Hope - Lesley Pearse [107]
The parlour was the only room that had a semblance of order. It was cold without the fire lit, but he had armchairs, a rug and a table and chairs arranged, even a couple of pictures on the walls. His bedroom offered less comfort than a prison cell, with no rugs on the floor and just a bed, curtains and his clothes hanging from hooks behind the door.
‘I would be happy to live here and look after you,’ Nell said with sincerity. ‘But you must get the roof mended quickly before the rainwater seeps down here too.’
‘I have that in hand,’ he said with a wide grin. ‘Work starts tomorrow. But could you cook in that terrible kitchen?’
Nell laughed then, and it struck her that it was the first time she’d had anything to laugh about in months. It wasn’t a terrible kitchen to her; it was filthy, but it was a good size and there was plenty of light, and after a good scrub it would be just fine. ‘I learned to cook on an open fire,’ she reminded him. ‘The stove will work well enough once I get the chimney swept, and it’s got a good cold pantry.’
‘I brought some friends here to see it and they shuddered,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘You see, I was looking at its potential. It has a good bit of land, the stables and outhouses, and I thought it had a good feel to it. But my friends said I’d taken leave of my senses and it made me think they might be right.’
‘Then we’ll have to show them they were wrong, sir,’ she said.
He poured some sherry wine into two glasses and handed one to her. ‘To the future, Nell,’ he said, raising his glass, his dark eyes twinkling. ‘And to you for coming along in my hour of need.’
Nell sipped the sherry cautiously, for she had a long walk back to Matt’s and she hadn’t eaten anything more than a slice of bread. ‘I can be here first thing in the morning,’ she said. ‘That is, if you want me then?’
‘The sooner the better,’ he said. ‘But I shall come and get you in the gig, and we can pick up whatever provisions and other things you’ll need on the way. I won’t have you creeping away from your brother’s farm like a thief in the night.’
‘You are very kind, sir,’ she said, dropping her eyes in a moment of embarrassment.
‘I can imagine what you’ve been through in these past weeks,’ he said softly. ‘People can be very cruel, even those who claim to love you. But tell me, Nell, and I want the truth now. Was Hope your daughter?’
‘No, sir,’ Nell retorted, her chin coming up in defiance. She could see why he might have made that assumption: many a servant girl who had a child out of wedlock might, with a willing mother, pass their offspring off as a sibling. ‘She felt like she was sometimes, me being sixteen when she was born, and then our parents dying so sudden. But she was not born to me.’
It was so tempting to tell him then who Hope’s real parents were, but a small voice inside her head told her that it was too soon to reveal that secret.
He looked at her long and hard and she stared back into his eyes without faltering. ‘If it’s any consolation at all, I don’t believe Albert killed her,’ he said. ‘But I do suspect he found some way of driving her away.’
‘But what would stop her writing to me, or her brother or sister, telling us that?’ Nell asked, her voice shaking because she sensed he knew something.
‘Maybe he threatened to hurt you,’ he said, putting one hand on her shoulder, ‘or Lady Harvey, or even Rufus. I command men, Nell; I am used to assessing their characters. I have always seen something in Albert that worried me. Perhaps when we get to know each other better you’ll feel able to tell me more about your life with him?’
Tears prickled the back of Nell’s eyes, for not one person, not even Matt who had always disliked Albert, had offered her such understanding.
‘Perhaps,’ she said in a small voice. ‘But it is difficult to tell a man personal things.’
‘I know,’ he said, lightly touching her cheek with the palm of his hand. ‘It is a sad state of affairs that both men and women feel the opposite sex is so very different. We are indoctrinated from birth to believe this, we are encouraged