Desires and Dangers

By Leslie Taylor

David Sheldon, having left home at 16 to escape his evil sister-in-law, Mildred, makes his fortune in America. He survives the Civil War but then suffers a terrible tragedy and he decides to return home to Derbyshire. There, in the spring of 1871, David discovers that his brother, Alexander, is dead and the family estate, which he inherits, is in decline. In London, without considering the consequences of his actions, he takes on three orphaned children. David rescues his niece, Jennifer, from her mother's ill treatment of her and he then banishes his sister-in-law, Mildred, from the Manor, after she has bullied his 'wards', just as she used to bully him.
David dismisses the estate steward who then plots to get his revenge. The ex-steward's hatred results in a violent burglary of the Manor House and then attempts on the lives of both his niece and Emily who is David's new found love.
David's actions in assisting the son of a powerful, neighbouring landowner puts him at odds with the man.
Emily Hughes, has been largely brought up with her friend Jennifer Sheldon at the insistence of David's brother Alexander. But, with his death, Jennifer's mother, banishes Emily from the house and Emily goes to live with her parents, losing both her position in society and the companionship of Jennifer. David restores Emily to both and she is attracted to him in spite of his revelations about his violent and amorous American way of life. However, she turns against him when he seeks to manipulate her with his wealth.
David falls in love with Emily but a secret from his past puts in jeopardy his hopes of marriage and happiness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Leslie Taylor
• Release date: Jun 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311426499

Leslie Taylor

I am retired, married with two children and three grandchildren. I enjoy hill walking, cycling and classical music. After a life spent writing educational materials, I am now able to write what I want to write. Now I just need to find the time to put fingers to keyboard.

Book preview

Prologue

The two horses struggled to walk through the melting ground. Their riders cursed and whipped them on, but one moment they would be slipping on ice and the next in danger of becoming bogged down in mud.

The day was cold and their unkempt and bedraggled greatcoats were pulled up around their necks as a protection from the wind. Before them, the Rocky Mountains stood in majestic white splendour, but the riders took no notice.

I hope this is worth it!

The speaker's companion didn't bother to answer and concentrated on his mount.

After this Ike, can we go home? I've had enough of living among Yankees.

Ike ignored him and stared fixedly ahead.

We ain't found no gold. I swear we were better off as prisoners in that blasted Yankee camp. I sure am looking forward to going South.

This time he got a snarling response. Oh, stop your whining! If this pans out, we will go home. But first we need money for food and to pay our way.

They rode on in silence; eventually stopping on a rise where they could look down at a small homestead.

It doesn't look very promising. If I had a fortune, I wouldn't live in this hole. Are you sure?

You heard what the telegraph clerk said. ‘He has plenty of money.’

And if he hasn't?

There is always the pretty wife.

If the fool was wrong about the money, he might be wrong about the wife.

Jed! For God's sake, stop worrying and moaning on. Why I put up with you, I don't know! Just remember what to do.

They rode slowly down to the farmstead which was no more than a simple shack with a barn and two corrals. As they approached, a half-breed, dressed in buckskins, appeared from the barn carrying a rifle.

Can I help you gentlemen? His tone was polite but, as he took in their bleak expressions and unkempt appearance, the half-breed's own face was hard and full of suspicion, and the rifle pointed in their direction did not waver.

We are in search of jobs. We were told you might be looking for hands.

Then you have been misled. You've come on a fool's errand. There are no jobs to be had here.

Just mind your tongue you no-account Indian. Put that gun down and I'll learn you some manners.

Ike reached out and grasped his arm. Now then Jed, don't get riled. He's just doing his job, protecting his employer. He turned back to the farm-hand and smiled falsely. We would still like to speak to the owner.

Well you can't, he's... He stopped, closed his mouth and looked grimmer than before.

We can wait, can't we, Jed?

We don't want the likes of you around here. I've tried to be nice but I think you had better leave.

He raised the rifle menacingly just as a woman's voice called out, What is it, Sam? What do they want?

Sam glanced towards the house as a woman stepped down from the veranda. This momentary distraction gave Jed the chance he needed. He drew and fired as Ike galloped towards the house. The woman turned and ran back. Ike threw himself off his horse and crashed against the door just as she began to close it. As he pushed against the door, he struggled to draw. As he succeeded, the door gave way and he fell headlong into the room, dropping his gun. Scrambling to his feet, he saw that the woman was reaching up above the fireplace and had her hands on a rifle mounted on the wall. He left his gun and stumbled towards her.

She turned and raised the rifle, but he managed to grasp the barrel and push her backwards. The rifle went off, shattering the room's only window. She began to scream as he wrenched it from her and drove it butt first into her stomach. She doubled over, gasping for breath as Jed ran in, pistol drawn.

Thought she'd done for you. He cackled then stopped and swung round as a child's cry came from the shack's other room.

See to it! Jed grasped the woman by her hair and tugged her upright, leaving her standing unsteadily. Ike retrieved his gun and went to the child. Seeing her close up, Jed was disappointed. The telegraph clerk must have limited experience of women, he thought to himself. She was too well built to be pretty and, like most settlers’ wives, she was somewhat weathered in appearance.

Where's your husband?

He'll ... he'll be back shortly. He will have heard the shots.

She cried out as Jed's vicious backhand sent her reeling.

Try again. Where is he?

Hey, look what I've got! Jed dangled a howling baby upside down by its leg.

Calm it down. I can do without its noise. Now then, lady, if you want your child to grow up, answer my question.

Please! Please! Don't hurt my baby. She tried to move towards the child which Ike now held in his arm, with his hand over its mouth and nose. Please, she can't breathe!

Take your hand away, you fool. But you can suffocate it if she doesn't answer. He turned back to the woman. Well?

Driven frantic by the baby's cries, the woman tried to compose herself and took a deep breath. He's gone to Fort Collins.

When is he due back?

Later today.

Jed smiled menacingly and again lashed out at her face. She cried out and burst into tears.

The truth, or I'll hurt your child first and then finish you off, real slow like.

Where's your gold and money? Ike couldn't restrain his impatience.

Through her tears, she stammered, Go ... Gold?

You heard him. We were told your man is well off, so, where's his gold?

In the bank. He ...

Take off a finger!

Ike drew his knife, the woman tried to get to the child but she was held fast. As she struggled and screamed, Ike slashed at the baby's hand, its screams joining with hers.

I warned you!

Please, please. Let me go to her.

Tell me where the gold is.

In the box under the bed. Her words were mostly lost in her sobs.

Take a look!

Ike dropped the child onto a cushion-covered rocking chair and went into the bedroom. He pushed the bed to one side and pulled out the box. Throwing open the lid, he plunged his hands into the clothes, scattering them in all directions. Damnation! He exclaimed in disbelief, as he brought up two small linen bags.

Jed yelled, What the devil are you shouting about?

Ike came back into the room. Shut up! he screamed at the bleeding and crying child. He kicked the side of the chair, almost tipping it over. The baby, in pain and frightened, cried even louder.

Look! This is all there is! In disgust, he poured a small amount of gold dust and a bundle of national banknotes on to the table.

Jed grabbed the woman by the hair, dragging her head forwards, his pistol poking into her face. I'm in a fine pucker now woman. Where's the rest of your gold and money?

That is all we have, honestly! Jed turned to Ike, and nodded towards the child.

No! No! Please leave her alone. It's the truth. What do we need money for out here?

Ike snarled. I don't believe you woman. The telegraph clerk told us your husband has plenty of money. He crossed to the baby and lifted its hand, drawing his knife as he did so.

No! This came out as a long howl. No! He is well off, but his money is all in the bank. Please believe me!

This won't get us back home. I told you this would be a waste of time.

Jed roared in anger, Shut up! Rip the place apart! He turned to the woman. If you are lying, your baby dies. Do you want to change your story?

Through her sobs, she gasped out, No. It is the truth. It is. There is no more.

Take your brat into the bedroom and shut it up. If you don't, I will.

The woman sat on the bed in a state of shock, though she tried to comfort her child as best she could. She wrapped its finger in her apron to try to stop the bleeding and its cries subsided into sobs as her attackers ransacked the house. One of them went out to the barn and she could hear his curses as equipment was thrown about. After what seemed an age, he came back in and the two men conversed quietly, glancing at her from time to time. They came towards her.

Please, you have got everything we have. I told you the truth. Please, will you go now?

The one called Jed looked at her, his eyes wide. We haven't quite got everything, have we, Ike?

Realising what he meant, the woman tried to rise and run to the door, but she was knocked back onto the bed. The baby was snatched from her and dropped screaming into its crib. The two men glanced at each other, as if seeking support, and then advanced on her. Terrified anew, she pressed herself back against the headboard, white with fear.

Chapter 1

Emily

In the warmth of a spring afternoon and with an enthusiasm that perhaps questioned the maturity of her twenty-four years, Emily Hughes dashed along the uneven path that wound its way along the sparse trees. Had they looked up, the workers in the fields of the Derbyshire vale below, could have caught glimpses of her on the thinly wooded slope. Catching a tree as she passed, Emily laughed and swung herself round it in a half circle. Then she stopped and put her hands on her hips and bent forwards, panting and catching her breath. She enjoyed escaping from the village and was exhilarated just by being there, far above her problems and worries. She had spent all her life enjoying the hills and the moors surrounding the estate of which her father was – she caught the false thought as it emerged – of which her father had been, steward.

The thought of his dismissal and subsequent downward path darkened Emily’s mood, but she tried to reject the melancholy that crept over her. I will not be downhearted: not on this glorious day! She spoke aloud and defiantly to the sky, but her mood had darkened. She had walked further than she had planned and ought to continue her steps homeward, or, she thought sadly, to what now passed as home. For she could see, farther down the vale, the houses to which she would once have returned; the steward’s house belonging to the Manor and, on the other side of the farm buildings, the Manor House itself; the home of the Sheldon family. In the former, she had been born and had lived with her parents, before the Manor became the scene of her education and introduction to society through her friendship with Jennifer Sheldon. She had been loved by the Sheldon sisters, Jennifer and Catherine, and by their father but, unfortunately, not by their mother. Emily thought yet again of how her presence at the Manor had been merely tolerated until Mrs Sheldon could bring her dislike into the open.

Emily sighed regretfully: those wonderful days of living at the Manor were over and, she told herself firmly, it was no good dwelling on them.

She turned her gaze and attention away from the Manor House, to the wide vista spreading out before her. She could hear the cries of larks and curlews over the hills, ravens croaking bad-temperedly in the trees below her and, farther off, the calling of wood pigeons. She could also hear the sounds of agricultural activity in the valley below: the lowing of cows nearing milking time, the bleating of sheep and their lambs, the conversation of workers and the distant sound of a train. All of it, sounds and scenery and beauty filled her heart to bursting. She flung her hands skyward and turned round again in the bright sunlight. 'This is heaven and as long as I can escape here,’ she thought, ‘I can put up with our reduced station in life, the house and the sewing work.' She listened and watched a little longer, bent to wipe her hand free of the tree moss, took a last look round and set off for home.

Some time later, as she walked along the road leading to Ashington, Emily heard the noise of a horse coming up behind her. Turning, her face lit up at the sight of Jennifer Sheldon bearing down on her at rather too fast a canter. With something of an effort, Jennifer managed to stop the horse beside Emily.

I knew this was your walking day. I thought it was you on the ridge and so I told Mamma I had a sudden urge to ride. Then the groom took his time over saddling and I feared I would miss you.

All this came out with a great rush and Emily could see that her friend was in something of a state. Her face was flushed and she looked tearful. Jennifer, what is the matter?

Oh! I’ve had another row with Mamma. She calmly announced that she has told Robson that as from today, he is confirmed as the new estate steward and that he can now redecorate and refurnish your house. With tears in her eyes, she added, Oh Emil, I am so sorry!

Don’t worry. I don’t mind. It isn’t our house any longer. Emily lied easily, but her heart sank.

Oh you are too calm and understanding. I would be furious!

Emily laughed. Jennifer wore her feelings on her sleeve and didn’t care who knew how she felt. What did you say to your mother?

I told her that Robson was no good. I said I’d heard comments from the village that he wasn’t up to the job. She immediately turned nasty and accused me of meeting you and, she paused not wanting to upset her friend, well, you can guess what she said.

Emily could, only too easily. She was sure Mrs Sheldon would have accused her of all sorts of things: jealousy; poisoning Jennifer’s mind against her own mother; stirring up trouble and of Emily’s wishing to have her father reinstated as steward. She could almost hear the grating voice in her head and shivered in distaste. Jennifer correctly read her expression and, as ever, felt deeply for her distress.

Will it do any good if you give your mother some evidence? asked Emily. I could walk over the estate. From what the hands are saying, I could easily find proof. Then if I told you where to walk, you could say you had seen signs of poor management for yourself.

No. I’d be wasting my time. You have heard about Enoch and Thomas?

Emily had. The whole village was indignant because Robson had taken the two farm labourers before the petty sessional court. He had them charged with leaving the farm in the evening without permission, and they had been fined 7 shillings each. The fact that this was more than half a week’s pay increased the general feeling of outrage.

"I know it was in their agreement, but neither Papa or your father minded their going. I tried to get Mamma to intervene, but she refused. She thinks Robson is wonderful because he sucks up to her, just as that other terrible creature does.

Mrs Wilmslow? queried Emily.

Oh, why Papa ever employed her as housekeeper, I don’t know. She is a bully and uses her size to actually push the maids about. I’ve seen her do it. Emily, I am so unhappy. I am sure she is stealing from us and I don’t know what to do about it. Mamma won’t listen to me unless I can provide irrefutable proof.

If things are missing, can’t you just show your mother that they have vanished?

I tried that. Do you remember the small silver butter dish in the warming room cupboard?

Emily confessed that she didn’t and that roused Jennifer to sudden wrath.

You see, I don’t expect you to remember what we own, even if we only own it for the moment, but I do expect Mamma to know. Jennifer waved her arms, startling her horse. In her exasperation at her mother and at her mount’s behaviour, Jennifer proceeded to exaggerate somewhat, Mamma would never notice if whole rooms were emptied.

But the butter dish? Emily prompted, while her friend steadied her horse.

It went missing and I reported it to Mamma. I didn’t even accuse anyone of taking it. So Mamma sent for Mrs Wilmslow who said that she would look into the matter. She then came back and said that I must have been mistaken and took us to look for ourselves. Jennifer’s face fell at the embarrassing memory and her mother’s derisive comments on her foolishness, And there it was, in its rightful place as if it had always been there.

Are you? Emily was cut off before she could finish.

Yes! I am sure! I went back later and looked more carefully. The other spare silver hadn’t been used for some time. There was a fine layer of dust on it, but not on the butter dish. She had it tucked away somewhere and put it back.

What else is missing?

I am trying to make a list. Definitely some of the silver, but I can’t prove that without getting hold of the inventory, which she has. I am sure two small pictures and some of the old library books have also gone!

What are you going to do now?

I don’t know. If I could find anything in Wilmslow’s room, then that would prove she was a thief, but Mamma will never have her room searched unless I can prove to her that things are missing. If I complain to Mamma again, she will only call in the dreadful creature and we will go through the same pointless and embarrassing charade again.

I don’t know what I can do to help.

You have helped already. I needed to be able to tell someone, and I will think of something. I am determined to end Mamma’s trust in that awful woman. Jennifer reached down to hold Emily’s hand. Thank you. Can we meet next week as planned? And, at Emily’s smiling nod of agreement, she rode off.

Oh dear, thought Emily. That is the first time she has been so caught up in her own troubles that she has forgotten to ask about ours. She must be even more worried than she seemed.

Chapter 2

Arrival

The thirty-five-year-old man who walked off the steam ship, The City of Brussels, and on to the dock at Liverpool on a rainy April day in 1871 could not have been more wrong about his future. He was, at that moment, certain that he was returning to England to a life of quiet and gentle solitude, and confident that he was finally putting behind him the painful emotional commitments, and the coarseness and violence of his past life.

He stood and gazed at the scene before him. Almost eighteen years previously, when he had left these very same docks to journey to America, he had not paid much attention to his surroundings, being only too glad to take his leave. Now he took in all the shouting, noise and bustle of a busy port. It seemed very similar to the port of New York he had left 11 days ago and he was strangely disappointed. There was the same army of workers, wagons on rails, grabs and cranes, the shouts of voices and the clatter of hooves; all the noise of industry and the sounds of ships and steam. Since he had finally decided to return to England some seven months earlier, he had looked forward to this moment and had expected to feel differently. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had anticipated: perhaps excitement or relief; perhaps a sense of arriving home. All he did feel was a sense of anticlimax and an urgent need to find a vehicle capable of carrying him and his precious cargo to London.

The process of disembarking went smoothly. He found to his surprise that he could get a train directly to London and he easily organised a vehicle and driver to move his belongings. In spite of this, his discontent grew. There now mounted within him the irrational feeling that he had made a mistake, that having cut himself off from his family for so long, it would prove a mistake to try and regain his roots. In addition, he found the Liverpool accents almost unintelligible and he feared that he had been overcharged. ‘Though,’ he thought with some satisfaction, ‘at least I’m not being overcharged as much as they wanted to.’

David Sheldon was an imposing figure. He was 5 feet 10 inches tall, well built with broad shoulders and a full but tidy black beard which covered a good deal of his face and grew into a mop of curly black hair. What could be seen of his face was burnt and leathery and clearly the result of an outdoor life. His blue eyes were serious and, as his fellow companions on ship had dimly sensed, touched by sorrow. Now the eyes showed only annoyance and, when he went back on board ship, the officer he located to assist him took note of his expression and responded hurriedly even before David pressed the small gratuity into his hand. He had tipped liberally during the voyage, sufficiently to gain the co-operation of the crew, and two sailors were soon loading his belongings on to his hired transportation. There was though, much cursing and groaning at the weight of some of the boxes, What have you got in these then? They weigh a ton each! No one blasted well told me I had to injure me-self.

David made the same reply and explanation he had made on embarking, Rock samples. He pointed to the cases with their labels addressed to the ‘Geological Society, London’. He expanded on his great interest in rocks and their history while mentally hoping that all the boxes did not actually finish up at the society, for their officers would find some of the contents surprising. With the completion of the loading, he mounted alongside the coachman and they left for the station and for what he imagined was going to be a very tedious journey.

Though he had made a study of geology and was interested in it, he had brought his collection of rocks with him mostly as a cover. He thought that he was behaving foolishly in bringing a quantity of gold with him when he could simply have had funds transferred to the bank but, somehow, he wanted something of the source of his wealth with him in England. He had looked forward to seeing the English countryside again but, strangely, it felt alien to him. He viewed its cramped and domesticated appearance with displeasure, comparing it unfavourably with the wide, open vistas he had become used to living in. His impatience and unease increased as the train passed houses and then blackened industrial buildings, before drawing to a halt amidst the smell, noise, and bustle of Saint Pancras.

Again he had to locate transportation and, with much jostling among roads crowded with omnibuses, wagons and conveyances of all kinds, he was taken to his destination, the head office of the London and Westminster Bank. Eventually, having explained who he was, and having given proof of his identity (rather unnecessarily he thought, in view of the substantial deposit he was about to make) two bank clerks were deputised to unload his boxes into a rear room. By the time the staff had extracted the bars of gold from them, exchanged his American currency into English notes, the senior clerk and no less a personage than a director of the Bank were in attendance.

The latter luminary had been summoned to greet the client who had previously transferred several substantial deposits from America and had now arrived with another weighty sum.

The director was beginning to treat David with a degree of deference that annoyed him and, in consequence, he sought to unsettle the man. I shall probably want to transfer some of the money into another bank. However, I shall certainly keep on deposit with you that which I have sent in the past.

I trust that such a move of funds does not reflect any lack of confidence in our establishment. The director almost wrung his hands as he spoke.

Not especially. I will want to place some funds in a bank nearer to where-ever I set up home.

That brought an enquiry as to where David would be making his home: a question he found unsettling. He indicated that he might consider a house in Derbyshire but did not have to go into further detail, which he would have found difficult, as a clerk arrived with a note of the total value of his deposit and his repacked boxes of rocks and fossils. David then asked for the name of a suitable hotel.

Perhaps the Langham would suit. I understand it is much frequented by visitors from America.

David accepted the recommendation and instructed his driver to take him first to the Geological Society in Somerset House and then to the Langham.

That night, over his meal and in his hotel room, David reflected on the director’s question and why it had been so unwelcome. It was, he admitted, because he had not been clear what he would do when he reached his journey’s end. Simply reaching London, depositing that of his fortune he had brought with him and renewing one old acquaintance, had been all he had actually planned. What he did, where he went after this, was a great unknown. He had a definite hope that he could be reunited with his brother, Alexander, and, less realistically, reconciled to his brother’s wife. He had vaguely thought of setting up in residence somewhere near the Manor: beyond that, he had no plans. However, he still had the feeling of impatient expectancy that had driven him half way across the world. So, he thought, in spite of his anxiety, perhaps it would lead him to something new.

Chapter 3

Reduced Circumstances

The small terraced cottage, to which Emily returned some days before David Sheldon’s arrival in England, was in the substantial village of Ashington. The house had three downstairs rooms and two small rooms in the eaves. The front was covered with a luxurious growth of ivy, which failed to hide the poor state of external repair, but the inside was clean and surprisingly well furnished. There had been even more furniture when the Hughes had first moved in, for they had sought to retain as many of their belongings as possible from the larger accommodation that went with the post of steward. Some had been sold to tide them over, particularly now that Mr Hughes had begun to drink more and had enjoyed less and less work. To help make ends meet, Mrs Hughes and Emily worked hard at growing what produce they could in their little garden and had also taken in sewing, for Margaret Hughes could see the need to slow down the steady drain on their savings.

Emily’s parents, Margaret and Nathaniel Hughes, were, in size and appearance, very similar to each other. They were both in their late fifties and were, each in their own way, well endowed, with broad shoulders and ruddy complexions. Emily had inherited something of her determined character from her father and her quiet gentleness from her mother, though physically she was not at all like them. Indeed, people had been known to remark (though not in the hearing of either parent) that it was strange that such a well-built couple had produced such a trim and pretty young daughter. They had married late and brought to the parenting of Emily, a maturity that came both from age and their experience of the failings and successes of other families they had known.

When Emily entered, Mr Hughes was snoring in a high-backed chair in the corner of the tiny front room. Her mother was bending over the fire, stirring the meal cooking in a blackened metal pot. She turned, smiled and clasped Emily to her ample bosom, Have you enjoyed yourself love?

Emily removed her bonnet letting down long tresses of auburn hair. Yes, thank you, Mother. It was so good to walk on the hills and the lambs were very lively, jumping and running together in groups. It was just like watching children playing. She gave her mother a kiss and whispered, How is Father?

Just the same. He went out drinking at dinner-time and has slept the afternoon away. I wish he would try to get some work.

They looked through at the sleeping man and Emily looked back at her mother. Nearly a year after losing their position, the change in both was noticeable. Mrs Hughes went quietly about her daily life, bearing their reduced circumstances with mostly a brave face and, generally, not complaining. However, there was one grievance she voiced almost daily and Mrs Hughes' next question was only a variation on the theme that Emily had come to dread.

I suppose you didn’t see anything of those stuck up Sheldons? May God deal with them as they dealt with us.

Mother! Emily was vexed. I keep telling you, Jennifer is not ‘stuck up’.

So you did see her?

Yes, and she sends you her greetings. Emily allowed herself this little falsehood, for Jennifer would have done so had she not been so preoccupied.

It’s not greetings we want; it's justice. After all the years your father worked for...

Emily cut her off, It is not Jennifer’s fault. She had no part in Father’s dismissal or in any of the other horrible things Mr Sheldon did.

So you keep telling me, but it doesn’t affect my feelings about that mother of hers: casting you out from the house as she did.

Emily made no response to this, though in her heart and mind she recalled her banishment and Mrs Sheldon’s patronising and dismissive words. Now that your father no longer works for the estate, I am sure that your family need you to spend more time with them. As Emily left the room, disconcerted and crimson, she had heard Jennifer remonstrating with her mother and Mrs Sheldon’s angry utterances, Your father is dead. He may have made Miss Hughes welcome, but I do not consider her a suitable companion for yourself. You need to go out into society and be noticed. You need to find yourself a husband, and not be spending time with a failed steward’s daughter!

Emily had gone to the room in the Manor that had, over the years, become her own, used for those frequent and extended periods when she lived there. She had long sensed that this moment would come and had gradually packed and removed her belongings from the Manor, being equally careful to take her dresses and not to take anything that was not definitely hers. She could imagine Mrs Sheldon’s complaints if she carried away anything that could be construed as belonging to the Sheldons.

She said her farewell to Mrs Sheldon with as much civility as she could manage and also said a sad farewell to Jennifer’s sister, Catherine. Then, refusing Jennifer’s offer to ask her mother for the carriage to carry Emily's few remaining belongings to Ashington, the two friends parted, both in tears. Though sad as their goodbyes were, it had not been a final parting for, each fortnight, they tried to meet on one of Emily’s walks or they snatched a few moments together at church.

Emily came out of her reminiscences, set the table and woke her father for the evening meal. He gave her a cheery greeting and a kiss, for Mr Hughes was still as gentle, loving and pleasant with his wife and daughter as he had ever been. It was just that, with his dismissal, he felt he had lost face in the community. Certainly, he had lost his own self-respect. He had easily obtained casual work on the local estates and farms in the area. He had travelled south during the previous summer and found work with a harvest gang. They had managed to obtain harvest contracts in two counties and gathered in three separate crops in Nottinghamshire and Lincolnshire. Then he had walked all the way back again, picking up odd jobs on the way. There had been much sleeping rough in sheds, a good number of make-do meals with many weeks of long, backbreaking days. He was built for hard work and it had enabled him to earn enough money to see him and his wife and daughter through the mostly workless days of winter. Since then, somehow, and he wasn’t too clear how, he had drifted into a pattern of late rising, of midday and evening drinking and a lack of desire to find employment. He knew he ought to find work and that, with the coming of spring, ploughing and drilling work was available to be found, but he lacked the drive or the desire to do anything about it. Even when Margaret had, only two weeks previously, read out from the High Peak Times an advert for a bailiff, he had ignored that possible opportunity. In reality, he had lost all incentive to work.

During the meal, Emily recounted her meeting with Jennifer but she did not pass on Jennifer’s fears that the acting steward, Robson, had been confirmed in his position. She told herself that she did not want to upset her father by referring to such matters though, in reality, it was she herself who was upset by the news. In her heart, Emily had held a great secret (which was not as secret as she thought) that one day she would follow in her father’s footsteps and manage the estate she loved. While a child, she had made friends with the majority of the estate workers, including the gamekeeper who, with her father’s permission had taught her to shoot. As a 'young lady’ living at the Manor, Emily had continued to take an active interest in her father’s work and in the welfare of the estate staff. This interest had been fuelled by Alexander Sheldon’s philanthropic concerns though, in the year before his death, he had become strangely disinterested in such matters. Even while Emily had enjoyed sharing in society, she had exchanged that time between luncheon and dinner, when young ladies were supposed to avail themselves of sewing and sketching, to accompany her father on his rounds even, on occasions, helping with the harvest and sundry other tasks.

Mrs Hughes recounted what she had been told earlier in the day. Apparently, Ruth Linnett is ill and is not thought to be long for the world. I don’t know how I neglected to tell you directly you came in, love.

Both she and George must be getting on, commented Mr Hughes. They were old when I first came to work here. They must both be well into their seventies if they’re a day.

Nathaniel, do you remember my telling you that George let his hands go last Michaelmas and didn’t take any more on? asked his wife.

Aye. I recall it now, and I thought then I ought to go and see how he was managing the farm, and he sighed as if even the idea of doing something had worn him out.

I would like to go and see how Ruth is, said Emily. I haven’t seen her in the village for some weeks. Can you spare me tomorrow? She addressed her mother, Or shall we both go?

Nay lass, you call on them yourself. If you’ll help me finish the sewing tonight, I can spare you for part of tomorrow at least.

With the ending of the meal, Mr Hughes went out to the Red Lion and Emily and her mother picked up the sewing work they had begun the previous day. By the light of the fading sun and then by candle light, they sat and sewed, occasionally talking about their respective days and avoiding the difficult subject of Mr Hughes and his drift into hopelessness. Any passer-by glancing through the window, would have seen a charming domestic scene with two women working away, apparently in quiet companionable contentment. What they would not have seen was the unhappiness that existed in both their hearts.

The next morning brought colder weather and the threat of rain. Emily took her cloak and bade farewell to her parents, taking with her their good wishes for both Ruth and George Linnett.

Tell Ruth that I’ll come up and see her on Friday, and if she wants anything taking up to the farm, she can tell you today, were Margaret’s parting words.

It was a long way round from the village to the Linnett’s so Emily decided to walk across a corner of the Sheldon Estate and hopefully see for herself what condition it was in. This was a route she rarely took, as it reminded her too much of the way she had accompanied her father. She thought that going out with him as he supervised the labourers, meant that she probably knew the fields and woods of the estate better than anyone else who now worked there, certainly better than the new steward. She soon noted jobs that ought to have been carried out over the winter. In a couple of places, hedges should have been layered, one of the two small streams that flowed through the estate was blocked by debris from the winter run-off and needed clearing and the track she was following was full of pot holes. She thought sadly that it did seem that the estate was not being looked after.

At the Linnetts’ farmhouse, she knocked on the door and was shown in by the maid. George was at home, sitting at the kitchen table and looking unwell. He stood with obvious difficulty and Emily could see that his arthritis was worse.

Come in, lass. Come in. It’s good to see thee, not that things are very good here.

Mr Linnett, I only heard about Ruth yesterday.

Gone all formal have we? It’s still ‘George’ lass and the Missus will be pleased to see thee.

What is wrong?

Old age, I reckon mostly, but she started a few days ago with a cough and it’s affected her chest. She brings up some horrible green stuff and can’t get her breath.

Emily could have done without this detail, but she asked, What does the doctor say?

Oh, he’s been to see her and he was kind enough, but I reckon he thinks there’s not a lot he can do. George rose and shouted up the stairs, Missus, ye’s got a visitor. It’s young Emily. Go up lass and I’ll organise a cup for us all.

Emily took his hand, George, I’m so sorry.

It comes to us all – no good complaining.

How are you? Really?

Well, some days I find it hard to move with the arthritis, but generally I manage, even if I’m a bit slower than I was.

Emily went up the steep narrow stairs to the bedroom where Ruth Linnett was propped up in bed, tucked up with a quilt. She looked pallid and haggard with tired eyes, but they brightened at the sight of Emily. Oh, it's good of you to come; we haven’t seen you for many a week.

I am really sorry we haven’t been. We didn’t know that you were ill. How do you feel?

The answer was a coughing fit that seemed to rack the whole of Ruth’s body. Emily could see that she had lost weight. Her face was thin and her wrists and fingers seemed skeleton like.

I have good days and bad days and I reckon there’ll be worse ones to come.

I hope not.

Aye, well, you know what they say, and Emily, who had heard all her ‘sayings’ many times over, joined in (as she was expected to) with, Hope in one hand and mess in the other and see which you get filled first! and they both laughed.

Emily sat down on the bed and gave her a hug. Somehow Mrs Linnett’s sayings, including those that were rude, always cheered her up. They began to talk and George came unsteadily up with a tea tray and then went down to drink his own. For the rest of Emily’s visit, Ruth rallied considerably and they discussed the village affairs, the latest moans about the parson and then Emily’s family.

I hope you don’t mind my saying that I’ve heard that your father has lost his way? It is a shame that the squire went funny like he did. Mind you, with a wife like that, anyone would go funny.

Emily felt vaguely uncomfortable at both observations. She could not deny her father’s condition and though she agreed with Ruth’s views about Mrs Sheldon, actually to say so, felt like betrayal of Jennifer. So she merely muttered, Well, it can’t be undone.

How are things on the estate?

Emily wondered how much she should say, but she thought there was no harm in mentioning that Robson had been given the post of steward permanently or that she had seen signs of poor management. She then changed the conversation by apologising again that their own concerns had meant she had not visited before. Ruth began to show signs of tiring and so Emily made her farewells and passed on her mother’s promise of a visit. Downstairs, she again asked George how he was managing.

Well, I’ve cut back on stock. There is very little to do and I can manage what is needed in between looking after Ruth.

You haven’t got rid of the rest of the hands? Emily was horrified.

We have, lass. We’d been thinking of selling up, so I let them go. There’s a bit more for me to do, but I’ll manage. Anyway, Ruth isn’t sure she wants to leave now. She has it in her head that she’d like to end her days here.

But can you really manage?

Well, enough for the moment. Don’t thee fret about us, and we’ve got enough help in the house.

Emily, however, was fretting and she saw the chance to help both George and her father. She bade George goodbye and returned home with a plan which, during her father’s absence at the inn, she poured out to her mother. Mrs Hughes’ spirits lightened at a possible way of getting her husband out of his lethargy. So, when he returned home, she launched herself at him, Eat your meal, but don’t take your coat off. I need you to come with me. She recounted Emily’s news of the Linnett’s difficulties and announced, I’m going up to see what Ruth needs and you can come with me and see if you can do anything to help George! It wasn’t a request, more an ultimatum, and it broke through Nathaniel’s disinterest. He had the sense to recognise what was not being said, namely, that as he wasn’t doing anything to help himself and his family, he might as well do something to help an old friend in need.

Emily stayed behind to cook and finish the sewing, and though she rejoiced when her father went meekly out with her mother, she was still concerned for Jennifer and the events at the Manor.

Chapter 4

Mortimor

On his first full day in England, David Sheldon decided to walk to the second of his planned calls. This morning, he was more conscious of the smoke filled atmosphere and the unpleasant haze which hung over everything, and decided that the sooner he got out of London, the better. He found the main thoroughfares unpleasantly thronged with people and traffic and, as he had purchased a map, he turned aside from them. Then he was further offended by the evident poverty in the narrow dank streets he walked through. The ragged clothes of the inhabitants, especially of the children, the coarse shouts, the open sewers with their smell and flies around the filth, composed of rotting food, mud and general rubbish, all disturbed him, as indeed had the slums of America. After years of primitive living in the American West, especially in the mining camps, he thought that he ought to be above minding such conditions. But there was, in living close to nature, even in the most primitive of places, a cleanliness which was lacking in human habitations. It dawned on him afresh that civilisation had its horrors of which he did not wish to be a part.

Eventually, he arrived in the area he wanted, near Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and only then did he realise that he no longer remembered exactly where to look. He cursed his memory and made several enquiries of passers-by before he located the right premises in Sheffield Street. Having checked the name on the brass plate, he strode up the few steps and into a long, dark room illuminated by a tiny window.

In the middle of the room was a tall sloping clerk’s desk and stool. The clerk was seated, and was peering angrily down through the low balustrade at an excited youth with long fair hair standing before him. The clerk stepped down and David could see that he was a large thickset fellow with long black sideboards. He had the clothing and deferential manner of a clerk, but something of the appearance of a rough labourer. His face was hard and lined and one of his ears was misshapen. David judged that he had been a pugilist at some point. The youth was no more than a boy, perhaps fifteen or so years of age, and he was demanding to see the attorney and becoming ever more agitated. The clerk responded quietly, For the last time, I am afraid that you cannot see Mr Mortimor. He is engaged.

But I must see him. It is urgent. We have nowhere to go if he forces us out of our house.

I am sorry, but Mr Mortimor has explained before. There is nothing he can do.

It is our house!

You are mistaken. It was never your house. You only lived there.

Why can’t we stay? I can get a position and we have some things we can sell. We could start paying rent.

There is nothing Mr Mortimor or myself can do. We have our instructions and the house must be sold. Whether or not you can pay rent does not change things. Now you must leave and I advise you to look for alternative accommodation.

No! I won’t leave until I’ve seen Mr Mortimor!

Oh yes you will. Right now!

David watched in some amusement as the clerk advanced on the boy and, without using the violence of which he looked more than capable, took the young man gently but very firmly by the arm and escorted him to the door. Please, do not pester Mr Mortimor or myself again. If you return, I shall not be so patient. He thrust the youngster through the doorway, closed it and turned enquiringly to David.

You obviously have a problem there. I would like to see Mr Mortimor.

Would you have an appointment, Sir?

Not specifically, but I believe Mr Mortimor is expecting me to visit him at some point.

Well Sir, I will enquire, but I fear that Mr Mortimor does not often see people without a prior appointment. May I have your name, Sir?

David Sheldon.

The clerk looked at David with sudden interest. Then I am pleased to meet you, Sir. I have heard much about you. My name is Alcott. He shook hands with David, turned and walked to an inner door, knocked and went straight in without waiting for a reply. David heard his muttered words and then there was a great exclamation, David! followed by the sound of a chair being pushed back and hurrying steps.

Into the room came Mr Josiah Mortimor, Attorney at Law. He was no longer the sprightly middle aged man David remembered from eighteen years earlier. He was now slightly stooped and his lined face was crowned by a sparse crop of white hair. He peered at David over the top of a pair of spectacles and then removed them.

David Sheldon? Is it you? I’d never have recognised you. He came forward and clasped David’s outstretched hand, shaking it for dear life. Come in! Come in my boy!

As he spoke, the outside door opened and the expelled youngster re-entered, shouting, Mr Mortimor, I want to see you. You must do something. Please! This latter word came out as a heart-rending cry. The solicitor signalled to his clerk and ushered David into his sanctum, closing the door behind him.

I am sorry about that disturbance, but Alcott will deal with it. It is a very unfortunate case, but my instructions are clear. Now let me have a good look at you.

The two men gazed at the changes time had wrought in each other. Then Mortimor waved David to a seat. So the boy has changed into a man. He shook his head at the troublesome passage of time and continued, You have done well for yourself since you were last here.

Better than I could have hoped for. I am grateful for your attention to my affairs these past months.

It was a pleasant surprise to hear from you and gratifying to know that you were so wealthy that you could pay me in advance of any business being completed.

David acknowledged the statement with a nod of his head.

I am intrigued. Tell me how did you know that you could trust me with your affairs? Let us be candid. When you almost certainly saved my life all those years ago, you must have realised then that I was not, Mortimor coughed delicately and smiled, how shall I say, not a solicitor operating in the very best circles.

David laughed, I confess that the thought had crossed my mind, but primarily, I remembered that I liked you the few times we met and thought that you were better than you made yourself out to be.

Mortimor turned his back on David, to hide how the younger man’s words had disconcerted him. As he walked to his desk, he said, Let us perhaps say that you saw through me then. He sat down, facing David again. Let us conclude our business and then perhaps we can adjourn for refreshments and you can tell me about your adventures. He searched through a pile of papers on his desk and, replacing the glasses on his nose, said, I have some news for you that is unpleasant. I did try and communicate this to you after our initial correspondence, but I judge by your demeanour that my letter did not reach you.

David sat upright expectantly, pulled his chair nearer to the desk, a frown gathering on his face. Afterwards, he remembered something his father used to say, that things always happened in threes. For while the third turning point in his life came a few days later, two of them came close together at that very moment.

I regret to tell you that your brother, Alexander, is dead and you have inherited the estate.

At that instant, there was the crash of breaking glass that showered down upon both men: a stone narrowly missed them, thudded on to the table and skidded to the floor. Mortimor collapsed back in his chair while David leapt to his feet. He flew to the broken window in time to see the youngster standing in the roadway with a horrified look on his face and Mortimor’s clerk racing out of the chambers towards him with a surprising turn of speed. Turning back, he saw that Mortimor was clutching his chest and gasping for breath.

A drink! Quick! A drink! and he pointed to a wall cupboard. David pulled it open and taking the brandy bottle and glass poured a measure, which he pressed into the quivering hands. Mortimor was too unsteady to bring the glass to his lips, so David took it from him and helped him drink.

I am sorry. It was the shock. I live on my nerves, you see. He tried to gather himself together. Who was it?

It was that boy or youth who was here when I arrived.

The information seemed to galvanise the old man. I’ll deal with him. He won’t get away with such behaviour.

There were shouts and curses from the outer room.

I think that is your man with him, conjectured David, unnecessarily.

The shouts became louder. The boy was screaming, Stop! Don’t you dare! Let me go! Help!

David. Please. Help me to the door!

David helped Mortimor out of the chair and across the office. As he did so there was the noise of a blow and a cry of pain and then more blows and cries. Opening the door David saw that the clerk had thrust the boy face down over the table. He held him in place with one hand and he was swinging at his rear with a huge folded leather belt.

I told you, Thwack! I would not be patient, Thwack! if you pestered me again. The clerk was shouting and swinging the belt yet again when David strode forward and grasped it. The clerk kept his grip on the squirming boy but turned with an angry snarl to David. Before he could do or say anything, a signal from the solicitor stopped him.

I think you have made your point, said David. Perhaps you should send for the authorities rather than administer your own justice.

David, it is a delicate situation. If we can deal with your affairs, I will explain. Come back inside.

What shall I do with this? the clerk angrily gestured at the youth.

Take him away from the premises and make sure he doesn’t return. Mortimor turned to the boy as he was allowed to regain his feet. If you come back here, I shall have Alcott here whip the skin off your backside.

The boy stood, his fists clenched tightly together, a mixture of fright, anger and humiliation. Though David also saw that, while there were tears in his eyes, he was still defiant. Then the youth turned and almost ran from the room, beginning to sob as he went. Alcott went out after him saying that he would arrange for the window to be repaired.

Once back inside his office, Mortimor helped himself to a second drink and poured another for his guest. David swept the broken glass off the desk onto the floor and took his seat. It was only now sinking in. Alexander dead! He felt a great sadness rush over him; he had returned too late to take up his old friendship with his brother. He sat in silence as Mortimor began to set his desk to rights, picking up papers that had been dislodged on to the floor.

When did it happen?

About ten months ago. The death was very sudden. He just dropped dead, but Alcott, who undertook the investigation, tells me that he had been behaving very strangely for some considerable time before that.

David was silent again. He was remembering his brother and their escapades; the companionship they had enjoyed until Alexander began to court the woman who was to become his wife. Mortimor hesitated to break into his thoughts and sat in silence until, eventually, David asked, How did he die? Do you know?

Apparently some sort of seizure but I don’t know any more than that.

You said that I have inherited the estate. Alexander had two daughters, Jennifer and Catherine, when I left. Were there no boys?

No, and, as I am sure you know, the estate is entailed. It passes on to the eldest direct surviving male which, in this case, is you.

I don’t know if I want it. What has happened to Alexander’s family?

They are living there still. I understand enquiries have been made to try to find out if you are alive, but up to last week they had brought no result. I made no attempt to communicate with them since you indicated that you did not want your family to know of your proposed journey.

Thank you for that, and for your investigations on my behalf, even though it is intelligence that cuts me to the quick.

I only did what you asked me to do in your letter. I regret that the news is not what you, or I, would have wished. I seem to remember you speaking fondly of your brother, but not I think of his wife, he hesitated and glanced down at his papers before adding, Mildred?

No, we did not get on! So no one, apart from the bank and yourself, knows that I am here.

That is so.

Then I will leave it like that. My first thought is to visit the estate and see if going home helps me decide what to do. He began to think aloud, I can’t see Mildred and I living together in the same house and I certainly don’t need the estate. He sighed deeply, What a homecoming this is. Then he was brisk and business-like again. Are the solicitors the same?

That I do not know. Currently they are Shipton and Halliwell of Chesterfield. Do you recall them?

No. The family solicitors were in Ashington. David sighed. Alexander would not have made such a change, he thought. No doubt Mildred’s capriciousness would have led to this alteration to the family tradition. He wouldn’t be surprised to find the whole estate unrecognisable if she had been having her way. Then he brushed the thought aside as being uncharitable.

I feel a great sadness, but I have not known my brother for eighteen years. I think I might grieve for him more when I get home. But for now tell me about that boy. I was taken by him.

Mortimor hesitated and then suggested that they first leave the now chilly office for more convivial surroundings. He took David to a large, crowded and noisy inn where he was clearly well known, for they were shown directly to a snuggery tucked away in the corner from where the existing occupants were ejected. Mortimor would say no more until they had eaten and he then began what he called, ‘a very peculiar tale’. He drew on his pipe before continuing, "I will not give you all the details, but the boy’s mother had for a long time been a favourite of a certain high-ranking gentleman. To be blunt, she was his mistress and had been for many years. He does not come to town regularly but, when he did, she provided him with whatever creature comforts he required. This affair had been going on for a long time, though I have no knowledge as to how they met. I do know, however, that the lady was married, with a sick husband who was not able to work. So I assume