Stranger at the Manor by Mary Kingswood

14: A New Acquaintance

Phyllida was so astonished that she actually laughed. How could she be cross with him, this eager young man? He was her son, her own flesh and blood. He was her family.

Strangely, it was Charu who responded, giggling. “No, no! This is Miss Beasley. She is a spinster, you see, never married, so she could not be your mother.”

He blushed crimson and his face fell ludicrously. He looked so disappointed that Phyllida had a great urge to hug him.

“Oh. I… I beg your pardon, madam. I meant no offence. I just thought… Mr Holt said… but he was mistaken, I can see that. I daresay I got hold of the wrong end of the stick, and I was that excited, it never occurred to me… I so longed to meet her, you see. My mother. To talk to her. Ask her questions about… about my family. That’s the trouble, you see, being left at an orphanage and knowing that you’re not… that there’s kin out there somewhere.”

Phyllida got to her feet. She was quite calm, now, or at least, as calm as any woman would be when talking to her grown child for the first time. “Shall we go for a walk?” she said. “Just a little walk, and then I can answer all your questions.”

“Then you knew her? My mother? And my father? You knew him, too?” He was so eager, he reminded her of a bouncy puppy hoping for a treat.

“I knew your father,” she said evenly. “Let me get my bonnet.”

“I will come with you,” Peter said, his voice sharp.

“Thank you, but there is no need. I shall be quite all right.”

She was aware of the curious looks of the hotelier and Taylor, and Peter’s worried face as they left, but she did not care. She was with her son, and the world might do as it pleased, for nothing could dent her happiness. She had never felt lighter in spirits than in that moment. Her son! He was alive, and he was by her side, as real as she was, and not a creature of her imagination any longer.

“Where are we to walk to?” he asked.

“To the church. A suitable place for confessions, is it not?”

“Ah,” was all he said. He understood.

St Thomas’s church was a short distance from the hotel, echoingly empty at this hour.

“Which is your pew?” she asked.

“Over here.” He opened the door, with the name ‘Beckford’ on the card, and ushered her inside.

“So you are apprenticed to a coach builder?” she said, as they sat on the wooden seats polished to a high shine by generations of Beckford behinds. “Do you enjoy the work?”

“Aye, I do. Making the body is the best part, but I can turn my hand to most of it. I do the painting, sometimes, too, but not if it’s anything fancy.”

“And your master is kind to you?”

He shrugged. “Well, he’s hard to please, and you have to pull your weight. He won’t stand for shirkers. But he’s fair, I’ll say that for him. He could have turned me off once I’d done my time, but he didn’t. Gives me the proper wages, too. He’s not generous, but like I say, he’s fair. You know, Miss Beasley, I wish you were my mother. You have such a kind face.”

And that was the opening she could not refuse. “I am indeed your mother, Christian.”

“Ah.” It was so soft it was almost a sigh. “I wondered… and you mentioned confessions. Will you tell me about it? Whatever you feel comfortable with. I don’t want to pry. But… I’d like to know… why you left me here. I’ve always wondered.”

So she told him… not all of it, for he was so young and innocent, but something of the tale… that she had found herself with child, and without a husband, and had come to Harrogate for her confinement, because of the orphanage. He listened intently, arms resting on knees, his face serious, nodding occasionally but saying nothing until she had run out of words.

“What a cur!” he said, sitting back and folding his arms. “What an utter scoundrel. Who was he, this man who abandoned you? My father, God rot him,” he added, in bitter tones.

“His name was Thomas Saxby. Lord Saxby. The Sixth Baron Saxby of Maeswood Hall.”

“A baron! Good heavens! But why? Was he already married?”

“No, but I was hardly a suitable wife for a lord. I was the poor relation, without looks or wealth or accomplishments.”

“That’s hardly the point, is it? Everyone knows that if you take advantage of a girl and get one in the basket, you see her right, whether you’re a baron or a beggar.”

Phyllida laughed, but his words resonated with her. ‘If you take advantage of a girl…’ Yes, Thomas had taken advantage of her, there was no question about it, and he had not seen her right. Even if he had chosen not to marry her, he should not have ignored his obligation towards her. ‘You see her right, whether you’re a baron or a beggar.’ Christian spoke the words as if they were obvious and natural, and perhaps they were. A man should always take care of the problems he had caused. If ever Phyllida spilt something, her mother had said to her, “You made the mess, so you clean it up, my girl.” Surely that applied to Lord Saxby too?

For a while they talked, mostly about Thomas, for he was more interested in his father than his mother, seemingly. But gradually, he asked about her, too, and all that had happened to her in twenty-one years. It took little time to tell, for what had she done, after all? Very little.

With a sigh, he said quietly, “So I am illegitimate after all.”

“I am afraid so.”

“So many of the foundlings were, but I was always quite proud that I was not. Mrs Barnaby, you see… my mother was married. Or so I thought.”

“Are you very disappointed?” she asked timidly.

“No, not really. Being legitimate… having a proper family… belonging… well, I would’ve liked that. But I’ll have a family of my own one day. A wife and a string of babes… whose grandfather is a baron.” He laughed. “I’d like to meet him, this Lord Saxby.”

“You are too late. He died in January, together with his son and heir. The next baron has only just been tracked down — a bank clerk from Edinburgh.”

“Lord, that’s funny! So the bad baron is to be replaced by the bank clerk baron.”

The bad baron… that made her smile. “It is a very great shock to some of the Saxbys. Christian… do you…? I mean, are you angry with me? You must have resented me for abandoning you to an uncertain future while I went back to my comfortable life.”

He sighed. “Sometimes I was miserable about it, right enough. It was the not knowing that was so hard. I thought you must have had a good reason for what you did, but I wondered so much about what it was… what drove a respectably married woman, as I thought, to abandon her child. I used to make up reasons for it… that you’d been forced to marry a wicked man who beat you and such like, then you met the love of your life and had a child, but you couldn’t let your husband find out. That sort of thing.” He laughed quietly. “I had a vivid imagination! But it wasn’t anything so romantic, was it?”

“No, just the usual sordid story,” she said sadly.

“But I never gave up hope,” he said, a fierce spark in his eye. “I wanted it so badly… I dreamt of it… meeting you… I thought, you see, that one day you would come for me and we would be together again, but real life isn’t like that, is it? Dreams don’t really come true. I know I can’t just walk into your life. You’ll go back to Shropshire, and I’ll stay here, and that’s an end to it.”

But there was a bitterness in his tone that pierced Phyllida’s very soul.

“I wish you could!” she said with a spurt of anger. “I’d love to— but there is no use thinking about it. I wanted to know if you were alive, and now that I have done so, I can return to Shropshire contented. But what about you? Are you also contented? Or do you blame me for my wickedness? You believed me to be a respectable widow and I am very far from respectable.”

“Blame you? Lord, no! If you hadn’t done what you did, I wouldn’t be alive today, and I’m very glad I am, I can tell you.”

“So am I,” she said softly. “So am I.”

To her astonishment, he wrapped his arms around her, and murmured, “Thank you! Thank you for giving me life, and for sending money to the orphanage all these years, and thank you for this.” He unwound his arms, and reached into a pocket, pulling out a tiny velvet purse. “One of the girls made the bag for it.” And from within he drew forth the square of embroidered linen. “Thank you for giving me good principles. Your words kept me straight, and some of the foundlings didn’t manage that, I can tell you. But I did, because of this.”

Phyllida opened her reticule and produced her own embroidered square.

“You have one too!” he cried.

“I have carried this with me every day, wherever I went,” she said. “I thought of you every single day, Christian, and prayed for you, and never, ever thought I would meet you. I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to know you at last, and to see that you grew up to be such a fine man.”

“It makes me happy to know you, too,” he said simply. “This is the best day of my life.”

They each dropped a coin into the offering box and then walked slowly back to the hotel. The streets were thronged, and Christian nodded to one or two acquaintances as they walked. He said nothing, but the silence between them was comfortable, she felt. She liked having him by her side, his solidity reassuring. He was tall, well-built as many young men were who laboured for their bread, and there was something glorious in his very presence. Her son!

~~~~~

Peter watched them leave in some anxiety. Phyllida was composed, and he hoped he knew her well enough to interpret her moods, but surely she could not be as calm as she seemed? What would she tell him — the truth? Or would she cling to the respectability of the story they had concocted, that she was a friend of Mrs Barnaby, who had died… or moved away… What had they agreed? Gone to India, he thought. But she had told the boy that she knew his father so she could talk about that without deception, at least.

Taylor snorted. “Well, she’s a dark horse, eh?”

“Nonsense!” Charu said, standing up to lean across the table and hiss in his face. “She is a fine lady, no matter what foul lies your guttersnipe mind has come up with, Robert Taylor!”

“No need to ring a peal over me,” he said, picking up his spoon again. “It’s only what folk will say.”

“What will they say?” Peter said, and Taylor shrank away at the sternness in his voice.

“I dunno… that the quiet ones always have dark pasts. Now don’t get mad at me, sir. It’s just a saying. Looks like there’s something in it, don’t it?”

Peter’s only thought at that moment was to wipe the insolent smirk from the fellow’s face, but a small hand on his sleeve stopped him.

Charu smiled grimly. “No, Mr Winslade, I shall deal with this. Robert, do you know who my mother’s family is?”

“Aye, they’re royalty in India, aren’t they? Your ma’s a princess.”

“Something like that. In India there are many unusual plants. Animals, too. Snakes… many, many venomous snakes. Poisonous, Robert. I know a dozen different poisons that no physician in England knows anything about, undetectable, silent killers, and if you breathe so much as a single word of any of your foul innuendo to a living soul, you will find out the truth of that. Do I make myself clear?”

Ashen-faced, he nodded, then bent his head to his bowl, supping the stew noisily. Charu and Peter sat down, eating in wary silence, until Taylor had satisfied his appetite and sloped off to the tap room for the rest of the evening. Peter laid down his knife and fork, exhaling sharply.

“Is that true? The dozen poisons?”

“Goodness, no! It is no more than four… or maybe five.” She chuckled mischievously. “Well, if he believes it, so much the better, but I swear I shall knock his head clean off his shoulders if he spreads this about. Miss Beasley is too gentle a lady to be the subject of malicious gossip, and she will be, if Taylor is left to himself. He is sweet on Becky, the Grove housemaid, so he will whisper it in her ear in the strictest confidence, and then it will be all over the village. With luck, he will be too terrified now to say a word. Mr Winslade…” She hesitated, then smiled. “None of this is my concern, so you are not to fear that I will say anything about it. My lips are sealed, you may be sure.” Then she grinned, mischievously. “Naturally, I wondered at all this interest in an orphanage so far from Miss Beasley’s home. But I will not ask, so you are not to worry. Besides, I imagine we will not see the young man again.”

But in this she was wrong, for not half an hour later, Phyllida returned with the boy in tow.

“This is Christian Barnaby,” she said placidly, although there was a gleam of pride in her eye. “I have invited him to eat with us tonight.”

Greetings were made, chairs were rearranged, and they settled down to their meal again.

“Shall I have the kitchen reheat everything?” Charu said. “I put a few dishes on the fire to keep warm, but—”

“That will be perfectly all right,” Phyllida said. Peter could see the colour in her cheeks now. She was excited, but not dangerously so. He pushed a glass of wine towards her.

“Take a little wine after your busy day. Will you try a rissole? They are rather good. Barnaby, you are employed as a coach builder, I understand?”

“Aye, I work for the Beckford family. They’re the largest coach builders in the area.”

“Do you live with the family, or do you have lodgings?”

“I’ve a room above the workshop, but I shall be gone before too long. I’ve served my time, so I can set up my own business now.”

Peter perked up. “That is enterprising of you, but will you set up in competition with the Beckfords?”

“Not directly, not at first. I’ll do repairs and modifications, that sort of thing. Refurbishments. Mr Beckford can’t be bothered with little jobs like that any more, so I’d not be in competition. But eventually… I’d like to make the coaches as well as refit them. There’s something very satisfying in building something from nothing, just wood and bits of metal and an idea in your mind.”

“How true,” Peter said, rather pleased with the boy. “I made furniture for a while, and it was just like that — seeing the finished object in your mind, then making it happen. Very satisfying.”

“Exactly, sir!” Christian said eagerly. “I’d need other craftsmen. A smith for the metal work. A glazier and a leather worker, but they’re two a penny. An upholsterer.” He laughed suddenly. “When I marry I’ll choose a woman who’ll be able to make up the interior comforts of a carriage — the cushions and squabs, curtains, padding, all those little details that make it luxurious. A family business, you see.”

Peter smiled. “You have it all worked out. We should talk about this a little more. Perhaps tomorrow?”

His face fell. “Ah, if only I could! But I have to deliver a new carriage to Jedburgh. The wedding was a week ago, but the bride wanted so many changes, the carriage was only finished today. I’m to leave tomorrow first thing.”

“Ah, that is a pity,” Peter said.

“Well, why not come with me?” Christian said, with his cheerful smile. “We can do it in three, maybe four days, with luck, drop the carriage off, then back on the mail coach. We can talk on the way. We could all go.”

He looked wistfully at Phyllida, and she looked at Peter. He saw the hope in her face. Naturally she was reluctant to let Christian disappear from her life so soon.

“I am not sure about the mail coach,” he said slowly. “If we were all to go, Miss Beasley must have a proper carriage in which to travel. But our carriage could follow yours, and then—”

“Oh yes!” Phyllida said, rocking excitedly. “It would be such an adventure. Where is Jedburgh, exactly?”

“Scotland,” Christian said.

“I have never been to Scotland,” she said happily. “What fun!”

When Christian had left, and Charu had bustled off to find Taylor and make sure he was not blabbing all over the tap room, Peter said quietly to Phyllida, “Are you sure you want to do this? A whole extra week away from home, and we will miss Susannah’s wedding, probably.”

Her face fell. “That is true. Do you feel obliged to be there, being family?”

“Heavens, no. I am only a cousin, after all. I thought you might want to be there.”

“I have attended enough weddings and eaten enough wedding breakfasts to last me a lifetime,” she said firmly. “No one will miss me.”

“Miss Beasley, you were so reluctant to travel north at all, and yet now you are quite happy to add another week to our journey. Are you quite sure you will not regret this hasty decision?”

“I am quite sure,” she said firmly. “Shropshire feels very far away just now, and Scotland is beckoning me to be adventurous. I have belatedly discovered the pleasure of travel, and I am reluctant to relinquish it so soon.”

“And you want to spend more time with your son,” he said, smiling at her gently.

“Oh yes! Such a fine young man, do you not think? It is fortunate that he has very little of his father in him. His height, perhaps, but his face reminds me so much of my own father.”

“He has his mother’s quickness of mind,” Peter said.

“Oh… you are too kind to say so, Mr Winslade.” She went pink with pleasure. “He is rather clever, I think, although I lay no claim to any greatness of mind myself. I am very ordinary, after all.”

Peter disagreed strongly with her on that point, but she gave him no opportunity to express the thought, rushing on to say, “He does not blame me at all for what I did. In fact, he pointed out that if I had not had my wicked lapse, he would not have existed at all, and he is very glad to be alive. He thanked me for giving him life — is that not wonderful? I created a life, Peter, and perhaps he will marry one day and have children of his own, and so the line will continue, and all because of my moment of weakness that summer long ago. It is almost as if it was meant to be, that God wanted Christian to exist and so made it happen. Of course I should not have done it, but at least something good and precious came of it. All these years I have thought of it as wholly evil, but anything that creates someone like Christian cannot be all bad.”

Peter could find no fault with the idea.