The Master Of Calverley Hall. Lucy Ashford
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Название: The Master Of Calverley Hall
Автор: Lucy Ashford
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
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She nodded. Then, very carefully, she handed the small, fluffy creature to Elvie—and as Elvie cradled him, breathless with excitement, the puppy reached up to lick the little girl’s nose. Mud, thought Connor. Elvie’s bound to get mud on her frock. But what did that matter when she looked so happy?
‘Well,’ said Isobel Blake, ‘I had best be on my way. But I’m very glad of the chance to wish you joy in your new abode, Mr Hamilton. Is it a permanent move, I wonder? Or will the Hall just be your occasional country retreat?’
‘I’m not really sure yet. Most of my business is, naturally, in London. But I hope to spend as much time here as possible.’
She nodded. ‘So you won’t be just a summer visitor, then, like the Plass Valley people?’ She gave her bright, challenging smile. ‘Perhaps,’ she went on, ‘if you’re going to be here for a while, you might be able to do something for them?’
He frowned, not at all sure what she meant. ‘Do something for them?’
‘Yes!’ Though her smile was still bright, something in her eyes took him back suddenly to the old days at the forge, when as a girl she used to ride over to watch him at work. The girl from the big house—rich and inquisitive, and, he thought, very lonely.
‘They come here, after all,’ she was saying, ‘to do vital work, yet they are treated like lepers. They need someone to defend them, Mr Hamilton!’
‘Ah,’ he said mildly. ‘So you want me to become a local benefactor? Following the example set by your father, perhaps? I remember the summer when the travellers decided to stay on in their camp for a few days after the harvest was over, but your father set his men on them with dogs and whips—just so they got the message, I think he explained.’
She drew back as if it were she who’d been struck. Very quietly she said, ‘Do you think I’ve forgotten? Don’t you realise I would have stopped it, if I had had any way of doing so?’
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I apologise.’ But he saw now that her cheeks were very pale and her breasts rose and fell rather rapidly beneath her thin cotton gown, as if she was struggling to control her emotions.
‘No need to apologise.’ She lifted her head almost proudly. ‘It was I who made a mistake, in even mentioning the subject of the travellers. But—’ and now her voice was light again ‘—permit me to offer you a word of advice, Mr Hamilton. I think you’ll very soon learn that no one around here ever talks about my father.’
She cast one last, almost wistful look at the puppy, then said to Elvie, ‘You’ll take good care of him, won’t you? I feel certain you will.’
‘Oh, yes! And thank you!’ Elvie’s so often sad eyes were shining with delight.
‘What will you call him?’
It took Elvie only a moment. ‘Little Jack!’ she declared. ‘I shall call him Little Jack—do you think that’s all right?’
Isobel laughed again—that merry laugh he remembered so well. ‘I think it’s absolutely perfect.’ She turned to Connor and gave him the slightest of nods. ‘I wish you joy of Calverley Hall.’
And she left.
Connor thought, Damn it. He’d guessed he would meet her some time, but not like this, with Elvie here. And even if they’d met when it was just the two of them, what was there to say? How could they talk about the past or—even worse—the present?
He glanced down at Elvie and realised she was clutching the puppy to her as if she still couldn’t quite believe he was hers. Connor took him gently from her, then led Elvie to a leather trader’s stall where he bought a proper leash and a red collar with a silver buckle. Connor swiftly adjusted them and handed the leash to Elvie, commenting, ‘It’s quite a responsibility, you know, Elvie, to own a dog. But I think you’ll look after him marvellously.’
For a while longer they wandered round in the sunshine with Little Jack trotting alongside, to see what else the midsummer fête had to offer. But Connor felt as if the climax of the day had already come and gone. He was haunted by his memories of the past. Especially that night seven years ago, when Isobel Blake had ridden from the Hall to the blacksmith’s cottage where Connor lived with his ailing father.
‘Please, Connor. One of my father’s mares is sick. I can’t think of anyone else to ask. Will you help?’
It was past ten, but he’d ridden back to the Hall’s stables with her in the dark and found the mare suffering from an infected hoof. Really, a qualified farrier was needed—but Connor knew as well as Isobel that no one would come out to work for Sir George Blake, because he was a drunken sot who never paid his bills. So, while Isobel held up the lantern, Connor cleaned out the hoof and poulticed it. He’d all but finished when Sir George arrived.
He’d tried to strike Connor. Connor, eighteen then, was easily strong enough to hold him off, but Sir George had said, ‘I’ll see you and your father ruined for this. What were you after? My horses? My money? My daughter?’
Connor had left the stables without a word. Two nights later, the forge and their adjoining home were set alight. Connor’s father, already seriously ill, died just a week afterwards and Connor set off for London, where he made his fortune—but exactly the opposite had happened to Isobel. Her father took her to London when she was eighteen, presumably to find a rich husband, but instead she brought disgrace on herself by going to live with a middle-aged rake, Viscount Loxley, at his London residence near Hyde Park. Shortly afterwards her father died a bankrupt and Calverley Hall was lost. Her mother had died when Isobel was a child and she had no other family—but even so. Even so...
Society condemned her. She must have had a choice, Connor tried to tell himself. There was no need for her to ruin her reputation so thoroughly. And yet she’d done it. He’d not seen her since that night at the Calverley stables seven years ago, but he heard the London gossip. Heard how she’d become Loxley’s youthful ‘companion’. And when Loxley died, three years ago when Isobel was twenty, she’d moved back to Gloucestershire; she’d chosen to live with an artist, Joseph Molina, who occupied a farmhouse not far from Chipping Calverley and not far from the Hall.
This time, people muttered, she’s not even troubled to find a rich man to sell herself to.
For some time, Connor found it almost impossible to reconcile the stories about Isobel Blake with the girl he once knew. He’d tried to excuse and understand her. But the evidence appeared indisputable.
Couldn’t she have saved herself, somehow? It still smote him to remember her as a girl. There had always been something of the rebel about Isobel and once he’d admired her for it. Admired the way she used to ride up to the forge, her blonde hair windswept, her cheeks golden from the sun as she declared, ‘I had to escape, Connor. I couldn’t bear that house a moment longer! Am I a very great nuisance to you?’
Sometimes she was—but he’d СКАЧАТЬ