I’ll Bring You Buttercups. Elizabeth Elgin

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       7

      The engine rounded the bend, whistling importantly, then came to a stop in a hiss of steam.

      ‘Holdenby!’ called the stationmaster as a single passenger alighted; a stranger, stepping down from the third-class carriage at the end of the train, which would be noted and remarked upon, of that Julia Sutton was certain.

      Smiling, raising his hat, he walked to where she waited. She acknowledged him with the slightest inclining of her head, holding out her hand which he shook, thanks be, and did not kiss.

      ‘Good morning, doctor.’

      ‘Miss Sutton,’ he murmured most properly for the benefit of the ticket clerk who waited at the barrier.

      ‘My mother thought it better we use the carriage,’ Julia whispered. ‘And my dear, be careful what you say? Anything William hears …’

      The red-haired coachman was a hard worker and a fine horseman, and for that his weakness for listening and gossiping was tolerated, it being politic, Helen Sutton had long ago decided, to make sure that when he was driving there was nothing for him to listen to and nothing, therefore, to repeat. William, Miss Clitherow declared, wouldn’t have lasted the week out at Pendenys, but he was cheerful and willing, and neither drank ale nor wasted his wages on tobacco, so his virtues far outweighed his one vice.

      ‘I’ve asked William to let us down at the gates so we’ll be able to talk.’ Julia inclined her head in the direction of the coachman who stood beside the open carriage door, eyeing the visitor, wondering what to make of him. Then he took up the reins and clicked his tongue, ordering the horses to walk on, guiding them carefully out of the station yard, and not until they were on the road did Julia reach for Andrew’s hand, to press it briefly. Then she sat straight and correct, saying not one word until Rowangarth gates came into sight and the horses were brought to a halt at the lodge.

      ‘I thought we could walk the rest of the way,’ she smiled as the carriage drew away. ‘Last night, you see, my mother was a little put out. I told her that you wanted to marry me. I’m sorry, but it just slipped out.’

      ‘Then small wonder she was not well-pleased. And your brother?’

      ‘Giles is on our side, I think. And when I’d reminded Mama she had promised I should marry where I pleased and that she and Pa were so in love, she agreed to be at home to you.’

      ‘There you are, lassie – it’s happening again. Your mother agrees to receive me. I’ll never understand it.’

      ‘I know, and I’m sorry, but there’s more, I’m afraid. My mother is Lady Sutton. Pa was a baronet, you see.’

      ‘So I’m to remember to call your brother Sir Giles?’

      ‘No. Giles is the younger brother. Robert – the one who grows tea – inherited.’

      ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before, Julia?’

      ‘Would it have made any difference?’

      ‘No. And we’re wasting time over trivialities,’ he smiled, taking her hand. ‘We are here, together; I am to meet your family, titled or no, and I look forward to it.’

      ‘Even though Mama might be a little – aloof?’

      ‘Even though. I’m very determined when my mind’s made up.’

      ‘But you’ll go carefully,’ she begged, eyes anxious.

      ‘Very carefully. I mind how much is at stake.’ He stopped as they rounded the curve in the drive and saw Rowangarth, its windows shining back the morning sun in a sparkle of welcome. ‘That’s where you live?’

      ‘That’s Rowangarth. It’s higgledy-piggledy and draughty in winter, and sometimes the fires sulk and the windows rattle when the wind blows, but we love it very much.’

      ‘Aye, I think I’d love it too,’ he said softly. ‘But what was your reason for not telling me about all this?’

      ‘Because where I live didn’t seem important. And it still isn’t – not if you don’t mind about it, that is.’

      ‘Of course I don’t, though I can see I’ll have to work even harder if I’m to keep you in the manner you’re born to.’

      He smiled gently, not one bit put out, once he’d had time to get his breath back. And didn’t Andrew MacMalcolm thrive on challenges? Even when they’d laughed and told him that doctoring was out of the reach of a miner’s son – all but Aunt Jessie, that was – he had shrugged and carried on. And maybe the folk who lived in the fine house down there were decent enough bodies, in spite of their wealth. He hoped so, for he wanted Julia so much it was like an ache inside him, and he knew he would do anything, agree to any condition they might impose, to keep her.

      ‘Then why are you frowning so?’

      ‘Was I? Truth known, I was thinking about my aunt and wondering what she would have made of all that.’ He nodded in the direction of the house. ‘My, but she’d have liked fine to poke around and see how grand folk live. The gentry and their houses always fascinated her. She used to wonder how so few people could take up so many rooms.’

      ‘Then I’m sorry she isn’t here to see it, though Rowangarth is small compared to Pendenys – that’s Uncle Edward’s house. Now your aunt would really have enjoyed a poke around there.’

      ‘And what’s so peculiar about this Pendenys?’

      ‘Wait until you see it. But it’s almost ten and it won’t do to keep Mama waiting.’ She smiled up at him, serious again. ‘And I love you very much. Whatever happens, you’ll remember that, won’t you?’

      Mary opened the front door at their approach. She had been warned by Miss Clitherow that her ladyship would be receiving at ten, and ever since Miss Julia left with the carriage half an hour ago, Mary had hovered between the front hall and the kitchen, all the time wondering who the daughter of the house was to bring back with her. Most times the parlourmaid wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but last night she had been excused before dinner was over which meant that her betters wanted to talk privately; and afterwards, when she had taken in the coffee tray, she sensed an atmosphere and wondered what it was she hadn’t been meant to hear – and who had been the cause of it.

      She supposed at first it was Mr Elliot, for talk still buzzed about the goings-on in Creesby. Indeed, it had been reasonable to suppose just that – reasonable until this morning, that was, when the carriage had been ordered and gone off with Miss Julia in it and she, Mary, had been told there would be a caller.

      ‘Miss.’ СКАЧАТЬ