Belle (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 2) (14 page)

“Oh, but this one is different from the others,” Belle said, as she unwrapped it. “It is squarer, and has no letter on the bottom.”

“The others looked to be in better condition, too,” Burford said. “Newer, perhaps. So this is not one of the six. Do any of the keys fit?”

She tried them in turn, then gave a cry of triumph as the lock clicked and she was able to lift the lid. “Oh. This is quite a lot more money. And look, there are papers here —
‘IOU £12 Thomas Willcock, Farmer’
and several more. And this one —
‘Rec’d from Absalom Whiting, four sacks of oats and a pig’.
The dates are last Michaelmas, just before Papa became ill.”

“So this is the rent from last year,” Burford said.

“I believe you are right,” she said. “This is what I should have used to settle the unpaid bills. Now I can make up the dowry boxes to the proper amount, then the six boxes will be the same.”

“If we can find them all,” he said with a smile. “Let me see what more I can discover.”

He began shifting furniture away from the walls, and in this way found two more cavities, with boxes ‘C’ and ‘G’ hidden there. But he could not find Belle’s box anywhere.

“Do not be disappointed, Mr Burford,” she said. “I am sure it will be found, sooner or later. I know Papa bought a box for me, for it is recorded in the accounts just after my birth date. But we now have all the others, thanks to your efforts, and a little extra dowry to be settled on Amy.”

“Indeed, we cannot thank you enough,” Amy said. “I do not think we should ever have found all these boxes without you, Mr Burford.”

“Happy to be of service, Miss Allamont,” he said.

He could stay no longer, so he made his farewells, walking home through the woods with his head full of Belle’s smiles, her beautiful eyes, the softness of her cheeks, her graceful hands. It was not until hours later that he realised he had forgotten all about the news he had gone there to impart.

15:
Ae Fond Kiss

Belle hummed a little tune as she read through page after page of the account books, made suddenly legible with the aid of Burford’s magnifying glass. She would buy one of her own, she decided, next time she was in Brinchester, and then she could return this one, for although he had told her to keep it, it was rather a fine one, too valuable to be given away casually to a friend.

“Belle, dearest,” Amy said.

Belle heard something unsettling in her tone. “What is it, sister?”

“I hope you will not mind me speaking to you in such a way, but I could not help but notice…” She stopped, set down her book and smoothed an imaginary crease from her sleeve. “I do not think…” Again she stopped.

“Sister, you may speak freely,” Belle said, although her spirits sank. She could guess what it was that so distressed Amy.

“It is Mr Burford,” Amy said. “He is very amiable and agreeable, and he could not have been more obliging, but… but I should not wish you to be hurt, Belle, dear. We must remember that he is as good as promised to Hope.”

“Do you really believe me to be in any danger?” Belle asked. “Mr Burford is a very good friend, but I see him as a brother, as Hope’s future husband. My behaviour is based on knowing that he will be a part of our family. But if you feel that I have acted improperly—”

“No, no! Nothing of the sort. But you do seem to be very… very
open
in your dealings with him, and I see that you like him very much. Perhaps a little more distance in your manner would be prudent? I should hate to see you drawn in, by not being aware of any danger, that is all. I do hope I have not offended you.”

Belle crossed the room to kneel at her sister’s feet, taking Amy’s hands in her own. “Dearest Amy, nothing you say could offend me. I take it as a kindness in you to warn me, but you need not be concerned. I shall soon be married to James, I trust, and settled at Willowbye, and then I shall hardly see Mr Burford above once or twice a month. In the meantime, I shall follow your advice to be more distant. I have already agreed to help him find some books for the school, but once that is done, I assure you, I shall be as distant as you like.”

Yet even as she spoke the words, Belle found her spirits sinking at the prospect.

~~~~~

The day was fixed when Belle would again go to Burford’s cottage to search through his books for suitable material for the school. Burford was naturally anxious about spending perhaps two or three in hours in the company of a young lady he found all too distracting, but he determined to get through it as swiftly as possible. And perhaps she, too, would think better of it and cry off,  or she might bring one of her sisters with her. But no, when he opened the door to her, she was alone. However, Eliza was clattering dishes in the scullery at the back of the house, and Samuel was carrying buckets of coal up from the cellar, so he would not be entirely alone with her.

“You need not knock,” he said. “The door is always left unlocked. Pray, come in. I had thought you might have some of your sisters with you, the weather being so fine.”

“Amy is at Staynlaw House, and Connie and Dulcie are at Graham House, discussing gowns for Elizabeth Graham’s first ball, which cannot be too much talked about and anticipated, as you may imagine. And… the others are gone with Mama to Brinchester to see the seamstress. Hope had ball gowns for her come out last year, but she has grown so much, they have all had to be made afresh.”

He could not think of any sensible reply to this, his tongue seemingly unable or unwilling to move. Instead, he ushered her into the book room, where Samuel was trying to get the fire to burn properly, to little effect, since the room was filled with smoke.

“Beg pardon, sir, madam,” Samuels said. “I reckon it needs a good sweeping.”

“Yes, you had better get old Joe and his boy back again, Samuel,” Burford said. “I do not know how it is, Miss Allamont, but this chimney has been swept and swept, yet it never seems to draw properly.”

“Never gets swept properly,” Samuel said. “I think there’s a blockage, and Joe don’t want to be put to the effort of fixing it. There, that’s the best I can do, sir.”

“That will be fine. We shall not be in here long, I daresay. Send Eliza through to dust, will you?”

Samuel nodded and disappeared.

“I have arranged for Eliza to clean this part of the house while you are here, Miss Allamont,” Burford said. “For propriety, you understand.”

She laughed and shook her head at him. “Goodness, Mr Burford, I am not some shy miss just out of the schoolroom. Some would call me quite an old maid, indeed. I think I may visit the parish curate during the day without incurring censure.”

“Even so, there is no harm in having Eliza nearby.” He could not explain that it was not so much the censure of the world he feared, as his own weakness.

Eliza bustled in with her dusters and a mop to sweep the floor, and set to work, while they began to examine the books. Burford was determined not to be distracted this time, and become absorbed in reading instead of sorting through systematically. It seemed that Belle had the same idea, for at first they got on very well, taking piles of books out of their crates and flicking quickly through each one before setting it aside or discarding it. But gradually, they grew interested in what they found. As Eliza moved out to attend to the hall and front door, they began to spread books on every surface.

“Look, this must be from Uncle Jeremiah’s visit to Edinburgh,” Burford said. “Several histories, a book of maps, and look at this! Mr Boswell’s journal of his tour of the Hebrides.” He opened it at random. “Oh dear, it sounds dreary.
‘They reckon it rains nine months in the year in this island, owing to its being directly opposite to the western coast of Sky, where the watery clouds are broken by high mountains.’”

“But this sounds cheerier,” he went on. He strode about the room, stepping over the books scattered on the floor, declaiming in his best pulpit voice. “
‘We talked of change of manners. Dr Johnson observed, that our drinking less than our ancestors was owing to the change from ale to wine. 'I remember,' said he, 'when all the decent people in Lichfield got drunk every night, and were not the worse thought of. Ale was cheap, so you pressed strongly. When a man must bring a bottle of wine, he is not in such haste.’
”

“That is very true,” she said. “Wine is a leisurely drink, to be combined with good food and good conversation.”

“And expensive,” he said, smiling. “Now, here is a profound thought.” He went back to reading from the book. “‘
We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over.’
”

She said nothing, taking a handful of books from the crate and settling on the floor with them. He thought he must have offended her, but then he saw from her face that she was struggling with some deep emotion, and was close to tears. He had never seen her distressed and it tore at his heart to be unable to offer comfort, not even a few words.

Was it the talk of friendship that upset her? He wanted so badly for them to be friends. They could never be anything more to each other, he accepted that, but surely they would always enjoy the comfort of this easy comradeship? It would grieve him beyond measure to lose that entirely, and be nothing but strangers when they met.

For a while they read in silence, the only sounds the hissing of the fire, and Eliza’s broom clacking in the hall outside, the door wide open. Belle reached for another book.

“Oh, here is something interesting,” she said.
“’Poems, chiefly in the Scots dialect’.
I have never read anything in the Scots dialect before. The words are very strange, and yet I can understand most of it. Oh, this one is very pretty! Listen to this.” She began to read, stumbling over one or two of the odd words.

“‘Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;

Ae fareweel, alas, for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,

Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,

While the star of hope she leaves him?

Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me;

Dark despair around benights me.’”

“That is very moving, is it not?” she went on. “I do not understand it all, but it seems very mournful.
‘Dark despair around benights me.’
That is so sad.”

“It is very affecting,” he said, sliding down to sit beside her on the floor, and reading over her shoulder.

“Look, the poet gives her name — Nancy,” she said. “There it is, in the next verse. So many poems of this nature are overwrought, but there is a simplicity and truth to this one that I like very much. Will you read the rest? It is better suited to your voice, I believe.”

He took the book from her and read on.

“’I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,

Naething could resist my Nancy:

But to see her was to love her;

Love but her, and love for ever.

Had we never lov'd sae kindly,

Had we never lov'd sae blindly,

Never met-or never parted,

We had ne'er been broken-hearted.’”

He paused, as the words wove themselves round him, wrapping him in warm affection.
‘Love but her, and love for ever.’
His heart  tightened with the truth of it. Belle said nothing, her face upturned, mesmerised by the beauty of the poem. With an effort, he read on.

“’Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest!

Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest!

Thine be ilka joy and treasure,

Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure!

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever!

Ae fareweel alas, for ever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,

Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.’”

Belle gazed at him, rapt. “Oh, that was so beautiful!” she breathed.

Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted, and her cheeks flushed.

He was dizzy with her nearness, overflowing with grief and joy and love, all at once. The words of the poem coiled round him like smoke, insubstantial and ephemeral, yet striking at his very heart and soul. Without any conscious thought, his hand cupped her cheek, he leaned forward and kissed her full on the lips.

~~~~~

They both scrambled to their feet and stared at each other, aghast. Belle could hardly breathe, and her heart was racing so fast it would surely burst, yet she was numb, frozen in disbelief.

Burford’s face was agonised, his hands tearing at his hair. “I… I… Oh, Belle, I am so, so sorry. I cannot imagine what came over me. Can you forgive me? But no, for that was unforgivable. Oh, what have I done? What shall I tell Hope?”

That roused Belle to exert herself as nothing else could. “Tell her nothing, I beg you. Indeed, there is nothing to tell. Everything shall be forgot. I have forgotten it already.”

“You are so good, but we cannot pretend nothing has happened here.”

“Yes, we can.” She wondered how it was she could still form sentences and sound so rational and calm, when she was trembling from head to foot. “We must.”

“But we cannot… it will be impossible… how can we…?”

“Hush, you must be calm, John. Do not alert the servants.” She paused, listening for Eliza. Noises from outside told her that the maid was still hard at work. He began to protest, but she said again, “Hush. Say no more. This never happened. I shall go home, and you will continue your daily routine, and when we meet again, we must be exactly as we were before. Do you understand?”

He hesitated, his breathing fast, but then gave a quick nod.

“Then I shall go. Goodbye, John.”

She fled from the room, and down the passageway to the front door, almost tripping over Eliza, who was scrubbing the front step. Then she was gone, striding through the woods, head down, heedless of the mud. When her vision grew too blurred, she brushed away the tears angrily with frozen fingers, for she had left her gloves at the cottage. At the Hall, she entered through the garden door, and ran up the back stairs to her room, hurling herself to the bed. There she lay, weeping heart-wrung tears of her own, weeping for the touch of his hand on her face, his kiss warm on her lips and the knowledge that he could never, ever be hers.

~~~~~

Burford collapsed into the chair, pushing several books aside, and buried his face in his hands.
‘We must be exactly as we were before.’
So she had said, and so they must. It was imperative that no one suspect what had occurred, or the censure of the world would fall upon both of them. They might even be forced to marry — his treacherous heart leapt at the prospect, but how could he be at peace with such a situation, knowing that he had left Hope broken-hearted?

Outwardly, they must be just the same, but inwardly everything had changed. One kiss had torn him apart, ripped him into tiny pieces and put him back together in a different arrangement altogether. He was not the man he had been just ten minutes earlier. The contented suitor of Hope was lost for ever, replaced by a stranger who loved another, and would regret her loss for the rest of his life.