Christina Hollis (16 page)

‘I would have done, if the turning hadn’t been so tight, and the nag hadn’t got new shoes...’

‘Another accident, I suppose.’ Adamson looked at his friend icily.

‘No harm done, Phil. Honestly! Just a bit of a spill. Bent the nearside wheel a bit handy, though, so of course I had to get it beaten out at the forge...’

Sensing a slight improvement in Adamson’s temper, Madeleine held out the punnet of cherries to him as a peace-offering. He looked as though he might accept, until he noticed the sorry state of Madeleine’s gloves and the dark patches on her gown.

‘Mademoiselle! Are you hurt?’

‘It’s only dust, sir. I sort of fell out...’ She bowed her head, hoping he would imagine shame when, like Jack, she was trying not to laugh.

Unfortunately Adamson caught the look that passed between the two and forgot his concern.

‘More work for the staff,’ he said sharply, refusing the cherries. ‘I was present at tea, mademoiselle, and have no appetite left. Perhaps you had better eat them, as Cook cannot be expected to provide anything until dinner now.’

Frostily wishing Jack a goodnight, Adamson strode back into the house. As soon as he was out of sight, Jack pulled a face and laughed.

‘Do you know what would really cook Phil’s goose now, mademoiselle? Get Higgins to leave those cherries in his room, secretly. That will make him feel so guilty— he’ll be back in good humour again before you know it!’

Madeleine thanked her new friend, but wondered at the wisdom of his words. As Jack set off for home with a wave she wondered why Philip Adamson couldn’t be as forthcoming as his friend.

When she remembered his scornful looks at her grubby clothes she wondered if he would ever be forthcoming again at all.

Sending the cherries to Adamson by way of Higgins seemed to work. While taking care to have as little contact with Madeleine as possible over breakfast, he showed none of the ill humour of the previous evening.
        He left the breakfast table early. When the door was closed safely behind him, Mistress Constance gave Madeleine a quick smile.

‘I understand there’s some little difficulty with the staff, dear. That’s what has made him so offhand this morning. No need for you to worry! I’m quite sure Philip will be more in the mood to be friendly when it’s all sorted out!’

Madeleine wasn’t so sure. A few kisses, even with the matchmaking of Mistress Constance, would hardly win Philip Adamson’s friendship away from the demure Leonora or the more obvious charms of Kitty Pettigrew.

As they sipped a second cup of tea, Mistress Constance confided that she would be going out for the day, once the dairying was finished. When her tasks were done, Madeleine could have the rest of the day to herself. No details of her employer’s outing were given.

Madeleine got the feeling that there was more to the mystery trip than met the eye. Later, when she was left alone to finish working the butter while Mistress Constance fluttered off to get ready, her suspicions were confirmed.

While she was wrapping the butter pats, there came the sound of a pony and trap trotting up towards the front door. Madeleine was not quick enough to see who collected her employer, but she recognised a familiar voice. Mischievously, Madeleine wondered if there was more than mere friendship between Mistress Constance and the Reverend Mr Wright.

Madeleine took her time in washing up the dairy utensils and scrubbing the floor. Deprived of the older woman’s company, she was at a loss. She had always felt shy of using her English to talk to the staff, who only had to set eyes on her to start grinning. The thought that little Bella now knew something worth grinning about made Madeleine far too wary to venture near the kitchens at all.

Even if Philip Adamson could be found about the estate, Madeleine didn’t want to force herself into his company. She had decided to tread carefully after the early-morning encounter in the orchard. If he wanted her love it was there for the asking, to be given unselfishly without any demands on his future. Madeleine knew that lay with a proper young lady, and not with someone like her.

The thought pained her. As she pegged freshly washed cheese cloths on the rosemary bush to dry, Madeleine wondered whether he would choose the flighty-looking Kitty, or plain and sensible Leonora. She decided that Leonora would be the best choice, as far as peace of mind was concerned.

When Madeleine could spin out her work in the dairy no longer she wandered out into the sunshine, idly wondering what to do with all her free time.

At one side of the yard lay the walled kitchen garden and beyond that the orchard. Madeleine found her steps drawn towards it. She crossed through the kitchen garden, where Higgins was busy among the raspberries, and went out by the little iron gate on the far side.

She had been too engrossed in Philip Adamson to pay any attention to the orchard before. Now she saw it as the pretty little refuge it was, decorated with her own thoughts of a hopeless romance.

Rows of ancient apple, plum and pear trees leaned this way and that, knee-deep in lush grass speckled with wild flowers. From one of the trees a swing had been suspended, and it swayed gently in the afternoon air. Separating the orchard from the nearby watermeadows was a laid hedge of thorn and sloe, spiky with new growth and rustling with life.

Madeleine strolled along, wondering at the ancient grey lichens dripping from the apple boughs. She hadn’t gone very far before a strange feeling began to steal over her, more persistent even than the fragrance of the late honeysuckle.

She was sure she was being watched.

The orchard was deserted. Betsy and Cook should have been busy in the house, Higgins in the garden, and the Adamsons were both out.

Madeleine tried to stifle the feeling, but it would not be denied.

There had been reports of French aristos being kidnapped by bounty hunters for return to their homeland. Hadn’t Philip mentioned reading just such a thing in the newspaper? Both he and his mother had warned her then to be careful. Now Madeleine wished she had taken more notice of their words.

I’m being silly, she thought. There’s no one about. I’m imagining it. Who would want to kidnap me?

The swing was suspended by ropes from the stoutest apple tree. Gingerly she stepped on to the seat to test it.

As she did so, the faintest rustling came from behind the thorn hedge. Madeleine knew all the cattle were now in fields on the far side of the house. What could it be? Although the noise had been slight, no mouse ever born was so heavy-footed.

The swing seemed strong enough, and this gave Madeleine an idea. Swinging might give her a better view of whatever was beyond the hedge. She could see who or what had been making the disturbance.

Kicking off in a scuff of grass, Madeleine and the swing rose and fell. Swaying and bending to increase height, she wondered if the creaking ropes would hold.

They did, and Madeleine soon caught a welcome glimpse of what had alarmed her.

‘I can see you, Master Philip! It’s no use trying to hide!’

He did not emerge at once, but when she continued to call and giggle in her relief he finally stepped into the orchard.

Brushing at his jacket with detachment, he avoided her eyes.

‘You were spying on me!’

‘I was not!’ he snapped, but his manner was decidedly furtive.

‘I saw you—creeping about in the hedge and spying on me!’

‘I was merely checking the hedgerow for gaps. Get down from that swing at once, mademoiselle. Such violent activity is unseemly in a young lady!’

‘It’s all right. Bella’s nowhere to be seen!’ Madeleine teased softly, swinging higher.

‘Indeed she is not. I’ve just walked her over to Sir Edwin Pickersgill’s house.’

Madeleine let the swing slow, then wobble to a halt.

‘What on earth for?’

‘Bella has a new position. I rode over to Neighbour Pickersgill first thing this morning to see if he had work for her.’

‘Mr Adamson!’

‘Don’t look like that!’ He helped her down from the swing then began tugging at the sleeve of his jacket as he always did when agitated. ‘I couldn’t afford to pay so many staff any longer. Bella was the last to join, so she was first to leave. That’s only fair. I couldn’t risk losing Betsy or Cook.’

‘Not to mention the chance of your mother finding out about certain things...?’

The glance he gave Madeleine was sharp and direct. ‘Yes. That was part of it, too.’

Madeleine raised her eyebrows, unspoken dismay clear in her dark eyes.

‘It wasn’t only shame at what Bella saw, mademoiselle. I owe—’

‘Oh, no!’ Madeleine jumped in, and Adamson looked even more downcast.

‘I was only going to say that I owe Sir Edwin a favour, mademoiselle.’ Then he sighed. ‘No—you are far too astute for me to conceal the whole truth. Yes, mademoiselle. I owe him money, too, in addition to the sum that I borrowed from Mr Pettigrew.’

All thoughts of romance fled from Madeleine’s mind. She knew only too well what it was like to have creditors snapping at her heels.

‘Can I ask...how much?’

Adamson stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down at the grass tangling about their feet. ‘Why not? I’ve told you virtually everything else.’ He cast a glance towards the orchard gate as though to check that no one was within earshot. ‘Two hundred and fifty pounds—’

Madeleine gasped. Mistress Constance had told her how to convert English currency into proper money, but this figure was vast, and quite beyond working out.

‘—and that’s only the capital amount.’

Madeleine shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I don’t understand...’

‘I pay what I can, while the sum that remains outstanding acquires a premium.’

‘You took it up on the drip.’ She understood that sort of thing well enough. Nearly everyone lived on tick in the Grève—hiding from the tally man was part of the natural order of things.

‘At least I’ll be saving on Bella’s wages. That will provide a little more towards the total.’ His eyes showed that rare hint of amusement, even in such awful circumstances. For once Madeleine was the more practical.

‘It isn’t going to save you the two hundred and fifty pounds you need to get out of this hole,’ she said glumly.

‘Eight hundred and fifty.’ He pulled a face as Madeleine gasped again. ‘With the six hundred I owe to Mr Pettigrew.’

‘What?’

‘It’s not as though I spent it on myself!’ he hissed savagely, still apprehensive about Higgins. ‘All the boundary fences needed renewing, accounts had to be settled all over the county and Willowbury needed a new roof if we were to survive that first winter.’

‘Couldn’t you have raised the money on the house?’

Adamson shook his head. ‘It was left to Michael, and Mother wouldn’t have countenanced borrowing money in any case. That’s why I couldn’t risk going to our bankers. She would have found out. This way I managed to concoct some story about using my own money. It’s not exactly a lie, and should be quite safe as long as Pettigrew and Pickersgill don’t let anything slip.’

‘It’s really worrying you, this, isn’t it?’

‘No.’ He spoke evenly, but Madeleine could tell that he was lying.

‘More than our little excursion out here for the dawn chorus?’

‘I wish you would not continue to refer to that matter, mademoiselle.’

The words were short and sharp, and Madeleine was crushed. She opened the orchard gate and walked back into the kitchen garden. It was one thing to give her love unselfishly, with no thought for the future; quite another to have it continually thrown back in her face as his error of judgement.

She walked through the garden, but not too quickly. That might have attracted the attention of Higgins. As it was he barely raised his head as she strolled back towards the house.

Once inside, Madeleine went to wait by the library door. She knew that Adamson escaped there at every opportunity, and true to form he was not far behind her.

‘I didn’t mean to appear rude, mademoiselle,’ he began as Madeleine pushed the library door open with a long-suffering look at him.

‘You’ll be appearing in a debtor’s court if you don’t pay off that money.’ Unbidden, she walked into the library and sat down on the sofa, much to Adamson’s surprise. ‘What’s stopping you?’

He frowned, shaking his head in disbelief as he followed her into the room and shut the door.

‘I don’t have the money.’ He spoke clearly and slowly, as though she might have difficulty in understanding his words.

Madeleine understood all too well. ‘Only because you’re too mean to sell anything.’

Now it was Adamson who was having difficulty with comprehension. ‘I don’t have anything to sell...’

Madeleine sat back in her seat, looking around at the well-stocked library. ‘Your mother told me that all these books were left to you in your father’s will.’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, then—I bet they’re all good stuff, for a start. Load a couple of yards of them into one of the coaches and take them on a one-way trip to town. Should be easy enough to find a buyer—’

‘Indeed? And exactly which volumes do you consider worthy of sacrifice, mademoiselle?’

Madeleine chose to ignore the sarcastic note in his voice. ‘You can only read one at a time, can’t you? Seems a bit greedy to hang on to racks and racks of the things, in that case.’

‘I must confess I’d never looked upon it in that light, mademoiselle.’’

Madeleine scowled at his amusement. ‘This place is crammed to the rafters with saleable stuff. What about that scruffy old chest in the hall?’

‘That belonged to an Earl of Shipton! It’s over one hundred and twenty years old—’

‘There you are, then—other people aren’t so shy about selling off their goods. And at least it’s not new,’ she added thoughtfully.

Adamson was rendered speechless at this, but there was worse to come.

‘Then there’s that fancy watch of yours—’

One hand flew protectively to his waistcoat pocket. ‘This was a present on my twenty-first birthday—’

‘All right, then—don’t sell it. Take it to Uncle instead.’ Madeleine was unrepentant.

‘I don’t have any uncles...’ Understanding suddenly flooded Adamson’s face with embarrassment. ‘The pawnbrokers? Mademoiselle! How can you think of suggesting such a thing?’