Heir to Greyladies (6 page)

Most of the matchmaking had taken place in London, though Joseph had heard all about it from his brothers’ complaints. It had continued unremittingly until his parents found young ladies for each of their sons.

‘Has she found me a matching cripple, perhaps?’ Joseph couldn’t help the edge to his voice.

Pollins didn’t even try to answer that.

‘Sorry. I shouldn’t be sharp with you, Pollins. It’s not your fault. But I have no intention of marrying unless I feel some affection for the lady in question. And even then, what lady would want a man like me?’

‘One with a true heart, Mr Joseph. One who can look beyond the obvious. As I’ve told you before.’

‘I think I’m coming down with the influenza.’

‘You’re not usually a coward. What would it hurt to meet this one, lad? And any others she brings here? You might find one to your taste.’

When Pollins called him lad, it reminded Joseph that his
manservant had been with him since he was a small child, and knew him better than anyone. It also meant Pollins was offering him advice, something he didn’t often presume to do.

‘I don’t want to be paraded for inspection.’ He heard how sulky his voice sounded, but couldn’t help it.

‘Neither do the young ladies, sir. Just meet them. You never know, you may even like one of them.’

‘Damn you, stop being so reasonable. Oh, very well. Get out the blue suit.’

Pollins smiled, the special smile he only allowed himself when he’d won a point about something.

Miss Christina Jeffcott and her mother were visiting some neighbours, who also attended the luncheon party.

Joseph drew in a sharp breath when he entered the room and saw the dismay on Miss Jeffcott’s long, thin face at the sight of him. He’d have sold his soul not to wheel his chair across the room in front of strangers but there was no getting out of it.

By the time he reached the guests, Miss Jeffcott’s dismay had turned to badly masked revulsion.

He felt equally repelled by her. Sometimes ugliness came from the soul, rather than from the arrangement of a face. Miss Jeffcott had little good to say about anything. She prodded her food as if suspecting poison. She avoided looking directly at Joseph and answered his polite remarks in monosyllables.

The guests weren’t encouraged to linger.

‘I don’t like that young woman,’ his mother said when they were alone.

‘Thank goodness. Nor do I. Look, Mama … I don’t want to be paraded for inspection like this.’

‘No young man does, but it’s how our society works, matching young people into pairs, so that they can create new homes and families.’ She laid one hand over his. ‘There’s no reason you can’t marry too, Joseph, now that you’re so much better.’

‘Isn’t there? Did you see the revulsion on her face?’

The silence told him his mother couldn’t find the words to deny that. In the end, she just repeated, ‘Well, I don’t like her, so she won’t do. But keep an open mind about others, hmm?’

He had a sick certainty that she wasn’t going to stop till she found him a wife, and he was equally certain that only the most unappealing young women would even consider him.

He did what he always did when upset, sought refuge in the library, which no one but him used.

But he couldn’t settle to reading, or sketching, or doing anything, so he decided to have a chat with the young maid about her reading. Helping someone was a more positive way to spend time than moping about.

He got up and pulled the bell, waiting by the fireplace for someone to answer. It was Mabel, who never allowed herself to get into conversation with him or any member of the family, so he merely said, ‘Would Mrs Stuart be free to speak to me for a few moments, do you think?’

‘I’ll go and see, sir.’

The housekeeper was there within two minutes.

‘I hope I haven’t taken you away from something important, Mrs Stuart.’

‘Not at all.’

‘It’s about the maid who needs something to read. Would it be convenient to see her this afternoon?’

‘If you’re sure you have time, Mr Joseph.’

‘I can always make time to help a fellow reader.’ He moved too quickly and had to grab the bookshelf to steady himself.

‘Should you be standing up for so long, sir?’

‘Yes, I should. I need to move about in order to strengthen my muscles.’ He smiled at her and said coaxingly, ‘But we don’t need to tell my mother about me nearly falling just now, do we? She does worry so.’

Mrs Stuart smiled back at him. ‘As you wish, sir. I’ll send Harriet down in a few minutes. How long do you need her for?’

‘An hour, maybe? I want to do this properly.’

‘Very well.’

While he waited, he limped across to the shelves which contained his own additions to the family library and ran his fingers along them, pulling out books he thought might suit and clearing a shelf for them.

Books. Was that all he would have to fill his life? His parents were very generous about buying him any book he fancied and two booksellers in London sent him lists every month. But collections of paper couldn’t replace real life and he was itching to do something more than sit and read.

He’d tried writing a novel, but it was far harder than he’d expected and the result was dull and flat. He simply didn’t have a gift for storytelling. He’d tried doing research about the family history, thinking to compile a book about the Daltons, to be published privately, but that soon palled.
They weren’t a very interesting family on either side. Minor gentry, some connections to commerce and the professions, no scandals that he could unearth. No achievements, either.

He realised someone was tapping on the door, so called, ‘Come in.’

Harriet stepped into the room, but stayed near the door, looking extremely nervous.

‘Please close the door and come over here.’ He wouldn’t put it past his mother to eavesdrop, just to make sure he wasn’t being treated disrespectfully. Harriet came closer and stood waiting.

‘Do sit down.’ When she hesitated, he said, ‘If you don’t sit, I have to look up at you and that makes my neck ache.’

‘Oh. Sorry, Mr Joseph.’ She pulled up a chair and sat down on the edge of it, looking ready to flee if he so much as twitched.

‘Tell me about the books you’ve read. Which ones have you enjoyed most?’

She looked reluctant, so he coaxed her. ‘I can’t find you more books to read if I don’t know what pleases you.’ He gestured around them. ‘As you can see, we have thousands to choose from.’

‘I read anything I can get hold of, sir.’

‘But what do you
like
most?’

After a short silence, she said, ‘The ones that teach me something about the world. There was a book about the history of Britain in the schoolroom and one about the Empire. I’d heard some of the stories at school, but when I read the books, I could understand the …’ she waved her right hand in the air, as if seeking words, then came out with, ‘the patterns of history.’

He was surprised at this perceptive remark. ‘I know exactly what you mean. I felt like that when I read the same books as a child. What else have you enjoyed?’

Suddenly her reserve seemed to fade and they started chatting like old friends, comparing their favourite books. But the minute he asked her about herself, her answers became monosyllabic and she started to look uncomfortable, so he went back to books.

He kept an eye on the wall clock, because if she stayed too long it’d upset the housekeeper and possibly his mother. He decided to share that with her. ‘I’d better not keep you too long or Mrs Stuart will be upset.’

Harriet at once jumped to her feet. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have talked so much.’

‘Please sit down again for a minute or two. You haven’t talked too much. It was me. I’ve enjoyed chatting to you because no one else here is interested in history. Or in finding out what the rest of the world is like. I get lonely sometimes, even in a house full of people.’ He surprised himself with this confidence, but she was so easy to talk to, it had just slipped out.

‘So do I.’ She clapped one hand to her mouth, as if afraid of having spoken out.

‘Then we have that in common. The second thing I want to say is, I’ll put some books for you on the end shelf.’ He got up and limped across to it, sneaking a glance at her face and seeing no signs of revulsion. But, of course, servants wouldn’t dare let themselves betray such feelings about their employer’s family. ‘You may choose from them and change your books as often as you like. Any that you’ve read, lay on their side at the end, like this, and I’ll put them away again.’

He turned to a nearby shelf and selected a few more
books to add to the row. ‘Come and choose your first one.’

She came as timidly as a wild animal, her eyes on the books. The minute she got to the shelf, he might as well not have existed. After studying every single title, and making little crooning noises of pleasure, she chose a book about Scotland, then stood there with it clasped to her chest. ‘This one, please, Mr Joseph.’

‘Better take two. In case you run out and can’t get back in here to change them.’

‘Really?’

This time she chose a novel, then caught sight of the clock and gasped. ‘I’d better get back now, sir. I’ve been here nearly
an hour
.’

‘Yes, of course. Perhaps you’ll come again when you’ve read the book and tell me what you think of it, or you could ask me questions if anything isn’t clear?’

‘Really?’

‘Really and truly.’

She beamed at him. ‘I do wonder about things sometimes, so if I’m not troubling you, sir, I’ll do that. If Mrs Stuart allows it, of course.’

‘I’ll tell her it cheers me up to talk to you about books.’

She looked at him very solemnly, then said quietly, ‘I didn’t think people with families could get lonely.’

‘We can all get lonely. That’s why we need to make friends.’

It was almost a whisper. ‘I don’t have any friends now.’ She didn’t wait for an answer, but moved towards the door, the books clutched tightly to her chest.

Half an hour later, the housekeeper came to see him. ‘Am I interrupting, Mr Joseph?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘I just wanted to check that everything went all right with Harriet.’

‘Oh, yes. She’s a very polite young woman and I enjoyed chatting to her. You know, I think I’d have enjoyed being a teacher. I’m going to plan a course of reading for her. Would you mind if she came to spend an hour with me two mornings a week? I’d enjoy it so much.’

She looked surprised, then uncomfortable. ‘You’d have to ask your mother about her coming to talk to you regularly. Borrowing books is one thing, but that’s … well, different.’

‘Oh. Yes, of course. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll speak to Mama. But it wouldn’t upset your routine too much?’

‘We’re here to serve the family, Mr Joseph, whatever they need.’

‘Well, thank you for letting Harriet come to me. It cheered me up no end to be able to talk to someone about books.’

There! Mrs Stuart went back to the housekeeper’s room and closed the door to signify that she wasn’t available. She wanted to think about this, but it was easy to understand, because she’d already guessed: Mr Joseph was growing restless because he was so much better nowadays. She’d heard of that before, lads growing out of their weakness if they survived childhood, though of course he’d never be able to walk steadily, poor young man. But why they thought he should choose a wife only from ugly or ill-mannered young women, she didn’t know. He had a very sweet nature, Mr Joseph did.

Opening the door slightly, in case anyone wanted to speak to her, she got on with her work. But she kept thinking about Mr Joseph, remembering the times they thought they’d lost him as a child, and realising how well he was looking these days.

Later, she snorted loudly right in the middle of sorting out the linen, making Mabel jump in shock. As the maid stared at her, she said hastily, ‘Sorry, dear. I was just remembering something that had annoyed me. Nothing to do with you. It happened years ago. Let’s get on with checking the linen.’

But later she saw Mr Joseph make his way back to the library after a solitary evening meal in the breakfast parlour. The master and mistress should make more effort to introduce him to neighbours and people his own age, not just occasional suitable young women. He should make friends and go out on his own. Why did they discourage this so persistently?

She sighed. It was the way he walked. It did look rather ugly. They were ashamed of it and that made him ashamed, which had turned him into a recluse.

It wasn’t right. There was nothing wrong with his brain and he was as kind as you please. And he wasn’t bad-looking, either, with that soft brown hair and those dark brown eyes.

Well, if permission was given, she’d make sure Harriet was allowed to spend time with him. She could trust that girl not to be cheeky. And if teaching the maid could put that bright, interested look on Mr Joseph’s face again, it’d please her greatly.

As she was getting into bed, Mrs Stuart decided that if Mr Joseph continued to get better, and if they continued to keep him too closely confined, there would be trouble ahead. He was a young man, after all, and young men did rebel at times.

But pleasant though she might be, Mrs Dalton wasn’t the sort of mistress you could talk to frankly, or offer advice to, especially about the family.

Only, servants couldn’t help noticing things. Sometimes they noticed far more than their employers did.

When Joseph’s parents returned briefly from London, he joined them for luncheon, feeling a lift of his spirits when he saw his new box of books being carried towards the library from the rear of the house.

His father was in a good mood, smiling at him across the table. ‘I forgot to ask you. How did it go with the young maid last week? Did you find her some easy books to read?’

‘She’s an intelligent young woman, Father. She doesn’t need easy books, only something to feed her brain.’

His father snorted. ‘Servants don’t need brains; they need brawn and stamina, even the women.’

His mother chimed in unexpectedly. ‘They do need brains if they’re to rise to the higher positions in a house like this, William. Take Mrs Stuart. She’s a clever woman, who manages the household accounts and all the details of running a big house extremely efficiently. I’m sure I could never do such a job half as well. Mrs Miller was intelligent too. In fact, I’ve been very lucky with my housekeepers here.’

‘That’s because you treat your staff well, Mama, so they
work better for you. And you’re right about brains, too. Did you know that just before she came to work here, Harriet won a scholarship to grammar school which would have enabled her to train as a teacher?’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘Then why on earth did her family not let her take up the scholarship?’

‘Her father died suddenly, and her stepmother wanted her out working and bringing in money.’

‘How did you find all that out from the girl so quickly?’

‘Oh, I didn’t talk about personal things to
her
. We only discuss books. Mrs Stuart and I had a little chat afterwards. She has her eye on young Harriet for advancement, thinks we’ve got a treasure there. She keeps in touch with Mrs Miller, as you know, and
she
is a relative of the stepmother.’

‘Well, we must be sure we keep the girl happy, then. I know it’ll be a bore, but if you can spare time to continue helping her select books, do it for me, there’s a dear. Good servants are getting harder and harder to find these days. When I hear the tales some of my friends in London tell about impertinent maids, it makes me shudder.’

As the meal ended and the servants cleared away the final dishes, Joseph began to ease his wheelchair away from the table. His parents exchanged quick glances and his mother said, ‘Don’t go yet, Joseph. Your father and I would like to have a little chat with you.’

He stopped moving, guessing what this was about.

‘We’ve been thinking that we ought to take you out and about more, now that you’re so much better. And … we need to think seriously about your future.’

‘I’m not exactly an asset to a social gathering. I can’t even stroll round someone’s gardens, let alone dance or play tennis.’

‘Nonetheless, you need to meet people your own age and make friends. It may even be useful for you to go up to London to broaden your circle of acquaintances.’

‘You know I never feel well there.’ It had been true in the past, but Joseph doubted it’d be true now. However, if a lie got him out of going up to London, he’d tell it willingly. He didn’t enjoy crowds and the thought of the social round his parents described made him shudder.

‘We can think about London later. For the moment, your father and I will spend more time here and entertain more frequently.’

‘Mama, if this is about finding me a wife, I don’t even want to think about that.’

His father said loudly and firmly, ‘Joseph, you
need
to find a wife, so do as your mother tells you. She knows how to set about it, after helping marry off your brothers and sister.’

‘What if I don’t meet anyone I can grow fond of?’

His mother’s voice was sharper than usual. ‘You won’t if you decide against it in advance.’

There was silence and he wondered if he dared leave now, but she moved her chair closer to his and took his hand. ‘We all have to be practical in this life, Joseph. Marriage for people of our class is as much about the
business
of living as about affection. It’s time you began to look for a wife because you’re going to
need
one. We won’t always be here to care for you.’

He could hire someone to care for him. You didn’t have to marry for that. But he didn’t say it. Sometimes it was better to listen, nod and go your own way.

His father took over, clearing his throat noisily. ‘There’s
something you don’t know, Joseph. I’m afraid the family finances never recovered from the reverses of the eighties and nineties. In fact, they’ve been stretched pretty thinly over the past few years – establishing three sons in good occupations, giving your sister a dowry and providing a decent income for my heir, especially now that Selwyn has a wife to support.’

Joseph had heard his father complain about money before, but had paid little attention because he’d seen no sign of his parents making any economies in their lifestyle. How short of money could they be?

It suddenly struck him that they’d probably not expected to need to support him as an adult and had made no provision for it. He’d nearly died a few times as a child, when he couldn’t breathe properly, but that had gradually stopped happening as he grew older.

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Father, but I could never live with a woman I didn’t like, let alone touch her in bed.’

‘Watch how you talk in front of your mother!’ his father snapped.

‘Sometimes it’s better to be frank and we
are
talking about marriage, after all.’

‘
Sometimes
, my boy, you should heed the advice of those older and wiser than yourself without arguing. Frankly, if you wish to continue living in comfort for the rest of your life, you need to find a wife with money. Now, don’t say anything you may regret. We’ll talk about this again in a couple of days’ time, once you’ve had the chance to consider your lack of other financial alternatives.’

His mother let go of his hand, which Joseph took as a sign that he could leave. ‘I’ll get back to my books, then.’
He rolled his wheelchair towards the door without a word, but he knew that nothing they said or did would make him agree to marry a disagreeable young woman like Christina Jeffcott.

And he was quite sure that no charming, pretty young woman would look twice at a penniless cripple like him. He didn’t mind considering a wife who wasn’t pretty, but he wouldn’t tie himself to a person he disliked.

He sighed. The conversation had shown only too clearly what a low value his parents placed on him. Well, he’d known that, really, but he didn’t normally allow himself to dwell on it.

He looked down at his twisted body and grimaced. He might be walking more strongly these days, but it was an ugly way of moving and people still averted their eyes from him. He didn’t even know whether he could father children, because he’d never had the opportunity to get close to a woman in that way.

But once in a while he grew restless and found himself staring at images of women’s bodies in books, finding some of them attractive, responding to them. So perhaps he wasn’t totally useless in that respect. He’d probably never find out, though, because he didn’t think he could face the humiliation of trying and failing.

Moving his chair across to the window, he sat for a while, staring out at the rain-soaked landscape. Spring had been very wet and even the summer had seemed grey and overcast. The colours outside were as dull as his mood.

What would he do if his parents insisted he marry some girl he detested? Would they threaten to disown him? Carry out the threat? He was totally dependent on them financially.

No, they wouldn’t do that because it’d be embarrassing for the family. But they could make his life very difficult. He was only too aware of that.

The following day his mother came into the library during the afternoon. ‘Not reading, my dear boy?’

Joseph jumped in shock. He hadn’t heard her come in. ‘Sorry, Mama. I was miles away.’

‘You spend far too much time inside that head of yours.’

‘It’s quite a pleasant place, with a well-furnished brain to play around in,’ he mocked, ‘however poor my body is physically.’

She sat down beside him. ‘We upset you yesterday, didn’t we?’

He chose to misunderstand her. ‘About what?’

‘I can still tell when you’re prevaricating, Joseph. You have a very open face.’

‘If you’ve come to persuade me to marry a woman I dislike for the sake of her money, you’re wasting your breath. I couldn’t do it, Mama. I just … could not.’

‘But what alternative is there, darling? This house has to go to the oldest son, and you’ve never got on with Selwyn, or he with you, so you’ll have to move out when your father and I die. We’re in our sixties now, so we have to plan for the worst. And you’ll only have a couple of thousand pounds plus anything Selwyn can add to it.
If
he’ll make you an allowance.’

‘I’d not take anything from him.’ Selwyn had tormented him as a child, not casually like his other brothers, but unremittingly. Now Selwyn tried to ignore him as much as possible, which suited Joseph just fine. He frowned at her. ‘I didn’t even know I’d have that much money.’

‘My mother left it to you. It’s increased a little, I gather. Compound interest, whatever that is. Your father’s man of business looks after that sort of thing. It won’t be nearly enough to maintain you in any sort of style, though. You won’t even be able to buy a house, because you’ll need the capital in order to live off the interest, so you’ll have to take rooms.’

‘Then I’ll take rooms and live cheaply, Mama. There are public-lending libraries, so I could still read.’

‘And Pollins? What about his wages? How would you manage without his help? Not to mention a maid or two to do your housework?’

He didn’t answer, knew she’d hit a sore spot there. Pollins had been with him for years and was far closer to him than most servants were to their masters. And Joseph would definitely need help with the daily chores needed to run a home. Shopping, he supposed, preparing food, washing clothes. How ignorant he was of how most of these things were actually done!

‘I’d find a way,’ he muttered. ‘Others live in lodgings, after all.’

‘You’d hate it. No privacy.’

‘I’d still have a room of my own.’

She studied his face. ‘You’re as obstinate as your father, do you know that?’

‘Am I? Poor you, then.’

‘Your father gets exactly that look on his face when he turns mulish about something. At least promise me you’ll give our candidates a chance.’

He hesitated, then said, ‘I’ll meet them, yes, and be polite to them, but unless I
like
someone, I won’t marry her.’ Love
he didn’t expect, but surely liking wasn’t too much to expect.

‘Thank you, dear.’ She stood up and bent to drop one of her light kisses on the top of his head. ‘I’ll have to think about it very carefully. We must be able to find a young woman you can get on with, if we try hard. Or at least one who won’t give you any trouble. As long as you don’t expect her to be beautiful.’

She moved towards the door, leaving a sigh drifting behind her. The faint smell of the perfume she always wore lingered in the air after she’d gone.

As did her final words.

The thought of being put on display to miscellaneous spinsters horrified him. How could he bear it?

How could he stop it happening, though? He couldn’t be rude to his mother, because, apart from the fact that he loved her, she was only trying to help him in her own way.

And he did have to think about his future. He could at least consider it, as he’d agreed.

But if he had some money of his own, maybe he could build a life somewhere else. A terrifying thought, but … also an exciting one.

He’d insist on managing the money himself from now on. Why on earth had they kept the information about it from him?

Because they didn’t consider him an equal.

Over the next few months, Joseph was dragged to every house in the neighbourhood. He met the few young ladies who lived nearby, and other young or not-so-young ladies who were connections of the neighbours and who were sent for to visit.

Somehow word had got out that the Daltons were looking for a wife for their youngest. Failures from the mating season in London were being lined up for a last desperate attempt to win a husband, any husband.

As the summer and autumn passed, he grew used to being watched as he limped around parlours.

He grew used to seeing the visiting ladies avert their eyes.

He found it hard to chat to them, not only because he’d led such a sequestered life, but also because he had so little in common with them. None of them seemed very intelligent, or even well read. If they’d read anything, it was poetry or novels. And few expressed opinions of their own, agreeing with whatever he said, or parroting clichés.

And always, always, he was conscious of the way they avoided looking at him when he moved. That was the main factor that decided him against them, all of them.

It was a relief to take refuge in the library when he came home and immerse himself in books. Or just sit and stare into space, worrying, trying to think of a way of persuading his mother not to do this to him, trying to work out a way of
earning
money.

The visit to the library twice a week by Harriet never failed to cheer him up and stimulate him. She was always full of questions about what she’d been reading, or what she’d seen in his father’s discarded newspapers. He’d now won permission for her to read these once the housekeeper and cook had finished with them.

Her opinions were her own, some of them giving him a very different view of life.

‘Do none of the other servants want to read the newspapers?’ he asked idly.

She flushed. ‘Mrs Stuart and Cook glance through them. The others don’t. They think I’m only pretending to understand them.’ She sighed. ‘And it’s true. I don’t understand a lot of what’s reported in the news because I’ve never been anywhere. Could you explain about … ?’

And they’d be off. She challenged him mentally. She made him laugh.