The Ragged Heiress (24 page)

Minutes later, when Phyllis and the tweeny brought tea to the parlour it was a much grander affair than normal, or so Giles insisted. He munched his way through half a plateful of salmon and cucumber sandwiches, followed by hot muffins dripping with melted butter, and several slices of dark chocolate cake oozing with cream. Mary nibbled at the food, declaring that she had eaten well at luncheon, but Lucetta ran Giles a fair second, earning his enthusiastic approval, which made her blush and gave her a warm feeling of belonging. She was sorry to see him leave, but he departed for home shortly after tea, saying that he had to go and separate his sisters, who would undoubtedly be at the hair-pulling, name-calling stage at this time of day, sending their mother into a fit of the vapours. He kissed Mary on the cheek and Lucetta secretly hoped that she might receive a similar salute, but he raised her hand briefly to his lips and then he was gone.

‘He can be most charming when he puts his mind to it,’ Mary said, folding her napkin neatly and placing it back on the tea tray. ‘But don’t read anything into it, Lucetta. Giles is an accomplished flirt.’

Lucetta turned her head to stare at Mary in surprise at the sudden sharp note that had crept into her normally gentle voice. For a moment so fleeting that Lucetta wondered afterwards if she had imagined it, she thought she had seen a hint of jealousy in Mary’s
eyes, but it was gone in an instant and Mary rose to her feet with her usual sunny smile.

‘I’m dying to see your new clothes. You will be able to change for dinner tonight and show Papa how well you have chosen.’

Sir Hector rose to his feet as Mary and Lucetta entered the drawing room. ‘My dear Miss Froy,’ he said, bowing from the waist. ‘I must compliment you on your choice of gowns. You look every inch the lady.’

Lucetta was not quite sure whether he was sincere or if he was teasing her, and she looked to Mary for reassurance.

‘I couldn’t have chosen better for her,’ Mary said, taking a seat on an elegant, if slightly uncomfortable-looking, chaise longue.

Slightly overawed by the splendour of the room, Lucetta perched on the edge of an upright chair upholstered in slippery damask, which threatened to slide her onto the floor if she lost concentration for a single moment. She clasped her hands nervously in her lap as she watched her host pouring sherry from a cut crystal decanter into three glasses. ‘Sir Hector, I wonder if …’

He handed one to her. ‘You want to know if I had any success with your esteemed uncle, Mr Bradley Froy. I’m sorry to tell you this, Lucetta, but he is probably one of the most objectionable characters whom I have had the misfortune to meet. If he weren’t standing between you and your rightful inheritance, I would say that you are well rid of any connection with him and his sour-faced wife.’

‘Oh, Papa, no.’ Mary accepted a glass of sherry, casting a pitying glance at Lucetta. ‘I am so sorry, Daisy.’

Lucetta swallowed hard. ‘What did he say?’

‘Nothing more than he had told Giles. He said that he had identified the bodies of his niece and her parents and that he had attended their funerals. He insisted that you are an adventuress and he threatened to have you arrested if you attempted to further your claim. I am convinced that he was lying, but unless we can find someone who would swear to your true identity the case would be impossible to prove in a court of law. I am so sorry, Lucetta. So very sorry, my dear.’

The glass slipped from Lucetta’s nerveless fingers and fell to the floor. She stared in horror at the dark stain on the Persian carpet. It seemed as though her last hope had been dashed and her life blood was seeping from her, pooling at her feet like the sherry wine. Uncle Bradley had robbed her of everything, even her name. She was less than no one now. She was vaguely aware of Mary’s voice.

‘Don’t be upset, dear Daisy. You mustn’t give up hope.’

Sir Hector cleared his throat noisily. ‘Hmmph. You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten, my dear. We’ll talk this over after dinner.’

Lucetta rose unsteadily to her feet. Her throat felt as though it was closing up and the mere thought of food was making her feel sick. ‘Th-thank you, but I’m not hungry. If you don’t mind, I’ll go to my room.’ She fled from the drawing room, almost knocking Phyllis
down as they collided in the doorway. Picking up her skirts, Lucetta raced along the landing and up the next flight of stairs to her bedchamber. She closed the door, leaning against it and gasping for breath. She felt the solid oak vibrate behind her as someone rapped on the door.

‘Lucetta, may I speak to you?’ Sir Hector’s voice was filled with concern.

‘Please go away, sir. I need time to think.’

‘A few minutes, that’s all I ask.’

It was his house after all, and she was a guest in his home. Reluctantly, Lucetta moved away from the door. ‘Come in.’

She snatched a towel from the rail on the washstand and mopped her streaming eyes, but she could not bring herself to meet his gaze as Sir Hector entered the room. He went to the fireplace and leaned over to shovel coal onto the fire. It was such a commonplace and homely action, more fitting for a servant than the master of the house, that Lucetta breathed a sigh of relief. She had expected to receive a stern lecture, but Sir Hector seemed more intent on riddling the dying embers of the fire than on scolding her for her lack of manners. ‘It’s a cold night,’ he said as if continuing a discussion about the weather. ‘I daresay we will have more snow by morning.’

‘I’m sorry about the carpet,’ Lucetta murmured. ‘I hope the stain will come out.’

Sir Hector straightened up, standing with his back to the fire. ‘Don’t worry about that, my dear. I am the one who should apologise. I should have broken the news
more gently, instead of stating the facts as though I were in court.’

Lucetta sank down on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s all the same in the end. I cannot impose on your hospitality any longer. My case is a hopeless one; my uncle has seen to that.’

‘I admit that things look bad, but as Mary said, you must not give up hope.’

‘I was not trained to do anything useful, Sir Hector. My expensive education has been wasted, since without a character I cannot even apply for the position of governess or a lady’s companion.’

‘That is exactly why I wanted to talk to you, Lucetta. Perhaps I should have begun our conversation with the idea that occurred to me on my way home this evening.’

Clutching the damp towel to her bosom, Lucetta raised her eyes to his face. ‘What idea would that be, sir?’

Sir Hector regarded her seriously. ‘I need an amanuensis, Lucetta. Of course I have an official secretary when the House is sitting, but my correspondence does not cease simply because Parliament is in recess. Your expensive education as you call it would be put to good use in helping me.’ He paused, eyeing her as if gauging her reaction.

‘You’re very kind, Sir Hector, but I would still feel that I was imposing on your good nature.’ With the towel still clutched firmly in her arms, Lucetta rose slowly to her feet. ‘I must learn to be independent and not rely on your generosity, even though it is very much appreciated.’

‘And with this new-found independence you intend to make the journey to Devonshire to find your young seafarer,’ Sir Hector said, smiling. ‘Mary told me.’

‘As soon as the weather improves I must try to find him, even if I have to walk all the way to Salcombe.’

‘I won’t try to stop you, my dear.’ Sir Hector took a step towards her, taking the towel gently from her grasp. ‘And I suggest that you purchase some handkerchiefs with your first week’s pay, Lucetta.’

‘You still want to employ me, even on those terms?’

‘I am a hard taskmaster, Miss Froy. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve but I will expect you to be in my study ready to begin work as soon as you have finished breakfast. I trust that you write with a fair hand.’

Responding to his smile, Lucetta felt the tension ebbing away from her taut muscles. ‘I was top of the class in handwriting, sir.’

He proffered his arm. ‘Then we have a bargain, Lucetta. Now perhaps you will allow me to escort you downstairs to join Mary for dinner. She was most anxious about you, and if we tarry much longer I’m afraid that Cook might hand in her resignation. Mrs Bullen would be almost irreplaceable.’ He paused, smiling down at Lucetta with a quirk of his eyebrow. ‘Unless, that is, you have hidden culinary talents?’

Lucetta slipped her hand through his arm. ‘Unfortunately not, sir. But I did learn how to peel vegetables in the kitchen of Frog Hall.’

‘And you say that you have no useful accomplishments. If you prove to be a poor secretary, we might find you a place in the scullery. I believe talented vegetable peelers are at a premium, especially so close to Christmas.’

Light-headed with relief and bubbling with optimism, Lucetta allowed her new employer to escort her downstairs to the drawing room.

Mary rose from her seat with an expectant smile. ‘Papa?’

‘It’s all settled, my dear,’ Sir Hector said cheerfully. ‘Lucetta has agreed to my proposition. Now we can do justice to Mrs Bullen’s excellent meal.’ He held his
free arm out to his daughter. ‘I’ve worked up quite an appetite.’

All next day, Lucetta worked away in Sir Hector’s study at the back of the house, taking down his dictation in note form and then transcribing it back in her best copperplate hand. She worked conscientiously, stopping briefly to eat her midday meal alone in the morning parlour as Sir Hector had gone to his club and Mary was on duty at the hospital. Neither of them returned until late that evening and, daunted by the prospect of eating alone in the wainscoted dining room, Lucetta had once again requested a tray be brought to her in the parlour. Replete, and satisfied that she had at least earned her living that day, she sat by the fire watching its light play on the glass baubles and tinsel on the tree. She recalled the previous evening when Giles and Mary had laughed and teased each other as they dressed the green boughs. The scent of the pine needles filled the room and the fizzing and popping of the gas mantles accompanied the crackling and spitting of the burning coals in the grate. Lucetta drifted off to sleep but suddenly the room around her seemed to change. She did not recognise her surroundings. It was a much larger room with oak-panelled walls and mullioned windows. She could see Mary seated on a chair with her face buried in her hands and she appeared to be sobbing uncontrollably. Giles and Sir Hector were pacing the floor. She could not hear what they were saying. Their lips moved but it was like watching a mime. She could feel their distress but she
had no idea what could be the cause. And yet she knew it had something to do with her. She wanted to put her arms around Mary and comfort her, but it was as if her limbs were turned to stone. She tried to speak but no words came from her lips and she realised with a feeling of utter panic that they could not see her. She did not exist. She opened her mouth to scream …

Someone was shaking her, calling her name. She opened her eyes and focused blearily on Mary’s smiling face.

‘You were dreaming, Daisy. It must have been a nightmare judging by the way you were struggling. You are quite safe, dear. It was just a dream.’

Lucetta sat up straight, rubbing her eyes. ‘What time is it?’

‘Very late, close to midnight. We were so busy that I had to stay on in the ward, but I’m home now, and I have tomorrow off. We will have a wonderful time across the way with the Harcourts.’

‘The Harcourts?’

‘We always have Christmas dinner with my aunt and the Harcourt cousins. You will meet Giles’ sisters. I’m sure they are dying with curiosity.’

The sun had forced its way through ominous-looking clouds to reveal a tantalising patch of blue sky that seemed to promise a hint of spring even though the air was bitingly cold. Lucetta, Mary and Sir Hector crossed the square, their breath spiralling into columns above their heads as they picked their way through the ankle-deep snow. Lucetta had been reluctant to
accept the invitation, preferring to spend Christmas day on her own rather than feeling like an outsider in the family party, but Mary and Sir Hector flatly refused to leave her at home. She had tried to put her emotions into words but they had simply not understood that this was her first Christmas since she had lost her parents, and that accompanying them to a family gathering would only emphasise her orphaned status. With obvious good intentions they seemed to think that being alone was the same as being lonely. Lucetta could have put them right on that score but in the face of their genuine concern for her wellbeing, she gave in. Mary had been kind but firm and Sir Hector had insisted that the company of young people was just the thing to cheer Lucetta’s flagging spirits.

To make matters even worse, that morning at breakfast Mary had presented her with a beautiful shawl which was so delicate that it might have been fashioned from a cobweb, and Sir Hector had given her a box of Swiss lawn handkerchiefs, embroidered with flowers and trimmed with lace. She had no gifts for them, and she had felt even guiltier for spending so much money on herself. Her shame had been compounded by Mary and Sir Hector’s refusal to accept that she had done anything wrong, or that she had behaved thoughtlessly. Their generosity was overwhelming and Lucetta felt even more unworthy of their kindness as she followed them into the Harcourts’ residence on the far side of the square.

A silver-haired butler, who seemed more like a respected family member than a servant, welcomed
them at the door with obvious pleasure. Their outer garments were spirited away by a maidservant who in contrast to the dour Phyllis was all smiles and cheerful nods. The butler led them up the sweeping curve of the staircase to the drawing room. Lucetta could hear the aged retainer’s joints creaking with every step, but if his rheumaticky knees were painful, he gave no evidence of his discomfort.

Mrs Harcourt and her three daughters were seated on spindly antique chairs with their crinolines spread about them like the petals of exotic flowers. Sunlight poured through the tall windows and a fire blazed up the chimney. The pastel furnishings and floral-patterned wallpaper gave the room a delicate feminine look, and the scent of hothouse flowers mingled with the expensive perfumes favoured by the girls and their mother. The scene might have been the subject of a water-colour painting of genteel family life, but the serenity was broken the moment the visitors entered the room. The three sisters rose like a flock of brightly coloured parakeets, laughing and chattering as they descended on Mary and her father.