Sons and Daughters (5 page)

Charlotte took the plump hand. ‘Please call me Miss Charlotte. Everybody does.’

Mrs Beddows smiled, invited her to sit down at the table and take a cup of tea and a slice of her chocolate cake, but all the while Charlotte was uncomfortable under the woman’s scrutiny. Not that the cook was being impolite, just curious. Charlotte wondered what she’d been told. She could imagine what might have been said. ‘Miss Charlotte’s plain as a pikestaff. She’ll die an old maid at the beck and call of that miserable old devil of a father.’

It was not how she would have chosen to be described, but Charlotte was honest enough to realize that it was the truth.

‘You go an’ get on with your work, Lily, whilst me an’ Miss Charlotte here have a nice little chat.’

When the girl had left the room, Mrs Beddows said, ‘I didn’t know how they’d all accept me, to tell you the truth. But since the last cook left of her own accord, it’s been easy. They’re a nice bunch what works here.’ She leaned forward, confiding. ‘And they can’t get enough of my chocolate cake – it’s a speciality of mine.’ She nodded towards the half-eaten piece in Charlotte’s fingers. ‘All right, is it?’

‘All right? It’s delicious.’

Mrs Beddows smiled and sat back. ‘So, what brings you to the manor?’

‘I’ve come to apologize to Mr Thornton.’

‘Apologize? Whatever for?’

Charlotte sighed. ‘Georgie stayed on yesterday after Morning Service to attend my Sunday school. We were acting out the Good Samaritan and the three “robbers” got a little – well – shall we say over enthusiastic.’

‘Ah, so that’s how he got a cut lip?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ There was a moment’s pause before Charlotte asked, ‘He didn’t say?’

‘Little Georgie wouldn’t tell tales and his father wouldn’t encourage it, I assure you. In fact, my dear, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll not give the master any names either.’

‘I wasn’t going to. Georgie asked me not to and I admire him for that. I’m just here to apologize for not keeping better control of my class.’

Mrs Beddows laughed. ‘Boys will be boys. It’s not the first time Master Georgie’s been in a scrape and it’ll not be the last.’

Charlotte began to feel a little easier, but she was still determined to see the boy’s father. ‘Is Mr Thornton at home?’

‘I believe so. He’ll be in the room he’s had fitted out as his study.’ Her face clouded. ‘He spends a lot of his time on his own since his poor wife died.’

‘You’ve been with him a long time?’

‘Ever since they were married. Mrs Thornton appointed me when she set up house. Lovely lady, she was. So sad.’

‘What – I mean – when did she die?’

‘Three days after little Georgie was born. She got the childbed fever.’

‘How dreadful.’

‘The master’s never got over it and I don’t think he ever will.’

‘He must have loved her very much,’ Charlotte said huskily.

‘Oh he did, he did.’ The cook sat a moment, lost in memories in which Charlotte could have no part. Then she shook herself and heaved herself to her feet as Lily came back into the room.

‘I’ve told the master you’re here, miss, and he says to take you up.’

Suddenly, the churning stomach and the sweaty palms were back, but Charlotte rose, thanked the cook for her hospitality, and followed Lily up the back stairs and into the hallway. The housemaid led the way to a door on the right-hand side and knocked. She opened the door and announced, ‘Miss Charlotte Crawford, sir.’

Charlotte stepped into the room and the door closed behind her.

Miles Thornton was seated behind a large mahogany desk, with his back to the long windows overlooking the front lawns. The room was more like a small library than a study, for most of the wall space was lined from floor to ceiling with shelves of books. There was a large marble fireplace on one wall. Above it hung a huge oil painting of a beautiful woman. Charlotte couldn’t help staring at the lovely face framed by blond curling hair. The woman’s mouth curved in a sweet smile and her blue eyes seemed to follow everyone in the room. This was Miles Thornton’s late wife and Georgie’s likeness to her was unmistakable.

Charlotte tore her gaze away and let her glance rest on the big dog stretched full length on the rug. It raised its head and growled softly, but at a word from its master it was silent, though it remained watchful and wary.

Miles rose, came around the desk and held out his hand. His face creased in a smile, but Charlotte noticed that the sadness deep in his brown eyes didn’t quite disappear. Now she knew why. This man was still mourning the loss of his beloved wife six years earlier.

‘Good morning, Miss Crawford. Please come and sit down – if you can find your way around Duke.’ Miles gestured towards one of the two wing chairs that were placed one on either side of the hearth.

Charlotte smiled nervously and went towards one of the chairs. It was not the dog of whom she was afraid, but the man. She bent and held out her hand towards the animal.

‘I wouldn’t. He’s not very friendly towards strangers. He’s—’ Miles stopped mid-sentence and stared in astonishment. His temperamental guard dog was actually licking the hand of this woman.

‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he muttered. ‘I’d never have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.’

Mesmerized, he sat down in the other chair, still staring at his dog. Now, Charlotte was scratching Duke’s head and the animal was gazing up at her with a bemused expression.

Miles chuckled suddenly; a deep, infectious sound. ‘Are you a witch?’

Charlotte relaxed a little. ‘No. I just seem to have an affinity with animals.’ She forbore to add that she felt more at ease with animals and children than she did with adults. Especially strangers and, even more particularly, men. The thought reminded her of the reason for her visit and nerves gripped her once more.

‘I’ve come to apologize,’ she began, never one to put off doing whatever had to be done. ‘Georgie got into a fight yesterday at Sunday school and I feel responsible.’

‘You? How come?’

She repeated what she had said to Mrs Beddows.

‘Ah, so that’s why three urchins presented themselves at my front door this morning asking to see Georgie?’

Charlotte gasped in surprise. ‘They – they did?’

‘They did indeed. In fact, they’re still here somewhere – outside in the grounds, I think – playing with him.’

‘Oh!’ Charlotte could not hide her surprise and a sliver of anxiety. Was little Georgie safe? What if . . . ?

As if reading her thoughts, Miles said quietly, ‘Have no fear for my son, Miss Crawford. Though I didn’t interfere, I heard them apologizing to Georgie and he invited them to play with him in the orchard. Cowboys and Indians, I think he suggested. So I’m sure all is well.’

‘I – do hope so,’ Charlotte said fervently.

‘And you have no need to feel guilty any more. They’re just being what they are. Boys.’

Charlotte smiled wanly. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I suppose so.’

He watched the pain in her face and knew from his brief conversation with her father that he was approaching delicate ground. Charlotte gave the dog a final pat and stood up. ‘I mustn’t take up any more of your time. You must be very busy. Thank you for seeing me.’

Miles rose too. ‘It’s been a pleasure.’ His deep tone was warm and genuine. He opened the door for her. ‘And I’ll be seeing you again very soon. Tomorrow evening, in fact.’

Charlotte stared up at him. ‘T-tomorrow?’

‘Hasn’t your father told you? He’s invited us all – even Georgie – to dinner.’

‘I don’t believe it. I
can’t
believe it.’

Charlotte had still not recovered from the shock by the time she reached home and went straight to the kitchen. Mary was in a blind panic.

‘He’s just told me,’ she said. ‘It’s more than twenty years since I cooked for a dinner party. Not since – ’ She paused and glanced at Charlotte. ‘Well – not for a long time. Dear, oh dear. I’ll have to get Joe to take me on the cart into town. We’ve nothing in but the plain fare we normally have. “The best, Mary.” That’s what he said. “The best.” Whatever’s he thinking of? And with such short notice, an’ all. I’ll have to have some help, Miss Charlotte.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll help you.’

‘Oh, more’n that. I’ll have to ask Peggy Warren to come. That’ll be all right, won’t it?’

‘Of course. If she can leave the old man.’

‘She’ll just have to – for once,’ Mary said firmly. She stopped her agitated pacing and sat down at the table. ‘But why? Why now and why them?’

Charlotte was silent for a moment. Then she said in a flat voice, ‘Because Mr Thornton has three sons, Mary, that’s why.’

Mary gaped at her and couldn’t think of a word to say.

By the time Mary and Edward were in their own bedroom that night, however, Mary could think of plenty to say.

‘All these years he’s been a recluse and kept that lovely girl away from any kind of society ’cept his farm workers and their families,’ she whispered angrily, to avoid being overheard. There were three large bedrooms on the first floor of the farmhouse. Osbert slept in the biggest,reached by the main staircase, and Charlotte in the one on the opposite side of the landing. The third room, beyond Charlotte’s, was where Mary and Edward slept and it was reached by a narrow back staircase from the corner of the huge kitchen. ‘So why does he suddenly want to start entertaining now?’ Mary was still ranting. ‘Miss Charlotte reckons it’s because of the boys. Mr Thornton’s sons. But I don’t see why he wants to befriend them?’

‘Wouldn’t put owt past that old devil,’ Edward muttered. ‘He’s got a devious mind. I wouldn’t like to even try to guess what be goin’ on in his head.’

‘So why’ve we stayed here all these years?’

‘You know as well as I do, love. We’ve only put up with him for Miss Charlotte’s sake. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d’ve been long gone.’

Mary smiled. ‘Aye, me an’ all.’ She sighed. ‘But we’ve stayed and now we’re too old to move on. Who’d want us now?’

The two glanced at each other. What Mary said was true. They were probably too old now to find domestic work elsewhere, but not for one moment did they regret their decision to stay here. For it was Miss Charlotte who would own the farm one day, and she would see them all right.

Of that, they had no doubt.

‘I don’t want you at the dinner party,’ Osbert told Charlotte the following morning. ‘I shall inform our guests that you have a headache and have begged to be excused. You can either stay in your room or help Mary in the kitchen.’ He gave a snort of derision. ‘Yes, you’d better do that. She’s going to need all the help she can get. I hope she’s up to the task. I don’t want to be shamed in front of our new squire and his sons.’

Charlotte stared at her father. Had his disappointment in her festered for so long that it was now akin to hatred? She’d no choice but to obey him, but, once over the initial surprise, she’d been looking forward to the dinner party. Now, it seemed, she was to be kept in the background like some mad woman in the attic.

Her father was ashamed of her. She sighed inwardly as she left the sitting room. If you could call it that for
she
never sat in it. Her father had made it his own sanctuary, surrounding himself with his books. He spent most of his days in the room now, scarcely venturing out except to church and the occasional visit to the market. Once he had been a regular public figure, had attended shooting parties and had even hosted such events on his own land. But after his wife had died, he’d ceased to socialize.

Back in the kitchen, Charlotte found Edward opening the door to Joe Warren.

Seeing her, Joe pulled off his cap. ‘’Morning, miss. Could I have a word?’

‘Of course.’ She led the way from the back door to the outbuildings running at right angles to the house and to the former tool shed that had been converted into a farm office.

‘Sit down, Joe.’

‘No, ’tis all right, miss. I mun’t stay long. I just wondered if you’d come and have a look at one of the ’osses, miss. He seems lame and old Matty said to ask you afore we call the vet.’

Living alone in the cottage next door to the Warrens, Matty Whitehead had worked for the Crawfords all his life, working his way up to become a waggoner. What he didn’t know about horses wasn’t worth knowing.

Charlotte nodded as she sat down behind the desk. For the last seven years, this room had been her domain. As she’d grown up, Osbert had passed more and more of the running of the farm to his daughter. The foreman now came to Charlotte for instruction and advice. But very few people knew the truth; Mary and Edward, of course, and Joe and Harry Warren. But no one else. Not even Peggy and the rest of the Warren family. Some of the farmhands might have guessed if they’d stopped to think about it. But few did. They’d been so used to seeing the young miss about the place all her life and took her interest and involvement as natural. What they did not realize was that the farm was hers now – in all but name. And her father did nothing to disillusion them. In his twisted mind, he still ran things and his daughter was less than useless.