Nobody’s Girl Page 9

  Meg ignored his proffered hand. She didn’t want anything to do with anyone from Robin Hill House which she vaguely recalled was the name of the Stratfield-Whyte home. He was another of their servants, probably as despicable as that bastard chauffeur. Oh, Lord, where had that shameful word come from that had suddenly jumped into her head? But at that moment, Mercury skidded around one of the open doors and dashed up to her, barking with joy and jumping up at her with his tail wagging nineteen to the dozen.

  The taut thread inside her snapped. She dropped onto her haunches, trying to hug her beloved pet to her. But he was wriggling with excitement after his confusing overnight stay in a strange place, turning joyous circles, licking her with his rough, rasping tongue, then prancing away again. It was only after several attempts that the collie managed to contain himself sufficiently to obey Meg’s command to sit, although his tail still swept the wet concrete and he looked as if he might spring up again at any second. He just kept still long enough for Meg to kiss his finely domed head, stroke his long, silky coat. The feel of him beneath her fingers seemed to soothe her bleeding heart, her only true friend in the entire world now.

  ‘He seems pleased to be home.’

  Meg glanced up at the temporarily forgotten stranger. At least he no longer appeared as a threat, even though he was an unhappy reminder of her grief. She straightened up and Mercury lived up to his name by racing off to reunite himself with his other friends about the farm. Meg followed him, brushing abruptly past her unwelcome visitor to turn off the hose at the tap.

  ‘He’s quite young still,’ she informed the stranger, although quite why she was engaging in conversation with him, she wasn’t sure. ‘Eighteen months. Dad’s been trying…’ She pulled herself up short, black despair taking hold of her again. She swallowed it down. ‘We’ve been trying to train him as a sheepdog,’ she tried again, ‘but he just wants to play.’

  ‘You have sheep as well as cows, then? And I noticed pigs and hens as well. I wasn’t being nosey,’ he added defensively. ‘It’s just that I didn’t know where you’d be and I looked all over before I found you.’

  ‘Yes. My parents,’ Meg began, straining to hold her wretchedness in check, ‘believed in mixed farming, everything except arable, that is. So that’s what I’ll be doing, too.’

  She saw the intruder lift a sceptical eyebrow and resentment flickered inside her again as he spoke.

  ‘So you intend to continue with the farm on your own? Aren’t you a bit young to—’

  ‘Of course I’m going to continue,’ she interrupted him, eyes snapping. ‘It’s my farm now, and I was born here so I know it inside out. I can farm it as well as anyone. Now what have you done with my horse and cart? Then you can be on your way.’

  She went to stride around the corner of the shed, but the young man caught her arm. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through right now. But you seem so young to run all this.’

  Meg threw off his hand, glaring at him furiously before storming off into the farmyard. She heard him hurrying after her, almost pleased that she had slighted him. What had he said his name was, not that she cared a jot? She saw that he had left Duchess tethered outside on the track, and supposed he had worked out that if there were any animals loose in the yard, they might escape if he opened the gate to drive through. So at least he had some common sense!

  As it happened, the only loose beast at the time was Mercury, who was cavorting about, investigating all his favourite smells and checking they hadn’t changed in his absence. Uncontrolled though he was in some ways, however, he never bounded off further than the end of the track, so Meg opened the gate wide and drove Duchess and the wagon inside, jumping down lightly from the seat.

  ‘There, you can go now,’ she curtly instructed the stranger.

  ‘I’ll just help you unharness her,’ he replied obliquely, his fingers already on the chains that attached Duchess’s tack to the wagon’s shafts. ‘It’s the least I can do.’

  Meg bunched her lips. He obviously wasn’t going to be put off, and with the way her shoulder was still hurting, she reluctantly admitted to herself that his help would be welcome, especially with the heavy collar. Not that she was going to let on to him!

  ‘I assume you’re happy to leave the cart in the yard? You don’t want it backed into a barn or anything before I unhook it?’

  It was Meg’s turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘No, it can stay in the yard for now. But tell me, if you’re a gardener, how come you know so much about horses? I’d expected Mr Stratfield-whatever-he-is to bring Duchess back. He said he rode a lot in his youth.’

  ‘Yes, he did.’ The fellow gave a casual shrug as he went on unhitching the wagon. ‘As for me, my father came to Robin Hill House as head gardener about nine years ago, but he worked on a big estate before that, and there was a full working farm there. I used to spend a lot of time messing around there as a kid, and they used horses rather than a tractor. The Stratfield-Whytes keep a small farm at Robin Hill House, too, actually. A few cows to supply milk for the house, some sheep and goats to keep the grass down, and a couple of pigs, that sort of thing. I’m supposed to look after them as best I can. Oh, and there’s some hens, but the kitchen maid sees to them.’

  ‘Sounds more like a toy farm to me,’ Meg scoffed.

  ‘Oh, it is,’ the stranger agreed cheerfully. ‘There’s lots of pets, too. Dogs and cats all over the place. I think Mercury enjoyed their company. And we were able to look after Duchess properly as well. Now, where do you want this collar?’ he asked, turning it round to heave it over Duchess’s ears.

  ‘Over there.’ Meg jabbed her head towards the open door of one of the stables as she undid the girth of the cart saddle.

  ‘I’ll put all that away for you. Might as well make use of me while I’m here. It’s heavy gear.’

  Meg looked at him darkly. She wasn’t going to thank him, but left the tack on the ground while she led Duchess out to her field. When she returned, the fellow was lounging against one of the wagon’s wheels.

  ‘You still here?’ she questioned him tersely.

  ‘I’m waiting for my lift.’

  ‘Lift?’

  ‘Yes. Mr and Mrs Stratfield-Whyte said they’d drive over to take me home. It’d be rather a long walk. And they want to talk to you.’

  ‘Do they now?’ Meg settled her balled fists firmly on her hips. ‘Well, I don’t want to talk to them.’

  ‘Listen, Miss Chandler.’ The young man pushed himself away from the wagon and went to follow her as she marched towards the back door of the farmhouse. ‘You don’t seem to understand—’

  ‘I understand perfectly well.’

  She spun round, anger flaring in her cheeks, ready to give the blackguard the length of her tongue. But as she did so, the farmyard seemed to whirl around her and everything quivered in wavering lines. She stretched her eyes, taking a step sideways to catch her balance.

  ‘Whoa!’

  The stranger’s voice seemed to come from close to her ear, and yet it was oddly muffled. She felt herself sinking into a deep, black hole, which was curiously comforting, as if in its gentle cradle she could hide from the horror of the reality she was facing. When the grey heaviness began to lift from her eyes a few seconds later, she realised she was being carried in strong arms through her own back door and she didn’t have the strength to protest. A moment’s hesitation as her saviour found his way in the unfamiliar house, and she was being settled on the worn old sofa that lived beside the range in the kitchen.

  ‘What on earth do you think…?’ her lips mumbled.

  ‘Oh, do shut up. It’s lucky I was here. You fainted, that’s all. Not surprising with the shock of what you’ve been through. And have you eaten anything today?’

  Meg frowned, trying to remember. ‘Er, no, I don’t think I have,’ she admitted. ‘In fact, yesterday’s picnic lunch must have been the last time I ate.’

  ‘Let’s
find you something, then. But first, a cup of tea, I think.’

  Meg shook her head, stifling a moan. ‘The range has gone out.’

  She went to drag herself from the sofa, but found a restraining hand on her shoulder. ‘No, you stay there. I’ll see to it.’

  Grudgingly, Meg lay back, closing her eyes again. If she were honest with herself, she was extremely grateful and listened happily to the sound of the range being raked out. Even when it was relit, though, it would be some time before it would be hot enough to boil the kettle. She was astounded, therefore, when someone was shaking her arm and she opened her eyes to see a cup of steaming tea waving before her.

  The surprise must have shown on her face. ‘You fell asleep,’ came the explanation, and it was accompanied by a sympathetic smile. ‘Drink this and you’ll feel better. I’ve got a couple of boiled eggs nearly done, and some toast. I’ll make myself a mug of tea as well, if that’s all right.’

  Well, she could hardly object, could she? ‘Of course,’ she murmured, sitting up to sip at her drink. It seemed to melt the block of ice that had frozen about her heart, and she thought she had never tasted anything so good. A few minutes later, a tray was deposited on her lap. She didn’t feel like eating, but once she’d taken a nibble of the hot, thickly buttered toast and a spoonful of perfectly cooked runny egg yolk, her stomach stopped rebelling and she tucked in. It wasn’t until she’d finished that she realised the stranger had been silently observing her as he sipped his own drink.

  ‘Shall I take that?’ he offered, removing the tray before she had a chance to answer.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ Meg replied, wishing at once she hadn’t been so polite. But really, he had been kind to her, even if she was reluctant to admit it. ‘So, the Stratfield-Whytes are on their way, you say?’ she sighed distantly.

  ‘Yes. Only, please don’t misjudge them. They’re really good people. I should know. Ever since my dad came to work for them, we’ve lived in a cottage in the grounds, so we see everything that goes on. You wouldn’t believe how kind they are, even if the family did have some aristocratic connections in the past. But they’re so friendly and they don’t stand on ceremony. And I can assure you they’re both devastated by what happened yesterday.’

  ‘But they haven’t just lost both their parents in one fell swoop, have they?’

  Meg’s gaze locked with his, ready to do battle, but his eyes were so soft with compassion that they seemed to drain the fight out of her. She noticed that they were a striking, almost uniform caramel, and that the chap’s features were altogether quite pleasing. She didn’t want them to be, but before she could throw the acknowledgement aside, a tornado of black and white fur hurtled into the room and Mercury landed on top of her, smothering her in slobbering licks.

  ‘Oh, get off, you stupid dog,’ she chided, cross with herself because she almost laughed. And when she saw the amusement on the stranger’s face, her resentment slackened. ‘What did you say your name was?’ she asked, since she supposed she ought to know.

  ‘Ralph Hillier. At your service.’

  He gave a little bow and Meg dipped her head in response. Yes, she remembered Mr Stratfield-Whyte mentioning a Ralph the day before. ‘Well, Ralph Hillier, I don’t want you here, as you know. But I am grateful for what you’ve done.’

  ‘It was the least I could do. By the way, we checked your cart over to make sure there was no damage, and it seems fine.’

  ‘Huh, that’s the least of my worries,’ Meg scoffed, feeling her spirit returning now that the sustenance had revived her.

  Ralph’s eyebrows swooped. ‘Perhaps. But you’re going to have to deal with a lot of practical matters, and that’s one less. But that’s another reason why Mr and Mrs Stratfield-Whyte want to speak to you. And they want to support you in other ways, too. Emotionally, I suppose you’d say.’

  ‘Well, they should’ve thought of that before they let their chauffeur race through the lanes like a maniac.’

  Ralph looked a little abashed. ‘They had, well, other things on their minds. Perhaps I shouldn’t be telling you this, but things aren’t so good with the business at the moment. Mr Stratfield-Whyte was on his way back from a business trip and I think they must’ve been engrossed in discussion and that was why they didn’t realise Green was driving too fast.’

  Meg snorted derisively. ‘Surely it’s not the first time he’s driven at that speed? It isn’t the sort of thing you start doing suddenly.’

  ‘Maybe not, I don’t know. But not with Mrs Stratfield-Whyte, I’m sure. He might’ve got away with it more with her husband. I have to say, I never liked Green much. The previous chauffeur was so much nicer. I was really sorry when he left. Wanted to be near his ageing parents in Bristol. But Nathaniel Green, well…’ Ralph sucked in his lips as he shook his head. ‘Let’s say he was never my cup of tea. But it wasn’t my place to say anything.’

  ‘And as a result, my parents are dead,’ Meg spat, hackles bristling again.

  Ralph let his breath out in a heavy stream. ‘If you want to look at it that way, I can’t stop you. But you really must let the Stratfield-Whytes’ help. There’ll be so many things you won’t be able to deal with on your own. It’s not something I’d want to do alone.’

  ‘Then it’s lucky you don’t have to, isn’t it?’

  ‘And how old are you, miss?’ Ralph went on, ignoring her cutting remark.

  ‘Sixteen,’ Meg snapped defensively. ‘At least I will be in a couple of weeks.’

  ‘That young? Well, you certainly won’t be able to keep the farm on.’

  ‘Oh, yes I will!’

  ‘Well, I’ve no doubt you’re capable. But the thing is, assuming you don’t own the farm and you rent it, as far as I know, you’re too young to hold the—’

  Rage frothed up inside Meg again and finally burst out in an explosion. ‘I don’t know who the hell you think you are, wheedling your way in here uninvited and then trying to tell me what I can and can’t do!’ She sprang to her feet, dancing on the spot as she tried to contain her anger. ‘Now get out of my house, and you can tell your precious employers to—’

  ‘Oh, my goodness, what on earth…’

  The door opened, and there stood Clarissa, the expression on her face one of stunned horror. Wigmore was behind her, his brow deeply furrowed as he observed the two young people, both their faces flushed with anger.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Clarrie apologised. ‘We did knock at the front door, but you can’t have heard us. So we found our way round the back and followed your… your voices. Oh, Ralph, you shouldn’t have upset the poor child. Go outside and wait for us while we talk to Miss Chandler. Now then, may I call you Meg?’ She smiled tentatively, her eyes a persuasive, kind cornflower blue. ‘Let’s sit down nice and calmly and start talking things through. Now how are you this morning, my dear? We really didn’t like leaving you alone last night.’

  Meg pursed her lips. ‘I was perfectly happy, thank you, given the obvious,’ she said tersely. ‘This is my home, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. And I’d rather not share it with strangers.’

  She saw the couple glance at each other warily, but then the woman sucked in her cheeks and began afresh.

  ‘Well, there’s an awful lot to think about. Your father’s bank account, for instance. And you might need a solicitor. But first we need to take you back to the hospital to collect your parents’ effects. Then there’s the registrar to see. And you’ll need to engage an undertaker, with the funeral to arrange. But let us say again that we are so deeply, truly sorry for what happened. I know there’s nothing we can say or do to comfort you, but I do hope you’ll let us ease your burden in other ways.’

  Mrs Stratfield-Whyte came towards Meg, hands outstretched to take hers. Suddenly, there did seem to be a daunting list of matters to deal with, things Meg hadn’t thought of. And the older woman’s face was so full of compassion and yet so composed, so mesmerising, that all Meg’s hatred deserted her, and she allowed herse
lf to be led meekly back to the sofa.

  Ten

  Nathaniel Green scowled rebelliously as he strode up the long hill towards the Robin Hill House estate. Damn that girl and her family and that bloody cart! With motorised vehicles having taken over the roads nowadays, they had no right to be driving such an enormous, slow-moving obstacle along a public highway. The slowest bicycle would have been travelling at three times the speed and would have been easy enough to overtake. And how was he to know that as he came round the bend, the dazzling sunlight reflecting on the wet tarmac was going to blind him? And he’d definitely not been driving too fast. If he had been, old Stratfield-Whyte would’ve told him to slow down earlier, wouldn’t he? His employer had only done so when his wife had said something, and what did women know about speed? They shouldn’t be allowed to drive, in his opinion! No road sense at all.

  And now he was being blamed for something that wasn’t his fault. He’d been kept in custody overnight and had been lucky – so the station sergeant had proclaimed – that the magistrate had been sitting in the morning and he’d been able to apply for bail. Luckier still was that he’d managed to persuade his elderly bachelor uncle, who had no idea about motorcars and rules of the road, that he’d been wrongly charged with dangerous driving. After all, how could he possibly be found guilty when he’d safely avoided an accident which the cart had caused, when all was said and done? If he’d been driving dangerously, he wouldn’t have been able to take avoiding action, would he? If that stupid horse had taken fright, it had nothing to do with him! The animal shouldn’t have been on the road if it was that skittish. And he would bloody well say so when the case came to court.

  Not that he’d couched his case to his uncle in such strident terms. Fortunately the old duffer was a retired shopkeeper of both respect and accumulated wealth. He’d never had much time for his errant nephew, but saw it as a matter of family honour, and so had been willing to put up bail should the magistrate grant it. The only reason the magistrate had done so was because Nathaniel wouldn’t have access to a motor vehicle between then and the trial.