An Unusual Bequest (19 page)

‘Shall we go back?’ he suggested.

‘I thought there was something you wanted to look at?’

‘I have seen all I want to see.’ His voice was clipped.

‘And said all you wanted to say,’ she retorted. ‘I do believe you brought me down here to deliver a lecture.’

‘No, but as you are not prepared to listen, I will not waste my breath.’

How did they come to this pass? he asked himself, as they turned to go back the way they had come. Nothing had gone as planned, and he had been a fool to expect her to fall into his arms, simply because he returned her jewels. Why had he bothered to come back? He could have found another school for Julia if he had tried hard enough and he could have sent a courier with the jewellery. He knew the answer to that. He could not stay away. His life was tied to hers irrevocably and, sooner or later, she must come to realise that herself.

The village children were more than a little in awe of the Honourable Julia Darton, which was her proper title, so she informed them loftily. And when her father became the Earl of Malcomby, she would be Lady Julia in her own right. Her baggage, which they had watched being unloaded from the carriage, consisted of a huge trunk that Jenkins and Betsy had hardly been able to lift, and two portmanteaux. They could not imagine anyone having so many clothes. Even Lizzie and Fanny were impressed. ‘I am here to teach you,’ she told them, as they crowded round her, waiting in the classroom for the next day’s lessons to begin. ‘You must all do as I say.’

Charlotte, approaching the room with her arms full of books, overheard this and wondered whether to make some comment or let it go. She pushed open the door and stood looking round at everyone. Julia looked smug and the others guilty as they quickly returned to their places.

‘Good morning, children,’ she said.

Danny sprang forward. ‘Take the books, missus?’

‘Missus,’ said Julia scornfully, imitating his accent surprisingly accurately. ‘Don’t you know how to speak to a lady? You should say, “May I take the books, my lady.”’

He looked perplexed, but brightened when Charlotte handed the books over to him with a smile. ‘Thank you, Danny.’ He had always called her missus, and she had not corrected him. But now she had a paying pupil, whose papa would not approve of such slipshod ways; it behoved her to teach them to address her, and anyone else with a title, correctly. On the other hand, Julia’s smirk annoyed her.

Danny, his face flaming, set the books down on the table at the front of the class and returned to his seat. Charlotte followed him and stood facing the class. Except for Julia and her own girls, they were ill clad and undernourished and could probably look forward to nothing more than hard work and little joy throughout their lives. The promise of being able to better themselves if they had an education had a hollow ring, but when she started out on this venture she had truly believed it. Had she been wrong to expect high and low to integrate, that one would learn from the other? The Reverend was the only one who had encouraged her; Cecil had told her she was mad when she told him what she intended to do and even Viscount Darton only humoured her because it suited his purpose to have his daughter near at hand when he wanted to gamble with her brother-in-law.

‘Julia, Lizzie, Fanny,’ she said. ‘I believe the Reverend Fuller set you some exercises yesterday. You can do them in the dining room.’

‘What, now?’ Lizzie asked.

‘Yes, now.’

‘But you said I was to help teach the little ones,’ Julia put in.

‘So you shall. We will discuss what you will teach them after dinner.’

The girls left the room and Charlotte turned to the remaining children. ‘Now, do any of you know the name of the King of England?’ she asked.

‘George,’ one of them said. ‘But he’s mad, my pa says so.’

‘He is ill, but he is still our king. Now, how would you address him if you were to meet him?’

They laughed at such an absurd idea.

‘Mr King?’ suggested one.

She smiled and corrected him and from there went on to explain the different titles in order of precedence: king, duke, marquis, earl, viscount, baron and baronet, and how each should be addressed. She did it quickly, knowing it was unlikely they would remember or even needed to, and then moved on to a reading lesson. Teachers of poor children usually confined themselves to using the bible as their text in order to make good little Christians of their pupils, but in her opinion the language was difficult for the children to comprehend and therefore did not hold their attention. She picked up Sir Walter Scott’s
Waverley
, an action-packed adventure that might motivate them to want to read it on their own. ‘Come and stand out here, Danny,’ she said, wanting to make up for the humiliation he had received. ‘Let us see what you make of this.’

He did very well, slowly at first but gaining in confidence as he went on, then she asked the others to take over, one at a time, until they had all read a passage. At the end of the lesson she led them to the dining room for dinner where they were joined by the older girls.

Charlotte, sharing their meal, could not stop herself thinking of the smugglers and wondering if the children’s parents were even now receiving their instructions. Would such transactions be kept from their offspring or would they make no secret of what they were doing, perhaps enlist the help of some of the older ones? How much contraband was expected? A few barrels of brandy and a box of tobacco or a whole shipload? Surely it could not be brought ashore without anyone seeing it?

‘Go straight home,’ she told the village children after the meal. ‘Do not stop and talk to strangers.’

‘Why not, missus…I mean, my lady?’ Danny hurriedly corrected himself, which made the others giggle. ‘They might be lost and want to know the way. We don’t ever get people come here but they’ve lost their way. It don’t lead anywhere, you see.’

‘Except the sea,’ put in Joseph Bowker, whose father was a seaman.

‘I know,’ she said, and, not wishing to alarm them, added, ‘Of course you may direct someone who is lost.’

And there was no one more lost than she was, she reflected as she watched them go, some running, others dawdling, unwilling to go home to the chores that awaited them.

‘I wish I had my mount here,’ Julia was saying as Charlotte rejoined the girls in her small parlour where they were sitting with their sewing. Lizzie was mending stockings, Fanny was trying to embroider a cushion cover, though whether it would ever be fit to put on a cushion Charlotte doubted. Julia was nursing a piece of canvas and a pile of skeins, but her hands were idle. ‘I would love to have a gallop along the beach. I think I shall ask Papa if he will send for Ebony. We could go for a ride together.’

‘I collect when the Viscount was here earlier in the year, he was riding a big white stallion,’ Charlotte said, wondering if he had fetched the horse from the inn at Ipswich.

‘Yes, that was Ivor. He is named for the Russian Count who sold him to Papa.’

‘I did not think he had him here with him now.’

‘He hasn’t. I do not know where the horse is. Papa left him somewhere when he came home last time. I don’t know where, but he told me he was in such a hurry to come to me he decided to travel on the mail. I was very ill, you know.’

‘Yes, I did know. But you are fully recovered now, I trust.’

‘Oh, yes. I have never been ill before, though I was always used to go out and about in all weathers. The doctor said it was my strong constitution that pulled me through it.’

‘Then I am very glad.’

‘If we cannot ride, can we go for a walk?’

‘No, not today. Remember we are to discuss what you are to teach the children. We must plan the lessons properly and we must not forget that you are learning too.’

‘How can you teach and learn at the same time?’

‘Oh, easily. I am doing it all the time.’

‘You?’ Julia laughed.

‘All life is a learning experience,’ Charlotte said. ‘From birth to death we are learning, experiencing new things, new sights, new tastes, learning about people, and if we are wise we try to understand them. We are all different, but we are all human beings with our own strengths and frailties, from the highest in the land to the lowest. And we can all be hurt by someone else’s cruelty.’

‘Oh, I see, this is meant to be a jobation.’

‘Do you think you deserve a scolding?’ Charlotte asked mildly.

‘No, why should I?’ It was said sharply. ‘If people cannot stand being corrected—’ She stopped. ‘Why are you smiling?’

‘Don’t you know?’

‘No.’

‘Mama means that if the shoe fits, then you should wear it,’ Lizzie said. ‘You corrected DannyWhite and Mama is correcting you.’

Julia turned on her. ‘Do you not mind that little urchin calling your mama missus?’

‘Not if Mama doesn’t. He was not disrespectful. But you are. You are odiously rude.’

‘Lizzie!’ Charlotte admonished.

‘And you are a toady, a jumped-up little mushroom,’ Julia shouted.

‘That is enough!’ Charlotte clapped her hands together.

Both girls subsided and looked down at the work in their laps. Lizzie began stitching with great fury, but Julia flung her work from her. ‘I do not have to stay here to be insulted.’ And with that she flounced from the room. Charlotte went after her.

She found her sitting on her bed, staring at the wall with a mutinous expression on her face. But her eyes were filled with tears and though she tried manfully to blink them back, they chased each other down her cheeks. ‘Oh, Julia, do not cry.’ Charlotte sat down beside her and put her arm about the girl’s shoulders. ‘Lizzie did not mean it.’

‘I am not crying, I am not!’ Her voice rose, but then, suddenly deflated, she sank back against Charlotte. ‘And it isn’t Lizzie…’

‘Then what is it?’

‘It’s…Oh, I don’t know. I miss Grandpa and Grandmama and Malcomby and Miss Handy, and all my animals. I want to go home. I hate being cooped indoors, but I said I would stay to please Papa, but he will not be pleased.’

‘Why would he not?’

‘You will tell him I have been naughty and he will beat me.’

‘Beat you?’ Charlotte asked, unable to believe that, however exasperated Viscount Darton might be, he would lay hands on his daughter. ‘Has he ever beaten you?’

‘No, but he said he would if you gave me a bad report.’

‘I am sure he did not mean it.’

‘Oh, he did,’ the girl said with conviction.

‘Then we must endeavour not to send him a bad report. Now, dry your eyes and come downstairs again. We have still to plan your lessons.’

Julia regained her usual aplomb remarkably quickly and accompanied Charlotte downstairs, where they spent some time talking about her role as a teacher’s helper. It did not take Charlotte long to discover that the girl was well versed in things to do with the natural world, wild flowers, the animals of the countryside, birds and their nests, and as the village children also had a little practical knowledge she decided to put the two together and see what transpired. By teatime, Julia was showing real enthusiasm and settled down with a book on bird recognition in order to prepare for the next day’s lesson. Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief and decided there was no need to tell Stacey about her behaviour towards Danny White and the subsequent contretemps with Lizzie, who had voluntarily said she was sorry and had received a grudging apology from Julia.

Next morning, with the smaller children crowding round Julia, absorbed in the bird book, and Lizzie and Fanny writing an essay on the Jacobite rebellion of 1745, and why it had failed, Charlotte felt safe leaving them in the care of Betsy, Joan Quinn and Jenkins while she went into Parson’s End. She needed a few provisions and might at the same time learn if there was anything unusual happening there. Viscount Darton had told her to keep out of it, but he hadn’t told her she should not venture into the village; his concern had been that they should not go on the beach. In any case, why should she do his bidding? The villagers all knew her and none would harm her.

She had not been in the village long when she became aware of an atmosphere of veiled excitement. Everyone was going about their usual business, working on the land, tending animals, or hanging out washing and sweeping the dust from their houses, but they looked more animated than usual, often stopping to look about them and Mrs White was singing as she beat her mats in the yard. Oh, they knew what was afoot, all of them. Should she say something? Should she warn them of the dire consequences of being caught with contraband goods? But they knew that already.

‘My lady, good morning.’ Stacey stood before her, doffing his tall hat. His dark hair curled about his ears, his dark, arched brows lifted a little at the sight of her, his dark eyes with their glinting golden lights swept over her.

She felt the colour flood her face, but managed to hold his scrutiny with her own candid, aquamarine eyes. ‘Good morning, my lord.’

‘Is all well at The Crow’s Nest?’ She was in her usual black cloak and bonnet and he wondered how long it would be before she decided to throw off her mourning. He hoped it was for her father-in-law and could soon be put off, and not her husband, who had been dead nearly eight years. A woman with her beauty and figure should not go through life swathed in black.

‘Yes, my lord. I have come into the village for a few provisions.’ She lifted the basket on her arm, which held a meat pie which she intended to take to an old lady who was housebound by rheumatism before filling the basket with her shopping. The village children rarely refused anything, but the older girls were more particular and Betsy always cooked more than was needed.

‘Do you need to do that yourself? Surely there is someone you might send?’

‘I like to do it. I like to visit the sick and do what I can to help them. The children are all occupied with their lessons and Miss Quinn and Betsy are there to watch over them.’

‘Have you made your purchases?’

‘Not yet, my lord. I go to the farm for fresh eggs and a plucked chicken for the children’s dinner.’ She indicated her direction and began to walk. He took her basket and fell into step beside her. Mrs White stopped singing to watch them go.