Inherit the Skies (15 page)

With a tremendous effort Sarah tried to concentrate on the pages in front of her. She had always enjoyed reading but many of the words in
The Old Curiosity Shop
were unfamiliar to her. Aware of Alicia and Leo's scorn she stumbled through the passage Richard had asked her to read, manfully deciphering the words though she had no real understanding of the sense of the piece.

‘Is it too difficult for you, Sarah?' he asked, not unkindly.

Her flush deepened. She would never admit to failure – not in front of her young tormentors. ‘No.'

‘I think you are struggling,' he said. ‘But there's no need to be ashamed of that. You are not as old as the others, remember.' He drew his fob watch out of his pocket and glanced at it. ‘I think it is time we were finishing now, anyway. Your tea will be ready,' he said to the two Morse children, ‘but if you can spare a little longer, Sarah, we will have another look at what we've been doing together. Perhaps if I explain the story and some of the vocabulary you will find it easier to follow next time.'

Leo sniggered but Alicia packed her books together without looking at him. At least there seemed to be no love lost between the two of them, Sarah thought. It was one point in her favour. Had they provided a united front lessons with them would have been unbearable. But she sensed a barely veiled antagonism between them, heard them vie with one another day by day, saw the cold arrogance Alicia displayed and noticed his reciprocal dislike.

Now they thanked their tutor politely and left but in the corridor outside Sarah heard the beginnings of an argument between them.

‘Why should she have longer than us?' That was Leo, whining.

‘Be quiet and think yourself lucky he didn't keep us, too.'

‘But it's your father who is paying the tutor. She doesn't contribute at all.'

‘It's my father who is paying for your education too.'

Their voices faded away. Sarah's cheeks were pink. She glanced apprehensively at the tutor and he smiled at her encouragingly.

‘Now then, Sarah, let's begin at the beginning,' he suggested. ‘You tell me what you understand of the story and what you find difficult. Then perhaps I can help you make sense of it.'

They worked together for half an hour and without the critical presence of the older children Sarah found herself enjoying her lesson. At last the tutor was satisfied they had done enough. He smiled at her kindly.

‘You are a bright girl, Sarah. Don't be intimidated by the others. You have just as much ability as they have – more if I'm not mistaken – and you will catch them up in no time. Now pack up your things and run along home. You might as well make the most of what is left of the day.'

‘Thank you,' she said demurely but she was thinking: home! The Pughs' farmhouse! Longing for the cottage at Starvault and for her mother overwhelmed her and with a sharp pang she realised that never again would she run down the lane to find Rachel waiting for her. Bitter tears stung her throat and she bent her head over her books so that he should not see them.

She left the schoolroom and walked along the dim corridor past the white-painted closed doors. At the end one stood open. The nursery. Her footsteps slowed and in spite of herself she peeped inside. There was no-one there; clearly tea was over and James and his Nanny must have gone outside to take advantage of the September sunshine. Sarah hesitated, drawn by overwhelming curiosity.

During the weeks she had been coming to Chewton Leigh House she had never once been inside the nursery. The very name held a fascination for her, a word which epitomised a world in which she had no place, a world of privilege and security undreamed of by ordinary folk. She glanced quickly around. The corridor was deserted, the schoolroom door still firmly closed. She took a step into the nursery and stopped, her fascination turning to wonder.

The maid had not yet been in to clear the tea things; they still littered the table – sandwiches, daintily cut, not the great doorsteps Mrs Pugh made, some bread and butter interleaved on a plate, a pot of honey and a dish of iced fairy cakes. Sarah looked around furtively once more and unable to resist the temptation reached out for one. It seemed to melt in her mouth. With relish she licked her fingers and continued her exploration.

Behind the door was a screen covered with bright pictures and scraps – perhaps Alicia had made it, Sarah thought. Although she disliked Alicia for her unpleasantness yet at the same time she was fascinated by her and longed to be able to emulate her. In front of the window stood an enormous rocking horse with a mane and tail of real hair; as Sarah touched him he swayed gently on his stand. Growing bolder she went further into the room and there she saw the dolls sitting straight backed in a row on a shoulder-high shelf – beautiful dolls, more beautiful than any she had ever seen, in her life before, dainty dolls with delicate china faces dressed in silk and lace. Shocked by her own daring yet quite unable to stop herself Sarah picked one up, stroking the fine hair and lifting the cream silk dress to reveal a pair of matching lace-edged drawers.

‘Oh – you are beautiful!' she whispered. ‘ What is your name? Emily? Florence?' They were the grandest names she could think of yet they were still not grand enough for this perfect aristocratic doll. Then she remembered the name of Mr Morse's first wife. ‘Perhaps you are called Rose,' she said.

She had not heard the footsteps approaching in the corridor and when the voice came, shrill with outrage, she almost dropped the doll in shock.

‘What do you think you are doing? You have no right in here!'

She spun round to see Alicia in the doorway. Her face was dark with anger, her eyes blazing fire.

‘Are these dolls yours?' Sarah asked.

‘Yes, they are mine. How dare you touch them!' Alicia advanced towards Sarah snatching furiously for the doll and clutching it to her.

Sarah quaked but stood her ground.

‘I wouldn't hurt them. I'm only looking.'

‘You have no right. You're just a little slut. Don't ever touch them again!'

‘I – I'm sorry …' Sarah faltered.

‘What is going on here?' Another figure materialised in the doorway, a tall dark figure immaculate in the cutaway coat of black broadcloth, grey waistcoat and grey-striped trousers which he wore for the city. Gilbert! Seeing him Sarah was overcome by shame at being discovered trespassing.

‘She has been interfering with my dolls!' Alicia shrilled. ‘She has no right here, Father. Tell her!'

‘I was only looking,' Sarah protested, anxious to establish her innocence. ‘They're so beautiful.'

‘Leave them alone!' Alicia spat. She banged the doll back into her place on the shelf. ‘She lives here, you understand? Here!'

‘Alicia!' Gilbert reproved. There was an expression on his face Sarah could not understand but in her terror she thought it must mean that he too was angry with her. Then to her amazement she realised it was Alicia at whom his anger was directed. ‘I told you when Sarah came here that you would learn as much as she would and one of the things I intended you to learn was how to share. You have a shelf full of dolls you scarcely play with any more. Why should Sarah not enjoy them too?'

‘Because they are mine,' the older girl returned stubbornly.

Gilbert's mouth hardened. ‘And now one of them is going to be Sarah's,' he said coldly. ‘Which one would you like, Sarah?'

‘You can't give her one of my dolls!' Alicia shrieked in horror.

‘I can and I will. I refuse to tolerate your selfishness, Alicia,' Gilbert said sternly. ‘Choose, Sarah.'

Sarah recoiled in dismay. Much as she had admired the dolls the idea of taking one of them was horrific to her. They
were
Alicia's and she knew if they belonged to her she would not be able to bear having to part with any of them.

‘No,' she whispered shaking her head so that the ribbon bounced in her curls. ‘Oh no, I couldn't.'

Gilbert reached out and picked up the doll Alicia had returned to the shelf. ‘This was the one you liked, I think. Take her.'

Sarah could see the tears sparkling in Alicia's eyes and felt them pricking at her own. When he saw she was making no move to take the doll he lifted her arm and tucked the doll beneath it. ‘Alicia has plenty more, Sarah. Now run along home. We'll see you tomorrow. Mr Hartley says he is very pleased with your progress, by the way. I thought you'd like to know.'

She stood quite unable to speak. He put his arm around her thin shoulders, urging her towards the door.

‘Off you go now. And Alicia – I want a word with you!'

Because there was nothing left to do Sarah went, clutching the doll tightly. She could still see the hatred that had blazed in Alicia's eyes, feel it following her along the corridor. It was with her as she descended the staircase and even outside as the fresh air cooled her burning cheeks she was aware of it.

Alicia had disliked her before and never hidden that dislike. Now Sarah realised with a twist of foreboding she had unwittingly made a sworn enemy.

In her sitting-room along the corridor from the nursery and schoolroom Blanche Morse was disturbed by the sound of raised voices.

She set down her pen, cocked her carefully coiffured head to one side for a moment to listen, then rose from the small Queen Anne writing desk where she had been sitting to answer some letters and crossed to the door opening it a fraction.

The voices belonged to Alicia and Sarah and they were quarrelling. Blanche's lips tightened in distaste. She hated vulgarity of any kind and always had done. There were plenty of ways of getting what one wanted without resorting to verbal violence and most of them were a great deal more efficacious. She was about to close the door again when she heard footsteps in the corridor and Gilbert's voice. She stood, poised to fly back to the desk if he came into the room, and listened.

Every word of the altercation carried clearly along the echoing corridor and as it came to an end and Sarah scuttled past the door Blanche's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. A door closed and she could no longer hear Gilbert's voice – obviously he had gone into the nursery with Alicia to give her a talking to. Blanche went back into her sitting-room but she was unable to return to her letter writing.

There was something odd about the way Gilbert was behaving towards the Thomas child – she had thought so for some time. She knew his altruistic views of course and whilst she did not agree with them at least she accorded him a certain amount of respect where they were concerned. It was, she supposed, praiseworthy to wish to see his tenants and employees were well looked after and without a doubt Gilbert was held in high regard by them all. Not for him the disaffection and resentment generally reserved by the working classes for their betters.

But Blanche was unable to dispel the suspicion that there was something more than simple generosity involved here. Sarah was an attractive child, of course, a pretty little thing in spite of being too thin, and her intelligence was not in question. In some ways it was very like Gilbert to be conducting his own social experiment and at the same time patting himself on the back for enhancing the expectations of a girl who could otherwise have had little to look forward to in life. But even so …

Blanche raised a hand and carefully eased out the tiny furrow between her thin eyebrows. Pointless to give herself worry lines over the issue. And at least the young upstart was a mere girl and no matter how far she wormed her way into Gilbert's affection she would be unlikely to pose any threat to Blanche's plans for Leo's future as heir to the Morse empire.

The thought pleased her and as she so often did she congratulated herself on how clever she had been. When she arrived in England, widowed and left penniless by her late husband's business failures and resulting suicide, friends had introduced her to Gilbert and she had wasted no time in planning a campaign to win him. Handsome, wealthy, with lands that belonged to the past and a business enterprise which looked to the future he offered a life style she desired, security for her old age and glowing prospects for her young son.

For Blanche had quickly realised that when the time came Gilbert would look for his successor at Morse Motors from amongst the next generation of his family. But Lawrence was dull, Hugh had not the slightest interest in the business and James … well, James was James, dreamy and a constant annoyance to his father. None of them were suited to such a position of responsibility. And Blanche was determined that Leo should be the one to step into the breach. He had all the necessary qualities – and not least he had inherited his mother's ruthless ambition. It was only disappointing to Blanche that so far Gilbert had failed to take to him but she had attributed this to Gilbert's natural reticence. Now, out of the blue, had come this girl, this funny little nobody, and Gilbert seemed to be lavishing on her all the interest he had denied her son.

Blanche's lips tightened. She did not like Sarah, and liked even less the way Gilbert was treating her as his protégée. Something would have to be done if she was not to become even more of an annoyance. When the opportunity arose Blanche was determined she would see Miss Sarah Thomas got her come-uppance.

I hate her
, Alicia thought and her hands made fists with her neatly cut nails digging into her palms.
Why did she have to come here spoiling everything? I hate her
!

But her hatred, though pouring like acid through her veins, was impotent and she knew that revile Sarah Thomas as she might the girl was not actually responsible for spoiling anything. That had happened before she had come, beginning with the death of Rose, Alicia's mother.

Sometimes Alicia looked back with longing to the days when she had been a little girl, the baby of the family, but they seemed so long ago now. Her mother was no more now than a lovely dream; the cherished memory of the warmth of her arms, the perfume of lavender water, the sound of her voice singing soft bedtime lullabies were the haunting echoes of another time, another life.