An Unusual Bequest (14 page)

‘Yes. I do not choose to live with my brother-in-law.’

‘Understood. You need say no more. But what about this school idea? I must know more about that.’

She explained her idea as succinctly as she could, her enthusiasm for her subject overriding her unease about being able to finance the project. Knowing her background, he would assume she was not without funds and the fact that he had mentioned her father meant he set some store by that relationship.

‘And your pupils?’ he asked, at the end of the recital. ‘I do not want my home wrecked.’

‘Of course not. They will come from the very best families. I have good connections…’ she paused ‘…and I have my first pupil. Viscount Darton, who is distantly related to my late husband, is going to entrust me with his daughter.’ She hoped Stacey would forgive her for the fib, if she ever saw him again. If…Oh, Stacey, my love, please do not desert me, not now.

He stood up. ‘Then let me show you over the house. You need to be sure it will be suitable before we go any further.’

She had already made up her mind that she could not afford to reject it, but she followed him dutifully from room to room, mentally deciding which could be classrooms and which her private quarters. It was a shambling old house that had once been quite small, but which had been added to over the years to make a home for a sea captain. It was furnished with heavy, serviceable pieces in a mixture of styles and she guessed he had picked much of it up on his travels about the globe. It reminded her of her childhood home in Portsmouth, not elegant, but comfortable. She was not looking for elegance and what was there looked as though it could stand up to a knock or two by exuberant children. Anything valuable or flimsy could be stored away until the Captain returned.

From one of the upstairs room she could see the roof of Easterley Manor, from another the pine woods that protected the village and from yet another, the bay on which a few fishing boats were moored, and beyond them the distant sea. ‘I can see why it is called The Crow’s Nest,’ she said.

‘Oh, you can get a much better view from the tower. Would you like to see it?’

‘Yes, please.’

The stairs were steep and winding, but she lifted her skirts clear of her ankles and climbed after him. At the top was a circular room with a large bay window in which a telescope was stationed. He put his eye to it and made one or two adjustments, then turned to her. ‘Take a look, my lady.’

She put her eye to it. ‘My goodness, you can see the men working on the decks of those vessels. How far away are they?’

‘Four or five miles, I should say.’

She swivelled the instrument round and looked along the coast. There were three men walking along the cliff top and she had no difficulty in recognising Cecil and his two friends. They did not appear to be doing anything except talk, but every now and again one of them gestured out to sea. From up here she had an excellent view of the bay, except she could not see the beach and cliff immediately below her on account of not being able to depress the angle of the telescope enough. ‘It is amazing,’ she said, deciding to say nothing of the men. ‘You must know about everything that comes and goes past this little bit of coastline.’

‘Yes, I do. But a word of warning. If you take this house, the tower is out of bounds. I want no one up here. That is a very sensitive instrument and very valuable.’

‘Of course. I understand.’

‘Then let us go downstairs again and complete our bargain.’

If she was agreeable, he was prepared to let her have the house for a year, he told her, when they were once again seated in the comfortable little parlour that she had decided would be her private sitting room. The rent would reflect the fact that he had been prepared to pay a caretaker and that salary would be deducted from what she would pay, but any alterations she made to the house to make it suitable for use as a school must be paid for by her and, at the end of the tenancy, everything restored to what it was. It was more generous than she could have hoped for and she expressed her gratitude. ‘I will write to Mr Hardacre today, and he will tie up the details,’ she said, trying to sound businesslike, though she was sure her mounting excitement was showing on her face. She was positively elated. Was this how a gambler felt when he thought he was on to a winning streak? If it was, she had better cool her ardour at once; she had not won yet. ‘There is just one thing. When may I move in?’

He smiled, knowing, as everyone else did in the village, about the dreadful goings-on up at the Manor, and he did not blame her for wanting to leave. ‘Whenever you like, my lady. I depart tomorrow and must leave the keys somewhere, so why not with you? Your caretaking duties can begin as soon as you like. As for the legalities, I do not have time to see Mr Hardacre, so a simple agreement between you and me will suffice. I have no fears about trusting you.’

‘Thank you. Would you like me to come for the keys?’

‘I leave at noon. But if it is more convenient for you, I can pass them to the Reverend Fuller.’

‘That would be better. I take a class at the Rectory every day.’

She left, treading on air, but she had not gone above a dozen steps when she came down with a bump. She still did not have the wherewithal to pay the rent, little as it was and she was thankful that the Captain had not asked for an advance. He trusted her, he said. But was she worthy of that trust? She had every intention of moving in, knowing she could not pay; if such action was not illegal, it was certainly dishonest. She was overwhelmed with guilt, but there was a great deal of anger too. Anger at Viscount Darton for letting her down. Where, oh, where was he?

And there was Cecil to be overcome. What would he say when she told him she was moving out? She was a hostage to his fortune though she was not supposed to know it. Would those men insist she stay at the Manor? How soon before the contraband ship arrived? Up at The Crow’s Nest she was in a prime position to see it arrive and being unloaded. She knew it and so would they. On the other hand if they did not know she listened at doors and had discovered what they were scheming, she was probably safe enough. Oh, what a tightrope she was walking!

The Reverend was teaching her class when she returned, but she waited until he had dismissed the children before approaching him. ‘It is all arranged,’ she told him. ‘The Captain will leave the keys with you for me to collect. I can move in as soon as I like.’

He smiled. ‘Good. I knew he would agree. I am glad you called, it will save me coming to the Manor. I have a letter for you. The carrier brought it half an hour ago.’ He looked round the classroom to see that all was as it should be before ushering her out and locking the door behind them. ‘Come over to the Rectory and I will give it to you. It was franked, so I did not have to pay for it.’

Her fortunes must have taken an upward turn at last, she decided when she took the correspondence. It was not from Stacey, as she had hoped it might be, but from Mr Hardacre. He had been looking at Sir Grenville’s papers again and come across an item he had missed at the time of his death. There was money available from a fund her husband had set up many years before, when he first went soldiering, and it had been gaining interest ever since. It had nothing to do with the late Lord Hobart’s will and was hers free and without encumbrance to spend as she liked. ‘My lady, please accept my humble apologies for not seeing it before,’ he concluded. ‘If you have found a house, then let me have the details and I will do whatever is necessary to procure it for you.’ By the time she finished reading it, she was in tears. She had been saved, not by Viscount Stacey Darton, but by her own husband.

‘Oh, Grenville,’ she murmured, remembering his crookedly indulgent smile when he wanted to please her with some small gift or an unexpected treat.

‘Not bad news, I trust,’ the Reverend asked, looking concerned.

‘No, not bad at all. Good news. Very good. All is well. I shan’t wait to make the alterations but move into The Crow’s Nest the day after tomorrow. I am going to have my school, Reverend.’

He breathed a huge sigh of relief; like everyone else in the village he had been worried sick about her. But she would still need protection, people to look out for her, and he could organise that with some of the village men. He wouldn’t tell her that, though, it would hurt her pride.

‘I wonder if I might beg writing paper and pen and ink to reply to this letter before I go home,’ she said, unwilling to let anyone at the Manor know what she was about, certainly not about her windfall. ‘Then I can leave it with you for the post. It will save time.’

‘Of course.’ He led the way to his study, provided her with the writing materials and left her to compose her letter. When it was done, she returned to the drawing room and gave it to him. ‘Thank you. Now I must go home and tell the girls.’

He offered her his escort, but she declined it, saying it was only a step and she had no qualms about walking about the village alone, which was true. It was not in the village the danger lay, but at the Manor. And that, praise be, not for much longer.

She hurried home, her mind racing with all the things she had to do. She would tell the girls and Miss Quinn first, then speak to the servants. Betsy, she felt sure, would want to come with her, but what about Mrs Evans? She could do with a good cook, not perhaps to begin with because she could cook a little herself, but later when she had pupils; prospective parents would want to know all about her domestic arrangements before entrusting her with their daughters. And that was another task; she must draft out a prospectus and an advertisement, and send for books and writing materials and beds. She must have more beds. And she would need references. Oh, there was no end to it.

And she must tell Cecil. She was not looking forward to doing that, knowing his temper, but she would stand her ground and not allow him to intimidate her. Whatever happened, she must not let slip that she knew about the free-trading. Her life might depend upon it. She wished Stacey Darton had not gone away. He had no need to sell her jewellery, after all, but it was too late to tell him so. Again she wondered where he was. But listening at doors had proved one thing; Cecil had not waylaid him or he would not have been entirely without funds and would not have been forced to agree to the smuggling scheme. So where was the Viscount? In Ipswich, perhaps, enjoying the proceeds from selling her trinkets, gambling it away, forgetting all about her.

She must not think of him, she told herself as she turned in at the gate of the Manor. She must put him from her mind, forget his gentle voice, forget the comfort of his arms, forget his kisses and his promise to come back. He was no more to be relied on than Cecil and his cronies, less so when she considered that she knew they were rogues and Stacey Darton had bamboozled her completely.

Cecil was surprisingly sanguine about her intention to move out and he did not protest about Miss Quinn leaving with her, nor Betsy with whom he had crossed swords on more than one occasion, but he refused to let Mrs Evans go. ‘I can’t be without a cook,’ he said and promptly offered the woman the post of housekeeper-cum-cook with a higher wage, which she could not resist, though Charlotte wondered how he proposed to pay it. The cargo of contraband must be a very lucrative one, but how big a share was her brother-in-law expecting? That was why he had not tried to stop her, she decided; if she was out of the way, she would not witness what was going on.

Forgetting all about Cecil and his friends and smuggling, and trying desperately not to think of Viscount Darton, she set about packing her clothes and personal possessions and arranging for a carter to carry them to The Crow’s Nest.

The next few days were so busy settling in, she had no time to brood, would not allow herself to brood. The past—her privileged childhood, marriage and widowhood—was all behind her and she must live the life she had now and enjoy it, she and her children.

The house needed little in the way of alteration. It was largely a question of moving out and storing the Captain’s furniture from the two large rooms she intended to be classrooms and installing desks and chairs and bookcases. There were several bedrooms, one of which was quite large and could be made into a dormitory when she had more pupils. It meant removing the heavy four-poster that stood there and replacing it with six small beds. Six was the number of boarders she had fixed upon; the village children would naturally live at home. Lizzie and Fanny would share one of the smaller bedchambers.

Armed with Mr Hardacre’s letter to a bank in Ipswich to release funds to her and a long list of her requirements, she borrowed the parson’s gig and set off, taking Lizzie and Fanny with her. They had not been out for days and deserved a treat. If the thought crossed her mind that she might see Stacey in Ipswich, she resolutely pushed it from her. It was two weeks since he had left Parson’s End with her jewels and he must surely have moved on to exercise his charms elsewhere. She tried not to be bitter about it, but sometimes it was hard not to feel anger and resentment. More fool she for trusting him!

‘Now, girls, we must go to the bank first,’ she said brightly, after they had left the gig at the Great White Horse inn. ‘And then I must find a printer and do the shopping and then we will do whatever you choose.’

‘I want to see the ships,’ Lizzie said. She had seen vessels from the beach, plying up and down, their sails stiff with the breeze, and she was always curious about where they had come from, where they were going and what they carried, perhaps because Charlotte had talked to her daughters about their seagoing grandfather.

‘And I want to have a cordial drink and a honey cake,’ Fanny added, making Charlotte smile. Fanny was always hungry.

‘Then we will do both.’

The expedition was a great success, especially as there was a new ship being built in the docks and the girls had been fascinated by the builders and workmen swarming round it. All three were exhausted when they returned to the inn for the gig. A stage had just arrived and the yard was busy with passengers alighting and others taking their places, horses being changed and luggage being unloaded and loaded, making a great deal of bustle. Charlotte had not told the ostler what time she intended to be back, so the gig was not ready for her. She made her way through the throng to the stables. The parson’s pony was contentedly munching hay in a stall next to a magnificent white stallion.