CHAPTER SIXTEEN

On the morning of the following day and the one on which she expected Daniel back from Cirencester, Anna decided to make a preliminary visit to the village school.

It was a four-roomed cottage and was as clean and neat as anywhere housing a large number children had any chance of being. Although initially mildly flustered by the unexpected arrival of the viscountess, Mrs Jenson, the schoolmistress, quickly composed herself and welcomed Anna with a cautious smile and a curtsy.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady.’

‘And mine to be here – though I should apologise for not giving you any warning. I hope my visit isn’t ill-timed?’

‘Not at all, my lady. How can I help you?’

‘I’d like to look around the school, if I may,’ said Anna. ‘But actually I’m hoping there are ways in which I can help you – as I was used to doing in my former home.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve no intention of interfering or of upsetting your routine with constant visits.’

Relief flitted through the schoolmistress’s eyes.

‘Then may I ask what your ladyship has in mind?’

‘I won’t know that until you’ve shown me around. So … shall we?’

At the end of an hour, Anna had learned everything she needed to know.

There were currently a total of nineteen pupils, varying in age from five to eleven years and divided into two classes. Mrs Jenson taught the older pupils and fourteen-year-old, former pupil, Daisy Carter, the younger ones. Parents who could afford it, paid sixpence a week for the first child and fourpence for any subsequent ones but there was no regular funding – merely occasional donations from the nearby better-off tradesmen or farmers. The cottage in which the school was housed was Mrs Jenson’s home; having already been repaired far too many times, virtually all the classroom furniture needed replacing; and there was an urgent need for new slates, paper, pencils and books.

In short, the only thing Anna didn’t know was how the school was surviving at all.

Rising at the end of her discussion with the schoolmistress, she said, ‘My congratulations, Mrs Jenson. You are doing sterling work in less than ideal conditions and without the support you need and deserve. However, there are a number ways in which I can mend that, if you will allow me?’

‘ Allow you?’ echoed the other woman faintly. ‘My lady … anything you can do, however small, would be deeply appreciated, I assure you.’

‘Very well. The first thing must be a regular quarterly allowance, sufficient to cover repairs, replacements, day-to-day running costs such as fuel and also to provide you with a steady income. I shall instruct my man-of-law to set that in hand immediately. Regarding the other possibilities I have in mind, I shall need to speak with Lord Reculver about those and when I’ve done so, you and I can talk again.’ Pulling a purse from her pocket and handing it to the schoolmistress, she added, ‘Meanwhile, this should cover any immediate needs until the first payment arrives from my man-of-law. And now I’ve taken up more than enough of your time and will take my leave.’

‘B-But – I – I hardly know what to say, my lady,’ stammered Mrs Jenson, overcome.

‘Then don’t say anything, ma’am,’ replied Anna easily. And with a sudden smile, ‘There really isn’t any need.’

And she walked out, leaving the other woman to drop weakly into a chair feeling as if she’d strayed into the path of a tidal wave.

***

Leaving Cirencester immediately after walking out of the church, Daniel arrived home with ample time to bathe and change but less interested in doing either than he was in telling Anna what he had learned.

On his way to find her, a glance into the library told him that it was his own again. The windows gleamed and had been hung with new curtains; furniture had been given a thorough polishing, leaving the air scented with lavender; and balding rugs had been replaced with others which, though not new, were in better condition. Everything on his desk had been replaced exactly as he liked it. It was an altogether pleasanter room than it had been a fortnight ago.

Inevitably, Anna was in her own office, compiling what looked like lists. But as soon as he poked his head around the door she looked up, saying, ‘How was it? Or shall I ring for tea before you tell me?’

‘Wine, if you wouldn’t mind,’ he replied, dropping into a chair. ‘It may take a while … and very little of it is good. Has anything happened while I was away that I should know about?’

‘Nothing of any great consequence.’ She pulled the bell for Flynn and, when he appeared, asked for wine for his lordship and tea for herself. ‘I went to the school this morning. It is in desperate need of just about everything, so I promised the schoolmistress a quarterly allowance. And I have another idea that I’ll need to discuss with you.’

‘Go on, then.’

‘Now? There’s no particular hurry.’

‘I daresay.’ Give me a few minutes respite from what has been going round in my head since this morning . ‘But what I have to tell you requires privacy and no interruptions.’

‘Oh. Well, in that case … are you aware that the school is housed in the schoolmistress’s home and that it receives no regular funding at all? That, aside from the occasional small donation from local folk who can afford it, there’s no real provision for anything? ’

A frown touched his eyes. ‘No. I wasn’t. And I should have been. What else?’

So Anna explained about the number of pupils and Mrs Jenson’s weekly charges, leaving him to work out – as she had done – the meagre income this produced.

‘I see.’ A tap at the door heralded Flynn bearing wine and a footman with the tea tray. Daniel said, ‘Set it down, please. We can manage the rest ourselves.’ And when the door closed behind them, he rose and, gesturing to the wine said, ‘We’ll come back to this presently, Anna. Meanwhile, are you sure you won’t join me in a glass of wine?’

‘You think I’ll need it?’ she asked lightly.

‘No. But I certainly do.’

‘Then yes. I’ll join you.’

He filled two glasses, handed her one of them and downed half of the other, before refilling it and sitting down again. Then he said abruptly, ‘There is no debt. There never was. What there has been is blackmail, stretching back over twenty-five years.’

‘As long as that?’ gasped Anna. ‘No. Surely not?’

‘It doesn’t seem possible, does it? But Grimshaw admitted it. He said he and my father had a deal. His part in it was keeping Father’s secret from both his family and the world at large. And today, he offered to go on keeping it in return for one last payment of four thousand pounds.’ Daniel’s mouth curled derisively. ‘He must think me an idiot. Because it wouldn’t have been ‘one last payment’, would it?’

She shook her head. ‘I doubt it. You refused?’

‘I refused,’ agreed Daniel. ‘So then he offered to sell me the secret for the same price. I refused that as well and for the same reason – much as I wanted to know what Father could possibly have done that justified him plunging deeper and deeper into financial ruin.’

‘Are there no clues?’ asked Anna. ‘No other way we can find out?’

For what seemed a long time, he stared silently into his glass. Finally he said, ‘I may already have done so. I could be wrong, of course … but I don’t think so.’ He paused again. ‘Grimshaw lives with his brother’s widow. I met her today. She’s on the shady side of forty but, in the right company, could still turn heads And later, I saw her son. Tall fellow, a few years younger than myself; dark eyes, dark hair … and a pronounced widow’s peak.’

Anna’s eyes widened and her hand crept to her mouth.

‘Like Rebecca?’

‘ Just like Rebecca,’ he replied grimly. ‘Sufficiently so to be our brother … which is presumably what he is.’

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, ‘But surely your father can’t have been …’ She stopped and then, sighing, said, ‘But he was, wasn’t he?’

‘Having an affair with Grimshaw’s brother’s wife – or widow if that’s what she already was? Yes. Stupid not to see that, once he began paying Grimshaw for his silence, he’d be doing it for forever? Again, yes.’ Daniel drained his glass and refilled it. ‘To be fair, it may have begun with payments for the boy’s upkeep and later on, for his education and so forth. But it wouldn’t have taken Grimshaw long to realise that as long as Father wanted it kept from us – his family – he’d go on paying.’

‘The loans your father had taken out … do you think they were because of this?’

‘Since I’ve never been able to account for them any other way, what else could they be?’ asked Daniel bitterly. ‘He gradually beggared the estate rather than acknowledge an affair and the result of it. How irresponsible … how monumentally stupid is that? Did he think the gradual slide into bankruptcy would be easier on Mama than standing up to Grimshaw and telling her the truth of what he’d done before she could hear of it elsewhere? But perhaps, as the years went by, it didn’t bother him too much since I was the one who was going to have to pick up the pieces. God! ’ He shoved a hand through his hair, dislodging the ribbon. ‘Anna … you cannot imagine how utterly bloody furious I am.’

‘Oh, I think I can. And you’ve every right to be.’

Inevitably, unhappily, she couldn’t help recognising – as Daniel must be doing – that had the late viscount refused to allow Grimshaw to continue blackmailing him, Daniel might not have been left with no choice but to marry for money; to marry her .

In fact, Daniel was thinking something quite different and was surprised that the notion hadn’t occurred to him before. His father had been a superb horseman. Far too good to misjudge a jump or set his horse at a wall without knowing what lay on the far side of it. But on that day in December it appeared he’d done one or the other … and it had killed him. For the first time, Daniel found himself wondering uneasily if that fall hadn’t been a tragic accident at all but Father finally reaching the end of his tether and taking the quickest and, perhaps to him, the easiest way out. Discovering that he felt slightly sick, he did his best to push the idea aside at least for the time being. Everything was quite bad enough already without having to wonder if his father had committed suicide.

He took a couple of slow, bracing breaths and then said, ‘We have to decide what to do. We may have a few days’ grace while Grimshaw hopes curiosity will get the better of me and I’ll go back, prepared to pay – not four thousand perhaps, but something for the truth. However, at some point soon, he’s going to bring it all out in the open; perhaps by word of mouth or letters to various acquaintances … or, more likely in my opinion, by selling the tale to one of the scandal sheets.’

‘How many people are likely to care about an illegitimate child sired a quarter of a century ago?’ asked Anna reasonably. ‘Not many, surely. Perhaps if your father had left the child and his mother to starve … but he didn’t. It’s a commonplace enough story in its way and, by now, very old news.’

‘To you and me, perhaps. But that won’t stop the gossip.’

‘All right. I can’t deny that. But while Grimshaw is blackening your father’s name, he’ll also be ruining his sister-in-law’s reputation and branding his nephew a – a –’ She stopped, unwilling to say it.

‘A bastard,’ supplied Daniel. ‘Yes. But then he isn’t his nephew, is he? He’s no blood relation to Grimshaw at all – which is the only thing in all of this that, if I was him, I’d be grateful for.’

‘True. But he and his mother are the ones who will suffer most if his true parentage is revealed to the world. Cirencester isn’t a large place. Everyone who knows them will hear of it. Imagine what that will do to their lives. And you say that Grimshaw lives in the sister-in-law’s house. She’s hardly likely to let him continue to do so when he’s set her and her son in the public pillory, is she? Surely that’s enough to make him hold his tongue?’

‘It may be, I suppose. But I daren’t rely on it. If it’s all going to come out, I can’t risk it hitting Mama out of the blue,’ he said wearily. ‘I’m going to have to tell her so that, if the worst happens, at least she’s prepared. Rebecca, too. They’ll both be devastated. Despite everything else Father did, they at least had the comfort of believing him faithful, loving and, above all, honourable.’ He shut his eyes for a moment and then, opening them, ‘You’ll notice I haven’t begun to think of what it will mean for you and me. Particularly you – since you didn’t marry me expecting to find yourself in the eye of a scandal. If it helps at all, I’m sorry for it.’

‘You have nothing to apologise for. None of it is your doing. And if Grimshaw makes it public, we’ll deal with it.’ Anna rose and, to his surprise, refilled his glass. ‘In fact, the first thing we should do is alert the lawyers. If there is the smallest chance of bringing a charge of extortion against Grimshaw, we should take it.’

‘I already threatened him with that. But he knows we haven’t any proof.’

‘As yet, we haven’t tried to find any.’ The merest germ of an idea stirred at the back of her mind but she put it aside to consider later and said instead, ‘Don’t say anything to your mother just yet. It may be unnecessary. Given the destruction it would wreak in Grimshaw’s own home life, there’s a good chance he won’t make the story public. But you said your father was paying him to keep it from this house as much as from the world. To me, that suggests Grimshaw will be much more likely to try telling your mother. That way he gets what he’s doubtless thinking of as his revenge without any inconvenience to himself. But with a bit of care, we can stop that happening.’

‘How?’ asked Daniel edgily.

‘Describe Grimshaw to Flynn, giving orders that, if he comes here and regardless of anything he may say, he is not to be admitted,’ replied Anna. ‘And for the next few weeks, have all correspondence addressed to your mother brought to you first. Meanwhile, keep a close eye on the newspapers – here, in Cirencester and in London. I honestly don’t believe Grimshaw will go down that route but it’s still best to take what precautions we can.’ Unable to help herself, she reached out to lay her hand over his, ‘We can weather this, Daniel – and we will.’

He turned his hand over and gripped hers. ‘I hope so. And … thank you.’

‘No need for that.’

‘I think there is. So … finish what you were saying about the school.’

She shook her head, relishing the warmth of his fingers around hers. ‘As I said, there’s no hurry for that. Tomorrow will do.’

‘I daresay. But now will give me something else to think about. So … tell me. For example, is there only the schoolmistress or does she have an assistant teacher?’

‘Sort of. What she has is Daisy Carter; a fourteen-year-old former pupil who teaches the youngest pupils in return for a shilling a week and extra lessons. But now Daisy’s father has heard that we’ve been taking on extra staff here, he’s decreed that she is to go into service when she turns fifteen – which is in three months’ time. Not only does Mrs Jenson not want to lose her, she says it would be a waste of a promising mind.’

Frowning a little, he said, ‘Is there more?’

‘Do you need more?’

‘No. But if there is, I ought to hear it.’

‘Well, then. The furniture is dropping apart, as are most of the books but my donations will be sufficient to take care of that and a few other things, too. However, for years, Mrs Jenson has been using half of her home as a school – for which she hasn’t been paid or even compensated for things like coal or candles. It’s a disgrace. Either the school should be situated elsewhere or Mrs Jenson should have another cottage to live in. And that is where you come in.’

‘I rather suspected that it might be.’

‘You told me that there were empty cottages on the estate.’

‘I did and there are.’

‘Might any of them be suitable?’

‘For the schoolmistress to live in? Or to become the school-house?’

‘Either.’ And before he had a chance to reply she blurted out, ‘Apparently your father never took any interest in the school. The village accepted that, at least in recent years, he couldn’t afford to do so. But now they know that things have changed. You and I can make a difference, Daniel. And one way to do it is by giving the village the school it needs. Mrs Jenson has been charging her pupils because it was the only way to keep the school open – but that means some children don’t attend. That is easy enough to change. But, as I’ve said, there’s also the question of proper premises and –’

‘Stop. I take the point.’ He managed something resembling a smile. ‘You want a cottage?’

‘Yes please.’

‘Then I’ll see what I can do.’

***

On the following afternoon, Daniel handed Anna the key of the empty cottage lying nearest to the village.

‘It was repaired along with the others so it’s ready for use. If Mrs Jenson wants to live there I’ll make it the official home of the school principal – at a peppercorn rent so that the estate retains ownership and is thus responsible for its upkeep. Her own cottage would continue to be the school-house and she could either rent it to the estate or sell it to me outright.’

‘That’s generous. And if she prefers to stay in her own home?’

‘The empty cottage becomes the school-house,’ he shrugged. ‘Now … regarding Daisy Carter. I’ll inform her father that, provided she continues at the school, she’ll be added to the roll of household employees and receive the same wage as a junior chambermaid.’

Anna laughed. ‘There’s not much he can say to that, is there?’

‘Nothing at all, I hope. I leave Mrs Jenson to you. Take her to see the cottage tomorrow morning, ask her for a decision and tell her that I’ll call in a couple of days to answer any questions she may have before having Longhope deal with the legalities.’

***

Mrs Jenson toured the empty cottage in silence. At the end, with tears in her eyes, she said, ‘There is a garden. It’s been so long since I had one because the children needed space to play. And I’ve missed it dreadfully.’

Anna smiled. ‘Does that mean you might like to live here?’

‘I would love to live here, my lady, truly I would! I can’t thank you enough.’

‘Thank his lordship. I merely brought the situation to his attention. And for you to have a home of your own and while the school remains where it is seems an ideal solution.’ Anna held out the key. ‘You may as well have this now. Let me know when you’ve moved in and tell your pupils that they’ll be having a little holiday while the school is redecorated, given new furniture and probably a host of other things I haven’t thought of yet. Oh – and expect to hear from my lawyer, Mr Landry. He’ll be arranging financial matters with you. As for the cottage,’ she finished with a smile, ‘his lordship and I hope you’ll be very happy here. And now you must excuse me. I’m told there’s illness of some sort at Reynolds’ farm and want to find out if there is anything they need.’

~**~** ~