Sons and Daughters (17 page)

‘But she seems – well – all right. I mean, she doesn’t have pretty clothes, I grant you, and those glasses—’

‘She doesn’t need no glasses,’ Jackson burst out. ‘They’re made out of plain glass. He makes her wear ’em because – because it makes her look even more plain and – and unattractive.’

Miles stared at him, unable to believe that a man would do such a cruel thing. He remembered now how, when they’d met her riding on the beach, sharp-eyed little Georgie had said with the guileless candour of the young that she was prettier without her spectacles.

‘And now we come to the crux of it all, sir,’ Joe went on. ‘And here I must ask you in return, most sincerely and respectfully, to keep what I am about to say to yourself, else my family could all find themselves thrown out of their jobs and home.’

‘Of course,’ Miles said quietly. ‘You have my word.’

Joe met and held the other man’s steady gaze and then gave a small, satisfied nod. He believed he could trust him. ‘As you’ve seen for yourself, sir, Miss Charlotte is kept downtrodden. It’s as if he’s punishing her for not being a boy. Thing is – ’ Even now he hesitated in telling the secret he’d held for years. He glanced once more at Peggy for her reassurance, but then, taking a deep breath, said, ‘The thing is, it’s Miss Charlotte who runs Buckthorn Farm. You say I’m knowledgeable, well yes, I’ve learned a bit about running the farm from me dad, like you say, but I still go to her for a lot of help and advice about things. And it was her that chose them ’osses for you at the fair. We ’ad to be careful you didn’t see.’

‘I didn’t, not really, and yet there was something about that day I didn’t quite understand,’ Miles murmured, amused and yet appalled at what he was hearing. ‘Now I do.’ If the girl was clever enough to run the large farm, knowledgeable about horseflesh, then why . . . ?

‘The master does nothing, sir, not a thing now. He did in the early days, of course, but for the last – oh, almost ten years – he’s done nowt. It’s her sits in the office at the back of the house, her does all the books, pays the wages, buys everything we need. Together – her and me – we plan the crops, buy and sell beast, sheep and pigs at market. And yet he treats her as if she’s worth nothing.’

‘And she works out on the farm alongside us, an’ not just at harvest,’ John said. ‘She’s first up in a morning to do the milking and last to bed at night when she’s shut up the chickens.’

‘And I’ll tell you summat else, an’ all,’ Jackson put in. ‘She’s a clever artist. I’ve seen her out with her sketchbook, drawing. Painting too, sometimes. But she has to keep it all hidden – secret.’

There was silence before Peggy spoke. Now it was she who was a little hesitant and she glanced towards Joe for support. ‘There’s another bit of a mystery, Mr Thornton, that we don’t understand. You know that Joe’s dad died in April – just after you came to live at the manor?’

Miles nodded.

‘Well, he was very agitated just before he passed away. Had us send for the vicar and insisted on speaking to him alone.’ A flicker of a smile crossed her face. ‘God only knows what he said to the poor chap, ’cos the young feller came out white as a sheet and scuttled off.’

‘Dad died without telling us owt,’ Joe added. ‘And we can’t expect the vicar to break a confidence, now, can we?’

Miles shook his head.

‘We did find out a bit, though, and that was what was odd, you see.’ Jackson now took up the tale. ‘Me grandad had bought a plot in the churchyard – a grave – next to Mrs Crawford.’

‘Osbert’s wife,’ Peggy put in, ‘died two days after Joe’s mother back in ’05.’

Miles frowned in puzzlement. ‘I don’t understand . . .’

‘Me mother was buried in Lincoln,’ Joe explained. ‘Dad said at the time that she wanted to be buried with her own folk and that’s where she’d come from.’

‘Was that true? I mean – did her folks come from Lincoln?’

‘Oh yes. We used to go there to see me grandad and grandma. And Mam had brothers and sisters there too, though we’ve lost touch now.’

‘So what are you saying, exactly?’

‘It just seemed odd that me dad didn’t want to be buried alongside her. They were a loving couple, none closer, but he bought a plot here in the churchyard at Ravensfleet.’

‘Presumably you went to your mother’s funeral in Lincoln, so you know—’

‘No, sir, that’s just it. None of the family went from here. Dad insisted he went alone. After Jack Layton, the undertaker in Ravensfleet, took her from here, we never saw her again.’

‘And when was Mrs Crawford buried?’

‘Two days after Mother.’

‘It does sound a little odd, as you say. And maybe Reverend Iveson knows more, but like you say, we can’t expect him to divulge whatever it was your father confided in him.’

Miles stared round at them, biting his lip. Slowly, he said, ‘Thank you for your confidence in me. And now, it’s only fair that I explain the reason for my visit.’

All four members of the Warren family sat waiting expectantly. But now it was Miles who sought their reassurance that they would not betray his trust. ‘I went to Buckthorn Farm this morning, mainly to enquire after Miss Charlotte.’ He glanced at Jackson. ‘And to return her hat and coat. Edward said that she was indisposed, so I asked to see Mr Crawford.’ Miles shook his head wonderingly, still unable to believe it had not all been a dream. ‘He was obviously still very angry with Miss Charlotte for her “unseemly behaviour”, as he called it. And then – ’ he glanced round at them all – ‘he came out with the most preposterous suggestion I’ve ever heard in my life. It seems’ – he ran his tongue nervously round his lips – ‘that he’s taken a fancy to my sons, especially my eldest, Philip.’ He paused a moment, overcome by the enormity of what he was about to tell them. ‘Mr Crawford tells me that he plans to make a will leaving everything he possesses – land, buildings, livestock, everything – to Philip.’

There were shocked gasps from each and every member of the Warren family. They stared at him in disbelief.

‘Can he do that?’ Jackson blurted out.

Miles shrugged. ‘I think a man may do anything he wants in his will.’

‘Would she be able to contest it?’ John asked thoughtfully.

‘She could. But it would take money to do that and – as far as I see it – he intends to leave her penniless. I know,’ he said simply, as if reading their minds, ‘it’s outrageous, isn’t it? But that’s not all. In return for my son being left such an inheritance, I have to marry Miss Charlotte.’

Now their mouths dropped open.

‘That’s – that’s blackmail,’ Jackson burst out. Then he blinked and glanced around him, seeking confirmation. ‘Isn’t it?’

Miles sighed. ‘I agree with you. It
is
a sort of blackmail.’

‘But – but – ’ Even Joe was spluttering with indignation. ‘I mean – do you
want
to marry Miss Charlotte? Does she want to marry you?’

Miles’s face was suddenly grey with sadness. ‘I – I’d never looked to marry again. I lost my beloved wife, Louisa, when Georgie was born. I adored her and I still miss her every day.’ He bit his lower lip. ‘I’d never even thought about it.’

‘Then you don’t love Miss Charlotte,’ Jackson burst out. ‘It’d be a marriage of – of – what is it they call it, Mam?’

‘A marriage of convenience,’ Peggy said quietly, her gaze on the squire. Surely, he wouldn’t think of doing such a thing, just to gain land and property for his son? He would plummet in her estimation if he were seriously to contemplate it.

‘Jackson,’ Joe said warningly and the young man apologized swiftly.

‘Begging your pardon, sir. I meant no disrespect. But I’m fond of Miss Charlotte. We’re friends. I’d not like to see her forced to marry someone who doesn’t love her.’

‘Your defence of her does you credit, young man. And no offence taken, I assure you. And I have no intention of agreeing to his absurd suggestion.’

Peggy breathed a sigh of relief. She’d not been wrong in her estimation of the new squire. He was, as she’d thought, a man of honour.

‘According to her father,’ Miles murmured, musing aloud, ‘she’s never had any suitors and,’ his tone hardened, ‘in his opinion, is never likely to have.’

Jackson sprang to his feet. ‘That’s a cruel thing to say.’

‘His words, not mine, I assure you.’

‘Sit down, son,’ Joe said softly and Jackson sank back into his seat.

‘Her father has never allowed her to have a young man,’ Peggy put in quietly. ‘She’s never had the chance to meet anyone other than the young fellows who work on the farm.’ She nodded towards her own son. ‘Like Jackson says, Mr Thornton, him and Miss Charlotte are friends – have been since they were little – but if the old man got wind of it, he’d sack Jackson on the spot and likely throw us out an’ all.’

‘We don’t want him to hear about it,’ Jackson said shortly and glared at Miles almost warningly.

Miles grimaced. ‘He’s none too pleased about you dancing with her last night,’ he warned. ‘He’ll be having a word with your father, he said.’

Jackson groaned and muttered, ‘Oh, heck! I didn’t mean to get her into more trouble. I was just so pleased to see her there.’

‘So,’ Miles said slowly, his gaze still on the hotheaded young man, ‘would you
like
to court Miss Charlotte? Are you fond enough of her to want to propose to her?’

Jackson stared at him. The thought had quite obviously never crossed his mind. ‘Um – er – well, I am fond of her,’ he stuttered, forced suddenly to examine his feelings for Charlotte. ‘Very fond, but I don’t think I’d call it the sort of love you should feel for the girl you want to marry.’ Now he shook his head in a swift decision. ‘No – no, I don’t think of her like that.’

‘So – is there anyone else who’s shown an interest in her?’

The Warrens glanced at each other.

‘What about the vicar?’ John suggested. ‘He was dancing with her last night.’

Miles laughed wryly. ‘Her father noticed that, too. I think that’s what incensed him. He’s threatening to have him removed from his living here. But, as it happens –’ he smiled at them – ‘I know the bishop. I can put in a good word for him if necessary.’

There was silence for a moment. Joe shook his head in disbelief. ‘I’ve never heard the like. Really I haven’t.’

‘Of course,’ Miles said, thinking aloud, ‘years ago marriages were arranged amongst the gentry to unite families for money, possessions or power. And widowers often married again to give their children a mother.’ He sighed. ‘Just between ourselves, I get lonely. I thought it might be better when we moved here, away from the house that held all the poignant memories. But it isn’t. It’s worse, if anything.’

‘But you have your boys,’ Peggy said softly. ‘You seem to have a wonderful relationship with them.’

‘Oh I do, I do. But it’s not the same, is it? They’ll grow up and lead their own lives. I hope we’ll always be close, but it’s not like having a – a wife.’

Peggy and Joe glanced at each other. They understood – even if their sons didn’t at this moment. They couldn’t imagine what it would be like for either them if something happened and one of them was left alone. They couldn’t even bear to think about it.

Miles said no more. Though he felt that Joe and Peggy perhaps understood, he could see from their faces that the two young men thought it incredible that anyone should marry other than for love. He smiled sadly to himself, thinking of all the arranged marriages that had taken place through all the different cultures – and were still taking place in some parts of the world. Even here in Britain, particularly amongst the aristocracy, he was sure that parents still decreed that their offspring should marry ‘suitably’.

‘I mustn’t keep you good folk any longer. Thank you for your time.’

They all rose and Joe held out his hand. ‘And thank you for your trust in us, Mr Thornton. That means a lot.’

Miles took his hand and shook it warmly. ‘If there’s anything I can ever do, you’ll let me know, now, won’t you?’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘And now I must go home and break the news to my eldest son that I have just refused a handsome inheritance.’

‘You’re going to tell him about it?’ Joe was surprised.

Miles nodded. ‘I try to instil honesty and trust in all my boys and therefore I always try to be open and truthful with them. I know Philip’s still only young, but when his mother died, being the eldest, he had to grow up quickly.’ He sighed and murmured, more to himself, ‘Maybe too quickly.’

‘You mean you said “no”?’ Philip spluttered. ‘You’d no right to do that. It’s me he wants to have his farm. What right have you got to deny me an inheritance?’

He’d listened to his father’s explanation with growing excitement, but Miles’s final words had shattered his hopes. Philip faced him angrily across the broad surface of the leather-topped desk. Outside the door of their father’s study, Ben and Georgie crept closer to listen. Seeing them, Wilkins smiled and tiptoed away, wishing he could eavesdrop too.

‘I’ve every right,’ Miles said mildly, not rising to anger like his son. ‘For several reasons.’

‘Name them,’ Philip snapped.

‘One,’ Miles ticked them off on his fingers, ‘the farm should go to Charlotte, his daughter.’