Daughter of Dark River Farm (2 page)

I smoothed down my new dress and stepped back from the window, steeling myself to play the perfect hostess, and relieved my lessons were being put to the test before an old friend, who would be too preoccupied catching up with Oli to notice my shortcomings as a well-bred young lady. Knowing Archie, if he did notice them he would only wink and make some joke to put me at my ease.

As I was forcing my unwilling body into a posture of elegant welcome—
Shoulders back, Katherine, chin up. Up!—
Oli marched back in, beaming. Behind him came Archie Buchanan, and the ready, familiar smile I’d prepared suddenly felt as if it sat on someone else’s face. My expression must have looked frozen, but in truth I had no more control over it than I had over my suddenly hammering pulse. Had I forgotten, or was it just that I’d never noticed, the beauty of those bold, strong features? The eyes of multi-toned greys that swirled and shifted with the late afternoon light from the window? The breadth of shoulder that gave his considerable height the perfect balance?

I had been twelve, I reminded myself. A child. But I wasn’t twelve any longer, and the emerging woman in me felt a new, tingling sensation low in my stomach as Archie smiled at me and, ignoring my politely outstretched hand, took me into a hug instead. His suit was speckled with light drops of rain and I felt the little cold spots on my cheek, but more immediate was the press of his hands on my back, and the low murmur as he greeted me with the familiar words, ‘Well, well, if it isn’t young Kittlington.’

He drew back and held me at arm’s length, and studied me carefully. I tried not to gaze into those extraordinary eyes as I waited for him to smile appreciatively at the way I’d grown, to apologise for his forwardness in pulling me into such a brotherly hug, and to kiss my hand instead.

He smiled, at least. ‘You’ll be a lovely young lady one day, darling.’

One day? I was already sixteen! Archie squeezed my upper arms and patted them, then let me go and turned to Oli, thankfully not noticing the way I slumped as he broke contact.

‘Hard to believe I’m off out there tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to get stuck in.’

And then he and Oli were off, talking about the war, and what it meant for Europe, and whether or not Oli would follow him into active service. It was as if I didn’t exist. I retreated to the big chair by the window, finding my gaze drawn back time and time again to this confident, imposing-looking young man I’d known all these years and never really seen until now. He was quicker to laughter than I remembered. I think Oli brought that out in him, and I liked it; he had a low, rich laugh, showing white teeth that had a single crooked one at the side, and crinkling his eyes at the corners.

He looked uncomfortable in his suit though, being used to less restrictive clothes for his outdoor work on the grouse estate at home, but the jacket fit well across his shoulders, and his legs looked longer than ever in neatly pressed trousers. When he and Oli took the chairs opposite my position on the settee I found myself pulling in my stomach, and angling my legs where they crossed, so my ankles looked slimmer; I’d been eating far too well and not at all wisely lately. I made up my mind to eat only vegetables from now until he returned, but even as the thought crossed my mind I knew the resolution would last only until dinner. I was no gannet, but I did enjoy plenty of butter on my bread.

Archie was talking now, about where he was going. It all sounded so exciting, even Oli was beginning to wonder if he’d made the right choice. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to follow Father into the firm,’ he admitted, ‘but I’d much rather be off fighting for king and country.’

‘Then join up,’ Archie said. ‘Your studies will still be there when you get back.’

‘Father won’t hear of it. Sickening really.’

‘I assume his partner’s son is working at the company?’

‘Alistair, yes.’ Oliver glanced at me, not bothering to hide a little smirk, and I pulled a face.

Archie noticed, and grinned. ‘Ah, I’d forgotten. Julian Corwood still insisting you marry the wee oik, is he?’

‘Not if I have anything to say about it.’

‘It’s the only way to keep the business in both families,’ Oliver said mildly. ‘Even you can see the sense in it, surely?’

I stood up, all thoughts of vegetables and pudgy ankles vanishing. ‘Oh? And if Mr Corwood had a daughter he wanted married off instead, would you have seen the sense in it then?’

‘But he hasn’t,’ Oliver pointed out. ‘He only has Alistair, and once you two are married and present Father and Julian with a couple of grandsons to steer through law school, I’ll be off the hook and can do what I please.’

‘I’m not a brood mare!’

This argument was not new to either of us, and was clearly amusing Archie who relented, seeing my mutinous expression.

‘They can’t force you. Anyway, that’s a long way off.’

‘I’m sixteen,’ I told him, with some heat. ‘How far off do you suppose it is, actually?’

Archie looked at me, and I once more became aware of my short, rounded stature. I coloured and drew myself a little taller, but his smile had gentled and I realised it made no difference; I was still a child to him.

‘Don’t fret, young Kittlington. This isn’t the old days; no-one can make you marry against your will.’

‘I’ll run away,’ I said, before realising that these words only reinforced the immaturity I was trying so hard to deny. ‘I mean,’ I went on, ‘I’ll get a job somewhere else, away from Ecclesley. Maybe I’ll even join the Red Cross.’

Oli laughed. ‘Can you imagine what Mother and Father will say to that?’

‘I don’t care.’ I glared at him. ‘Anyway, it’s not as if the business
needs
a marriage to bind it. Father says it’s doing terribly well.’

‘And so it is, but only because the two families work so well together. Do you see now?’

‘Stop talking to me as if I were a child!’ I said it to Oli, but threw a glance at Archie, still hoping to see realisation cross his face, and some indication that our friendship had formed a solid basis for something deeper. There was nothing, just that infuriatingly gentle smile, and his low, soothing voice that just stopped short of patronising.

‘Don’t get yourself all het up, sweetheart. It’s not worth it and I’m going to be leaving tomorrow so let’s not spoil things.’ He rose and straightened his jacket. ‘I’m going to wash and change, if that’s all right, Oli?’

‘Of course, old chap. Dinner’s at eight.’

Archie nodded to him, smiled at me, and left the room. His stride was long and easy, and so familiar, yet elicited different feelings now—watching him turn out of sight into the hallway left me oddly empty-feeling, and it wasn’t simply because his dismissive, parting words had stung.

I dressed for dinner with more care than usual, choosing a dress that draped rather than clung, and smoothing my gloves neatly over my arms, glad to have at least lost the dimples in my elbows and to have gained a more shapely outline. Archie wasn’t what I’d heard described as a ‘man of the world’, but I had no doubt that, at twenty-four, and as handsome as I now realised he was, he would have been on the receiving end of a good deal of female attention.

I turned away and slipped into my shoes, wishing I were one of those people who could wear a kitten heel without feeling ridiculously overdressed, and went to the door. As I turned to pull it closed behind me I took another look around, suddenly hating all the frills and flounces I’d loved so much before. This was a child’s room. Tomorrow I would speak to Mother about getting new bed coverings, and a real dressing table. It was time to grow up.

As a family, we were decently off and locally respected, but, much to my father’s endless regret, not aristocracy, and our Ecclesley house, although large and well appointed, was not simply somewhere we stayed when we were in town, it was our home. We retained only a modest staff too, but they were always delighted when we welcomed guests, so even Archie, who they’d known from boyhood, was shown to the table as if he were visiting royalty.

‘Ah, Buchanan,’ Father said with approval. ‘Good to see you again, lad.’

‘And you, sir.’

‘Or should I call you Captain Buchanan?’

Archie smiled. ‘I’d like that very much; however, I’m commissioned only as a second lieutenant.’

‘Only a matter of time, old chum,’ Oli said, grinning. I couldn’t help agreeing with him, but kept silent and enjoyed the faintly embarrassed look on Archie’s face; it made him look a lot younger again.

‘And how’s your mother?’ my own mother wanted to know. ‘It must be terribly difficult all alone up there in the middle of nowhere.’

‘She’s well, thank you,’ Archie said. ‘She asks after your family all the time.’

I let the banalities wash over me as I ate. How’s this person, and that person? Are you busy at work? Who’ll be drafted in as beaters now most of the young estate workers had signed up? And: of course young Oliver is too keen on law and the family business to consider going off to war. That last one caused Archie and I to stop chewing, and to look from Father to Oli and back again.

Oli shrugged. ‘Well, I’d be happy to go over to help out if they needed me.’

Father waved his hand. ‘Storm in a teacup—be over before we know it. Not like Africa at all.’ He pointed his knife at Archie. ‘Now
that
was a campaign and a half. Your uncle could tell you all about that, young man.’

I saw a glint in Archie’s eyes, and realised he was hiding a flash of anger at the easy dismissal of the very real danger into which he was going, although his voice did not betray it. ‘Aye, so I understand. Uncle Jack doesn’t talk about it much though. He was at Rooiwal near the end. Was that anywhere near you?’

Father coloured, but to do him credit, he didn’t attempt to lie. ‘Well, of course I’d have liked to have joined the party,’ he said, ‘but the business was just taking off. Couldn’t go off and leave it. Too many people depending on it for a living. Do have some more wine, lad.’

Archie’s mouth twitched as he held out his glass, and I was relieved to see his anger disappear in a barely suppressed grin at Father’s discomfiture. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Conversation moved on, and since no-one was the slightest bit interested in anything I might have to say, I used the time to study Archie more closely, to examine the response to him that had taken me so completely by surprise. The familiarity was still there. It wasn’t as if he was someone else, but that I was, and along with our easy friendship I recognised the need to experience the warmth of a closer contact… Talking to him wasn’t enough any more. I wanted to know how he felt about everything, and I wanted him to care how I felt too. I realised I had stopped eating now and was staring at him, and I looked quickly at Mother, but she was busy admonishing Oli for drinking his wine too quickly. If he had this effect on my appetite I needn’t worry about fat ankles for much longer, anyway.

After dinner I sat with the others while they talked of times past and times to come, and looking at Oli’s eager expression I knew he’d meant it when he’d told Archie he’d have preferred to sign up than go to law school. Archie loosened his tie as they all began to relax, and settled back into his chair with a glass of Father’s best brandy, while I pretended to read but found my attention wandering from the page constantly, whether he was speaking or not.

He was starting to look tired; the journey from Scotland had been a long one, and he had to be up early to get the train from Liverpool to London. Yet despite his slightly edgy weariness, he had a compelling magnetism to him that drew my eyes again and again. The strong, clean features and ready smile were only part of it; his voice wrapped me in its soft-spoken tones. His hands, holding the brandy glass up to the light to peer through the amber depths, were steady and graceful, and I closed my eyes as I remembered the warmth of them pressing me to him in that brotherly hug.

Abruptly I tore my gaze away, and set my book aside. ‘I’m going out for a walk.’

‘But it’s dark,’ Mother protested.

‘There are lights, and I need some fresh air.’

‘You can’t go out alone!’

‘I’ll only be a few minutes. No need to disturb anyone to come with me.’

Without waiting for a reply, I went out into the hall and plucked my coat from the hook, and once outside I half expected to hear the light raindrops sizzle as they landed on my face. I was more tangled, in thought and emotion, than I’d ever been before, and the culprit was sitting back there in our drawing room. Not a thought cast my way, not a care in his head except what he was going into tomorrow. And who could blame him for that?

I closed my eyes again and pictured those beautiful, strong hands holding, not a brandy glass, but a gun. Then I pictured his face, contorted in fear, pain, or both, and the abrupt reality of where he was going squeezed my heart until I thought it would collapse. France, or Belgium, or farther afield; wherever he ended up might not be so far in miles, but it was another world, and it might be a world from which he never returned.

I took a few steps down the deserted street, and realised I didn’t have the strength to walk after all. Instead I found a bench and sat down, not caring about the puddles of rainwater that seeped through my coat and dress, and tried to give myself a good talking-to. It was silly to feel such panic and sorrow; Archie was volunteering for this and was proud to be doing so; he had made his own choice. But I desperately wished he would change his mind.

I remembered how my friends and I had gathered to watch some of the local lads as they marched off, and we’d cheered and thrown flowers, and thought how happy they all looked, how determined to get over there and sort things out where the governments had failed. We’d kissed as many boys as we could, telling them all how splendid they were, and waved them out of sight with a feeling of deep patriotism and satisfaction that all was happening just as it should.

But Archie… He might be well over six feet tall, he might be square of shoulder and strong in limb, but he was the calmest, most gentle man I’d ever known—the least likely to be goaded into real anger, the quickest to forgive. He shouldn’t be going out there, no matter how proud it made him. I compared him to Alistair Corwood and almost laughed aloud, but it was no laughing matter.