Read Candles in the Storm Online
Authors: Rita Bradshaw
Tags: #Romance, #Sagas, #Historical, #Fiction
Candles in the Storm (28 page)
‘Your mistress is indisposed?’ Hector Lyndon was aware he was detaining Daisy in order to continue gazing at her face. She was so beautiful and so unaware of it, her eyes like great saucers and such a dark soft grey, but it was more than mere outward loveliness that had drawn him to this young, untutored girl with such - his mind hesitated over the word ‘passion’ here and substituted a more acceptable ‘eagerness’. Daisy’s face reflected the true beauty which came from a charitable heart; an essential virtue in a parson’s wife, he reassured himself righteously.
‘Miss Wilhelmina’s heart hasn’t been too good lately but she seems merely tired today,’ Daisy said quietly, although there was no chance Wilhelmina could hear them. ‘She wants to see you though, Parson. I’m to take you through.’
‘Capital, capital.’ Hector hesitated. Should he give her the small parcel now or wait until Wilhelmina was present? He would like them to be alone when she unwrapped it, but convention demanded a chaperone should be in attendance when a gift was received by a young girl. Propriety won, as it always would do with Hector. He let Daisy lead the way to where Wilhelmina was waiting on the sofa in her private sitting room.
‘Dear boy.’ She patted the seat beside her. ‘I’ve ordered coffee for the three of us if you’re able to stay for a few minutes?’
‘Of course, Wilhelmina. It would be a pleasure.’
Daisy reluctantly took a seat opposite the sofa. Her mistress seemed to have forgotten she had told her she could leave early.
‘Now a little bird told me’ - Hector smiled at Wilhelmina - ‘that it is a certain young lady’s birthday today? Happy birthday, Daisy.’ He took the small, carefully wrapped parcel out of his pocket and passed it over to Daisy with a smile.
Her face expressed surprise and then pleasure when she unwrapped the package to find a copy of Charles Dickens’s
A Christmas Carol
. After she had thanked the parson she passed the book to her mistress who had asked to see it.
A Christmas Carol
. After she had thanked the parson she passed the book to her mistress who had asked to see it.
Wilhelmina had to hold the volume right up to her nose in order to be able to study it properly, and after perusing it for a moment or two, she said, ‘Are these wretched eyes of mine deceiving me or is this a signed first edition, Parson?’
‘Your eyes are not deceiving you, Wilhelmina.’
She lowered the book and peered over the top of it. ‘I see.’
Daisy wasn’t sure what her mistress saw, but Gladys entering with the coffee took her attention and the moment passed.
It was five minutes after this when Wilhelmina said - rather suddenly and not within the context of the conversation they had been having about the recent Trades Union Congress resolving to champion old age pensions as a fundamental human right - ‘It is such a pity, Parson. I had arranged for Daisy to take a birthday hamper home today to share with her grandmother, but now poor Kitty is not well, along with her father who could have driven the carriage. Still, I dare say you will be able to manage the cake, Daisy?’
‘Yes, of course, ma’am, and a couple of other things besides,’ she said quickly, hoping this meant she could be on her way.
‘Perhaps . . .’ The parson hesitated, and then as Wilhelmina prompted him, said quietly, ‘Perhaps I might be permitted to take Daisy and the hamper to her grandmother’s in my trap?’
Wilhelmina smiled faintly as she said, ‘What a good idea, Parson. Why didn’t I think of that?’
‘Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that.’ Daisy was horrified at the idea of the parson having to go out of his way for her and on a Sunday at that, his busiest day of the week. ‘What about your lunch? And you must have lots to do.’
‘My housekeeper always serves lunch at half-past one, not a minute before and not a minute after,’ Hector said, smiling. ‘That will leave me plenty of time to take you on the short journey to Whitburn and still be home with twenty minutes or so to spare if we leave now.’
‘That’s settled then,’ Wilhelmina cut in, her tone brooking no argument as she added, ‘go and put on your bonnet, child, and tell Gladys to put the hamper in the parson’s trap. And do give your grandmother my best wishes, won’t you?’
Daisy stared at her mistress, blinking in surprise. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. The poor parson must have felt obliged to offer her a lift in his trap after what the mistress had said, she saw that now. She just hoped what he’d intimated about his lunch-time was true.
By the time Daisy came downstairs again, her shawl about her shoulders and her straw bonnet with blue ribbons tied under her chin, Hector was waiting at the front door for her. ‘All ready?’ he asked lightly, and as Daisy smiled and nodded he allowed himself to touch her as he took her arm and helped her into the waiting pony and trap.
He had to see her, he couldn’t carry on like this and her birthday was the perfect excuse. William ran his hand over his face as he continued to pace up and down his bedroom, and then delved into his pocket and brought out the little silver trinket box he had purchased in Newcastle the week before. He opened it, staring at the small diamond and pearl pin it contained. It was dainty and exquisite, like her . . . He groaned, shutting the lid to the box with a snap. A brooch wasn’t the sort of gift one gave to a young woman unless she was a family member, and he knew it. A present like this was a statement of intent, he had known that when he had purchased it, so
why
had he done so?
why
had he done so?
He flung himself down on his bed, his hands behind his head as he gazed up at the intricately moulded ceiling where cherubim and seraphim flew in an orgy of holy, plump-cheeked joy, their angelic smiles mocking the life led below their plaster heaven.
He’d promised himself in the hours following the row with his uncle at breakfast that he would severely limit his visits to Evenley House. The dispute between his father, uncle and himself which had rocked all corners of the house, and which had caused his mother to become so ill a footman had had to be despatched at eleven o’clock at night for Doctor Woodrow, had had the result of forcing him to face some unpleasant truths.
He twisted restlessly on the satin eiderdown before springing up and marching across to the window, sitting down on the window-seat and gazing out across the rolling grounds in front of him without seeing them. A peacock strolled across the green lawns, emitting its mournful cry and drawing his attention to it before strutting off again. He watched until it had disappeared, his brows drawn together.
The scandal which would follow should he make Daisy his wife would render her life impossible. He would take her into no man’s land - removed from her own people but not accepted by the circle he moved in, and he had seen at first hand how cruel they could be to those they considered beneath them. Respectability . . . how he hated that word. It exacted a heavy price in humiliation and censure when some poor soul didn’t live up to the criteria it demanded.
William turned away from the window, his face grim. He had not admitted the extent of his regard for Daisy during the argument with his father and uncle, knowing instinctively it would result in his father dismissing Daisy, however much his aunt might object. At the moment Daisy was under Wilhelmina’s protection with all the material benefits that involved, but just the idea that he might be in love with her would cause his father to have a seizure. His father hadn’t even liked the explanation that he felt a responsibility towards Daisy, the girl having saved his life.
‘I don’t want you causing me problems with Wilhelmina, do you hear me?’ Sir Augustus had growled. ‘Gratitude is all very well but a girl like that might encourage you to sample the goods, if you know what I mean. They don’t understand the finer emotions, the common people, and they’re like leeches if they smell an easy ride. Before you knew it she’d be presenting us with a bastard and demanding we pay her off again, damn it. Are you listening to me, boy?’
William had been listening, and his answer had been such that battle had raged on even after Doctor Woodrow had been summoned. But at least his uncle’s none-too-subtle enquiries about Daisy had meant his father had packed Francis off within hours. His uncle was a loose cannon in matters of a carnal nature and his father knew it.
William dropped into a deep leather chair placed at a convenient angle to the bookcase close to his dressing-room door. Resting his elbows on the padded arms he supported his head with his hands, gazing down at the worn Persian carpet which covered most of the floor. His father would certainly disinherit him if he made his intentions regarding the future and Daisy plain, there was no doubt about that. However, he still had the few hundred pounds bequeathed to him by his maternal grandparents. His father couldn’t touch that.
He raised his head, gazing unseeingly across the room. Of course, the rent on even a smallish house with a staff of three or four to run it in a respectable part of town would soon begin to eat into that, and there would be plenty of other expenses too. He would need to have an income of some kind, but what? His brow wrinkled. He would have to leave this district and everyone he knew for Daisy ever to have a chance of being accepted into good society, so a number of friends who might have been of help with some kind of career opening would be lost to him. Nevertheless, an education which had embraced the best schools followed by Eton had to be worth something, surely? He had enjoyed his time in the south east and had left university with a deep appreciation of all things literary. Perhaps he could try his hand at writing a book. Or something along those lines.
He had no idea of the income needed to support a wife and family, he realised suddenly. He had no idea about a lot of practical matters. But he could learn. A quiver of excitement caused his stomach to tighten. Yes, he could learn. With Daisy at his side he could do anything. They would come through together whatever happened.
He began to pace the room again, his excitement mounting. Snatching the box out of his pocket again, he opened it, staring down at the brooch inside.
It should have been a ring
. He should have bought a ring and then he could have done this properly, but he would hint at what he intended when he gave her the brooch, though without a formal declaration. And then this week sometime he could visit Newcastle and find just the right thing. Oh, Daisy. He put the box back in his pocket, glancing impatiently at his watch as he did so. She would stay at her grandmother’s house until tea-time so he had another three or four hours to waste before she would be home, then he would be there at his aunt’s waiting for her.
It should have been a ring
. He should have bought a ring and then he could have done this properly, but he would hint at what he intended when he gave her the brooch, though without a formal declaration. And then this week sometime he could visit Newcastle and find just the right thing. Oh, Daisy. He put the box back in his pocket, glancing impatiently at his watch as he did so. She would stay at her grandmother’s house until tea-time so he had another three or four hours to waste before she would be home, then he would be there at his aunt’s waiting for her.
He had to do this. The last couple of months had been miserable, he couldn’t exist without her, he couldn’t. And if it meant giving up Greyfriar, turning his back on his family and friends and everything he had ever known, so be it.
Chapter Thirteen
‘An’ he’s comin’ back for you at half-past five you say? Eeh, lass, whatever next?’
The cackle of laughter which followed Nellie’s words grated on Alf unbearably. He glanced across at the old woman who was sitting propped up in bed, her mouth open wide in merriment showing her remaining teeth and gums, and had an urge to yell at her to shut up. There was nothing funny about this parson feller bringing Daisy home. He might be a man of the cloth but he was still a man, wasn’t he? And giving her a book! By, the way she’d talked about that you’d have thought it had gold lettering at the very least. And she had barely looked at the little sewing basket
he
had bought for her birthday. (Alf refused to acknowledge the prick of conscience that said this last accusation wasn’t quite true.)
he
had bought for her birthday. (Alf refused to acknowledge the prick of conscience that said this last accusation wasn’t quite true.)
He brought his eyes back to Daisy standing at the table cutting thick shives of birthday cake, the contents of the hamper spread out around it. It was a fine cake, different from any he’d seen before what with the fancy little curls of icing and this and that, and there was a ham, a cooked chicken, eggs, white soft-looking loaves of bread, butter, tea, sugar, tins of condensed milk, and plenty more besides.
‘So you’re gettin’ on all right then?’
His voice was gruff, and Daisy looked up for a moment before she lowered her eyes to the cake again and said, ‘Aye, I am.’
‘The old lady thinks a bit of you, giving you all that an’ a coat an’ all. Still, she can afford it.’
Daisy raised her head again, staring at him for some moments before she said, her voice cool and face straight, ‘Just because she can afford it doesn’t mean she had to be so generous.’
‘Aye, I’m with you there, lass.’ Nellie wagged her head. ‘In fact it’s usually the case that them with plenty hang on to it like grim death. Tighter than a duck’s arse, most of ’em are, unless it’s somethin’ for themselves, mind.’
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