Straw in the Wind (17 page)

When she took the coffee through to the drawing room Celia was seated on the piano stool.

‘Leave it on the table, Sara. Miss Chapman will see to it. I've persuaded her to play the piano to provide me with some entertainment. She might even sing for me.'

And she thought Celia had come to look after her brother! Then Sara chided herself. Celia Chapman had wrought a change for the better in her employer in the short time she'd been here. Still, she didn't mind caring for Adam Chapman. Sara told herself that she was merely doing her duty in nursing him. It wasn't as though he was seriously ill. After a couple of days rest he would begin to mend fast.

Sara felt self-conscious in his presence though, aware that he was watching her, and bestowing smiles on her whenever she caught his eyes – and more than aware that her heart went all of a flutter when he did.

Well, however charming he was to her, and however much her heart fluttered when she saw him she was not going to fall in love with a man who was so far above her on the social ladder. Oscar had been right. Men would be men, and what's more they should learn how to control themselves, the same as women did. Well . . . most women, she thought and her gaze went to Diana Milson's portrait and she gave a disparaging, ‘Pffff!'

The next morning Sara found the invalid out of bed and seated by the table in front of the window.

When she tut-tutted, he curled her a grin and said by way of excuse, ‘Oscar has just shaved me in honour of your visit.'

A little twist of happiness bounced about inside her. ‘So I see, Adam.' She could smell the shaving soap, and his skin was smooth and soft. His hair gleamed in the light coming through the window and it curled like strands of dark, sun-kissed honey against his temples.

‘Allow me to stay here in this chair, Serafina,' he said.

Her mouth dried. ‘Why did you call me Serafina?'

‘I understood it to be your real name. It's very pretty.'

Mr Leighton must have told him. ‘It's too good a name for a servant.'

‘That's not true. It's a lovely name, and it suits you.'

She remembered Oscar's warning. She was not going to be trifled with. ‘Most people call me Sara; I prefer that.'

‘I've upset you . . . why?'

She didn't know why . . . perhaps because the name unearthed something in the far reaches of her past that she still craved for. There had been an old woman, and there had been something fine and warm about her. When Sara's mind reached out to her she was elusive. She closed herself around the memory as she placed the tray down on the table. ‘I'm not upset, and it's not up to me to tell you what you can do and what you can't.'

‘Why do you look upon me with such disapproval?' he said gently, which immediately disarmed her.

Sara recognized something in him that connected with something in herself. Was it because she liked him more than she should, and didn't quite know how to handle it? She retreated behind a brisk, no nonsense approach. ‘Eat your breakfast, Mr Chapman, then go back to bed and stay there until the physician says you may rise.'

‘Ah . . . so it's back to Mr Chapman, is it?' and before she could answer, ‘Do you like living in the country?'

‘I lived on a farm when I was a child.'

‘With the Fenn family?'

‘Yes . . .'Her nose wrinkled as she remembered the dirt and the smell, and despite that how she'd wanted to belong to them, especially Mary who told her they were secret sisters and she would love her forever. ‘We all caught a bellyache one day and my ma and pa . . . at least I thought they were my ma and pa, even when it wasn't my turn, because sometimes things got confused in my head. Anyway, they died, except for myself and my uncle.'

Now Adam was confused, something that didn't happen very often to him. ‘Your turn . . . what do you mean by that?'

‘It was a game Mary and I played. Sometimes she pretended she was the orphan child, and sometimes I did. We would change our names and pretend to be each other, especially when we went to the village school. It confused everyone. We looked alike, you see.' She gave a faint, sad smile. ‘We were going to be princesses when we grew up.'

A game that had proved to confuse her, he surmised, since Serafina wasn't totally convinced of which child she was. All her memories could have stemmed from two unrelated little girls with fertile imaginations playing a game of make-believe and sharing one set of parents between them.

‘Your uncle . . . was his first name Tyler?'

‘I don't know, we just called him uncle. He came to stay a few months before we were taken ill to help with the farm chores. He was . . .
mean
. After they died he told me that I didn't belong to the family any more because I wasn't kin. And he told me to collect my things. We went a long way on the cart, and he left me outside this building and he told me to wait there and he'd come back for me. Only he didn't.' She gazed down at her hands and there was no self-pity in her voice. ‘When it was dark somebody came out and took me inside and I was there for two years.' Her eyes came up to his, all at once wary. ‘How did you know they were called Fenn?'

So she'd picked up on his mistake and was now playing him at his own game, Adam thought. ‘I assumed they had the same name as you.'

‘But my name is Sara Finn.'

He shrugged. ‘So it is. It was a slip of the tongue.'

‘Was it? You haven't come about the doll, have you?'

‘What doll is that?'

‘The one I took from Mary. I thought it was mine at first, but Mary said it was her doll and I stole it from her. We decided to have half each and share her. Because Mary had died I didn't see any harm in taking the doll with me when I left the farm. I missed my friend and wanted something to remember her by. How do you know about the Fenns . . . unless Mr Leighton told you? Why do you want to know so much about me?'

She was more astute than he'd expected her to be. ‘Perhaps it's because I like you.'

‘Perhaps you do . . . but no, it isn't because you like me. You appear to be friendly, and you are, but your questions have a purpose behind them. It's about the doll isn't it? Uncle Fenn wants it back and he sent you here to get it. He wanted everything, the farm and everything in it, except for me. But I didn't think he knew about the doll. It was part of our secret game, and we kept her hidden. I put her in the bottom of the sack with my change of clothes on top.

‘After they died uncle kept shouting at me to tell him where the money and the will was. I didn't know what he was talking about. Then one day he found a box with some papers in it, and he burned them in the grate. They curled in on themselves, went black and flew off up the chimney on a draught. They looked like bats. I often wondered where they ended up.'

Interesting how her memory came in fragments, as if she'd built a wall around her past, and bits kept escaping. But then, this girl was adept at settling into her environment, like a broody hen sitting on an egg. It was obvious that she liked to feel secure, however tenuous her hold was likely to be.

He should put her mind at rest over this. After all, what bearing could a doll have on the puzzle that was her life? ‘No, it's not about the doll, but I should perhaps tell you that I'm a detecting agent and I'm investigating your background so I can restore you to your rightful place in society, Miss Serafina.'

The giggle she gave had a breathless quality. ‘You mean I might be a lost princess after all?'

The truth often threw people off guard if they weren't expecting it, and her expression told him that she didn't believe him. But she would remember him telling her that she didn't belong in the comfortable little niche she was settling herself into if, or
when
, the time came.

Although he was quite sure she could play the part of a princess to perfection if she found herself dressed in satin and visiting a palace, he said, ‘I haven't met many princesses employed as country housekeepers, have you?'

Laughter burst from her. ‘Oh, you . . . behave yourself. I'll be back for the tray in a little while.'

‘Will you bring the doll to show me?'

‘If you like. She's precious to me because she's all I've got to remember Mary by, so I don't want to lose her.'

‘You won't lose her.'

‘Her name's Charlotte.'

Adam's breath nearly left his body. Now who was thrown off guard? It felt as though she could see right through him and was playing some sort of game. This was too much of a coincidence. ‘Charlotte? How did the doll come by that name?'

She shrugged and gave a secretive grin. ‘You'll know that when I show it to you.'

And he did discover something when she brought it back for him to inspect – firstly that it was an expensive doll in the same style of one Celia had when she was growing up. A wax composite face and limbs were attached to a sawdust-stuffed body. The doll was dressed as an infant in a lace-trimmed, flowered nightgown, and she wore a frilly bonnet with ribbons over a brown wig. Her glass eyes were opened and shut by a wire mechanism at the waist.

His second surprise came when he saw the ragged remnant of shawl the doll was wrapped in. Embroidered in the corner was the name, Charlotte H.

‘There, you see . . . Charlotte. I called her after the name on the shawl.'

‘Was the doll wearing this shawl when you got her?'

Instantly, the answer came back. ‘No, I always had the shawl. I was six when I got the doll for my birthday. At least, I thought the old lady gave it to me for my birthday, but when it was Mary's turn to be the orphan she said the old woman gave it to her.' She shrugged. ‘Does it matter? We went to the farm shortly afterwards. I remember that better.'

‘When you want to.'

‘Not all memories are pleasant to remember, are they?'

‘You guard yours well.'

She shrugged and they gazed at each other longer than was comfortable.

There was the sound of a carriage outside. ‘That's the doctor; your sister will bring him up in a moment, no doubt. I'd better tidy you up.' She bade him lean forward and pounded his pillows into shape, her breasts moulding against her bodice with just a few heartbeats of space between. ‘Lean back, now.' She began to tuck the bedclothes in, her movements economical. Her hair was as smooth and glossy as a yard of melted chocolate and her mouth was slightly pursed in concentration, so her natural pout was pronounced. She was so kissable that Adam could almost taste it.

All he had to do was move his head an inch or so and . . . He closed his eyes, enjoying the anticipation and barely resisting the temptation. The atmosphere between them was fraught with possibilities.

Quietly, he said, ‘What would you do if I kissed you, Serafina?'

She moved away from him in a flurry of alarm. ‘I stabbed the last man who tried it.'

‘Stabbed him?'

When his eyes flew open he just caught the remnant of her quick smile before she told him, ‘In the hand with a fork.' She gazed at the door with relief written all over her. ‘Ah, here's Miss Chapman with the doctor. Good morning, Doctor. Miss Chapman.'

Only a female with a touch of wickedness in her could tell him she'd stabbed a man with a fork, then sound so totally angelic the next second. Serafina fascinated him.

‘Good morning, Miss Finn. How is my brother this morning?'

‘As lively as a flea on a dog's tail.'

When Celia hiccuped with laughter the doctor smiled benignly at her before turning a disapproving look upon Sara. ‘Not exactly a kind description to apply to the afflicted, Miss Finn.'

‘But a true one,' she argued.

‘Then perhaps it's time we allowed Mr Chapman out of bed.'

Allowed him out of bed? she thought. Adam Chapman was a law unto himself. Fancy asking her what she'd do if he kissed her, when if he'd just kissed her without warning, as she was sure he'd wanted to, he would have soon found out what she'd do.

She would find out too, come to that. She fought off a threatening grin and her mouth tingled as the idea of Adam kissing her took hold. She'd never been kissed – at least not a proper kiss where she wanted to kiss in return, just the wet dribbly forced kiss from the reverend's son and Frederick Milson pushing himself against her like a fevered dog.

Not that she wanted Adam to kiss her, she told herself. The very idea . . . wasn't as objectionable to her as it should have been, she realized. What was she about, thinking such confronting and uncomfortable thoughts?

‘Hah!' she said, then she realized that everyone was looking at her.

Colour rushed to her cheeks. ‘Happen I'll give you some privacy then. Ring if you need me.' Scrubbing her lips against the back of her hand she picked up the doll, gave the grinning patient a bit of a glare and departed.

S
ara made sure she wasn't alone with Adam, since she didn't want to encourage him. On their last evening before the Chapmans were due to return home Mr Leighton had arranged some entertainment for staff and guests alike.

They put on their best clothes for the occasion. Sara had an outfit that had been placed in the church charity bag when she'd worked for the Pawleys. Elizabeth had repaired the tear in it and shortened the hem before giving it to her to take with her. She'd also given her the cape that Frederick Milson's dogs had shredded, and which he'd promised to replace. Needless to say, he hadn't. It was past repair, so thank goodness she had a shawl to wear if she needed to go outside.

‘The gown will be warm to wear to church in the winter, and the material is long-lasting,' Elizabeth had said of the outfit.

It was also ugly, but Sara had no choice but to wear the brown checked skirt and velvet jacket over a cream-coloured blouse. Its only decoration was a small piece of lace at the neck. She wished she had a brooch to wear, but she didn't. Instead, she took a star made from small glass beads from the Christmas tree and pinned it to her hair. The beads shivered as she moved and sparkled like diamonds in the candlelight. Maggie and Fanny wore different shades of blue, and Giles and Joseph Tunney looked self-conscious in their Sunday suits.