Strangers at Dawn (25 page)

She made some vague response, half expecting to detect revulsion or distaste in his manner. She’d been acquitted of murder, but that did not make her innocent in the eyes of
the world. She need not have worried. The vicar exuded amiability. Her hands unfisted as she began to relax.

She let Max field the vicar’s expressions of congratulations on their forthcoming marriage while she concentrated on Anne. Anne’s face was composed and betrayed nothing that Sara could have taken for a particular affection for Mr. Thornley.

Max said, “Do you have many poor in the parish, Vicar?”

“Yes, Lord Maxwell. Even in a relatively prosperous parish such as ours, the poor are always with us.” He added two more lumps of sugar to his tea. “But we must expect it, must we not? The world could not survive without the poor.”

“I don’t think I follow you,” said Max.

“If the lower classes were not poor, they would never be industrious. They would spend their money on drinking and fall into worse temptations. Not,” he hastened to add, “that that relieves us of our Christian duty to offer them our charity.”

“You mean,” said Max coldly, “the same temptations that the upper classes fall into?”

The vicar looked momentarily nonplussed. He studied Max as though he were an interesting specimen of moth he had pinned on a card beneath his microscope. “I mean,” he said, “that the good Lord has ordained some to command and others to obey and serve. We each have our appointed place, Lord Maxwell.”

Max raised his cup to his lips and took a long swallow. “Tell me, Vicar,” he said, “has the good Lord ordained that infants as young as five years be taken from their parents to become climbing boys for sweeps? Do you know how many of those poor wretches are burned and suffocated each year, and that they are half starved to keep them thin so that they can continue to climb up narrow chimneys? And
what about the children we send down mines to haul coal? Did God ordain that too?”

Mr. Thornley looked bewildered, but no more bewildered than Sara felt. She hadn’t been paying too much attention to the conversation. She’d been thinking of Sir Ivor. Now that she was paying attention, she realized that Max was blazingly angry, but she didn’t know why.

The vicar smiled. “You have a soft heart, I think, Lord Maxwell.”

Max was unsmiling. “With all due respect, sir, you haven’t answered my question.”

There was a moment of total silence. The vicar went a fiery red. Max crumbled a piece of dry toast between his fingers, his stare never wavering from the vicar’s face.

Anne said quietly, “It is not words that matter, but deeds, surely? And the money we raise at the fair will go to equipping the poorhouse infirmary. Isn’t that what counts, and not words?”

The vicar nodded. “Your simple, childlike faith is a credit to you, Miss Carstairs.”

Just as Max opened his mouth to respond, Sara said hastily, “The teapot is empty. Shall I ring for a fresh pot?”

A
S SOON AS THE VICAR LEFT WITH ANNE TO
pick up supplies for the Stoneleigh Fair, Sara said crossly, “Really, Max, you were very rude to Mr. Thornley.”

Max’s mouth twisted in distaste. “I’ve met Thornley’s type before, though not too many of the mare vicars, thank God.”

“What type?”

“Ignorant, stupid men who don’t know what they’re talking about, and don’t want to know, which is worse. If they knew, they might have to do something about it. Sara, do you know how they train climbing boys?”

“No.”

“Their skin must be hardened so that they can climb the chimneys without tearing their flesh to pieces. They are forced to stand in front of a hot fire so that their knees and elbows …” He broke off, stared at her hard, then let out a long sigh. “No. Maybe it’s best if you don’t know.”

His features were pinched and his eyes were brilliant with anger. She wanted to touch him, to say that she understood, but of course, she didn’t understand anything.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know. And you’re right. I never thought about it.”

The pinched look gradually left his face and he smiled. “If you were a regular subscriber to the
Courier,
you would have known. We did a series of articles last year on the lives of the poor and it didn’t make for pretty reading. In fact, it created a storm of protest from our readers.”

“They sympathized?”

“The reverse. They thought we should be horsewhipped or locked up for our seditious views. Some prophesied that we would lead the country into anarchy. Most letters sounded just like Mr. Thornley.”

“No one supported you?”

“A few.” He sounded bitter. “But the poor don’t read the papers, because most of them can’t read. And even if they could, they haven’t the money or time to waste on newspapers. They’re too busy eking out a living in mills or hacking coal down the mines so that people like us can be comfortable. They’re so poor, they sell their sons into slavery-apprentices, we call them. But their daughters, they have the worst life of all. They-”

He checked himself, drew in a long breath, and let it out slowly. “The point I’m trying to make is that the poor don’t have a voice. Someone has to speak up for them. But you’re right. I shouldn’t have been rude to a guest in your house. I apologize for my conduct.”

This was something she had never imagined, Max passionately
involved in a cause. She knew the
Courier
only as a purveyor of sensational news, like her own trial. As she gazed at him now, her eyes wide and searching, she could not seem to get the real Max Worthe into focus.

Her throat hurt and her eyes burned. She spoke slowly. “You really are the strangest man, Max Worthe.”

The smile began on his lips, spread over his face, and finally warmed his eyes. “That is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Sara.”

Their eyes held.

To cover her confusion, she spoke flippantly. “And you have my permission to be as rude to Mr. Thornley as often as you like. Constance was right. He
is
pompous.”

Max took a long swallow of tea and regarded her thoughtfully. “You’re worrying needlessly. Anne isn’t in love with the vicar.”

She hadn’t realized she’d betrayed so much. “How can you be so sure?”

He made a face. “Because she strikes me as a sensitive person and the vicar is a clod!”

She laughed. “It doesn’t take you long to make up your mind about people, does it, Max?”

The smile gradually left his face. “I made a mistake with you, Sara, which I bitterly regret. One way or another, I intend to make it up to you.”

“Don’t-” She shook her head, jumped to her feet and quickly left the room.

Max took another swallow of tea. It wasn’t all bad, he told himself. He was bringing her round. Slowly but surely, he was bringing her round. At this rate, he would have her tamed to his hand before the next century rolled around.

S
IR IVOR SLAMMED INTO HIS LIBRARY AND
made straight for the sideboard with its tray of decanters. He poured himself a neat brandy, bolted it, then poured
himself another. He wished the bitch had broken her neck when she’d taken those jumps. That she should have a charmed existence, a woman like that, who had cheated the hangman’s noose by the skin of her teeth! She was a trollop. She’d started an affair with his son right under her sister’s nose. He didn’t blame William for taking her.

But he must keep away from her or, by God, he’ would find a hangman’s noose around his own neck.

What he couldn’t understand was where Lord Maxwell fitted into this. Was he the man she’d brought home as her betrothed? His wife said that he was. Well, Sara Carstairs would soon learn that she had overreached herself. Lord Lyndhurst’s heir would not dream of marrying a brewer’s daughter, let alone a woman who had been tried for murder. Lord Maxwell was an aristocrat. He would not compromise his family’s great name by marrying a soiled dove.

All he had to do was wait and Lord Maxwell would come to him and explain himself. He wanted the story for his paper, of course. And maybe he had access to Sara Carstairs’s bed as well. Sir Ivor smiled. That’s all she was good for, some man’s amusement.

The sound of girlish laughter came to him from the open window, and he wandered over to it and looked out. Lady Neville was in the rose garden with her footman. Another girlish giggle grated on Sir Ivor’s ears. When they were first married, he’d told his wife that she had a laugh as crystal clear as a mountain stream, and he’d been made to listen to it for the last thirty years.

He sipped his brandy slowly. Jenny had a girlish laugh, but it was genuine. She was pure, and he liked them pure. He was in no hurry to deflower her. His body hardened; his breath thickened.

He put down his glass, shut the window and drew the curtains. Three pulls on the bell rope would bring Jenny to him. He went to the bell rope and pulled on it.

Fifteen

D
INNER THAT EVENING STARTED OFF WELL
‘enough, There
was
a saddle of mutton
for
the
main
course, and it was
done to
perfection:
Everyone
remarked on the improvement in Cook’s culinary §kills. Only Sara seemed to realize that they had Max to thanks for it. She stared at him with raised brows.

He answered that look with a slight lift of his shoulders. The problem had been easily solved No one had ever shown the cook how to use the new stove. She’d been given a sheet of instruction, which were useless because the poor woman couldn’t read and was too ashamed to admit it Not that she’d told Max she couldn’t read, but he’d soon figured it out ‘for’himself.

It never occurred to him to enlighten the others. Whatever he did would be misconstrued, and since harmony reigned at the dinner table, he decided to let sleeping dogs lie. Besides, he’d got what he wanted–a dinner he could enjoy.

It was Anne, in all innocence, who stirred things up. “Dobbs tells me,” she said, “that you had Arrogance out this morning and managed him very well.”

“I think it’s fair to say,” said Max, “that Arrogance
managed me very well. He anticipates what I want to do, almost before I think of it myself.”

“Max is very modest,” said Sara, teeth gleaming, her tone of voice implying the opposite. She saw Simon’s face and her next words withered, unsaid on her tongue.

Simon scraped back his chair and got up. “Who gave him permission to take Arrogance out?” he asked Sara. He was furious.

“Dobbs did, I suppose,” said Sara. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You let
him
take out Arrogance, but I can’t?”

Anne said in a painfully husky voice, “Sara has nothing to do with it, Simon. She’s been away for three years. You know that Dobbs decides who rides Arrogance now. He’s a highly strung thoroughbred. He can be dangerous. He’s thrown you more than once, hasn’t he? Obviously Dobbs thought Max could handle him.”

“How will I ever learn to handle him if I’m not given the chance?”

Anne’s eyes dropped away. “I’ll speak to Dobbs and see what he says. Maybe if Max went out with you-”

“Max!” Simon’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “How very chummy! He may have won you over, but he hasn’t won me.”

“That’s enough, Simon,” Sara said quietly.

He gritted his teeth. “It’s not enough, not nearly enough. Are you all blind? Can’t you see what’s going on? He’s going to be master here! Nothing will be the same again. It would be different if he were fond of Sara, but he’s not.”

He turned to Sara. “Can’t you see what he is? Oh, he’s polished, I’ll give you that. But he’s a fortune hunter.
Lord Maxwell!
A courtesy title that was bought and paid for in trade, I don’t doubt. He’ll ruin you, Sara, ruin us all.”

Sara rose slowly. She was clutching her napkin and her face was paper white. “You’ve said quite enough, Simon. Either apologize to Max or leave the room.”

“I am not a small boy for you to lecture!”

“Then stop acting like one.”

Simon uttered an oath and flung out of the room. Martin looked down at his plate, hesitated for a moment, then he, too, left the room.

One of those ghastly silences that Max was coming to think of as a “Longfield” silence blanketed the table. Sara sank back in her chair. One by one, they picked up their cutlery and began to eat.

Oddly enough, Max felt a certain sympathy for Simon. It had to be galling for a young man who fancied himself a Corinthian to be passed over for a stranger, especially a stranger he despised. If he’d known Arrogance was forbidden to Simon, he would have chosen another mount, if only to save the boy’s pride. But Arrogance was only the tip of the iceberg. Something else would have come up to set Simon off.

It was more than time that he and Simon had a private, man-to-man talk.

Anne scraped back her chair. “I’d best go and calm him down,” she said. And with that, she left the room.

A
NNE WAS SURE SIMON AND MARTIN WOULD
make for the stables, and she was hastening after them when she saw a horse and rider coming toward her. Drew Primrose reined in. The last person she wanted to meet was Drew Primrose. She’d found him once with her stepmother, and she couldn’t look at him without letting her feelings show.