Old Sins Long Shadows (25 page)

‘
I’m sure he will,’ Janey said softly as she led her to her bed. How could she tell her that her son was manipulative and predatory?

‘
You are such a dear, Janey. You cared for my husband so well at the end and you have become more a companion to me than that of a maid. I know Miss Petherbridge hates that I call you by your Christian name rather than Carhart. I know it is not the norm, but you are quite simply the best maid I have had. I know I can rely on you.’ She took her hand and patted it softly, ‘Remember you can rely on me. If my daughter had grown up to be as nice and caring as you I would be very proud.’ She started to cry and Janey gave her a hug. It was true, since Lord Brockenshaw’s death Janey had rarely left her side and even today her mistress had insisted she brought an extra teacup and saucer so she could sit and take tea with her when she had brought in a tray. ‘I miss him so much.’ Her mistress sobbed, crying not for the first time when she was alone with her maid, ‘Why did he have to die and leave me on my own?’

Janey entered her room at the end of the day feeling energised. It had been an eventful day and for the first time in many months Janey felt free and empowered. It was hard for Janey to see the depth of Lady Brockenshaw’s grief but tonight she had successfully comforted and settled her ladyship, who eventually fell into a heavy and much needed sleep. Janey was relieved that she would, for once, catch up on the sleep that had eluded her. She no longer had the incident with the ornament weighing on her mind or James being able to use it against her. She felt the support of her ladyship and her own confidence in her position had grown as a result. Even Mr Tallock had supported her and stopped a scathing remark from Miss Petherbridge during dinner. As a result the housekeeper had been put firmly in her place. Even learning when James was due to return home and the reason he had stopped writing was a good thing. Not that she wanted him to come home or write, but the not knowing when he would suddenly reappear had been nerve racking. Now she could prepare herself. She made a decision that she should have made a long time ago. Perhaps her silence had sent him mixed messages, she thought. She certainly gave Daniel the wrong impression. She remembered his words
if he was a gentleman he would stop if you told him
.  Perhaps he was right. If James tried to make advances to her when he returned she would tell him firmly that she was not interested. Now she felt she had the confidence and the support of his mother to make her feelings clear to him. Finally, today, she had learned of Mary’s good news. She had grabbed Janey in the servant’s hall and hugged her, explaining breathlessly that she had received an invitation to an interview for nurse training and that she had Janey to thank for it.

Janey looked around her tidy room and for once threw her uniform over the back of a chair in rebellion
. Usually she would carefully hang it in the wardrobe but not tonight. She quickly removed her remaining undergarments and stepped into her white cotton night gown. Thankfully the warmer evenings meant that she no longer had to dive into bed to avoid the freezing floor and chilly atmosphere. Tonight she took advantage of this and stood in front of her mirror, slowly unpinning her hair to let large soft waves fall about her shoulders in the candlelight. Janey noticed for the first time the excitement in her eyes. She had seen it before on the night she had returned from the harvest dance. The excitement of being with Daniel had put it there and, she suspected, he was the reason it was there now. He had said she was good enough. Good enough for who?  For him?  His coat still hung on the hook of her door, like a figure standing on guard watching over her. Who was Janey Carhart, she wondered idly. He had surprised her with his observation but it had been the truth. At first shocked by his opinion, she came to reluctantly agree with it. She had spent most of her life trying to be the perfect. She had been so busy trying to please others she had forgotten herself. Somewhere along the journey of her life, part of her had gone into hiding. Now, she could see that it had started with the awful night both her sisters had died and the significant events that had developed as a result. She had felt like a rider on a runaway horse, no longer in control of the events that unfolded but somehow being held up as their instigator. So like a chameleon she had changed who she was to fit in with her surroundings in the hope to be forgiven, to please and to be accepted. Somewhere on this journey she had lost herself and Daniel had seen it. More to the point Daniel had voiced it in a way that was so clear and blunt that it had shocked her to the core. He had said she was good enough, but who did he see?  Who was she?  If she could do anything what would she want to do?  Not to be a servant or anyone’s mistress, that much she knew. She thought for a moment. She knew she loved being outside with the wind in her hair and the sun on her skin. She would love to walk through the countryside with her hair loose and a purpose in her life. She loved animals, she would love to have her own garden and grow her own vegetables. She smiled to herself at the thought of having her own home. Warming to her imagination she realised she wanted to experience love and passion. She imagined herself running barefoot through flowering meadows with a man she loved, and who loved her, to drown in passionate kisses and make love under the stars. She bit her lip in thought. The man she had been imagining was Daniel Kellow.

She ran her hand through her hair, along her shoulder and finally letting it rest on her breast
. In the semi darkness of the room she wondered what it would be like for Daniel to touch her so. Would he compare her to the other women he had made love to? How would he find her in comparison? Her hand cupped her breast feeling the soft heaviness. Tilting her head to one side, she wondered what it would be like to be touched by him. He was so much more experienced than she. Would he be gentle or demanding, passionate or passionless?  The soft glow of the candle cast dancing shadows on her face offering glimpses of her eyes which were now wide and dark with desire, her lips soft and full in anticipation. She felt a pooling of sensations between her legs building a desire to touch skin on skin. The image of a wanton woman stared back at her and she became hesitant, afraid to unleash the woman trying to break loose. Daniel tempted her to break out and his animalistic attraction beckoned the woman inside her that she hadn’t known even existed. She retreated from the mirror, slipped under the safety of her bed covers and thought of Daniel Kellow, the dark brooding man who in her dreams would be gentle, demanding and passionate. She just wasn’t sure she could match him or if he wanted her. What she did know was that he thought she was good enough and that was good enough for her - for now.

Chapter 10

James held the photograph of his father in his hand
. He appeared in a peaceful sleep with an open book placed on his chest as if he had fallen into a slumber whilst reading. The whole scene was staged, of course, the clarity of his figure a tell tale sign that it was his corpse he was looking at. The long exposure of a photograph gave those in life a tell tale blurring as they tried to remain still, not like the dead where the clarity was so clear they could be there with you now. Strange, thought James, that one looked more alive in a photograph when dead, than alive and blurred like a ghost.

He threw the photograph down with a flick of his fingers sending it spinning across the polished oak table top
. He could not stomach looking at it any longer. The truth of the matter was he felt guilty for not being here, guilty for having words with him before he died and guilty for not feeling bereft. He should be distraught for losing his father, he should feel a pain that felt like his heart had been wrenched from him - yet he felt nothing but a growing nausea of guilt for not feeling sadder. He expected his father to walk into the room at any moment. He could almost hear his familiar voice that sounded both despairing and disapproving at the same time of his only son’s lack of motivation. Perhaps the numbness he felt was due to his inability to accept he was dead. How could you mourn someone when his death did not seem real?  He had learned of his death three days ago, yet his father was already half rotted away in the family crypt. He had missed his illness, his death and his funeral. There was no closure on what should be one of the biggest events of his life. Trust his father to not be present to hear his news of prosperity. The news of his death was like having a rug pulled from under him. He had imagined telling his father his gift of gaining money on the stock market, boast to him that for the summer he had lived well on money he had earned himself, travelled to America, made plans to travel further and to make even more money. He had looked forward to his father’s shocked face then congratulatory slaps on the back that at last his son had found direction and wealth, and that he always knew he would amount to something someday. Yet his father had not waited for him to return. On the day that should be his triumph his father had already upstaged him by dying.

‘
What were you doing in America?’ his mother’s voice broke into his thoughts and he reached for his glass of whisky.

‘
Researching, Mother.’ He took a long drink and savoured the burning in his throat from the fluid, ‘London is one of the main cities for business - only matched by New York.’

‘
And what sort of business have you been researching?’

‘
Stocks and shares, Mother. You wouldn’t understand.’

Lady Brockenshaw pursed her lips in annoyance
. He had still not apologised for his lack of consideration regarding not letting her know where he was.

‘
Enlighten me,’ she ground out

‘
I have gone into business with Coogan Davenport, an American associate.’

‘
The American you mentioned in your letter?’

He nodded enthusiastically, secretly
pleased that she had remembered.

‘He introduced me to the world of stocks and shares. In layman’s terms, you buy shares when they are low, wait until they rise and then sell them at a profit.’

‘
And you do the buying and selling?’

‘
God no, I have an agent do it for me. I just watch the markets and decide what to buy and when to sell.’

‘
What happens if they fall?’

‘
One loses money if one has to sell, or one waits it out until they rise again and sell at the right time.’

‘
And you were successful?’

He got up to pour himself another drink but there was less than a glassful left
. He rang the bell for more.

‘
Indeed I was. I am. At least I earned enough to travel and live which also, I’m pleased to say, required very little work.’

‘
I’m very pleased for you.’ She did not sound pleased, thought James. ‘Now that you have got that out of your system you can concentrate on the affairs of Bosvenna Estate.’

‘
I don’t think so.’

‘
James?’

‘
Cornwall is not where things are happening, Mother.’

‘
That’s where you are wrong. Cornwall is exactly where it is happening!  You have inherited Bosvenna and you alone must be here to run it.’

‘
Let’s not talk about this now,’ James was beginning to lose patience.

‘
Now is exactly when we should talk about it, too much time has passed already. I didn’t know where you had gone. You should have left word!’

‘Let’s not talk about it now, Mother!’  He stood up again and irritably rang the bell once more as if summoning help for more than just another bottle of whisky.

The butler entered and James gave him a curt order for more whisky
. An unsettled silence fell between him and his mother once more until his mother finally spoke.

‘
The bank says there is not much money left. I need you to turn the estate around.’

James rubbed his throbbing head,
‘I never asked to be the only child and inherit this albatross.’

‘
Yet you would not turn away the money it has brought in over the past or disown the title that goes with it.’

‘
I will see you are alright but as you quite rightly say, Bosvenna is mine and I can do with it what I like. If I choose to live here I will. If I choose to employ a manager and spend my life in London, or travel, I will, and if I choose to sell it I will. This is my life and father or you can’t do anything to stop me!’  He stopped awkwardly, realising too late he had spoken as if his father was still alive.