Straw in the Wind (13 page)

On a couple of occasions he'd been hung over the back of the leather chair like an old coat while his rear end was flogged with a strap for his sins. A pity Frederick's father hadn't lived long enough to do the same for him, he thought. Frederick was right, though. They were far too old for an official reprimand.

Beyond the desk, five steps took him to the bookshelves. He took out a book, positioned his nose against the leather cover and drew in a breath. The book had a faint smell of brandy on it, as though the last person to handle it had left their own breath there. Himself perhaps.

He idly ran his finger over the indentations of the embossing. After a while he thought he could feel the outline of a letter. It was a capital
E
. He tried the next letter. It was harder, not so big. He stood his finger on edge and traced it round the embossing. It was a
b
. No, wrong way round. It was actually a
d
. Ten minutes later he tugged on the bell pull.

Before too long Sara Finn's footsteps tripped across the hall. ‘Yes, sir.'

He handed her the book and said, ‘What's this called?'

‘
The Fall of the House of Usher
by Edgar Allan Poe
.
I have a volume of his poetry on my own bookshelf, a gift from Mrs Pawley. Do you want me to read this to you, sir?'

A small sense of triumph centred in him, one almost to the point of smugness. ‘No, Sara. I love his work, and know the stories and poetry by heart. I read them when I was a boy. Pass me another book. I want to show you something.'

He concentrated as he slowly moved his nail round the indentations, murmuring the letters of the first word, before saying quickly, ‘
Two Years Before The Mast. Henry Dana.
'

‘If you don't mind me saying, sir, you only touched on the first two words. You guessed the rest.'

He experienced a sense of disappointment. ‘So I did. You know, Sara, you could have humoured me.'

‘I could have told you what you wanted to hear, you mean. Would that have given you a greater sense of achievement when you realized your mistake for yourself?'

‘I might not have.'

‘You've got too much intelligence not to have missed the obvious.'

‘Being unable to see frustrates me sometimes.'

‘Me too, because there are so many things I'd like you to see. Maggie's new hat . . . the robin that comes down to the kitchen for scraps. You're missing so much and I'm sorry for that, but feeling pity for you won't help. If it did I'd sell it and make a fortune.'

She moved to the fire, placed a shovel of coal on it and gave it a few prods with the poker. An explosion of sparks crackled up the chimney, such a normal domestic sound, and he could almost see the brass poker and the leaping flames making the shadows on the wall dance. ‘There, that's more cheerful. Is there anything I can get for you, Mr Leighton?'

‘No, nothing, but you were right, you know. I am lucky in being able to see before I went blind. I've been remembering this room from when I was a boy.'

‘I hope the memories were good ones.'

‘Apart from having my backside tanned a couple of times, mostly I had a happy childhood. The odd thing is, Sara, in the years to come this room could be painted a different colour and the furniture could be refurbished, but I will always retain a memory of the same room. I've read most of the books on the shelves. The work of Edgar Allan Poe used to scare the wits out of me as well as fascinate me, and I used to go to bed with my head under my pillow. Is Diana's picture still on the wall in here?'

‘I dusted it this morning.'

‘She'll never grow old.'

‘Because she no longer physically exists. All you have is a picture on the wall, one you can no longer see. It's only paint layered on a canvas. In time the portrait will crack and peel with age, and she'll look old because of it. The time will come when there won't be anyone left who remembers her, or even cares about her.'

It was surprising how detached from Diana's memory her words made him feel. ‘That's something to ponder on. You surprise me sometimes, Sara.'

‘I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that . . . not to you, when I know how much you cared for her and blame yourself for her death.'

‘No . . . you're right. That's exactly what will happen. I like your way of thinking; it has twists and turns in it that surprise me.'

To change the subject she said, ‘We . . . the staff . . . have a surprise for you tomorrow if it's not raining.'

‘What is it?'

She heaved a sigh. ‘I'm not saying, and don't think to ask Oscar because he doesn't know what it is. You're to present yourself in the hall about eleven if you would, sir. Make sure you wear something warm.'

‘Stop being a mother hen,' he said, and she laughed.

The hall clock began to chime. ‘I'd better go, since you're expecting your relatives. I'm sorry I was rude to your niece and nephew. I'll apologize if you wish.'

‘An apology would certainly be in order, I think. But not now, Sara, off you go, girl.'

As Finch expected, the Milson pair were childishly, and deliberately, late, but not late enough to anger him.

‘Sit,' he said when Jane and Frederick came in. ‘I talked to your mother while I was in London. Because I'm not willing to support the pair of you indefinitely, we have to come to a decision about your futures.'

‘Surely that's for us to decide,' Frederick said, sounding bored.

‘Not while you're living off my money. You might decide to indenture yourself to a profession suited to a gentleman, one that will support you in the future. Accountancy perhaps. As I recall you were good with figures. I know someone connected to the East India Company. I might be able to secure you a posting abroad as a clerk after you've trained. Or I'm willing to buy you a commission in the army.'

‘But, sir. We have the allowance you pay us.'

‘And we are your heirs, after all,' Jane said delicately.

‘My heirs? Where did you get that idea from?'

‘From Aunt Diana. She said, and mother said, that when you died . . . when she died . . .' Her voice became shrill. ‘Well you have nobody else to leave it to, have you? Besides, Aunt Diana promised me I could have her jewellery. We are your only relatives, except for the Bishop, but he's old and has enough money of his own. Besides, you told Aunt Diana he didn't want it, and had in fact made you his heir.'

So Diana had made it her business to conspire with her ne'er-do-well family to manage his fortune. Much good it would do them now. ‘It's true that the Bishop doesn't want it, but after the accident I decided to change my will. After deliberation, and unless something happens to change the course of my life, that's what will happen. I decided that the bulk of it would be better spent supporting a charity, and unless something happens to change that, it will.'

‘What do you mean by that? Are you dying?' Jane asked him.

‘Sorry to disappoint you, Jane, but no. It may not have occurred to you, but I may decide to marry again and a desirable outcome would be children of my own.'

‘But it's not likely, is it? I mean, who would want you when you're—'

‘Do be quiet, Jane,' Freddie said. ‘Take no notice of her, sir. I'll certainly think about this for a while. I don't think I'm cut out for soldiering. The East India Company sounds promising though, and Jane can come and visit me when I'm settled somewhere.'

Jane said, ‘Surely you don't expect me to work as well, Uncle. Doing what, pray? Should I follow the example of Florence Nightingale and take myself off to be trained to look after the sick?' She shuddered. ‘Everyone is gossiping about the woman. I suppose you think that's a suitable profession for a young lady, to put herself at risk of catching a deadly infection.'

‘Since you ask, I think such a profession is a calling, Jane, and that you lack the intelligence, the dedication or the altruism required to nurse the sick back to health. My suggestion is that you find yourself a husband as soon as possible. When you do, I'll settle ten thousand pounds on you.'

‘A year?' she said, her avarice all too apparent to him.

‘In total. If it's managed properly it will bring you an income.'

‘Oh, how mean to give the bulk of your fortune to strangers,' she said, clearly disappointed, and going on to further display her greed. ‘What about your homes? Are you going to leave one to mother? She was rather counting on it.'

‘I see no reason why she should be, when her husband left her provided for.'

‘Oh, mother was forced to mortgage it, and she couldn't pay the loan, so she sold it to the lender, and now leases it back. If you settled ten thousand on me now I could start my own business,' Frederick suggested.

‘And watch you gamble it away. I think not, Frederick. But you'll get the same amount when you marry and settle down. Plan your futures carefully, since this is all you will get.' Even that was too much, and it would be worth it to get rid of them. ‘Now I've made my intentions perfectly clear, Jane, you may go and apologize to Miss Finn, and to Fanny, as well. I don't want my staff upset. It makes for a bad atmosphere.'

‘Oh, don't worry, Uncle, we'll be catching the morning train to London. We want to be in the capital for the Christmas season. We have invitations to balls and the theatre to attend. I did so hope I could persuade you to lend me some of Aunt Diana's jewellery for the season. There was a sapphire set that would go well with my new gown.'

‘I think not, Jane. Off you go.'

Frederick lingered after Jane had gone. ‘Uncle, could I prevail upon you to make me a small loan.'

‘How small, Frederick?'

Frederick tossed the figure out casually, as if he thought Finch was used to carrying large sums with him. Like the other loans he'd made him, Frederick would never get around to paying it back. ‘Oh, three hundred will do to carry me over to when my allowance is due. If I'm to work for a living I'll need a new suit.'

‘When that time comes I'll have you outfitted with a new wardrobe. I will advance you one hundred pounds.'

‘That will have to do then.'

There was no word of thanks and Frederick moved towards the door, pausing to say, ‘I must go and sweet-talk that spirited little housekeeper of yours. She's a little beauty, where did you find her?'

‘Miss Finn was recommended. She's a hard worker.'

‘Yes, I've noticed the change in the house. You know, Uncle, you should be careful of her. She acts as though she owns Leighton Manor and her manner towards you is too familiar. You'd be a good catch for someone like her.'

‘Nonsense, Frederick. Miss Finn is far too young for me, and even if she were older I have no inclination to marry at the moment.'

‘Well, you don't have to marry her to make use of her, do you?'

‘What are you suggesting, that I take my housekeeper into my bed? I'm not interested in her that way. As I said, she's far too young for me.'

‘You wouldn't think that if you could see her . . . oh, well, if you're not interested I might have a bit of fun and make an advance on her myself before I go. Who knows, though she's socially beneath me, she might be the means of getting that money out of you. Your last housekeeper married for convenience as I recall. I'll make an effort to be nice to this one and bring her round to my way of thinking.'

Finch felt like roaring with laughter. He hadn't known Sara Finn very long, but long enough to suspect that she had more sense than to fall for the tricks of someone as shallow as Frederick. ‘I would advise against that, Frederick, I really would.'

But Frederick didn't want his advice, and Finch knew he had to offer the girl a little protection as the door closed gently behind Frederick. He called Oscar in.

Sara was in the dining room, her mind on her task as she set the table for dinner. Mr Leighton had pretty things, she thought, polishing an engraved wine glass. The letters F D L were entwined within a vine of leaves and grapes. The
D
belonged to Diana, she supposed, and she wondered if the suite of glasses had been a wedding gift.

She set three places. Oscar would stay with Mr Leighton throughout dinner, cutting his meat and unobtrusively helping him. She sometimes wondered if her employer felt embarrassed being treated as a baby.

She jumped when somebody touched her arm, and spun round.

‘I've come to apologize for my behaviour, Sara,' Frederick said, giving her that insincere smile of his.

She had no choice but to accept it. ‘Thank you. I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have spoken out of turn.'

‘No you shouldn't have. My uncle was annoyed about it. I only just talked him out of dismissing you from his service.'

Her face fell. She would hate to lose her job. ‘I haven't got any relatives, so I'd have nowhere else to go if he did.'

‘Then you owe me a favour. I told him I was interested in you.'

‘Why should you tell him such a thing, when it's not true?'

‘Oh, but it is true. You're the most beautiful woman I've met in a long time.' Reaching out he ran a finger down her breast.

She blushed and pushed his hand away. ‘Leave me alone, Frederick Milson.'

He took a step closer, pushing her gently against the table, trapping her there with his hips and his hands either side on the table. ‘You don't mean that, Sara. Just give me a little kiss as a reward, then I'll leave you alone.'

It wouldn't stop at one kiss. She shuddered at the thought. He was loathsome. ‘You'll leave me alone now. I've got work to get on with.'

When he stooped to kiss her, her hand closed around a fork and she brought it down on his hand. At the same time she stamped on his foot.

He leaped back, his face contorted with anger. ‘You little bitch, you've drawn blood.'