reasoned forlornly, for she would rather have listened to the band. She was not interested in politics because not for a minute would men even consider giving the vote to women. It would make a woman a man’s equal, almost, and men would never stand for that.

A woman carrying a child over her shoulder walked past them and Julia nodded her head in the direction of the pale-faced mother.

‘Look at her. Not a lot older than I am, I shouldn’t wonder, yet that’s her life for the foreseeable future – a baby or a miscarriage every year. And why? Simply because her husband doesn’t know any better!’

‘But that’s what they call nature, Miss Julia. It’s the way things are.’

‘It needn’t be. They don’t have to wear themselves out having children they can’t afford. If they listened to Doctor Stopes, and people who think like her, it needn’t.’

Alice’s mouth made an ooh of protest, for she had heard of the young woman who advocated birth control. Disgusting, Cook said it was, and not fit for a young girl’s ears and if women didn’t want to have babies there was one sure and certain remedy. Let them stay unwed!

‘Ooooh, miss, where do you hear of such things?’ But that was what came, she supposed, of sending a girl to a boarding school. Julia Sutton wouldn’t have been exposed to such free thinking at the Church of England school in Holdenby village.

‘Learn? You read, I suppose, and you listen. And if ever you get the chance, you reason calmly and sensibly. And you keep on and on, like the suffragettes are doing, until men take notice of what you say.’

‘And is that why you aren’t married or spoken for – is it because of the way you think?’

‘No, Hawthorn. I want to be married, but only to the right man. And until I meet him I shall go on sticking up for women and –’

‘And getting yourself disliked, miss, if you’ll pardon me. You don’t want to end up a lonely old lady, do you, like Miss Sutton?’

‘But my aunt isn’t lonely and, what’s more, she does precisely what she wants. Aunt Sutton thinks more of good food and good horseflesh than about husbands. That’s why she’s always taking off for the Camargue – it’s where the men worship horses and the women are all fine cooks, she says. She’d live there all the time if she could.’

‘And does Miss Sutton believe as you do; does she believe women should have the vote and not have babies unless they want them?’

‘I really don’t know. It’s not a subject one discusses with family. But Aunt Sutton is broad-minded and very forward-thinking and I wouldn’t mind betting she agrees with everything I say.

‘And you mustn’t breathe one word at Rowangarth of what I’ve said tonight – not to anyone – nor that we’ve been looking for a meeting, because it would upset my mother and I wouldn’t do that for all the votes in the world. So you promise, Hawthorn, don’t you?’

‘I promise.’ Not one word would she breathe. Ever.

‘Good. And it looks as if we might as well give up and come back another night and – oh – look …’

‘Where?’ Alice frowned uneasily.

‘By the big gate. A woman, and she’s selling something,’ Julia pointed. ‘She’s giving out handbills – or is it newspapers?’ She was off as fast as her skirt would allow in the direction of the gate and the several women who had appeared from nowhere. ‘Come on, Hawthorn. Oh, damn this stupid skirt!’

The woman who sold papers was tall and slim, with hair swept back in waves around a high-cheeked face. She asked one penny for the single sheet of print which was headed, to Julia’s great joy, The Suffragette.

‘Thank you,’ she gasped, handing over a sixpenny piece and waving away the change. ‘And can you tell me where the next meeting will be? Tonight, is it? Will there be any use in waiting?’

‘Sorry, my dear, not yet. Not just yet. Not safe, you see …’ She handed a sheet to the young, pale-faced mother. ‘But soon. Perhaps in Trafalgar Square. Maybe on Wednesday.’

She spoke in short, anxious sentences, her eyes swivelling right and left as they were joined by more women.

‘Not tonight, ladies,’ she called softly. ‘They know. They’re watching …’

They had known and they had watched and waited, and now they marched purposefully across the road; four constables, headed by a police sergeant riding a black horse.

They advanced on the group of women as though they had expected the paper-seller to be there; held their truncheons at the ready as a warning to all who saw them that they meant to use them.

‘Cor! The perlice! Blimey, wouldn’t yer just know it!’

‘Don’t go, ladies!’ called a bespectacled woman. ‘We’re doing nothing wrong. We have every right to buy a news-sheet. Don’t let them frighten you,’ she urged.

‘Miss – let’s go?’ Alice wanted no truck with the police who could arrest any one of them and march her off to the nearest lock-up to cool her heels in a cell for the night. ‘I promised her ladyship I’d look after you and I don’t think we should stay.’

‘You do what you like, Hawthorn, but I’m staying. Like she said, we’ve every right to be here. It isn’t a meeting and I won’t be bullied!’

‘No, miss, but it looks like a meeting.’ Now a score or more women had gathered. ‘But if you’re set on it, then I’ll stay, too.’ Alice closed her eyes and swallowed hard. ‘But don’t say anything, will you, or they’ll have just the excuse they want to lock you up.’

‘I’ll not harass them if they don’t harass me,’ Julia said quietly. ‘But I have every right to be here and so have we all and I’m not going to turn tail and run as if we’re up to something!’

‘But we are up to something – at least we would be, if we could. They know what we’re here for.’

What Miss Julia was here for, she mentally corrected, because she, Alice, would rather have been anywhere than gathering in the defence of a woman who sold news-sheets about votes for women.

‘They can’t prove what we’re here for, and if we don’t make trouble they can do nothing about it. So stay beside me and don’t be afraid, Hawthorn. I won’t let them hurt you.’

And that might have been the end of it, had they all of them listened to what the sergeant on the black horse had to say and quietly gone home.

‘There’ll be no meeting tonight,’ he’d said, ‘so be off to your homes, all of you, and you’ll hear no more about it. And you, Davison – pack up those papers and be off, or I’ll have you inside again, soon as look at you!’

If they had listened and acted on advice that was sound enough, Alice conceded … But they had not. They had stood there, all of them, pretending not to have heard, saying not a word, clutching their news-sheets. It might still have been all right had someone not thrown a cricket ball and knocked off a constable’s helmet; a well-aimed, masterful throw that sent it flying, and the constable’s dignity with it.

It was all the sergeant needed. A cricket ball was a missile and the throwing of a missile at an officer of the law was an arrestable offence.

‘Right! That’ll do!’ He pointed to the law-breaker who stood, chin set defiantly, as if she wanted to be arrested; because why else, Alice reasoned desperately, should a woman carry a cricket ball if she wasn’t set on throwing it at someone?

The sergeant urged forward his horse, scattering the women, followed by truncheon-waving police who grabbed their victim roughly and hurried her off to the horse-drawn cab with windows of darkened glass, ready and waiting but a few yards away, as if they had known – or intended – that there would be arrests.

‘Leave her alone!’ The challenge had been made and taken up by those set on confrontation; those determined that one of their own should not be taken away without at least some protest.

‘Bullies! Take your hands off her!’

‘Pick on someone yer own size!’

‘Like knockin’ women about, do yer?’

The pushing and shoving and shin-kicking began then, and more helmets were sent flying, and such screeching and screaming arose that Alice would have taken to her heels had not Julia been intent upon staying. And not only on staying, but on cat-calling and digging her elbows sharply into any uniform that came her way. Then she really excelled herself. All at once her face went bright pink and she let out a yell of indignation.

‘How dare you! How dare you strike a lady!’ She flung herself in front of the pale-faced young woman who had walked past them only minutes ago. ‘You did it deliberately. I saw you. And a child in her arms, too!’ She kicked out wildly, her skirt pulled shockingly above her knees.

Miss Julia had taken leave of her senses, yet even then, Alice was to think later, she might have got away with it had not she, who should have been looking after her mistress, suddenly taken leave of her own senses and joined in the affray, giving the policeman an almighty shove from behind, knocking him off balance, sending all fourteen stone of him hurtling at Miss Julia, taking her down with him in a flail of arms and legs.

Alice would always remember the thud as that poor head hit the ground, and she would never forget, not if she lived to be a hundred, the sight of that defenceless face with blood already trickling down it.

‘Brute!’ Alice shrieked, on her knees in an instant. ‘I saw what you did, you great bully! Out of my way and let me see to her,’ she flung at a bewildered constable, still sprawled on hands and knees and wondering at the fury directed at him from behind. ‘Get a doctor, before she bleeds to death. Go on! Do as you’re bid!’ How dare he? He’d fallen bang on top of Miss Julia; done it on purpose, and him putting on an expression of innocence. ‘Oh, miss, open your eyes?’ Alice patted the marble-white cheeks. ‘Oh, Lor’ …’

There was a sudden silence as though neither side had intended it should go this far and realized the folly of it too late.

‘I said fetch a doctor!’ Alice yelled. ‘And give her some air. Don’t stand there, gawping!’

‘Let me through. And do as the young lady asks. I am a doctor. I’ll see to her, and the rest of you be away to your homes – at once!’

And not, if she lived to be a hundred and one, Alice thought fervently, would she forget her relief as the young man took off his hat and removed his gloves, then felt with sure, gentle fingers for the pulse at Julia’s wrist.

As if they had never been, the women were gone. Only the policemen remained, dusting down their uniforms, retrieving lost helmets, returning truncheons to back pockets.

‘Is there any need for you to stay, sergeant?’ the doctor asked quietly.

‘If you think she’s all right, doctor; not badly hurt, I mean?’

‘She’ll do, but I’d like to get her home and have a look at her. Do you know where she lives?’ he asked of Alice.

‘Yes, sir. Not far away – the other side of the park.’

‘Then if I could have the use of your – er – conveyance, officer, to get her there, I’d be obliged. I take it she isn’t under arrest?’

‘No. I’m prepared to look the other way this time.’

‘And when she comes round,’ Alice gasped, ‘I’m sure my young lady will be prepared to do the same.’

But it was all her fault, she admitted silently. She shouldn’t have pushed the big policeman quite so roughly, even though he’d been a threat to Miss Julia and the young mother. Oh, what a mess they were in, and when would Miss Julia open her eyes?

‘There now – that’s better,’ said the strange young man, who shifted and swayed into focus as Julia blinked open her eyes.

‘Who? Where …’

‘You are safely home, ma’am, and I am a doctor.’

‘Oh, my head …’ The room tilted, then righted itself. ‘And the blood!’

‘It’s all right, miss. It’s stopped, now.’ Alice whisked away the offending bowl and towel. ‘You hit you head – knocked yourself out, and the doctor had you brought here – in the police van.’

‘That poor woman,’ Julia fretted. ‘They’d no right … Was there any trouble?’

‘No trouble. I think Miss – er –’

‘Sutton,’ Julia supplied.

‘I think, Miss Sutton, that there was fault on both sides, so there’ll be nothing further said about it – this time.’

‘And the girl who threw the cricket ball?’

‘She scarpered, miss,’ Alice breathed. ‘Well, with the doctor wanting their carriage for you, there was nothing to cart her off in.’

‘Good. I’m glad she knocked his helmet off.’

‘Madam! You are completely without shame – but at least you appear to be recovering.’

‘Shame? Yes, I suppose I am.’ There was a silence as Julia looked, as if for the first time, into the face of her deliverer. Then, grasping the chair arms firmly, she rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘I am grateful to you, doctor, though I’m still not sure what happened.’

‘Nor I, Miss Sutton, though from a distance you appeared to take a flying leap at a policeman. Luckily I was there, though your injuries appear worse than they really are. The abrasion to your forehead, though slight, bled rather a lot, and you will have quite a bruise in the morning. I can well believe that your head aches, too.’

‘Aches!’ Alice whispered. ‘She went down with such a bang I’m surprised it’s still in one piece!’

‘Well, I think she’ll be all right now, with your help, Miss –’ He smiled.

‘Hawthorn, sir. I’m Miss Julia’s maid, and I’ll see to her.’

‘And you’ll call a doctor at once, should Miss Sutton develop a sudden feeling of sickness or coldness or clamminess of the skin. Is there a telephone in the house?’

‘There is, sir. But she will be all right?’

‘I’m almost certain she will. And take a powder if the headache prevents you from sleeping, ma’am.’

‘But where will we find you, if –’ Julia stammered.

‘I’m afraid I’m not on call, Miss Sutton. I’m not in general practice. I work at Bart’s. But your local doctor, perhaps …’

‘I’ve been a terrible trouble, haven’t I?’ Julia whispered contritely. ‘How can I thank you?’

‘By thinking no more about it. I’m only glad I was there in the park to – to get you out of trouble.’

Gravely, he made a small, polite bow; smiling, he left her.

‘Do you think he’s married?’ Julia demanded when Alice had handed him his hat and gloves and bobbed a curtsey before closing the front door behind him.

‘Married, miss? The doctor? Whatever put such a thought into your head?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea. I think it must be the bump to my forehead. And I don’t know why I’m making such a fuss, because I won’t ever see him again, will I? He didn’t even tell me his name.’

‘No, miss, he didn’t.’

‘Just my luck to meet someone like him, then find he isn’t interested,’ Julia whispered soberly.

‘Well, miss, the way I see it is this. Tonight you were his patient, so it wouldn’t have been proper for him to be interested, would it? And he didn’t need to tell you his name, because he gave me his card – just in case, he said – before he left. And if you’d like to know it says his name is Andrew MacMalcolm, and if you want my opinion I’d say definitely that he isn’t married.’

‘Isn’t?’

‘Not a chance. Married men have all their shirt buttons. Doctor MacMalcolm had two of his missing.’

‘He did?’ A smile lifted the corners of Julia’s mouth and a distinct sparkle lit her eyes.

‘Oh, yes. A sewing-maid always notices such things.’

‘Hawthorn! What a dear, clever person you are. Do you know, I’m really glad you came to London with me. It wouldn’t have been half as much fun with Mary or Bess. And I think I’ll go to bed now. It’s been a funny sort of day, hasn’t it, and all at once I’m a little tired. Be a dear, and untie my corset laces? I can manage on my own, if you’ll do that for me.’

All at once, Julia wanted to lie quietly in her bed and think about the young doctor and the height of him and the broadness of his shoulders – and those grey, thicklashed eyes – or were they green? – that laughed, even when he was scolding her.

‘I’ll do that,’ Alice smiled, ‘and when you’re settled down I’ll bring you up a drink of milk. And you won’t be cross with me in the morning, will you, when you find you’ve got a terrible ugly bruise?’

‘Of course not. Why should I be?’

‘Because it was my fault, really. All of a sudden I didn’t see why I shouldn’t join in too, and I gave that big policeman such a shove from behind, though if I’d known he’d land slap-bang on top of you I’d never have done it. I wouldn’t – honestly.’

‘Why, Hawthorn – and you pretending to be such a sober-sides! And I’m not the least bit cross with you.’

‘You’re not?’

‘Honestly. I’d even go so far as to say,’ Julia smiled, ‘that I wouldn’t have missed tonight for anything.’

Nor missed meeting Andrew MacMalcolm and gazing, bewildered, into those wonderful green – or were they grey? – eyes. And wanting, very much, to meet him again.

3

Clementina Sutton’s heels tapped angrily across the floor. She had had enough, more than enough. This time Elliot had gone too far! She pulled on the bell handle, then pulled again. She was hurt and humiliated and near to tears. Debasing, it had been, and to hear it in such a way had been nothing less than mortifying.

How often, in the hope of an invitation, had she left her card at the home of Mrs Mounteagle; how many times had she been ignored – snubbed – and by a lady related by blood or marriage to half the gentry in the Riding. Yet this morning Mrs Mounteagle had finally acknowledged the existence of the mistress of Pendenys Place and had called, actually called, to a joyful reception.

Yet why had she come? Only to put her down; to humiliate Clementina Sutton. Not only to thrust in the knife of humiliation, but to turn it excruciatingly; to let it be known that Elliot was the subject of gossip of the worst possible kind and that his mother need only visit Creesby to learn the cause of it.

Then Mrs Mounteagle had risen to her feet and left at once. The coveted visit was over in less than four minutes and the lady had indicated, with the absence of even the slightest departing nod from her carriage window, that Clementina Sutton could never again expect to receive another call.

But this was the last time, the very last time she would brush Elliot’s affairs under the carpet. She would not be cheapened; not in Holdenby nor Creesby, nor anywhere! She began to pace the floor, eyes on the door, ears straining for the irritatingly unhurried step in the slateflagged corridor outside.

Below stairs, in the long, draughty passage where the bellboy spent his days sitting on a stool, the third bell in a row of twenty began its ringing and he was on his feet in an instant, hurrying to the kitchen.

‘Three,’ he called. ‘Number three!’ and the under-housemaid sighed, then ran to fetch the butler who had just taken his newspaper to his sitting-room and would bite her head off when she told him the breakfast-room bell was ringing.

It wasn’t as if, Clementina reasoned to her reflection in the wall mirror, there was any need for this kind of thing. Not hereabouts, anyway. Granted, young gentlemen always took their pleasures, and her own son was no exception. But not on their own doorstones; not where they were known. Elliot was a fool! Women in London were eager and willing, yet her son chose to pleasure himself not five miles away with the daughter of a butcher!

Her hand hovered over the bell handle, then fell to her side. He was coming, his tread measured, and he would open the door sedately, turn slowly to close it behind him with annoying quietness, then look down his nose and say, as he was saying now, ‘Mrs Sutton?’

‘What kept you?’ she hissed.

‘Madam?’ Didn’t she know a butler walked slowly; must never, ever, lose the dignity that years of butling for the quality – the quality, mark you – had bred into him, the dignity that rich Americans would pay good wages for, were he to put himself on offer.

‘Fetch me Mr Elliot!’

‘I will try to find –’

‘Now. This instant!’

He closed the door behind him, walking disdainfully, slowly, across the great hall – eighteen measured steps, it always took – to the door of the smoking-room, there to shatter the self-satisfaction of the young buck who would be filling it with the stink of Turkish tobacco.

She’d heard, then, about the butcher’s daughter? Did she, he wondered with distinct pleasure, know that the talk had reached Holdenby, too? My, but he’d like to be a fly on the breakfast-room ceiling, though they’d hear, like as not. Mrs Sutton in a fury could be heard the length of the house. Pausing briefly to remove all traces of smugness from his face, he drew a deep breath then opened the double doors with the aplomb of long practice.

‘Mrs Sutton asks that you join her in the breakfast-room,’ he murmured.

‘Oh, God.’ Elliot Sutton removed a leg from the chair arm. ‘What does she want now?’

‘The mistress did not tell me.’ But if I were you, laddie, I’d shift myself. He opened the doors wider, inclining his head as the young man slouched through them. And I wouldn’t be in your shoes for all the port in the cellar. Oh my word no – not if they threw in the Madeira, too!

‘Well?’ demanded Clementina of her son.

‘Well what?’

‘You know damn well, and don’t light a cigarette in here,’ she warned as his hand strayed to his inside breastpocket. ‘Creesby, that’s what. And stand up. I didn’t give you permission to sit!’

‘Oh – Maudie.’ He remained seated.

‘Maudie! I got told it this morning, and it wouldn’t surprise me if half the Riding doesn’t know, an’ all!’

‘Mother!’ He sucked air through his teeth, wincing at her directness. ‘Keep your voice down. Do you want the servants to hear?’

‘Hear? I’ll wager they know already. Aye, and the best part of Holdenby, as well.’ Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparked outrage. ‘Why can’t you take yourself off to London or to Leeds, even? Why must you shame me? This is going to cost me – but you know that, don’t you? It cost me plenty for your last brat!’

‘Mother!’ He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Must you talk like a fishwife?’ But then, every time Mama got into a rage she reverted to type. ‘Or a washerwoman …’

‘Damn you, boy!’ It was the ultimate insult. She lifted her hand and slammed it into his face. ‘And where ‘ud you be today, eh, if it hadn’t been for a washerwoman? Well, you can get out of this one yourself, because I’ll take no more of your arrogance! Pay her off out of your own pocket; I’m done with you. Done, I say!’

Tears spilled down her cheeks and not all Elliot’s sorries nor back-patting could stop the sobbing that could be heard all the way down the corridor and half-way across the great hall.

In the library, which was so vast that it needed two fireplaces to heat it, Edward Sutton laid down his pen as sounds of the confrontation in the room next door reached him.

Elliot, he sighed. Elliot upsetting his mother again so that the whole house would suffer for a week, at least. Why couldn’t Nathan have been their firstborn; that second son who would have made Pendenys a happier place, a home. Nathan was serious like himself, and in his final year at Cambridge; though what would be left for him afterwards but the Church, heaven only knew. But Nathan was a Sutton; Elliot was his mother’s son, and it would be to Elliot one day that Pendenys would pass, and Clementina’s influence would still be on him from far beyond the grave.

He looked around the ornate room, longing for the library at Rowangarth and the homeliness that once had wrapped him round. Rowangarth was where he’d been born, was still home to him. Pendenys was where he lived out his days.

A slamming door and hurrying footfalls caused him to close his eyes briefly. Elliot was in a rage, and soon Clementina would be here, pouring out her anger, pacing the floor, complaining about ‘your son’. Elliot was always his son, Edward smiled thinly, when he was in trouble, and his mother’s at all other times.

Well, this morning he would not take the backlash of her temper, be the whipping-boy for Elliot. He would walk to Rowangarth and be invited, hopefully, to lunch with his sister-in-law. Helen would be missing Julia and be glad of his company.

Julia. In London at his sister’s house and having the time of her young life, he shouldn’t wonder. Julia could have made a fine wife for Elliot, cousin or not, but she did nothing to hide her dislike of his elder son, and who could blame her? Julia, if she married into Pendenys, would be more inclined to Nathan, were she to choose, though that could never be. His second son had nothing to offer but kindness and goodness, and neither of those commendable graces paid bills.

Carefully he opened the long, low window. Like a schoolboy playing truant, he stepped out. Helen and Rowangarth would soothe him. Helen and Rowangarth always did.

Alice jabbed the last pin into the bun at the nape of her neck, then set her starched white cap primly upon it. Her hair, she supposed, was quite nice, though it went its own way at the sides and front and curled where it fancied and never, despite her efforts, where she wanted it to. But this was eight o’clock on a bright spring morning, and the whole of London was beckoning. Smiling, she picked up the tray.

‘Mornin’, miss,’ she called, drawing back the curtains. ‘Here’s a nice cup of – oh, my goodness!’

‘Hawthorn?’ Julia’s fingers moved reluctantly to her forehead. ‘Is it …?’

‘It is.’ There would be no covering that up with vanishing cream and face powder. ‘Your eye, an’ all. What on earth do we tell her ladyship?’ she whispered, reaching for the hand mirror.

‘That I tripped and fell, of course.’ Critically, Julia surveyed the bruising.

‘With a big fat policeman on top of you?’

‘Of course not. Oh, we’ll thank of something, and anyway, it might almost be gone by the time we get home.’

‘Does your head still ache?’ Solicitously, Alice plumped the pillows, then poured tea.

‘Only a little. I think, though, that a walk might help clear it. Where did you put the card, Hawthorn?’

‘The doctor’s card?’ Alice took it from her apron pocket. ‘You weren’t thinking of – well, wouldn’t it be better to call Miss Sutton’s doctor, if you need one?’

‘I don’t need a doctor – I want one.’

‘Doctor MacMalcolm?’ Alice swallowed hard.

‘Yes. I – well, I want to thank him. He was very kind, last evening,’ she murmured, oddly defiant.

Kind? Aye, and tall and handsome, Alice brooded. There had been a glazed look in her eyes last night that wasn’t altogether to do with the knock on her head. A look, she mourned, that could spell trouble for Alice Hawthorn.

‘Miss Julia – do you think it wise for us to –’

‘No. Not at all wise, but I want to see him again. And not us – me! Smithfield way, I think he lives.’ She reached for her wrap, put on her slippers, then ran downstairs. ‘I’ll have to check. There’s a street map in the desk.’ Aunt Sutton had said it might come in useful. ‘Yes, I was right. Look, Hawthorn. Little Britain. Quite near St Paul’s, and very near the hospital he works in. I can take a motor bus to Newgate Street, walk up King Edward Street, and I’ll be there.’

‘Miss! We’re not going to his lodgings?’

‘I am going to his lodgings.’

‘But Newgate Street – that awful prison …’

‘Not any more. It’s long gone. I’ll be perfectly all right. This is London and young women go about alone all the time. It isn’t right I should be escorted everywhere – well, not here.’

‘But you wouldn’t go inside his lodgings?’ She was becoming uneasy. You never knew, with Miss Julia. ‘Not without me, you wouldn’t?’

‘Of course I wouldn’t. I shall leave my card with his housekeeper – and anyway, he’s sure to be at the hospital. My card, that’s all – then if he wants to visit he can do so.’ And please, please, let him want to …

‘You promise, Miss Julia?’

‘Promise. Word of a Sutton.’

‘Mm …’ With that, Alice had to be content. Even though she was expected to take good care of her young mistress, she wasn’t her keeper, wasn’t her equal. She was the sewing-maid and sewing-maids didn’t tell their betters what to do. And she knew how Julia Sutton felt. Hadn’t it happened to herself? It had only taken, Does this creature belong to you? It was the same the world over, she was forced to admit, be it servants or ladies of quality.

‘We-e-ll – maybe just this once, miss …’

The air was cool in Brattocks Wood, and smelled headily of green things growing. Edward Sutton breathed deeply. Almost the instant he had set foot on Rowangarth land he had felt more calm.

‘Am I welcome?’ he smiled as he tapped on the morning-room window. Helen Sutton answered with a smile, and was waiting at the front door to greet him as he walked up the steps.

‘My dear.’ She held out her hands and offered her cheek for his kiss. ‘Come in, do. It’s far too late for coffee. Shall we have a sherry, and shall you stay to lunch?’

He lingered his lips on her cheek because, as her brother-in-law, it was his privilege, and because an imp of defiance inside him whispered that Clemmy wouldn’t have liked it.

‘Now, my dear,’ she said when they were settled, ‘tell me about it.’

‘It shows? How well you know me.’

‘And so I should. You are John’s brother, and you were here, shy and not a little perplexed, when first I came to Rowangarth. And debating, if I’m not mistaken, the pros and cons of proposing to Clementina Elliot.’

‘So long ago. And she accepted me the year Robert was born. I was a father myself not a year after. And now your Robert is a grown man, and –’

‘And miles away in India. I had a letter from him this morning, telling me he is well and happy, that the tea garden thrives, and not one word of what I most want to hear – that he’ll be bringing his bride home to Rowangarth. And how is Elliot?’ They were to talk of family, it seemed.

‘Elliot is – Elliot,’ he shrugged. ‘He’ll never change. But you’ll know. It’s why I’m here, really, to get out of Clemmy’s way.’ Clemmy always vented her anger on him, especially when it concerned their eldest son. Clemmy disliked the Suttons and all they were, yet fretted that it was Nathan and not Elliot who favoured them most.

‘Tell me about young Nathan.’ She knew what Edward would say, given the chance, for hadn’t Giles told her about the butcher’s daughter? ‘He’ll be coming down, soon. What will he do then, do you think?’

‘Holy orders, I imagine. Strange isn’t it, that I’ve sired a saint and a sinner – and a gigolo.’

‘Oh, poor Albert! Don’t call him that!’

‘Then what else should I say, will you tell me, when our youngest goes off with a woman fifteen years older – though he did have the sense to pick a wealthy one and the decency to marry her. But he’s a kept man, Helen, though I suppose I’m the last one to talk about being kept.’

‘Don’t, my dear.’ Her eyes showed pity. ‘He did what he thought best, I shouldn’t wonder. And you do hear from him from time to time. Only last week, Clemmy said there had been a letter from Capetown.’

‘Yes, and Auckland before that. And three months ago, one from St Petersburg. The lady must have a liking for travel. But it’s Elliot who caused the upset this morning. Somehow Clemmy found out – there was a caller, so maybe that was how. About the girl in Creesby – but I don’t have to tell you, do I?’

‘No.’ Helen studied her glass. ‘I’d – heard. Is the girl – I mean, did he get –’

‘Get her pregnant? I don’t believe so, but nothing Elliot does now would surprise me. And it isn’t the first time there’s been a scandal. There won’t be a father in the county lets his daughter within a mile of him if he carries on like this. He’ll end up with a butcher’s daughter, just see if he doesn’t. You’ve heard the saying, Helen: from clogs to clogs in three generations – back to Mary Anne Pendennis, it’ll be.’ Morosely he held out his empty glass. ‘Do you mind, m’dear?’

‘Don’t blame yourself, Edward.’ She placed the decanter on the table at his elbow. ‘Elliot has been spoiled and we can’t expect our children to be as perfect as we are,’ she smiled impishly. ‘But you aren’t alone. I have doubts and worries, too – Robert, you know …’

‘Trouble with the tea? Nothing wrong, I hope. Last time I asked you seemed to think there’d be a good picking.’

‘I was talking about his liking for bachelorhood. I want him home, Edward, not growing tea. And I want him married, and children – sons – about the place.’

‘And?’

‘And he stays unmarried and won’t tell me why. But I think he’s taken up with a married woman or someone who isn’t suitable, so I don’t ask. But why else would he go back to Assam after John died, when his place is here, now, at Rowangarth? And with almost indecent haste, too. Why doesn’t he tell me, Edward? Why the secrecy?’

‘As you just said – why can’t our youngsters be like us.’ He reached for her hand and held it gently, briefly. ‘But tell me about Julia? She’ll be having a fine time in London with Anne Lavinia away in France.’

‘She does have Hawthorn with her,’ Helen hastened to say. ‘I’ve missed her, but she’ll be home soon, full of the things they’ve seen. I wonder what they’re doing now?’

‘Oh, my Lor’,’ Alice muttered to the brass taps she was polishing furiously. ‘I didn’t ought to have let her go.’ ‘No, Miss Julia,’ she should have said, arms folded defiantly, ‘you don’t take one step in the direction of that Newgate Street motor bus without me beside you. And don’t you dare go to his lodgings, even if you don’t intend setting a foot over the doorstone, without your maid with you!’

But she hadn’t said it. She had stood there, lips set in disapproval as Julia Sutton, hat at an angle to hide the worst of the bruising, set out to find a street called Little Britain and a door with 53A upon it. Lord alone knew what trouble she could land herself in, her being so straightforward in her ways and a believer in votes for women. Only the Lord Himself knew, and for sure He’d never tell. Closing her eyes tightly she prayed fervently, ‘Get her back home in one piece, will you? And soon, please, afore she lands herself in more trouble. And if you do, Lord, I swear I’ll never let her go out alone again – not ever!’

Julia Sutton had stepped off the motor bus, walked the length of King Edward Street and found Little Britain with no trouble at all. Yet it came as a shock to see the street he lodged in, for though 53A was situated above the premises of a stationer and bookbinder, it was a rundown, cheap-looking shop and close by – too close – was an establishment whose sign announced that its owner was the purveyor of sweetbreads and pickled oxtongues.

Yet the doctor’s lodgings were comfortingly near the gates of St Bartholomew’s church, and the curtains at his windows were bright and clean. Doubts gone, she lifted the knocker and brought it down firmly, the noise of it echoing hollowly inside, mocking her that she’d been foolish enough ever to hope to find him at home and more foolish still to imagine that anyone who lived in so unfashionable a street could have employed a scrubbing-maid, let alone a housekeeper. And why had she come here – come without thinking – because might not Andrew MacMalcolm be in love with a nurse; might it not even be his wife who opened the door to her, in spite of those missing shirt buttons?

There were footfalls on the stairs – on uncarpeted stairs – then the sound of a bolt being drawn. She ran her tongue round dry lips as the door opened.

He was there as she had hoped, wished, prayed he might be, and for a long moment they stood, her eyes raised to his. Then he said, ‘Miss Sutton.’

His voice was low, indulgent; his eyes kind. He lifted his hand and laid gentle fingertips to the bruising beneath her eye.

‘My dear,’ he said, smiling softly, ‘I hoped you would come …’

‘So you see, it was right. Oh, I had doubts,’ Julia murmured huskily as they shared the firelight in the small parlour. ‘When I was waiting for the door to be answered I nearly turned and ran. But he was there and he isn’t married. Such a relief …’

‘Relief. Yes.’ Alice rose to build coal on the fire. Indeed, she in her turn had never been so relieved as when Miss Julia walked in, none the worse, it had seemed. ‘But miss, I’ve been thinking and I’ve made up my mind. If you’re to go out again, I shall go, too. I promised her ladyship I would see to you, and don’t tell me no, because it’ll do you no good.’

She had suffered agonies of conscience for almost three hours, and if there was to be a next time, it was best Miss Julia was given fair warning.

‘Hawthorn, listen. I didn’t go into his rooms. He was gentleman enough not to ask me to, because we’d have been alone together. At six tonight he goes on duty – all night – and tomorrow he’ll be sleeping till noon.’

He had told her that, walking her slowly back to the motor bus, seeing her safely aboard it, raising his hat as it moved away.

‘He’s very proper, Hawthorn. He’s invited you and me to walk in the park. At two tomorrow. And because you’ll be there, it’s perfectly all right for me to invite him back to tea.

‘So are you satisfied, you straight-laced Hawthorn, or are you going to be stuffy about it and say I can’t meet him because we haven’t been properly introduced?’

Alice pursed her mouth into a Mrs Shaw button, and frowned sufficiently deeply to make sure that Julia understood she was not giving in easily. Then, carefully considering every word, she murmured, ‘I think, just this once, miss, you might accept the invitation, since I’m to be there.’

Though what would happen if Miss Sutton should all of a sudden return to find the two of them drinking tea together and Alice Hawthorn aiding and abetting it, didn’t bear thinking about. Or if someone from Holdenby or Creesby or York, even, should chance on them in the park. Oh, the scandal!

‘Then why are you making such a bossy face? Frowning doesn’t suit you.’

‘I was just wondering, miss, what would happen if you were seen with him.’

‘Seen? But who in all London do we know?’

‘One of her ladyship’s friends, perhaps.’ Many of Lady Helen’s acquaintances had a house in London. Come to think of it, it was strange that someone as rich as Mrs Clementina hadn’t bought one, too. ‘Why, you might even run into Mr Elliot,’ she added as an afterthought, though in fact it was a distinct possibility, since that young man seemed always to be popping off to London.

‘I doubt it. Cousin Elliot won’t be walking in Hyde Park, even if he should decide to come to town. He’ll be eating and drinking all night and sleeping all day, be sure of that.

‘So do we have a fresh cucumber, Hawthorn, and an uncut cake, or must we got out shopping? And don’t spoil it for me, please? I do so want to meet him again.’

‘Then you’re being very forward, if you’ll pardon me.’ Alice was compelled to say it. ‘It isn’t for the likes of yourself to go running after a gentleman, no matter how nice he is, or how respectable. But you like him, don’t you, miss?’

‘I like him,’ Julia whispered, her eyes large and bright, her cheeks flushing. ‘You like Dwerryhouse – can’t you see how it is for me?’

Liked Tom? Loved him, more like. Yes, loved him and wanted, all at once, to hold him close, to lift up her face for his kiss.

‘Yes, I can see, and I’ll not spoil it for you. But be careful, miss. Please be careful.’

Liked him? Julia Sutton was smitten, that’s what. Alice knew the signs, for hadn’t it happened exactly the same to herself? Miss Julia had fallen head over heels for a man she knew nothing about, Alice fretted silently, and where it would end was anybody’s guess.

‘And since you ask, there is an uncut cake in a tin in the pantry,’ she said in final surrender. ‘Hope he likes cherry cake …’

4

Julia Sutton had never been in such a tizzy of indecision. What to wear, and why did the hair combed so carefully over her forehead insist on springing back to reveal a bruise so angry that everyone must notice. And not only her forehead, but her eye …

‘The astrakhan-trimmed costume, Hawthorn?’

‘No, miss.’ Not fur-trimmed. Not in May.

‘The blue, then?’

Alice pursed her lips and shook her head. The blue, hobble-skirted costume brought back memories of a young lady’s ankles and knees shamelessly exposed, and made her blush.

‘Then what?’

‘An afternoon dress.’ Alice had long ago made up her mind. ‘The flowered voile.’ So lovely and floaty, with full sleeves. And the pretty pink shoes, perhaps, and the wide-brimmed hat with the flower trim. That was what a young lady wore for a walk in the park with a young man. A romantic dress.

‘You think so?’

‘Oh, yes.’ A dab of rosewater at her wrists and on her handkerchief, perhaps, and a little face powder to tone down the bruising. ‘And if you walk on his left, he’ll not even see it – your eye, I mean.’

‘It’s worse than I thought. Mama’s going to want an explanation.’

‘She is. So how about the truth?’

‘I couldn’t. She’d never let me out alone again!’

‘She won’t if you lie to her and get found out. All you have to say is that –’

‘Is that we were walking in Hyde Park – innocently – and got caught up in a meeting and running away – in my hobble skirt – I tripped and fell and hit my head on a kerbstone.’

‘No, miss. We were walking in the park – never mind the innocently – and a policeman set about a young woman who did nothing more than buy a news-sheet and you went to help her. And I’ll tell her ladyship that a great policeman went his length and took you down with him.’

‘And a kind young doctor took me home?’

‘That a doctor happened to be passing and came to your assistance,’ Alice amended, ‘and said you should send for Miss Sutton’s doctor, should the need arise.’

‘Of course! And it’s almost the truth, isn’t it?’

‘As near as makes no matter.’ It wasn’t right to tell lies to her ladyship. Not deliberate ones.

‘And we needn’t mention it was you sent him flying?’

‘Best not, miss.’

‘You are quite right. Not only would London be out of bounds for me but for you, too. We’d never be able to come here alone again.’

‘But I’d never –’ Not for a minute had Alice thought to have so fine a jaunt again.

‘Never see London again? When we’re having such a good time? Oh, but I intend to come as often as Aunt Sutton will allow. Suddenly, I seem to have a fondness for London – and for –’ She stopped suddenly, meaningfully.

‘For young doctors?’ Alice supplied, amazed at her forwardness.

‘One particular young doctor,’ Julia laughed. ‘So are you going to be on my side, Hawthorn? Are you going to help me and never, ever, say so much as a word about him until I say you can?’

‘I’m on your side, miss. I’ll never ever tell on you and anyway, it isn’t likely you’ll ever meet him again, is it?’

‘Never again? Oh, Hawthorn!’

She smiled, and all at once the bruises didn’t seem to matter, because all at once Julia Sutton was beautiful, just like Mrs Shaw said she would be if only she’d let herself.

‘See him again!’ Alice gasped. Oh, my Lor’. Miss Julia was in love!

Elliot Sutton left the house by the conservatory door, walking quickly across the croquet lawn, making for the kitchen garden and the birch wood that lay beyond it. He should, he thought viciously, have brought a gun. He felt like blasting at something; felt like killing. But there was no shooting until August – only vermin, and that was for keepers.

Moodily, he kicked at a cobble. He was sick of Holdenby; sick of Mama who held her Ironmaster’s money over him, an ever-present threat. But she’d never leave it to Nathan, his holier-than-thou brother, though she’d said, more than once, that she would.

He could never be sure of his mother; never certain when she would open her mouth and let him down. Most times, of course, she carried her corn well, but when angered or defiant, her Pendennis temper showed through and her Pendennis tongue too.

This morning, he thought with savage disdain, she had screeched at him like a fishwife, showing a side to her not all the iron gold in the world had been able to breed out. There was a defiance about her that screamed, ‘All right, my fine aristocrats – so you’ve got the breeding, but I’ve got the brass, and don’t ever forget it!’

He was ashamed of her, of his own mother; ashamed of the half of him that came from trade, even though his other half – his Sutton blood – was without equal. It was a pity his father could hardly bear to be in the same room with him, let alone treat him like a son to be proud of, because he, Elliot, was tall and handsome, and charming too, when he needed to be, and could get any woman he wanted with no effort at all. He was rich as well, and would be richer one day, so why did everyone seem to prefer his younger brother? Why did Julia show preference for Nathan when she knew he’d end up a parson, with nothing in his favour but his sick-making goodness?

But Albert had had the right idea. Albert had found himself a well-heeled old woman – and the best of luck to him! His youngest brother had struck it rich, and lived a life of luxury in the best hotels and on the most luxurious liners in the world. Clever young Albert!

Elliot climbed the boundary fence, making for the rising ground and Holdenby Pike. There would be a wind up there, even in May, that would blow away his black mood. Up there he could look down on Pendenys Place and wonder how long before it was his; could wonder, even, what it was like to bed an old woman, for his brother’s wife must be well into her forties. Did Albert, on such occasions, close his eyes and think of the money that would one day be his? Come to that, would he, Elliot, have to close his eyes too when he wed the ugly daughter of a penniless peer, and think instead of Maudie’s soft, warm lips, her small, round breasts, her eager thighs?

He wished, sometimes, that he belonged to the working class and could marry any Maudie he pleased, but the working classes had to work, it was as simple as that. He would marry fairly soon, he supposed; some simpering, well-bred virgin bitch with more titles to her pedigree than was decent. She might even have one in her own right. Mama would like that; she’d envy it, but still she’d like it.

But there would be no title for Elliot Sutton. That had eluded him. All Mama’s money had failed to buy the knighthood she so desperately wanted for her husband – to pass down to her son, of course. The Garth Suttons had that. Cousin Robert, just one year older, had inherited the baronetcy at twenty-four, then hared it back to Assam to his precious tea garden. And even supposing Robert never married, never got a son, then Giles would inherit the title. It would remain at Rowangarth for another three hundred years, like as not. Only if his cousins were to vanish from the face of the earth would his father get lucky.

God! Imagine Mama; Lady Clementina at last! She’d be good for a touch, then; would even forgive him his Maudies, provided he kept them quiet and didn’t rock the boat. Yet it would never be, he knew it. The Garth Suttons would hang on to what they had. Though they were nowhere as well-off as the Suttons at the Place, they had the esteem of the entire Riding, which was better than riches.

Temper spent, he flung himself down on the grass, lit a cigarette, then gazed down on Pendenys. He felt badly done by, and bored, misunderstood and miserable. He would go to London, keep out of Mama’s way until the edge had worn off her temper. His allowance had just been paid into the bank – where better to spend it?

Or maybe Leeds? Mama had said it, hadn’t she? Take yourself off to London, or Leeds even. Maybe she was right. Women were cheaper there, easier to find. The better-class whores frequented the music halls; were always available in the promenade area at the rear of the theatre. Buy one a drink and a deal was struck almost before she’d had time to say, ‘Cheers, young squire!’

He would go to Leeds. Now. He could be there before dark if he shifted himself. For once, he’d do exactly as he was told.

‘You look lovely, Miss Julia.’ She did. Really, really beautiful. And not just the long dress nor the pink shoes peeping out beneath it, nor the hat. She was beautiful all over; her eyes, her smile – even the way she walked. And all because of Andrew MacMalcolm.

‘You’d better take this.’ Alice offered a parasol.

‘Oh, no. I won’t need a sunshade.’

‘You take it. Never know who you might meet. You can always hide behind it if you have to.’

‘But why should I hide? You’ll be with me, all perfectly correct …’

‘No, miss. I shall come with you as far as the bandstand and wait with you, till he comes. Then I shall have to excuse myself. There’ll be the tea to see to and things to do and I’ll expect you –’

‘Hawthorn! You darling; you absolute love!’ She grasped Alice’s hands and swung her round in a little dance. ‘I promise I’ll be good. I will.’

‘And you’ll be back here at half-past three, prompt, for tea,’ Alice ordered grimly, “cos if you aren’t, I’ll come looking for you, and I mean it!’

‘Then I promise we shall be – word of a Sutton. But what if he doesn’t come? What if something goes wrong and he’s needed at the hospital and we wait and wait …’

‘Then the bandstand is the best place to be, isn’t it, because we can sit there as if we’re waiting for the music to begin and nobody’ll know that – well – he’s –’

‘Left me in the lurch.’

‘Exactly. But he won’t, so take your parasol and let’s be off. Don’t want him waiting there, thinking you’re not coming, now do we?’

He was waiting. He was there, looking handsomer than ever, and his smile as he walked to meet them set Julia’s heart thudding deliciously.

‘Miss Sutton. Miss Hawthorn.’ He raised his hat, giving each a small, polite bow, and Alice could see why Julia Sutton had fallen head over heels, because if it hadn’t been for Tom she could, quite easily, have done the same.

‘Shall we walk, ladies, or shall we listen to the concert? The choice is yours.’

‘I thank you, sir, but I find,’ Alice said primly, trying to say it as Miss Clitherow would, respectful yet genteel, ‘I find I’m not able to accept your kind offer. I – I have things to do, but the kettle will be on,’ she looked directly at her employer, an eye to eye gaze that allowed for no misunderstanding, ‘at three-thirty, if you’re of a mind to take tea.’

‘Then I thank you, ma’am.’ Andrew MacMalcolm tipped a finger to his hat, his face serious, his eyes bright with merriment. ‘And I shall take good care of Miss Sutton and bring her safely home on the dot of half-past three.’

‘Thank you, sir. Bid you good day, then.’ For no reason she was sure of, but maybe because her warning had been a little too blunt, she bobbed a curtsey which put her back in her place again, and made everything all right.

‘Isn’t she a dear?’ Julia smiled as they watched her walk away.

‘You’re fond of her, aren’t you?’

‘Very fond.’

‘And she of you, Miss Sutton. It’s easy to see.’

‘Hawthorn is fond of the whole wide world,’ Julia laughed, ‘She’s in love – walking out seriously.’

‘And you? Are you walking out?’

‘No. I’m a free spirit, doctor.’ But don’t ask me if I’m in love, for I couldn’t look at you and say I wasn’t.

‘Then shall we listen, or shall we walk?’ Gravely he offered his arm. It was the wrong arm, for when she took it, she realized that every time he turned to look at her, her bruised and puffy eye would gaze up at him like a blot on the landscape of her adoration.

‘How do you feel today?’ He asked it as if he could read her thoughts. ‘Is your eye less painful?’

‘Almost no pain at all.’ She withdrew her hand from the crook of his arm and touched it with anxious fingers. ‘But oh, isn’t it a sight?’

‘I’ve seen worse,’ he smiled, taking her hand, tucking it gently back. ‘Much, much worse …’

‘Oh, Hawthorn.’ Eyes closed, Julia swayed back and forth in the kitchen rocker. ‘What am I to do? Two days more, then we’ll be on our way home. Two days, that’s all.’

‘Did he ask you?’ Carefully Alice wrapped the remainder of the cherry cake in greaseproof paper and returned it to the tin. ‘To meet him again, I mean.’

‘Yes. Tomorrow – same place – but after that there’ll only be one day and he hasn’t kissed me yet; hasn’t even called me Julia and I don’t –’

‘Hasn’t kissed you? Indeed I should think not! For him to try wouldn’t be right, and for you to let him would be common – first time, that is. Second time, an’ all. My Tom didn’t kiss me for ages.’

‘But you and Tom had – have – all the time in the world, and we haven’t. He’ll be in London and I’ll be miles and miles away and not knowing when we’ll meet again; not knowing, even, if we’ll be able to write to each other.’

‘You can always have his letters sent to me, though there might be talk about them, so I’d have to tell Tom. But why shouldn’t you write to each other openly?’

‘Because we haven’t been properly introduced. What do you think my mother would say? She wouldn’t like it at all. Mind,’ she frowned, ‘when next I go to London I could tell Mama that Aunt Sutton had introduced us and that would make it all right. Aunt Sutton would do it for me, I know she would. But what do I do in the meantime?’

‘We’ll think of something, though I still think you should tell her ladyship everything – right from the start.’

‘And land you in bad grace, Hawthorn? No, we’ll have to be careful; very careful. And anyway,’ she whispered, her face suddenly sad, ‘who’s to say he’ll want to write to me?’

‘He’ll want to. I know he will. But one day at a time, eh? And you haven’t told me where you went nor what you talked about.’

‘I know.’ And she did so want to talk about him. She wanted to tell the entire Mews that Julia Sutton was in love; climb to the top of Holdenby Pike and shout it out to the whole of the Riding. ‘But will you come upstairs and untie me? I feel so jumpy, so anxious, and these corsets are getting tighter and tighter. Be a dear, then I’ll put on a wrap and I’ll tell you all.’

She let go a sigh of relief as Alice untied the knot and eased open the back lacing of the torturous garment. ‘I swear that when we have the vote and can send a lady to Westminster, I shall agitate for an Act to be passed, outlawing corsets. I will!’

‘Oh, miss – you and your votes. Now get into your wrap and pop your feet into something more comfortable, then tell me all about it. All. Nothing missed out.’

And because she was so besotted, so suddenly, shiningly in love, Julia did just that. In truth there was nothing about their meeting which could be deemed shocking – other than meeting a young man unintroduced and unchaperoned, that was. But oh, the delight of it all: the brilliance of the sun, the most beautiful, sweetly scented flowers she had ever seen or smelled; even the London park-sparrows were the cheekiest, the most endearing little birds in the whole world.

‘And Andrew – Doctor MacMalcolm – told me about Scotland, where he was born, and how hard he’d had to work to become a doctor because he did it all on scholarships, Hawthorn, and but for the money an aunt left him, he couldn’t even have bought the books he needed, let alone eat.

‘His father was a miner, you see; injured at the pit. He suffered a lot before he died. Then his mother took consumption and she died too. There was only his aunt left after that. She wasn’t well off, but she gave him her savings. He’s very sad she died before he qualified. She would have been so proud of him.’

‘Proud. Yes.’ And Miss Julia’s doctor had no one, no background, except that of a miner’s son who had risen by his own efforts.

‘He can’t afford his own practice, either. Not for years will he be able to – not even buy himself a partnership. But he’s a brilliant physician, Hawthorn.’

‘He said so?’

‘No, of course he didn’t. But I know he is. Life’s very unfair, isn’t it?’

‘It is.’ Alice offered daisy-printed satin-quilted slippers. Unfairer than she knew, because how was the daughter of a baronet ever to be allowed to marry the son of a man who had dug coal? The world she lived in didn’t, wouldn’t, allow it.

‘He was determined to be a doctor – after both his parents had suffered so. And, Hawthorn, he believes that women should have the vote – well, responsible women, that is.’

‘Then it couldn’t be better, could it?’ Alice poured water into the papier mâché bowl kept especially for the washing-up of the best china, adding cold water and flaked soap, concentrating hard on making it into a sud so she might think, uninterrupted. Because what Miss Julia had just told her was what she wanted least to hear. Not that the young doctor wasn’t the worthiest of gentlemen, but wouldn’t it have been better for all concerned if he’d found himself a nice, genteel nurse to marry? Such a woman would have made a better wife for a young physician on his climb to the top. How could he ever hope to support the daughter of a gentleman? And would he be acceptable, even if he could?

Mind, Mrs Clementina had come from trade, and she had married into the gentry; Alice supposed trade was all right. Anything was all right if it brought money into the family. But the doctor could barely support himself, it seemed, let alone a wife. Doctor MacMalcolm had nothing to commend him at all but ambition and good looks, she sighed. Yet folk didn’t choose where to love; not penniless young physicians nor young society ladies, it seemed, and oh, deary me, what had Miss Julia gone and done?

‘Hawthorn?’ Julia snapped her fingers. ‘You were miles away. Thinking about Dwerryhouse, were you?’

‘No, miss. If you want the truth I was thinking that Doctor MacMalcolm having no family, so to speak, and having no means yet of supporting a wife, changes things a lot. Once, I thought it would be best if you told her ladyship all, hoping she would understand. But him having nothing, so to speak, even if there’s all credit due to him for getting to be a doctor, won’t go down well with her ladyship. Now I’m beginning to wish I’d been more firm; hadn’t let you –’

‘Hawthorn – nothing you could have said or done would have made a scrap of difference. I told you that one day I would meet the man I wanted to marry, and two days ago I met him. And it’s all right. Whatever happens, I won’t involve you. I’ll just have to find a way out of it – or round it, won’t I? And I will.’

‘Then I wish you luck, I really do. Tomorrow, when you meet him, you will be careful? You won’t make any promises or get any hare-brained schemes into your head, will you?’

‘I’ll go carefully, I promise you.’

She would have to, she thought, for so much was at stake that one wrong move, one wrong word even, could be the end of it for them both, and that could not, must not, happen. And she would go carefully, because Andrew MacMalcolm was the man she wanted to marry. She had known it yesterday when he opened his door to her, and no one else would do.

Andrew, or no one.

Alice pulled out the oven damper, then gave her full attention to the scones she was baking. She had been unable to get to shop to buy a cake, and since Miss Julia couldn’t offer the cherry cake again – to offer a cut-into cake would suggest they were nothing short of poverty-stricken – she had left a note asking the milkman for cream. This afternoon they would eat fresh scones with cream and jam, though to be truthful, neither would notice if she served a slice from yesterday’s loaf, gone stale.

Oh, miss, she mourned, sniffing the milk to make sure it was good and sour – only sour milk for scones, Mrs Shaw always said – why did you have to go and fall in love? No, that wasn’t what she meant, for every woman had the right to fall in love. What she really meant, she supposed, was why had she fallen in love with someone she could never be wed to. Because it wouldn’t do; it really wouldn’t. Doctoring was the most desirable of professions, but when it didn’t come hand in hand with money, then there was nothing more to be said.

It was then, and for the first time, that Alice acknowledged how very fortunate she was. Fortunate to be a nobody, to have nothing, and no one to forbid her marriage to Tom, save an aunt who wouldn’t care if she wed the midden-man. And how very fortunate that Tom loved her in spite of the fact that she had nothing; loved her for herself – his buttercup girl.

‘Tom,’ she whispered to the rolling-pin. ‘I’m glad that in two days’ time I shall be getting off that train back home.’ Glad she’d be taking Morgan for his afternoon walk and that Tom would be there. And he would tilt her chin with his fingertip and bend and kiss her. Tom, her love. Thomas Dwerryhouse, whom one day she would marry. For they could wait. They had all the time in the world – not like Miss Julia and her doctor, because after today they might never meet again.

‘It doesn’t bear thinking about,’ she muttered, flouring the rolling-pin. And who, she demanded with amazement, would ever have thought that the day would dawn when she would pity Julia Sutton. Because she did. She pitied her something awful.

Julia walked slowly, her hand in Andrew MacMalcolm’s, speaking little, for there seemed nothing more important than being together. Their talking had been done, their plans made, promises asked and given.

‘After today, Andrew,’ she had used his name without thinking because it was beautiful to say, ‘I won’t be able to meet you. Tonight, Aunt Sutton’s maid returns from Bristol, and my aunt will make the overnight crossing and be in London before Hawthorn and I leave.’

‘So it’s goodbye, for a while.’

‘For as short a while as I can make it,’ she had whispered, knowing she was being forward, yet being so only because there was so little time. ‘I shall come back as soon as I can, but I shall tell Aunt Sutton about you and you must leave your card at her house. And I’ll beg her to receive you so she can say to my mother that she knows you, and approves.’

‘She’ll approve, do you think?’ He smiled down and she smiled back, without embarrassment. ‘She’ll take a wee rubber approval stamp and plonk it right in the middle of my forehead and that’ll make it all right?’

‘No, but it’s the way it’s got to be, so we must accept it.’

‘Why must we,’ he asked softly, ‘and, come to that, why must it be?’

‘Because –’ She glanced up quickly, alarmed, but saw no rancour, nothing in his face to warrant her fear. To him, she supposed, it was as simple as being in love, because he was in love, too; she knew it. ‘Because – well – that’s the way we do it. Being properly introduced, and all that sort of thing.’

‘But, Julia, you and I weren’t introduced, yet here we are, miserable because we’re parting, wanting to see each other again, both of us –’ He stopped, asking the question with his eyes.

‘Both of us knowing we might fall in love?’

‘Have fallen in love, and against all the rules and conventions. We know all we need to know about each other; that my father dug coal and your father burned it; that I am a good physician and intend to be even better; that you and I met three days ago and knew –’

‘Just as my parents knew,’ she whispered.

‘Aye – that we were right for each other and that we must be back, soon, or your Hawthorn will be glaring at the clock, thinking I’ve run off with you.’

They had turned then, and retraced their steps, and because she did not at once place her hand back in his, he reached for it, holding it tightly for several seconds before he tucked her arm in his own.

‘How old are you, Andrew?’ She knew so much about him, yet so little.

‘I’ll be twenty-six in August.’

‘And I shall be twenty-one, soon.’

‘Good. That’s just right. And did I tell you that you should always wear blue?’

She smiled at him, shaking her head, holding his eyes in a too-long glance. But it didn’t matter, because he was making love to her: not the physical love she wanted so much to share with him; but with every look, every touch, every carefully chosen word, he made her love him a little more, and knew it was the same for him.

‘When we meet again – if it’s still summer – I shall wear this dress for you.’

‘It will still be summer, Julia. Soon, I shall have a week’s leave of absence. I have no close family to spend it with, so I could well come to –’

‘To York!’ she supplied, joyously. ‘I could meet you there – I’m sure I could. When will it be?’

‘In June. The second or third week.’

‘And you’ll come? You won’t change your mind?’ Her cheeks flushed hotly, a small, happy pulse beat at her throat. ‘I – I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.’

‘I shall come. Only if my employers at the hospital decide otherwise will I not be there.’

‘And you would write and let me know if you couldn’t – write to Hawthorn, that is?’

‘I would let you know.’ They had stopped walking now, because the park gates were only a few steps away and each was reluctant to walk through them.

‘Andrew – you will try to make Aunt Sutton’s acquaintance? You’ve got to agree it would help?’

‘I don’t know, lassie. I’d like fine to meet your aunt, but if I don’t – well, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Because it’s a big world we both live in, though you’ve seen precious little of it from inside your safe, sedate walls. But nothing can change these last few days. You know it and I know it. There’ll be a way,’ he said comfortably, confidently. ‘We’ll find it, between us.’

‘Andrew,’ she whispered, ‘we’re almost back and Hawthorn will be hovering and we mightn’t get the chance, so –’

‘So will you stop your chatter, lovely lassie, for just long enough for me to tell you I love you?’

‘I will. Oh, I will …’

‘Mind, I don’t know what’s come over me,’ he said softly, shaking his head at his own foolishness, ‘for I’d got my life all mapped out and everything in its place, and there was no place in it for a wife – not just yet. And now look at me.’

‘I’m looking. And I love what I see,’ she laughed. ‘And we’d better go and eat Hawthorn’s scones or she’ll have the constabulary out looking for me … It is true, isn’t it? And you will come to York?’

‘Aye. And I’ll leave my card at your aunt’s house.’

‘Then there isn’t any more to be said, is there?’ she whispered. ‘Except that I wish you would kiss me goodbye, when you leave.’

‘I will,’ he smiled. ‘Be sure, I will …’

5

He had kissed her, Julia thought dully, when he left Aunt Sutton’s. When she had begged Hawthorn with her eyes not to come to the door with them, he had cupped her face in his hands and laid his lips softly to the bruise on her forehead. Then he had kissed her mouth, softly, tenderly, lingering his lips on hers as if claiming them for his own.

Now this train was taking her from him. With every minute it was pulling them further apart. Soon they would reach York, then take the little slow train to Holdenby where the carriage would be waiting. They would be more than two hundred miles apart. Half a day apart.

‘Don’t be sad, miss. We had a lovely time. If you’re sad, her ladyship’s going to think the holiday has done you no good at all. Drink up your wine now.’ Aunt Sutton had given them wine for the journey; sweet, local wine from the Camargue.

‘Come again soon,’ she had said heartily. ‘Come when I’m at home, both of you, and I’ll show you a London you’d never have thought existed.’

Both of you, Alice had particularly noted, and it pleased her because she had liked Aunt Sutton the minute they met. And she couldn’t, Alice thought guiltily, be sad. Not for a minute, for, wonderful as London had been, soon she would see Tom, would run to his arms and tell him how she had missed him – after they had kissed …

‘I don’t believe it happened, Hawthorn; not any of it.’

‘It happened.’ Gently Alice laid a fingertip to a bruise, now shading paler and fading to yellow at the edges. ‘And miss, remember that night – the two white wishinghorses?’ Since the stop at Darlington they were the only occupants of the compartment and to talk was easier. ‘A wish each, we had …’

‘I remember.’ The smallest smile tilted the corners of Julia’s mouth.

‘Well, I can tell you mine now, ’cos it’s come true. I wished you could find someone like I’d found Tom – and you did. That very night, you did.’

‘Then white-horse wishes must be powerful stuff, because I wished for much the same thing.’

‘There now. You should go and tell it to the rooks when we’re back, miss. I always tell them. Share your secrets with those old rooks and they’ll keep them safe. And you can tell them when you’re unhappy, an’ all. Don’t think they can do a lot about unhappiness, but it helps to tell them.’

‘You won’t say anything, Hawthorn – not at home, I mean? Not until I’ve got used to it all – sorted myself out?’

‘You know I won’t. Not a word. When they’re talking about your eye in the kitchen, I shall tell them what we said it would be. And I’ll wish like anything I don’t get a letter from London, ’cos that would mean he wouldn’t be coming on holiday.’ And goodness only knew how she’d take it. She’d set her hopes on York, Miss Julia had. ‘Oh, can’t you tell her ladyship? She’d understand, I know she would, and then there needn’t be any lies and always having to watch what we say.’

‘I can’t, just yet. I couldn’t risk a refusal. She could well be angry, you know. I’ve broken all the rules.’

‘Which rules?’ There were no rules about falling in love. It happened, and there was nothing anybody could do about it, thanks be.

‘Our rules. There’s a way of doing things for us that’s simply got to be, and one of the things you don’t do is go against convention. I did. I went sneaking off like a scullery maid to meet him – oh, I’m sorry, Hawthorn, I didn’t mean to sound arrogant, I truly didn’t. But I ran after him. I knew exactly what I was doing and I didn’t care. No lady does that, does she? You didn’t.’

‘We-e-ll – not running as such. But I always made sure to take Morgan out reg’lar, before servants’ teatime. And once I went as bold as brass to the rearing field, ’cos I knew he’d be there. And I acted all surprised, like, though I’m glad I did it. That was the night he walked me back and asked me to be his girl, so don’t take on about what you did, Miss Julia. Men need a helping hand, sometimes, and you didn’t have a lot of choice – not with only three days left.

‘But your mother is a lovely lady, and you told me, didn’t you, that her and Sir John were secretly in love ever before they were matched. She’d understand. She would.’

‘A young doctor without expectations? Hardly to be compared with Pa.’

‘But they were in love,’ Alice insisted, ‘and love’s a powerful thing – stronger than white-horse wishes.’

‘No. I can’t tell her yet. Wait until Andrew has left his card at Aunt Sutton’s. By the time he visits York she might have received him and I can tell Mama more then. But I’ve got to drop it in bits, sort of. Just a hint here and a word there, so that when it all comes out she’ll look back and realize I hadn’t been deceitful – well, not exactly.’

‘But that isn’t the way it should be.’ Stubbornly, Alice held her ground.

‘I know. After that first time in the park I was so excited that I needed everyone to know. I wanted to climb Holdenby Pike and shout it into the wind. But it’s gone too far between us and I’m afraid to lose him. So you won’t tell? Not even Tom?’

‘No one. Cross my heart.’

‘Well, then,’ Julia drained her glass. ‘We’d better get our things together.’

The train was slowing now, and from the window the towers of the Minster could be distantly seen. Soon they would be at Rowangarth, and telling everyone what a fine time they had had – and watching every word they said.

Alice folded the napkins, carefully wrapping them around the glasses, fastening the hamper, mentally checking the hatbox and travelling bag on the rack, remembering there were four cases in the luggage van and a porter to be found to put them on the Holdenby train that left at three o’clock. And Tom, she thought blissfully, was little more than an hour away.

‘I wasn’t fast, was I, Hawthorn?’ Julia asked anxiously as the little stopping train clanked and shuddered out of York station. ‘I mean, I wasn’t forward or anything? You do think Andrew will get in touch? He won’t think I’ve been a bit – well – unladylike …’

‘No, miss. You weren’t unladylike – not a bit; leastways, not when I was there, so don’t keep on worrying about it.’

‘But I was a little bit – eager. I know I ought to have refused, when first he asked me to walk in the park – a lady always should say no, the first time she’s asked. And I shouldn’t have gone to his lodgings, either. But we didn’t have a lot of time …’

‘Not a lot. Did he kiss you?’ Alice demanded, amazed at her daring. ‘Was it nice?’

‘He did, and it was nicer than nice. He kissed me twice.’ Julia closed her eyes, remembering. ‘A little one, then one that made me – oh –’

‘Feel peculiar all over? I know.’ Alice, too, closed her eyes.

‘And you’re sure he’ll come to York to see me?’

‘Sure as anyone can be,’ Alice comforted. ‘And just to be certain, you’d better watch out for another white horse, and let the rooks know about it, an’ all. Best to make sure.’

‘I will. I will.’

There was a warning hoot from the driver as the train swayed over a level crossing and took them on to Rowangarth land, then the hissing of wheels on steel took on a heavier note as the train met the gradient that wound upward through Brattocks Wood.

‘Hawthorn, look!’

Standing beneath the trees at the edge of the track, a gun dog squatting at his feet, stood the under-keeper. Knowing the time of their train and that it would lose speed at the wood, Tom was waiting to see it pass.

Only a glimpse, but he had been there and Alice knew, in that moment, how much she had missed him; wondered how she could ever have been so foolish as to leave him for a day, let alone two weeks. And then she blushed for shame, because soon she would be with him, and sitting opposite was poor Miss Julia, sad and worried in case she never saw her young man again.

‘Oh, miss – you’ll see him again. You will.’

Giles Sutton looked up, smiling, as Alice peeped round the library door and Morgan, tired of the hearth rug, gave a yelp of delight and skidded across the floor, tail wagging furiously.

‘Hawthorn! You’re back. I’ve missed you; we’ve both missed you!’

‘And I’ve missed you and Morgan and Rowangarth and, oh, everyone, even though London was like a fairy story. And I’m come to say I’m sorry that I can’t take Morgan for his run, ’cos I haven’t finished Miss Julia’s unpacking and it’s almost teatime. But I’ll take him tonight, if that’s all right with you, Mr Giles.’

‘It is, and I’ll be grateful, because I’m dining out tonight. Did you have a good time?’

‘Oh, yes. You wouldn’t believe the half of what I saw. There was –’ She stopped, cheeks pink. ‘But you would believe it. You’ve been before, ever so many times.’

‘Too many times. Rowangarth is where I like to be.’

‘I know, sir.’ She did know. It had tingled through her from head to toes, that feeling of homecoming. ‘But I’ll see that Morgan gets his run tonight, after dinner’s over and done with.’

She bent to stroke the spaniel’s head and he whimpered softly, reaching to lick her cheek.

‘Silly old thing.’ She laughed, bobbing a curtsey to Giles Sutton: not that he would expect it, but because it was right for all that, and because she was grateful, perhaps, that he understood her need to find an excuse to be in Brattocks Wood tonight. ‘Oh, and Cook says I’m to tell you that Mary has just taken tea up to her ladyship.’

Closing the door behind her she hugged herself tightly. Home, to Rowangarth, and servants’ tea at four o’clock and kitchen chatter and plum jam and seed cake. And tonight he would be waiting: Tom, who loved her.

‘How on earth did you get that?’ Laughing, Giles Sutton contemplated his sister’s face.

‘Through not minding my own business, I suppose. Does it look awful?’

‘Absolutely terrible. How could you have –’

‘Your sister could, and did. Apparently, there was a fracas in Hyde Park and Julia joined in.’

‘Mama! I told you! There was a suffragette selling news-sheets and a young woman – she was so pale and thin, Giles, and had a little one in her arms – well, all she did was buy a news-sheet and a policeman told her to move on – the suffragette, I mean – and he started pushing the young woman.’

‘And your sister charged to her aid – and in a hobble skirt, would you believe – and tripped, and hit her head.’

‘Yes, and Hawthorn told the policeman off, then demanded he find a doctor –’

‘And it just so happened that a doctor was taking a stroll in the park,’ Helen Sutton supplied, trying hard not to smile.

‘The luck of the Suttons,’ Giles grinned.

‘He was very kind to me.’ Julia’s cheeks blazed. ‘Told me I wasn’t badly hurt and that if I suddenly felt ill I was to call Aunt Sutton’s doctor and – and Hawthorn looked after me.’ There, now, she hadn’t told any lies – not actual lies … ‘And please don’t tease, because it did hurt, at the time.’

‘Not another word, Sis. And would you mind not eating all the sandwiches …?’

‘Hobble skirts,’ said Alice at servants’ tea. ‘That’s what did it, Bess. Miss Julia goes striding out, all angry with that fat policeman I told you about, and forgets you don’t stride, exactly, in a hobble skirt. Next thing you know there’s the most awful bang –’ She paused to collect her thoughts, painstakingly jamming her bread.

‘Where?’ Bess demanded.

‘On her head, of course.’

‘Where in London, I mean.’

‘Hyde Park, it was. Beautiful, Hyde Park is.’ Change the subject, Alice. They’ve had all they’re going to get about that black eye. ‘Just beautiful. Like a bit of the country, right in the middle of London.’

‘And was there blood?’ Tilda demanded, wide-eyed. ‘Did she knock herself out cold?’

‘She felt a bit groggy, for a time,’ Alice admitted reluctantly, ‘but luckily there was a doctor handy and he took care of her.’

‘Ooh. Was he young and dark and handsome, and –’

‘No, Tilda, he was a doctor, that’s all, and he said she wasn’t badly hurt, though she’d likely have a headache in the morning, and a black eye – which she did.

‘Still, Miss Julia knows now not to go telling policemen off in a hobble skirt. We went on the Underground railway, an’ all.’ Talk about other things. ‘Imagine – trains hurtling about, underneath London. You could be walking down Oxford Street, and for all you knew there could be a rushing train beneath your feet.’

‘If you ask me, Hyde Park is near where they have meetings. Speakers Corner, I believe they call it,’ Mrs Shaw, offered. ‘I did once hear there was a raving lunatic there, saying all manner of things about the King – King Edward, God rest him – and as how the monarchy was all lazy and overfed and should be deported to Australia and the money they cost us given to the poor.’

‘I believe London folk go to Speakers Corner just for fun,’ Alice nodded. ‘Seems you can say almost what you want there, and get away with it.’

‘’Cept if you’re one of them suffragette women. Illegal those meetings are now, and so they should be – women making a show of themselves in public. Ought to be ashamed of themselves.’

‘Ashamed,’ Alice echoed, eyes on her plate. ‘But we didn’t see any of them. And we didn’t see the King nor the Queen, neither, though we saw their palace.’

‘What’s it like?’

‘Big, but not half as nice as Rowangarth – well, not from the front.’ Alice held out her plate as Mrs Shaw dispensed seed cake. ‘Though I heard it said they’ve got a garden at the back.’

‘You should’ve put raw steak on that eye,’ Tilda grumbled. ‘And on her forehead.’

‘Was no need to go wasting good beef,’ Alice declared firmly. ‘Not for a bump, and that’s all it was. Gracious me, folk go falling over every minute of the day and it doesn’t warrant a fuss. And don’t be embarrassing Miss Julia by staring at her, Tilda. Nobody bothered about it in London; never gave her a second glance.’

She wished she wouldn’t keep on about Miss Julia’s eye. But crafty as a cartload of monkeys, that kitchenmaid was, and all the while letting folk think she was gormless.

‘I did see one or two skirts down there just like your new one, Mrs Shaw.’ Deftly, Alice changed the subject. ‘Very nice, they looked. Ladies were wearing them with a pretty blouse with full sleeves and a brooch at the neck. And a flat straw hat, with ribbons.’

‘Hm. Might get myself a bit of material, now you mention it.’ Mrs Shaw had a brooch, too, that had been her mother’s. ‘How many yards for a blouse, Alice, would you say?’

‘Two and a half, if you want full sleeves. And as for those hobble skirts – well everybody’s wearing them in London. Tight as a sausage skin they are, and ladies having to take little short steps in them, and as for climbing the steps of a motor bus – make you laugh, it would …’

‘I don’t suppose you went to the theatre?’ Mrs Shaw indicated with her eyebrows that Alice might be allowed another slice of cake. ‘Or the music hall?’

‘Sadly, no.’ Alice refused more cake. All she wanted was for teatime to be finished and herself putting away Miss Julia’s clothes and for the slow-moving minutes to be quickly spent so she might the sooner be with Tom. ‘Women – young ladies of Miss Julia’s standing, can’t go to music halls without a gentleman – not even in London. But a lady can go sight-seeing or shopping with a servant with her, or a companion. Miss Julia went shopping quite a lot. My, but you should see the London shops. Swanky, they are. Great big places you could get yourself lost in, and the windows all set out with dummies with clothes on them; it’s an entertainment in itself, is looking at shop windows. I used to stare at those dummies – so lifelike it wouldn’t have surprised me if one of them hadn’t winked at me.

‘But will you be wanting any help tonight, Mrs Shaw? I’ve almost finished the unpacking and there’s nothing in the sewing-room that won’t wait till morning.’ She rose from the table, asking to be excused. ‘If you’re short-handed …?’

‘Nay, lass. You’ll be tired after your long journey, and I’ve only got milady and Miss Julia for dinner tonight, so we’ll manage.’

‘Then Mr Giles wants me to take Morgan for a run, if that’s all right with you.’

‘All right with me, but best you mention it to Miss Clitherow.’

‘I will,’ she whispered through a sigh of relief. ‘I’ll mention it now.’

Eight o’clock tonight, and she would be hurrying as fast as might be to Brattocks Wood. Or perhaps to the rearing field, or maybe he’d be waiting at the parkland fence? Two whole weeks it had been and oh, how she loved him, needed him. And how very sorry she felt for Miss Julia.

Reuben was digging in his garden when Alice passed.

‘Evenin’, lass,’ he called, jamming his spade into the earth, straightening his back. ‘How was London, then?’

‘Oh, you’d never believe! Wonderful, that’s what!’ And wonderful to be back, did you but know it, Cousin Reuben. ‘I’ll look in tomorrow, and tell you about it.’

‘Aye. And if Tom isn’t at the coops he’ll be doing the rounds in Brattocks …’

‘Thanks!’ She gave him her most rewarding smile without even trying to pretend she wasn’t in the least bit interested in the whereabouts of the under-keeper. ‘C’mon, Morgan.’

The rearing field was deserted, the coops already shuttered for the night. Alice stood at the gate, calling softly, but there was no answering whistle.

She walked on, slipping the spaniel’s lead when they came to the big pasture, watching him bounce off, sniffing, snuffling, yelping happily. At the lane end she climbed the fence, taking the path into Brattocks Wood, calling again as she went, a little apprehensive in the deep, dim greenness.

‘Tom? Tom Dwerryhouse?’

She heard his whistle, long and low, and ran to the sound, laughing. He was standing beside the old oak; the one with the propped-up branches people hereabouts said was as old, almost, as Rowangarth. Then she stopped her running and walked slowly, the more to spin out the delicious seconds, watching as he laid his gun on the grass at his feet.

‘Tom!’ She was in his arms, loving the closeness of him, wondering how she had endured so long away from him.

They held each other tightly, not speaking, glad to be together; touching, loving, their days apart forgotten.

‘I missed you, Alice Hawthorn.’ His voice was low as he tilted her chin with his forefinger. ‘Don’t ever leave me again.’

‘I won’t. I missed you, too.’

‘Even among those grand London folk?’

‘Especially among those London folk,’ she whispered, ‘because not one of them was you.’ She closed her eyes and parted her lips, wanting him to kiss her, but he twined her fingers in his own and tucked her arm in his and walked her deeper into the wood, teasing her, teasing himself, wanting her as much as she wanted him.

‘Was it a good holiday, then? Is London all it’s cracked up to be?’

‘It is, and more. Parks and green places, and people everywhere. And cabs and motors making such a din. And you should see those big shops and oh, the fashions. Such clothes, Tom, and ladies so elegant with their fine hats and parasols.’

‘But you wouldn’t live there, Alice? You wouldn’t take a position in London and start getting grand ideas? I couldn’t imagine you carrying a parasol, giving yourself airs. Not my buttercup girl. I don’t want her to change.’

‘Nor shall she.’ She smiled into his eyes. ‘Well, not if you were to tell her you love her, and give her that kiss she’s been waiting for,’ she said softly, all pretence gone. ‘Waiting two weeks for.’

‘Then I must do as I’m bid,’ he smiled, tilting her chin again. And she remembered how she had dreamed of this moment in that far-away London bed, and when his mouth came down hard on hers, her need of him began as a blush in her cheeks and sliced through her, shivering down to her toes. It was a feeling strange and new, but right, because she knew that what she suddenly felt was not the love of a sewing-maid for her sweetheart, but the pulsating need of a woman – a woman soon to be eighteen – for her man.

Her heart began a slow, sweet thudding and she pressed closer, because it was the only way she knew to still the tiny, wayward pulses that beat out a need only he could satisfy.

‘It’s been so long,’ she murmured, searching again for his lips. ‘Kiss me again? Kiss me …’

His mouth was rough, his arms claimed her possessively. They kissed as if there would be no tomorrow and this moment was all they would ever have.

‘I love you,’ he murmured, his voice harsh with need. ‘Never for a minute forget you’re spoken for.’

‘Not ever.’ She laid her cheek on his chest, feeling the roughness of his jacket, closing her eyes against a happiness so overwhelming that it made her cling the harder to him, so weak and useless were her legs. ‘Never, as long as I live.’

‘And we’ll be wed, Alice?’

‘We’ll be wed, and as soon as we are able.’ She sent her happiness winging to the tall trees at the far end of the wood; to the black, cawing birds that nested there. Best tell them, tell this happiness to the rooks. Best share their loving – keep it safe from harm. ‘Just as soon …’

6

Mrs Shaw had floated on a cloud of contentment ever since the invitations had been posted on the day following Julia’s departure to London.

Things were getting back to normal. Lady Sutton was giving a dinner party, her first for three years, and though it was to be small and simple, it was a step in the right direction as far as Rowangarth’s cook was concerned. Now, once more, she could proclaim her expertise. Before the death of Sir John, her reputation had been without equal, and she had scorned bribes of a superior kitchen, higher wages, and all the scullery maids she could wish for, to remain steadfastly loyal to Rowangarth.

Acceptances were quickly received. All the guests were close friends of Helen Sutton, with the exception of Mrs Clementina and Elliot, though the presence of Edward Sutton would more than compensate for that of his wife and son, and since Judge Mounteagle and his wife would be there, it was reasonable to suppose that the lady’s ferocious stare would keep Elliot in his place. Mrs Mounteagle’s stare could stop a runaway horse, John once said, so Elliot should present no problem at the table.

Already Mrs Shaw had spent two enjoyable sessions with her ladyship, pencil poised, notebook at the ready. It gratified her that Lady Helen always consulted directly with her cook on such occasions, which briefly elevated her almost to Miss Clitherow’s station, and though the dinner party was to be small and simple, none of the joys of planning and conferring and buying-in would be wasted on a cook who had languished unseen and unsung for three unhappy years. Now the menu was finally agreed, and calculating quantities and making timetables occupied her time, for even the most ordinary of dinner parties needed three days, at least, of preparation.

Thick fish soup to start with presented no problem at all, nor the next course of poached whole salmon, served on a bed of green salad and covered, completely, with thin slices of cucumber. A joint of roast beef was child’s play to a Yorkshire-born cook, but the sorbet to follow would need ice in plenty in its making, and Miss Clitherow must be reminded to send the coachman to collect half a sackful of it, on the two mornings beforehand, from the fishmonger in Creesby.

Fruit jellies to follow? Lady Sutton had enquired, to which Cook added her own suggestion that Mr Edward fair loved ice-cream and meringue pudding and might not that be offered too?

‘Very well, Mrs Shaw, but in that case there will be no ices to follow the savouries, wouldn’t you agree? Simple, remember? And could you make your special savoury for the gentlemen? It was always so much appreciated …’

Cook purred her pleasure, for even after three years it seemed that her special, secret-recipe savoury was not forgotten.

‘You’ll see to it, milady, that Miss Clitherow asks Ellen to help wait-on?’ Sixteen at table was too much to expect of any parlourmaid, even one of Mary’s capabilities.

‘She has already done so. Ellen is willing,’ came the smiling reply. ‘I understand her uniform still fits her nicely so there’ll be no problem.’

Ellen was Mary’s predecessor, who four years ago had married a local farmer: the housekeeper had been gratified by the pleasure with which the appeal for help was received.

‘Of course I’ll come, Miss Clitherow. It’ll be just like old times again. I’ll be there good and early, will I, to help with the silver and the table?’ Time away from the demands of two young children and the promise of goodies to take home with her made the prospect of once more working at Rowangarth a pleasant one. ‘And now that Lady Sutton is entertaining again, I’ll always be willing to give a helping hand – if I’m able,’ she had added hastily, so as not to tempt Fate overmuch.

Mrs Shaw left the morning-room, casting her mind back to the huge dinner parties of twenty years ago. Almost indecent, they were, if you considered that the cost of the out-of-season strawberries alone would have fed a family of four for a week. Perhaps it was as well these days that, following the example set by the new King and Queen, entertaining had become simpler and the upper classes less inclined to dig their graves with their knives and forks.

Next Friday’s dinner was to be small and simple, but perfect for all that, and the crowning glory of Lady Helen’s visit to the kitchens, even before the guests had begun to depart, would make it a day to be dwelt upon for a long time to come. Her ladyship’s thanks to all concerned would be sincere, and her suggestion that they should cool themselves by finishing off the remaining ice-cream and sorbets before they melted, would be met with smiles of delight.

Rowangarth, thought Mrs Shaw as she returned to her kitchen, was her home and her pride and may the good Lord preserve it and, if He wouldn’t mind, see what He could do about providing an heir, which would please milady no end and maybe help the dear soul to smile a little more often.

‘Tilda!’ she called to the maid who had taken advantage of her superior’s absence. ‘Put that love book down this instant!’

There would be no time for reading now. Rowangarth was coming into its own again, and by the time Friday had come and gone, that silly girl wouldn’t know what had hit her! Oh my word, no!

The letter came long before she expected it. Addressed to Miss A. Hawthorn, there were raised eyebrows when it was handed to Alice at servants’ breakfast.

‘London,’ Tilda gloated, eyes on the postmark.

‘London,’ Alice confirmed primly, with not so much as a blush. ‘Miss Sutton’s live-in said she would write to me if I was of a mind to get a letter occasionally.’ Firmly, she pushed it into her pocket. ‘I’ll read it later.’

She hoped it wouldn’t say that he wasn’t coming. Miss Julia would be disappointed – heartbroken – if she didn’t see him again soon. The letter was from Doctor MacMalcolm, she was sure. What she wasn’t so sure about was how she could quickly – and secretly – get it to the lady for whom it was intended.

She cut a slice of bread then, spearing it with her fork, held it to the hot coals of the kitchen range.

‘Do you think, Mary,’ she murmured, eyes downcast, ‘you could give Miss Julia a message when you take breakfast up? Something I’ve just remembered. Would you tell her that I’ve run out of blue thread, and can she let me know if she’ll be going to York in the near future?’

‘Why York?’ Tilda demanded. ‘You can buy cotton just as easy in Holdenby.’

‘Because it’s special buttonhole thread,’ Alice flung scathingly, dratting the kitchenmaid’s nosiness.

‘Buttonhole thread, I’m to say?’ Mary frowned.

‘That’s right. From York – or Harrogate. She’ll know. And pass the butter please, Tilda, afore my toast gets cold.’

She could have set her clock by Julia Sutton’s breathless arrival. Breakfast at eight-thirty, with twenty minutes – give or take the odd few seconds – before she could decently excuse herself. Then half a minute from the morning-room to the sewing-room; a little before nine, it would be.

‘Hawthorn?’ At eight fifty-two exactly, a pink-cheeked Julia opened the sewing-room door.

‘You understood my message, then?’ Alice held the envelope between her first and second fingers. ‘It came this morning. From him.’

‘Andrew!’ She snatched the envelope, tearing it open with shaking fingers, pulling out the smaller one inside which bore her name – just Julia, written squarely in the very centre in black ink. ‘Oh, Hawthorn – what if …’

‘Read it and see.’ She waited, hardly breathing, as the tiny mantel-clock ticked away a long minute, loud in the silence; then Julia lifted her eyes.

‘He isn’t coming to York mid-June,’ she whispered soberly, then her cheeks dimpled and she laughed out loud. ‘No! It’s to be Harrogate, and he’s coming next week! He says he thinks it had better be Harrogate because he wants to visit the Pump Room and the Baths, and find out all he can about the water cures. Well, I suppose a doctor would be –’

‘Interested?’ Alice nodded. ‘Yes.’ Though not for the life of her could she ever have been persuaded to drink those curative waters. Tasted something awful, Cook said, and a pint of ale would do more good, to her way of thinking. ‘Did he say, miss, why he’s coming earlier?’

‘No, but does it matter? All I know is that he’ll be arriving on Monday, a little before noon, and he wants me to meet him outside the station entrance at two.’

‘And can you?’

‘I’ve got to.’ It was so ridiculous that a grown woman must be escorted everywhere, as if she were incapable even of crossing the road unaided. ‘I’ll have to think up an excuse to get away – alone, if I can.’

‘And will she let you – go by yourself on the train, I mean?,’ Alice frowned.

‘Why shouldn’t I, in a ladies-only compartment? But if she won’t allow it, I shall ask her if you can come with me. You can buy your blue thread, then.’

‘You know I don’t want thread, miss. And if I was you I wouldn’t make too many plans, because next week it’s the dinner party – had you forgotten?’

‘As if I could. Mama’s as jumpy as a kitten about it already. Well, she would be. It’s three years since she last had people here.’

‘Yes. So think, miss. Who’s to be spared to go to Harrogate with you? We’ll be busy all week, and I’ll have to help out in the kitchens, what with all the extra work.’

Silver and table-linen to be brought out and checked after so long out of use; Cook pink-cheeked and indignant and loving every minute of it, from the first menu ideas to the last of the savouries sent up to the servery in the shuddering lift; then she would collapse in the kitchen rocker and fan herself with a tea towel, murmuring, ‘My, oh, my …’

‘Busy? Everyone? Then I’ll just have to get away on my own.’

Perhaps, Julia thought, the dinner party might be a blessing in disguise. Perhaps Mama would be too taken up with it to argue the rights and wrongs of an unchaperoned trip. Or would she say no, in a voice that meant no?

‘I must see her – now!’

She was gone before Alice could offer a word of advice or warning or caution. Blue thread, indeed! It was going to take more than a reel of thread to get them out of this one.

Sighing, she returned to the kitchen, where silver fruit baskets and candlesticks and flower bowls waited to be polished, and knives and forks and spoons and salt cellars and sauce bowls cleaned and rinsed in soapy water, then cleaned again. And Cook fussing over her stockpot, complaining that the fire wasn’t drawing properly; that the flues would have to be brushed clean of soot in the morning and Tilda had better not forget it, either!

She had been so looking forward to the dinner party, Alice fretted; to the fuss and bustle and helping in the kitchen and seeing the table decorations and the lovely dresses and eating leftover goodies. It should have been nice to see Rowangarth come to life again, with her ladyship looking lovely and wearing her orchids, but now the letter had come and there was no knowing what Miss Julia would do. The cat would be out of the bag and London out of bounds for all time, if she didn’t mind what she said.

‘Oh, Lor’,’ Alice whispered. ‘Be careful, miss.’

Julia found her mother in her dressing-room, swishing aside dinner gowns, murmuring, ‘No, no, no! Oh, it’s you, child. There is absolutely nothing to wear and less than a week to go and no time at all to buy new …’

‘Blue,’ Julia pronounced. ‘Something blue, it should be.’

But Pa had always liked her in blue, so blue could not be considered. Nor the apricot silk with the draped neckline, because Mama had worn that to Pa’s last birthday dinner; nor the green satin, either, because she had been wearing it when they came to tell her that Pa wasn’t just late for dinner, but that he wouldn’t be home, ever again.

‘Blue.’ Julia reached for a hanger and removed the cover from the gown. ‘Your orchids will look beautiful with this one. And you should have Miss Clitherow make you a chignon so you can wear orchids in your hair, too.’

‘Hmm. Did you want something?’ Clearly she was in no mood to talk about clothes.

‘N-no. Nothing in particular, except perhaps could Hawthorn be spared to come with me to Harrogate on Monday? I’d thought on the noon train – or it would be better if I were to go alone …’

‘Alone? But you never –’

‘Mama! Girls go everywhere alone, now. In London it’s quite commonplace.’

‘But this is not London, Julia. Nor, I imagine, can Hawthorn be spared on Monday – or any other day next week.’

‘Yes, I know she’s needed to help out downstairs, but I’ve got a good reason for going on my own. It will be Hawthorn’s birthday in two weeks, and she was such a help in London and so kind and thoughtful when I got my bruises, that I’d like to buy some special roses for her hat.

‘The ones she’s got she made herself out of satin scraps, and I want to buy her some silk ones, and maybe a little matching bud for her jacket lapel – to say thank you, I mean. So it’s best she doesn’t come with me and I can manage alone, I really can. If I’m seen on to the train and met off it when I get back, I can’t possibly come to any harm.

‘And I’m nearly twenty-one and it is 1913, Mama, and women travel alone every day in London on the trams and tube trains, really they do,’ she finished breathlessly.

‘London has given you ideas, Julia, and yes, I know you’re not a child and it’s kind of you to think about Hawthorn, but –’

‘But I can’t go alone and no one can be spared next week to go with me!’ Her mouth set stubbornly.

‘Then you are wrong. But just this once, I was going to say, if you promise to get the five o’clock train back, I think you might be allowed –’

‘Mama! Oh, thank you, and I will take care, I will! And Hawthorn wants blue thread and if there’s anything you’d like me to get for you …’

‘There is nothing. But if you find yourself in need of a ladies’ room, then do be careful where you go? The teashop on the corner of James Street is very respectable.’

‘I’ll be careful – I truly will. And when women get the vote there’ll be an end to chaperoning,’ she added, breathlessly triumphant.

‘The vote, Julia?’

‘Sorry, dearest.’ Sorry indeed! Hawthorn had said to be careful and she had forgotten. She’d just blurted it out, and now it was said it couldn’t be taken back. ‘The vote, Mama,’ she said soberly, meeting her mother’s gaze. ‘Women will get it, one day. We will, you know.’

‘One day, perhaps. But not just yet. Not for a long, long time. And you are not to talk about such things on Friday night – please?’

‘I won’t; I promise. I’ll be very ladylike and I’ll watch my tongue and if it gets too bad for you – missing Pa, I mean – look across at me, and I shall understand.’

Helen Sutton closed her eyes tightly, then smiling just a little too brightly, she whispered, ‘The blue it shall be, Julia. I shall wear the blue, on Friday. For your Pa.’

He was waiting outside the station beside the little flower shop, and her feet felt like lead weights, so difficult was it to place one in front of the other. Then the colour Julia had felt drain from her cheeks at the sight of him all at once flooded back, and she began to tremble with relief that he was there.

‘You remembered,’ he smiled, raising his hat. ‘To wear the blue, I mean.’

‘I said I would, next time we met – if it was still summer.’ Love for him washed over her and stuck in her throat in an exquisite ache. ‘And I want so much for you to kiss me.’

‘I want to kiss you, too, but not here.’ She was more beautiful than he remembered, her eyes larger, more luminous, her voice husky with a recognized need. ‘Close to where I am staying, there are gardens. We can walk there …’ He offered his arm and she slipped her hand into it, worried that someone she knew would see them; wishing with all her heart that they would.

‘This seems a prosperous town – what little I have seen of it,’ he murmured. ‘Fine houses, hotels, gardens …’

‘Indeed. A physician could do well here.’ Briefly she teased him with her eyes. ‘Would you ever consider moving north?’

‘Most certainly – given the means to buy myself into a town such as this. But I haven’t enough saved, yet – it’s only right you should know that, darling – so I must stay in London a while longer. By the way, I left my card at your aunt’s house, though I haven’t received hers in return. So until I do, I can’t call on her.’

‘Then I think you should leave another,’ Julia urged. ‘I wrote to her, two days ago, telling her that my bruises were almost gone now, thanks to your skill, so maybe next time you’ll be luckier. I do so want her to receive you.’

‘Receive me? D’you know, lassie, that where I came from there was no card-leaving, no waiting to be asked. In the pit house I grew up in, a neighbour would walk in without fuss and ask was there anything she could do to help – and help we needed, I can tell you that. Or maybe they’d just call for a gossip and a cup of tea – if there was tea to spare, mind, and milk to put in it.

‘But I don’t hold with all these peculiar customs – leaving cards, then waiting to be asked to call. It’s a funny way of going on, to my way of thinking.’

‘I know, Andrew, and I don’t much care for it myself. But it’s the way we do things and – and –’

‘And see where it gets you; snubbed or frustrated, or both. And I haven’t the time to waste leaving cards. I’ve thought a lot about us since you left, Julia; I even tried telling myself you were out of my reach, and to forget you.

‘I’m stubborn, though. When I get to be a fine physician I shall need a fine wife, so you’ll suit me nicely. And there is another thing, far more important. I love you, fine wife or no’, so it’s right I should ask you to marry me and –’

‘Marry you?’ She stood stock still, cheeks blazing. ‘Right out of nowhere, when you haven’t even asked me how my bruises are, you ask me to marry you!’

‘Your bruises are gone, almost, and your eye is fine. I’d be a poor physician if I couldn’t see that with half a glance. No! I have reached the conclusion that time is too short and too precious for the nonsense of card-leaving. I have six days here – few enough, to my way of thinking – so there is no time to waste being socially correct. That is why I’ve decided to speak with your mother or your brother, or both. And I shall declare my intentions and ask that I might be allowed to write to you and meet you here, or at your Aunt Sutton’s house. There now – how does that suit you?’ he smiled.

‘Andrew! You cannot – I cannot –’ He could not, must not, do anything so awful! ‘It isn’t right or proper and you mustn’t call! It isn’t the way we do things. My mother doesn’t even know you exist.’

‘Then you shall tell her, tonight, and ask that when I call tomorrow she’ll be kind enough to invite me inside. I’m not of a mind to shilly-shally, and I don’t approve of hole-in-the-corner affairs between two people who love each other. And do you know, Miss Julia Sutton, how very dear you are, standing there with your mouth wide open?’

‘Andrew, dearest love.’ Tears brightened her eyes and she blinked them away, matching his smile with her own. ‘I don’t think I’ve been so happy in the whole of my life, but it isn’t possible for you to call – it truly isn’t. There’s a way of doing things, and calling uninvited isn’t one of them. I’m sorry. But darling, I’ll soon be twenty-one and can tell them about us. Then, if they forbid it, I shall run away to London to you and –’

‘No, Julia. There’ll be no running anywhere! And do you know a short-cut to those gardens, because I need to kiss some sense into you. And don’t argue, or ask me to change my mind. I intend gettings things straight before I go back to London, so there’s no more to be said! Is that quite, quite clear?’

‘It is – oh, it is! But you don’t know what you are doing. You don’t! Are you willing to risk everything just because of your impatience – and your stubborn Scottish principles?’

‘Aye,’ he said mildly.

‘Then you are a fool, Andrew MacMalcolm, and I love you very much.’

‘Good. And you’ll marry me,’ he whispered, ‘just as soon as I can afford you?’

‘I’ll marry you,’ she choked, sniffing loudly, wondering why it was happening like this and where it would all end. ‘But I can’t think why you should want me. I’m very ordinary and inclined to bossiness and I’ll never be as beautiful as Mama. I really can’t see why –’

‘Can’t you? Then maybe it’s because you aren’t standing where I am. And you might as well know that I’ve loved you right from the start, lying there white-faced and your eyes closed. Even then, I wondered what colour they were …’

‘Then you meant it, Andrew, that day you opened your door to me and said you’d hoped I would come?’

‘I meant it.’ Taking her hand, he lingered a kiss in its upturned palm, just as though they were walking in Hyde Park again, where no one knew them. ‘I meant it, lassie.’

It was seven o’clock before Julia was able to find Alice alone.

‘Hawthorn! At last! Can you come up to the sewing-room? It’s important – and oh, such a mess!’

‘Miss, it’s suppertime and Mrs Shaw’s going to glare if I’m late. Can’t it wait till after?’

‘It can not! And you must tell Cook I waylaid you; say what you want, but I’ve got to talk to you. It can’t wait, because at dinner when Mama and Giles are together, there’s something I’ve got to tell them and you must know about it first because you’re involved – indirectly, that is – and I don’t want to land you in trouble.’

‘What happened in Harrogate?’ Alice sighed. She had known something would go wrong, carrying on like that. ‘Someone saw you, didn’t they?’

‘No. Leastways, I don’t think so – but I don’t care if they did! This is far worse, you see, and far more wonderful. Trouble is, it’s all going to come out.’ She closed the sewing-room door, then leaned against it dramatically. ‘Andrew has asked me to marry him – no, that’s not strictly true. Andrew told me we were to be married just as soon as he can afford me, but –’

‘Miss Julia – that’s lovely!’ Alice closed her eyes rapturously, all at once imagining yards of bridal satin and silk and lace. And creamy-white orchids and a veil so long that –

‘Lovely – yes. But listen! Andrew intends coming to the house tomorrow and telling Mama and Giles that he wants their permission to write to me and visit me here and at Aunt Sutton’s when I’m in London – if ever I’m allowed to go to London again, that is!’

‘Oh, Lordy, miss. You should’ve told him it isn’t done.’ Even a servant knew it wasn’t done. ‘You’ve got to stop him or the cat’ll be out of the bag about London, and I’ll be up to the ears in it, an’ all.’

‘But that’s it, Hawthorn. You won’t be in trouble because I intend telling them what really happened in London. What I won’t tell them is that Andrew and I met alone. I shall say that you were with us at all times and that it was me who insisted on meeting the doctor and that there was nothing you could have done about it, short of locking me in. So you won’t be in any trouble, I promise you. That’s why I had to see you so that when I’ve told Mama you’ll be able to confirm that it was all perfectly correct – if she asks you, that is – and that no blame attaches to you.’

‘I said so, didn’t I, miss; said our sins would find us out. But marry him! You said yes, didn’t you?’ She must have said yes.

‘Of course I did. But you’re the only one who knows, Hawthorn, so you mustn’t breathe a word until I’ve talked to Mama and warned her that a very determined doctor intends presenting himself tomorrow at ten o’clock. And I’ll die of shame if she doesn’t receive him.’

‘She will, Miss Julia. She’s too much of a lady not to. But I hope it turns out all right for you, and that her ladyship doesn’t forbid you ever to go to London again. The doctor’s a lovely gentleman, and if I can I’ll try to get out for just a few minutes – tell it to the rooks, for you, to make it all right. And thanks for not landing me in trouble. I’m ever so grateful, though it’s going to mean we’ll both have to tell a few fibs.’

‘But it’s worth it, Hawthorn. I wish tonight were over and done with, though. I don’t want to set Mama at defiance and tell her that if she won’t see Andrew and says I must never see him again, I shall marry him anyway, as soon as I’m twenty-one.’

‘You wouldn’t do that – her ladyship’s got worries enough being without Sir John, and your brother away in India. You’ll think on, won’t you, miss? Wasn’t she just like you, once, with a young man she was in love with, and didn’t it turn out all right for them? Promise you’ll count to ten?’

Oh, Lordy. What a mess it all was. And where would it end? Because soon it would be out in the open. What would happen then, Alice Hawthorn shuddered to think about!

‘Mama,’ Julia whispered, when dinner was announced. ‘When she has served us, can you ask Mary to leave – please?’

‘Leave us?’ Normally she would have refused such a request, but Helen Sutton heard apprehension in her daughter’s voice and saw it in her eyes. ‘What is so important that it cannot wait until later?’

‘Something that needs to be said to you both, and it can’t wait any longer, though I’ve been wanting to tell you ever since I got back from –’

‘From London?’ On reflection, she thought, her daughter had not been quite her usual impetuous self, though she had supposed it was due to the quietness of Rowangarth after the flurry and whirl of London.

‘No, dearest; from Harrogate. And it isn’t,’ she hastened, ‘anything awful. Just something you and Giles must know. You will, won’t you – ask Mary to leave us alone so I can talk to you?’

‘If I must.’ Helen Sutton slipped her arm through that of her son, frowning as he led her to the dining-room, wondering what had happened between noon and five o’clock to cause such consternation. ‘Did you lose your purse? Your ticket?’

‘No, Mama.’ If only it were that simple. But further talk was impossible, because Giles was drawing out his mother’s chair and Mary stood smiling, soup ladle at the ready, and it seemed an age before the joint was carved and plates passed round and her mother was able to say, ‘Thank you, Mary. We can manage quite nicely now. Coffee in the conservatory tonight, I think it will be. I’ll ring when we are ready for it. And now, if you please, Julia,’ she demanded as the door closed quietly, ‘what is so important that dinner must be disrupted because of it?’

‘Well, it’s – it’s …’ Julia drew in a steadying breath, the carefully rehearsed words forgotten. ‘When I was in London I met a young man – a doctor – and he intends calling on you and Giles tomorrow morning, at about ten.’

There now, she had said it, and in her usual tactless, bull-at-a-gate manner. And oh, please, please, Mama, and you too, Giles, don’t look so stonily at me.

‘I see.’ Helen Sutton laid down her knife and fork.

‘Well, I’m damned.’ Giles’s fork remained suspended between plate and mouth. ‘Calling, is he?’

‘He is. I told – asked – him not to, but he’s set on it, so you will receive him, Mama? And please listen to what he has to say – sympathetically, I mean.’ Her voice trailed into silence and she looked from one to the other, eyes pleading.

‘Do I know this young man?’

‘No. Nor does Giles.’ She refused to tell one more untruth. ‘But if you’ll let me introduce him to you, and if you’ll at least let him stay for coffee, you’ll – you’ll …’

‘Perhaps begin to understand why you appear to be so taken with him?’

‘Yes, Mama. So can I –’

‘Can you get on with it, I hope you mean,’ Giles smiled, ‘and let Mama and I eat our dinner whilst you tell it, for there’s nothing worse than mutton gone cold.’

Then he winked at her and she saw the sympathy she so needed in his eyes, and was grateful that at least her brother was on her side.

‘Well,’ she whispered. ‘I suppose the best place to begin is the beginning and it began when I fell in Hyde Park.’

‘And he was the doctor who helped you. Then he must have called on you again?’

‘No, Giles. I called on him.’ Her eyes were downcast, her fingers plucked nervously at the napkin on her knees. ‘He’d left his card and I wanted to thank him. No. Not to thank him, exactly.’ Her head lifted and she looked directly into her mother’s eyes. ‘I wanted to see him again. And nothing happened. He walked me – us – back to the motor bus, then asked if we would both like to walk in the park the next day. It was all perfectly proper.’

‘It was not proper and you know it, or you’d have told me the truth of it long before this, Julia. I thought you were sensible enough to be trusted alone, but it seems you were not. And Hawthorn encouraging you …’

‘No! It wasn’t like that! Hawthorn spoke most strongly against it, even though she was relieved and grateful he was there to help when I hit my head. But I insisted.’

‘She’s right, Mama. You can’t blame Hawthorn,’ Giles urged. ‘What else was she to do, when Julia had her mind set on it?’

‘Very well – I suppose Hawthorn acted as properly as she was able. And how many times, Julia, did you meet this doctor?’

‘Twice. And correctly chaperoned.’ She closed her eyes for shame at yet another lie, even though it was uttered to protect Hawthorn. ‘Then he said he was coming to Harrogate to study the water cures and asked me to meet him there. And I did and now you know it all,’ she finished breathlessly.

There was a long, apprehensive silence before Helen Sutton demanded, ‘All? Then what foolishness has prompted this man to call on me tomorrow without invitation?’

‘His name, Mama, is Andrew MacMalcolm, and he is a doctor,’ Julia said quietly, knowing all was lost, yet determined, still, to defend him. ‘And he is coming to see you because he wishes to marry me and I,’ she rushed on as her mother’s eyes opened wide with shock and her brother’s knife and fork clattered on to his plate, ‘wish to marry him!’

‘Stop, at once! I have listened to more than enough for one night. You have deceived me, Julia, and I suggest you go to your room. I would like to speak with your brother alone.’

‘No. I’m sorry, Mama, but I won’t.’ Her voice was less than a whisper now, and trembled on the edge of tears. ‘I didn’t deceive you today; not wholly. I did buy roses for Hawthorn. But I am almost twenty-one – almost grown up – and will not be sent from the room like a naughty child, nor discussed behind my back.’

‘Let her stay, dearest?’ Giles pleaded. ‘Julia has been truthful, and told you all.’

‘Yes! But would she have been so forthcoming had this young man not announced his intention of confronting me in my own home?’

‘I think,’ said her son levelly, ‘that it is I he must confront if he wishes to marry my sister. In Robert’s absence, I am her legal guardian – for the five remaining months she is a minor, that is.’

‘I see. So after November, when she is of age, you will condone such a marriage, simply because you are not prepared to do anything about it, Giles?’

‘No, Mother. But at least receive the man. You’ll know at once if he is a fortune hunter.’

‘Your sister does not have a fortune!’

‘A social climber, then?’

‘Stop it! Please stop it!’ They were talking about her as if she were not there, and Julia had reached the limits of her tolerance. ‘And please don’t keep calling Andrew the man, and this man. He is a person, a doctor, and is entitled to your respect. Doctor MacMalcolm. It isn’t so difficult to say. He works at St Bartholomew’s Hospital and he’s saving hard to buy a partnership in general practice.

‘And, Mama, before you forbid it out of hand, will you remember that you said I might choose my own husband?’ Her eyes were stark with pleading; tears still trembled on every whispered word. ‘And will you remember that you and Pa were in love?’

‘Your father, Julia, had expectations. Doctor MacMalcolm appears to be without the means, even, to buy a practice.’

‘So if my father hadn’t been rich, you wouldn’t have fallen in love with him?’

‘You are being unfair, Julia, and pert, too.’ Her voice was softer now, for she could not deny a love that went even beyond the grave. ‘I am shocked and at a loss as to what to say. It is unbelievable that you can even consider marriage on so short an acquaintance.’

‘Mama, with the greatest respect it is not – and you know it.’

‘Julia, Julia – what am I to do with you, say to you?’

Despairingly she closed her eyes. She was eighteen again, and John, love of her life, was signing her dance card, claiming the supper dance and the last dance, and she was looking into his eyes, knowing even then that if she never saw him again after that last waltz, she would remember him for the rest of her life. She had worn blue that night.

‘Do, Mama? You must do what you think right, but don’t say I must never see Andrew again. I wouldn’t want to disobey you or deceive you – but I would, if I had to.’

‘Then Doctor MacMalcolm may call,’ Helen said wearily, for in truth sitting opposite was the girl she herself had once been. And equally in love. ‘Might I be told how he will get here?’

‘He’ll walk. He’ll take the early train to Holdenby and I shall meet him there. I shall cycle over to the station and –’

‘Then you had better use the carriage. Let Miss Clitherow know …’

‘Oh, my dear!’ Julia pushed back her chair and was at her mother’s side, lips brushing her cheek. ‘It’s all right? You mean it?’

‘I mean that it will attract less attention than if you were to walk through the village with him, pushing your bicycle at his side!’

‘That’s settled, then?’ Giles demanded, eyebrows raised. ‘We can finish eating?’

‘By all means. And Julia, I am sure, is sorry for the commotion. But it is by no means settled,’ Helen said firmly. ‘It is not settled at all, but for the time being the matter shall be dropped, save to say that I will be receiving at ten in the morning.’

Julia picked up her knife and fork, regarding her plate with dismay. She hadn’t lost, exactly, but neither had Andrew been received with the enthusiasm she had hoped for. Her mother’s gentleness had proved to be a cover for a sternness seldom seen. In future she would go carefully, think before she spoke, for so very much was at stake. And what was more, she thought mutinously, she would never again eat leg of mutton without extreme distaste, and she hoped with all her heart that Hawthorn was making a better job of it with the rooks than she had done. Because she had made a mess of it, had let Andrew down dreadfully. Tomorrow he would be received politely – too politely – which would make him begin to wonder if it was all worth it.

But she would never give him up. Soon she would be her own mistress, and answerable to no one. And it was Andrew, or no one. She had loved him from the moment they met, and no one else would do.

So sorry, Mama, and you too, Giles, but that’s the way it is and nothing will change it. Not ever.

7

The engine rounded the bend, whistling importantly, then came to a stop in a hiss of steam.

‘Holdenby!’ called the stationmaster as a single passenger alighted; a stranger, stepping down from the third-class carriage at the end of the train, which would be noted and remarked upon, of that Julia Sutton was certain.

Smiling, raising his hat, he walked to where she waited. She acknowledged him with the slightest inclining of her head, holding out her hand which he shook, thanks be, and did not kiss.

‘Good morning, doctor.’

‘Miss Sutton,’ he murmured most properly for the benefit of the ticket clerk who waited at the barrier.

‘My mother thought it better we use the carriage,’ Julia whispered. ‘And my dear, be careful what you say? Anything William hears …’

The red-haired coachman was a hard worker and a fine horseman, and for that his weakness for listening and gossiping was tolerated, it being politic, Helen Sutton had long ago decided, to make sure that when he was driving there was nothing for him to listen to and nothing, therefore, to repeat. William, Miss Clitherow declared, wouldn’t have lasted the week out at Pendenys, but he was cheerful and willing, and neither drank ale nor wasted his wages on tobacco, so his virtues far outweighed his one vice.

‘I’ve asked William to let us down at the gates so we’ll be able to talk.’ Julia inclined her head in the direction of the coachman who stood beside the open carriage door, eyeing the visitor, wondering what to make of him. Then he took up the reins and clicked his tongue, ordering the horses to walk on, guiding them carefully out of the station yard, and not until they were on the road did Julia reach for Andrew’s hand, to press it briefly. Then she sat straight and correct, saying not one word until Rowangarth gates came into sight and the horses were brought to a halt at the lodge.

‘I thought we could walk the rest of the way,’ she smiled as the carriage drew away. ‘Last night, you see, my mother was a little put out. I told her that you wanted to marry me. I’m sorry, but it just slipped out.’

‘Then small wonder she was not well-pleased. And your brother?’

‘Giles is on our side, I think. And when I’d reminded Mama she had promised I should marry where I pleased and that she and Pa were so in love, she agreed to be at home to you.’

‘There you are, lassie – it’s happening again. Your mother agrees to receive me. I’ll never understand it.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry, but there’s more, I’m afraid. My mother is Lady Sutton. Pa was a baronet, you see.’

‘So I’m to remember to call your brother Sir Giles?’

‘No. Giles is the younger brother. Robert – the one who grows tea – inherited.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me this before, Julia?’

‘Would it have made any difference?’

‘No. And we’re wasting time over trivialities,’ he smiled, taking her hand. ‘We are here, together; I am to meet your family, titled or no, and I look forward to it.’

‘Even though Mama might be a little – aloof?’

‘Even though. I’m very determined when my mind’s made up.’

‘But you’ll go carefully,’ she begged, eyes anxious.

‘Very carefully. I mind how much is at stake.’ He stopped as they rounded the curve in the drive and saw Rowangarth, its windows shining back the morning sun in a sparkle of welcome. ‘That’s where you live?’

‘That’s Rowangarth. It’s higgledy-piggledy and draughty in winter, and sometimes the fires sulk and the windows rattle when the wind blows, but we love it very much.’

‘Aye, I think I’d love it too,’ he said softly. ‘But what was your reason for not telling me about all this?’

‘Because where I live didn’t seem important. And it still isn’t – not if you don’t mind about it, that is.’

‘Of course I don’t, though I can see I’ll have to work even harder if I’m to keep you in the manner you’re born to.’

He smiled gently, not one bit put out, once he’d had time to get his breath back. And didn’t Andrew MacMalcolm thrive on challenges? Even when they’d laughed and told him that doctoring was out of the reach of a miner’s son – all but Aunt Jessie, that was – he had shrugged and carried on. And maybe the folk who lived in the fine house down there were decent enough bodies, in spite of their wealth. He hoped so, for he wanted Julia so much it was like an ache inside him, and he knew he would do anything, agree to any condition they might impose, to keep her.

‘Then why are you frowning so?’

‘Was I? Truth known, I was thinking about my aunt and wondering what she would have made of all that.’ He nodded in the direction of the house. ‘My, but she’d have liked fine to poke around and see how grand folk live. The gentry and their houses always fascinated her. She used to wonder how so few people could take up so many rooms.’

‘Then I’m sorry she isn’t here to see it, though Rowangarth is small compared to Pendenys – that’s Uncle Edward’s house. Now your aunt would really have enjoyed a poke around there.’

‘And what’s so peculiar about this Pendenys?’

‘Wait until you see it. But it’s almost ten and it won’t do to keep Mama waiting.’ She smiled up at him, serious again. ‘And I love you very much. Whatever happens, you’ll remember that, won’t you?’

Mary opened the front door at their approach. She had been warned by Miss Clitherow that her ladyship would be receiving at ten, and ever since Miss Julia left with the carriage half an hour ago, Mary had hovered between the front hall and the kitchen, all the time wondering who the daughter of the house was to bring back with her. Most times the parlourmaid wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but last night she had been excused before dinner was over which meant that her betters wanted to talk privately; and afterwards, when she had taken in the coffee tray, she sensed an atmosphere and wondered what it was she hadn’t been meant to hear – and who had been the cause of it.

She supposed at first it was Mr Elliot, for talk still buzzed about the goings-on in Creesby. Indeed, it had been reasonable to suppose just that – reasonable until this morning, that was, when the carriage had been ordered and gone off with Miss Julia in it and she, Mary, had been told there would be a caller.

‘Miss.’ She bobbed a curtsey, holding out her hand for the visitor’s hat and gloves. ‘Milady’s in the small sitting-room. She said you were to go in.’

Sedately she placed the hat on a table, then, hearing the closing of the sitting-room door, ran like the wind to the kitchens below.

My, but he was handsome! Tall and broad, with lovely eyes; and the smile he’d given her had been fit to charm the birds from the trees.

‘There’s a young man!’ she gasped, flinging open the door. ‘Came back in the carriage!’ William would know. Someone would have to ask William. ‘And he’s gone in with Miss Julia to see her ladyship.’ And Mr Giles there, too, which was unusual to say the least, since Mr Giles was always in the library, nose in a book, by ten in the morning. ‘What’s going on, Mrs Shaw?’

Cook did not know, and said so. She only knew that, before so very much longer, her ladyship might well be ringing for a pot of coffee – and that the kettle stood cold and empty in the hearth.

‘Set the water to boil, Tilda, just in case,’ she murmured, hoping that a summons from above would give Mary the chance to assess the situation in the small sitting-room. ‘And the rest of you get on with your work. ‘Tisn’t for us to bother about what goes on upstairs.’

But tall and good-looking, Mary had said. Had London been the start of it, then? She glanced across at Alice, busy with silver-cleaning, and was met with a look as blank as a high brick wall.

But it was London. Cook was so sure she’d have taken bets on it.

‘Mama.’ Julia cleared her throat nervously and noisily. ‘May I present Doctor Andrew MacMalcolm? Andrew –’ She turned, shaking in every limb, the easy introduction all at once a jumble of words that refused to leave her lips.

‘Lady Sutton,’ Andrew murmured, bowing his head, yet all the time unwilling to take his eyes from the beauty of her face. ‘How kind of you to receive me.’

‘I had little choice, doctor,’ she smiled ruefully. ‘And since my daughter seems tongue-tied, this is Giles, my younger son, who would really rather be in the library, I must warn you.’

Giles held out his hand. Gravely, firmly, Andrew took it.

‘There now,’ Helen Sutton murmured. ‘Please sit down – you too, Julia.’ She indicated the sofa and, gratefully, Julia took her place at Andrew’s side, her mouth dry, fingers clasped nervously in her lap. ‘Tell me about London, doctor, and how you and my daughter met.’

‘In extremely unusual circumstances, I fear. It was lucky I was near when needed. A young lady lay concussed; had tripped and fallen I was told, and I could well believe it when I saw the skirt she was wearing – and I beg your pardon, ma’am, if I make comment on ladies’ fashions about which I know nothing.’

‘I’m inclined to agree with your observations.’ There was unconcealed laughter in the reply. ‘About the skirt, I mean. But my daughter’s bruises are gone now, and I am grateful to you for your attention. And then, doctor?’

‘Then Miss Sutton was generous enough to thank me for my help, and consented to walk in the park with me the following afternoon.’

‘And now, my sister tells us you wish to correspond with her and to meet, which we – I – find hard to understand on so short an acquaintance.’ Giles took up the conversation, wondering if his voice sounded as stern as he meant it to sound, yet all the time admiring the directness of the young man’s gaze and his complete ease of manner. ‘Might it not, perhaps, be –’

‘Sir – I think you have not been fully acquainted with the facts. True, we wish to write to each other and to meet whenever my work allows it. But I want to marry your sister, and would like your permission – and Lady Sutton’s blessing – to that end.

‘And as for so short an acquaintance – that I cannot deny. But in my profession I must make a decision and hold firm to it, often with no time at all for second thoughts. I made such a decision when first I met Miss Julia, and I have had no reason to change or regret it.’

‘Then might I know how you will support my sister?’

‘I must admit,’ Andrew replied gravely, ‘that at first the matter did cause me concern. But I am a competent physician and intend to become a better one. Time is all I need. And I beg you to hear me out with patience, for I think your sister cannot have told you all.

‘I am the son of a coal miner. My father was injured in the pit and suffered pain for two years before he died. Those two years affected me greatly. I was unable to help him, you see, then had to watch my mother work herself to a standstill so we might live.’

‘But that is dreadful!’ Helen Sutton’s dismay was genuine. ‘Did not the owner of the mine make some restitution?’

‘No, ma’am, and we did not expect it.’ He spoke without bitterness. ‘But after my father died, my mother took consumption from a sick man. She went out nursing, usually night work, so she might have the days free for other things. Apart from a child to tend to, she worked mornings for the wife of the doctor, to pay off the debt of my father’s illness.

‘She insisted I remain at school, though I was old enough by then to have worked at the pit. But she would have none of it. The only comfort in her death was that at least she lived long enough to know I’d been given a scholarship to medical school.’

‘But how did you manage? All those years of study,’ Giles murmured, uneasily. ‘How did you eat – buy books?’

‘I bought secondhand books and ate as little as possible,’ Andrew laughed. ‘I’d sold up the home, though there was little left by that time. Most of it had gone, piece by piece, over the bad years. But what was left helped, and my mother’s sister, my aunt Jessie, gave me her savings, to be paid back when I qualified. I was grateful for her faith and trust. I even had thoughts that, once I could afford decent lodgings, she could come to me: I’d have cared for her for the rest of her life. She died, though, even before I qualified. She was never to know me as a doctor. But that is why I have no family to offer you – only myself …’

‘I am so sorry,’ Helen whispered, ‘and please, if you find it upsetting, there is no need to tell us.’

‘Upsetting? No, Lady Sutton, you misunderstand,’ Andrew smiled. ‘What I have told you is neither to seek praise nor pity. It is merely a fact of my life – my background – that you should know about and, I hope, try to accept.

‘The two women who made it possible for me to qualify are beyond my help how, so instead I pay my debt to them in other ways. Apart from my work at the hospital, I hold a twice-weekly surgery at my lodgings; those who cannot afford to pay, I treat without charge. I turn no one away, and it pleases me to think that one day I might diagnose consumption in its early stages and be able to prevent a woman dying as my mother died.’

‘Then your beliefs are to your credit, doctor,’ Helen said gently. ‘I wonder – would you care to take coffee with us?’ She pulled on the fireside bell and was amazed by the speed at which it was answered.

‘Milady?’ Mary stood pink-cheeked in the doorway.

‘Will you bring coffee for four – and will you apologize to Cook and tell her there will be one extra for luncheon?’

Unable to conceal her delight, Mary made triumphantly for the kitchen.

‘Mama!’ Julia cried. ‘It’s all right? We can be married? Oh, thank you!’

‘Julia!’ As sternly as she was able, Helen Sutton silenced her daughter’s excited flow. ‘You may not be married whilst you are still a minor, and even when you come of age I ask you not to consider yourself engaged to Doctor MacMalcolm.

‘What I am prepared to agree to is that you may write as often as you please and meet each other here, or at Aunt Sutton’s. Then, in a year from now, if you are both of the same mind, we can all discuss the matter further. There, miss – will that suit you, for the time being?’

‘Ma’am, it will suit me very well indeed,’ Andrew replied warmly, ‘and I – we – thank you most gratefully. You will not regret the decision you have come to today, I promise you.’

‘Dearest Mother.’ Julia’s voice was low with emotion, and tears, the sweetest, happiest of tears, shone in her eyes. ‘Thank you …’

It was, as Mrs Shaw said when Mary had carried up the coffee tray and reported in detail on the atmosphere in the small sitting-room, only to be expected. Miss Julia had come back from London an altogether different young woman, and beautiful for all to see.

‘London,’ said Cook, looking across the table at Alice, silently daring her to deny it. ‘London was where it all started, or I’m a Dutchman. Am I right, Alice Hawthorn?’

But Alice merely smiled and went on with her polishing and said never a word, whilst upstairs, as his sister crossed the lawn outside, fingers entwined in Andrew’s, Giles Sutton demanded of his mother why she had capitulated so suddenly and completely.

‘You surprised me. You almost said yes to their marriage, Mama. Oh, he’s likeable enough and makes no bones about his upbringing, which is to his credit,’ he shrugged. ‘Indeed, I can see why Julia is so besotted. But you, dearest Mother, fell completely under his spell, too. Why, will you tell me?’

‘Spell? Tut! Not at all! But yes, I liked him, and his complete honesty won me over. That, and the dedication with which he follows his profession, is to be commended. But, Giles – how am I to explain?’

How could she, even to herself? How, when she had been prepared to stand fast and completely forbid the affair, had she surrendered without protest? How could her son, who had yet to love, understand that even the height of the doctor, the way he held his head, the way he smiled even, had so reminded her of John that it had almost taken her breath away. And how, when he looked at her with eyes neither green nor grey – looked at her with her husband’s eyes – she had known, as surely as if John had whispered it in her ear, that this man was right for her daughter.

‘I think,’ she murmured, ‘that his eyes won me over. Didn’t you notice them, Giles?’

‘No, dearest, I did not,’ he offered, mystified.

‘There you are, then. You are a man and you’ll never understand.’

So he had kissed his mother’s cheek and begged she excuse him until lunchtime, and closed the library door behind him still wondering about it.

But Helen Sutton, when she was alone, closed her eyes blissfully and whispered, ‘John, my dear, thank you for being with me when I needed you. Thank you, my love.’

‘I cannot believe it!’ Julia laughed. ‘I don’t believe that you are here and we are walking in the garden for all to see.’

‘Then you’d better, darling girl, for I’m to stay to luncheon, remember – and hoping to be asked again.’

‘You will be. Mama liked you; I knew she would – Giles, too …’

‘Aye. Your brother tried fine to be the stern guardian, and all the time trying to work out what the upset was all about, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Mm. And wanting to get on with his work. He’s seeing to the library. Pa neglected it dreadfully, so Giles is trying to get it into some kind of order. Some of the older books need attention, and he’s packing them up, ready to send to London for repair. And oh, darling, isn’t it a beautiful morning?’

‘Aye. And will you smell that air?’ He breathed in deeply. ‘And look at that view. Do you ever look at it, Julia, or have you seen it so often that you take it for granted?’

‘Perhaps I do, darling,’ she smiled, looking at it with his eyes; at the last of the sweet-scented narcissi and the first of the summer’s roses, climbing the pergola, tangling with honeysuckle and laburnum. And at the delicate spring green of beech leaves and linden leaves, newly uncurled; and a sky, high and wide and blue, with the sun topping Brattocks Wood. ‘But I shall look at it differently now, and how I wish you could be here when evening comes. That’s when the honeysuckle smells so sweetly. The scent of it is unbelievable. I’ll ask that you be invited to dinner before you return, and we’ll walk here at dusk and you shall take the smell of it back with you to London, to remind you of me.’

‘Silly child.’ He gentled her face with his fingertips because he wanted so much to hold her and kiss her. ‘Can we walk in the woods, do you think?’

‘I think we’d better.’ She lifted her eyes to his, loving him, wanting him. ‘Because I need to kiss you, too. And don’t say you don’t want to, because I know you do. Your voice changes when you want me – did you know it? You speak to me with a – a lover’s voice and it makes me – oh, I don’t know …’

‘You do know, Julia, and one day we will – only don’t make me wait too long?’

‘I won’t. I promise I won’t. And can we please find a place where no one can see us?’

‘See us!’ he exulted. ‘But we are walking out, you and I, and in a year we shall announce our engagement. So let’s tell the world about it –’ he tilted her chin with his forefinger and laid his lips gently on hers – ‘with a kiss.’

It was, said Bess, who had been carrying coal to the library and was passing the window in the front hall when she saw it, so romantic you wouldn’t believe it. The way he’d kissed her, chin tilted, and she with her eyes closed, just like in a love book.

‘And then she picked a rosebud, and put it in his buttonhole,’ she sighed, misty-eyed. ‘I stood there and saw her do it and if you don’t believe me, then Mary’ll tell you when she serves luncheon. You’ll see that rosebud, Mary, then you’ll know I’m not making it up.’

‘Hm,’ grunted Tilda, annoyed that kitchenmaids saw nothing, stuck downstairs, whilst Bess and Mary had a better time of it altogether. ‘I never said I didn’t believe you.’ Tilda, who knew everything there was to know about falling in love from books in the penny library, had suspected all along that something was going on, and that Alice knew more about it than she was letting on. ‘And what’s more, I’ll bet you anything you like that Hawthorn knows more’n she’ll admit to.’

‘Alice?’ Cook demanded in a voice that commanded obedience.

‘I know no more than any of you,’ she offered reluctantly, ‘and that’s –’ That’s the truth, she’d been going to say, but when she thought about it, when there was one extra for luncheon and Miss Julia getting herself kissed in full view of the entire household … ‘that’s all I can say, except maybe that his name is Andrew MacMalcolm, and he’s a doctor, in London. And when Miss Julia fell and hurt herself –’

‘It was him!’ Tilda supplied triumphantly. ‘Him that brought her round and tended her, and saved her life!’

‘Him,’ Alice confirmed, pink-cheeked. ‘And if any one of you breathes so much as a word of what I’ve told you in the village, then I’ll never tell you anything again!’

They said they wouldn’t; never a word of it, and demanded of Bess what had happened then – after he’d kissed her, that was, and Miss Julia had picked the rosebud. And Bess said she couldn’t rightly say, as they’d climbed the park fence, then, and made hand in hand for the woods.

‘The woods,’ Mrs Shaw repeated, her mouth screwed up as if she had just swallowed vinegar.

‘Ooooh, the woods,’ Tilda sighed, closing her eyes in a shudder of purest bliss. ‘The woods …’

‘Oh, don’t be so silly,’ Alice snapped, annoyed she had told them anything at all. ‘Where’s the wrong in her walking in her own woods, will you tell me, with a guest?’

She wished she could talk to Miss Julia; tell her the cat was out of the bag. And she couldn’t wait to see Tom and tell him all about it, from first to last. It was awful, having to help out in the kitchen and not being able to take Morgan for his afternoon run and wanting, so much, to hold Tom, and kiss him – just as Miss Julia and Doctor Andrew were doing now, she fervently hoped.

She closed her eyes and crossed her fingers, wishing that tonight Mr Giles would be too busy to take Morgan out, because if she didn’t see Tom soon, she would die. She really would.

‘Hawthorn! That is enough!’

‘Well, if you’re set on wearing the green tonight, miss,’ Alice gave another determined tug on the corset laces, ‘they’ll have to be tighter.’

‘Ouch! Did you know that Doctor MacMalcolm does not approve of corsets? He says that tight lacing is unnatural and the cause of a lot of ailments in women. He blames them entirely for the vapours.’

‘Ooh, miss. You don’t talk to him about corsets?’ My word, but things had come on apace, if they were talking about unmentionables!

‘Indeed I do, and he said that two weeks free from corsets would do most women more good than two weeks at the seaside. But aren’t we both lucky? You and Dwerryhouse sharing a pew in church for all to see, and Andrew and me …’

‘Yes?’ Now at last they were getting down to brass tacks.

‘We-e-ell, since you were the cause of it – in a roundabout way, that is –’ How indeed would they have met if Hawthorn hadn’t sent the policeman flying? – ‘I want you to be the first to know. It’s going to be all right!’

‘Me, miss – the first? But they all know.’ Carefully Alice knotted the laces. ‘They put two and two together. You were seen in the garden, and that settled it. They’d all been wondering who the caller was, and when Mary came downstairs and told Cook there was one extra for lunch …’ She shrugged eloquently.

‘So did you tell them?’

‘N-not exactly. I kept getting looks from Mrs Shaw, but when Bess said she’d seen you and him – well –’

‘Kissing?’ Julia laughed.

‘Yes. That an’ all. I had to admit, then, that he was the doctor who’d taken care of your bruises. No more’n that though – honest.’

‘Hawthorn, it doesn’t matter. It’s all right for us to write and to meet, you see, but not to be engaged – not just yet. I’ve promised Mama we’d wait a year and then, if we are both of the same mind –’

‘Which you will be …’

‘Nothing is more certain! Anyway, in a year we can be properly engaged – isn’t it wonderful? And Andrew is invited to visit again, tomorrow, because Mama likes him. I could tell she was going to, right from the start.’

‘Yes, miss, and I’m glad. But what am I to tell them downstairs?’ Alice pleaded. ‘They’ll give me no peace till they’re told something.’

‘Poor Hawthorn. Never mind. Thank you for helping. I can finish dressing myself, now. And you mustn’t tell them anything at all, except –’ She smiled, then, and her eyes shone and she was all of a sudden so beautiful, Alice thought, that it fair took her breath away. ‘Except that tomorrow, when Doctor MacMalcolm visits again, I shall take him downstairs to meet them all.

‘And sorry – I’m in such a tizzy that I forgot. Giles said I was to ask if you could possibly find time to give that dog a run tonight – if Mrs Shaw will allow it, that is.’

‘I think,’ Alice smiled impishly, ‘that she will.’ Mrs Shaw would be in such a bother of delight when she heard that Miss Julia’s young man would be visiting her kitchen, that she would agree to anything. ‘And, miss, I’m that happy for you both, and I’ll come and unlace you at bedtime,’ she added soberly. ‘And thanks about Morgan.’

Because Miss Julia, bless her, had arranged it. Miss Julia was a dear, kind young lady who would grow to be like her mother; beautiful, and mindful of those around her, for she was beautiful – just like Cook said she would be, and she and the doctor would have beautiful children together and live happily ever after.

She hugged herself with sheer happiness, then ran to the kitchen with her news.

‘Off you go, then.’ Alice slipped the spaniel’s lead at the woodland fence, watching him go, nose down; sniffing, snuffling, scenting rabbit and partridge and hare. Away looking for Tom, she thought fondly, and when he found him he would yelp with delight and shiver all over, from his nose right down to the tip of his furiously wagging tail. Morgan was devoted to Tom and obeyed him, now, without question. But then, Tom had a way with dogs. They liked him. Everyone liked him and she loved him, and maybe around the next turning of the path he would be there and she would run to him and lift her face for his kiss …

The evening was warm, but so it should be, for it was almost summer. Tomorrow she would awaken to the first day of June, her birthday month. Eighteen. It sounded almost grown up.

She breathed deeply on air that smelled of honeysuckle and wild, white roses and green things growing. There were no buttercups in the wood. Buttercups grew in meadows, seeking the sun, collecting it, giving it back in a glint of gold. Buttercups were her very own flowers; Tom had said so.

She looked over to her right, where Reuben’s chimney puffed creamy woodsmoke. He was building up his fire for the night: Reuben was home, so it was Tom who would be doing the night round. Tom was there, somewhere in the deep greenness, and when Morgan found him he would know, whistling softly as he came to look for her, and oh, how was it possible for one person to have such happiness inside her?

Elliot Sutton walked angrily, head down, hands in pockets. He was wronged, misunderstood. He should have gone to London – anywhere but Leeds. He’d had no luck with the women there and less luck at cards. He’d lost his allowance twice over, paying his hotel bill with the last few sovereigns in his pocket. What was more, his moneygrasping mother had refused to make his losses good, reasoning, he shouldn’t wonder, that the less he had, the less he could spend on things she disapproved of. Women, for one, and wine, and wagers so ridiculously high as to make the game excitingly worth playing. His mother held fast to her money – she always had – pinching every penny, arguing over a shilling she believed overcharged. Nor could she understand that a gentleman always paid his gambling debts – but then, his mother wasn’t a lady.

‘Money! You’re always short of money!’ she had shouted. ‘I declare you pour it down the nearest drain the minute you lay hands on it. But you’ll get no more from me!’

‘Mama,’ he said softly, deliberately, ‘why must you always share our business with the servants? Your voice could sell fish in Billingsgate!’

‘Damn you, boy!’ His remark had struck the raw nerve he’d intended, though he hadn’t bargained on the contents of her teacup being flung in his face. ‘Get out! Get out of my sight!’

He had left, then, mopping his stinging cheek, because his mother in a rage was a match for any man, and the lash of her tongue was to be avoided. Mama in a fury harked back to her roots and became the embodiment of Mary Anne, his peasant forebear.

He walked without direction, his anger increasing. He needed comfort. He had a good mind to go to Creesby, to Maudie who loved him. In his present mood he’d marry her for two pins, then laugh in his mother’s face. But if he married the butcher’s daughter, two pins was all he’d be worth.

A pheasant rose clucking in his path. He supposed he was on Rowangarth land, now. No use calling, though. Aunt Helen would be at dinner. But dammit, he would go to Creesby, where he’d be welcome. Maudie was always available, always free. He turned about suddenly. He would take the motor and seek Maudie out – and serve his mother right, too. That was when he saw her – one of the Rowangarth servants if he wasn’t mistaken – slim and pretty, her waist a hand-span round. Her breasts reminded him of Maudie, and made him forget her at once. Eyes narrowed, he ran his tongue round his lips with pure pleasure.

‘Good evening,’ he murmured.

‘Mr Elliot.’ Eyes lowered, Alice moved to pass him, but he sidestepped, and barred her way.

‘Please, sir,’ she murmured, all at once uneasy, ‘if I might –’

‘No, you might not. You might do nothing that doesn’t please me. Tell me your name, and who you are.’

‘It’s Hawthorn, sir; Alice Hawthorn. I’m sewing-maid at Rowangarth and if you’ll excuse me I’m going to meet my friend.’

Small pulses of fear fluttered in her throat. She tried to call out for Tom, but her throat had gone tight and no sound came.

‘Your friend, Alice Hawthorn? What kind of a friend is it that you slink off to meet behind bushes? And he isn’t here, is he, so you’ll have to make do with me!’

Laughing, he reached for her, pulling her closer. She smelled whisky on his breath and oh, God! where was Tom?

His mouth groped for hers and she pushed him away. His moustache scrubbed her cheek as he grabbed her hair and held back her head.

‘No!’ She brought the heel of her boot down on his foot with all her strength.

‘Damn you!’ He gasped with pain, releasing her. She ran, stumbling, but he caught her again, pulling her to the ground, grunting his pleasure as he straddled her, pulling at her blouse, ripping it open.

‘No. No. No!’ She clawed at his face; pulled her fingernails down his cheek so hard that she felt pain in them. Blood oozed in tiny droplets, then ran in a little rivulet on to his chin, his stark white collar.

‘Leave me be!’ She rolled away from him, over and over, into a bramble bush. Branches lashed her, thorns clawed at her face, her neck, at her uncovered breasts.

‘Bitch!’ No more. He’d had enough of her teasing, her refusals. The games were over and he tore at her skirt. ‘Please – don’t!’ He was wild-eyed; a madman. He was drunk; he was going to kill her. Terror gave her sudden strength, gave back her voice. ‘Tom! Reuben!’ she screamed. ‘Help me, Tom! Oh, God – help me!’

There was a crashing in the undergrowth. Someone, something, was coming. With a howl of rage, a wedge of fury hurled itself at her attacker, snapping, snarling, fangs bared, knocking him to the ground.

‘Morgan!’ She pulled herself to her feet, eyes closed against the flailing, whipping branches. Oh, Tom, where are you?

She began to run; stumbling, sobbing, crying out. There was blood on her face, her hands; her hair fell untidily down her back.

‘Lass!’ It was Reuben, running down the path to meet her and oh, God, thank you, thank you!

Arms folded her, held her. She was safe. He couldn’t hurt her now. Sobs took her, shook her.

‘Elliot Sutton! He tried to – oh, Reuben …’

‘There now, lovey. It’s all right.’ He was making little hushing sounds, stroking her hair. ‘Tell me. Tell Reuben, then.’

‘Down there!’ She pointed along the woodland path. ‘Morgan went for him …’

‘Alice!’ It was Tom. Tom running. ‘Alice – was it you I heard?’ One glance told him. ‘Who, girl? Who did that to you?’

‘Down yonder,’ Reuben ground. ‘Down t’path. And lad, give that thing to me.’ He reached for Tom’s gun. You didn’t let a man white with hatred go seeking revenge with a shotgun in his hand.

‘Tell me!’ Tom spat.

‘Elliot Sutton.’ Alice closed her eyes at the shame of it. ‘But he’ll be gone, now. Leave him!’ She needed Tom to hold her, but he was away, hurling curses, murder in his eyes.

He found them, twenty yards down the path; the man crying out, hands shielding his face, the dog gone berserk, its teeth at Elliot Sutton’s throat.

‘Morgan! Stay!’

The spaniel heard authority in the voice and slunk to do its bidding. Tom reached down to touch its head briefly, then: ‘You! Sutton!’ His eyes blazed contempt. ‘On your feet!’

‘Now see here – that animal! If it’s yours, you’re in trouble.’ Bloody, mud-stained, Elliot Sutton rose unsteadily. ‘Damned beast went for me – for my throat. Could have killed me …’

‘Could he, now?’ Tom’s voice was soft as the fist of iron slammed into the arrogant face, sending the man sprawling again. Then, taking him by the lapels of his coat, Tom pulled him to his feet. ‘Could he just? Well, listen to me, Mister-fine-bloody-Elliot. If ever you lay so much as a finger on my young lady again; if you even walk on the same side of the street as her, it won’t be a dog you’ll have to contend with – it’ll be me. And I will kill you!’

He flung him away contemptuously to lie sprawled in the brambles, blubbering, threatening. ‘My aunt – Lady Sutton – she’ll hear about this! And the police! I’ll have you dismissed, run off the place. I’ll see to it you never work again! My mother’ll see to it …’

‘Go to hell, Sutton!’

Reuben had taken Alice inside, sitting her beside the fire, setting the kettle to boil, telling her it was all right, that Tom would see to it.

She leaned back, eyes closed, moaning softly, her body shaking still. Because it wasn’t all right, and if it hadn’t been for Morgan …

She began to weep again. Morgan had saved her, had turned into a devil. Lazy, lolloping Morgan had been her salvation.

The door latch snapped and Tom stood there, the spaniel at his heels.

‘Did he, sweetheart? Did he harm you?’ He was at her side, gathering her to him. ‘Tell me, if –’

‘No, Tom. He tried, but not – not that. Morgan came.’

‘Aye. Morgan. But for that daft dog –’ His smile was brief. ‘What are we to do, Reuben? Young Sutton can’t get away with this. I won’t let him!’

‘What happened out there?’ Reuben demanded. ‘Did you catch up with him?’

‘I did. The dog had him pinned down, so I called him off …’

‘And from the look of your knuckles, I’d say that wasn’t all.’

‘It wasn’t.’ Tom clenched and unclenched his right fist. ‘I hit him. And I told him if he even so much as looked at Alice again, I’d kill him.’

‘Tom! You shouldn’t have,’ Alice moaned. ‘Don’t you see, he’ll do you harm. We’ll both be out of work. You can’t go hitting the gentry …’

‘Sweetheart, I just did. And anyone else who tries to harm you will get the same.’ His voice was thick with suppressed rage, hatred still flamed in his eyes, and Reuben saw it.

‘Now see here, Tom – kettle’s just on the boil. Make the lass some tea – with plenty of sugar. Don’t leave her, though. Stay with her – you hear me?’

‘Why? Where are you off to? Don’t get caught up in it, Reuben. Elliot Sutton is my business.’

‘And Alice is mine, and I’m off to Rowangarth. Miss Clitherow’s got to be told about this. She’s got her ladyship’s ear; she’ll know what’s to be done.’ He clicked his fingers at the spaniel. ‘I’ll take the dog back. Someone’s got to clean him up. And Mr Giles will have to be told, an’ all. Now do as I say. Stay with the lass,’ he instructed. ‘Leave things be, and do nowt till I’m back. And that’s an order!’

8

‘Well now. This is a fine to-do, and no mistake.’ Agnes Clitherow removed her bonnet and cape. ‘Those scratches – how did you get them?’ she murmured, turning Alice’s face to the window.

‘Him, that’s who! What kind of a man would attack a bit of a lass!’ The words poured derisively from the young keeper. ‘A damn good hiding – that’s what he needs!’

‘Thank you, Dwerryhouse, you may wait outside. And Reuben, a basin if you please, and a little clean, cold water. Now, miss.’ The housekeeper rolled up her sleeves. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up.’

Taking lint, disinfectant, and a pot of marshmallow salve from her basket, she nodded her thanks to the elderly keeper, indicating with the slightest movement of her head that she wished him too to leave.

‘Elliot Sutton, Reuben tells me,’ she said without preamble, combining hot and cold water in the basin, adding liquid from the green, glass-stoppered bottle. ‘Did he – harm you?’

‘No, ma’am, though he would have if Morgan hadn’t gone for him,’ Alice choked, eyes on her tightly knotted fingers. ‘I didn’t give him cause, I swear I didn’t. I tried to run away – that’s how I fell into the bramble bush.’

‘But there was no –’ The middle-aged spinster paused, searching for words.

‘I know what you mean, and no, there wasn’t.’ Tears filled her eyes again.

‘And you’ll swear, Hawthorn, it was Elliot Sutton?’

‘On the Bible, I will. And Tom hit him hard, he told me, and I scratched his face an’ all, so there’ll be marks to show for it. But Tom won’t get into trouble, will he, because of me?’

‘Dwerryhouse, it would seem, acted under provocation. If what Reuben told me is true, there’ll be no trouble – not for your Tom, that is – when I’ve told her ladyship.’

‘Milady! Does she have to know?’ Alice cried, dismayed. ‘I’d prefer it were kept quiet.’ Imagine Mrs Shaw’s indignation if it all came out. And that wouldn’t be the end of it either, because there might be those who’d say she had led him on. It would be his word against hers, and who would believe a servant? ‘Please, ma’am, leave it be! Don’t tell anyone!’

‘Don’t tell? Have you seen the state you’re in? Clothes torn and your face scratched and swollen. Come along now – off with that blouse and camisole, and let me have a look at you. This might sting a little,’ she murmured, wringing out the lint cloth, ‘but it won’t seem half so bad when we’ve got you tidied up. Oh, my goodness!’ she gasped, dismayed. Dwerryhouse was right, she thought. What kind of a man would do this? ‘These cuts need cleaning.’

‘They would. He had me on the ground. But I fought him – drew blood –’

‘Good for you. And we have no choice but to tell Lady Sutton about this – you realize that, Hawthorn? And Mr Giles, too. I know it’ll be an embarrassment,’ she hastened on, ‘but her ladyship is responsible for those who work for her, and she’s going to be very angry, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘Not with me!’

‘Of course not with you, Hawthorn. Goodness – we all know you better than that. Mind, Dwerryhouse would have done better to have kept a hold on his temper. It isn’t for him to take the law into his own hands, though we can all be wise with hindsight.

‘There now,’ she smiled. ‘Feels easier already, doesn’t it? And the marshmallow will help those scratches heal quickly. Now tidy your hair and wrap my cape around you and we’ll be off. We’ll go in by the front door, I think, and you’d better go to the sewing-room. And if anyone should see you, tell them you slipped on the path and fell into some brambles – that’ll take care of the scratches – though how we’ll explain away the state your clothes are in, I really don’t know.’

‘Me neither, ma’am, but thank you,’ Alice whispered. ‘And I’m sorry you had to be brought into it.’ Tears, unstoppable now, ran down her cheeks. ‘And what they’re all going to think of me, I don’t know. It’s so – so shaming …’

‘Oh, come now.’ The housekeeper offered her a white, lace-edged handkerchief. ‘There’s no blame attached to you, though I can understand your distress. It isn’t the nicest thing to have happened to a young girl.

‘But dry your face and try to stop crying, or you’ll look a worse sight than ever. Just say as little as possible, if you’re asked. As soon as we’re back, go to your bedroom and make yourself presentable, then wait in the sewing-room – now is that understood?’

When Agnes Clitherow shepherded Alice outside, Tom was at her side at once.

‘All right now, sweetheart? Feeling a bit better? Think I’d best walk you both home, Miss Clitherow. Don’t know if he might still be hanging about.’

‘I thank you, Dwerryhouse, but I’m well able to take care of myself, and Hawthorn, too. And I hope that you’ll both be discreet about this. We want no scandal attached to Rowangarth.’ Goodness, no. The Place Suttons could provide more than enough for both houses.

‘Don’t fret,’ Reuben was quick to assure her. ‘There’ll be nowt said. And thanks, miss, for your help.’

‘Thanks are not required.’ Slowly, carefully, the older woman drew on her gloves. ‘You did right to come to me – now leave it with me; is that understood?’

They said it was and tipped their caps, murmuring a respectful goodnight.

‘Night, Reuben – and thanks for all you did,’ Alice whispered, clasping the cape tightly around her nakedness. ‘And, Tom – will you keep an eye open for Morgan’s lead on your way back? I dropped it …’

‘I’ll find it,’ he smiled, touching her cheek with gentle fingertips. ‘Goodnight, lass, and try not to worry.’

She smiled briefly and said she wouldn’t, though it was easier said than done. There would be trouble, especially for Tom, because servants didn’t hit their betters and get away with it. And it only seemed like minutes ago, she mourned silently, that she had been so very happy.

‘Will you tell me,’ Helen Sutton demanded of her housekeeper, ‘what is so very urgent that it cannot wait until morning?’

‘It’s Hawthorn, milady. She was attacked in Brattocks Wood, tonight. These were almost torn off her.’

‘Hawthorn? But is she all right? Where is she?’ Her eyes were wide with apprehension as she regarded the garments. ‘These are ripped to shreds. Someone must have used terrible force. This is awful – monstrous! I must see her at once, poor child!’

‘With respect, milady – no. There are things I should tell you first. I’ve sent Hawthorn to the sewing-room. It isn’t likely anyone will go up there yet awhile. With dinner just finished, they’ll all be busy downstairs.’

‘But attacked? She wasn’t –?’

‘No. She assured me it wasn’t – that, though it might well have been if the dog hadn’t defended her.’

‘Dog? Giles’s Morgan, you mean?’

‘Morgan. According to Reuben, that creature’s got another side to him. If he hadn’t been with Hawthorn, it’s almost certain we’d be worrying about something very serious indeed. The word that comes to mind, if you’ll pardon me, milady, is –’

‘Rape?’ Helen Sutton supplied, chalk-faced. ‘Please sit down, Miss Clitherow. I think you’d better tell me about it – all!’

‘Elliot!’ It had not made pretty hearing. Helen Sutton’s jaws clamped tight on her anger. ‘How dare he? Here, on my land and to one of my household! Is there no stopping him? But he’s gone too far this time!’ Family or no, her nephew must be confronted, accused. Drawing in her breath, biting back the flow of condemnation, she whispered, ‘Has my son been told?’

‘Not yet, milady. I came to you first. But I think you should know that the dog is with William. Reuben left him at the stables before he came to me; told them Morgan had got himself in a mess in the woods, and that someone had better clean him up before Mr Giles saw him.’

‘And William believed him?’

‘That I don’t know. William’s a gossip, we all know that. If he sets eyes on Hawthorn the state she’s in now, he’ll put two and two together and come up with worse than the truth. Reuben is fond of the girl, you see. I got the impression he’d like it kept quiet, for her sake; but Dwerryhouse – now he’s another matter altogether …’

‘I know. It’s a pity he struck my nephew.’

‘But wouldn’t you have done the same, in his shoes?’ Agnes Clitherow shrugged expressively. ‘It’s no secret he and Hawthorn are walking out. It surprises me he held on to his temper the way he did, and didn’t give the man the leathering he deserves. According to Hawthorn, Elliot Sutton smelled of drink. Sober, he’s obnoxious; under the influence he’s dangerous, if you ask me!’

But her ladyship hadn’t asked her, and the housekeeper felt her cheeks redden, knowing she had stepped outside the bounds of her position.

‘I’m sorry, milady. I beg your pardon – but Hawthorn isn’t a flighty one. She didn’t deserve to go through an experience like that, and I believe her when she said she gave him no encouragement.’

‘Encouragement? When ever did my nephew need that? No. This time he shall be called to answer for his behaviour. His parents must be told.’

‘And Hawthorn?’ Agnes Clitherow rose to her feet, sensing the interview was over. ‘The girl is upset, and sooner or later it’s all going to come out. Falling into a bramble bush is one thing, but the bruising is another; she won’t be a pretty sight in the morning. And the staff have a right to know, milady; to be warned. It seems no woman is safe from him.’

Frowning, Helen Sutton pursed her lips. Those who lived and worked at Rowangarth were indeed her responsibility – hers and Giles’s; they had a right to protection. But Elliot was a Sutton, and because of him the Sutton name would suffer. It was altogether too much!

‘I am bound to agree with you, Miss Clitherow, and I suggest you first discuss the matter with Mrs Shaw. It will be up to you both, then, to agree on what the staff is told, and how much. But I beg you to ask them to be discreet for a little while longer. I would like time to discuss this with my son first. That I must speak to Mrs Sutton is without dispute, but I know the staff will keep the matter out of the village for as long as they can – and be kind to Hawthorn, too. The poor young thing. Are you sure there is nothing I can do?’

‘Best you shouldn’t, milady. Not just yet. She’s very embarrassed at the moment. But when I’ve talked to Cook, I’ll tell Mary to take some milk up to her.’ Milk and honey. The best soother there was. The housekeeper swore by it. ‘Mary’s a sensible girl; I’ll tell her to see Hawthorn into bed and stay with her for a while.’

‘Yes. Perhaps that would be best. And please tell Hawthorn that I hope she’ll feel better in the morning. You’re sure we shouldn’t call the doctor?’

‘As sure as I can be, milady. No lasting harm was done – it might have been a lot worse. And I’ll give Alice one of my herbals to help her sleep.’

Leaving alone, that was what the girl wanted; not being quizzed and prodded by Doctor James, well-meaning though he might be. A bit of sympathy and understanding from her own kind would do more good than physic. And as for Elliot Sutton – well, let his equals deal with him. He was nothing to do with the likes of her, the housekeeper stressed silently, though from the set of her ladyship’s mouth, the young buck at Pendenys was in for a real eye-opening – and not before time, either!

‘I’ll bid you goodnight then, milady.’ Respectfully the suddenly weary woman nodded her head. ‘You can leave the matter of the servants to me.’

‘Thank you.’ Helen Sutton rose to her feet, forcing a smile. ‘I appreciate all you have done. Will you first call in the library and ask Mr Giles to come and see me as soon as he’s able? And goodnight to you, Miss Clitherow.’

‘I would like, Julia,’ said her mother briskly, ‘for you to make haste from the station this morning. No dallying, if you please, when you meet the doctor. I am going to Pendenys and would like to be there before ten.’

‘Why, might I ask?’ Julia frowned. Ten o’clock was calling time; before ten smacked of urgency. ‘You’ll be seeing them on Friday night – can’t it wait?’

‘It can not wait and you might not ask, either. What I have to discuss with your aunt is disturbing enough without having to repeat it over breakfast.’

‘But she has every right to know,’ Giles protested. ‘She’s in just as much danger from the man as any other woman. And she’s bound to find out for herself sooner or later.’

‘Danger? Now I insist you tell me, Mama.’

‘You’d better tell her, then, for I declare I’ve had enough of the sordid business already.’ Helen Sutton rose to her feet. ‘I shall go to my room, or I’ll have a headache.’

‘What is it; what’s going on?’ Julia demanded. ‘Shall I ring for Miss Clitherow? Would you like to lie down, Mama?’

‘No, I thank you. I am well able to take a powder without assistance and I’m sorry if I snapped, but – oh, Giles will tell you. I’ll be all right. Don’t worry.’

‘Don’t worry?’ Julia flamed when the door closed behind her mother. ‘What has upset her so? She looks as if she hasn’t slept all night. What is going on, Giles? What danger? And from which man?’

‘Do you need to ask? Elliot attacked Hawthorn last night in Brattocks. That’s why Mama’s going to Pendenys.’

‘Hawthorn! My, but he’s gone too far this time. Is she all right? He didn’t do anything?’

‘No, but it wasn’t for want of trying, I understand.’

‘My God! Is no one safe from him? He needs whipping.’

‘That he got last night. Dwerryhouse knocked him head over heels.’

‘Good for Dwerryhouse! But where is Hawthorn? I must go to her.’

‘Working in the sewing-room today, I believe.’

‘Right!’ Damn Elliot Sutton! The man was a menace, though no matter what Mama said, his silly mother would get him out of it – again. ‘You should have sent for the constable, Giles. That monster needs locking up!’ she called over her shoulder. Locking up till he’d learned sense, and a few good manners!

‘Oh, Hawthorn!’ Gently Julia touched the swollen cheek. ‘Not you, too! Goodness! That bruise is almost as bad as mine. You poor girl. I know how it hurts. How dare he do that to you?’

‘Elliot Sutton does what he likes hereabouts. It’s thanks to Morgan he didn’t do worse, though. Morgan went for him like a mad thing. Didn’t know the creature had it in him. Had him worried, Morgan did. Pinned him down till Tom got there. But I didn’t stop to see any more. Ran for all I was worth …’

‘Giles told me that Tom hit Elliot?’

‘He did, and I hope there’ll be no trouble. But Tom was real mad. Could have throttled him, he said.’

‘Then more’s the pity he didn’t. You wouldn’t believe that Nathan and Elliot are brothers, they’re so unalike.’

‘I know, miss. But Tom –’ Alice wanted the business of Tom’s hasty fist settled. ‘I’m worried, see, that he’ll be in trouble. Hit Elliot Sutton deliberate, he did. Said he hoped he’d broken his nose. And he might have, for all I know. Tom’s a big fellow. He could have hurt him.’

‘Hurt him! Wasn’t a lot of use hitting him if he didn’t, now was it? Anyway, there’ll be hell to pay this morning. Mama is going to Pendenys – unannounced – and if I know Mama, Elliot is going to be on the receiving end of her displeasure. She looked furious at breakfast.’

‘Oh, I wish she wouldn’t,’ Alice wailed. ‘I don’t want there to be any bother. I just want to get on with my work and forget all about it.’

‘But it can’t be forgotten. Elliot is evil. He always was, and he’s got to be stopped. It isn’t your fault, Hawthorn. Just be grateful that Morgan flew at him.’

‘Yes, miss, and don’t let’s talk about it any more. I’m that ashamed with all the bother it’s causing her ladyship.’

‘Then don’t be. But I must go now. Mama wants the carriage later, and I’m off to meet Andrew. And he shall come up and look at you – I insist – though what he’ll do about that bruise, I don’t know. Oh, Hawthorn dear – first me, now you. Whatever next?’

‘Whatever next?’ Alice whispered when the door had banged behind Julia and her footsteps could no longer be heard. Trouble, was there to be? Trouble for Tom, for herself? Because Mrs Clementina wasn’t going to let Elliot be taken to task, nothing was more certain. And under-keepers didn’t go punching their betters, neither.

Best for all concerned if her ladyship let it be; forgot about it. Better for her and Tom, that was, though Elliot Sutton would go on doing exactly what he wanted and no lass would be safe from him.

And how safe would it be now in Brattocks? And if she could no longer walk Morgan there, when was she ever to see Tom, except on her half-day off?

Alice blinked back a tear. She would not cry; not any more. They would find a way of meeting. And hadn’t everybody been so kind and good it had made her feel warm all over? Miss Clitherow had been like an angel of mercy last night, and Cook had sent Tilda up with an eggcupful of brandy, for the shock, and not one question had Tilda asked; not one lurid detail did she demand to know – offering a humbug and the loan of her love book instead.

But, best of all, Bess had peeped around the door to tell her that Tom had left Morgan’s lead at the kitchen door, asking anxiously how she was.

‘And he said to give you this,’ Bess whispered, handing her the flower. ‘Said you’d understand …’

The flower was there now, in a glass on the window-sill, and she had cried over the buttercup and loved Tom even more; glad she lived at Rowangarth, glad Miss Julia was her friend, yet sad that this morning there would be trouble at Pendenys and hoping with all her heart that Tom never came upon Elliot Sutton in the woods. Lordy, but it was a real worry, and heaven only knew where it would end.

‘Tom,’ she whispered to the buttercup. ‘Take care, lad; don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for.’

Clementina Sutton stood in the morning-room window, following the progress of the Rowangarth carriage with narrowed eyes. Helen was a punctilious caller, and calling time, it was accepted hereabouts, began at ten o’clock; indeed, not for another quarter of an hour, she calculated, checking the jewelled watch on her lapel with the clock on the overmantel. But she would soon know the cause of the breach in protocol, for her sister-in-law was making all haste to alight.

‘My dear.’ She smiled with genuine pleasure as the door opened, for in spite of the feeling of inferiority Helen’s presence always gave her, Clementina grudgingly admired her, though never, she sighed – not even if she tried until the crack of doom – would she acquire the ease of manner that placed Helen Sutton’s pedigree beyond question. Helen could dress in rags and mix with the motley and still be indisputably what she was. A lady.

‘Clementina.’ Briefly their cheeks touched. ‘This is not the happiest of visits,’ Helen murmured. ‘Indeed, I wish to say what I have come to say as quickly as possible, and beg your indulgence in the saying of it.

‘Giles left me in no doubt that he considered it to be his business, and was put out when I insisted it should be myself who told you, but when you have heard me out I’m sure I can safely leave the matter in your own capable hands, and we can bring this to a satisfactory conclusion,’ Helen murmured. ‘And I apologize for the early call, but what I must say is family and private, so I had little choice. Elliot,’ she said without more ado. ‘Have you seen him this morning?’

‘Why, no – but the boy was out late last evening and doubtless wishes to sleep on. Indeed, he rarely rises before ten …’

‘Then when you do see him, Clemmy, I warn you that you might be shocked by his appearance. Last night, you see, he made unwelcome advances to one of my maids who was forced to defend herself by scratching his face.’

‘Elliot? Unwelcome advances?’ Her face registered disbelief. ‘I cannot think my son would be interested in a – a servant.’

‘Then you must take my word for it that he was. What was more, the attack took place on Rowangarth land.’

‘Attack, you’re saying? Oh, come now, Helen, that is a most serious accusation. My son would never –’

‘Elliot did.’ Helen’s eyes held those of her brother-in-law’s wife. ‘He attacked a young girl not yet eighteen. What is more –’

‘Now see here!’ The mistress of Pendenys rose to her feet, all pretence at gentility gone. She was only too ready to admit to her son’s shortcomings, but that was a privilege allowed only to his mother. ‘I cannot allow this. You come to my home at an extremely inconvenient time, then accuse my son of pressing his advances upon a servant! Are you sure the little madam hasn’t got herself into trouble and now tries to implicate my son? The working classes are full of guile; never miss an opportunity. Elliot is a handsome young man and attractive to the ladies, but never would he stoop so low as you say!’

‘Your son, Clemmy, would stoop as low as it suited him to. The girl in question is young and innocent and not for a moment do I suspect she is in any kind of trouble – apart from the distress caused her by Elliot last evening.’ Helen Sutton took a deep, calming breath, wondering why she should feel so agitated when she had known all along that Clemmy would spring instantly to her son’s defence. ‘What is more, his face will carry the marks to prove it, since proof seems to be what you need. He may also be nursing a swollen nose or a blackened eye, or both, for it was my under-keeper’s young lady your son attacked!’

‘Attacked? I refute it utterly!’ Clementina cried. ‘And I resent your blacking of his character. If you are seeking a scapegoat, then I suggest you look elsewhere. And if it is true that one of your keepers assaulted my son, please to remember that I can have the law on him; teach the wretch his place!’

‘Indeed you can not! I will not have scandal attached to Rowangarth, nor will I have my staff placed at risk by your prowling son. And since it seems you are not prepared to do anything about his ungentlemanly behaviour, Clemmy, then I have only this to say. Elliot is not welcome at Rowangarth until he has made a full and unconditional apology to Giles for his behaviour, and given an understanding that it will not happen again to any member of my household. And until that apology has been received, your son must not set foot on Rowangarth land, for I cannot risk the wellbeing of those in my care. Do you fully understand that?’ The steely quiet of her accuser’s voice sent fear screaming silently through Clementina Sutton. The Creesby affair had been bad enough, but to be snubbed at Rowangarth was unthinkable.

‘I fully understand that you slander Elliot’s reputation,’ she snapped, ‘and he will not set foot on your property until an apology is received by him from you!’

‘Very well. The arrangement suits me admirably,’ Helen breathed, ‘though should Elliot have cause to change his mind and walk through my woods again, I want it understood that my keepers will be instructed to treat him as a common poacher, and pepper his backside with leadshot! The choice is entirely Elliot’s!’

‘Well!’ Clemmy’s voice faltered on the edge of tears, for never before had she seen Helen so angry, so white-faced with outrage. ‘I can only say that things have come to a pretty pass between us when my son – my innocent son – must be treated like a criminal!’ She flung round, her face red and ugly with temper. ‘And if your doors are closed to my son, then they are closed to me, too!’

‘So be it,’ Helen murmured. ‘And now I will bid you good morning.’

‘I cannot believe this is happening to me, and in my own home, too.’ Clementina’s wail of torment rose to fresh heights. ‘My son slandered, accused, and by his own flesh and blood, too. You and I who have always been close, to be parted by the likes of a servant!’

‘The remedy lies in your own hands. Order your son to make a full apology – that is all I ask. That, and an understanding that all members of my household are to be treated with respect by him in the future …

‘To speak plainly,’ Helen sighed, ‘had I sent for the constable, my accusation could well have been one of attempted rape. Elliot must count himself lucky that I care for the good name of the Suttons, otherwise it would need more than an apology to get him out of this!’

‘Rape! You go too far, Helen, even for family! There can be no more said between us save that I will never again accept your hospitality nor set foot in your house.

‘And don’t be too sure I won’t have that keeper of yours up for common assault! We’ll see then who does the apologizing. It might well be me who sends for the police!’

‘Then take my advice, Clemmy; think about it. Wait until the scratches on his face heal and his bruises are gone, otherwise they’re going to take some explaining away – even to our amiable constable!’ With studied disinterest, Helen Sutton drew on her gloves. ‘I will see myself out. Goodbye, my dear.’

‘Dearest! What is it?’ Giles Sutton offered his arm to the woman who stepped uncertainly from the carriage. ‘You are shaking. What happened to upset you so? And why didn’t you leave it to me as I said you should?’

‘I don’t know, and that’s a fact.’ Wearily she unpinned her hat and removed her gloves. ‘And yes, I should have left it to you, Giles, though I thought Clemmy would have listened to reason. Oh, family squabbles are so very distasteful …’

‘Squabbles? You had words?’ Giles guided his mother to a chair, calling over his shoulder for a tray of tea.

‘Words? I asked for an apology from Elliot and was told it will not be offered. So I was obliged to tell her that I will not receive her son and that he may not even set foot on Rowangarth land until it is – offered to you, Giles,’ she sighed. ‘Whereupon your aunt said that neither would she come to Rowangarth, either. When will she ever learn that Elliot is heading for trouble if he carries on as he is? That’s what upsets me so.’

‘Mama dear, Elliot is Uncle Edward’s problem, not yours. And what is more, I’ll lay odds that he’ll turn up this afternoon bearing flowers and chocolates and apologizing charmingly. Because that’s what he is – a charmer. And he can’t bear it when a woman doesn’t fall flat at his feet.’

‘Elliot is not a charmer. Elliot is selfish and spoiled and a womanizer and where he’ll end up is anybody’s guess! Don’t make excuses for him, Giles. You lean over backwards to find good in everyone, and there is no good at all in that young man. What is more, I as good as said so to his mother. I also told her that Elliot would be treated like a poacher if he’s caught in Brattocks Wood again. I said the keepers would pepper his backside.’

‘Dearest, you are priceless!’ He threw back his head and laughed his delight. ‘How Dwerryhouse would welcome the chance to do just that!’

‘Oh, dear. I made a mess of it, didn’t I?’ The smallest smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘Clemmy is most put out. She swept past me in a fury as I left, taking the stairs two at a time, yelling for Elliot at the top of her voice. I’m only sorry it will make trouble for poor Edward. Thank you, Mary,’ she smiled at the parlourmaid who placed a tray at her elbow. ‘This is exactly what I need.’

‘A message from Miss Julia,’ Mary smiled, hand on the door knob. ‘She said to tell you that she and the doctor are out walking, but they’ll be back in good time for lunch. Will that be all, milady?’ she murmured, noting at once the hand that shook as it lifted the pot.

‘Thank you, Mary – yes.’

What, wondered the parlourmaid as she closed the door behind her, had happened at Pendenys that her ladyship should come back so agitated? Because William had said she’d left in great haste and never a sign of Mrs Clementina to see her off. William noticed everything.

But it was all on account of that Mr Elliot and what happened in Brattocks. Mary frowned. A bad ‘un, that’s what he was, who’d come to a sticky end. And what was more, Mrs Shaw would agree with her when she told her how upset her ladyship was.

‘Oh dear,’ Helen whispered, when they were alone again. ‘I shall have to tell Miss Clitherow. She won’t like it one bit. And had you thought that, if Elliot doesn’t come to dinner, neither will his mother, and no matter what he thinks to the contrary, your Uncle Edward will, through loyalty, be absent too.’

‘And shall you mind? At least without Elliot there won’t be an atmosphere.’

‘Not one jot shall I mind.’ She was fortified, now, by the tea and the comfort of her own fireside. ‘But had you thought that three refusals will mean we will be sitting thirteen to dinner, and that I mind about very much.’

‘Yes. I see …’ No one ever sat thirteen at table. ‘Mind, there is a way out of it. Ask Julia’s doctor to fill a space. You know you’ve taken to him, Mama, and it seems pretty serious between the two of them, so you’ll have to introduce him to friends sooner or later.’

‘What a good idea! He’d have to stay the night, though,’ she frowned. ‘Do you think he’d mind?’

‘Not a bit – and Julia would love it.’

‘But what if he has other plans? He might not want to.’

‘He’ll want to,’ Giles grinned. ‘Julia will see to that! Problem solved, so drink up your tea and forget about Pendenys. It’ll all blow over – just see if it doesn’t. Storm in a teacup, that’s all.’

‘Storm in a teacup,’ Helen nodded. But it wouldn’t blow over, because Clemmy was proud and she would never give in – not where Elliot was concerned. This morning, in only the space of a few minutes, a deep and wide chasm had opened up between the Garth Suttons and the Place Suttons and she dreaded to think where it might end. ‘Soon blow over,’ she said with a brightness she far from felt. ‘A lot of fuss about nothing, but for all that we’ll ask Doctor MacMalcolm to dinner on Friday – to please Julia …’

9

‘Elliot, damn you, where are you?’

Clementina Sutton took the stairs two at a time, shaking with fury, cursing the stays and petticoats and folds of skirt that impeded her undignified haste. First Mrs Mounteagle, and now her sister-in-law, and all because of Elliot and his stupidity!

‘Where are you, boy!’ For two pins she would tan his hide as he deserved. She could do much worse for the shame he had heaped upon her! She would be an outcast, the laughing-stock of local society, and far, far worse, she would have to endure the ill-disguised sniggers of her servants who would glory in her humiliation. ‘Get out of that bed!’

She opened the door with a force that sent it crashing back on its hinges, then, pulling at the bed-covers, she grasped her son’s nightshirt, pulling him, startled, to face her.

‘Mama! What the hell …’

‘Dear God!’ She beheld a bloodstained pillow, a face bruised and battered, and a left eye no more than a swollen slit. ‘Oh, you fool! You – you –’ She flung herself at him, fists pummelling, rage and mortification giving strength to her blows. In that moment of blind fury she hated him, hated herself, and hated the girl who was the cause of it all. But most of all she hated Helen Sutton and her smug superiority. ‘Oh, what has happened to you?’ She collapsed, all at once exhausted, over his bed, sobbing, shaking, moaning pitifully. ‘What is happening to me?’

Arms grasped her, pulled her to her feet. Not knowing where she was, unable almost, to place one foot before the other, she allowed her husband to lead her to the door.

‘You, boy! Get out of that bed and clean yourself up! Then come to the library.’ Edward Sutton’s voice was icy with contempt. ‘At once!’

Guiding his wife to the third door along, he pushed it wide with his foot, supporting her as she slumped against him for fear she would fall in a faint. ‘Clemmy, calm yourself …’

‘Madam!’ Feet pounded the landing, the stairs, the passage. ‘Oh, madam …’

The housekeeper and two agitated housemaids came running, and, in the hall below, glimpsed over the banister rail, the butler gazed up, enjoyment evident upon his face.

‘Please take care of Mrs Sutton.’ Thankfully her husband stood aside. ‘She is not well.’

‘There, there, madam. Let me send for Monique to help you to bed?’ In an agitation of skirts, the wide-eyed housekeeper whisked out of the room. ‘And shall I have Doctor James sent for, sir?’

But Edward was gone, slamming down the stairs white-faced, jaws clenched hard on his fury.

What had his son been up to? Set upon by a debt collector’s thugs; brawling in some alehouse? He’d taken the motor last night; been absent from dinner without excuse or apology, so where had it happened? Leeds again, or had a vengeful butcher caught up with him – or any irate father of a daughter?

Opening the door of the safe, cloister-like room that was his peace and haven, he made for the table where decanters of brandy and sherry stood on a silver tray. Edward Sutton rarely drank before evening, but this morning he downed a measure of brandy with sacrilegious haste, as if it were physic to be gulped of necessity rather than with pleasure.

Damn the stupid youth! He hadn’t crashed the motor, that was certain, or he’d have made great play of his injuries and not slunk into his room. Oh, no. Retribution had caught up with him at last. His son was in trouble of his own making; trouble with a nasty stink to it.

‘Father?’ Elliot stood in the doorway, a robe over his nightshirt, his hair uncombed, defiance in his eyes and in the half-smile that tilted his lips.

‘I asked you to make yourself respectable! How dare you show yourself in that disgusting state? And do not smoke. I will not have the stink of your cigarettes in my room!’

‘Your room, father?’ He opened the gold case, selecting a cigarette with studied defiance. ‘Your anything in this house?’

‘Damn you!’ Edward Sutton covered the space between them, white-hot rage at his heels. Grabbing the silkquilted lapels, he dragged his son to the chair beside the desk, flinging him into it, sending the cigarette case flying. ‘My room, my house, and never from this moment forget it! And I want an explanation of the state you’re in or by God I’ll beat it out of you!’ Knock, pummel, punch him until years of frustration were gone; do what he had longed to do for longer than he could remember – what, as a responsible father, he should have done at the first surfacing of the rottenness in his firstborn. ‘And I want the truth. This is not your mother you are dealing with now!’

‘Then at least allow me to close the door.’ Elliot Sutton brushed an imaginary speck from his robe. ‘I do so dislike washing dirty linen in public.’

‘You’re admitting it then – dirt? Because you didn’t get that face in church on your knees! Where were you last evening and what were you about?’

‘I took the motor, father, and ran out of fuel, and two or maybe three thugs set about me. It was dark – how could I know …’

‘Liar! Don’t insult my intelligence. Those are scratch marks on your face. Which woman did it, and where? Up to your tricks again in Creesby, were you?’ Fist clenched, he thumped the desktop. ‘Well, you have upset your mother for the last time. From now on you answer to me, and when Doctor James arrives, you’ll have him disinfect your face before it goes septic.

‘Then you will shave as best you can and remain out of sight until I get to the bottom of this. For the truth I will have, Elliot, no matter how unsavoury. And restitution you will make, of that be very sure. And now get out of here, for the sight of you sickens me. Indeed, there have been times, lately, when I have looked at you and wondered how I got you.’

‘Ha! So that’s it! I’m not your saintly Nathan; I’m not Sutton-fair, like Albert! I’m dark, aren’t I, a throwback from the Pendennis woman? I could have been Mary Anne’s, couldn’t I – the son of a herring-wench?’

‘That herring-woman you so despise was honest and hard-working. It was she who laid the foundations for what you take for granted, by gutting fish and taking in washing. Would you had more of her in you!’

‘You say that easily, Father, when your own breeding is flawless; when you were born a Sutton. But none of your friends act as if I were. And I am a Sutton – every bit as much as Nathan and Albert.’

‘You’ll be a Sutton when you have earned the right to be one; earned the right to be treated with respect in society. Servants despise you, as do your equals. There are times I think you are not fit to bear the name!’

‘Well, I am yours – me and Albert both.’ The pouting lips made a sneer of contempt. ‘Didn’t do very well, did you, come to think of it? Two black sheep out of a flock of three?’

‘I see no wrong in your brother.’ The words came through tightly clenched teeth. ‘He married where he thought best.’

‘As you did, Father.’

‘Albert did what he thought right for himself,’ Edward ignored the taunt. ‘And has now settled comfortably in Kentucky.’

There had been a letter, not a week ago, from Albert’s wife; a charming letter, giving their address, now permanent, expressing the wish to meet her husband’s English family, Edward recalled. He had felt great relief, though Clemmy had shrugged it off as social climbing and declared her intention to ignore it.

Well, now she would no longer ignore it. Now she would reply, welcoming her son’s wife to the family, thanking her for the offer of hospitality; an offer, did Clementina but know it, they were soon to accept.

‘Ha! Breeding horses, aren’t they?’ Elliot laughed derisively. ‘And horses are all he’ll ever get, bedding a woman that old, the stupid …’

‘Stop it! I won’t listen to your gutter talk. Your coarseness disgusts me. Get out of my sight! Go to your room and stay there until the doctor has seen to your mother, and that’s an order! Show your face outside this house and you’ll be sorry, I guarantee it. Get out, before I lose control and finish what was started last night, because I’ll tell you this, Elliot; whoever did that to you has my heartfelt gratitude!’

‘There now – wasn’t the climb worth it? You say Rowangarth is beautiful –’ Julia’s sweeping arm took in fields and trees, cornfields still brightly green, meadows of grazing cows. From Holdenby Pike they saw woodland below them and farmland and red-tiled cottages in early summer gardens,’ – but that is a view to take with you back to London. And over there – in the clearing – that’s Pendenys Place, where the other Suttons live. Isn’t it grand?’ she laughed.

‘Grand? It’s like a Scottish castle gone wrong! What a bleak place it looks.’

‘Bleak and proud, Andrew, and just a little vulgar, I’m afraid. Pa’s brother lives there. I like Uncle Edward, but Aunt Clemmy has moods; tempers, too. I think, sometimes, that she and Elliot deserve each other. And maybe now some good will come out of what happened in Brattocks, because Elliot got a hiding from Dwerryhouse and he’ll have his father to face, too.

‘And since cousin Elliot will take quite some time to apologize for his behaviour, we won’t have to endure his visits to Rowangarth. Sit down, darling.’ She sank on to the tough, springy grass, pulling her knees to her chin, clasping them with her arms. ‘You know, Andrew, I only hope Aunt Clemmy won’t try to stop Nathan visiting when he comes home. Nathan’s the middle son – the nice one. Giles and he are good friends, so Giles wouldn’t like it either. But at least Hawthorn seems none the worse. You’re sure she’s all right?’

‘She’ll be fine. I could find nothing seriously wrong with her. She’s taken it remarkably well; I can see no reason why she shouldn’t walk in the woods as she always did, to meet her Tom. She should be quite safe with the ferocious Morgan to protect her.’

‘That spoiled old dog; who’d have thought it? But it would be awful if she couldn’t see Tom – even though it’s only for a few minutes. Still, there’ll be two keepers on the lookout, now; and one of them with a very itchy trigger finger.’ Julia laughed her delight, then all at once was serious. ‘I mustn’t make light of it, though. Just think what might have happened if he’d – well –’

To be raped by Elliot Sutton would be terrible enough; to bear a child of that rape was unthinkable.

‘But he didn’t, Julia. Don’t upset yourself by what might have been. Dear little Hawthorn will soon be over the trauma of it. Everyone has been kind to her, and understanding – and she has her young man to comfort her.’

‘Yes, I accept that.’ Julia would not be gainsaid. ‘But what would have been done about it if he’d got her pregnant?’

‘Done? Well – he could have been sent to prison.’

‘And what about Hawthorn? And not just Hawthorn; any woman attacked like that? Well, I’ll tell you. Society would tut-tut, then send the poor soul to the nearest workhouse out of sight, if she didn’t have an understanding family to support her. And the child labelled illegitimate, too, yet both of them innocent. No help for a woman, though; no moral help to save her having to suffer so. Is that fair, Andrew; is it right?’

‘Julia, my love, it is neither fair nor right, but to end a pregnancy for any reason at all is illegal. I don’t make the laws, I just obey them; no matter what I might think to the contrary.’

‘Then you agree with me? You agree there should be some form of birth control for a woman; some say in what happens to her? Would you believe, Andrew, there is a woman in the village carrying her eighth child, with heaven only knows how many miscarriages in between. The midwife fears for her safety this time, so why can’t that poor, worn-out woman call enough and be allowed to limit her pregnancies? Because it is possible; you know it is.’

‘Possible – desirable – but forbidden.’

‘I know. Everything is forbidden, isn’t it, if it even remotely benefits women! And forbidden by men who make the laws, too!’

‘My darling lassie – I agree with all you say. I’m not supposed to, but I do. I think women should have the right to a say in what affects them most. Some uncaring men have been legally killing women for as long as I can remember. And I think women should have the same voting rights as men. And it will come; it will.’ Gathering her close, he smoothed back a tendril of hair which had blown across her face. ‘But please try to take life one hurdle at a time. Don’t put down your pretty head and charge in without thinking. Take things quietly and you’ll get there quicker, in the end. And will you stop your protesting so I can tell you how much I love you – because I do. Right from the start, I loved you.’

‘At first sight, you mean? Don’t tell me the dour doctor believes in such romantic nonsense?’

‘He didn’t, but he does now. You have turned him into a poor creature,’ he smiled. ‘Do you realize that I knelt beside you that night, picked up your wrist and thought, “This is the woman I will marry.” It was a shock; uncanny. I could hardly count your pulse beat. I still can’t believe it.’ He shook his head, bemused.

‘Darling. It was the same for me, too.’ Cupping his face in her hands, Julia was instantly serious, her eyes all at once luminous with need. ‘And if I promise not to rant and rave, will you kiss me? And tell me you’ll always love me? And will you please marry me as soon as we can manage it, because I have such feelings – such wonderful, wanton feelings – tearing through me, that I don’t know how I’m to put up with the waiting till I’m twenty-one, let alone for a whole year.’

‘Sweetheart.’ His lips found hers. ‘We will wait. We must. I can’t support you properly yet. Another year will make all the difference.’

‘But, Andrew – I’ve got money of my own, or I will have, when I’m of age. Father left it to me. And there’ll be jewellery to come from Grandmother Whitecliffe – on my mother’s side. I’m not sure how much, but it could help to buy you a practice – in Harrogate, if you’d like it. Please think about it? Seriously?’

‘Your generosity makes me feel very proud – humble, too – but I will support my wife. You call me dour, Julia – well it’s the way I am; though if you have money to spare you could settle some of it on our children.’

‘Our children,’ she murmured, eyes closed. ‘How many? Four?’

‘Three, I think. First we will have a daughter for you – and she must be beautiful, like her mother – and then you shall give me two sons.’

‘Happily,’ whispered the sensuous, wanting woman she had become. ‘I love you, Doctor MacMalcolm, and it is so wonderful being loved.’

‘I know.’ He took her hand, slowly, gently kissing the tips of the fingers curled possessively around his own. ‘My dearest girl, I know it.’

‘Then is there an explanation for the way I feel at times?’ Frowning, she raised her eyes to his. ‘Sometimes I think we are too lucky; that no one has the right to be this happy.’

‘I think,’ he said softly, ‘that we get what we deserve in life.’

‘So you don’t think the Fates will be jealous?’

‘Not a bit of it,’ he laughed. ‘How can they be when it was Fate, pure and simple, that brought us together in the first place? Stop your foolish blethering, woman,’ he said fondly.

Foolish blethering? Of course – that’s all it was, she echoed, contentedly snuggling closer. And may it please those Fates, whispered a small voice inside her, to let them keep that love? For ever and ever?

The mistress of Pendenys did not look up from her desk-top when the door opened and closed; nor when footsteps crossed the room and came to a halt behind her chair. Yet she knew that whoever stood there was either her son or her husband – no one else – for no other dare enter her sanctuary except to clean it. The room was hers alone; her one private place in this rambling, echoing, too-large house. Clementina’s little room held her precious, private things, and was dear to her. The tantrum room, her servants called it, for in truth that was really what it was; the room the mistress most often retreated into after an upset; when she had flung her final accusation, slammed her last door. It was where she went to pace and fume silently, to simmer down, perhaps even to weep. And the best of British good fortune to it, said the servants, for whilst madam was closeted away, they were safe from the suspicious workings of her mind, the stabs of her tongue.

‘Yes, Edward?’ Clementina turned to face her husband.

‘Please put down your pen, my dear. I wish to talk to you and I shall require your full attention.’

‘Very well. You have it.’ She knew better than to argue. Her husband was a mild, gentle person; a man who could be expected to have fathered the considerate, contented son who was Nathan; but sometimes there was harshness in his voice and anger in his eyes, and she knew, then, it would be to her cost to challenge the Sutton steel that ran the length of his backbone. ‘What can you have to say, I wonder, except to remind me yet again how indulgently I have reared my son?’

‘Our son, Clemmy. And the word is spoiled – ruined. Elliot has gone too far this time. London, Leeds, even Creesby we can hush over, but last night, on his own doorstep –’

‘On Rowangarth’s hallowed acres, you mean; on Helen’s land?’

‘Too near to home. Too near for comfort. And not a street woman this time, but a young girl.’

‘Last night, Edward, was different. Elliot had been drinking – perhaps a little too much,’ she murmured uneasily. ‘But how did you find out?’

‘Last night, tomorrow night, drunk or sober – where’s the difference? Is no woman safe from his brutish ways? And I got the truth of it from Giles. I met him, walking over to see me, and he told me what Helen told you this morning. Why didn’t you tell me she had visited?’

‘Because I didn’t believe what she said – about Elliot, I mean. Everyone is against him – even you, his father. You call him a brute, your own son,’ she gasped, rising in agitation to her feet. ‘But he’s yours! He’s a Sutton, remember; as much a Sutton as Nathan and Albert and that precious pair over at Rowangarth. But after this you’ll say he isn’t one of your breeding, but a throwback from Mary Anne. He isn’t fair, like a Sutton should be, but dark like a Cornishman. Well, you married me, Edward. You were eager enough to trade my fortune for your seed!’

‘Clementina! That is enough!’ God! Must her talk be so direct? ‘But if that is what you want, I’ll admit it. You married my name and I went along with it. I had little choice. But I will stand by no longer and see Elliot sink to the gutter and take the Sutton name with him. Enough is enough. Either Elliot goes, or I go! Elliot goes to America for at least a month, or I shall move out into one of the almshouses!’

‘Almshouses? You can’t mean it? The talk! The scandal.’

‘I mean it. There has been a Rowangarth almshouse empty for months, and it would be heaven to move in there, God only knows. And would a little more scandal make all that much difference? Scandal is nothing new to the Place Suttons. Our son has seen to that!’

‘You mean it, don’t you, Edward? This is your way of getting back at me. Well, Elliot shall not go to Kentucky, no matter what that woman of Albert’s says!’

‘Albert’s wife wrote you a perfectly civilized and kindly letter, once they had settled into a place of their own. I believe her when she says that any of Albert’s family will be welcome in their home.’

‘She’s nothing but a social climber! And can you imagine it – Elliot returning home with an ambitious American heiress on his arm!’

‘And would that be so bad?’

‘You know it would. He doesn’t need to marry money. Nathan maybe, but not Elliot. What I want for him is a title.’

‘I know, my dear. But marriage to the daughter of a duke, even, could not give him the title he – you – so want. Your father tried to buy one for me, and couldn’t. Accept it, Clemmy. The Sutton title belongs at Rowangarth, where it will stay. John left two sons, so there is no chance it will sidestep to me. And no accolade from the King will ever make a gentleman of Elliot, so forget your dreams for him. He goes to Kentucky to cool his heels – or else!’

‘Edward, how could you?’ Tears filled her eyes, then ran down her cheeks. She could take no more. It was either tears or temper, and in her husband’s present mood she knew which would serve her better. ‘How can you say such things about our own son? Brutish. Not a gentleman. You’ll be saying next that he isn’t yours – that some passing tinker …’

‘Stop it, Clemmy! He’s mine, though, I wish he’d been born last rather than first!’

‘Aha! There we have it! It’s Nathan you favour most; Nathan who looks like a Sutton and acts like a Sutton. Are you sure I bore him?’

‘My dear – please listen? I am here to talk seriously with you, not flit in and out of the realms of fantasy. So dry your eyes. Tears will get you nowhere and will make you ill again. What Elliot did is completely unacceptable. I have never in my life been so near to giving him the thrashing he deserves. Helen’s keeper didn’t do half enough, to my way of thinking, and you can thank the good Lord the man had sense enough to hold on to his temper.

‘So will you compose yourself? I have made up my mind. Defy me in this and I leave this house. The choice is yours, Clemmy.’ He offered his handkerchief, hand on the bell-pull. ‘Now I shall ring for tea for you and, no! not another word,’ he said softly. ‘There is no more to be said. You will drink your tea, calm yourself, then tell Elliot what has been decided. After which you will write a kindly letter to Kentucky, thanking your son’s wife for her offer and availing yourself of it. You will grit your teeth and do it – do you fully understand? Ah …’ He paused as the door opened to admit a butler who had answered the summons with unusual alacrity. ‘Mrs Sutton would like tea. Serve it in here, if you please, then ask Mr Elliot to join his mother.

‘And now I shall go for a walk; a very long walk,’ he murmured when they were alone again. ‘I shall walk this terrible anger out of me, and when I return I expect Elliot to be in no doubt as to what is expected of him. A very great deal is expected of you, too, Clemmy, but I know you will do as I wish in this respect. And there is no compromise, remember. It is Elliot, or me!’

‘This is very cosy,’ Helen Sutton smiled. ‘Just the three of us. I do so enjoy luncheon in the conservatory.’

‘Where is Giles?’ Julia murmured, forking meat on to plates, handing them round. ‘Don’t tell me he’s left his precious books?’

‘He has been known to. My son,’ she addressed her reply to Andrew, ‘has been out all morning. First he went to Pendenys, and now he’ll have arrived in York, on estate business. There are repairs to be done before winter to two cottages and one of the almshouses. I so hope the agent won’t tell him we can’t afford it. But meantime, doctor, I have a great favour to ask of you.’

‘Is it Hawthorn, ma’am?’

‘No, though I am grateful to you for seeing her and setting my mind at rest. The favour, I’m afraid, is a little embarrassing because it concerns family.’

‘But Andrew is family,’ Julia protested. ‘Well, as good as …’

‘Yes, indeed. And I suppose it is reasonable to expect every family to have a skeleton somewhere about,’ Helen sighed. ‘It’s about Friday night, you see.’

‘The dinner party,’ Julia offered. ‘I think Mama is a little apprehensive, not having entertained for – for –’

‘For some time,’ her mother supplied quickly. ‘But it isn’t that. Pendenys won’t be coming now, I’m afraid, which will leave me with thirteen at table.’

‘And is that serious? Is it really a fact, ma’am, that people never sit thirteen to a meal?’ Andrew demanded, eyebrows raised.

‘Not never, exactly, but not if it can be avoided. And that is why I must ask you – and I’m sorry if you think it an afterthought, but I didn’t even know of your existence when the invitations were sent out.’ She lifted her eyes to his, looking at him, he thought, as Julia did; without flinching, even though her cheeks were pink with embarrassment.

‘Mama! You’re asking Andrew to make up numbers,’ Julia gasped. ‘But how wonderful! You’ll say yes, won’t you, darling?’

‘Accept, even though it would mean staying the night?’ Helen murmured. ‘We have no motor, you see, to return you to Harrogate, and it seems an imposition to ask William to take you to the station so late. And we shall finish very late, I’m afraid …’

‘Lady Sutton – I would have been glad to accept, but sadly I cannot. I have no evening clothes, you see.’

‘Oh, dear. You didn’t pack them?’

‘I have none to bring with me,’ he smiled. ‘Evening dress is on my list of necessities, but quite some way down. There are other things must come first, you see, though I’ll admit I’ve had to miss many medical gatherings with after-dinner speakers I’d have liked fine to have heard, because of it. I wish I could have helped your numbers. I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, no.’ Julia’s face showed disappointment. She would have liked nothing better than to show Andrew off, have him introduced to her mother’s friends. It would have set the seal on her family’s approval; been as good, almost, as an announcement in The Times. ‘Are you sure you –’

‘Very sure, Julia, though I promise you I shall think more urgently, now, about the matter. And I would have been happy to accept – you know that, Lady Sutton?’

‘Then in that case would you – oh, dear, this is going to make things even worse.’ Helen’s cheeks burned bright red. ‘Would you, for my sake and Julia’s, perhaps consider borrowing?’

‘Of course I would – if you can find someone with a suit to spare – and one that fits. I’m not so foolish, ma’am,’ he said softly, ‘that I’d let pride stand in the way of such an invitation.’

‘Then I thank you, and I’m almost certain we can find something. My husband, you see, would never throw anything away, and the smallest – the slimmest,’ she corrected with a smile, ‘of his evening suits is still hanging there. It is the one he wore when first we were married, but it isn’t at all dated. You are his height and build, doctor. Will you – after we have eaten – consider trying that one on? And I’m sure that somewhere there’ll be a shirt to fit, and shirt studs, though shoes I’m not too sure about. But would you …?’

‘I would indeed,’ he replied, gravely.

‘But, Mama,’ Julia gasped. ‘You never – I mean –’ Nothing that was her father’s had been discarded. Nothing that was his had been moved, even, since the day he died. His pipe still lay on the desk in the library; the loose coins from his pocket on the dressing-table where he had placed them; his cape and driving goggles still hung behind the garage door.

‘It’s all right,’ said Helen gently. ‘I have come out of my black and accept that I must face the world again. And I am bound to confess that the doctor is so like your pa once was – even the colour of his eyes – that I shall take no hurt in seeing John’s clothes on him,’ she whispered. ‘Please indulge me, Andrew?’ she asked, using his name for the first time. ‘I think perhaps that on Friday night I might feel a little unsure and need John with me, but if you are there, and Giles …’

‘I understand, ma’am. And far from taking exception to your offer, I take it kindly. We must hope,’ he smiled, ‘that the suit fits me.’

And Julia closed her eyes and fervently hoped so, too, and thought that she had never loved her mother as she loved her now.

‘Vegetables?’ she smiled, offering a dish, her eyes bright with affection, her heart so full of happiness she felt light-headed. ‘And if they don’t quite fit, I’m sure Hawthorn could do a quick alteration on them – I’m sure of it.’

And dear, sweet Lord, thank you for my lovely family and for this great singing happiness inside me.

And please let me keep it?

Alice held Morgan’s lead tightly, reluctant to release him. She wanted with all her heart to see Tom, even if it meant walking alone in Brattocks again, but she had felt relief, almost, when Miss Clitherow had asked her to sponge and press the suit.

‘The doctor’s evening dress. He’ll be coming to the dinner party,’ was all that was offered by way of explanation, but Alice at once suggested it be hung out to air, so strong was the camphory smell of mothballs on it. The suit wasn’t really the doctor’s, Alice knew; rather something long stored away and in need of a good valeting. Yet Doctor Andrew being asked to the Friday night dinner – now that was good news, she had thought, as she pegged the hangers firmly to the drying-green line. And then she had felt so guilty about Tom that she had taken Morgan’s lead and run to the library, where the impatient creature waited, tail wagging.

And she must face Brattocks Wood again. She had promised Mr Giles, him being away seeing the agent, that she would take Morgan out; had said it would be all right, that the doctor had even suggested that she do it.

‘A bit like falling off a horse,’ he’d assured her. ‘You get straight back in the saddle …’

Yet now here she was at the woodland fence – unsure, and wanting to keep Morgan beside her, even though she was certain that Tom would be there and Elliot Sutton would not; even though her hatpin, on good advice, was secure beneath the lapel of her jacket.

‘You never know,’ Tilda said sagely, recounting one of her love-book heroines who had defended her virtue with the pin from her Sunday hat.

‘No,’ Alice whispered to the animal who had become used to being released at the fence. ‘Stay now, there’s a good dog.’ Carefully manoeuvring the lead from hand to hand, she climbed the stile, then stood, ears straining for the snapping of a twig that might betray some other presence. But Tom walked without sound as a keeper should, and the silence comforted her. ‘Tom?’ she called. ‘Tom Dwerryhouse?’

At once she heard his answering whistle. It was all right! He was waiting for her! Bending, she released the lead, relief pulsing through her. Nothing could harm her, she should have known it, and taking in a deep, calming gulp of air, tilting her chin high, she began to walk the narrow, moss-edged path.

She needed to see Tom, she urged silently; wanted him to hold her, touch her, because last night she had discovered the depths to which a man could sink and she needed to be sure that men like Elliot Sutton were few and far between. She wanted to close her eyes and lift her mouth to Tom’s so she might forget the way another man had kissed her; but most of all she wanted to know she had not changed, that what had happened only a few yards from this spot had not caused her to mistrust all men – even Tom, who loved her.

‘Alice, sweetheart …’

He was there, Morgan at his heels; the same Tom. So why did some strange voice inside her demand she must be sure that he should know the line that divided love from lust – and never step beyond it?

‘Alice?’ He walked slowly to where she stood, rooted to the ground, her feet all at once useless.

She ran her tongue round her lips, then moved them consciously into the shape of a smile, thinking for one wild moment to turn and run back to the stile and climb it again; place it like a barrier between them. But she did not, could not.

‘You came, then,’ she murmured, eyes on her boots.

‘You knew I would. I came at teatime, too, though I thought you’d not want to venture here again just yet.’

‘I did, though. Well – Morgan is with me,’ she defended.

‘Aye. He’ll not let anyone harm you.’ Carefully, as if she were some small, cornered animal, he raised his hand; gently he placed his fingertips to her face.

‘Poor little love. Does it hurt bad?’

‘Hardly at all. It looks worse than it is.’

‘I wanted to kill him, last night,’ he muttered, thickly. ‘I wish I had.’

‘No, Tom. Never wish that – he’s not worth it.’

‘He harmed you, dirtied you. I’ll not forgive him for that!’

‘It’s over,’ she urged, her voice no more than a whisper. ‘It’s behind me.’

‘But is it behind you? Can you be sure, lass? Can you be certain that what happened hasn’t set you against me, against all men?’

‘No!’ she cried, unnerved that he could look into her eyes and read the thoughts behind them. ‘Why should I think that?’

‘I don’t know, though I wouldn’t blame you if you did. But I won’t ever harm you, and you must know it, or there’s no future for you and me. So tell me why you’re holding yourself back from me – because you are …’

‘Tom!’ She glanced wildly around her, unwilling to meet his gaze. ‘How am I to know? How can I be sure that once we’re wed you won’t turn into –’

She stopped, tears choking her words, sudden fear making her want to run away from this encounter; run back to the warmth of Rowangarth kitchen; to Mrs Shaw and Mary and Tilda and Bess. And Miss Clitherow, looking down her nose.

‘That I won’t turn into an animal like the one that attacked you last night? Well, I won’t, Alice. I love you. It would be sweet and gentle between us.’

‘And you wouldn’t change, and look at me wild? And you wouldn’t hit me, tear at me? Because, Tom, if that’s the way of it, if that’s the way it happens …’

‘It isn’t the way of it. With love between us it’ll be giving, not taking. And I shall make you want me, sweetheart, not make you feared of me. Loving, real loving, isn’t like it was with him, I promise you it isn’t.’

‘Then you’ll give me time …?’

‘All the time it takes. All the time in the world.’

‘Tom!’ She took a step towards him; one small step across the divide, and it was all she needed. ‘I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to think as I did. And I’d be obliged if you would kiss me like you always do when we meet, for I’ve wanted you near me so much, even though I was afraid …’

‘Alice, my little love.’ Gathering her to him, he rocked her in his arms, whispering into her hair, hushing her, waiting until he felt her relax against him. Then he tilted her chin as he had done the first time, and placed his mouth tenderly on her own. ‘Will I kiss it better for you?’ He murmured, his lips over the bruising on her face, all the time making little comforting sounds, as if she were a frightened bird he had loosed, hurt, from a poacher’s trap. ‘I love you, Alice Hawthorn; love you – do you hear me?’

‘And I love you. And you aren’t like him – I think I always knew it. But forgive me for doubting?’

Slowly she raised her arms, clasping them around his neck, lifting her face for his kiss.

‘Will I tell you something?’ he smiled. ‘Reuben told me an’ it’s on Mr Giles’s orders. If that Sutton so much as sets foot on Rowangarth land, he’s to be treated like we’d treat a poacher. My, but I wish he’d try it. I’d like nothing better than to kick his backside off the place. Hell! I do so detest that man!’

‘Then don’t. He isn’t worth your hatred. Elliot Sutton will get what he deserves one day, so leave him, Tom; leave him to God. Promise me?’

And because he loved her, his lips formed the words she wanted to hear, whilst secretly he swore he’d have justice for her, should chance ever offer the means.

‘All right, then,’ he said. ‘I promise.’

Then damned himself for a liar.

10

Friday came in clear and blue and bright, so that Tilda didn’t grumble overmuch at leaving her bed an hour earlier to clear the oven flues of soot, and when Mrs Shaw made her sleepy-eyed appearance, the kitchen range shone with blacklead polish, the fire glowed red, and a kettle puffed lazy steam from its spout.

‘Good girl, Tilda,’ Cook approved. ‘You’d best mash a sup of tea and make us a couple of toasts. And them as lies in their beds till the dot of six are going to miss out on it, aren’t they? Think we might open a jar of the strawberry,’ she added comfortably, knowing the kitchenmaid’s fondness for her ladyship’s special conserve, and knowing too that so small a reward would be repaid in extra effort during the day ahead; the hot, hectic, dinner-party day just beginning.

William called, ‘Hup!’ and the horses broke into a canter. On the carriage floor lay the ice, collected from the fishmonger in Creesby, and, atop it, to keep it cool, a parcel of lobster meat for Mrs Shaw’s thick fish soup.

Fuss and bother, that’s what dinner parties were, the coachman brooded. All coming and going and do this, William, do that. He brought down the reins with a slap. Best get a move on or Miss Clitherow would glare and he’d be in trouble with Cook an’ all. She could be a bit of a battleaxe when the mood was on her, none knew it better than William Stubbs, though she was usually good for a sup of tea and a slice of cake when it wasn’t. But all thoughts of fruit cake were quickly dismissed from William’s mind when there were matters of greater importance to think on. The carry-on in Brattocks, for one, and the to-do it had caused at Pendenys. He’d got it from the under-gardener there, so it was fact – Elliot Sutton with a badly face; his father going on something awful, and Mrs Clementina throwing a fit of the vapours so that Doctor James had to be brought in the motor.

Mind, you couldn’t expect much else from the likes of Elliot Sutton. Not real gentry, the Place Suttons. Not like Rowangarth, so you couldn’t entirely blame Pendenys for their lack of refinement, them being half trade, so to speak, and liable because of it to throw a wrong ‘un from time to time. But the atmosphere over at the Place was cold as charity if talk was to be believed. Something was going on there, or why had the laundrymaid been ordered to wash all Mr Elliot’s linen and boil and starch his shirts – every last one of them? Taking himself off, was he? Away to London again, out of the reach of his mother’s tongue? And a fair wind to his backside if it were true, thought William with grimmest pleasure. A good riddance, and no mistake.

There had better, warned Mrs Shaw, getting things straight right from the start, be no idling this morning. Indeed, they should all count themselves lucky there had been time for breakfast, so pushed were they going to be. True, the soup was well in hand, two salmon lay cooling on the cold slab in the meat cellar, and the four ribs of beef – any less would have seemed penny-pinching – had been quickly browned in a hot oven to seal in the juices, and now cooked in slow contentment on the bottom shelf.

The ice-cream and sorbet were Cook’s biggest worry, though both were safely packed with fresh ice now, and should turn out right, as they almost always did.

‘That’s the soup and salmon seen to, the beef doing nicely, and the savoury part-prepared …’ Cook was in the habit of thinking aloud on such occasions. ‘And the meringues for the pudding done yesterday, and please God that dratted ice-cream is going to behave itself. Tilda!’

‘Yes’m.’ Tilda gazed mesmerized at the pile of vegetables brought in by the under-gardener at seven that morning; a pile so enormous it had set her longing for the day she would rise to the heights of assistant cook – or even under-housemaid would do – and so be able to watch some other unfortunate scrape carrots, peel potatoes, slice cucumbers and pod peas. Yet, she conceded, as the scent of strawberries – the first of the season and straight from the hotbed in the kitchen garden – teased her nostrils, being a kitchenmaid did have its compensations, for no one would miss the plump half dozen that would find their way to her mouth when no one was looking.

‘Think we can manage a breather,’ Cook murmured, hands to her burning cheeks. ‘Might as well have a sup of tea.’ Heaven only knew when there’d be time for another. ‘Put the kettle on, Tilda, then pop upstairs and fetch Mary and Bess and Ellen …’

Mrs Shaw’s long, dramatic sigh masked the excitement that churned inside her. Dinner parties at Rowangarth again! Oh, the joy of it, and herself thinking she would never live to see another. Goodness gracious, what a hustle and bustle and delight this day would be.

Ellen had arrived early that morning, leaving her children in the care of her mother-in-law, walking the half-mile to Rowangarth with a lightness of step. In the brown paper parcel she carried were her carefully folded frock – her best one, in navy – and a stiffly-starched cap with ribbon trailers and a bibbed apron, wrapped carefully around a rolled newspaper to prevent creasing. It would be grand to be with them all again, and tomorrow there would be a knock on her front door – her ladyship was always prompt with her thanks – and William would deliver a letter marked By Hand in the top, left-hand corner; a letter signed Helen M. Sutton and containing five shillings for her pains.

Five beautiful shillings. Ellen’s step had quickened, just to think of it. It would buy material for a Sunday-best dress and tobacco for her man, and a bag of jujubes for the bairns.

Now, in what had been her second-best uniform, and which still fitted her even after two pregnancies, she and Mary and the head gardener, his feet in felt slippers so as not to leave marks on the carpet, were setting a table splendid to see, with sweeps of fern looped around the table edges and, at each corner, a ribboned posy of carnations – carnations being known to keep fresh the longest. And thank goodness for Rowangarth’s heated glasshouses: peaches and nectarines, ready long before nature intended, made up part of a magnificent, two-feet-tall centrepiece of fruit, roses, lilies-of-the-valley and maidenhair fern. Already she had checked the fingerbowls, laid ready to be filled with water and sprinkled with rose petals later in the afternoon, and now, menu in hand, she checked the cutlery for correctness, walking round the table unspeaking.

‘Will it do?’ Nervously, Mary moved glasses a fraction of an inch, wondering if she had folded the table napkins into anything less than perfect waterlilies. ‘Have I done anything wrong?’

Ellen continued her progress from chair to chair, then looked up, smiling.

‘It is perfect, Mary. I can’t fault it. It would seem I taught you well. You can tell Miss Clitherow that only the place-cards need to be seen to now, for where guests will sit is nothing to do with us. Then we shall do as Tilda bids, and be off to the kitchen for a sup.’ She took the parlourmaid’s arm and tucked it in her own. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Mrs Shaw hasn’t made cherry scones: she always used to on dinner-party days. I still remember those scones. Oh, but this is going to be a rare day for me, Mary. It’s so good to be back at Rowangarth.’

Mrs Shaw sat herself down in the kitchen rocker and, taking a corner of her apron in each hand, billowed it out like a fan to cool her burning cheeks.

‘You can pour now, Tilda, and pass round the scones, for I’m fair whacked already …’

And loving every minute of, Ellen thought, washing her hands at the sinkstone; loving it as she always had before Sir John was taken and there had been a dinner party at least once a month.

‘Come now, Mrs Shaw,’ she admonished with a forwardness permitted only because of her marital state and her past years of service at Rowangarth. ‘You know you’ll be queen of the kitchen tonight, and all of them upstairs exclaiming over your cooking.’ And though she knew that a parlourmaid must never repeat table talk, it would be expected of both herself and Mary to pass on overheard compliments. ‘I can say for certain that Judge Mounteagle will allow himself to be persuaded to take another of your savouries, and you’ll have seen to it there’ll be extra, especially for him.’

Glowing, Cook accepted the plate and cup placed at her side, knowing everything Ellen said to be true, for wasn’t she indeed queen of her own kitchen, and as such had never seen the need for wedlock when all her heart could ever want was at Rowangarth. Here, she could go to bed master and get up next morning her own mistress, for the title of ‘Mrs’ was one of kindness, allowed to unmarried cooks and nannies. Truth known she was Miss Shaw and for ever would remain so.

‘Aah,’ she murmured, drinking deeply, smiling secretly. ‘Queen of nothing I once was. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was my twelfth birthday and the next day I left school. There were nine of us bairns; all to keep on a sovereign-a-week’s wages. I was one of the middle three, the fifth, right in the middle, and middle children had a hard time of it, I can tell you.’

She closed her eyes, calling back the firstborn brothers, well able to stick up for themselves, and the three youngest, petted like the babies they still were.

‘Us in the middle were all girls, all mouths to feed and backs to clothe; so Mam had no choice. Taken to Mother Beswick at the Mop Fair all three of us were: in them days, servants was hired at the Mop Fairs. I remember when it was my turn to go, and Mam telling me to work hard and not complain and say my prayers at night. Then she kissed me and gave Mother Beswick a florin and asked her to place me with an upright family if she could manage it. I never saw my mother again …’

‘And?’ prompted Ellen, as the elderly cook lapsed into remembering and Tilda sniffed loudly and dabbed her eyes with her apron.

‘And I was the luckiest lass in the North Riding that day,’ Cook beamed, ‘for didn’t Mrs Stormont’s housekeeper take me? Lady Helen’s mother, Mrs Stormont was, and a real gentlewoman. And I was trained up to under-cook, then came here to Rowangarth with Miss Helen when she married Sir John.’

‘Ar,’ sighed Tilda, who liked happy endings, ‘but what if you’d been placed middle-class? What if some shopkeeper’s wife had taken you for a skivvy?’

‘What if nothing!’ Cook selected another cherry scone. ‘I ended up here, didn’t I, and determined never to wed and have bairns to rear to line Ma Beswick’s pocket; a lesson you’d do well to heed, young Tilda.’

‘Yes, Mrs Shaw,’ agreed the kitchenmaid, though she was only waiting, like the heroines in her love books, to be swept off her feet by the romance of her life. Exactly like Miss Julia had been; snatched from the jaws of death by a young doctor who’d been waiting for a beautiful woman to fall at his feet in a faint. Miss Julia, who was head over heels in love.

Tilda drained her cup, then resumed her peeling and scraping and slicing and podding. Resumed it for the time being, that was. Until he came.

On hands and knees in the great hall where tonight milady would be receiving, Bessie rubbed tea-leaves into the rugs. For the past two days, teapots had been drained and the swollen leaves squeezed and set aside for carpet cleaning. There was nothing like them for taking away the dusty, musty smell and freshening jaded colours, Miss Clitherow insisted.

Bessie brushed the tea-leaves out vigorously, mindful that the under-gardener waited outside with a barrow filled with potted plants and ferns from the planthouse, to arrange in the hall so that tonight it would seem as if the garden had crept inside.

Bessie sighed happily. Tonight, in place of Alice whose face was not yet presentable, she would be on duty in the bedroom set aside for lady guests, on hand to receive cloaks and wraps, offer small gold safety-pins if required, and smelling-salts where necessary, and listen, eyes downcast, to the gossip. And, best of all, she would see the beautiful dinner gowns at first hand instead of being stuck below stairs, seeing nothing, hearing nothing.

She didn’t mind the extra work at all, because this sad old house had come alive again, and there would be luncheon parties and dinner parties galore from now on. And there would be at least a shilling in tips left for her on the dressing-table, she shouldn’t wonder.

‘You can come in now,’ she told the young man she had kept waiting for the past ten minutes. ‘I’ll leave the pan and brush so you can sweep up after yourself if you make any mess, for I’m too busy to do it,’ she declared, whisking away so that her skirts swung wide, offering a glimpse of ankle that made him flush with pleasure.

He formed his lips into a long, low whistle, a sound that stopped her in her tracks. She turned to face his slow wink of approval. ‘Cheeky!’ she said airily. ‘And you’d best leave the pan and brush at the kitchen door when you’re done,’ she ordered.

Cheeky he might be, but when he returned the pan and brush, she just might return that wink …

‘Now tell me,’ whispered Ellen, as she laid her best dress and apron on Mary’s bed, ‘if it’s true what I hear – that Miss Julia has an admirer?’

‘It’s true,’ came the unhesitating reply, for Ellen was entirely to be trusted. ‘Met him in London, in Hyde Park. Ever so romantic. She tripped and fell, see, because of her tight old skirt, and he was there like a shot, holding her hand, seeing to her. It was meant to be, if you ask me. And he’s so nice and kindly in his manner. Make a lovely couple …’

‘Then I’ll be back, I shouldn’t wonder, to help out at the wedding.’ Ellen undressed without embarrassment, she and Mary having shared this very room in the old days.

‘Wouldn’t be at all surprised. But I’ll just fill your basin, then you can get washed and changed. And you can use my scented soap, Ellen, and my talcum powder.’

‘Oooh, thanks, love.’ Since she had married, such things were a luxury; though she knew that a parlourmaid, when serving at table and reaching and passing, must never, ever give offence. ‘I’m grateful.’

And oh, wasn’t it going to be just like old times again tonight, and wouldn’t it be grand having five shillings of her own to spend exactly as she pleased?

She plunged her hands into the basin of cold rainwater, made a violet-scented lather on top of it, and sighed with pure pleasure.

‘Are you decent, or in disarray?’ Julia entered Andrew’s bedroom without embarrassment. ‘I’m here to see if you need any help. Sorry we haven’t a valet to help you dress.’

‘Help me dress? Good grief, woman,’ he gasped, ‘I’ve been dressing myself since I was out of napkins, though I’d like fine for you to see to this tie – I’ve made a bit of a mess of it.’

‘Yes, you have, my darling. But don’t worry. Mama always tied Pa’s for him, and Giles is worse at it than you. You’ve got the studs in all right, I see.’ She glanced with approval at the shirt front, sparkling with diamonds.

‘That much I could manage. Don’t they look grand. Are they real?’

‘They are, so you’re very honoured. Mother bought them for Pa as a silver wedding gift and oh, Andrew, you won’t do anything careless and get yourself killed like he did when we’ve only been married twenty-six years, will you?’

‘I won’t. I promise to grow old with you.’ He cupped her upturned face in his hands. ‘I couldn’t bear to leave you, either. And now will you see to this tie, then help me pin on the rose you sent up for me, though I’d heard that in London fashion it’s usually a carnation a man wears.’

‘London is London; here, we wear what we like, and your lady chose a white rosebud, so –’ She gave a final pull to the bow tie, then reached on tiptoe to place her lips gently against his own. ‘There now, doctor,’ she murmured. ‘You’ll be the handsomest man at table and Mrs Mounteagle will faint at your feet. And you’ll remember, when you see her,’ she rushed on, ‘to thank Hawthorn for sponging and pressing your things so beautifully? She’s so pleased you’ve been asked tonight.’

‘I’ll make a special point of it. You care for Hawthorn, don’t you?’ He reached for the smallness of her waist, drawing her closer.

‘Yes, I do.’ She took a step away from his disturbing nearness. ‘She’s fun and she understands about you and me because she’s in love, too. She’s also my friend.’

‘Even though she must call you miss, or Miss Julia, and curtsey to you? Even though you call her Hawthorn, and never Alice?’ he quizzed, eyebrows raised.

‘Even though. It’s the way it is and Hawthorn would be embarrassed to have it differently. It doesn’t change the way she and I trust each other, and anyway, no one here expects to be curtseyed to. This isn’t Pendenys. But let me have another look at you.’ She smiled tenderly, eyes large with love.

‘Will I do, ma’am, in my fine feathers?’

‘You’ll do.’ Dear sweet heaven, but he was good to look at. ‘Tell me, darling,’ she murmured, trying to sound flippant and failing dismally. ‘Why are you twenty-seven, almost, and still unmarried? Because I don’t know how you’ve managed to stay single for so long. Hasn’t there been anyone …?’

‘There has not. I’m a bachelor still, because one thing I’m sure about is that two can’t live as cheaply as one, and because –’ he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose – ‘because you and that hefty constable took so long getting down to fisticuffs in Hyde Park. Heaven help me – there I was, walking in the park day after day. What took you so long?’

‘Darling!’ She slipped her hands beneath his coat, hugging him to her, closing her eyes tightly as happy little tears misted her eyes. ‘I do love you. How will I bear it when you leave me?’

‘Me, too – about loving you so, I mean, and dreading Sunday coming. And I know we aren’t engaged and shouldn’t buy presents for each other, but –’ He dipped into his pocket and brought out a small box. ‘It’s only a bauble, sweetheart, and secondhand into the bargain. But when I saw it, it seemed so right that I had to have it for you.’

‘Andrew!’ Her cheeks flushed red. ‘You shouldn’t have, but darling, I’m glad you did.’ She opened it to show a small, heart-shaped box that held a dainty, heart-shaped brooch.

‘It’s gold, Julia, and look.’ His finger outlined the two letters entwined within the heart. ‘J and A. Julia and Andrew, I thought at once, though maybe it was James who bought it for Anne, or Albert for Joan.’

‘Andrew, it’s beautiful. Your initial and mine. I shall wear it tonight – wear it always. Oh, I wish you knew how much I love you. It’s like a great ache inside me.’ She closed her eyes, because she could hardly bear to look at him.

‘I know. I have a pain just like it,’ he said gravely. ‘And I’m glad to say there is no known cure for it. But should you be in a gentleman’s room, Miss Sutton, and you not married to him? What if anyone saw us? Your reputation would be in shreds.’

‘I know,’ she smiled. ‘It’s quite delightful, isn’t it? You’d have to marry me then, wouldn’t you? But I won’t compromise you, doctor dear. I shall go and see to Giles’s tie. I think I shall feel a lot safer in his room than here,’ she said softly, pinning the brooch to her dress.

‘I understand exactly.’ He took her hand in his, lingering his lips in its upturned palm, kissing it sensuously so that exquisite shivers of delight sliced through her; made her wonder how she would endure a year, almost, until they could rightfully close their bedroom door on the world. And she wondered, too, why just to look at the ordinary double bed in which Andrew would sleep tonight, all at once made it loom so large and tantalizing. ‘I’ll see you in the conservatory,’ she murmured. ‘In five minutes …’

Helen Sutton let go a small sigh of contentment, grateful that her very dear friends – those who had comforted her and been close to her during her years of mourning – were with her tonight. Dear and precious friends, and her family too. There was Judge Mounteagle and his formidable wife; though had Helen been fighting, back to the wall for her very life, it would have been Mrs Mounteagle, truth known, she would have wished at her side. There, too, was Doctor James, and Effie, and the Reverend Luke Parkin, and Jessica, to whom she owed so much; and she was guiltily glad that neither Clementina nor Elliot were coming, though she felt sad that Edward would not be able to enjoy his favourite pudding which Cook had so laboriously prepared for him.

She sat unspeaking, wanting John beside her, yet counting the blessings of this night. The sun, losing its brilliance now, lit the glass room softly, showing off the display of vines that climbed to the roof; exotic shrubs that could never have survived outdoors, and pots of flowers, grown specially for such an occasion in heated glasshouses, and carried inside to give pleasure. Orchids of every colour, save creamy-white; brilliant geraniums, sweet-scented jasmine and campanulas, blazing blue as a summer sky, all weeks before their time.

‘I see,’ remarked Mrs Mounteagle tartly, ‘that Pendenys is late, as usual.’

‘Ah – no. My sister-in-law,’ said Helen softly, ‘is a little unwell and cannot be here.’

‘Ha!’ the lady shrugged, the look of satisfaction ill-disguised on her face. ‘It comes to us all, I suppose – that certain age, I mean.’

She slanted her gaze at Mrs James who, caught off balance by such directness, could only glance appealingly at her husband.

‘Mrs Sutton is – er – a little under the weather; a little, that is all. Tomorrow, when I call, I fully expect her to be her old self again …’ the doctor offered reluctantly.

‘I see.’ Mrs Mounteagle was in no way convinced, and made a mental note to discover exactly what ‘a little under the weather’ embraced. ‘I shall leave my card when passing,’ she said without so much as a blush. ‘When will that son of hers be finished with Cambridge? Nathan, isn’t he called?’

‘Soon, now. We hope to have him back in just a few weeks. He’s a fine young man,’ Helen smiled, eager to be rid of the subject of Pendenys’s absence. ‘Giles particularly will be pleased.’

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