A Woman of Substance. Barbara Taylor Bradford

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СКАЧАТЬ especially when related to wages for the outside workers, who came to the Hall from time to time. The butler was too parsimonious by far and it bothered him. Also, Adam, who thought Murgatroyd was an ignorant man, suspected that the butler was a tyrant in his own domain downstairs.

      He shook his head and turned again to his youthful portrait. He did not need to see that face to be reminded of his abandoned military career. It had been much on his mind recently. He had come to believe that his life would have been so very different if he had followed his lodestar, and not turned away from it, out of loyalty to his father. It was too late for regrets, but, nevertheless, he had them.

      As he stood there in the dark cold room a mental image of himself as a youth flashed into his mind’s eye. He saw the thin intense boy he had been, home from Eton for the holidays, announcing to his father, with a fervency bordering on fanaticism, his intention of entering the army. His father had not only been flabbergasted but strongly, and vehemently, opposed to the idea, which he refused to countenance.

      Adam recalled how unwavering his determination had been, how his dogged persistence and all manner of persuasive tactics had eventually convinced his father that he was sincere. The old Squire had finally succumbed and grudgingly agreed to let him take the entrance examination for Sandhurst, which he had passed with no problem. The old man really behaved quite decently, Adam now thought, and with a certain fondness, as he remembered his father.

      The old Squire, Richard Fairley, had been a hearty, blustering Yorkshireman, one of the most powerful and richest industrialists in the North of England, with a gambler’s instinct for the main chance, a shrewd eye for business, and a mind as sharp as a steel blade. Once Adam had proved himself to be an exemplary cadet at the military academy, he had thrown all of his power and money behind his son. When Adam expressed a desire to join a cavalry regiment, being an incomparable horseman, Richard Fairley had left no stone unturned to accomplish this end. Through his wealth and his political connections he had obtained a place for Adam in the Fourth Hussars. He could easily afford the expense of two hundred pounds a year a commission in the cavalry entailed, along with the cost and upkeep of two horses and a string of polo ponies, which he had bought for his younger son. Being an astute observer of human nature, the old Squire had come to recognize that Adam had all the natural attributes of character a soldier required. He was ideally suited to military life, for he had a keen mind, great discipline, a sense of honour, and courage. Something of a romantic, Adam thirsted for adventure in foreign parts and, as an imperialist devoted to the goals and ambitions of Queen Victoria, he longed to serve his country, and his Queen, in the rapidly expanding Empire.

      Adam had just gained his commission in the Fourth Hussars when his elder brother Edward had been tragically drowned in a boating accident. The old Squire had been brokenhearted. He also believed that the touchstone of a man’s character was dedication to duty. In no uncertain terms, and in spite of his understanding of Adam’s basic temperament, he had informed his younger son that his duty was to return to Yorkshire and take Edward’s place in the family business enterprises, which were huge.

      This morning Adam could remember his father’s voice. ‘No more gallivanting around on horses in fancy uniforms, quelling the natives in godforsaken foreign regions,’ he had blustered, valiantly striving to subdue and disguise his raw grief for Edward. It was a grief that had been painfully apparent to Adam, who had been reluctantly compelled to resign his commission. He was bitterly disappointed, but he had behaved in the only way he knew how, as an officer and a gentleman, bound by codes of honour and obligation to family. He had accepted his filial duty with grace, not recognizing at the time that his ready acquiescence to his father’s command was a mistake that was irrevocable. He knew it now. It was a fact that haunted him. As he walked back to his desk Murgatroyd knocked on the door and hurried in carrying a coal scuttle. ‘Yer tea’ll be coming up in a minute, sir,’ he said.

      ‘Thank you, Murgatroyd. I would appreciate it if you would light the lamps at that end of the room.’ As he spoke Adam struck a match and lit the lamp on his desk and then pulled his engagement diary towards him. He looked over his appointments with boredom. He had a board meeting at the Yorkshire Morning Gazette in Leeds, the newspaper company of which he was the controlling shareholder. Later there was luncheon with a cloth buyer from London, one of his most important customers. Not such a heavy day after all. He would have time to stop at the mill in Fairley on his way to Leeds, to speak to Wilson, the manager, about his son Gerald’s progress. He stifled a sigh. Business was beginning to pall on him. There were no challenges any more. Now that he thought about it, there never had been really. He had no interest in the pursuit of money; in fact, he had never harboured any ambitions for great wealth or power. His success was his father’s success, and his grandfather’s before him, and he had only reaped the rewards.

      Certainly Adam Fairley had increased the fortune he had inherited, but to him it seemed as if this had happened through fortuitous accidents rather than any true brilliance on his part. In this he did himself an injustice, for he was not without a certain business acumen that, although it was less obvious than his father’s, was, none the less, just as trenchant. He was known to be a tough negotiator in spite of his gentle soft-spoken manner, and some of his associates even considered him to be as calculating an opportunist as his father.

      He pushed the diary away. The fire was now burning brightly, and although its warmth had not yet fully permeated the vast room, the sight of the blazing flames flying up the chimney cheered him and the chilled feeling that had previously enveloped him was beginning to ebb away. The library lost its shadowy gloominess. Although its style was basically severe and there was a paucity of bric-à-brac, the room had a comfortable ambiance that denoted masculinity, solidness, lineage, and old money rather than wealth newly acquired.

      Murgatroyd had busied himself at the fireplace, then paused at Adam’s desk. He cleared his throat. Adam looked up from the newspaper company’s annual balance sheet he was perusing. ‘Yes, Murgatroyd, what is it?’

      ‘I was wondering, sir, should I have the maid prepare the same room for Mrs Wainright? The Grey Room in the main wing? She likes that there room, Squire, I knows that. And I always wants Mrs Wainright ter be real comfortable like.’

      For once, the butler’s fawning attitude failed to irritate Adam. He scarcely noticed it in his surprise. He stared at Murgatroyd, for a moment nonplussed. And then he remembered. In his preoccupation with his own problems he had completely forgotten that his sister-in-law was arriving this afternoon. ‘Yes, yes, that will be fine, Murgatroyd,’ Adam conceded, and added quickly, ‘And please find out what happened to my tea, and let me know when the children come down for breakfast. I will wait for them this morning.’ Adam dismissed the butler with a curt nod.

      ‘Certainly, sir.’ A vengeful look settled on Murgatroyd’s face the moment he left the library, and he hurried down to the kitchen to give Emma a piece of his mind and the back of his hand. She was undermining him, dillydallying with that tea.

      Adam opened the centre drawer of his desk and frantically searched for Olivia’s letter to Adele, realizing that his introspection was making him extremely forgetful. He must pull himself out of his mental dejection, which was becoming a permanent condition, or he would drive himself insane. As insane as that woman upstairs.

      Mostly, Adam resisted the temptation to conjecture about his wife’s mental stability, dismissing her odd behaviour of the last few years as a combination of female vapours, general depression, hypochondria, and the peculiar vagueness that had always been predominant in her character. She was full of strange fears and delusions, but these, too, he had concluded to be mere female imaginings. He wondered now, with a small stab of guilt, if his attitude had been engendered by a sense of self-protection, for he never wanted to admit to himself that Adele might conceivably be losing her mind. As long as he did not think about it, he did not have to face that reality.

      Now he faced it, recognizing that at times she СКАЧАТЬ