Straw in the Wind (14 page)

Sensing he was about to slap her, Sara dropped to her knees and scrambled under the table to emerge on the other side.

She kept a wary eye on him as he glared at her. ‘Don't think you're going to get away with that, you ungrateful little bastard.' Napkin clutched to his wound, he began to edge around the table, coming between her and the door.

She threatened him with the fork, waving it in front of her. ‘Keep away from me.'

Frederick laughed and threw himself across the table, scattering plates and cutlery everywhere. His plan failed when he collided with a chair and it toppled over with him on top of it but he managed to snatch the fork from her hand on the way down.

Crying out in fright with the suddenness of it when he sprang to his feet, Sara dodged round the table again and jerked on the bell pull, hoping Maggie would answer it, because Fanny wouldn't be of much help in this situation.

To her relief it was Oscar who arrived, and it was almost instant. His glance flicked from one to another, then at the table, summing up the situation. ‘I was just passing when I heard a crash and a cry. I've come to help you, Miss Finn.'

‘What the devil d'you mean by that?' Freddie said.

‘That the table is in disarray and that Mr Leighton will be down shortly. In fact he has sent me down to assist Miss Finn. Have you injured your hand, Mr Milson?'

‘Not that it's anything to do with you, but I accidentally pricked it with a fork.' Frederick threw the fork into the corner followed by the bloodied napkin, and examined the wound. ‘It's just a scratch.'

‘Of course, sir,' Oscar said blandly. ‘Miss Milson requests your presence in the drawing room. Allow me to help you to prepare the table, miss.'

Frederick pushed past them, limping slightly, his face dark with anger.

Oscar smiled at her after Frederick walked away. ‘You'll be all right now, Miss.'

She was trembling. ‘Thank you, Oscar. He tried to . . . well, he was overly
familiar
so I stuck a fork in his hand.'

‘As I observed. By his own admission it happened quite by accident. However, would you like me to mention the incident to Mr Leighton?'

‘I'd rather you didn't. Mr Leighton comes here to relax, and there's been enough trouble. Frederick said Mr Leighton was going to dismiss me over what happened earlier, but he talked him out of it. If he hears of this I'll be dismissed for certain.'

Oscar lowered his voice. ‘Mr Leighton had no intention of dismissing you, and never conclude that he's fooled by the Milson pair. I must go and help him dress for dinner now. I doubt if Frederick will be back.' Oscar cracked his knuckles. ‘They'll be gone early tomorrow, but if he bothers you again before they go, let me know and I'll take him outside and give him a good thumping.'

She laughed at that because Oscar was only a small man. ‘Thank you, Oscar.'

T
he atmosphere had lightened the moment that the Milsons and their slobbering lurchers had disappeared down the drive. Fingal had appeared in the kitchen, still nervous and twitching. Instead of disappearing into the safe hiding hole he'd found for himself during the visit he curled up in his rightful place on the rocking chair in front of the stove, giving Maggie the opportunity to hang his hated bell collar around his neck.

Just before they'd departed the Milsons had offered Sara black looks, so her back quivered from the mental daggers they'd stuck there. There was a warning in the smug smiles they exchanged. Their leaving brought relief, but Sara was left in no doubt that there might be an unpleasant surprise in store for her somewhere.

However, nothing was going to be allowed to spoil this moment later in the morning, even though the sky was threatening rain and the wind shivered through the shrubs in sudden little gusts. When Giles returned from the station they gathered in the porch at the appointed time.

As instructed, Mr Leighton was warmly dressed. He had a mystified half smile on his face as she led him forward. ‘Sorry, but you can't wear gloves, and I expect your hands will get cold.' She removed them, picked up the slack of the rope and placed it in his palm.

‘What is it?'

‘Rope.'

He smiled. ‘Ah, a length of rope, something I've always wanted. Is it one of those trick ropes that stand upright, and if I climb up it I'll disappear?'

‘That would be a sight to see.' She giggled. ‘Be serious, Mr Leighton. It's a guide rope. You keep your hand on it and you walk round the garden from post to post without having to have someone with you. There are wooden benches here and there in case you want to rest, or to stop and smell the flowers . . . not that there's any to smell at the moment, but come spring there will be.'

‘And you can plant your own flowers if you've a mind to,' Joseph Tunney said, ‘and you can sit on a bench under the oak tree.'

Maggie broke in, ‘Let Sara tell it, Joseph. It was
her
idea.'

‘But we wouldn't have done it without Joseph and Giles doing all the hard work,' she reminded Maggie. ‘Now, Mr Leighton . . . every now and again you'll find a wooden notice with your location carved on it. The one to the left of your hand on the post says front door. The letters are quite large so they shouldn't be any trouble.'

He reached out for the notice, located it, and his finger tips traced round the carving. He chuckled. ‘It actually says front odor.'

‘It was getting dark when I did that'n, and I got the letters back to front,' Giles said defensively. ‘But you know what it means, I reckon, you being clever and learned and all.'

‘Yes, of course I do, Giles. I wasn't making fun of you. I didn't think you knew how to write your letters.'

‘Miss Finn has been teaching me, Jassy and Fanny to read and write.'

‘I can write my name,' Fanny said, beaming proudly at everyone.

‘Well done, both of you. Now, let me try this contraption out. You'd better follow me this first time, Oscar, in case I lose my bearings.'

‘It goes around—'

‘Not now, Oscar, it's a voyage of discovery. I'll find out the destination when I get there, and the route will reveal itself to me as I go. Fetch the umbrella if you would; it feels like it's going to rain.'

When Mr Leighton walked out of doors he usually put a hand on Oscar's shoulder. Now he kept his hand on the rope, while the stick he usually carried was held in his other hand. ‘Thank you for the surprise, everyone. I'm truly touched that you thought of me with such a practical idea in mind. I'm off now.'

He looked vulnerable as he cautiously started out, unaided, his stick skimming the ground in case of obstacles in front of him, such as tree roots. When he stopped to read the next signpost he seemed to gain some confidence. Mouthing the letters as he traced and understood them, he smiled.

‘He'll soon get the hang of it,' Oscar said as he hurried past. ‘I just hope we can get all the way round before the rain starts, because it looks like a storm is building.'

They did, but only just. Mr Leighton came back in, his face glowing from the cold, and raindrops spattered across his shoulders. His smile was a mile wide. The pleasure he'd found in such a simple device touched her, and tears came to her eyes.

Adam's journey had quickly become a nightmare. The soreness in his throat had worsened. The rain pelted down, driven by a cold wind that lashed both himself and his horse. Soon he was soaked through to the skin, and the horse he'd hired was skittish.

He had no choice but to dismount and stand against a wall under a dripping bush that hung over it. It offered little shelter to either man or horse. The wall surrounded the grounds of Leighton Manor, since according to the directions given to him it was the only dwelling along this lane past the farmhouse.

The horse whinnied and sidestepped when there was a rumble of thunder overhead.

‘Easy boy, I'll have to find us shelter until this is over. If you allow me to remount you, it will be quicker.' Although taking shelter at Leighton Manor would suit his purpose, which was to get a glimpse of Sara Finn . . . alias Serafina, he regretted the thought that he might have to reveal his hand too soon.

The next few yards revealed a gate, left open, and beyond that a curving drive. His skittish mount was hard to control and he whinnied shrilly and sidestepped all the way. An answering whinny from the stable block made the gelding prick his ears forward, and brought a young man to the door. He took hold of the gelding's bridle and led them inside, talking soothingly to the horse all the while.

As Adam dismounted, he said, ‘Have you got business with Mr Leighton, sir? Don't you worry about Red Robin, he's been here before and knows us; don't you, my lovely? He'll soon settle. You come here to Giles now, Red. A good rub down and a feed will see you right. In the meantime you can chat to old Curruthers over there. Likely he'll enjoy your company for a while and you can have a good old gossip.'

The horse settled down in a vacant stall next to Curruthers, whickering his complaints while he waited to be fussed over.

‘Thank you,' Adam said.

‘If you'd like to follow me I'll take you in through the kitchen, sir. Miss Finn won't like you dripping water all over the place, and might prefer you to dry off a bit before she takes you through to Mr Leighton. It's warm in the kitchen.'

Adam drew in a deep breath, acknowledging the deep chill gnawing at his core and thinking that a hot stove and a drink to match wouldn't go astray. He should have ignored his curiosity and gone home two days ago.

Giles introduced him to Maggie the cook, who took one look at him and exclaimed, ‘Glory be, you look cold enough to be a corpse risen from the grave!' which did nothing to reassure him. ‘Go and fetch Miss Finn, Fanny, and be quick about it.'

Miss Finn came in a flurry of skirts to entrance him. The young woman he'd been seeking stood there before him, all eyes, which were large, brown, soft and captivating. They widened even more at the sight of him, her lashes giving an unconscious feminine flutter. ‘Mr Leighton didn't say he was expecting anyone; do you have an appointment, sir?'

‘I'm afraid not. I was seeking shelter from the storm.' Over his chattering teeth he said, ‘I'm sorry to be such a nuisance, I'm so very cold.'

‘So I see. You're also very wet and making a puddle on the floor. Maggie, give the man a towel to dry himself with, and some coffee, with a measure of brandy poured from the bottle you've got hidden away in the dresser. I'll go and tell Mr Leighton.'

She gazed at him for a long moment of indecision, head to one side, assessing him, rather like a blackbird contemplating a worm for breakfast. There came a moment when she reached a conclusion that he might be harmless, and she relaxed. ‘What shall I tell him your name is, sir?'

His smile brought a slightly frosty look from her, as though it was one liberty too many. ‘Adam Chapman.'

‘You have a card to present, do you not?'

She was still measuring his standard to protect her employer. All reputable gentlemen presented their cards, after all. He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket. The card was sodden, rendered halfway towards pulp again. It was just about readable. ‘It's not in very good condition, I'm afraid.'

‘As I see.' Oddly, she handed the card back to him, then turned and left.

‘How the devil did she know about that brandy,' Maggie grumbled to Fanny as she placed a generous measure in a glass and added coffee from a pot steaming on the stove. ‘Cream, sir?'

The cream turned out to be of the rich, thick variety, manufactured no doubt from the lush and luxurious pastures hereabouts.

After a while, the delightful Miss Finn returned. Now she did smile at him, her lips slightly pursed, letting him know the smile was designed for the sake of politeness only. There was an independent air to her that fitted neatly into the Honeyman sisters' mould, but there the resemblance stopped.

She had a sweet curve to her mouth and the bottom lip had a slight, but natural pout to it that was wholly delicious. ‘Mr Leighton has agreed to give you shelter. I've told him how saturated and cold you are, and he's ordered me to hand you over to his man, Oscar. So
if
you have finished your coffee, follow me.'

He wasn't going to be allowed to linger, he thought, as he swallowed the last mouthful and thanked Maggie. He smiled at the girl called Fanny, who'd been observing him with her mouth open, and followed Sara Finn out of the kitchen, along a dimly lit corridor and into the hall. The stairway they ascended was of the wide, sweeping variety, with brass rods keeping the red and blue patterned carpet in place on the risers.

He followed her up, his hand on the highly polished banister, admiring her small waist and the smooth sway of her perfect rear. She was petite, her movements quick and economical.

She stopped abruptly, then turned, catching him unawares. He was two steps below her when he realized. He stopped, and found her face level with his.

‘There's something I should tell you, Mr Chapman,' she said.

Uncharacteristically he voiced his thoughts out loud. ‘You're very pretty.'

Colour seeped under her skin but she didn't remove her gaze. In fact she ignored his statement and said, ‘He's afflicted by blindness.'

‘Who is?'

‘Mr Leighton.'

Her lack of reaction to his previous overture puzzled him. ‘Did you hear what I said?'

‘Yes, of course, I heard. Men tend to make personal statements on first acquaintance. My immediate reaction was that it was presumptuous of you, so I ignored it. Imagine if I said that to you on such short acquaintance. You'd be shocked, and would think that I was quite forward.'

‘I wouldn't. If I happened to be a woman I'd be quite flattered.'

‘But you're not a woman, so nobody would call you pretty. And unless you've been a woman you wouldn't know if you'd be flattered or not. You haven't been a woman, have you?'