Straw in the Wind (12 page)

He went to bed in the whitewashed upstairs room, where apples on the windowsill were lined up in an orderly row. He had to bend his head if he wanted to stand upright, lest he crack his head on a beam.

He tried to imagine his own mother being so hospitable with so few conveniences, and couldn't. His mother would consider this tiny cottage little more than a hovel . . . and Ham's mother, who was prematurely aged from a life of hard work, her social opposite. Which of course, she was. But Ham's mother was a sweet, generous woman all the same, and Adam felt comfortable in her home, and glad that the world was filled with people like her and her son. Groaning with food he fell asleep instantly.

They left at dawn the next day. The morning was crisp with frost, and the high roof of the sky gradually brightened into pink and gold stripes before fading into blue and white stipples. They took with them a basket containing a breakfast of ham, boiled eggs, cheese and a hunk of newly baked bread.

Ham and his mother had been agreeable hosts who found pleasure in the simple things of life. Adam was sorry to part with Ham, though he compensated him handsomely for both his and his mother's services. He bought a rag doll for Ham to take home for Annie, before he watched horse and cart plod off back towards home.

At the workhouse he learned that a girl called Sara Finn had been left on the doorstep. They had kept her for two years. Then Reverend Pawley, who'd been responsible for the spiritual welfare of the inmates, had been offered a parish and needed a new governess and a maid of all work.

Elizabeth Agar, who worked in the schoolroom, had applied for the job. Elizabeth suggested that Sara Finn go with them, because she was a clever child who could help tutor the reverend's younger children in their letters.

‘Are you sure Sara's surname was Finn, and not Fenn?' he asked the matron.

‘It could have been Fenn, I suppose. Sometimes we have to take their word for it that they give us the right name, and we don't always spell them right. I've heard that Sara has moved on from there and has got a good position somewhere else. You should visit Elizabeth Agar, she'd know . . . though she's Mrs Pawley now. She married the reverend. He probably married her to save paying her wages after his wife passed on. He was always a mean old sod.'

Adam experienced relief that the young woman he sought had found a decent situation. He couldn't imagine what it was like being an orphaned child who was suddenly without friends or family.

Hiring a chestnut gelding he presented himself at the small manor house where the Reverend Pawley resided, and gave his card to the maid who opened the door.

Was this pale-faced little waif Serafina? No, she bore no resemblance to the Honeyman girls. Moreover, Serafina would be a young woman of eighteen by now, he reminded himself. This one was several years younger.

He was invited into the drawing room where a woman waited. ‘My husband is not at home. I'm Elizabeth Pawley. Can I help you?'

So this was the woman who'd befriended Serafina in the workhouse. She was plainly dressed, and fair of face without being pretty. He smiled at her. ‘I'm looking for a young woman called Sara Finn.'

Brown eyes engaged his. Her voice was low and cultured. ‘Why are you looking for Sara?'

‘I'm being hired to by a man who thinks he might be her father.'

She sucked in a breath. ‘Only thinks . . . doesn't he know?'

‘He's not sure.'

‘He waited a long time to look for her.'

‘Because he thought she was dead. The situation is too complicated to explain.'

‘I would hate to see Sara hurt. What if it turns out that she isn't his daughter?'

‘I can't shield her from that sort of disappointment. She's eighteen years old and will have to come to terms with it.' When a doubtful look crossed Elizabeth Pawley's face, he said, ‘What if Sara
is
his daughter? Doesn't the very fact that I'm looking for her suggest that there might be some truth in it?'

‘Yes . . . of course.' She sighed. ‘Sara left here after a disagreement with my husband. I gave her a good reference and she's now working for a friend of an acquaintance of mine. It's a good position as a housekeeper.' Crossing to a desk she took a piece of paper, wrote down a name and address and handed it to him.

‘She lives in Somerset. Leighton Manor is about two miles past the railway station in Taunton, I understand.'

‘Thank you, Mrs Pawley. If it will stop you worrying, at the moment I'm just trying to establish the fact of who she is. I have no intention of barging in on her. It might be several months until contact can be made, because the man seeking her is away at sea. There are other family members to consider too, so I'd be obliged if you would keep this to yourself.'

She nodded.

‘Oh, by the way, did you ever hear Miss Finn refer to herself as Serafina?'

Elizabeth Pawley's only reaction was genuine puzzlement. ‘No, never.' She shrugged then said hesitantly, ‘What are they like . . . her family?'

‘Why do you ask?'

‘Sara was different to most girls who were in the workhouse. Although she was poorly dressed, she'd had an early education which had formed her manner of speaking, and which had given her a thirst for knowledge. She had a good mind, one that retained everything she read.'

‘Sara remembered being educated early in life?'

‘She didn't have to. You can always tell when somebody has absorbed the basic learning skills. They are a joy to teach since they tend to be more curious about things. They're also more confident with letters and numbers, and able to think for themselves. There was nothing missish about Sara Finn. She was a hard worker, straightforward and practical.' Elizabeth Pawley smiled. ‘Sara had a fine intellect though, one that led her into debate inappropriately on occasion, since she often spoke without thinking.'

Charlotte and Marianne came to mind and Adam wanted to laugh. It sounded like a family trait. ‘The families involved are in trade . . . her prospective father is in shipping.' Adam picked up his hat. ‘I must go now. Would you like me to keep you informed of my progress?'

She gave a faint smile. ‘That's kind of you, Mr Chapman, but there's really no need, and my husband wouldn't approve.'

‘Oh . . . why is that?'

Mrs Pawley managed an amused chuckle. ‘He doesn't think Sara is suitably grateful for his earlier patronage.'

‘And is she?'

She smiled gently at him. ‘I'm sure Sara will find a way to inform me should something out of the ordinary happen in her life. You don't have to worry that I'll repeat this conversation to her, either. I'd not like to see her hopes elevated, then come to nothing.'

Sara Finn must be a very special girl to have made a good friend like Elizabeth Pawley, Adam thought as he left.

He hesitated, because he'd woken up that morning with a slight dryness to his throat. Still, it was mild, and another day wouldn't make much difference. He must try and get a look at the girl while he was here. Taunton was not too far away, and another day or two could see his curiosity satisfied.

T
here was an atmosphere of tension in his house. Finch could smell it in the air, like smoke from a fire that barely smouldered but had not yet ignited.

He stood in the hall, listening. For what, he didn't know . . . the sound of a breath in a corner perhaps, a footfall on the stair or a creak of someone rising from a chair.

He was just about to relax when there came a crash from upstairs and a scream of anger. ‘Take it away, you stupid fool! I asked for tea, not coffee. Now clean that mess up.'

Fanny's voice brayed with fright. ‘There was no need to do that, Miss. You've broken it. I'll get into trouble.'

‘It serves you right, and don't answer me back.' The sound of a vicious slap was followed by a yelp.

Someone was expelled in a rush from the door to the kitchen. Sara Finn, he thought, something confirmed when she whispered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘
nasty little witch!
' under her breath as she propelled herself past him, clad in a cloud of lavender polish. She was travelling fast and her footsteps changed to a whisper on the thick stair carpet.

Finch was about to wonder why she hadn't noticed him, when he realized that the clock had chimed a quarter past the hour just after he let himself in, and the hall would be in darkness.

Oscar was still outside fetching the luggage from the cab that had delivered them from the station, for they'd caught the afternoon train instead of the morning one. This time, at least, there had been no obstacle in the porch.

Finch followed after Sara up the stairs and towards the guest rooms.

Fanny's voice was thick with tears. ‘I didn't throw it, Miss.'

Sara soothed the distressed maid. ‘I know you didn't, Fanny. You go down and help Maggie in the kitchen. I'll clear up the mess.'

‘I don't know what Mr Leighton will say . . . that was part of his best tea service.'

‘I'll tell him that it wasn't your fault.'

There was a light laugh, followed by Frederick's voice. ‘Are you suggesting that my sister threw it, that it's her fault?'

‘I know what I heard, Mr Milson. There was no need to hit Fanny.'

‘I'll slap you as well if you don't keep your place.'

Sara Finn said, and with a dramatic menace that made Finch smile involuntarily despite his annoyance, ‘I'm not Fanny. Slap me and I'll slap you back.'

‘Then you'll be dismissed without a reference.'

‘Not when Mr Leighton learns the truth. He's a fair man.'

‘Try and convince my uncle that Jane did anything wrong. He's not going to take a servant's word over ours.'

‘Luckily I don't have to make that choice since I heard exactly what went on,' Finch said from the doorway. ‘Thank you, Fanny . . . Sara. Both of you may go downstairs.'

‘But the mess—'

‘Will be picked up by the person who caused it in the first place. Jane, when you've done that, I expect to see you in my study. You too, Frederick.'

Fanny scuttled off and Sara followed her reluctantly, giving a faint, exasperated sigh. Finch gave a faint grin. She was bristling to do battle, and it must have been Sara he'd smelled burning. She would just have to smoulder while she waited her turn.

‘Must I, Uncle?' Frederick drawled. ‘Jane didn't mean anything by it.'

‘I have no intention of discussing the matter further now. Five o'clock in my study, understood? It will give everyone time to cool down.'

‘Oh God! We're much too old to suffer an official reprimand.'

‘It's a pity you don't act it then.' He hardened his voice. ‘Five o'clock in my study.'

Another smell wafted to his nostrils. ‘Do you have those dogs up here? You know they're to be kept in the stables when you're not out walking with them. The last time you brought them I tripped over one and I nearly fell down the stairs.'

‘We weren't expecting you until tomorrow, and they like company. You don't need to worry about tripping over them; they're not wandering free, they're in my room,' Freddie said.

‘Stop arguing and take those dogs to the stables.'

Jane sighed. ‘Goodness, such a fuss, Uncle. They'll only howl, and Aunt Diana would have allowed Freddie to keep them in the house.'

‘Tunney will look after them. As for your aunt . . . she is dead, and has no say in the matter now. Get on and clean up that mess, please.'

‘Sorry I spoke, I'm sure.' Her injured voice contained a sullen note. ‘We're only passing through and I thought it would be nice to stop and visit our favourite uncle. Now I'm beginning to wonder whether it was worth it.' Jane began to pick up the shards of china. The pieces were dropped on the table with a clatter. ‘There, it's done.'

‘And the liquid?'

‘Most of it went in the fire.' She heaved a sigh. ‘Pass that piece of cloth, would you, Freddie?'

There came the sound of the tiles in the fireplace being wiped, then a hiss of steam as the wet cloth was thrown on top of the coals. The smell of singed coffee filled his nostrils as he left them and made his way to his own room.

The mess wouldn't have been cleaned up properly because Jane would have taken advantage of his lack of sight. And the only reason they visited at all was if they were short of cash.

The irresponsible pair came from an equally irresponsible mother. Diana's sister-in-law was a widow, and seemed to believe he was responsible for their welfare. He wasn't. Freddie and Jane were the late Diana's relatives, not his, and he was heartily sick of them disrupting his household. He didn't like the unfair way they'd treated Fanny, or Sara.

He had, in fact, discussed them with their mother while he was in London, and she'd agreed with the plan he'd come up with. He hadn't intended to mention it to the pair until the New Year had come in, but now they were here he'd bring it forward.

Back in his room, and Oscar was unpacking his bag. ‘Is everything all right, Oscar?'

‘All is in order, sir. Miss Finn is extremely efficient.'

Finch nodded and went downstairs to the study. Judging by the snap and crackle of kindling and the faint smell of smoke, the fire had recently been lit and the coal was just beginning to catch. As yet there was no warmth from it. Carefully, he reached out to where the lamp usually stood and felt the heat of it against his palm. Sara would have lit it when she'd lit the fire.

He remembered the room as having warm, reddish-brown panelling. One wall was devoted to shelves of books embossed with rich gold lettering, on fine red, green and brown leather. He missed reading.

He edged around the room, refreshing his memory of it. His fingers slid along the polished edge of the desk, and touched against his initials carved under it. Further up were his father's initials, both sets carved there in a moment of defiance when they were boys. He'd stood in front of the desk many times, studying the bookcases and day-dreaming while his father, who'd done exactly the same in his time, lectured him on his shortcomings.