The Master of Stonegrave Hall. Helen Dickson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ that as it may, Victoria, I reckon that when the master came up from London and heard how ill she was, he felt obliged. Nobody could have been more solicitous in seeing she was conveyed to the Hall in comfort.’

      ‘And the cottage? When I looked in at the window it seemed empty.’

      ‘That’s because it’s been made ready for the next tenant.’

      The colour slowly drained from Victoria’s face. ‘The next tenant? Are you saying that Lord Rockford has turned us out?’

      ‘Well—not exactly.’

      ‘Then where are our things—our furniture?’

      ‘They’ve been packed up and taken to the Hall.’

      ‘But he can’t do that. The cottage is our home.’

      ‘Can you afford to keep it?’ Mrs Knowles said gently.

      ‘Of course. Father left us well provided for. How else could Mother have been able to afford to send me to the Academy?’

      Mrs Knowles clamped her jaw shut and turned away to stir a pot on the hob. How Betty had managed to send her daughter away to be educated was her business, but Mrs Knowles knew, she had always known, that there was more to it than that. ‘Well, you can see about the cottage later—when you’ve spoken to your mother. She’s the one you should be concerned about just now.’

      Victoria was silent as she absorbed what Mrs Knowles had told her, unable to believe this was happening. She thought of Lord Rockford. The details of his face remained strongly etched in her mind, along with the conviction that this man would mean something, impinge on her life in some vital way.

      ‘You are right. I must go to her,’ she said, fighting to control the wrenching anguish that was strangling her breath in her chest. She refused to think about her home just now. Her mother would explain everything. But the thought of having to face Lord Rockford again was abhorrent to her.

      ‘It’ll soon be dark and it’s a long trek over the moor to the Hall. You don’t want to be going up there at this time. There’s no telling what might happen to a lass all by herself.’

      ‘I have to, Mrs Knowles. If I leave now and get a move on I’ll be there just after dark.’

      ‘Nay, lass, I won’t hear of it. Ned’s out the back. I’ll get him to take you in the trap.’

      ‘Thank you. I’m most grateful, Mrs Knowles. It is heartening to know my mother had you. I can’t thank you enough.’

      ‘Get along with you. What are friends for if they can’t help each other out in times of need? Now I’ll go and get Ned. The sooner you start out the better.’

      * * *

      Ned didn’t mind taking her to the Hall. Victoria had known him all her life and he’d never been one to indulge in idle chatter. She was content with this for she was happy to keep to her own thoughts on the journey to the Hall. She had never been inside, nor had she seen the master until today. As a child her playground had been the moors and she had often stood at the closed gates and looked at the house, never imagining that one day she would step inside and certainly not in circumstances such as these.

      The old Lord Rockford had been well respected. His youngest son, Nathan, was a fun-loving man who preferred his horses and country pleasures, while the oldest son, Laurence, was reputed to be a surly, arrogant individual.

      According to tales, following a broken romance some years ago, Laurence had left England and gone abroad to seek out fresh enterprises. By all accounts he had succeeded on a grand scale. It was said he owned large tracts of land in America and had a fleet of ships, with warehouses in both America and London filled with silks and spices from the east, furs from Canada and industrial machines which he sold to the woollen mills in Lancashire. His company, Rockford Enterprises, was headquartered in London. Immensely wealthy, Laurence Rockford had become one of the most powerful men in the north of England.

      When Victoria had been a small child her mother had regaled her with stories of her time at Stonegrave Hall as lady’s maid to Laurence Rockford’s mother, and often told her of the grand events that had been held there during the late master’s time. Victoria had absorbed the stories in wide-eyed wonder, reliving the fantasies in her dreams. She didn’t know what to expect when she got there, or how Lord Rockford would react when he saw her.

      The sky was darkening by the time they reached the high moor, and the upper part of the Hall set behind high walls came into view. Dark and sombre and set amid acres of gardens and lawns, it was a large, forbidding structure, a gentleman’s manor house, three storeys high, with Gothic turrets rising up into the sky.

      Passing through the tall wrought-iron gates, Ned drove the cart up the long, straight, gravel drive, but there was no sign of life. Victoria’s trepidation increased a thousandfold by the sheer size of the building. It made her feel even smaller and more insignificant than she already did. The door was opened by Mrs Hughs, the housekeeper. Victoria informed her of her identity and Mrs Hughs let her in. Once inside the Hall the warmth struck her immediately, causing her to glance towards the roaring fire set in the deep stone fireplace.

      Mrs Hughs gave a sad shake of her head. As soon as the master had heard of Betty’s illness, he had set the whole household agog by going to the extraordinary lengths of having her brought to the Hall.

      ‘The master has spared neither trouble nor expense to see that your mother is taken care of. He has been goodness itself.’

      ‘I’m sure he has and I am grateful.’

      ‘Your mother is very ill, Miss Lewis. Indeed, she cannot rise from her bed,’ she told Victoria in a quiet, sombre voice. ‘I’m very sorry.’

      ‘Please will you take me to her?’

      ‘Of course. Come with me.’

      Victoria followed her up the wide, oak staircase on to a long gallery. Everything was very stately and imposing to her. She was aware of gilt-framed pictures on the walls, graceful marble statues in niches and the richness of the Persian carpet beneath her feet, but unaccustomed to such grandeur and with her mind set on reaching her mother, she did not give them much further attention.

      She was ushered along a corridor that led to the domestic quarters. After several twists and turns they entered her mother’s room. It was small yet comfortable, offering a splendid view of the moors. A vase of flowers and a bowl of fruit stood on a dresser by the window.

      Her mother was in bed. Her face was still beautiful. Age had faded the intensity and colours of her beauty, but not the structure. Her grey hair was long and braided and draped over her shoulder, her skin so pale it was almost translucent. Once so tall and fine, she was now all bones and her lips were blue.

      Victoria knew that over the years her mother had tried her best, but she had never loved her as deeply as her father had. Her mother had rarely held her, and Victoria could not remember her coming to her room to kiss her goodnight except on the rare occasions in her childhood when she had been ill. Often when she had tried to hug her mother, she had been gently put away from her, with the words: ‘Not now, Victoria, Mother is tired,’ whereas her father had been more affectionate, sitting her on his knee while he read her stories and giving her bear hugs when she hurt herself. Victoria had always assumed that she was too much trouble for her mother, which was probably why СКАЧАТЬ