The Emma Harte 7-Book Collection: A Woman of Substance, Hold the Dream, To Be the Best, Emma’s Secret, Unexpected Blessings, Just Rewards, Breaking the Rules

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 had been like mad Ophelia, wandering dazedly around the upstairs corridors in bewilderment, a glazed expression on her face, her hair in disarray, the floating chiffon peignoir she favoured enveloping her like a nimbus. Some months ago, on a business trip to London, he had described her behaviour to his friend Andrew Melton, a doctor of some renown, who had listened patiently, and had suggested that Adele be examined by a doctor in Leeds or, better still, himself. Adam had been prepared to take Adele to London at once. But on his return to Fairley he had been astonished and relieved to find that her strangeness had evaporated and she seemed perfectly normal ever since. Frail, yes, but not suffering from delusions. But he knew instinctively, and with a crushing sense of dread, that the fragile cocoon of sanity that surrounded her might shatter at any moment.

Now he obstinately pushed away this disturbing thought and glanced at Olivia Wainright’s letter. She would arrive at Leeds station on the three-thirty train from London. He would be able to meet her train immediately after his luncheon. He turned his attention to the balance sheet and made a few notations on the side, and then went through other business documents he had neglected and which needed his immediate attention.

As he worked on the papers Adam was unaware that his face had changed quite perceptibly. The haggard look had miraculously disappeared, and his eyes had brightened. All Adam knew, as he worked, was that his spirits had lifted unexpectedly, and quite inexplicably. There was a diffident tapping on the door. Adam lifted his head and called, ‘Come in,’ shifting slightly in his chair to observe the door. It opened slowly and Emma entered. She was carrying a cup of tea on a small silver tray and she hesitated in the doorway.

‘It’s yer tea, Squire,’ she murmured. Her voice was hardly audible. She dropped a half curtsy as she spoke and almost spilled the tea. Her solemn green eyes regarded him steadily, but she made no move to bring him the tea and Adam thought she appeared afraid to approach the desk.

He smiled at her faintly. ‘Put it over there, on the table by the fireplace,’ he said quietly. She did as she was told, deposited the tray, and hurried back to the door. She dropped a curtsy again and turned to leave.

‘Who told you to do that? To curtsy every time you see me.’

Emma looked back at him, a startled expression crossing her face, and her eyes, widening, betrayed what seemed to him to be sheer fright.

She swallowed and said timidly, ‘Murgatroyd, Squire.’ She paused and looked at him with great directness and asked in a stronger voice, ‘Don’t I do it proper like?’

He bit back a smile. ‘Yes, you do. But it irritates me enormously to have you all bobbing up and down constantly. You don’t have to curtsy to me. I’m not King Edward, you know. I told Polly to refrain from doing it, and I assumed she had informed Murgatroyd of my wishes. Obviously she did not. You may tell Murgatroyd what I have said and don’t do it again.’

‘Yes, Squire.’

‘What’s your name, girl?’

‘Emma, Squire.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘You may go, Emma, and thank you again for the tea.’

Emma started to curtsy automatically, but corrected herself quickly and flew out of the room. As she descended the stairs to the kitchen she laughed softly to herself, and it was a grim laugh. Did he think she was daft, trying to soft-soap her like that! Telling her she didn’t have to curtsy. It was no skin off her nose either way and, whatever he did, she would never change her mind about him. Never. As long as she lived.

Adam crossed the floor to the fireplace and Emma’s face stayed with him. It struck a chord in his memory, as it had done when he first noticed her earlier that morning, but one so hazy he could not grasp it. She must be from the village, yet she did not resemble any of the villagers and he had known every family all of his life. The puzzled frown returned to his handsome face as he probed around in his mind, attempting to revive the memory to full consciousness. It remained fleeting and elusive. There was a purity and innocence and nobility in the girl’s young face, and those eyes, filled with a piercing and brilliant Arctic greenness, were the most dazzling eyes he had ever seen. She reminded him of someone but he was damned if he could remember who it was.

He picked up the cup and saucer and drank the tea quickly before it became cold. He was warming himself in front of the fire when there was another knock on the door, the same light tapping as before, but this time it was much firmer. At his bidding the door opened and Emma was standing there once more. She seemed less hesitant, and Adam looked at her intently, as the memory became strangely alive again, yet still unformed.

For a brief instant their eyes met and locked and neither of them seemed able to look away, and Adam thought with amazement and sudden comprehension: Why, the girl’s not afraid of me. She hates me! He recoiled from her gaze. Emma thought: He’s a mean and wicked man, living off the toil of others, and her young and trembling heart hardened against him more resolutely.

Her voice was strong and cold as she said, ‘Murgatroyd said ter tell yer the children are waiting for yer in the morning room, Squire.’ She gripped the side of the door tightly to steady herself, for she was dizzy from the second punishing blow she had just received from Murgatroyd’s cruel hand.

Adam nodded, aware that he had an inflexible enemy in this strange yet attractive girl, although he could not conceive why this should be so. She retreated quietly without another glance. Adam noticed that she had not had to correct herself from curtsying.

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ulink_b10d9c0f-b716-56e3-9299-636a53eee04d)

A few moments later, Adam strode into the morning room, his manner brisk, his face composed. As he entered the room he collided with one of the fragile tables. He grabbed it, along with the Meissen shepherdess that reclined on its surface, just before both crashed to the floor, and as he righted them he swore under his breath with mingled irritation and frustration.

Glancing at the butler, who was standing by the sideboard waiting to serve them breakfast, he said in a quiet voice, ‘Please remove this table later, Murgatroyd. Find another place for it. I don’t care where, just get it out of the way. I’m always tripping over it.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Murgatroyd said, arranging the lids on the numerous silver chafing dishes.

Adam sat down and regarded his two children, who were already seated. ‘Good morning,’ he said pleasantly. Gerald made a mumbled response, but Edwin pushed his chair back, stood up swiftly, and came to Adam’s chair. He kissed him lightly on the cheek and said with the sunniest of smiles, ‘Good morning, Father.’

Adam returned his younger son’s smile and patted his shoulder affectionately. His disillusionment with his life and his marriage was equalled only by his disappointment in his children, although he did have a genuine fondness for Edwin, who was the nicer of the two. He also bore a striking physical resemblance to his father.

‘How are you, old chap?’ Adam asked gently. ‘Feeling better, I hope.’ Observing Edwin’s pale face, he went on quickly, ‘But we have to get some colour into those cheeks, Edwin. I think you should go riding this afternoon, or at least take a walk on the moors. Blow the cobwebs away. Right?’

‘Yes, Father,’ Edwin said, sitting down and shaking out his linen serviette carefully. ‘I wanted to go out yesterday, but Mother said it was too cold for me.’ His face, surprisingly mature for a fifteen-year-old, lit up in anticipation. ‘Shall I tell Mother you said I could go out today?’

‘Don’t worry about that, Edwin. I will tell your mother myself,’ Adam answered crisply, thinking that Adele would turn the boy into a hypochondriac like herself if he did not watch her. Adam now felt he had been remiss of late, in neglecting Edwin as he had. He resolved to keep a tighter rein on him and remove the boy from his mother’s sickly and sickening influence.

Murgatroyd meanwhile had carried a silver platter to the table. He was standing by Adam’s side and he presented the kipper to him with an ostentatious flourish. ‘It looks right delicious, Squire. I’m sure yer’ll enjoy it. Shall I serve it now, sir?’

Adam gave his assent and repressed a feeling of rising nausea as he looked at the platter. The strong odour of the smoked fish made his stomach lurch, and he regretted the port he had drunk so conscientiously the night before. While Murgatroyd served the fish, Adam picked up the silver teapot and poured himself a cup of tea, adding sugar and milk absently, hoping desperately the tea would quell his biliousness into submission. He turned to Murgatroyd. ‘Thank you. The boys can serve themselves this morning, since you are short of help. You can go about your other duties, Murgatroyd.’

‘Thank yer, Squire.’ The butler returned the platter to the sideboard and backed out of the room. Gerald scraped back his ornate Victorian chair unceremoniously and rushed to the sideboard, followed more slowly and sedately by Edwin.

When they returned to the table Adam stared with enormous distaste at the large portions of food piled upon Gerald’s plate, and the nausea swamped through him again, so that he felt faint and slightly dizzy. Why, the boy had become a positive glutton. He decided to have a word with Gerald privately later. His seventeen-year-old son was far too gross, and his appearance, in combination with his crude and raucous manner, affronted Adam whenever he set eyes on him. For Gerald’s body was a mass of blubber, totally devoid of any sharp contrasts or hard angles, a roly-poly body thickly covered with layer upon layer of fat, as dense as a whale’s. A dollop of lard, thought Adam grimly. He corrected himself. A mountain of lard. He winced.

‘How are you progressing at the mill, Gerald? It is still going well?’ Adam waited impatiently as his elder son masticated his food laboriously, eventually swallowing it in one gulp after what seemed like an interminable time to Adam.

Gerald wiped his epicene mouth on his serviette unhurriedly, and said finally, ‘Yes, it is Father. Wilson is very pleased with my progress. He says I have a real aptitude for the wool business, and I’m enjoying it. He says there’s no sense keeping me on the mill floor, learning all the different processes. He thinks I know enough and he’s moving me into his office today.’ Gerald’s round ruddy face was bland enough, but his dark brown eyes betrayed a shifty cunning.

‘That is good news, Gerald. I’m delighted,’ Adam said, although he was not especially surprised. Gerald had always been predisposed to entering the business and he had tremendous energy and a capacity for hard work, in spite of all that monstrous weight he carried around. He was also exceedingly avaricious, which Adam found deplorable. In fact, he had lately come to believe that money was Gerald’s most consuming passion, even taking precedence over food. He considered both to be regrettable.

Adam cleared his throat and continued thoughtfully, ‘I shall be talking to Wilson myself later. I intend to stop at the mill on my way to Leeds. I have quite a few appointments to keep there today, before I meet your Aunt Olivia’s train. You do know she is coming to stay with us for several months, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Father,’ Gerald said, patently uninterested in his aunt’s arrival. He attacked the remainder of his breakfast with renewed and unrestrained vigour.

But Edwin’s face immediately lost the forlorn look which had so recently washed over it. ‘I’m so glad Aunt Olivia is coming to stay, Father,’ he announced excitedly. ‘She’s a real sport!’

Adam smiled. He picked up The Times, which was folded next to his plate, and opened it, the pages rustling as he began to read the day’s news.

Silence descended upon the room. The only sounds were the crackling of the logs, the faintly hissing gas jets, and the gentle tinkling of silver against china as the boys ate their breakfasts. They knew better than to chatter needlessly when their father was engrossed in The Times. This presented no problems since Gerald had little in common with Edwin, who had long been alienated from him.

‘A damnable mess! A damnable mess!’ Adam suddenly exploded behind his paper, his voice echoing around the room and breaking the silence. Unaccustomed to seeing their father angry, or hearing him raise his voice, his sons stared at him in startled surprise.

Finally Edwin ventured a question. ‘What’s wrong, Father? Has something in the paper disturbed you?’ he asked.

‘The Free Trade Question! Parliament has only just reassembled and they are already off to a running start with that one. It’s going to be a damnable mess, you mark my words. It will bring Balfour down, I am sure. And his government. Maybe not now but certainly in the not too distant future, if this ridiculous nonsense continues.’

Edwin cleared his throat. His light grey-blue eyes, so like his father’s, were alive with intelligence in his gentle face. He said, ‘Yes, I think you are absolutely right, Father. I read in yesterday’s paper that Winston Churchill is strongly opposed to the Free Trade Bill, and you know how shrewd he is. He is fighting it hard and I am sure it will be a troublesome time for the government, just as you say.’

Adam’s surprise was apparent. ‘I didn’t know you were interested in politics, Edwin. This is something new, isn’t it?’

Edwin opened his mouth to speak, but Gerald sniggered and interjected scornfully. ‘Churchill! Who cares what he thinks? He’s only Member for Oldham anyway. A Lancashire mill town. If he follows in his father’s footsteps his political career will be as short-lived as Lord Randolph’s. Churchill is a braggart and a flash in the pan!’

Adam coughed behind his hand. When he spoke his voice was cold but quiet. ‘I don’t agree with you, Gerald. And I think Edwin is quite right. Winston Churchill is a keen young politician who knows what the issues are all about. You know, he made quite a name for himself in the South African war, with that escape of his from the Boers. Became a hero to the public, in fact, and when he entered politics his maiden speech was well received. He’s been doing extremely well ever since, and I have a sneaking suspicion that we have not heard the last of young Winston. I believe he is going to be an important man in this country one day. But really, all that is irrelevant. You attacked Churchill in the most spurious way, but carefully ignored Edwin’s actual point, which is that the government is going to be in serious trouble over the Free Trade Bill. Edwin was echoing my own sentiments.’

Gerald, who had been listening acutely, looked as if he was about to make a caustic retort. But he thought better of it, stood up, and took his plate to the sideboard to serve himself more food. A malicious gleam entered his dark brown eyes and his posture was arrogant as he moved ponderously from dish to dish.

Edwin’s face was radiant as he turned his shining eyes on his father and smiled. He had been vindicated for once and he had found an unexpected ally in his father.