Hiding from Love (3 page)

“Something he can do?” echoed Leonora, realising that by this her Master probably intended to offer her some kind of recompense – which she had no intention of accepting.

“Actually there
is
.  He can instruct his coachman to drive with more care and less speed!”

The maid opened her eyes wide.

Before she could respond, the inn boy reappeared at Leonora's elbow.

“There's a trap arrived for you, Miss Schilling.”

Leonora was startled to hear herself addressed for the first time by her stepfather's name and then her brow creased as she wondered where the boy had heard it.

“The trap is in the yard, through that arch.  You go on, miss, and I'll go fetch your luggage.”

Leonora nodded.

“Goodbye,” she said to the still gawping maid and the skinny little Chihuahua.

In the yard Leonora was looking eagerly about her.

There was Finny – dear old Finny – sitting on the familiar rickety old trap, chewing on a twig.  When he saw Leonora, he jumped down with a grin.

He was so pleased to see his young Mistress he did not seem to notice her mud-stained dress.

“Miss Leonora!” he called out, tipping the twig to his forehead in a form of salute.

“Finny!  Oh, it's so good to see you.”

“You climb in, miss.  I'll soon have you home.”

The inn boy arrived with the trunk.  He set it down and then stood, passing his sleeve across his forehead.

“That trunk were heavy,” he grumbled as Leonora gave him a sixpence.

Finny then lifted the trunk onto the back of the trap, lashing it in place with a length of tarred rope.

Next he leaped up and reached for the reins.

“You are leaving!” came a concerned voice.

Leonora turned to see Señor de Guarda approach.

“I must, Finny arrived late and I'm sure Mama will be worried if we don't reach home before dark.”

He placed his hand on the trap's high left wheel, as if to prevent its motion.

“But I am heartbroken you should think to fly away and not say goodbye to Señor de Guarda!”

Leonora blushed, aware that Finny was listening.

“Well, I will say goodbye now, Señor de Guarda.”

He seized on her outstretched hand and, instead of shaking it, raised it to his lips.

Leonora gave a nervous swallow.

“Where do you live?  Can I visit you?” he asked.

Leonora looked away from his melting brown eyes.

“I – that will not be possible – things at home have changed.  No doubt we will meet again by chance.”

Señor de Guarda shrugged.

“I doubt it.  I am here for a few weeks only.  Then I go home.”

Leonora did not know how to respond, so she was thankful for Finny's intervention.

“We got to be a-goin', miss.  Your mother and Mr. Schilling will be wantin' supper.  I know there's beef pie and rhubarb.”

Señor de Guarda lifted his shoulders in exaggerated resignation.

“How can I compete with beef pie and – rhubarb?”

He stepped back and blew a kiss at Leonora.

“Farewell then, lovely creature!”

Leonora waved to him as the trap passed under the arch and her cheeks burned from Señor de Guarda's gaze.

Emerging into the sun, Finny turned back towards the main road and Leonora could not help but notice that the grand carriage with the crest was still there.

The gentleman she had glimpsed in the carriage had come out and now stood twirling his cane in his hand and speaking to his maid.

Leonora noted a tall elegant frame in a velvet cloak.

As the trap passed near the carriage, the gentleman turned and Leonora quickly looked away.

She had no wish for more scrutiny from yet another gentleman, particularly one she felt aggrieved with.

‘It must be that crest that has irritated me,' she decided, ‘and his sending the maid out like that to do his bidding.  And that silly dog he had brought for his relative!'

The trap skirted the gulley full of water and turned onto the road for Broughton.

Finny's voice intruded.

“That de Guarda looked like a pirate,” he commented.

Leonora regarded him and then gave a giggle.

“A handsome pirate, though, Finny!”

“Oh, yes, his moustache be as oiled as a gun barrel and his teeth were like the inside of seashells.  He had lace cuffs too and he liked lookin' at
you
, miss.”

Leonora decided that Finny had noticed too much for comfort, so she stared out at the road.

“Did you, Finny – did you send out the inn boy to ask for a ‘Miss Schilling'?”

“Yes, miss.  I was told to.”

“Told to?  By whom?”

“Mr. Schilling.  He said there was to be no more of this Cressy business.”

Leonora felt hot indignation rise in her breast.

No more Cressy business, indeed!  She would like to know whether it was obligatory under the law for her to change her name to that of her stepfather!

Finny was pondering, his eyes fixed on the horse.

“I like Cressy more, miss.  Schilling is – why, it's a silly name.”

“What's Mr. Schilling like, Finny?”

Finny considered.

“He eats all them prunes, miss.  Prunes with mutton stew.  Prunes with syrup.  Prunes with roast ham.  He can't abide mussels and he kills snails with hot water.  He has five red handkerchiefs and I've seen 'em dryin' on the line.

“He knows of all them gentry – so he says – and he curses under his breath.  He put me to sleep in the dried out water trough only it weren't big enough, so now I sleeps in the stable loft – ”

“What?  Not your old room by the scullery?”

“It be a gun room now, miss.  Guns and traps and fishin' rods.”

“Mr. Shilling does a lot of hunting then?”

“No, miss.  But he likes to have those things.”

Leonora turned to see the light fading on the hills.

“Finny – how does he treat my mother?”

Finny kicked the running board of the trap.

“He likes her to trim his beard,” he replied at last.

Leonora fell silent.  What need to ask more?  She would soon discover for herself.

She next wondered how Mr. Schilling might react if she had invited Señor de Guarda to visit her.  She had a feeling that he would not be welcome.

She had just as clear a feeling that the gentleman with a title, or at least travelling in the carriage of someone with a title, would have been offered the best china.

After a couple of hours, the trap turned off the main road and clipped along a small country lane bordered with hawthorn.

The village of Broughton was quiet as they drove through and the gates of Broughton Hall were wide open.

After a bend in the road as they left the village, her home appeared.

All her latent fears and apprehensions burst forth as the trap drew up and she caught sight of the sign swinging over the gatepost.

Once it had borne, spelled out in cheerful scarlet, the name of
Cressy Cottage
.

Now the same sign bore a different appellation.

Schilling House
it read, and Leonora's heart sank in utter dismay.

Mama flung open the door to greet her daughter.

“How wonderful to have you home, dearest!”

Leonora stared at her mother in shock.

As Mrs.
Cressy
her mother had been what people would call a bonny lass with bright eyes and rosy cheeks.

As Mrs.
Schilling
she had become thin and anxious, her eyes darting hither and thither as if seeking to escape.

“Mama!” Leonora cried.  “You don't look well!”

She gave a laugh of enforced gaiety.

“Nonsense, dear!  I'm just a little tired – I couldn't sleep last night with excitement.  Now don't stand there gawping at me!  Come in to meet your – Mr. Schilling.”

Leonora obviously noted the omitted ‘step-father'.

Mr. Schilling was waiting in the parlour.  He stood legs apart on the hearth rug, hands folded behind his back.

Leonora's first thought as she entered the room was that he looked like a stoat.

An
angry
stoat.

It was certainly accurate that everything about Mr. Schilling suggested a character permanently on the verge of expostulation.  His cheeks were enflamed, the whites of his eyes were shot with red and his very moustache seemed to bristle with suppressed rage.

“My daughter, Leonora,” declared Mama proudly.

He ran his eye over Leonora and frowned.

“It appears that your daughter thinks no better of her Guardian than to approach him in such a filthy state,” he muttered grimly.

Leonora flushed.

She had forgotten her dirty skirt and she was about to speak when her mother rushed in,

“The fault is entirely mine, Mr. Schilling.  I was so overjoyed – at seeing Leonora home I-I failed to notice the condition of her gown.”

She turned agonised eyes on Leonora.

“Whatever happened, my dear?”

Leonora, disturbed at seeing her mother rendered so anxious by Mr. Schilling's displeasure, turned and replied in a low voice.

“I was waiting for Finny by the road, Mama, when a carriage ran through a puddle and flung muddy water all over me.”

“Did the carriage stop?” asked Mr. Schilling.

“Why, y-yes.”

“And the fellow apologised?”

Leonora hesitated, wondering whether he meant the driver or the occupant.

“His maid did,” she answered finally.

Mr. Schilling took his hands from behind his back.

“
Maid
, eh?  Was he gentry, perhaps?”

Into Leonora's mind swam an instant image of the gentleman with the elegant bearing and silver cane.

“There was a crest on the side of the carriage – ”

Mr. Schilling gave a smirk.

“A crest?  Oh, well!  You are forgiven, daughter.”

Leonora flinched.

She did not like him calling her ‘daughter'!  And why the fact that there had been a crest on the carriage should so mollify him, she could not fathom.

“I suppose you took his Lordship's card, eh?” Mr. Schilling continued.

“I wasn't offered one,” replied Leonora truthfully.

“And you didn't ask for one?” he probed with a grimace.  “We've a fool here, Mrs. Schilling!”

Mama wrung her fingers together.

“Oh, not a – fool, Mr. Schilling.  I am sure Leonora was just a little distracted – perhaps by the long journey and having to deal on her own with such an incident.  She has been so – sheltered from the world.”

“Hmmph!” grunted Mr. Schilling, his hand roving ruminatively over his moustache.

“Sheltered is good.  Sheltered is desirable!”

Leonora noticed her mother's look of alarm.

“W-what do you mean, dearest, by d-desirable?”

Mr. Schilling abandoned his moustache and ran his hand over his plump red lips instead.

“Nothing, Mrs. Schilling.  Why don't you take the girl up to her room, eh?  And show her the improvements while you're about it.”

Mama ushered Leonora quickly from the room.

“He is really a gentleman – of such temperament,” she whispered as she closed the door.  “But he's done so much – to improve life for us here – as you'll see.”

Following her mother silently from room to room, Leonora could not help but deduce that the improvements effected by Mr. Schilling seemed generally rather more to
his
benefit than for the benefit of his wife or stepdaughter.

The huge new leather armchair in the parlour she had already noted and now she was shown pipe racks, a gentleman's writing desk and a marquetry footstool with a pair of gentleman's slippers tellingly on top.

Her own room, it was true, did boast new muslin curtains and a new eiderdown, but she suspected that these items originated with Mama and not her stepfather.

The room Mr. Schilling shared with his wife on the other hand was as well upholstered as a first class hotel.

“And look here!”

Mama threw open a door in the corner of the room.

“Mr. Schilling has paid for this new bathroom.”

“Very
à la mode
,” Leonora muttered as she turned back.

“And what is in here?” she enquired, pointing to a polished wood chest at the foot of the bed.

“Oh, that's where Mr. Schilling keeps his money,” Mama answered airily.

“Why does he not keep his money in the Bank like everyone else?”

“Oh, I'm sure he has his reasons.  Now, I think you should unpack and change for supper, don't you?”

All through supper Mr. Schilling demanded silence at table.  Then, his repast complete, he took up a toothpick and leaned back in his chair.

“I hear you are popular at Fenfold,” he began.

Leonora was unsure of what to say.  She glanced at Mama for inspiration, but her head was bowed.

“I am often told so,” she replied carefully.

Mr Schilling began probing his front teeth.

“Didn't you want to stay with some of the other girls during the holidays, though, eh?”

Leonora wondered where this was all leading.

“I prefer to return home for the holidays,” she said quietly, “and at weekends, although I was invited out, I liked to remain at school with Isobel – my closest friend.”

“You never went to
her
house?”

“I would have, but it's in Brazil.  She is about to go back there – for good.”

Mr. Schilling grunted, as if he was satisfied by this information and the toothpick went to work again.

“You are not going to be invited to some Fenfold girl's estate this summer, then?”

“I think my many rebuffs of invitations in the past make such a scenario unlikely.”