Together for Christmas (25 page)

Hilda had said that more men had been called up. The many duties, she wrote, had to be shouldered by the women. The grounds of Adelphi Hall were not looking their best, Flora decided, as she
cast her gaze over the silent, untended gardens. Perhaps the work at Adelphi Hall really was too exhausting for Hilda, even though Mrs Bell had shrugged off the notion. She hoped Hilda would appear
soon and put all her worries to rest.

Half an hour later, Gracie found them again. ‘’Ilda says to tell you she’s sick and in bed and can’t see you. She says ’er fever might be catching
and she’ll write soon when she’s better. And not to come again until she’s good and ready to see you.’

‘What sort of fever is it?’ asked Flora anxiously.

‘The ’ot kind,’ Gracie replied. ‘She caught a cold and was burning up for nights on end. I know as I sleep next to her and could hear her tossing and turning, till one
morning she couldn’t get up. Now the doctor says she has to stay in bed till the fever’s gone.’

‘Couldn’t I see her, just for a minute? Surely, Mrs Burns would let me.’

‘’Ilda wouldn’t like that.’

‘But Gracie,’ protested Flora, ‘you said it was a blessing we came.’

Gracie gave another nervous twitch. ‘That was before ’Ilda stuck ’er ’ead under the bedclothes and told me to tell you to go away. She can be very stubborn, can
’Ilda. You must know that.’

‘Yes, she can be, but—’

‘I’ve got to go now.’ Gracie glanced behind her. ‘Mrs Burns don’t want me lingering.’

Flora caught Gracie’s wrist. ‘Tell Hilda to write me as soon as she’s well. And that – well, that I miss her.’

Just then, like an apparition, Mrs Burns appeared. ‘Go along in,’ she ordered the scullery maid.

When Gracie had gone, Mrs Burns tightened her hands in front of her once more. ‘You’ve heard what Gracie has to say. I hope that next time, you will make arrangements in advance and
save everyone time and trouble. Good afternoon.’ She turned and strode back to the house.

Michael gave a snort of disgust. ‘What an objectionable woman! I really do feel we should take this further. Let me go into the house and see what I can do.’

Flora shook her head miserably. ‘Hilda doesn’t want to see me, Michael.’

‘So you do believe Gracie?’

‘Yes. Hilda is very stubborn and can have her moments.’

Flora felt her feet dragging as they walked back to the car. She had wanted so much to see her friend. Hilda knew very well that Flora wouldn’t care about catching germs. She was amongst
diseases of all kinds at the surgery and didn’t fear a fever in the least.

But Gracie had passed Hilda’s message on. And now there seemed nothing else for it but to return to London.

Michael drove slowly along the winding path from Adelphi Hall until they came to the slight incline before the wood, where he stopped the car. ‘Well, it seems our journey
was fruitless,’ he said, sighing, turning off the engine.

‘Hilda must be in very poor spirits.’

‘At least we were told the doctor has seen her.’

‘Yes, Mrs Burns must have arranged it.’

Michael nodded slowly. ‘You would have thought the woman would have said.’

Flora looked down at her lap. ‘It’s my fault. I should have written first and asked Hilda to get permission.’

Michael smiled. ‘Come along, cheer up. We’ll come another time. Meanwhile, shall we take one last look at Adelphi before we leave?’

Flora walked with him to the fence, where the sunlight was playing down on the vines and ivy that grew in abundance around the trees. Before them was the low sweep of land that led to the hall,
with views across the countryside. She could see the house was still bathed in sunlight and the clouds parted in the late afternoon sky to reveal a flawless horizon.

‘Do you know the Calveys have owned this estate for generations?’ Michael said as he leaned his elbows on the wooden fence. ‘The fourth earl, Lord William, so Mama told me,
brought great dignity to his home that befitted his high rank and distinguished service in the army. But in later years, after the death of his young wife, Lady Amelia, he must have lost
interest.’

‘Gracie told me that Lord William is never seen now.’

‘I can’t think why,’ Michael replied with a frown. ‘He’s not elderly, perhaps in his late fifties, and was such a leader of men that it is quite a mystery that he
should allow Lady Bertha to run the estate with his son.’

Flora gazed back at the house. It looked so elegant in its beautiful surroundings. She couldn’t imagine Lord William allowing the estate to deteriorate. But perhaps she had seen the first
sign of it in the gardens today. ‘Did the earl never re-marry?’

‘Mama said the earl was unlucky in love and found no one to replace Lady Amelia.’

Flora shuddered. She thought what a lonely life the earl must lead.

‘You’re cold. We must go.’

Flora looked into Michael’s eyes, so large and expressive, as green as the grass that rolled lushly down to Adelphi Hall. Something inside her gave a little twist. She wanted this moment
to last, even though today had been a bitter disappointment. The feeling grew, a longing that they might remain close like this, just as they were that day in Lillian Appleby’s garden. All
else seemed to slip from her mind, even Hilda. Flora wanted to reach up and touch his face. To see what his skin felt like, to run her fingers over his hollowed cheeks and into the dark-brown hair
that flicked softly over the collar of his coat. Without his driving cap and goggles, she could see how thickly his hair grew, and how his parting fell naturally in a wave to one side.

Flora wanted them to stay where they were, on the curve of the road, overlooking the house in all its glory, savouring a moment that might not come again in London. But then he gave a reluctant
smile. ‘Stay here whilst I put the hood up. It will take just a few minutes.’

She watched as he limped to the car, leaning his cane against the door and unhooking the clips that released the soft hood. Just then, Flora heard a noise in the distance. She turned to see a
horse and its rider. They sped at a gallop out of the wood.

Towards her.

The rider brought the horse to a halt; the animal’s eyes were white-rimmed and its mouth frothed as it chewed at the bit. Flora couldn’t take her eyes from the
young man seated high in the saddle. She recognized him at once. His long black hair framed his arrogant dark eyes; though he wasn’t dressed formally as in the photograph that hung in Mr
Leighton’s office, and instead wore a white open-necked shirt and riding breeches, this was clearly Lord Guy Calvey.

She felt Michael shaking her arm. ‘Flora, are you hurt?’

She managed to shake her head, though she was trembling.

‘That damned animal could have run her down!’ Michael shouted angrily at the rider. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’

‘Michael, please don’t upset yourself.’ Flora could feel the dark gaze going over her. Her body felt cold and shaky under his piercing stare. She knew that Michael was unaware
of who this was.

‘You could have brought the horse up yards away,’ Michael continued, his hand protectively outstretched across her.

Lord Guy cast him a disdainful glance. ‘You, sir, are standing on my property. I am Lord Guy Calvey and take exception to trespassers.’

Flora glanced at Michael. He showed no sign of surprise or fear, though his face was full of anger. ‘We have no intention of trespassing,’ he replied coldly. ‘Surely, you can
see we mean no harm?’

‘Who are you? What is your business here?’ Lord Guy demanded. He returned his attention to Flora. ‘Do I know you?’ he added with a suspicious frown. ‘I seem to know
your face . . .’

‘You know neither of us,’ Michael returned immediately. ‘I am Lieutenant Michael Appleby from London and we have come to visit Hilda Jones, a housemaid here. Unfortunately, we
made no prior arrangement and were turned away.’

Flora saw the expression on the rider’s face darken. For a few seconds, he sat quite still in the saddle, skilfully controlling the restless horse beneath him. His gaze travelled over
Flora’s hair and face so intimately that she felt she wanted to turn away.

‘A mistake on your part, then, sir,’ the rider muttered.

‘It was a mistake I shan’t make again.’ Michael seized Flora’s arm and guided her to the car.

After he had helped her in, Flora looked from the window. The dark, penetrating gaze was still on her, watching her as she waited for Michael to climb up beside her. Hilda had once told her that
she thought Lord Guy Calvey was the most handsome man she had ever seen. But Flora could only see cruelty and arrogance in his expression. She shivered again. She wanted to look away, but
couldn’t. What was it she saw that frightened her so much?

‘Devil take the man,’ Michael cursed as he took hold of the steering wheel. ‘He rode like a madman at you. I couldn’t move fast enough to distract him. Damn this
leg!’ He hit his thigh with his clenched fist.

Flora saw how upset Michael was. She knew this was her fault.

When at last Michael drove them away, she glanced back. The silhouette on the horizon was still there, of the horse and rider carved black against the setting sun.

A lone figure watched from the house. Steadying the well-worn military binoculars, his lean hands grasped the instrument tightly. The bones in his be-ringed fingers were taught
against his skin as he adjusted the sight to its keenest view. The sun caught his vision momentarily and he swore softly under his breath. He had seen everything; his gaze had been fixed to the
rider and horse as they had travelled fast towards the girl. He had watched with bated breath as the horse had stopped only feet away, a muscled, sweating animal that towered above the delicate
female form. She had shown great courage, standing her ground; a slip of a thing, with hair the colour of corn. Hair that brought back so many memories and gave him the disturbing feeling that he
knew her. But how could he? He must be mistaken. Yet, even from this distance he had recognized something – something that he had not seen in many years and had never expected to see
again.

He swallowed, lowering the binoculars to rub his eyes against the deceiving hallucination. It wasn’t possible. Could not be possible. Heaven alone knew the secrets it kept for him, and it
was a place far beyond this mortal coil. She was gone from his life and he had accepted this fate and now, after so many years, he was seeing only ghosts.

Once again, eager either to torture himself or correct his mistaken vision, he pressed the hard metal against his eyes. The driver of the car had come to stand beside her. A tall man with
excellent gait had it not been for the cane and limited movement. A veteran perhaps, a soldier once? Yes, he had that air about him.

The sun had shifted behind the trees and was dipping. The girl moved with grace but, he thought, also with fear. No wonder, after the charge the horse had made. She was escorted to the motor
car, helped into her seat and hidden from his vision.

A few moments later, the vehicle drove off, taking her with it. He watched, anger and bewilderment filling his chest until at last the vehicle vanished into the wood.

Horse and rider remained where they were. He had no need to look at them. He knew them well enough and had no interest in them. Though deep in himself, in the muscles of his stomach that now
tightened with anxiety and longing, he feared for her.

Whoever she was, whoever she wasn’t – and she couldn’t be—

‘Ahh!’ he cried aloud, closing his eyes and turning, casting aside the instrument with unreasonable fury. He listened to himself and knew that the pain long hidden inside him had
been refreshed.

By a stranger – a vision!

He pulled his shoulders back and walked to the dresser, where only one item stood on the gleaming mahogany surface. A rosewood-framed photograph that he lifted, running his fingers tenderly over
the glass and bringing it slowly against his heart.

Hilda was propped up in bed by her thin pillows. Although she had told Gracie she didn’t want any supper, now, at midnight, she felt very hungry. She had waited all
evening for Gracie to finish her duties and come to bed. ‘You could have brought me up some bread and cheese or one of Mrs Harris’ pies,’ Hilda complained.

Gracie looked worn out as she flopped down on the iron bed beside Hilda’s. ‘Don’t start, ’Ilda. Me back is aching something rotten. And me feet have got blisters. I
almost ain’t got the will to live.’ Without hurrying, she took off her dirty apron, unbuttoned her dress and unlaced her boots.

‘Oh, and a shiner like this and a nearly broken arm is nothing to bother about, I suppose?’ Hilda said unsympathetically as she touched the bruised skin around her right eye. It was
still very swollen and when she had looked in the mirror that morning, she got a real fright. Her eye was lost under puffy folds of skin. The scratches on her face from the gorse into which she had
fallen were still raw and painful to touch. But it was her arm that hurt the most. Her wrist had swollen up inside the sling to the size of a small balloon. The doctor had pronounced the arm as not
broken but badly sprained, and said that it needed to mend. Mrs Burns had been very annoyed. Even though Hilda had insisted she could still use her left hand to perform her duties, Mrs Burns had
banished her from the kitchen. Hilda knew that Mrs Burns didn’t want the village girls to see her and gossip. The housekeeper had forbidden Hilda to show herself downstairs. ‘I’ll
send Gracie up with your meals,’ she had barked when the doctor had left. ‘You are to stay here until you’re presentable again. This is very careless of you.’

Hilda had looked down at the bedclothes, unable to meet the housekeeper’s stare. The only excuse she had thought of was falling down the stairs. It was the only one that accounted for all
of her injuries.

‘You brought it on yourself, ’Ilda.’ Gracie stripped down to her stays and knickers. ‘You wouldn’t listen to me when I said you was playing a dangerous game. Rules
is rules. The lowers don’t mix with the uppers. You should have stayed away from him. You shouldn’t ’ave given him all those looks in the first place.’ She splashed water
from the bowl over her cheeks, then snatched off her mob cap. She slid the pins from her braids and let her thin brown hair loose. Lifting a brush from the small bedside table, she dragged it
roughly over her head. ‘And now you’ve got me involved, too. I felt dreadful lyin’ to your friend.’