The Flight of Swallows Page 4

  ‘Well, this is all very pleasant, Arthur,’ the lady in question said, looking round the schoolroom. It was what one could only call functional, no more than that. Those who had lived through Victoria’s reign did not believe that children needed comfort or brightness. A hideous black stove, which threw out a modicum of warmth, was not lit today since it was May and fires were discontinued at the end of April. The room was furnished with the large, round table where the children did their lessons, six ladder-back chairs, shelves around the drab green walls on which the children’s book were lined, a scrap of carpet on the floor, well worn, and some thin cotton curtains at the window, put there by Arthur Drummond’s grandmother.

  It was clear that Miss Parker was eager to leave and as soon as their father and his bride-to-be were out of earshot and before Miss Price returned there was a babble of voices, all speaking at once and all speculating, Robbie with some excitement, on what this would mean to them. It would not alter their lives, they realised that, since they shared nothing, not even a meal, with Father but perhaps he would let them get on with their lives which were pretty miserable, they all agreed, without looking perpetually over their shoulders. If he was absorbed with his new bride perhaps they would—

  Their speculations were interrupted by the sudden reappearance of their father and they sprang apart as though they had been up to something wicked.

  ‘Oh, Charlotte, you are to dine with us this evening. Miss Parker and I are having a small dinner party to celebrate our engagement and you are to be included. You may have nothing suitable to wear so you and your maid will be taken into Wakefield at once where, I believe, there is a dressmaker who can fit you out with a ready-to-wear gown. While you are there she will measure you for some outfits that you will need if you are to . . . well, back to your lessons.’ And he closed the door crisply behind him.

  They stared at one another in amazement. Her maid. Did Father mean . . . surely not Kizzie who was a maid of all work in the household with no particular function, but who else could it be? Kizzie had been with them since their mother died and had helped Nanny with the younger children but now they were all in the charge of Miss Price. Certainly Kizzie had been friend and support of Charlotte in her adversity, always there when needed. She had helped her with her hair, seen to her clothes as a maid did, sewing torn hemlines and . . . well, Charlotte could not really put a name to Kizzie’s duties but she and Kizzie were to be off to Wakefield to choose a gown for this evening with absolutely no supervision except that of Thomas.

  The excitement was intense and had Arthur Drummond known of it he would have been annoyed. The whole household was in a state of animation, for they were all very fond of Miss Charlotte and were all of the opinion that their master treated her, and her brothers, very harshly. To be going into Wakefield with no one but Kizzie was unbelievable and then to be included in the master’s dinner party, well, it was hardly to be credited.

  ‘Will you look out for some marbles for me, Charlie,’ begged James.

  ‘And I’d love a set of toy soldiers, the ones from the cavalry, you know . . .’

  ‘And a fort to put them in; oh, Charlie, I wish we could all go . . .’

  ‘P’raps this lady’s gonner mekk a difference ter them bairns, Mrs Banks,’ Mrs Welsh said to the housekeeper, and they all prayed so as they waved Miss Charlotte and Kizzie off from the stable yard where Thomas had hitched up the carriage.

  She and Kizzie were in a state of such exhilaration as they viewed the wonderful display of lovely gowns that Miss Hunter, who had been warned by Miss Parker to expect her, had ready for her that had it not been for Miss Hunter’s competent expertise in what suited whom, only the good Lord knew what she would have brought home. She had no experience although perhaps her natural good taste would have led her to the right choice, but with Miss Hunter’s advice she purchased a simple cream-coloured two-piece gown of a material unknown to her called soie-de-chine. It had an accordian-pleated top skirt over a plain skirt of the same material. The neckline of the bodice fell off her shoulders and had ‘angel’ sleeves. The skirt was pointed at the front and the back, the points just touching her instep. Miss Hunter had evening shoes of cream satin and stockings of fine ribbed silk to match. There was even a satin cape to cover her shoulders as she travelled to or from an evening entertainment. In her hair Miss Hunter advised a tiny cap of cream sequins to sit on the crown of her head nestling in her hair which would be dressed full and loose. She and Kizzie were quite speechless at her changed appearance. She stood in a daze of enchantment as one of Miss Hunter’s assistants measured her for day dresses, another evening gown in a pale duck-egg blue, a walking outfit, a riding outfit, for it seemed Miss Hunter had been informed she was to ride, and for another dress whose purpose was not revealed to her. In the fantasy that had come upon her so suddenly she had not even thought to ask!

  ‘Where is the nearest toy shop, Miss Hunter?’ she asked when all the measuring and choosing of fabrics was finished and when it turned out it was within walking distance she and Kizzie walked up there followed by the carriage. She bought a big net of marbles, a set of lead soldiers, a very realistic fort, a mimic gun said to be a copy of what the cowboys in America used, a mechanical railway engine and a copy of The Last of the Mohicans for Henry. She and Kizzie linked arms, their heads close together, two young girls carried away with the fun they had had that day. The bill for all the lovely outfits would be sent to Mr Drummond, Miss Hunter had told Miss Drummond and her maid, but the things bought at the toy shop came out of the money that Kizzie had saved from her wages and which Charlie had promised to pay back as soon as she could. She wasn’t quite sure how since she and her brothers received no pocket money but in the excitement of the day she was simply carried away.

  They gasped with admiration as she entered the schoolroom to show them her gown, even Miss Price who was still dwelling on how Mr Drummond would react to the toys Miss Charlotte had bought for her brothers. They had been enthralled and Henry, who had his nose deep in the adventures of the Indian tribes, was open-mouthed at the loveliness of his sister.

  She entered the drawing room shyly, knowing that some of her father’s guests had already arrived, stepping like a young fawn into an unknown glade of a forest and was immediately conscious of the hush that fell over the gathering. Oh, Lord, what had she done? Was she overdressed, or perhaps not smart enough for a celebration such as this? Was she showing some part of her undergarments that should not be seen? But surely Kizzie, who had helped her dress, would not have let her come downstairs in a state of disarray. They had watched her, as many of the servants as could manage it, come down the stairs and their faces had been rapt and admiring. She was aware of Miss Parker standing by her father’s side, her arm linked in his, an unreadable expression on her face. Had she been a woman of the world she would have recognised jealousy.

  And there he was, walking towards her with his hand outstretched to take hers, a pleasant smile on his face, a smile of approval and something else she could not identify. He took her hand and drew it through his arm and then turned to the company who began to smile and nod for they did not often see this lovely girl of Drummond’s. In fact they were hard pressed to remember if they had ever seen her. She did not hunt as her father did, or join the shooting parties he gave but it seemed she was to be a part of this evening’s celebration which was only right since Elizabeth Parker was to be her stepmother.

  ‘Ah, here is my daughter,’ Arthur Drummond said, a false smile on his face. ‘A little late but she can be forgiven since it is her first entry into society. Now let me introduce you to my guests, Charlotte.’

  Having put her on the wrong foot, so to speak, he took her from Brooke Armstrong though she seemed inclined to cling to him which was no bad thing, he supposed, watching out of the corner of his eye as Elizabeth at once made for Armstrong and began to flirt with him. He’d soon knock that out of her once they were married; in the meanwhile let her have her head.
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  At the dinner table Charlotte was placed next to Mr Armstrong which pleased her. She could not say why because she hardly knew him but the others she knew not at all. Miss Parker’s parents, another elderly lady and gentleman whose names she could not remember who were relatives of Miss Parker and a score of friends and acquaintances who were younger but who all seemed to be on the best of terms with the bride-to-be.

  ‘And when is the great day, Elizabeth?’ one of them asked, lifting his glass of wine to his lips and smiling at her over its rim. Charlie noticed that her father did not seem to like the gentleman though she thought only she would be aware of it. But then she of them all knew her father best.

  ‘The last Saturday in June, Roly, but never fear you will receive your invitation in good time, will he not, Arthur?’ She smiled roguishly at her fiancé.

  ‘Indeed, my dear. The guest list is already drawn up. Sir Clive and Lady Parker have been given the names of those I would like included so all is going forward as it should. I’m afraid my side of the family will not be well represented since I am the only son of an only son but I’m sure Elizabeth will more than make up the numbers, won’t you, my love. My children will attend the service but not the reception. My youngest son is only six years old, you see, but Charlotte, of course, will be there.’

  ‘And will you be a bridesmaid, Miss Drummond?’ the elderly lady, whose name Charlotte could not remember, asked her.

  Charlotte clutched about her for an answer since she had not really been told by . . . by Elizabeth whether she would or not. She had so many friends and relatives who were all longing to play the role, Elizabeth had implied, but when she looked desperately to her father for help he merely sipped his wine and smiled.

  ‘I’m not absolutely . . .’ she began.

  ‘The roses will be at their peak then and surely a June bride will want roses in her bouquet,’ a quiet voice beside her said and at once the ladies all began to twitter on what kind of flowers they had had at their wedding or what they hoped to have when they married and the subject of Charlotte’s part in the wedding ceremony was forgotten.

  She turned to Brooke Armstrong and gave him a grateful smile of such brilliance he had to turn away lest he be seen with the expression on his face of the deep, welling, growing emotion she aroused in him. Deep, yes, ever since he had first seen her playing with his dogs at the edge of the wood, deep and hidden in the unfathomable complexity of his nature which even he could not understand. Growing with the dawn of each day when he woke up with her in his mind as she had been in his night dreams. He had seen her only twice, both in the lovely environment of nature’s bounty when she had been herself with nothing to hide from him, again responding to the appeal of an animal. The puppy he meant to give her at the first opportunity. The pup he had saved from Dottie’s litter not even knowing at the time why he had done so. He loved her as a man, a mature man who has known women from the age of fifteen but had never loved until now. He had known in that secret part of him that no one had ever reached that one day she would come, that woman who had been created just for him, which sounded as foolish as a schoolboy with his first love, and now she was here, still a child in many ways, but when she was ready he would claim her and he had told Arthur Drummond that, well, not all of it, but that he wished to – what was the word? – court his daughter and the man had given his permission and had promised not to speak of it to her. He did not wish her to be frightened by his sudden declaration of love and he had said so to the cynical, worldly wise man who was her father.

  As he turned away from her he found Arthur Drummond’s eyes upon him and was infuriated when the man gave him a small nod as though of approval. Surely the man wasn’t going to reveal what they had discussed earlier in the week.

  The meal was splendid for Mrs Welsh was a superb cook. Asparagus soup followed by lobster pudding, boiled capon with white sauce, lobster salad and to finish charlotte russe, vanilla cream, gooseberry tartlets, custards, cheesecake, cabinet pudding and iced pudding, and a selection of ices. There were wines to match each course and, to celebrate the occasion, champagne.

  ‘No wine for Miss Charlotte,’ her father told the butler, Watson, in a loud voice, drawing all eyes to her and the fact that despite her inclusion in this evening’s celebration she was, in his opinion, still a child. ‘Though I believe a glass of champagne would be in order as this is a celebration to introduce her new mother into the family.’ He smiled ironically and Elizabeth smirked.

  Brooke restrained himself from taking Charlotte’s hand which was clenched in her lap beneath the table. She flushed, more, she realised, in temper than embarrassment. Although she had been included in this special day, her father seemed determined to show her up, to mortify her and she did not know why. He had always been harsh in his treatment of his children but she could see that the guests were somewhat puzzled by his behaviour.

  ‘Will you be walking tomorrow, Miss Drummond?’ the man beside her asked quietly, watching Drummond in an attempt to work out what he was up to. He was deliberately slighting his daughter for some reason, smiling as he sipped his champagne, and it suddenly occurred to him that the man was jealous. Jealous. He knew he had to let his lovely daughter go, give her to some man in marriage. And Brooke had asked for her. She would belong to another man and no longer be Arthur Drummond’s to do with as he pleased as daughters were in their society. She had been brought up to the realisation that she would marry, have children, run some gentleman’s home and though he accepted that, he didn’t like it! He didn’t like it! He was not in love with Elizabeth Parker. Lusted after her, true, but Charlotte meant something more to him than merely a daughter. Brooke felt his skin crawl wondering what went on in this house and at that moment made up his mind that he would marry this young woman at the earliest opportunity. Get her away from the curious relationship that he sensed lay in the father. He had never cared for Drummond though he knew their friends and acquaintances thought him a hell of a good fellow. A good shot, a superb horseman, a wonderful host, amusing always, but there was something strange in the way he kept his eyes on his daughter. He saw that Elizabeth had noticed it and he watched as her eyes grew cold and her mouth thinned, then she laughed at something the man beside her said to her and the moment was gone. He would seek out Charlotte, woo her, he supposed, and marry her the first bloody moment he could.

  ‘Pardon?’ her flushed face turned to him.

  ‘I wondered if you would be in the wood tomorrow. I would suggest a gallop but I know you don’t ride.’ And I intend to rectify that as soon as you are mine.

  ‘Well, I hadn’t planned to, but if . . .’

  ‘I have something for you . . . and your brothers, of course,’ he added hastily, for her face had clouded over as he spoke. Young ladies did not receive gifts from young single gentlemen unless it might be a posy or something equally innocuous.

  ‘Really!’ She smiled that wide and brilliant smile he was becoming familiar with.

  ‘Really. I shall be taking my dogs out about eleven. They like to have a good run and I usually manage an hour. I wish you had a horse, Miss Drummond. I should like to show you – and your brothers, of course – some of my land. I’m sure my tenants would—’ He stopped speaking in horror, for he had been about to say he was sure his tenants would love to meet her, knowing they would at once realise that this young woman was special to their landlord and what he would have in mind for someone special in his life.

  ‘Yes, Mr Armstrong? Would what?’ Charlotte was aware that her father was watching her and a dreadful fear dribbled through her veins. Dear God . . . oh, dear God, if only she could; but if she left where would she go and what would become of Henry, of William, John, James and Robbie?

  ‘Mrs Emmerson at Fuller’s Farm makes the best cowslip wine in the county and the best plum cake and she would be made up, as they say in the north, if you would sample them.’

  ‘Does she live far from Seven Cows Wood, Mr Armstrong?’ She took a s
poonful of strawberry ice cream and placed it delicately in her mouth, licking the spoon like a child, savouring it for a moment and Brooke’s fascination spread through him and revealed itself on his rather sombre face. There was not a guest round the table who did not know what it meant. The only one who did not was Charlotte herself.

  ‘No.’ His voice was harsh and she looked at him in surprise. She rather liked this middle-aged gentleman who had been so polite and kind with her on each of the occasions they had met. He had berated her when she ran out in front of his horse that first time but since then he had been pleasant. Had she said something to offend him? But he sipped his champagne with composure, his grey eyes steady and uncompromising on her face.

  ‘Then perhaps we could walk there. Mrs Emmerson sounds nice and I love plum cake. So does Robbie.’

  ‘Of course, bring Robbie and any of your brothers who might care to come. We could . . . have a picnic. Mrs Emmerson would oblige, I’m sure.’

  For a moment she looked delighted, then her gaze turned to her father who, though he could not hear what was being said, never took his eyes from them.

  ‘Well, we’ll see.’

  Brooke Armstrong resolved to speak to Arthur Drummond before the week was out. Perhaps there might be another wedding in June!

  4

  They stood in a line in front of his desk in order of age, their young hearts pounding, their faces pale, for what had they done wrong now? They had spent a lovely morning with Mr Armstrong who had the most wonderful surprise for them in the shape of a puppy who he said they were to call Taddy, short for Tadpole since he was so small. That’s if they agreed, he had added hastily. He was a glossy shade with some of his mother’s ebony and a sprinkling of white which Brooke thought Jack Emmerson’s collie might have had something to do with. The children loved him. Taddy was now in the stable with the grooms and Charlotte was convinced that Father had got wind of him and that was what this was about.