Miss Winbolt and the Fortune Hunter (13 page)

Unable to move, Emily was forced to listen as Sir Reginald interrupted. ‘Well, I have to say, Sarah, I think he's chosen the right one.' He gave a rich chuckle. ‘Though if I remember rightly, Will, the Fenton woman was your first choice. You weren't at all keen on Emily Winbolt.' The chuckle grew louder. ‘What was it you called her? A plain, strong-minded woman! That was it.'

‘She still is,' said William curtly.

 

Several minutes—or was it hours?—later, Emily was driving at a break neck pace back to Shearings. In her fever to get away she had for got ten her groom and was alone in the gig, rattling through the lanes, deaf to the noise as she scraped its sides on the turns, and blind to anything else on the road. Her headlong rush stopped just short of Shearings. Philip and Rosa were out for the day, but the servants would be there, with curious eyes and sidelong glances. She sat for a while, trying to think where she could go. It was hard to think at all. The pain was making it difficult to get her breath, and the cruel words were hammering in her head:
Plain, strong-minded…. She still is. She still is. She still is…
Emily bent her head and put her hands to her ears, but the voice, William's voice, curt, dismissive, did not go away:
Still is, still is, still is…

‘Miss Emily! Are you all right, miss?'

She looked up. Will Darby was standing in front of the gig, an expression of concern on his homely face.

‘Yes. Yes, I'm all right, W-Will. But I…was just trying to…to decide what to do about the gig. I want to walk…to walk back to Shearings, you see.'

‘I could take it for you, miss. But are you sure you're all right?'

Emily straightened up and made herself talk in her usual decisive manner. ‘Of course I am. But I need a touch of exercise. Thank you.' She got out, handed the reins over, and waited till Will Darby touched his cap and drove off.

She watched him go and then took the path that ran along side the stream. She was like a sleep walker, making for her goal without consciously knowing where it was. But after a few minutes she had reached it, and sat down in the hollow on the hillside below the oak tree. She looked round. When she had last been here the ground had been a refuge after her fall, soft and welcoming, and overhead she had seen a canopy of bright green leaves. Now the trees were nearly bare, and their dead leaves lay on the ground, crack ling harshly when she trod on them. She had become a different person here with a stranger who had com forted her, made her feel cherished, and then had aroused such a storm of passion in her… Why had she not seen then that this was just one of fate's cruel tricks? She had been off her guard when she met him again, more afraid of discovery than suspicious of a possible fortune hunter. Later, still blind, she had been amused by him, had learned to like him, to trust him. For a short while she had even allowed herself to fall in love with him.

And now it was all over. William Ashenden was just another fortune hunter, and she was not going to marry him, after all. Why had she not seen at the beginning that he was actually just like all the others? Why had she for got ten the harsh lessons she had learned when young? Philip was a beautiful child; Emily was plain. Philip was charming, attractive to all; Emily was too
in de pen dent, too stubborn. What was the word again? Strong-minded. A plain, strong-minded woman.
She still is She still is. She still is…
She took a sharp breath as the pain hit her again like a knife thrust. Then she smiled bitterly. At least, unlike her first betrothed, William Ashenden could hardly call her
‘a cold fish'
! He knew better than that. That was something he had found here in this very place. Had it amused him to find out how vulnerable she really was?

 

She sat lost in her thoughts for some time, till an aware ness of her surroundings began to return. The sun had gone in, and she was cold. Philip and Rosa had promised to deliver the children back to Thirle, but they would soon be home. If she wasn't there, they would start to wonder where she was. She must face the world again. She got up, dusted down her clothes and set off for Shearings.

On the way she discovered that there was one thing at least she was sure about. Rosa and Philip would have to wait till tomorrow before she told them anything. In her present state she would find it impossible to face their consternation, the inevitable questions her decision not to marry William Ashenden would provoke. Above all, they would want to know what would happen to the children, and she wasn't ready even to think about that. This awful sense of betrayal left no room for anything else. She would avoid it all by pleading a sick headache and retiring to her room as soon as she got in.

 

Rosa was sympathetic, but gave in to Emily's request to be left in peace, and Emily spent a sleep less night struggling to regain something of her former calm good sense, berating herself for her weakness when
she failed. William Ashenden had broken through the coolly detached approach to life with which she had protected herself. Today, with a few short words, he had destroyed years of patiently regained self-esteem. Now she had to learn all over again that Emily Winbolt was plain. And not only plain, but quite pathetically stupid, too! Stupid enough to have believed that in one man's eyes at least she
was
beautiful—because he cared for her.

She lay awake, trying to plan how she could tell Rosa and Philip that her marriage would not take place. They would want to know why, but how could she tell them about William Ashenden? How could she bear to say the words, when it felt as if each syllable was twisting a knife in her heart. And then there was William himself. What was she to say to him? If only she could forget her heart and use her head!

 

As dawn was breaking she came to a decision. William was bringing James and Laura round to Shearings some time during the morning. Before they came, she would break the news to Rosa and Philip, and ask them to look after the children, while she spoke to their uncle. Her mind balked at trying to imagine what she would say, and how he would reply. But however it went, they would have to sort out what was to happen afterwards. With the Deardons gone, and Thirle closed up for the winter, the only place where the three Ashendens could stay was the Dower House. But someone else, not her, would have to look after the children. Perhaps Rosa could find a suitable woman in the village to be a stopgap until a governess or nurse could be appointed. Emily herself would go to stay with her grandfather in London for a while.

 

Telling Rosa and Philip was every bit as hard as she had foreseen. Rosa kept saying that she didn't believe it, that there must be a mistake, until Emily spoke more angrily than ever before to her gentle sister-in-law. ‘Why do you always want to believe the best of everyone? I tell you, he had asked Lady Deardon to find him a rich wife! Not just any wife, Rosa. A rich one, to help him with Charlwood.'

‘But, Emily, he hadn't met you then. Perhaps he did ask Lady Deardon, but that's the sort of thing one says without meaning very much by it. I've watched him with you. He likes you, really likes and admires you, I'll swear he does.'

Rosa's defence merely fuelled Emily's anger. ‘Does he?' she demanded. ‘Must I tell you what he said? Do I have to give you the words, Rosa? He thinks I
am
plain. Of course, we both know that I am plain, but I believed him when he said he thought I was beautif…beautiful. He called me strong-minded and I
am
strong-minded. But, fool that I was, I thought he l-liked me for it. And all the time…all the time…' She stopped, unable to continue. After a moment she said bitterly, ‘I suppose it's not so surprising what a lot of plain ness, what a lot of strong-mind ed ness, can be tolerated when gilded over with the prospect of a fortune.'

Philip said sharply, ‘Emily! My dearest Emily, don't!' He came over and held his sister in his arms, stroking her hair in an effort to comfort her.

Rosa was restless, torn between sympathy for Emily, and her anxiety for the children. As soon as Emily was calmer she could keep silent no longer. ‘I'm sorry, Emily, but I have to ask this. What is going to happen to the children?' When Emily shook her head and turned
away, she said, ‘You
can't
abandon them! They are so attached to you. What can you possibly say to them?'

Emily had steeled herself in the night to face William Ashenden, but had given up when faced with the problem of telling James and Laura. She still had no idea how to deal with it, and was relieved not to have to answer Rosa when one of the servants came in. She was less happy when he told them that Sir William Ashenden had called and was asking to see them urgently. ‘Bring him in,' said Philip, and, turning to Emily, he said, ‘He's earlier than I expected. Does he know about this?'

She shook her head, now no longer so sure that she could face William calmly. The temptation to flee was strong, but before she took one step William was inside the room, James and Laura holding his hands. He began without ceremony.

‘Forgive me for bursting in on you like this, but I'd like to leave the children here earlier than we arranged. I couldn't leave them at Thirle—the Deardons are already on their way to Yorkshire. I had a message this morning, and must ride over to Charlwood without delay. There's been a fire in the night and the Dower House is badly damaged. Barnaby Drewitt, my man, is already on his way over, but I must follow him there as soon as I can. May I leave them with you?'

Rosa came forward. ‘What a shock! Of course you may!' She turned to the children and said with her gentle calm, ‘It's lovely to see you. Did you sleep well? Tell me, have you had break fast this morning?' They shook their heads. ‘Then we shall see about it immediately before you starve. What about you, sir?'

Emily had remained frozen in the corner of the room and William was looking at her with a puzzled frown,
but he turned at this and bowed. ‘Thank you, but I must hurry to Charlwood. I don't yet know how bad it is.' Turning back to Emily, he said, ‘You're looking pale. Aren't you well, Emily?'

‘She has a bad head,' said Rosa. ‘She shouldn't really be down stairs. But a…a day's rest and she will be…will be herself again. Come, James, don't look so unhappy. You'll feel better after you've had something to eat. Emily, will you bring Laura? And we'll find you a tisane for your poor head at the same time. Goodbye, Sir William. I do hope things at Charlwood aren't as bad as you fear.'

Correctly interpreting a look from his wife, Philip said slowly, ‘I'll come with you, Ashenden. You might be glad of company.'

‘It may not be as bad as it sounded, and Barnaby Drewitt will be there, but I'd be grateful if you would. Thanks.'

 

But when they got to Charlwood, the damage was if anything worse than William had feared. More than half of the Dower House was a smoking shell, and Sam Lilley had been injured. His second-in-command was surveying it in despair. ‘I don't under stand it,' he said. ‘I didn't hear or see a thing, sir, neither did any of the rest of us. It's a complete mystery.'

William walked round, inspecting the damage. His face was grim. ‘Where is Sam Lilley now?' he asked.

‘In the lodge, sir! He's not all that fit. He was asking for you.'

‘Why the devil didn't you say so before, man?' William left Philip and Barnaby Drewitt to see if anything could be done at the site, and strode off to the lodge. A red-eyed Mrs Lilley met him at the door, twisting her
hands in her apron. She took him through to the kitchen, where Sam was sitting at the table with a bruise on his face and a bandage on his arm. He was very pale.

‘This is a bad business, Sam.'

Sam Lilley said nothing, but sat with his head bowed, avoiding William's eye. Mrs Lilley hovered anxiously nearby. ‘Will you sit down, sir?' she said.

William sat down opposite his foreman and gazed at him, wondering what was wrong with the man. Sam Lilley had once farmed a small plot of land up the valley. He had been in de pen dent, till a series of disasters had ruined him and he had been forced to sell up and look for employment. When William had been looking for a care taker and foreman for Charlwood, Sam had applied. His manner held a certain honest independence that pleased William, and he gave him the job. Mrs Lilley, too, had been respectful, but dignified. She had certainly never been servile. Today Sam looked like a dog who expected to be given a beating, and his wife was nervously anxious to please. Something more than Sam's bruises and burns was wrong with the Lilleys.

‘Tell me what happened,' William said. ‘You didn't get that bang on your head trying to put a fire out!'

Sam looked up for the first time, but he still couldn't quite meet William's eyes. He turned his head away. ‘I tried to stop them,' he said. ‘But they laughed at me.' A quick glance at William. ‘I swear, I tried to stop them, sir.'

‘Who are “they”?'

Sam put his head in his hands. ‘I…I don't know,' he said. ‘I can't tell you.'

‘He's not well, sir,' said Mrs Lilley, looking at her husband's bowed head. ‘They left him lying there on
the ground and he wasn't found for hours. Perhaps he'll remember in a little while.'

‘I hope so,' said William sombrely. ‘I'll be back later.' He got up and left the Lilleys and went back to the ruins of the Dower House. He was met by Barnaby Drewitt.

‘Been talking to the men,' said Barnaby. ‘Queer go. If they're to be believed, they were all fast asleep when it happened. Don't re member a thing. Want me to see if I can persuade them to remember?'

‘No, I don't. We're not in Brazil now. Find the man who has taken over from Lilley and let me talk to him. George Fowler, I think his name is.'

Fowler was ashamed and puzzled. He kept shaking his head as he said, ‘We was all down at the stables, master—that's where we sleep when we're supposed to be on watch, see. Except for Sam Lilley. He sleeps at the lodge. Well, the house was ready, and you was goin' to move in the next night. Tonight, that is, now. And we had a bit of a celebration. The men who'd been keeping a watch on the house were all there, and we all had a drink, but we didn't skimp on our watch. Not at first. We took turns to make a round or two each. Then Sam comes down to the stables wi' a cask of ale. Drinks for everyone, 'e says. Courtesy of the master. Well, we were all pleased, o'course, and we all drank your very good health. And then after that I couldn't seem to keep my eyes open. Not nohow. And the others felt the same. I can tell you, we had a terrible shock when we woke up this morning and saw what had happened. Ask anyone.'