Harstairs House Page 5

  "This is more than the general horror. It's personal, something that happened before the troubles took a hold," said Edward, looking at Oliver intently.

  "What happened to me in France is my own business," said Oliver.

  James looked from one to the other of them.

  "What was it?" asked James curiously. "What did happen, Oliver?"

  Oliver's face grew dark. "Be thankful you don't know."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Susannah was looking forward to sending her letter to Mrs. Wise and rose early the following morning. She went down to the kitchen, where she eagerly awaited the arrival of the boy who delivered the milk. She heard footsteps coming across the yard just as dawn was breaking, and the sound of a breathy noise as someone whistled a popular ditty. Opening the door, she went out into the yard and saw a boy of about twelve years old coming towards her. His coat was too big for him and his baggy trousers were held up by a piece of string. He had red hair and freckles, and both were set off by a cheeky grin.

  "Mornin', miss," he said, as he set down a pitcher of milk and a box of eggs. "It be a proper 'un this mornin' and no mistake." He looked up at the sky as he spoke, leading Susannah to guess that he was talking about the weather.

  "Yes, it's a lovely day," she agreed. "I have a letter for you to take for me, please. Mr. Sinders said he had made arrangements for my letters to be delivered."

  "Ais, miss, I'll see to it," said the boy, taking it from her and putting it in his coat pocket.

  "I am expecting a reply. Will you be able to bring it to me?"

  "Ais, miss, don't you worry, miss, I'll see to it fer 'ee," he said cheerfully.

  "Do you call at the house every day?" she asked, wondering when she could expect a reply to her letter.

  "Ais, miss, every day 'cept Christmas day. Milk and eggs each mornin'. Fish on Fridays, meat on Mondays and Thursdays, and cheese whenever you asks fer it."

  "We have enough for the moment, thank you, but we will need some more on Saturday."

  "Ais, miss. A nice piece o' ripe cheese on Saturday. Be you settlin' in, miss?" he asked conversationally.

  "Yes, thank you," she said.

  He looked up at the house.

  "A rare big 'ouse is 'arstairs, miss."

  "Yes," she said with a sigh, thinking of all the rooms that needed cleaning. It would take her and Constance months to see to it.

  "It'll take a deal o' work keepin' it in good order," he said.

  "You seem to have read my mind," she remarked.

  "I got sisters, miss, two of 'em, both 'ardworking," he said suggestively.

  She was beginning to realize there was a point to his conversation and she became more interested.

  "Do you mean you think they would like to come here and work as maids?" she asked with interest.

  "Don't know about maids, miss, but rare good at cleaning they be."

  "Thank you… I don't know your name?" she said.

  "Jim, miss."

  "Well, then, thank you, Jim. I think that's an excellent idea — a rare idea," she said with a smile, as she started to understand his way of speaking. "Can you ask them to call on me? I will not inherit the house until next month, and then I daresay there will be formalities to be attended to, but shall we say on 15th December?"

  "When be that, miss?"

  "In a few weeks' time," she said. "I will remind you on the day before I'd like them to call."

  "Ais, miss."

  Susannah was about to go back inside when she noticed that he was lingering.

  "Is there anything else, Jim?"

  "Jus' lookin' at your kitchen garden, miss. A regular mess, it do be. Seems a shame to waste it like that," he said.

  Susannah followed his gaze to a patch of earth which must have once been a thriving garden. It contained a few forlorn wilted leaves, a mass of weeds, and earth that had not seen a shovel or a fork in months.

  "Yes, I must see to it. Unfortunately, I'm not much of a gardener," said Susannah ruefully.

  "Not much work 'ereabouts in the winter," said Jim. "I reckon someone'd be glad to look a'ter it for 'ee."

  "You don't know of anyone who might do it, I suppose?" asked Susannah.

  "My father be good with a garden, miss," he said.

  "Then he must come to see me when your sisters come," she said with a smile.

  "Ais, I reckon so," said Jim. Still Jim lingered. "I be good with 'orses, miss," he volunteered.

  "It seems I am going to have your whole family working for me!" she said.

  "No, miss," he said, shaking his head. "My brothers, they do work down the mine. Copper miners they be. You won't catch 'em working 'ere, but spending all day in the dark baint for me. A stablehand, then groom, then coachman, that's the job for me," he said with a cheeky grin.

  "Be off with you!" said Susannah, laughing. "You'll have to muck out many a stable before you drive a coach! But bring your father and sisters with you in December, and we will see."

  "Ais, miss."

  He touched his forehead in a sign of respect and then, bidding her a good morning, he walked back the way he had come, his cheery whistle fading into the early morning stillness.

  Susannah went back into the kitchen, still smiling, and found Constance setting the kettle on a trivet over the fire.

  "You look pleased," said Constance, straightening up.

  "I am pleased. I have just been offered the services of half of Jim's family! Jim is the boy who brings the milk," she explained. "It seems as though we will have two maids, a gardener and a stable-boy before we've been here very much longer."

  "Well!" said Constance in surprise, as she set two dishes on a tray. "That does sound promising. Unless…"

  "Yes?" said Susannah.

  "I only hope that he and his family are not dishonest."

  "He seemed a nice enough boy, but I will ask for references, and you can interview them before they start work," said Susannah.

  "Perhaps it would also be wise to ask Mr. Sinders to make sure there is nothing known against them in the neighbourhood. We don't want to wake up one morning and find all the silver missing."

  "A good idea. But I hope they are honest. Two hardworking girls would be a great help, and make our lives a lot easier. There is already a large pile in the wash house, and it will be bigger before we have finished."

  "If we're to have help, I'll start looking through some of the spare bedrooms this morning and check the linen," said Constance. "We might as well make a clean sweep of it whilst we're about it."

  "I think I'll explore the estate. It's a beautiful morning, and I want to make the most of the weather. Who knows when the next fine day might come along?"

  She helped Constance prepare the breakfast, and after the two of them had eaten their fill, Susannah repaired to her bedroom. How nice it would be to have a new cloak, one that was not frayed, and a new pair of half boots that were not scuffed and worn! she thought as she dressed herself for the outdoors. She pinned her tall hat to her head, tying it beneath her chin with a ribbon, then fastened her cloak round her shoulders and pulled on her gloves. Going downstairs she went out into the garden and felt she was ready to brave the bright but blustery day. The wind whipped at the hem of her cloak, but it was playful rather than brutal, and she set off at a vigorous pace. She walked round the house, passing an overgrown drive at the back that led westward to the stables, but she ignored it. She struck out towards the coast. The grass was wet, and she was glad of her sturdy half boots. They would let the water in eventually, but for a short time at least they would keep her feet dry.

  She crossed the lawn, and soon found herself on the coarser grass of the cliff tops. It was brown in patches, despite the recent rain, and was littered with rocks and boulders. Beyond it lay the sea.

  Holding her hat on with her hand, she leant into the wind. It stung her cheeks, but it was exhilarating. At last she stood on the edge of the cliff and looked out over the water. It was calm, with only a gentle swell
, and it was as blue as the sky, topped with occasional white peaks. As long as she looked outwards she did not realize how high up she was, but when her eyes dropped, she realized that the cliff towered over the boulders below. The spray was beating against the foot of the cliffs beneath her, sending spume flying into the air. But further round the coast, the scene was more peaceful, and the sea washed into a cove. It was small but sandy and it appeared to be sheltered, and she had a longing to walk on the sand. She let her eyes wander along the cliff face. Although it was steep it was not sheer, and she thought it possible that there might be a path leading downwards at some point. She could not see one, but turning left, she followed the cliff as it undulated with the coast.

  Going on a little further, she found what she had been seeking, a path cutting its way backwards and forwards across the cliff to the beach below. Her half boots made light work of the path, but she had to use her hands to help her in one or two places where the slope was steep, and she was forced to scramble down the last twenty feet. She brushed her hands against each other, knocking the soil and sand from her kid gloves, then walked to the water's edge. The sand was soft but firm beneath her feet.

  The tide was so low she thought she would be able to walk round the coast. Deciding to risk the slippery rocks to her left, she soon traversed them, and turning a corner she found herself in another cove. She walked on, rounding the rocks into the next cove. It was even smaller than the last one, but it had a natural jetty made out of boulders washed up by the tide. Next to the jetty was a rowing boat, fastened to a pole sticking out of the water. It seemed to be in a good state of repair. There were two seats running across it, and the oars were neatly tucked away, but the rowlocks were missing. They had evidently been taken away by the prudent owner so that the boat could not be stolen.

  Her mind went back to her childhood, when her father had kept a boat and had rowed her out to sea on many occasions. They had been happy times. As she had grown older, he had taught her how to row, and though small and not very strong, she had managed to acquire the rhythm. She wondered if she still remembered how to do it. She would have to ask the locals about the tides and currents, and then she would take up rowing again, she decided. There was nothing pleasanter on a summer's day than sculling across the waves with the sun on her face and the sound of the gulls in her ears.

  She began to grow cold. She had been standing for some time, and the wind was growing stronger. Deciding to return to the house, she retraced her steps until she reached the cliff path. She slipped once going up, but her worn boots helped her regain her footing and she was soon at the top. With a last look at the ocean she turned inland, crossing the cliffs and walking back to the house. As she approached the garden, she saw a figure she recognized coming from the stable-yard. It was Oliver Bristow. She had an unaccountable desire to turn aside, but telling herself not to be so foolish she carried on her way. What did it matter if she met Mr. Bristow?

  "Good morning," said Oliver with a bow, as the two of them converged. "Have you been exploring?"

  "Yes. It was such a beautiful morning I couldn't bear to be inside."

  "Did you go far?" he asked, falling into step beside her as she carried on her way back to the house.

  "Down to the beach," she said. "There's a path down the side of the cliff, leading into the coves. They will be lovely in the summer time."

  "I would advise you not to go there too often," he said. "The sea looks pretty, but it wouldn't do to underestimate it. It can be deadly."

  He stopped walking and stood looking back at the water.

  "How so?"

  "The tide comes in very rapidly." He turned back to look at her. "It would be better if you stayed in the gardens around the house."

  "What? Never go down to the beach? It's one of the best parts of inheriting Harstairs House!" she protested. "I mean to hold picnics there in the summer."

  "In the summer, yes, but in the winter the coast is treacherous, and only one of the coves has access to a path. The others are completely submerged at high tide."

  "But there would be time to get back to the path?" she enquired.

  "Not always, no. If you were in the next cove, then perhaps, but the water comes in very quickly and not even that would always be possible. A slip on the rocks and a minute lost can make the difference between life and death."

  "Is the tide really so quick?" she asked in surprise.

  "It is. Unwary people are often cut off, and several people have been swept away since we've been here. Their bodies were not found for weeks, and when they were, they were so badly eroded by the tide they were unrecognizable."

  "You are trying to frighten me," she said.

  "To warn you," he replied.

  His whole attitude was a warning. Although he was standing casually, she felt an air of tension coming from him, and she noticed that his muscles were bunched beneath his breeches and coat.

  "Very well," she said hesitantly. "I will take care."

  He nodded. "I am not trying to spoil your pleasure in your inheritance, but it's as well to know about these things."

  "Do you have a table of the tides?" she asked. "If there are other fine days I would like to go down to the sea again, even if I stay in the cove at the bottom of the path, and it should be safe enough at low tide," she said.

  "No, I'm afraid I don't."

  He spoke abruptly, and Susannah wondered for a moment whether he was being honest with her. But why should he lie about such a thing? Besides, there was no reason why he should know about the tides. She would have to ask Jim.

  "It can't be so dangerous," said Susannah musingly, as she quickened her step to keep up with him. "I found a boat in one of the coves, so Mr. Harstairs must have gone out from time to time. I must try and find the rowlocks. They had been taken away, but they must be stored somewhere in the house. I didn't find them in the attic, but it is not surprising as they would be in constant use over the summer months. Perhaps they are in the kitchen."

  "No, they are not," he said, as they reached the house and went inside. "The boat doesn't belong to Harstairs House: it belongs to me. I brought it here hoping to use it, but the currents are so strong that I only took it out once. Fortunately, Edward was with me, and it was all we could do to get back to shore safely. Even with both of us rowing, the tide almost carried us out to sea. Believe me, it is better if you keep away." His eyes looked down into her own. "If you want to go down to the shore then I can't stop you, but please, take care. I would not like any harm to come to you."

  He took her hand as he said it, and she felt her heart skip a beat. The skin on the palm of her hand grew hot where he touched it even through her glove, and as he kissed her hand she felt suddenly restless. Her eyes were drawn to his and what she saw there made her eyelids droop. But just before her eyes closed, she caught sight of his mouth, and saw with a jolt that his smile had changed. It looked almost cruel. Shaken, she opened her eyes wide, but the cruel look had gone, and she thought she must have imagined it.

  "It's a wild country," he said, as he dropped her hand. "You are not used to it, but you will become so. Don't underestimate the dangers all around you."

  Then making her a low bow, he headed for the back of the house, leaving her alone in the hall.

  Dangers, she thought, as she returned to her room to remove her outdoor things. Perhaps the sea was dangerous, but she had the alarming feeling that Oliver Bristow was even more dangerous. He seemed to unsettle her whenever he was near, and she was not sure how he managed to do so. On the surface he was everything that was polite and charming, but underneath the surface something wilder lurked. Even more alarming, it called to something wild in herself that she had never even known existed before coming to Harstairs House.

  The discomfort of her wet feet brought her back to her surroundings, and a glance downwards showed her that her boots were soiled with sand. Inside them she could feel her stockings squelching. Slipping her cloak from her shoulders and remo
ving her hat, she sat down on the bed, and changed her boots and stockings. But the memory of Oliver's kiss lingered as she descended the stairs and joined Constance in the sitting-room, and she found she could almost still feel it on her hand.

  It was warm in the sitting-room. The fire was blazing in the inglenook, and Constance was sitting and darning a sheet. It was a homely scene, and yet even this could not completely rid Susannah of the unsettling feelings she had experienced when she had been with Oliver.

  "Did you enjoy your walk?" asked Constance, looking up as Susannah entered the room.

  "I did," said Susannah, pulling her thoughts away from Oliver with difficulty. "You must come with me the next time I go. The estate is beautiful, in a vigorous way, and the weather was exhilarating. When the wind blows in from the sea, the tang of salt is enlivening," she said, as she tasted it on her lips.

  "Did you manage to go down to the shore?" asked Constance.

  "Yes, there's a path cut into the face of the cliff, and I managed to explore several coves before turning back. It was cold, but pleasant when the sun came out, and it will be wonderful in the summer."

  Going over to the fireplace, Susannah warmed her hands at the blaze. It reminded her of a moment, two days ago, when she had longed to warm her hands in Mrs. Russell's drawing-room and had not dared to do so.

  "I can't believe it's only forty-eight hours since we were shivering at Mrs. Russell's," she said. "Such a lot has happened since then that it feels more like a week."

  "It certainly does," said Constance, "although a very enjoyable week. I was luckier than you at the Russells' house, I believe, for I spent most of my time in the drawing-room with Mrs. Russell, and at least I was warm."

  "I think I was the lucky one," returned Susannah. "I might not have had a fire, but at least I didn't have to listen to Mrs. Russell's constant complaining!"

  "No. It was very wearing," agreed Constance, resting her darning in her lap. "I feel so much better away from her. I have far more energy, and now tomorrow seems something to be looked forward to, instead of something to be dreaded." She picked up her darning again. "Was that Mr. Bristow I saw you with?" she asked nonchalantly, as she set another neat stitch. "I was in the kitchen, and I happened to look out of the window. I thought I saw you with a gentleman."