Dangerous Decisions (5 page)

A few days later, after her silk brocade bedroom curtains had been opened to herald another warm day and the maid had left the room, Helena leaned back against the soft pillows to savour her hot chocolate. Oliver had now been at Broadway Manor for three weeks and the whole household was expecting an engagement; even the maids were casting sideways glances. Yet there had been no hint of a proposal. Helena tried to think whether there had been any change in his attitude towards her. But the reverse was true – their private moments together were increasingly more affectionate. However, even Oliver must realise that his delay was beginning to cause her embarrassment. And when after breakfast her father asked her to join him in his study, Helena guessed correctly that he too was becoming concerned.

Jacob gazed at his daughter whose resemblance to her mother grew with every passing year and was a constant reminder of the poignancy of their loss. How proud Mary would have been of her. In a high-necked white blouse with leg of mutton sleeves and long blue skirt, Helena sat in the burgundy leather chair opposite his desk and smiled at him.

Jacob cleared his throat. ‘My dear, I don't like to intrude on such personal matters, but I felt that perhaps it was time we discussed …'

Helena, seeing his discomfort, said swiftly, ‘Are you perhaps concerned about Oliver's intentions, Papa?'

He nodded with some relief. ‘He will be leaving us in just over a week, and while your Aunt Beatrice and I feel that the visit has been a resounding success …'

‘You are wondering if and when he is going to declare himself.'

Helena's voice was quiet and he gave her a sharp glance. The man was inscrutable at times, but then so many of the upper classes were like that, giving the impression that they were a race apart, not quite mortal like the rest of the population. However, if Oliver had been merely toying with Helena's affections … Jacob's forehead creased in a frown. ‘That is exactly what I am wondering. I'm sure you are aware of how much importance I place on this match. Tell me, is there anything I should know? Something you haven't told me?'

Helena shook her head, ‘Not at all, Papa.'

‘And he has given no hint of his intentions, has never talked of your future together?'

Again she shook her head.

‘You will obviously accept him?'

Helena felt the atmosphere between them change into one of pressure, benign in nature but insistent. A refusal at this late stage when the county was expecting such a prestigious match would cause humiliation not only to Oliver but also to her father and aunt. It was only then that Helena realised that any doubts she had were no longer relevant. ‘Yes, of course I will.'

Jacob drummed his fingers on the large, highly polished desk. ‘Then I hope you are right, my dear. And that a decision is reached very soon.' However, as she came over to kiss his cheek before leaving, he couldn't help but wonder whether he should have probed more into her feelings for Oliver. Did she love him in the way that he had loved his Mary? But how could a father broach such a delicate subject with his daughter, and although he rarely had a critical thought about his sister, Jacob did wish that Beatrice, with her brisk, no-nonsense attitude, could just sometimes forget her sense of duty and remember her womanly side.

And so it was that when in the late afternoon Helena found herself guided by Oliver towards the rose arbour, her heart began to pound with both apprehension and relief. In an effort to remain calm, as they reached the trellis arch she breathed in the delicate fragrance of damask roses and bent to a beautiful white specimen nestling among its dark green foliage. ‘I love roses, don't you?'

Oliver smiled inwardly. Fond as he was of her, Helena was a romantic little goose, which was why he had so carefully chosen the scene for his proposal. Nothing must upset his plans, which was why he had deliberately delayed this moment, knowing that uncertainty would build pressure. His valet had already reported that Jacob Standish had only that morning summoned Helena to his study.

As Helena straightened up, he took her hand and leaning forward, kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘Yes, of course. And I know you will love the extensive rose gardens at Graylings.' He smiled and touched a tendril of her hair. ‘Helena, I refuse to subscribe to the ridiculous stance of going down on one knee. It is so undignified, do you not agree? And I don't think my next words will come as a surprise to you.' Oliver gazed down at her, utterly confident of her answer. ‘Please, Miss Helena Standish, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?'

Helena, conscious of the warm pressure of his hand in hers and the subtle cedar wood scent of his cologne, hesitated and then said the words that she knew would shape the rest of her life. ‘Yes, Oliver, of course I will marry you.'

‘It's champagne in the drawing room!' Bostock came hurrying into the kitchen. ‘I knew it! Mr Faraday was in the master's study for well over an hour.'

‘Lord help us!' Cook sat in the nearest chair. ‘He's finally proposed.'

‘What's she said, Mr Bostock? Has Miss Helena accepted him?' The younger of the two footmen looked up from his task of polishing the silver, while the other began to set out flutes on a silver tray.

‘They'd hardly be drinking champagne if she hadn't. I think this occasion calls for the Krug.' He hurried away to the wine cellar.

‘I wonder whether he went down on one knee,' Molly said dreamily.

‘That man would never do such a thing, he's too full of his own self-importance!' Annie stood at the door to the scullery, her eyes full of consternation. ‘And I for one wish he'd never set foot here.'

‘Honestly, Annie, I don't understand why you're so against him.' Ida began to stack a pile of clean napkins inside a deep drawer in the dresser.

‘Do you like him, Ida?'

She paused and then slowly shook her head. ‘I'm not sure, Annie. I mean, he's
one of them
, isn't he? And they're different from us with all their formal manners and such. Perhaps that's why he seems a bit on the cold side.'

Molly bit into a broken half of shortbread. She felt worried. ‘I still think it's strange that neither the valet nor the chauffeur will give anything away about him.'

‘And he does have a way of making you feel invisible. But he turns on the charm when Miss Helena's around, that's for sure. Mind you, he must have genuine feelings for her. After all, he hardly needs to marry her for her money. And he's her choice, so we should be glad for her.'

‘Yes, well I won't be sorry when he's left,' Enid said. ‘It's not him I mind as much as that manservant of his. He's always nosying about Miss Helena.'

Molly stared at her. ‘How do you mean?'

‘Well, it's not direct questions as such, but – oh I don't know, he just gives me the creeps. “It must be nice to work for a mistress who is so perfect,” he said, and then went on to tell me that his sister was born with an ugly birthmark on her hip. I don't know what he was insinuating.'

‘What did you say?'

‘Nothing – I always treat him with the contempt he deserves.'

Molly nudged Ida. ‘Go on then, if a man as handsome as Mr Faraday proposed to you, would
you
turn him down?'

‘My Charlie wasn't at the back of the class when good looks were given out, even if he does have a gammy leg. Mind you, if he hadn't got that in the Boer War he wouldn't have been left behind when his regiment left last year.' Ida's tone was defensive. ‘Anyway, he likes being a clerk at the Depot. And he may not be rich but he'll do for me. And one of these days …' The others glanced at each other. As they often said, two years was quite long enough for a courtship to drag on.

‘I'm seeing him on Sunday afternoon,' Ida said, her voice tense. ‘I shall tell him then that I might have the opportunity of another post.'

‘Don't you go counting your chickens, Ida.' Cook's voice was sharp.

‘Maybe she sees it as a way of forcing him to make a declaration,' Molly said. ‘That's the trouble with soldiers – they get all their meals provided so they don't need a woman to cook for them. At least that's what my mum used to say.'

‘Molly, I do think men get married for other reasons than to have a full belly!' Annie spluttered with laughter.

‘Well, we shall see, won't we?' Ida said. ‘When I see him on Sunday, I mean.'

‘Just don't go burning your bridges, remember what Mr Bostock said,' Cook told her. ‘There might be no chance of either you or Molly being promoted. Mr Faraday might want some sort of fancy French maid to attend to his wife.'

‘Miss Helena won't want someone speaking a different lingo. She'll want a familiar face from home. I can tell you that for nothing!' Molly was indignant at the thought. A foreigner indeed!

Jacob was in an expansive mood that evening during dinner, while Beatrice sat with two high spots of colour on her sallow cheeks, and Helena suspected that the earlier champagne had gone to her aunt's head. A headache would follow, no doubt.

Oliver was enjoying his oyster patties. Marriage to Helena was now something he contemplated with keen anticipation. He not only had the tantalising prospect of having a young virgin in his bed, he was confidently expecting to have an heir within twelve months of the honeymoon. He was also impressed by the subtle yet efficient way in which Broadway Manor was managed; he had no doubt that Beatrice Standish would have ensured that her niece was well trained in all aspects of running a large household. Graylings deserved a capable mistress, and despite her youth, Helena had intelligence and imagination. He was confident that she would rise to the challenge and it was with complacence that he put down his cutlery. ‘Tomorrow I expect to receive a package that I would like to share with you – it will contain a painting of Graylings.'

Helena's eyes lit up. ‘But that would be wonderful. I'm dying to see it, Oliver. You've told me so much about it.'

‘I have heard,' Beatrice said, ‘that it is an exceptionally fine house.'

Jacob didn't mention the fact that in a drawer in his study lay an image of Graylings; one he had sourced months ago. The reason he hadn't shown it to Helena was because he had wanted to be sure that his daughter's decision wasn't influenced by the grandeur of her future home. Beatrice he had kept in ignorance, thinking that she might then find it difficult to behave so naturally with their guest. Both he and his sister had been born into a background that some might have thought extremely comfortable, but he had always known that being in trade brought with it a social stigma. Jacob's astute business brain had developed his father's modest brewery into a leading company and he learned long ago that success and an air of assurance smoothed many tricky situations.

He gazed thoughtfully at his future son-in-law, knowing that there were important negotiations to take place. Their respective lawyers would of course handle the marriage settlement, and Jacob suspected that Oliver would not be the easiest man to deal with. Already he was insisting on an early wedding, a matter he confessed he had not yet broached with Helena. Jacob looked across the table at his excited daughter; he on occasions thought that she looked a shade troubled, doubtful even. Now he felt somewhat reassured.

It was dawn before Helena eventually drifted into an uneasy sleep. The euphoria and relief that Oliver had at last made his offer had sustained her all through the evening. But once curled up beneath the silken eiderdown, she felt ‘full of nerves', as one of her governesses used to say when confronted with a new experience.

Her betrothal wasn't the golden picture she had dreamed of as a young girl; there still seemed to be faint shadows around the edges. Although she had always dreamed of a fairy-tale proposal, Helena could understand that a man like Oliver would consider it undignified to go down on one knee. Although where had been his declaration of undying love? Wasn't that what every woman, no matter what her age, longed to hear? For her suitor to say those wonderful words, ‘I love you'?

Then Helena thought – but if he had, could I in truth say those words to him, that I loved him too? I think I do, but what if it is merely an infatuation. How does one know such a thing for certainty?

As an image of her ‘mystery doctor' crept into her mind, she thought of the intensity of his gaze that time before the opera, then shook up her pillows with annoyance. For heaven's sake, surely now, after all that had happened, she could finally forget
that
nonsense. For how could it be anything else?

‘Where did you say you'd bin, Johnnie?' Cora leaned on one elbow and looked down at him.

‘Lichfield.'

‘Where's that, then?'

‘Staffordshire – you know up north, well the Midlands really.'

‘I've never 'eard of either of them.'

‘I can understand your not knowing of Lichfield, but surely you drink out of cups and eat off plates?'

‘Cheeky beggar, of course I do.'

‘Look underneath sometime,' he told her lazily. ‘The words Stoke-on-Trent will probably be stamped there. It's usually called the Potteries. That's in Staffordshire.'

‘I've 'eard of that. There used to be a bloke on Petticoat Lane Market from there, sold all sorts of crockery.' She glanced curiously at him. ‘I thought you nobs kept away from manufacturing towns.'

‘I didn't say I was there, Cora – I said that I was in the same county.' He grinned at her. ‘There wasn't a girl in the place who could measure up to you.'

‘A country estate, was it?'

He nodded.

‘You're a lucky devil, Johnnie.' Sometimes Cora felt nothing but contempt for her clients. Rich, lazy sods, most of them. But she did have a soft spot for Johnnie. He always lingered afterwards and she rather liked the way he'd relax on the pillows while he smoked a fag. She liked their easy conversation too. Although Belle charged by the hour, he never quibbled about paying any extra.

‘And you're a smashing girl, Cora. Sometimes I wish …' Johnnie didn't complete the sentence and she read little into it. She wasn't daft enough to think that she could ever play any part in his life. But after he'd left and she'd used a vinegar douche, Cora lifted the flower print and took out her journal from behind the brick. Turning to a clean page, she wrote the date and the words ‘
Johnnie – last weekend – country estate near Lichfield.
'

Then she reddened her lips, gave another spray of scent, and with a swift glance over her shoulder to make sure everything was in order, went downstairs to acquire her next client. Some might shudder at her way of life, but Cora was used to it and she didn't really mind, at least most of the time.

Two weeks later in the austere book-lined study at Graylings, Oliver sat opposite the tall, round-shouldered man who had handled the legal affairs of the Faraday estate for the past twenty years. Finlay McPherson was peering through his rimless glasses at the sheaf of papers before him, a frown creasing his forehead.

‘Is there some sort of problem?'

Finlay removed his glasses and looked directly at a client he found impossible to fathom. ‘Not especially. We need to ascertain exactly what provision would be in place in the event of your death; which of course is the normal procedure in any Marriage Settlement. And we do have to consider all eventualities. You will need to make a new Will, of course. As you know, Graylings is entailed and in the unfortunate event of your future wife being left a widow without male issue, then the house and all lands belonging to it, including the farms, would be inherited by your first cousin Mr Selwyn Faraday.' He glanced up not surprised to see a look of hostility in Oliver's eyes. Finlay was well aware of the animosity between the two relatives and for once, his sympathies lay with Oliver. ‘A situation that I think we both hope would never materialise.' He glanced down again at his papers. ‘Your personal assets including the London house are, of course, in your own disposal, but I am sure you will wish to provide for your wife and any issue you may have.'

Oliver nodded. ‘But of course.'

An hour later, their discussions complete, Finlay said, ‘That seems to have covered everything, I think.' He gathered up his papers. ‘You say that you have plans to come to London in the near future.'

‘Yes, I shall be at the London house from the fifth until the twelfth.'

‘Excellent. I shall have the draft documents taken there by hand, and if you make any comments you have in the margin …' The lawyer replaced his folder into a briefcase and snapped it shut.

Oliver nodded with satisfaction and began to rise from his chair. ‘You say you need to leave directly after breakfast tomorrow?'

‘I'm afraid so.'

‘Then after luncheon perhaps we could attend to estate matters. My manager tells me that some tenant or other is disputing a boundary issue.' Oliver began to move towards the door. ‘The fellow's a damn nuisance, apparently – one of these types who's always bleating about justice and people's rights!'

Finlay followed him into the wide hall with its black and white tiled floor. He always found visiting Graylings a most intriguing experience. The house had a grandeur normally only found in the country houses of the aristocracy. Then he reminded himself that Faradays had been a titled family for generations until three generations previously when Sir Richard Faraday died childless. Their extensive wealth originated from centuries before when a courtier in William the Conqueror's army had married a highborn Anglo-Saxon widow.

They walked into the elegant dining room overlooking a long terrace with steps leading down to immaculate clipped lawns surrounded by topiary. As Finlay took his place, he wondered what the altercation with this tenant involved. His professional advice would be based strictly on the law, which in his view should apply fairly to everyone in the country, whatever their social standing.

Ten days later, Oliver's carriage drew up in High Holborn outside the discreet offices of McPherson and McPherson and, carrying a small attaché case in his hand, he went lightly up the steps of the tall building. With some distaste, he noticed dandruff on the shoulders of the grey-faced clerk who came to greet him, and then seconds later he was ushered into the inner sanctum of his lawyer.

Once their social niceties were complete, Oliver opened his briefcase and after handing over the ribbon-tied document glanced idly around the large yet fusty room lined with glass-fronted bookcases. It had been McPherson senior who had attended to Faraday affairs when Oliver's father was alive and it was apparent that nothing had been altered since, not even the inkwells.

‘I can foresee no problems here,' Finlay said eventually. ‘So it is in order to proceed with the finalities?'

‘But of course.' Oliver leaned forward to take a cigarette from the silver box offered by his lawyer, used his own lighter and leaned back to inhale with satisfaction. ‘You will of course be attending the wedding?'

A smile crossed Finlay's face. ‘Most certainly. My wife is looking forward to it.'

At Broadway Manor, there was already a veritable marathon of preparation going on. An extra seamstress had been employed and the leading dressmaker in Lichfield was an almost constant visitor.

‘I don't know why I need so many things,' Helena grumbled as orders for chemises, nightdresses, peignoirs, petticoats and underwear were agreed between Beatrice and Miss Hewson. There was also to be a new riding habit, and countless day dresses and evening gowns.

Beatrice gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Helena, a young woman in your position – or should I say the position in which you will find yourself – must have an extensive trousseau. You will need to impress the staff and to portray yourself as someone of consequence. Otherwise they will try to take advantage of you.'

Enid Hewson glanced up from checking her list. ‘I'm afraid that's true, Miss Helena.'

Helena gazed at them both and said in a low voice, ‘Do you know how many servants Oliver has? About twenty in the house itself, and glory knows how many more outside.'

‘Well, the outside staff will not be your responsibility,' Beatrice said briskly. ‘They come under the jurisdiction of the estate manager.'

‘Is there a housekeeper, Miss Helena?'

‘I believe so. I bet she's an old dragon.'

‘Nonsense,' Beatrice said. ‘I'm sure she will be as anxious as you that the management of the household runs smoothly. What you must not do, ever, is to undermine her authority. Is that not right, Enid?'

‘It would certainly be unwise, Miss Helena.'

Helena waited until the maid had left the room and then said, ‘I've never thought of it before, but why haven't we got a housekeeper?'

‘There was one here when I arrived, and an enormous help she was to me, particularly in the early days,' Beatrice said, ‘but when she left to go and live with her sister in Wales, I decided to dispense with the need. After all, this is a much smaller house than Graylings and we already had an efficient staff.' She hesitated then added, ‘In a way it gave me a sense of purpose to use my own capabilities, to know that the efficiency of the household lay on my shoulders. Everyone needs a role in life, Helena.'

‘I can understand that.' Helena wandered around the spacious bedroom and then peered out of the window. ‘I wish this rain would stop. I'm beginning to feel cooped up.'

‘You will have Oliver arriving tomorrow,' Beatrice said. ‘Aren't you looking forward to seeing the ring he's chosen?'

Helena bit her lip. Everything was happening so fast. ‘Of course I am! Papa has hinted at an early wedding … Has he said anything to you?'

‘Just an intimation, which is why we have no time to waste.' She looked at her niece and her tone softened. ‘You will find it hard to leave Broadway Manor; I know how much you love it. We will all miss you, even the staff.'

‘I shall miss them too,' Helena said. ‘I've been thinking – I shall need my own lady's maid, and I'd love to have someone familiar with me.' She looked hopefully at her aunt. ‘Do you think Miss Hewson could train up Molly?'

‘I've long suspected that you've been too friendly with that girl. I turned a blind eye when you were younger, Helena, but it really must cease. In any case, someone so inexperienced would not be at all suitable. And there you would have made your first mistake – one to learn from,' Beatrice said. ‘There is a strict hierarchy downstairs. As senior parlourmaid, Ida would be offered such a position first. One needs to be very careful in such things.'

‘Ida has a soldier sweetheart – she's hardly likely to leave him.'

Beatrice frowned. ‘This inclination you have to involve yourself in the servants' personal affairs will have to cease, Helena. Otherwise, you will find it impossible to maintain respect and discipline. Remember, most of the staff at Graylings will be older than you, so things will not be easy at first.'

‘I know, that's what worries me.' And, Helena thought, that's one reason why I want to have Molly with me; at least it would be someone I could confide in, someone I knew I could trust.

‘You can always write to me for advice.'

‘I'll probably send sheaves of letters every day.' Helena held out her left hand with its bare third finger trying to imagine a sparkling ring on it. ‘Can you believe that tomorrow I shall be officially engaged?'