A Time Like No Other (20 page)

Biddy hissed unbelievingly then the clothing dropped from her suddenly nerveless hands.

‘So that’s why . . .’ Her mouth dropped open and her face lost its colour and for a moment she thought she would faint and it was only the small distressed sound that came from the back of Lally’s throat that kept her upright.

‘Biddy . . . Biddy, please . . . What else could I do?’ she pleaded, knowing that Biddy would understand exactly what she meant.

Biddy sank on to the unmade bed and Lally knelt at her feet, taking her hands in her own and so they remained for several long moments until Biddy regained her senses.

‘Whose?’

‘Roly.’

‘Does Mr Harry know?’

‘Oh, yes. I told him and at once he offered—’

‘Marriage.’ The word was harsh but at the same time Biddy knew a vast relief, for who cared who the father was as long as her lamb was safe.

‘Yes.’

All Biddy said was, ‘Thank God,’ and from that moment Biddy Stevens was Harry Sinclair’s ‘man’ and would have died for him. She could not do enough for him, in an unobtrusive way, of course, and would have no word spoken against him. Not that any of the servants would do so and in every way she could, should anything have been whispered, she kept up the pretence that Miss Lally and her new husband had, perhaps, anticipated their wedding night and the servants, forgetting the way Mr Roly had haunted the place before the wedding, accepted it.

‘Now tha’ see’t way them branches mekk a sorter platform, Miss Lally,’ Barty was saying, pointing with his hoe into the crown of the oak while Froglet nodded his head enthusiastically. ‘Well, that’s steady as a rock up there an’ when us’ve—’

He was interrupted by the sound of horse’s hooves on the now smoothly raked gravel of the drive. The children and the dogs began a surge towards the horseman and the three adults, if you could call Froglet such, turned to look up the drive in the direction of the approaching animal and the man on his back.

It was Roly Sinclair!

She had often pondered on how it would be when they met again, the unthinkable moment when they would come face to face but now that it had actually arrived it was not at all as she had imagined it to be. How had she imagined it to be? He would know, naturally, that she had married his brother and that she was pregnant but he would not be aware that the child she carried was his. When the baby was born he might speculate, as many would on its early arrival, but she was a respectably married woman with a wealthy and influential husband and nothing could change that. But somehow the circumstances did not unduly worry her. She was heavy not only in her body but in the senses, her emotions lulled, half dormant, pulse beat and heartbeat sluggish, submerged in her role of breeding female, too placid and patient to arouse any kind of anxiety.

Nevertheless she turned away, ready to go as fast as she could towards the house and the safety of Biddy who was the only one who knew the truth. Biddy would see to him. Biddy would get rid of him. Biddy would explain that Mrs Sinclair was not up to visitors, but it was too late as Roly covered the last couple of yards to where they stood, skilfully avoiding the boisterous group of children and animals. He leaped gracefully from the saddle and handed the reins to the open-mouthed Froglet and took Lally’s limp hand in his. His eyes swept the bulging line of her stomach as he bent to kiss her hand.

‘Lally, my dear, how well you look. Positively thriving, I must say, and it all seems to have happened so quickly. I had no idea you and Harry were . . . well, never mind, you are now my sister-in-law and I must say I couldn’t be more pleased. I said so to Harry when I arrived this morning but he had something tricky on the loom and he was in a temper so I left him to ride over here to congratulate you.’

Without turning he indicated to Barty and Froglet that they were to leave and take his gelding with them, then, putting Lally’s lifeless hand through his arm, he began to lead her towards the house. ‘Come, are you not going to offer me a drink?’

‘Of course,’ she answered, falling automatically into the role of welcoming hostess which had been bred in her. They walked side by side up the slope, Lally still in the state of startled shock which the sight of him had produced. Suddenly realising she had, in her bewilderment, totally forgotten her children, she wrenched her hand from his arm and turned back but Barty and Froglet had them securely in hand, informing them sternly that if they did not do as they were told, which was follow their mam, Barty would not build them the promised tree house. They had been enjoying the freedom their mama allowed them, for everyone knew her to be an indulgent mother, away from the stricter rules of Dora, and they did not want to return to the nursery but they
did
want a tree house even if the baby Alec was not at all sure what it was.

It was the gentleman who persuaded them.

‘Come along now,’ ordered in a way they were both aware he meant. Not in five minutes or even five seconds but
now
. Recognising the voice of authority they plodded up the slope after their mama and the gentleman.

‘It’s as well you have married Harry,’ Roly remarked pleasantly, taking Lally’s arm again. ‘They need a man behind them, I’m thinking, and Harry will stand no nonsense. Where is their nursemaid hiding, would you say? I do believe in children being restrained in the nursery, don’t you?’

Again she pulled her arm away from his hand. ‘No, I do not,’ she snapped and perhaps for the first time she realised that of the two brothers she had married the right one. Harry was inclined to be sharp with the boys at times, but he did it in a way that let them know he meant what he said. At the same time he was always fair, and already her sons, though still so young, understood that he was a tolerant, kind-hearted man. She herself had come to recognise that kindness could easily be confused with weakness but this was not the case with Harry. He was a man of many layers, unpredictable, deep, keeping the private part of himself, which he allowed no one to see, well concealed, but as the weeks passed and she grew accustomed to his presence she had felt herself drawn to his masculine virility. He had at first taken her every night in their bed but as she grew bigger and more clumsy he had taken to sleeping in the bedroom on the far side of the dressing room and, strangely, she had missed him. She would forever be grateful to him for what he had done, for her, for Chris’s boys, for Susan Harper even, and soon, for his brother’s child who was doing a fandango in her belly at this very moment.

Biddy’s face was a picture as Lally and Roly entered the hallway. She was directing Tansy, the new housemaid, in mixing furniture polish, following a new recipe she had found in a magazine and was eager to try, which included linseed-oil, turpentine, vinegar and spirits of wine. She supposed Mr Sinclair’s housekeeper must already have taught the girl the rudiments of being a parlour-maid but Biddy liked her own ways and was busy teaching the lass what they were.

‘Shake the mixture well and rub it on with a clean piece of linen then polish with a dry duster. It will produce a lovely shine,’ she was saying while Tansy watched somewhat mutinously, for hadn’t she been housemaid at Mill House for years and knew all about cleaning. They both turned towards the door as their mistress and Mr Roly entered and for some reason unknown to Tansy, Mrs Stevens muttered something under her breath, something Tansy could not catch.

‘Beg pardon?’ she said, but Mrs Stevens, with a twitch of her head, indicated that Tansy should return to the kitchen. Mrs Stevens’s face had lost all its colour and Tansy wondered why.

Lally knew, of course. She smiled or rather grimaced in what was meant to be a smile, turning brightly to Roly. ‘Would you care for coffee, Roly?’ she asked.

‘That would be most welcome, Lally.’ He nodded at the frozen figure of the housekeeper, probably wondering why the woman looked so strange but Lally distracted him as she removed her cloak and tossed it carelessly in Biddy’s direction. If he was surprised, and he was, at the fullness of her figure, he did not show it, though it seemed to him, having been married for no more than five months, she was remarkably plump. Not that he knew much about women who were pregnant since those of his own class kept to their homes during pregnancy and only took exercise in their closed carriages and even after giving birth remained secluded for at least six weeks.

He followed Lally into the drawing room. Everywhere was warm, even the huge stone-floored hall where a crackling log fire blazed. As he entered the drawing room he was quite amazed as his feet sank into the thick velvet of a carpet and his gaze encountered the comfort and luxury that had been added to the room which he remembered as rather threadbare and only warm about the fireplace and that only
luke
warm! It was filled with flowers, pictures hung on the freshly papered walls and ornaments of what he recognised as highly valuable porcelain stood on dainty-legged tables. He also recognised that his brother must have spent a great deal of money to transform this house, for he supposed the bedrooms had had the same treatment, into one in which he could live comfortably and entertain his business friends and acquaintances. He wondered if Lally was up to such a thing, for she and Chris had been careless as host and hostess to their many, equally careless, friends of whom he had been one. It had not mattered to them who had turned up, or when, and the glorious romps in which Lally had been included were not the sort of thing his rather staid brother would expect.

‘And how long are you to be home this time, Roly?’ Lally asked politely after he had seated her rather heavily on the sofa to the side of the roaring fire and had sat opposite her in the matching and extremely comfortable sofa on the other side of the fireplace. She had pulled her . . . well, he could only call them
draperies
about her thickening figure, fine woollen garments, but full and ingeniously constructed to hide her belly, in a light rose, the colour flattering and he had to admit she looked very lovely. Her skin was flawless, her dark, curly hair tumbling about her head in a glossy cap. Her eyes were a clear blue-green and the lashes surrounding them seemed thicker and darker than he remembered. It was as though her pregnancy had enhanced the natural beauty that had been hers the last time they met.

‘Well, as I have been away for eight months, travelling the length and breadth of America and then on to Russia and Europe I feel I might stay at home for a month or two. Harry has plans for an extension to High Clough and I believe I should be here when he starts. After all I am an equal partner in the business and he is inclined to go hell for leather at things without consulting me. I go away and when I come back he has altered something I’m not sure I agree with. He intends to turn the carding of the wool entirely over to West Heath which seems, on the face of it, to be a good idea but I would like the chance to consider it.’ He smiled, as polite as Lally, brooding on why he was talking to her, to Lally, who was as fun-loving as himself, about business. Something in her demeanour was burrowing into his alert mind and though he could not have said what it was he felt himself wondering at his own sudden unease. Well, not exactly unease but a feeling that there was something in the air, in Lally herself, that disturbed him.

‘What a shame you missed Christmas at home.’

He grinned impishly. ‘Oh, I enjoyed Christmas in America so I did not exactly miss it. They are very hospitable, the Americans. I brought some presents back, Christmas presents and though it’s now March I hope you will accept them. I have them here.’

He stood up and from his pocket produced a small, beautifully wrapped parcel. To her astonishment he handed it to her with a bow.

‘Oh, Roly, really, you should not have . . .’

‘Rubbish. I saw this and at once thought of you. It is nothing . . . well, I say it is nothing but the jeweller told me it once belonged to a European princess.’ He stood over her, though at the same time he did his best to assume a casual air.

When she unwrapped the parcel she found it to contain an exquisitely hand-made box covered with fine tooled leather, slightly worn. She opened it slowly. The box was lined with silk and lying snugly on the silk was the most beautiful necklace and bracelet she had ever seen. It was a combination of pearls, gold and enamel set off by a dazzling selection of diamonds. It was made of multiple strands of small pearls, the focal point of the necklace the diamonds which were set like a heart hanging from the pearls. The bracelet which nestled at the centre of the box matched it in miniature.

‘I thought it would match all the evening gowns I have seen you wear though I’m sure by now my brother has bought you many more. Or will when your confinement is over.’

She could not speak, since she knew as well as she knew that the sun rose in the east and set in the west that there was nothing more certain than that Harry Sinclair would not allow her to wear this beautiful jewellery bought for her by the father of her child!

13

Caterina Sinclair, to be called Cat to the end of her days, was born on a gentle April day, a soft day filled with bright sunshine and nodding daffodils, those that Barty had planted at back end, adding to those that had already pushed through the earth and the grass about the house for the past century and which made a magical golden carpet as far as the eye could see. There were golden catkins on the graceful weeping willows hanging over the lake and in their shade the ducks glided and dived for something tasty to eat. Marsh marigolds were in bloom mixing with primroses and wood anemones, clustered by the lake and under the great trees which had stood there when the monks had worked and prayed beneath them in the time of Henry V. The sky was a cloudless blue and the first swallow was spotted by Barty as he and Froglet hung about in the stable yard, since it had been reported that the mistress had started in labour and they were eager to hear how she did, for they were fond of her. A bit early, they whispered to one another, the servants, who had been taken by surprise since the child had not been due for several more weeks but still it was a lovely, healthy little girl, Dulcie reported to them importantly just as though she had been present at her mistress’s bedside during the infant’s birth, helping out Miss Lally’s new doctor. Doctor Burton was a young, recently qualified medical man direct from London and the great teaching hospital of St Thomas’s, very up to date in his method of delivering babies and not at all like the old-fashioned Doctor Channing who had ministered to the Fraser family for many years. Brought from High Clough at Miss Lally’s first pang, Mr Sinclair had moved restlessly about the house and even into the garden, smoking cigars one after the other, but could you blame him for worrying since it was his first. Pity it wasn’t a lad though since the maister had a splendid business to hand on but, still, Miss Lally was young and there was plenty of time for many more.