Joanna Maitland – A Penniless Prospect (страница 10)

‘Richard?’

‘Yes, Mama,’ he said softly, ‘I do know what happened to them, but I don’t believe in the curse for a moment. It was just coincidence that both of them died, without an heir, before they reached forty. It happens in other families too. And they don’t have a curse to blame it on.’ He sat down and tossed off his glass of madeira in a single swallow. ‘Clearly, there is only one solution—I must instantly fall head over ears in love with a lady of vast fortune. It is the obvious way to reconcile the needs of the estate with the family tradition.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘If only life were so simple.’

She turned slightly, looking him full in the face. ‘I am sorry, Richard.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s not your fault, Mama. Papa was taken in by that blackguard, Calderwood, when he was too ill to know what he was doing. You could not have prevented it—even if you had known.’

He sat for some moments, grimly contemplating the dregs of wine in his glass. ‘Well,’ he returned at length, ‘if I am to abide by your rules, I must have earned a temporary reprieve. I cannot guarantee to fall in love with an heiress, so marriage will have to wait—until the money has been recovered!’ He smiled impudently. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.’

His mother could not conceal a slight twitch of her lips at his words. But there was no amusement in her voice. ‘If you take that attitude, you’ll make no match at all, far less a love match. I know that, after Celia, you feel—’

Richard allowed his stony expression to show her how little he appreciated any mention of that name from his past.

His mother rapidly changed tack. ‘Think, Richard. You are already one-and-thirty. You have no brothers. You really must marry soon.’

She was beginning to wring her hands. Gently, he enclosed them in his own, letting her gain strength from his warmth. ‘Does my marrying for love mean so much to you, my dear?’

‘Not just to me. To all of us. Especially to you.’

A taut silence fell. Richard could see the strain on his mother’s face, but he was not prepared to pursue this subject further, even with her. ‘Come, my love. Let me take you upstairs. You will wish to rest and change before dinner.’

Lady Hardinge gave her son a smile of silent understanding as he led her out of the study and up the staircase to her bedchamber.

When Richard returned to his desk, he remained some moments toying with his pen and staring into space. So much of his ordered world turned upside-down by those few words from his mother. Words he had long tried to avoid—the Hardinge family’s love matches. A fairy story, surely? And out of the question for a man like him. Yet he knew it would now be impossible for him to carry out his hastily devised plan of offering for Emma Fitzwilliam. Fate? He could not decide whether the luck was for good or ill.

Next morning Jamie rose with the lark, ravenous. She was astonished to discover that she had slept for fifteen hours.

‘I am ever so hungry, Annie,’ she said, as she gave herself a perfunctory wash and began to change her clothes. This was her first day of freedom, and she meant to enjoy every moment of it.

Annie eyed her balefully. ‘There will be plenty to eat downstairs. But first, we must see to your appearance.’ She forcibly removed the garments Jamie was holding. ‘No, not those. Breeches and gaiters, a smock and an undershirt. Here.’

Jamie wrinkled her nose at the thick, rough smock. It looked thoroughly uncomfortable. Just touching it made her itch.

‘It can’t be helped, Jamie. You chose to be the gardener’s boy. It’s a good thing you’re a bit thin. Boys of that age usually are. But we’ll need to bind your breasts, just the same.’

Jamie blushed scarlet, but it seemed to make no impression on Annie, who was busily rummaging in the clothes press. Jamie gasped a protest as her old calico petticoat was pulled out and efficiently ripped into bandages.

‘Not fit for a lady anyway,’ Annie pronounced. ‘If you ever become a lady again, I can provide you with better than this and with gowns more becoming than yours.’

Annie seemed to be in her element. She certainly knew how to manage a young lady, even a slightly unwilling one. In no time, she was wrapping the strips tightly round Jamie’s upper body.

‘Now, put on the rest of the clothes and let us see how you look.’

There was no point in protesting any more. Annie was right. Jamie had to be able to pass muster as a boy. They were both at risk if she failed.

She stood in the centre of the room while Annie inspected her minutely. ‘Not bad,’ the abigail conceded, ‘but why did you do that to your hair? Boys don’t wear it like that nowadays—it’s much too long.’

‘I was trying to leave myself enough so that I could be a girl again. It’s just about long enough to be put up.’

‘I’ll tidy it up a little, at least.’ Annie fetched her comb and scissors. As she freed Jamie’s hair from the restraining ribbon, the dark red curls fell forward, framing Jamie’s pale face. ‘Why, how different you look, miss, much prettier than that severe bun you always wore at Calderwood.’

Jamie smiled shyly up at her, surprised by the half-compliment. ‘Mama always insisted I wore it so, in order to tame my “appalling red mop”, as she called it. She never permitted me to cut it.’

‘She never permitted anything which would make the best of your looks, if truth were told.’

Jamie laughed. ‘But I have none. I’ve always known I’m plain.’

‘Oh? Look here.’ Annie forced Jamie to sit down in front of the brown-speckled mirror and then arranged her curls becomingly around her heart-shaped face. ‘Now, tell me you’re plain.’

Jamie was astonished. Annie really sounded as if she meant it. But then, when Jamie did look, she suddenly saw herself through new eyes. Against the frame of titian hair, her pale complexion glowed and her deep green eyes sparkled. The plain pasty-faced dowd had disappeared. In her place, there was a pretty, red-haired—boy!

‘Good grief!’ Jamie hastily began to drag her hair back from her face to tie it up again. ‘They’ll never believe I’m a boy if I look like that,’ she said, unconsciously immodest.

‘True,’ said Annie, with a short laugh. ‘Here, I’ll tidy it up for you. Then you’ll do, I think.’

Annie trimmed the ends of Jamie’s hair and combed it back severely from her face, tying it very tightly with a piece of twine. ‘Gardener’s boys don’t use ribbon,’ she observed sagely.

The winter sun was dipping low in the sky when Jamie finished her first day’s work. She sat on her heels, stretching her aching back and looking ruefully at her grime-encrusted hands. Her body might ache, but her heart was singing. She was safe from the Calderwoods now, and surely she could remain hidden at Harding for the few weeks she needed?

She finished tidying the bed, packing all the weeds into her buckets for the compost heap and the bonfire. Mr Jennings would have no cause to complain about her ability to sort out the perennial weeds from the rest.

It was only as she passed the gardener’s hut on her way to the compost heaps that she heard the raised voices. She herself was the subject of a heated discussion between Mr Jennings and another man. She allowed herself to dawdle a little.

‘But this bit o’ the garden’s always been left ter me,’ protested the unknown voice vehemently. ‘B’ain’t no call for nobody else, least of all a witless boy. No knowing what harm he might do.’

‘The boy knows what he’s about,’ commented Mr Jennings calmly. ‘He’ll do no harm. And we can be doing with another pair of hands here, what with spring planting coming.’

‘Don’t need no extra hands here,’ said the unknown. ‘I’ve allus done it all m’self, ever since I been here. Why change it now? For a half-wit?’

‘That’s for me to decide, Caleb, not you.’

Caleb! Jamie shivered. The man was obviously angry about her arrival, even though he had never set eyes on her. It made no sense at all—for what threat was a garden boy to him? Still, she had been warned about his vicious temper. He sounded like the kind of man who would enjoy bullying a simpleton. She must keep out of his way.

The heated voices were still audible as Jamie moved slowly away. ‘Let me have the minding of the boy, at least. I can’t be a-running of the garden if’n I dunno what he might do next.’

‘No.’ Mr Jennings’ voice was curt and decisive. ‘I’ll be responsible for the lad myself. If you want him to do work for you, you must come to me.’

‘But that’s—’

‘That’s the way it’ll be, Caleb, an’ no buts. That’s the way his lordship wants it. You should know better by now than to cross him.’

‘But—’

‘Let it be, Caleb. That’s the last word.’

Jamie hurried away. The men would come out of the hut in a few moments and must not find her hanging around.

From the comparative safety of the compost area, she watched the hut door. It was fully five minutes before it opened and Caleb emerged. She crouched down a little, busying herself with her work.

Caleb was a huge man, almost as tall as Lord Hardinge, but of much heavier build. He had immensely broad shoulders with massive arms and hands. He seemed to be carrying a lot of surplus weight—he had the belly of a drinker and a nose to match, its purplish colour easily distinguishable even in the fading light.