Hearts of Gold (15 page)

Sarette was not going to be told what to do by one of the servants, and she needed to get the upper hand right now. Crisply, she said, ‘It won’t be practical for me to wait until you are promoted to housekeeper, or until Mrs Young returns. I’ll find a room for myself. Branston, Robert. Bring the trunk, please.’

She headed out of the door at a fast clip, with Verna scrambling after her. Going down to the floor below she threw open a door on the sea side of the house. It was a nice room, with a view that went down the hill to the cove, exactly as Mr John had described. ‘This is a perfectly good room. Does anyone sleep here?’

‘No, Miss. It’s the best guest room.’

‘And I’m a guest, which you might kindly wish to remember from now on, so I’ll use this room. Fetch the bed sheets and a duster, I’ll do for myself. You can light a fire – and no arguing,’ she told Verna when the woman opened her mouth.

‘I don’t know what the master will say,’ Verna wailed.

‘Of course you don’t. Neither do I. We’ll find out when he returns home. He can’t be that much of an ogre, and if he is I’ll make sure that no blame falls on you. For goodness sake, stop making such a fuss and get on with it.’

‘Yes, Miss.’ With clear directions, and relieved of all responsibility for her actions, Verna’s smile returned and she went off at a trot to do Sarette’s bidding.

Later that afternoon, Sarette unearthed her journal and wrote in it:

She gazed at his travel-scarred trunk.

Sarette blotted the ink, closed the book, kissed it, then placed it in her trunk with the others. Tomorrow, she intended to start a new journal in the book of her life.

The next morning Sarette was served breakfast at ten in the dining room by the parlour maid. There was a huge table glowing from frequent rubs of polish. It had several chairs around it. She was seated at one end, wishing she had someone to talk to.

The dresser was covered in dish warmers with silver covers.

She imagined Magnus Kern sitting at the other end, darkly glowering at her as she ate her eggs and bacon, and crisp slices of toast. She poked her tongue out at him.

Branston gently coughed and held out a silver salver with an envelope on it.

‘For me?’ she said in astonishment, her face turning pink.

There was an embossed card inside. Gerald had scribbled on the back. ‘I hope you’ll do me the honour of allowing me to escort you to the Legal Association Christmas Ball.’

‘Is there an answer, Miss?’

‘You’d better give the messenger some breakfast and ask him to wait. This ball is only a few weeks away.’

‘You can answer me personally if you like?’ Gerald said, smiling at her from the doorway. ‘The Grimble men intend to dance you off your feet if you’ll come.’

A smile sped across her face. ‘Gerald, you’re an answer to my prayer for company. Of course I’ll come. What are you doing here so early?’

‘I’m off to Dorchester on business, and thought I’d drop in on the way past to see if you’d settled in. The invitation provided me with an excuse.’

The parlour maid began to set another place while Gerald helped himself to a plate of food. He gazed about him, saying casually, Magnus not home from London yet, then?’

‘No.’

‘Good, then I won’t need to ask his permission.’ He smiled at her when he said, ‘So . . . you’re living in this house and you haven’t met the master yet.’

‘I only arrived here myself, yesterday.’

‘You look quite at home.’

‘I feel at home. It’s such a beautiful, welcoming house.’ She grinned at him, and made sure the parlour maid was out of earshot. ‘Magnus thought I was a child and decorated the nursery. He intended to confine me there, so I wouldn’t get under his feet and annoy him.’

He gazed at her, wide-eyed, his fork held up in the air and dangling a sliver of bacon. ‘Good Lord. Whatever gave him that idea?’

She gave a peal of laughter and wagged a finger at him. ‘How do you make your eyes look so innocent, Gerald? I’m sure you already know what, or who, gave him that idea.’

Popping the bacon in his mouth Gerald chewed thoughtfully on it, then swallowed. ‘You know, Sarette, my love, I’d like to be present when Magnus sets eyes on you.’

‘Perhaps you will be, but the servants don’t know when he’ll return. It might be tomorrow, or after Christmas. They say he never telephones to tell them.’

‘Typical of Magnus.’

‘I don’t care if he never comes home.’

‘Ah, my dear, if only Magnus could be dismissed that easily.’

They chatted about this and that while they ate, then Gerald patted his stomach and rose to his feet. ‘Thank you for your hospitality, but I must be off now. No doubt my sister Olivia will be pleased to offer you the use of her guest room and the services of her maid. You really should get a maid of your own, since Magnus leads quite a social life. He likes the theatre, and is invited out everywhere. When word gets round about you, then you’ll be included.’

It sounded as though life was going to be interesting, and she marvelled that it was only a week or so ago that she’d found it exciting to go for a walk along the Weymouth seafront.

‘The day after the ball I’ll take you to the Winter Gardens to listen to the orchestra, and there’s an operatic play on at the Theatre Royal called
The Pirates of Penzance
. But perhaps you’ve seen it.’

Her eyes began to shine. ‘I’ve never been to see an operatic play. Yes, I’d love to, and to stay with your sister. Thank you so much, Gerald.’

‘Right, well I’ll arrange that with Olivia. What are you going to do today?’

‘First I’m going to explore the grounds and the cove. Then I might familiarize myself with the house. Though I might leave that till tomorrow. Thank you for calling in, Gerald. It was nice to see you again.’

‘Be careful. The path to the cove has loose scree underfoot in places.’

‘Thank you for warning me.’

After Gerald had gone Sarette flew upstairs, pulled her gowns out of the boxes and heaped them higgledy-piggledy up on the bed. She had several gowns of different colours and styles for different functions, all very frilly and bright.

‘One can never have enough,’ she said, mimicking Iris Lawrence, then her heart fell. She’d told Verna she could do for herself, but she didn’t know how to look after such delicate fabrics.

She sought advice from the butler. ‘Is there anyone in the household who is able to double as a maid when I need one, Mr Branston?’

‘There’s Ada Price. She used to work for a dressmaker, and is clever with her hands. Mostly, she works in the laundry, but she helps everyone when she’s needed. I’ll ask her, Miss.’

Ada was thin, with dark hair and a pursed mouth. Her slim fingers were dextrous. Soon, Sarette’s tumbled clothing was hanging in neat rows, protected by a dust sheet. ‘I’ll press them and do any repairs they need before lunch, Miss. With Mr Kern away, there’s not much else to do anyway. Though he has his own man.

‘Thank you, Ada. Can you fashion hair?’

Ada indicated that she be seated, and picked up the brush. Her hands were firm as she drew the bristles through her hair, and soon Sarette had an elegant bun at the back of her head, at just the right height to perch the back of her hat on.

‘Thank you. Would you mind working for me while I’m here, if Mr Kern doesn’t mind?’

Ada smiled. ‘Yes, I’d like to . . . thank you, Miss.’

So now she had a maid. Sarette left Ada in charge of unpacking her things, instructing her not to touch Mr John’s trunk. Donning a blue velvet coat that matched her hat, she went out into the bright autumn to get some fresh air.

Life was very pleasant in England, she mused. The autumn was many shades of gold and the air was filled with drifting leaves. But she could feel a nip of cold in the air, and knew it wouldn’t be long until winter arrived. The last one had come as a shock to her. This year she’d be more prepared, with some woollen shawls to wear about the house, and a warm cape for outside.

As the leaves crunched underfoot she thought of her parents, of all their hopes for a better life for her, and their dreams now lying in the dust of the goldfields with them. She felt sad that they weren’t enjoying life with her, too.

With that came the thought of Flynn Collins, who had robbed a dead man of all he’d left behind.

Fiercely, she said, ‘If I ever set eyes on your thieving hide again, Flynn Collins, I’ll tell Gerald Grimble or Mr Kern what you did, and you’ll go to prison.’

On a steamship in London, a watchkeeper turned his back to the gangplank, cupped his hands against the wind coming off the water, and put a light to a pipe cradled in his hands. Sucking in a lungful of smoke he released it slowly in a blue aromatic cloud, and gave a satisfied sigh.

Behind him, a man slipped down the gangplank and was swallowed by a milling group of some half-a-dozen brawny dock workers who were lifting provisions from a cart on to their shoulders and carrying the goods on board.

The man with the pipe picked up his tally sheet and ticked off a basket of potatoes. ‘All right, get on with it lads, we haven’t got all night.’ The Irish in his voice was pronounced as he shouted to the men on the shore. ‘Hey you . . . Paddy. What’s in the sack?’ He moved closer to read the label and the lumper slipped some money into his hand.

‘Flour, what does it look like?’ the lumper said, ‘And it’s heavy, so get out of my fecking way.’

Ten minutes later the lumper joined the man, who’d slipped ashore and concealed himself behind a crate. ‘Flynn Collins, is it?’

‘It is, but I signed on under the name of Jack Maitland.’

‘Just as well. The authorities are keeping a look out for you.’

‘I can’t go back to Ireland, either. The polis there know what I look like, too. I thought I was going to America.’

‘You will eventually. But there’s work to be done for the cause right here in London.’

Flynn whined, ‘I have a brother there . . . he can get me a job.’

‘That might be so, but freedom comes at a cost,
Jack Maitland
. You owe us for the journey, and that debt must be paid off first. America will have to wait, and so will you.’ He spat on the ground. ‘A good old Irish name, you chose, to be sure.’

‘It’s the best I could come up with at short notice. At least I have the papers to go with it.’ Flynn gave a bit of a laugh. ‘A fine upstanding man was Jack. A snake put paid to him.’

‘Did the man have any family who could identify you?’

There was a moment of hesitation, then Flynn said, ‘He had a daughter, but she was a skinny scrap of a thing. The brat is probably in an orphanage by now, or starved to death . . . just like the British starved the Irish. Didn’t my own grandparents and my mammy get turned out of their home to starve on the streets when I was just a baby? I swore to avenge them.’

‘One small girl starving to death in Australia doesn’t do much to avenge something that happened over forty years ago, now does it? Talk is cheap, and it’s dangerous, so keep your fecking trap shut and do as you’re told. You’ll prove you have some worth to us in time. If not . . .’ He shrugged.

Fear stabbed at Flynn’s guts. ‘If not?’

The man gazed at him, and a smile thinned his lips to reveal a row of ratty, pointed teeth. There was no laughter in his eyes. ‘We have a long reach, so let’s hope you never find out,’ he said. ‘Follow me now, but not too close. I don’t like anyone breathing down my neck, especially a man who shot another man in the back.’

‘He’d threatened me.’

‘The way I heard it, he was unarmed and near death from an illness.’

‘Then I did the man a favour. One less Englishman on earth is better for Ireland.’

‘The hell you did, Collins. The man you killed was John Kern, a magistrate from Dorset. He had friends in high places. There’s a wanted notice of you in every polis station from here to Ireland.’

‘Nobody will recognize me without my whiskers.’

‘I’ve also heard that his nephew, Magnus Kern, has placed an unofficial price on your head of five hundred pounds. A man could do a lot with that kind of money.’

Flynn shrugged and fingered the knife up his sleeve as he said softly, ‘Thinking of claiming it then, are you?’

‘It crossed my mind. Cowardly scum like you are more trouble than they’re worth. You’re not fighting for the Irish cause, but as soon as you’re in trouble you come running with your tail between your legs, and expect someone to risk their life to rescue you. If it was up to me they would have dropped you overboard.’

‘I joined the cause years ago, and would give my life for Ireland,’ Flynn lied, his hackles rising.

‘Aye . . . and you might be given the chance before too long.’

But not voluntarily, Flynn thought. The anarchists were dangerous, they trusted nobody, and would sacrifice him to save their own necks. He’d either be recognized and shot by the polis, or they’d kill him when he was no longer useful, or he crossed them. Long reach be damned. He wasn’t going to give them the chance of seeing his face.