Fairfield Hall (38 page)

‘I –’ the man could not lie, but what he said was, ‘I didn’t realize it until his lordship came last night. But I promise you she doesn’t know, nor ever will.
Not from me – and I beg all of you’ – he glanced around at the three concerned faces watching him – ‘don’t ever tell her.’

Edward smiled sadly. ‘If it’s any comfort, I’d sooner she’d have married someone like you than into that family.’ He sighed heavily and, as Martha came to him and
patted his shoulder, he added, ‘But that was her father’s fault.’

‘Now, all of you, eat. I’ll cook breakfast for the other two later,’ Martha said, as she placed plates of food in front of them. ‘Ben, try a little, won’t
you?’

Whilst they ate and Ben did his best to force a little down a throat that was full of sadness, Edward told them all about Ambrose Constantine and his ambitions for his daughter. ‘It goes
without saying that I’m telling you this in confidence, of course,’ he began, and then went on to explain about Annabel’s meetings with a young man from Ambrose’s works.
‘We never met him. For all I know, he might have been totally unsuitable but then again, he might have been a nice young man who loved her.’

‘Well, speaking as a happily married man,’ Jim said, his mouth full of crispy bacon, ‘I can say that I couldn’t blame any young man falling in love with her. The
villagers – all of us – love her dearly and not just because she’s rescued us. She’s a lovely young woman who deserves to be happy.’ He sighed. ‘But it
doesn’t sound as if she is by the way she’s being treated.’

‘Pa,’ Martha said softly, ‘you ought to drive over to see her. She might need you.’

Edward frowned. ‘I don’t want to make matters worse, but once his lordship’s gone back, maybe I could go over then.’

‘Perhaps she’ll come here to see us,’ Martha added. ‘After all, she has something to tell us, doesn’t she?’

Edward sighed as he shook his head. ‘It sounds to me as if all the joy has been taken out of that particular piece of news. My poor girl.’

‘It’s good of you both to offer,’ Ben said a little later, ‘but I can’t stay here. It wouldn’t be right. It – it might make things
even worse.’

‘Could they be worse?’ Edward muttered. ‘Besides, you say Jane told you that Annabel had suggested you came to us. She knew we’d help you. And she was right, we
will.’

Ben was torn. He had nowhere else to go and yet he didn’t want to stay with Annabel’s grandparents. He feared it might compound the dreadful rumour.

‘I know,’ Martha said suddenly, ‘why don’t you go to Jane’s father, Mr Moffatt? His farmland adjoins ours and yet is even further away from Fairfield.’

‘Now that, Ma, is a brilliant idea. And even more so because Joe Moffatt is in need of a farm manager.’ He turned to Ben to explain. ‘Joe injured his back last summer and
he’s not been right since. I’ve been telling him for months to get some reliable help on the farm and if anyone fits the bill for that job, then it’s you, Ben.’

‘I’d have to be completely honest with him,’ Ben said doubtfully. ‘He might not want to take me on, especially as his daughter is Lady Annabel’s maid. It might
compromise her situation.’

Now Edward laughed for the first time since the arrival in his yard of Jim Chadwick’s farm cart. ‘Joe won’t give a fig about that. If he takes to you, he’ll defy the
devil himself. Joe ploughs his own furrow, he owns his own land, handed down through the generations of his family, and he fears neither man nor beast. You’ll be all right with Joe. In fact,
I’ll take you there myself. We’re on good terms, me an’ Joe. And now, Jim, you’d best be on your way. Not a word to a soul about where Ben is. I’ll see Annabel later
in the week and will let her know how things have gone on. And,’ he turned with a smile to Ben, ‘I’ll be able to keep you informed of how she is.’

Ben gave a wan smile. What good people they were. He didn’t know how he was ever going to repay their kindness.

Annabel felt as if she were a prisoner in Fairfield Hall. She dare not go down to the village, dare not leave the house, certainly not whilst James was still here. And even
then . . . She sighed. How could Dorothea be so vitriolic? All in the name of her son, who was a charming little boy, far too young to realize what was happening. But as he grew older and his
mother instilled into him that he was the rightful heir of Fairfield, what then? Young as he was, the boy already repeated – parrot fashion – that one day the estate would be his.

Despite all the trouble, Annabel was thrilled that she was to have a child, but now secretly she prayed that it would be a girl.

‘Did you see Mr Jackson?’ she whispered to Jane when they were alone in her bedroom.

‘Yes, miss. He’s going to your grandfather’s, like you said.’

Annabel sighed with relief. ‘Gramps will help him.’

James and Harry left later that day. To her surprise, James held her close and murmured, ‘Thank you for my son, Annabel.’

She looked up at him, unable to understand his mood swings. One moment he was accusing her of the most dreadful thing and now he seemed to have accepted her solemn promise. Inwardly, she was
confused, but she made up her mind to respond to him in like vein.

‘What if it is a girl?’ she said impishly.

His face darkened as he looked down into her eyes. ‘It had better not be. It
must
be a boy. And one more thing before I go, I realize you will want to carry on involving yourself in
the running of the estate, especially now with Home Farm, but I want you to promise me that you will take Jane with you everywhere. You understand?’

It was an order, not a request, but with pretended meekness, Annabel agreed. And she knew she would have to comply; if she did not, James would hear about it anyway. The chains seemed to tighten
around her.

The news that Ben Jackson had been sacked and the rumours of the reason for it, spread through the village like the proverbial wildfire, though not from Jim Chadwick. Only his
wife heard it from him, but Dorothea made sure that Annie spread the word to the village’s biggest gossips. But they had both underestimated the affection the villagers had for Annabel and
– it had to be said – for Ben Jackson too. He had been a fair and hardworking estate bailiff and they all had reason to be grateful to him and not just in the recent months.

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Lily Broughton. ‘It’s all wicked lies. I know we haven’t known her ladyship long, but we know Ben Jackson. And he’s an
honourable man.’

‘Aye, but she’s a lovely young woman and they have spent a lot of time together,’ Dan murmured.

‘Now, you listen to me, Dan Broughton.’ Lily wagged her finger at him. ‘I don’t want to hear another word like that from you – or anyone else. If you’ve got
doubts – and let me tell you, you shouldn’t have – then you keep ’em to yourself. You hear me?’

‘I was only saying it to you, love. I wouldn’t dream of talking like that to anyone else.’

‘I should think not too.’

‘But there’s plenty that’ll be saying the same thing.’

‘They’d better not in my hearing, and you, William, don’t you be joining in with any of the gossip.’

‘I won’t, Mam. I like ’em both but I haven’t got a lot of time for either his lordship or his sister. I can’t respect anyone who can let an estate like Fairfield
get into the mess it did. They’re just selfish toffs who care nothing for any of us. But Lady Annabel does. I know she’s got a title and all that, but she’s like one of us. I
certainly won’t be spreading such rumours, Ma, you can count on that, but I can’t promise not to have a go at someone if they are. And now I’d best get on. Them cows of
ours’ – he grinned as he thought about the small herd of dairy cows they now had and all thanks to the woman they were discussing – ‘won’t milk themselves.’

As their son left the kitchen, Lily gazed after him with tears in her eyes. ‘He’s got an old head on his young shoulders,’ she said fondly.

‘Aye, and a good heart. He’ll do well now. But just think, without Lady Annabel where would we still be now? Still in yon workhouse.’

‘Exactly!’ Lily said firmly.

It seemed as if the rest of the small community of Fairfield agreed with Lily Broughton; they didn’t believe any of the nasty accusations either. And if anyone did, they
were wise enough to keep their thoughts to themselves. Even Eli Merriman, who’d been – and still was – the least responsive to Annabel’s efforts to help – said
nothing. Nancy shed tears over the news. ‘Oh Mam, how could they say such dreadful things about that sweet lady? They’re making out she’s no better than me.’

‘It’s Lady Dorothea that’s doing it all, whispering into his lordship’s ear and no doubt writing letters to him when he’s away,’ Agnes said angrily.
‘And you can guess what it’s like for any man when he’s away from home hearing tales like that. By heck, what I’d give to have five minutes alone with that woman. I’d
tell ’er what’s what and no mistake.’

Nancy’s eyes were wide with fear. ‘Oh Mam, don’t. You’ll have us all thrown out.’

Agnes sighed. ‘No, I can’t do anything. That’s what riles me, but what I would like to know is what the old lady thinks to it all. She’s a lovely woman, though I never
did get on with Lady Dorothea when I worked there. What this’ll do to Lady Elizabeth, I don’t know.’

Lady Dorothea entered her mother’s bedroom late in the evening on the day after James had left. ‘How are you feeling, Mama?’ she asked with feigned
solicitude.

‘Much better, thank you,’ Elizabeth replied, a faint smile on her mouth as she eyed the warm fire in the grate, the crisp clean sheets she was lying between and the soft comforting
pillows; all thanks to her new daughter-in-law. She was now well fed and well cared for and she hadn’t felt so contented since long before her dear husband had died. Even the last years of
his life had been marred for them both by their worry over Albert and his wild ways.

Dorothea sat down beside the bed with a triumphant gleam in her eyes. Elizabeth quailed at the look. Whilst she said very little nowadays, Elizabeth was still sharp in her mind even though her
daughter thought otherwise and treated her so.

‘Mama, I have some news. Annabel is expecting a child.’

Elizabeth started to smile, almost opened her mouth to say, ‘How wonderful’, but, as her daughter went on, she bit back the words. ‘The child is not James’s. How can it
be, when he is hardly ever here? And besides, he only married her for her money to save Theodore’s inheritance. It is a marriage of convenience and in name only.’

Elizabeth stared at her daughter in astonishment. Unworldly though people might view her, Elizabeth understood the ways of men and women. Of course, James had married the girl for the money her
father had promised, but if Dorothea believed for one moment that a virile young man like James could – or would – lie next to a lovely young woman without making love to her, then she
was a fool. And Elizabeth liked Annabel; the girl had been kind to her and she’d had no need to be. But Elizabeth said nothing. She was dependent upon all the people in this house for their
help and her ultimate welfare was in Dorothea’s hands, not, unfortunately, in Annabel’s.

Elizabeth made no comment but lay back and closed her eyes, pretending fatigue. Indeed, she was weary but not so much physically as mentally tired of all the worry and uncertainty and then the
scheming that had gone on in an effort to save the house. They were safe now, and whether they liked it or not, it was thanks to Annabel. But Elizabeth doubted that James would ever see it that
way. Certainly, Dorothea would not. They both believed that the title that had been bestowed upon Annabel was just payment for the money they had received.

As soon as the door closed quietly behind her daughter, Elizabeth’s eyes flickered open. She felt an incredible weight of sadness descend upon her. How she’d longed for James to have
a son so that he might inherit the title and the estate, but now that joy was being sullied by Dorothea’s wicked lies. And she was sure they were lies. If only Annabel would come to see her,
she could talk to her, but she didn’t know how to send word to her. Annie was the only servant who attended Lady Elizabeth now and the frail lady was astute enough to know that the maid was
in Dorothea’s power.

The hours dragged on but Annabel did not come to see her.

Annabel was sitting alone in her office, staring out of the window, lost in thought. With a strength she hadn’t realized she possessed, she was facing the unpalatable
facts. She listed them in her mind.

Her father – with Lady Carruthers’s connivance – had engineered a marriage to an impoverished member of the nobility to gain a title for her and with the hope – indeed
the intention – that his grandson would one day be Lord Somebody Or Other. He had paid off a would-be suitor, Gilbert Radcliffe, whom she might, given time, have come to love and who, she was
sure now, would have been infinitely kinder to her than the man she had married. Gilbert’s fault had been weakness; he had not been willing to put up any kind of fight for her. But then, she
reminded herself, she did not know what dire threats had accompanied the offer of money. Perhaps, in the face of her father’s power, Gilbert had had little choice. Annabel liked to see the
good in people and she was prepared to give him the benefit of any doubt. In fairness, her father could not have known the circumstances within the Lyndon family. His fault there lay in the fact
that he had not bothered to find out what the true situation was and now Annabel was faced with a jealous and possessive husband and an evil sister-in-law who was feeding that jealousy for her own
ends. Annabel wrinkled her brow. She’d heard it said that no one is all good or all bad, but at the moment she could not see much good in Dorothea. Even her ambitions for her son did not seem
to arise from her love for him.

Annabel ran a protective hand over her belly as she whispered, ‘I will love you no matter what. I will protect you and fight for you always. Though perhaps,’ she added with a wry
smile, ‘it would be better for you – and me – if you were a girl.’ The hereditary title of the Earl of Fairfield passed only down the male line and a girl was no threat to
Theo’s inheritance.