I’ll Bring You Buttercups

7

The engine rounded the bend, whistling importantly, then came to a stop in a hiss of steam.

‘Holdenby!’ called the stationmaster as a single passenger alighted; a stranger, stepping down from the third-class carriage at the end of the train, which would be noted and remarked upon, of that Julia Sutton was certain.

Smiling, raising his hat, he walked to where she waited. She acknowledged him with the slightest inclining of her head, holding out her hand which he shook, thanks be, and did not kiss.

‘Good morning, doctor.’

‘Miss Sutton,’ he murmured most properly for the benefit of the ticket clerk who waited at the barrier.

‘My mother thought it better we use the carriage,’ Julia whispered. ‘And my dear, be careful what you say? Anything William hears …’

The red-haired coachman was a hard worker and a fine horseman, and for that his weakness for listening and gossiping was tolerated, it being politic, Helen Sutton had long ago decided, to make sure that when he was driving there was nothing for him to listen to and nothing, therefore, to repeat. William, Miss Clitherow declared, wouldn’t have lasted the week out at Pendenys, but he was cheerful and willing, and neither drank ale nor wasted his wages on tobacco, so his virtues far outweighed his one vice.

‘I’ve asked William to let us down at the gates so we’ll be able to talk.’ Julia inclined her head in the direction of the coachman who stood beside the open carriage door, eyeing the visitor, wondering what to make of him. Then he took up the reins and clicked his tongue, ordering the horses to walk on, guiding them carefully out of the station yard, and not until they were on the road did Julia reach for Andrew’s hand, to press it briefly. Then she sat straight and correct, saying not one word until Rowangarth gates came into sight and the horses were brought to a halt at the lodge.

‘I thought we could walk the rest of the way,’ she smiled as the carriage drew away. ‘Last night, you see, my mother was a little put out. I told her that you wanted to marry me. I’m sorry, but it just slipped out.’

‘Then small wonder she was not well-pleased. And your brother?’

‘Giles is on our side, I think. And when I’d reminded Mama she had promised I should marry where I pleased and that she and Pa were so in love, she agreed to be at home to you.’

‘There you are, lassie – it’s happening again. Your mother agrees to receive me. I’ll never understand it.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry, but there’s more, I’m afraid. My mother is Lady Sutton. Pa was a baronet, you see.’

‘So I’m to remember to call your brother Sir Giles?’

‘No. Giles is the younger brother. Robert – the one who grows tea – inherited.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me this before, Julia?’

‘Would it have made any difference?’

‘No. And we’re wasting time over trivialities,’ he smiled, taking her hand. ‘We are here, together; I am to meet your family, titled or no, and I look forward to it.’

‘Even though Mama might be a little – aloof?’

‘Even though. I’m very determined when my mind’s made up.’

‘But you’ll go carefully,’ she begged, eyes anxious.

‘Very carefully. I mind how much is at stake.’ He stopped as they rounded the curve in the drive and saw Rowangarth, its windows shining back the morning sun in a sparkle of welcome. ‘That’s where you live?’

‘That’s Rowangarth. It’s higgledy-piggledy and draughty in winter, and sometimes the fires sulk and the windows rattle when the wind blows, but we love it very much.’

‘Aye, I think I’d love it too,’ he said softly. ‘But what was your reason for not telling me about all this?’

‘Because where I live didn’t seem important. And it still isn’t – not if you don’t mind about it, that is.’

‘Of course I don’t, though I can see I’ll have to work even harder if I’m to keep you in the manner you’re born to.’

He smiled gently, not one bit put out, once he’d had time to get his breath back. And didn’t Andrew MacMalcolm thrive on challenges? Even when they’d laughed and told him that doctoring was out of the reach of a miner’s son – all but Aunt Jessie, that was – he had shrugged and carried on. And maybe the folk who lived in the fine house down there were decent enough bodies, in spite of their wealth. He hoped so, for he wanted Julia so much it was like an ache inside him, and he knew he would do anything, agree to any condition they might impose, to keep her.

‘Then why are you frowning so?’

‘Was I? Truth known, I was thinking about my aunt and wondering what she would have made of all that.’ He nodded in the direction of the house. ‘My, but she’d have liked fine to poke around and see how grand folk live. The gentry and their houses always fascinated her. She used to wonder how so few people could take up so many rooms.’

‘Then I’m sorry she isn’t here to see it, though Rowangarth is small compared to Pendenys – that’s Uncle Edward’s house. Now your aunt would really have enjoyed a poke around there.’

‘And what’s so peculiar about this Pendenys?’

‘Wait until you see it. But it’s almost ten and it won’t do to keep Mama waiting.’ She smiled up at him, serious again. ‘And I love you very much. Whatever happens, you’ll remember that, won’t you?’

Mary opened the front door at their approach. She had been warned by Miss Clitherow that her ladyship would be receiving at ten, and ever since Miss Julia left with the carriage half an hour ago, Mary had hovered between the front hall and the kitchen, all the time wondering who the daughter of the house was to bring back with her. Most times the parlourmaid wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but last night she had been excused before dinner was over which meant that her betters wanted to talk privately; and afterwards, when she had taken in the coffee tray, she sensed an atmosphere and wondered what it was she hadn’t been meant to hear – and who had been the cause of it.

She supposed at first it was Mr Elliot, for talk still buzzed about the goings-on in Creesby. Indeed, it had been reasonable to suppose just that – reasonable until this morning, that was, when the carriage had been ordered and gone off with Miss Julia in it and she, Mary, had been told there would be a caller.

‘Miss.’ She bobbed a curtsey, holding out her hand for the visitor’s hat and gloves. ‘Milady’s in the small sitting-room. She said you were to go in.’

Sedately she placed the hat on a table, then, hearing the closing of the sitting-room door, ran like the wind to the kitchens below.

My, but he was handsome! Tall and broad, with lovely eyes; and the smile he’d given her had been fit to charm the birds from the trees.

‘There’s a young man!’ she gasped, flinging open the door. ‘Came back in the carriage!’ William would know. Someone would have to ask William. ‘And he’s gone in with Miss Julia to see her ladyship.’ And Mr Giles there, too, which was unusual to say the least, since Mr Giles was always in the library, nose in a book, by ten in the morning. ‘What’s going on, Mrs Shaw?’

Cook did not know, and said so. She only knew that, before so very much longer, her ladyship might well be ringing for a pot of coffee – and that the kettle stood cold and empty in the hearth.

‘Set the water to boil, Tilda, just in case,’ she murmured, hoping that a summons from above would give Mary the chance to assess the situation in the small sitting-room. ‘And the rest of you get on with your work. ‘Tisn’t for us to bother about what goes on upstairs.’

But tall and good-looking, Mary had said. Had London been the start of it, then? She glanced across at Alice, busy with silver-cleaning, and was met with a look as blank as a high brick wall.

But it was London. Cook was so sure she’d have taken bets on it.

‘Mama.’ Julia cleared her throat nervously and noisily. ‘May I present Doctor Andrew MacMalcolm? Andrew –’ She turned, shaking in every limb, the easy introduction all at once a jumble of words that refused to leave her lips.

‘Lady Sutton,’ Andrew murmured, bowing his head, yet all the time unwilling to take his eyes from the beauty of her face. ‘How kind of you to receive me.’

‘I had little choice, doctor,’ she smiled ruefully. ‘And since my daughter seems tongue-tied, this is Giles, my younger son, who would really rather be in the library, I must warn you.’

Giles held out his hand. Gravely, firmly, Andrew took it.

‘There now,’ Helen Sutton murmured. ‘Please sit down – you too, Julia.’ She indicated the sofa and, gratefully, Julia took her place at Andrew’s side, her mouth dry, fingers clasped nervously in her lap. ‘Tell me about London, doctor, and how you and my daughter met.’

‘In extremely unusual circumstances, I fear. It was lucky I was near when needed. A young lady lay concussed; had tripped and fallen I was told, and I could well believe it when I saw the skirt she was wearing – and I beg your pardon, ma’am, if I make comment on ladies’ fashions about which I know nothing.’

‘I’m inclined to agree with your observations.’ There was unconcealed laughter in the reply. ‘About the skirt, I mean. But my daughter’s bruises are gone now, and I am grateful to you for your attention. And then, doctor?’

‘Then Miss Sutton was generous enough to thank me for my help, and consented to walk in the park with me the following afternoon.’

‘And now, my sister tells us you wish to correspond with her and to meet, which we – I – find hard to understand on so short an acquaintance.’ Giles took up the conversation, wondering if his voice sounded as stern as he meant it to sound, yet all the time admiring the directness of the young man’s gaze and his complete ease of manner. ‘Might it not, perhaps, be –’

‘Sir – I think you have not been fully acquainted with the facts. True, we wish to write to each other and to meet whenever my work allows it. But I want to marry your sister, and would like your permission – and Lady Sutton’s blessing – to that end.

‘And as for so short an acquaintance – that I cannot deny. But in my profession I must make a decision and hold firm to it, often with no time at all for second thoughts. I made such a decision when first I met Miss Julia, and I have had no reason to change or regret it.’

‘Then might I know how you will support my sister?’

‘I must admit,’ Andrew replied gravely, ‘that at first the matter did cause me concern. But I am a competent physician and intend to become a better one. Time is all I need. And I beg you to hear me out with patience, for I think your sister cannot have told you all.

‘I am the son of a coal miner. My father was injured in the pit and suffered pain for two years before he died. Those two years affected me greatly. I was unable to help him, you see, then had to watch my mother work herself to a standstill so we might live.’

‘But that is dreadful!’ Helen Sutton’s dismay was genuine. ‘Did not the owner of the mine make some restitution?’

‘No, ma’am, and we did not expect it.’ He spoke without bitterness. ‘But after my father died, my mother took consumption from a sick man. She went out nursing, usually night work, so she might have the days free for other things. Apart from a child to tend to, she worked mornings for the wife of the doctor, to pay off the debt of my father’s illness.

‘She insisted I remain at school, though I was old enough by then to have worked at the pit. But she would have none of it. The only comfort in her death was that at least she lived long enough to know I’d been given a scholarship to medical school.’

‘But how did you manage? All those years of study,’ Giles murmured, uneasily. ‘How did you eat – buy books?’

‘I bought secondhand books and ate as little as possible,’ Andrew laughed. ‘I’d sold up the home, though there was little left by that time. Most of it had gone, piece by piece, over the bad years. But what was left helped, and my mother’s sister, my aunt Jessie, gave me her savings, to be paid back when I qualified. I was grateful for her faith and trust. I even had thoughts that, once I could afford decent lodgings, she could come to me: I’d have cared for her for the rest of her life. She died, though, even before I qualified. She was never to know me as a doctor. But that is why I have no family to offer you – only myself …’

‘I am so sorry,’ Helen whispered, ‘and please, if you find it upsetting, there is no need to tell us.’

‘Upsetting? No, Lady Sutton, you misunderstand,’ Andrew smiled. ‘What I have told you is neither to seek praise nor pity. It is merely a fact of my life – my background – that you should know about and, I hope, try to accept.

‘The two women who made it possible for me to qualify are beyond my help how, so instead I pay my debt to them in other ways. Apart from my work at the hospital, I hold a twice-weekly surgery at my lodgings; those who cannot afford to pay, I treat without charge. I turn no one away, and it pleases me to think that one day I might diagnose consumption in its early stages and be able to prevent a woman dying as my mother died.’

‘Then your beliefs are to your credit, doctor,’ Helen said gently. ‘I wonder – would you care to take coffee with us?’ She pulled on the fireside bell and was amazed by the speed at which it was answered.

‘Milady?’ Mary stood pink-cheeked in the doorway.

‘Will you bring coffee for four – and will you apologize to Cook and tell her there will be one extra for luncheon?’

Unable to conceal her delight, Mary made triumphantly for the kitchen.

‘Mama!’ Julia cried. ‘It’s all right? We can be married? Oh, thank you!’

‘Julia!’ As sternly as she was able, Helen Sutton silenced her daughter’s excited flow. ‘You may not be married whilst you are still a minor, and even when you come of age I ask you not to consider yourself engaged to Doctor MacMalcolm.

‘What I am prepared to agree to is that you may write as often as you please and meet each other here, or at Aunt Sutton’s. Then, in a year from now, if you are both of the same mind, we can all discuss the matter further. There, miss – will that suit you, for the time being?’

‘Ma’am, it will suit me very well indeed,’ Andrew replied warmly, ‘and I – we – thank you most gratefully. You will not regret the decision you have come to today, I promise you.’

‘Dearest Mother.’ Julia’s voice was low with emotion, and tears, the sweetest, happiest of tears, shone in her eyes. ‘Thank you …’

It was, as Mrs Shaw said when Mary had carried up the coffee tray and reported in detail on the atmosphere in the small sitting-room, only to be expected. Miss Julia had come back from London an altogether different young woman, and beautiful for all to see.

‘London,’ said Cook, looking across the table at Alice, silently daring her to deny it. ‘London was where it all started, or I’m a Dutchman. Am I right, Alice Hawthorn?’

But Alice merely smiled and went on with her polishing and said never a word, whilst upstairs, as his sister crossed the lawn outside, fingers entwined in Andrew’s, Giles Sutton demanded of his mother why she had capitulated so suddenly and completely.

‘You surprised me. You almost said yes to their marriage, Mama. Oh, he’s likeable enough and makes no bones about his upbringing, which is to his credit,’ he shrugged. ‘Indeed, I can see why Julia is so besotted. But you, dearest Mother, fell completely under his spell, too. Why, will you tell me?’

‘Spell? Tut! Not at all! But yes, I liked him, and his complete honesty won me over. That, and the dedication with which he follows his profession, is to be commended. But, Giles – how am I to explain?’

How could she, even to herself? How, when she had been prepared to stand fast and completely forbid the affair, had she surrendered without protest? How could her son, who had yet to love, understand that even the height of the doctor, the way he held his head, the way he smiled even, had so reminded her of John that it had almost taken her breath away. And how, when he looked at her with eyes neither green nor grey – looked at her with her husband’s eyes – she had known, as surely as if John had whispered it in her ear, that this man was right for her daughter.

‘I think,’ she murmured, ‘that his eyes won me over. Didn’t you notice them, Giles?’

‘No, dearest, I did not,’ he offered, mystified.

‘There you are, then. You are a man and you’ll never understand.’

So he had kissed his mother’s cheek and begged she excuse him until lunchtime, and closed the library door behind him still wondering about it.

But Helen Sutton, when she was alone, closed her eyes blissfully and whispered, ‘John, my dear, thank you for being with me when I needed you. Thank you, my love.’

‘I cannot believe it!’ Julia laughed. ‘I don’t believe that you are here and we are walking in the garden for all to see.’

‘Then you’d better, darling girl, for I’m to stay to luncheon, remember – and hoping to be asked again.’

‘You will be. Mama liked you; I knew she would – Giles, too …’

‘Aye. Your brother tried fine to be the stern guardian, and all the time trying to work out what the upset was all about, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Mm. And wanting to get on with his work. He’s seeing to the library. Pa neglected it dreadfully, so Giles is trying to get it into some kind of order. Some of the older books need attention, and he’s packing them up, ready to send to London for repair. And oh, darling, isn’t it a beautiful morning?’

‘Aye. And will you smell that air?’ He breathed in deeply. ‘And look at that view. Do you ever look at it, Julia, or have you seen it so often that you take it for granted?’

‘Perhaps I do, darling,’ she smiled, looking at it with his eyes; at the last of the sweet-scented narcissi and the first of the summer’s roses, climbing the pergola, tangling with honeysuckle and laburnum. And at the delicate spring green of beech leaves and linden leaves, newly uncurled; and a sky, high and wide and blue, with the sun topping Brattocks Wood. ‘But I shall look at it differently now, and how I wish you could be here when evening comes. That’s when the honeysuckle smells so sweetly. The scent of it is unbelievable. I’ll ask that you be invited to dinner before you return, and we’ll walk here at dusk and you shall take the smell of it back with you to London, to remind you of me.’

‘Silly child.’ He gentled her face with his fingertips because he wanted so much to hold her and kiss her. ‘Can we walk in the woods, do you think?’

‘I think we’d better.’ She lifted her eyes to his, loving him, wanting him. ‘Because I need to kiss you, too. And don’t say you don’t want to, because I know you do. Your voice changes when you want me – did you know it? You speak to me with a – a lover’s voice and it makes me – oh, I don’t know …’