Lakeland Lily (27 page)

Bob cast her a sideways glance, sucked the last out of the cigarette and sent the butt spinning into the lake where it fizzed and sank. ‘I wouldn’t know, and since I’m not his wife, I don’t ask.’

Lily smiled, for there was little old Bob didn’t know. Despite being well past eighty he was no fool and possessed all his faculties, as he proudly informed every one of the passengers he rowed across the lake each day with nothing but his own strength.

His clothes were serviceable and nondescript, well covered with oil, and he wore a waistcoat beneath his disreputable tweed jacket so that he could have a pocket for his gold watch. This was of great importance to him, as he’d told Lily at some length on numerous occasions. It had been presented to him by his work colleagues when he retired from the quarry and took over the ferry from his father.

He took it out now and examined it with care, as if he had an urgent appointment somewhere.

Most of the time this evidence of brisk efficiency served his customers well. When they called for the ferry from across the lake, or rang the bell he provided for the purpose, they could say with certainty that Old Bob would not take long to arrive. Nor did he. He knew that folk were more often than not in a hurry to get wherever they were going, and he’d little patience himself with dawdlers.

‘Hurry along there.’ he would say, sounding like a conductor on the horse-omnibus. ‘You’d best look sharp. We tow the islands in come nightfall.’

This tale often confused the tourists and some had been known to believe him, which only added to his enjoyment. He loved to express his waggish sense of humour, almost as much as he enjoyed running the ferry. It gave him a sense of his own importance.

As for Master Bertie, well, it was no wonder he was always in a tearing hurry. Not that it was any business of his, nor his place to say where he hurried to. There were some matters best not talked about. Certainly not to this nice little lass, who’d suffered enough.

1913

A lone yacht tacked across the ruffled waters of Carreckwater as everyone gathered on the shore. Wild duck and greylag geese protested noisily at the unexpected intrusion, exercising their territorial rights over a lake which had changed little since the Ice Age. ‘Carrec’ was the old Celtic word for rock and the lake lived up to its name. Cut by glaciers, its steep sides rose precipitously out of the water, climbing into what must appear to be towering mountains to the wildlife surviving here.

The September breeze was warm and mellow, even at this early hour, and Bertie threw a crust or two of bread on to the water. Instantly it was stirred into a frenzy by a family of mallard squabbling furiously over who should have the largest piece. A black-necked grebe won the prize, swimming hastily away into the reeds, looking very pleased with itself. Even Lily laughed, and there was little in her life to amuse her at present.

She felt nothing but gratitude to Bertie for his offer to hold this picnic for all of her stalwart helpers. The season was drawing to a close and work on The Cobbles was largely complete, so he’d decided they should celebrate with a day-long picnic, starting as soon after dawn as people could manage.

Lily had been the first to arrive, sitting on a rock watching the sky blush pink as the sun slid into place. She’d always loved the dawn and watched with pleasure now as a few wispy strands of mist still clung to the tops of the trees and rolled down the mountains to settle upon the water.

Later, Rose arrived with her mother Nan, who always enjoyed a party. Dora and her team of worthies came accompanied by their young men. Even Selene had agreed to join them. A dozen or more young people were ready for a good time.

Only one person was missing, and Lily became aware of his presence the moment he walked across the shingle, looking fresh and handsome and immaculately dressed, very much a man of means. This would be the first time she had seen Nathan Monroe since she’d cried on his shoulder. How could she have been so foolish as to let him see her weakness? She should have kept her grief private, safe, as she had learned to do. Embarrassment flooded through her as she worried over what he would say to her.

He nodded as he walked by, but didn’t approach or pause even to wish her good morning. Feeling affronted and oddly rebuffed, Lily turned her face quickly away, not wishing to have it appear she was watching him.

The group sat about in the growing warmth, enjoying their picnic, giggling at silly jokes and singing ‘Coming Thru’ the Rye’ and ‘D’ye Ken John Peel’ at the tops of their voices. It was far more relaxed than any of Margot’s formal affairs.

The food may not have been as sumptuous but they nibbled happily enough on chicken legs and cold Cumberland sausages. Bertie lit one of his famous bonfires, and started to toast muffins, joking and laughing with everyone, telling them what a relief it was not to have to eat milk pobbies any more, as if having diphtheria were the funniest thing in the world.

To watch him, Lily thought, you might believe him a brainless idiot with not a scrap of feeling or strength in him. But you’d be wrong. He’d stood up valiantly to the young thugs in The Cobbles, showing remarkable courage. Lily had witnessed his grief over Amy which had been as keen as her own, along with his brave determination to carry on with life, because that was the correct thing to do. Despite their current difficulties, largely caused by his family, the memory of their loss alone would keep her by his side.

She caught his eye and smiled at him with real affection, and he beamed cheerfully back.

‘Feeling better, old thing?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

‘That’s the ticket.’

He was a good husband to her. She really had no reason to complain.

Most importantly, this party proved that at least some good had come out of it all. The people of The Cobbles would benefit even if Edward was complaining that she’d made a pauper of him. Which Lily didn’t believe for a moment.

‘You must be feeling pretty pleased with yourself.’ Nathan was suddenly at her side, and Lily’s heart gave an uncomfortable thud. But it was no more than surprise, she told herself.

‘You shouldn’t creep up on people like that,’ she said, sounding cross, but he only smiled.

‘It’s quite an achievement.’

Filled with panic, Lily glanced over at Bertie for assistance, but he was deeply involved in a seemingly hilarious conversation with Nan. She wondered if this should concern her, if she should go to him, yet felt oddly reluctant to move.

Acutely aware of the man now sitting at her feet, Lily wished fervently that Bertie had not invited him. She’d done her utmost to keep Nathan Monroe’s involvement with her project to the minimum, but she’d failed. He’d stubbornly insisted on helping whenever he could, whether she liked it or not.

Now she moved a fraction away from him, stirring up a little self-protective anger. How dare he patronise her and ingratiate himself with their party as if by right?

‘The residents of The Cobbles are certainly feeling pleased,’ she said, rather pompously.

‘At your playing Lady Bountiful, you mean? But you didn’t do it for them, did you?’

Anger flared, bringing Lily to her feet in an instant. ‘How dare you? Of course I did it for them, and for my father, my mother and sisters.
My child!’

The challenge in his blue eyes instantly died. ‘Of course, Lily. I’m sorry.’ He grasped her wrist, as if afraid she might walk away from him if he didn’t keep a hold on her. Lily thought that might very well be the case. ‘Can we walk for a moment?’

Unable to protest, she allowed him to lead her along the shoreline, away from the crowd. They walked in what might be termed companionable silence for some minutes as Lily waited, almost breathlessly, for him to speak. What was it he needed to say to her? Why had he singled her out in this way? She suffered a tumult of emotion whenever she felt him near. What in God’s name was happening to her?

When he spoke, his voice was no more than that of a polite stranger. ‘You look lovely by the way.’

‘Thank you.’ Was he teasing her? Lily couldn’t be sure. ‘Lavender silk. You’ve come up in the world, Lily.’

She gritted her teeth, saying nothing. Why must he always remind her of her origins?

They walked for a while more in silence. ‘Perhaps you’d care to hear my bit of good news?’

‘Which is?’ Her tone was meant to be refined and controlled, as Margot had taught her, but it came out sounding only pettish, as if indicating she really had little interest in his affairs.

‘I’ve been promoted.’

‘Again?’

‘To General Manager.’

‘Heavens, you’ll be running the company next.’

‘My intention exactly.’

Lily glanced at him from beneath the brim of her straw hat, intrigued, despite herself. ‘You’ve changed,’ she said, the words popping out before she could stop them.

‘Because I’m no longer a spotty youth who plagues young girls?’

‘Something of the sort.’

‘You’ve changed too. Though not necessarily for the better, Lily. You’re quite the little opportunist now.’

‘Damn you to hell,’ she said, and turning on her heel, strode away, stiff-backed.

The young men took part in sailing races, very nearly overturning one yacht in the fickle breeze, yet finding the danger amusing rather than alarming. The girls put on their knee-length bathing costumes and daringly splashed in the shallows, shrieking and giggling like schoolchildren at the icy bite of the water against their warm skin.

Then they lay about on the shingle putting the world to rights, as young people love to do.

Dora, rather surprisingly, caused a flurry of argument as she expressed admiration for the suffragette Emily Davison who had died after throwing herself beneath a horse at the Derby in June. The others seemed to feel more sympathy for the jockey.

Selene entertained one bored young man with titbits from her
Woman at Home
magazine, as if he might be interested in dress patterns and household hints. Lily almost giggled to see the expression of feigned interest on the poor man’s face.

Bertie was more concerned with rattling on about the speed boat he would build one day, while the other young men earnestly exchanged opinions upon the war in Bulgaria and whether the Balkan States ever would sort out their squabbles. It was, of course, all too far away to be taken seriously on a lovely, sunny autumn day in Lakeland. And they were having far too much fun.

Later, Bertie suggested they go out in the
Faith
and have lunch on board. ‘Pa won’t mind, though she’s a mite slow. When I build my own boat it’ll be petrol, naturally. A four-stroke engine.’

Selene issued a heavy sigh. ‘Oh, do sit on him, someone, before he launches into a technical description. What a yawn he is!’

And poor Bertie was attacked on all sides until, laughing, he and a couple of Dora’s friends went off to fetch the
Faith,
the shriek of its whistle announcing its arrival some time later.

‘No swimming from the boat,’ Bertie told them firmly. ‘Too dangerous. Water too bally deep, and damned cold out there, don’t you know? Not to mention weeds, hidden rocks and deep gullies.’ But they did tow one of the sailing dinghies behind them, just in case there was enough wind for another sail later in the day.

The afternoon became unexpectedly hazy with heat and they all grew deliciously lazy. With the sun beating down the steam-yacht plied silently up and down the lake, visiting Bertie’s favourite haunts while he sat quite happily in the stern, one hand on the steering wheel, a mug of tea at his elbow.

‘Perfect bliss,’ he said, gazing out across the shimmering water, sheltered by the steep-flanked hills all about. ‘Though she definitely needs a touch more speed, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Oh, do shut up, Bertie,’ Dora said, in such a surprisingly bossy voice that everybody laughed.

‘An Indian Summer, what a joy,’ Selene said, hooking her arm through Nathan’s and smiling up into his face.

Lily had been sitting on the engine roof, arms wrapped about her knees in her favourite position as she enjoyed the warmth of the sun and the laughter of her friends. Now she found herself looking directly into a pair of piercing blue eyes.

Relaxed and confident as ever, Nathan Monroe smiled his intimate smile, challenging her to break his hold upon her. Then, quite casually, he turned and let his gaze rest thoughtfully upon Selene. In that moment Lily saw her best opportunity for revenge yet. But for some reason the taste for it had turned sour in her mouth.

Nathan Monroe would be the last man the Clermont-Reads would want for their daughter. Entirely unsuitable. And, strangely enough, if for very different reasons, Lily couldn’t help but agree.

The shore seemed a dozen miles away. Matchstick yachts bobbed up and down at their moorings, a few late tourists milled about the band stand, empty now that the summer crowds had gone. No crack of ball on racquet echoed from the tennis courts at the end of the bay, no children in summer hats fished off the pier - though the boat-hire company still seemed to be doing a brisk trade. From here, in the centre of the lake, it seemed like another world, green with bright moving dots of colour, while on the steam-yacht all was calm and silent.