Candles in the Storm Read online

  William’s sisters had said not a word - except to each other - since the carriage had left the grounds of their home, but their very silence towards Daisy was an eloquent and bitter statement of their resentment at having to accompany a common chit to their aunt’s residence.

  They had known better than to argue with their father, however, when he had given the order after sending Daisy to the kitchen for some refreshment. Only William ever dared to do that, and he always paid dearly for it. They had watched and listened as their mother, livid with a rage that made her look years older, icily enquired of their father whether he had gone quite mad. His answer had been such that their mother had done something they had never witnessed before, leaving the room in a swirl of silk and satin and taking no heed of her husband’s command to remain.

  They had then had to sit and listen to their father explaining to their brother the philanthropic reasoning behind his decision to inflict a fishergirl on their aunt. Neither Cecilia nor Felicity had any fond feeling towards Wilhelmina Fraser, in fact they disliked their father’s sister intensely, but that was beside the point. Impossible and difficult as Aunt Wilhelmina was, she was a Fraser, and that meant she was entitled to a servant who had been trained to a good standard and who knew their place. Whereas this baggage . . . She might look clean enough, but they wouldn’t be at all surprised if the first job their aunt’s other servants had to perform was delousing.

  In all their murmurings, neither Cecilia nor Felicity had remarked upon the unusual beauty evident in the girl despite her shabby clothes, but it had rankled with them nonetheless.

  The sisters were well aware of their own plainness; they would have been even if their father had not referred to it at least once a week in some way, along with mentioning that their two elder sisters had managed to snare a husband each despite being afflicted with the same ailment.

  While Cecilia and Felicity assured each other that they would rather die than take on Bernice’s ageing widower who had been three decades older than his young wife when they had married, or Susannah’s middle-class attorney who wasn’t quite a gentleman and whose family had links with - they always whispered this word - tradespeople, they didn’t mean a word of it.

  A London season - which some years earlier had acquired husbands for their sisters - had come and gone without so much as the sniff of a suitor for either of them, and it had been agonising. Now, at twenty-three and twenty-four years of age, Sir Augustus’s younger daughters were facing the terrifying prospect of permanent spinsterhood.

  It was just after midday when the horse and carriage stopped outside a pair of imposing iron gates set in a high stone wall. The coachman jumped down and opened the gates without being told to do so, and left them open after he had climbed back into his seat and the carriage had rumbled through. They had passed several farms on the journey, and far in the distance Daisy had caught a glimpse of the wind vanes of Fulwell Mill, but once inside the grounds of this house a border of mature trees enclosed them in a small but very private little world.

  Daisy hadn’t been sure what she’d been expecting, but as they clip-clopped along a pebbled drive of perhaps some two hundred yards, she saw green lawns and neat flowerbeds on either side with the odd wooden bench placed here and there. The flowerbeds were ablaze with colour and there was a distinctly pleasant scent in the air. Then the carriage came to a halt and the house was in front of her.

  Oh, it was bonny! Daisy thought of the stark grey-stone mansion she had just left, and which she had been half expecting to see again - albeit in smaller form - and instead gazed in delight at the long, two-storey whitewashed house, covered in red and green creeper and with a massive thatched roof which hung down over mullioned windows. Grand undoubtedly but bonny with it.

  The coachman appeared and opened the carriage door, and when Daisy hesitated, waiting for the ladies to go before her, one of the women flicked her hand, holding up a lace handkerchief under her long thin nose as though there was a nasty smell in the carriage. ‘Go on, go on.’ It sounded irritable and curt, and both women drew their voluminous skirts away from any contact with Daisy’s cloak as she scrambled out, her cheeks burning.

  She watched the coachman, the same one who had driven the carriage to Greyfriar Hall earlier, help the two ladies down from the carriage, and when they moved towards the heavy oak front door Daisy fell into step a few paces behind. Before they had had a chance to knock the door was opened from within, a small maid clad in a black alpaca dress and starched apron and cap dipping her knee as she said, ‘Miss Cecilia, Miss Felicity.’

  Neither woman acknowledged the greeting, brushing past the maid as though she didn’t exist, and apparently the girl must have been expecting this because she said quickly, ‘The mistress is in the drawing room, the parson’s just leaving.’

  ‘Oh, lord, not the parson again.’ Cecilia didn’t bother to keep her voice down as she tossed the remark over her shoulder to her sister.

  Daisy was inside the hall now which was large and wide with a graceful curving staircase rising from the tiled floor some yards in front of them. The doors leading off the hall and the wooden staircase itself were stained a deep mahogany, but the walls were papered in a gold and cream geometrically patterned paper which generally lightened the interior, as did the gold curtains at the windows to either side of the front door. It was bonny, Daisy thought again, watching the plump little red-cheeked maid assist William’s sisters to divest themselves of their fur capes and hats although both women kept their thick cloth coats buttoned.

  As the maid turned towards Daisy, Cecilia Fraser snapped sharply, ‘Leave her, and announce us.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ After depositing the capes and hats on the iron hallstand, the maid hurried along to a door at the far end of the hall, the Misses Cecilia and Felicity following at a leisurely pace with Daisy making up the rear. Corridors branched off to either side at the end of the hall, but although large, the house did not carry the same impersonal feel as Greyfriar. A pair of tables holding bowls of brightly coloured flowers stood against the far wall, and the pictures on the walls were of pleasant country scenes rather than the succession of grim portraits Greyfriar Hall had boasted. Nevertheless, the size and splendour of it all was overwhelming, and as Daisy glanced down at herself, the shabbiness of her clothes and in particular the tar stain on her skirt hit her afresh.

  She heard the little maid knock upon and then open the door, announcing the sisters to her mistress, and as the two women swept past the girl Daisy wondered for a moment if William’s sisters expected her to follow them into the room or wait outside in the hall. It seemed presumptuous to do the former and so she stood where she was, and it must have been the right decision because the door closed, opening a few moments later as the maid exited wheeling a large wooden tea trolley on which reposed various dirty dishes and a coffee pot and cups. She shut the door carefully behind her before lifting her head and smiling at Daisy who smiled back.

  ‘The mistress had a late breakfast with the parson.’ It was said in explanation of the trolley and Daisy nodded. ‘She wasn’t expecting the family to call, you see.’ Daisy nodded again, she didn’t know quite what else to do, and was a little taken aback when the girl, after hesitating for a second, left the trolley where it was and nipped across to her side. ‘I don’t know why you’re here, lass, but don’t take no notice of them two in there, all right?’ she said under her breath. ‘You’d have to be a lord or a duchess to get a civil word from Miss Cecilia or Miss Felicity.’

  Daisy stared into the pretty little round face, the girl’s kindness warming her. ‘I’m here about the position of nurse companion,’ she whispered back. ‘Sir Augustus sent me.’

  ‘Did he?’ Kitty Murray tried to hide her surprise, not wishing to offend this lovely but lost-looking lass who she didn’t doubt had been treated like muck by the mistress’s nieces. The airs and graces them two put on you’d think they never had to visit the privy like everyone else. But this lass
did look church-mouse poor, and young with it. Anyone less like a nurse companion she’d never seen. Still, it was none of her business. And then contradicting her last thought - something Kitty did fairly frequently - she said, ‘You done anything like that before then?’

  ‘No . . . no, I haven’t.’

  So why had Sir Augustus sent her here with those two? And then, as voices rose in the drawing room, Kitty said quickly, ‘Sounds like the parson’s going, I’d better take the trolley along. ’Bye, lass.’ And she scooted off with a nimbleness that belied her very nearly pear-shaped body, her roundness of girth tapering towards the top of her head where a precarious bun of thick curly brown hair wobbled.

  She was nice. Daisy stared after the departing figure with the feeling her last friend in the world had just deserted her, and then turned her head back towards the drawing room as the door opened.

  A man came out, obviously the parson from his dress, and said to someone within the room, ‘Don’t be silly, I am more than capable of seeing myself out. This is my home from home after all,’ before he closed the door behind him. It was a precise action, and his footsteps were precise likewise as he crossed the hall, stopping in front of Daisy to say, ‘So you are the valiant young person who rescued Miss Fraser’s nephew from the sea? How do you do, young lady?’

  This kindness was unexpected, and the courtesy more so. Daisy found herself struggling for words, which was unusual, but managed to say, ‘How do you do, sir?’ fairly coherently.

  ‘Oh, how remiss of me. I am Parson Lyndon, a friend of Miss Fraser’s. And you are . . . ?’

  ‘Daisy. Daisy Appleby, sir.’

  ‘Well, you have done the Frasers a great service, but of course you know that.’ The parson smiled.

  Daisy made no answer to this but smiled back into the pleasant young face in front of her.

  She had always somehow imagined that parsons and such were getting on in years, but this one seemed nowhere near as old as her brother George, and he was tall and good-looking to boot. His hair was dark and so were his eyes, his features fine - it could all have appeared severe on someone else, but the kindly expression in his deep brown gaze didn’t allow this.

  ‘I must be going.’ Hector Lyndon gazed down at the fishergirl who, it seemed, had turned the Fraser household on its head, and had to admit to a feeling of surprise. This fresh young face, obvious shyness and patent innocence were not at all what he’d expected after what had been said in the drawing room, but then he should have known better than to form an opinion from anything Wilhelmina’s nieces said. He wasn’t so naive as to believe the sun of social harmony set bright in an unclouded heaven over England, and although he’d only met Sir Augustus once had thought the gentleman very like his daughters in his chilly self-satisfaction and absolute conviction that he belonged at the top of the heap.

  The clergyman became aware of the girl in front of him shifting her feet uncomfortably. ‘I’m sorry, I was daydreaming.’ He smiled again, but this time her answering smile was uncertain.

  He had disturbed her. Oh, dear, dear. She must be finding this visit overwhelming to say the least and he hadn’t exactly helped matters. What could he say to put her at her ease? This would never do.

  But the opportunity was gone when, in the next instant, the door to the drawing room opened and Felicity’s voice said coolly, ‘Appleby? My aunt will see you now,’ her cold gaze moving over the two of them in such a way that Hector found himself hastily taking his leave.

  When Daisy stepped into the drawing room her overall impression was of its richness of colour, followed almost immediately by a renewed churning in her stomach when she found herself facing the mistress of Evenley House. Wilhelmina Fraser had the family colouring and strong features, her black hair - in which no grey was apparent - piled high on her head in intricate curls which would have done credit to a woman half her age. Her eyes had the dark lustre of polished ebony, but the sickly-pale quality to her lined skin and the blue tinge to her lips betrayed her ill health. The main impact of her appearance, however, was an impression of indomitable authority and steely determination. It was this determination which had kept Wilhelmina alive for the last ten years since the heart condition first diagnosed in her as a young child had worsened.

  The grand lady stared at the fishergirl, and when one of William’s sisters opened her mouth to speak Wilhelmina forestalled her niece with a pre-emptive, ‘So you want to work for me, do you?’ directly to Daisy.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Daisy hadn’t expected it to be put quite so bluntly.

  ‘Why?’ Those black eyes were fixed on her face and were full of animation, their brightness only serving to emphasise the dull, parchment-like quality to skin drawn tight over the bones beneath.

  ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘It’s a simple enough question, child. I asked you why you wish to take up employment as a nurse companion to an old lady, work which will involve seeing to all my needs and dancing to my whims on occasion, because the elderly can be difficult. Were you aware of that?’ The piercing eyes flashed towards her nieces for an instant but Wilhelmina continued speaking with scarcely a pause. ‘Is it because you feel you have a vocation or a leaning towards such a position, or is the inordinate amount of money my brother is offering the chief inducement?’

  Daisy’s eyes narrowed. In spite of her obvious ill health and age, this was not a woman in her dotage. Although they were poles apart in station, Sir Augustus’s autocratic sister reminded her of her own granny, and her granny had never been one for blathering but preferred to call a spade a spade. And she didn’t like being humoured either. Daisy continued looking straight into the obsidian gaze even though her heart was pounding so hard it was threatening to choke her as she said, ‘It’s the money, ma’am.’

  She heard a quick intake of breath behind her, and one of the sisters murmuring, ‘Well, really!’ But Wilhelmina Fraser’s face had not moved a muscle.

  ‘And for the sum of six pounds a month you will endure working for a crabby old woman who is perverse, trying and vexatious, and enjoys being that way?’ she asked.

  ‘For six pounds a month, I’d endure much more than that, ma’am.’

  ‘Really, this is too much! You can’t let this . . . this person speak to you in such a way, Aunt.’ Cecilia’s long face was suffused with angry colour, her thin nose fairly quivering as she stepped round Daisy to stand in front of her aunt. ‘Surely you can see now that this whole scheme is utterly preposterous?’

  Wilhelmina considered the girl’s shrewish face for a moment. Her nieces were as plain as pikestaffs, and with as little shape too. Their private tutors had taught them a smattering of French, and impressed on them that the ability to sketch and paint in watercolour was an essential part of their education, along with accomplishments like playing the piano and fine stitchery. But it wasn’t their placid acceptance of the constrictions their father had placed on their minds and bodies since birth that made her dislike them so intensely, and not even their unshakeable belief in their own aristocratic supremacy. No, it was their meanness of mind, their spitefulness, and she was seeing these attributes in full measure today over the matter of this fishergirl.

  Wilhelmina reached for the small brass bell on the polished table at the side of her chair without answering Cecilia, and it seemed to Daisy that no sooner had it been rung than the door opened to reveal the maid. ‘My nieces are leaving.’ Her voice was glacial.

  ‘But, Aunt--’

  ‘And when you have shown Miss Felicity and Miss Cecilia out, you may inform Cook we have a guest for luncheon, a guest to whom the Frasers are deeply indebted incidentally. This is the young person who pulled my nephew out of the sea when he was foolish enough almost to drown himself, Kitty.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, miss.’ The maid bobbed her head at Daisy, lowering it again quickly but not before Daisy had noticed the twinkle in her eyes. Kitty had caught the message her mistress had sent her and was relishing the bristling outrage eviden
t on the faces of the two younger Frasers. So was Wilhelmina, if the gleefully vituperative expression on her face was anything to go by.

  ‘Have you a message for Father?’ Cecilia had swept over to the door with Felicity at her heels.

  ‘Only that I am delighted to avail myself of his kind offer.’

  ‘Very well. Good afternoon, Aunt Wilhelmina.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Cecilia. Felicity.’

  Once the door had closed Daisy was conscious of a feeling of relief which made her want to sag, and it was with some effort she kept her back straight and her chin up.

  ‘Don’t stand there as though you’re on parade, child.’ It was irritably spoken. ‘Sit down and tell me about yourself. And as you may have gathered there is no excess formality in this household, but that does not mean I am a soft touch. I might look old and decrepit, but it would be a brave man or woman who’d attempt to pull the wool over my eyes. Do we understand each other? You will doubtless rue the day you walked through that door. Everyone else seems to.’