The Ragged Heiress (31 page)

Sir Hector pinched her cheek. ‘Minx! You should have waited until he was ready to share his news.’

Lucetta’s hand trembled as she lifted the lid of a silver dish and selected a toasted muffin. ‘His news?’

‘Yes, the secret is out now,’ Mary said gleefully. ‘Giles has been offered the medical practice in the village and he’s gone to London to sort out his affairs. Papa made it possible, I’m certain, but he won’t admit it.’

Sir Hector smiled, shaking his head. ‘I wouldn’t dream of encouraging nepotism, my love, but I might have put a good word in for the boy, and I might have offered a little financial help.’

‘You know you did, Papa. And I think it was a wonderful thing to do. Giles was never cut out to be a fashionable doctor in Harley Street. He cares too much for the poor and needy to make a fortune from rich people who would have him at their beck and call for nothing more than a sore thumb.’

‘And I know how much it means to you, poppet. I’ve always hoped that one day you and Giles might make a match of it, and what better than to have my daughter and her family living close to our country home, which one day will be hers anyway.’

Mary’s cheeks flushed prettily. ‘Oh, Pa. Don’t say such things. There’s nothing between Giles and me. It’s all in your imagination.’

‘Is it, puss?’ Sir Hector’s deep laugh echoed off the wainscoted walls. ‘I’m not blind, my love. Nor have I forgotten what it is to be young and in love.’ He turned to Lucetta with a broad smile. ‘My little girl thinks I am too old to understand affairs of the heart, but that is far from the truth. I am a man in my prime, am I not, Lucetta?’

Lucetta pushed her plate away, the buttered muffin left uneaten. ‘I am sure you are, sir.’

He rose to his feet. ‘And I have work to do. When you have finished your breakfast I would like you to join me in my study, if you are not too tired after your long journey, that is.’

‘I am not tired.’ Lucetta could not face being left alone with Mary. ‘I will come now, Sir Hector.’

‘But you haven’t eaten a thing,’ Mary protested. ‘You must have something, Lucetta. I’ll ring for a fresh pot of coffee, or would you prefer tea?’

‘I’ll have something later,’ Lucetta said, pushing back her chair. ‘I’m not hungry and I’d like to make an early start.’

‘Capital,’ Sir Hector said, holding the door open. ‘Your enthusiasm for work does you credit, my dear.’
He glanced over his shoulder. ‘And you should rest, Mary. You are still convalescent and must not overexert yourself.’

‘Yes, Papa,’ Mary said, dimpling. ‘But we will have luncheon together, Lucetta, and perhaps afterwards we could walk into the village and I will show you the doctor’s house and surgery. I couldn’t be more thrilled for Giles.’

Lucetta nodded mutely as she hurried out of the room. It was a relief to know that Mary was in ignorance of what had passed between herself and Giles, but it was just a matter of time before she discovered the truth. Sir Hector strode past her, making his way towards the side of the house where his study was situated well away from the main reception rooms.

‘It’s good to have you home once again,’ he said as he ushered her into the book-lined room. ‘I’ve missed our mornings together, Lucetta. In fact I’d go so far as to say I’ve never had a secretary who was so compatible to my way of thinking and working. I hope you feel the same, my dear.’

Lucetta perched on the edge of a chair placed strategically in front of the desk. She reached for her notebook and pencil. ‘Yes, sir,’ she murmured, flicking through the pages to find a clean sheet.

Sir Hector took his seat and began to sift through a pile of correspondence. ‘You are happy here with us, aren’t you, Lucetta? I mean even if we fail to get a reply from the consulate in Bali, I would hope you might stay on and continue to work for me.’

Lucetta looked up, staring at him with a puzzled frown. She felt drained of all emotion and oddly distant from everything around her. ‘I hope that Sir John will confirm my identity, Sir Hector.’

‘Yes, of course. That must be so, but supposing the likeness is not true enough or that you have changed considerably since they last saw you. After all, it is over a year since you left Bali and you were little more than a child then.’

‘I was seventeen, sir. Hardly a child, and in less than six months I will be nineteen.’

‘Yes, that’s true. And I am forty-five. That must seem very old to you.’

He was gazing at her with an eager, almost boyish expression in his blue eyes and Lucetta had not the heart to tell him that he was the same age as her father would have been had he lived. She shrugged her shoulders, trying to sound positive. ‘Not really, sir. I daresay that age is more to do with how one feels and thinks rather than actual years.’

‘Well said. I agree entirely.’

He sounded so relieved that Lucetta was glad she had told a white lie, and she gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Perhaps we should start work, sir?’

‘Yes, we must begin.’ He reached for his spectacles and put them on. He rifled through a pile of correspondence, finally choosing a dog-eared piece of paper covered in ink blots. ‘We will begin with a letter to this lady who feels that she has been unfairly dealt with by her landlord.’

Lucetta lost track of time as she took down Sir
Hector’s slow dictation, but her thoughts were far away from the study with its well-worn furnishings and faded velvet curtains. While Sir Hector gathered his thoughts, she gazed out of the window at the waving green fronds of a weeping willow leaning at a precarious angle over the stream. The flash of a kingfisher’s plumage caught her eye, and the bright colours of its feathers reminded her forcibly of the exotic island of Bali. Had it all been a dream? She chewed the end of her pencil as she waited for Sir Hector to continue. Could the ardent young man she had known then be the same callous philanderer who had abandoned his fiancée and unborn child? Her head was beginning to ache and her heart felt like lead inside her breast. She sighed.

‘I think that is enough for today,’ Sir Hector said, giving her a worried look. ‘You are tired and I mustn’t overwork you, Lucetta. Leave the transcription until tomorrow, my dear. There is nothing so urgent than it cannot wait and I have an appointment with the Lord Mayor of Dorchester, which I must keep.’ He rose to his feet and came round the desk to stand beside her. ‘We will begin again tomorrow, when you are thoroughly rested.’ He laid his hand on her shoulder but removed it almost immediately. ‘Why don’t you go and find Mary?’ he said gruffly. ‘I’m sure she is dying to show you the house where Giles hopes to start up his practice.’

He left the room without waiting for her response, and Lucetta closed her notebook, setting it back on the desk. She stood up, smoothing down her crumpled
skirts. Everything she owned had been bought and paid for by Sir Hector’s generosity. He might pretend that she was earning her food and keep, but she knew that she was living off his charity, and despite her feeling of detachment from the real world she was beginning to suspect that there was something underlying his apparent kindness. She had seen a light in his eyes that was neither paternal nor the look of a mere benefactor. She had not given it much thought until now, but she realised that despite his wealth and position, Sir Hector was a lonely man. She hoped that she was mistaken, but his remarks regarding the difference in their ages had left her feeling uncomfortable and a little suspicious. She spent some time tidying his desk, but in the end she knew that she could put it off no longer and she went in search of Mary.

After a light luncheon in the morning parlour, Lucetta and Mary set off for the village, walking through leafy lanes where the trees leaned over to touch branches, forming shady tunnels. The road ran alongside the stream which turned a huge water wheel, sending a fine mist into the air and catching the sunlight to form rainbows as the water tumbled back into the millstream. The mill house resonated with the rhythmic sound of the millstone grinding the corn, and a film of white flour dusted the hedgerows like hoar frost in winter. In contrast the still waters of the millpond were dark and mysterious, but made less sinister by the families of ducks floating on its surface like children’s toys. Lining the river banks, half hidden by a curtain of weeping willows, thatched farm workers’ cottages
were interspersed with a blacksmith’s forge, a school house and a village shop selling everything from candles to calico. Behind a grey stone wall lay the graveyard and the Norman church with its square bell tower. Yew trees grew in abundance, shading the moss-covered gravestones, and a funeral was in progress as Lucetta and Mary walked past, the coffin resting temporarily beneath the lychgate as the mourners processed along the street which forked to embrace the village green. On the far side Lucetta saw a three-storey stone house with a tiled roof and mansard windows. Ivy clambered up its walls and roses spilled their scarlet petals in a carpet around the front door.

‘There it is,’ Mary said proudly, pointing to a brass plaque on the door jamb. ‘This is the doctor’s house and surgery which Papa wants to help Giles purchase. It is everything I could have hoped for him, and I know he will make a splendid family physician.’

‘And you would make him a wonderful wife,’ Lucetta said softly.

Mary’s cheeks flamed scarlet to match the roses climbing round the porch. ‘Wherever did you get that idea, Lucetta?’

‘Oh, Mary, I’ve known all along that you love Giles.’

Mary stared down at her dusty shoes ‘I do love him, but not in the way you think. I might have harboured romantic thoughts once, a long time ago, but it was just a silly girl’s infatuation.’

‘I could say the same for myself, I suppose.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Mary cried, throwing her arms around Lucetta and giving her a hug. ‘What am I thinking of
bringing you here and going on about my family when I know how you must be suffering? You must try to forget Sam. There are plenty of good men who would be proud to love a girl like you, regardless of whether you are rich or poor.’

‘And you really do not think of Giles in a romantic way?’ Lucetta held her breath, studying Mary’s face in an attempt to gauge her true feelings.

‘I’ve told you, Daisy. It was a childish crush. I’ve outgrown it completely.’ Mary turned away to pluck a single rose that trailed over the wall. She inhaled its scent with a smile. ‘He should be home tomorrow or the day after, and he will need all our help to make the new house comfortable. I’ve only been inside once and it was very shabbily furnished. It smelt of dogs and disinfectant and it badly needed a woman’s touch. I can’t wait to get those dreadful old curtains down and hang something pretty in their place. Of course the whole house needs a thorough clean, but we can get a woman in from the village to scrub the floors and polish the woodwork. Give me a month and I will have the house fit for a king.’

‘Or even a country doctor.’ Lucetta smiled in spite of her misgivings.

‘Especially a country doctor. I want only the best for Giles; he deserves nothing less.’ Mary squeezed her arm. ‘When Papa returns from Dorchester I’ll ask him if we can get the house keys and tomorrow we can go and see what needs to be done, for I’m sure that Giles wouldn’t know where to start, and his sisters are not interested in anything other than the current fashions,
card parties and balls. I love them dearly, but I’m afraid to say they are all quite shallow.’

‘Shallow isn’t the word I would use to describe them,’ Lucetta said wryly. ‘But perhaps they improve on better acquaintance.’

Mary linked her hand through Lucetta’s arm. ‘Let’s stop at the wishing well for tea. I think we both may have something to wish for.’

It was late in the afternoon when they returned home and Lucetta went to her room. She sat on the padded window seat looking down on the gardens basking in the June sunshine. Butterflies flitted about in the flowerbeds below her, looking like tiny pieces of coloured tissue paper blowing in the gentle breeze. She closed her eyes, inhaling the warm scent of roses and honeysuckle as she listened to the country sounds that she had come to love. The babbling of the stream, the buzzing of bees and the twittering of birds in the trees was music to her ears, but the song they sang was one of farewell. She was doing no good by staying here. Despite Mary’s protests that she had long grown out of her youthful infatuation, Lucetta remained unconvinced. She was certain that Mary would make an ideal wife for Giles, and that he would come to realise that, but it would not happen unless she removed herself from the picture.

There was only one course open to her now and that was to leave Stockton Lacey and return to London where she truly belonged. She made her mind up to speak to Sir Hector after dinner that evening. If she
explained the situation carefully she was certain that he would listen with a sympathetic ear. He had been pleased with her work as his secretary, and if he could be persuaded to give her a good character she might find similar work, maybe for another Member of Parliament like himself. Painful though it might be, the time had come for her to leave before she did irreparable harm to those whom she had grown to love.

‘What?’ Sir Hector stared at Lucetta with bloodshot eyes. He had imbibed heavily before dinner and during the meal, and he had been in a jovial mood when he returned from his luncheon engagement with the Mayor. Lucetta suspected that they had drunk quite a few glasses of wine with their meal, but his mood had changed suddenly when she had attempted to explain her reasons for wanting to leave. They were alone in the drawing room, Mary having retired early to bed, worn out by the day’s excitement and exertion.

‘This is utter nonsense,’ Sir Hector said, pouring himself a generous measure of brandy. He tossed it back in one gulp. ‘I’m sorry, my dear girl. I didn’t mean to raise my voice but this is all foolishness and must stop. You cannot run away because you have received an offer of marriage from a besotted young man.’

‘It is not any young man, sir. We are talking about Giles, the man your daughter worships and adores. He is the man that Mary was destined to marry, until I came along and almost ruined everything.’