Hiding from Love Read online

“He was kind enough to pay my passage here. I am – quite fond of him. Quite fond. You will – show him all the duty of an obedient stepdaughter.”

  She rose sullenly to kiss her mother farewell all too aware that opposition was now futile.

  “If that is what you want, Mama.”

  “It is,” stated Mama firmly.

  This exchange between mother and daughter had taken place just over a month ago.

  Now, as Leonora watched the school trap draw up, she brooded on letters she had received from her mother.

  The small touches of wit, the delicate portrayal of social life in Broughton, had all gone and in their place was a dull outline of domestic chores and lists of improvements that her new husband was undertaking in the house.

  It was as if Mr. Schilling was always looking over his wife’s shoulder.

  Leonora went down the steps, climbed into the trap, and then turned her head to see her trunk being hauled up behind and secured with a rope.

  The driver chucked at the one old horse and the trap wheeled round.

  The Headmistress and one or two of the other girls who had come out onto the steps, called out their farewells.

  Gravel flew out from the horse’s hooves as the trap careered through the park towards the Stroud road.

  After a moment Leonora opened her reticule.

  Her fingers sought and closed over a folded letter.

  She drew the letter out.

  She read it – or rather, reread it for the hundredth time, as if to find some secret that would propel her confidence through the coming summer.

  “Dear Leonora,” she read again,

  “I am much looking forward to meeting you and appreciating all the fine qualities that your mother assures me that you possess. I should warn you that I am a man of firm temperament and expect to find among all your qualities – obedience, tact and submission.

  Submission to the will of one who is determined to take up without impunity the mantle of loving stepfather.

  How ‘loving’ is at this stage a matter for conjecture until I discover the true nature of the responsibility I have acquired in you. Your mother is indeed profiting under my tutelage and so I hope will you.

  Your waiting stepfather,

  Thomas Schilling.”

  Unease rose higher and higher in Leonora’s breast with each invidious phrase.

  *

  The coach from Stroud was full and Leonora was very relieved when she and her trunk were finally let down outside the Black Jack Inn on the road to the Bristol docks.

  The coach had arrived before schedule and the trap from home was nowhere to be seen, so Leonora sat down on her trunk to wait.

  She shifted about on the trunk and began swinging her foot to and fro. She was thirsty and would have loved some lemonade, but was too shy to go into the inn.

  A small group of sailors trudged by and they turned to stare at the young girl waiting by the road.

  Her little hat framed her pale oval face and green eyes to perfection. Red-gold curls fluttered over her pretty brow and that swinging foot revealed such a delicate ankle!

  Leonora was blissfully unaware that she was the object of such avid attention.

  She was just as unaware of the gaze of a gentleman, who had just alighted from a barouche, until he stopped to address her,

  “Señorita, might I have the pleasure of inviting you to a glass of something to quench your thirst?”

  Leonora looked up, blinking.

  Two brown eyes in a face so olive in complexion that he could not be an Englishman, gleamed down at her.

  “Why thank you indeed, kind sir,” she murmured, “but how did you know I was thirsty?”

  He laughed, revealing a set of small pearly teeth.

  “In this heat who would not be? Will you not come into the inn with me? It’s cooler there, I can assure you.”

  Leonora shook her head.

  “I am waiting for the trap to take me home.”

  “A pity! Beauty and the vine go so well together!”

  She blushed to a deep crimson.

  Her natural reserve did not often invite such easy flattery.

  The gentleman lifted his hat and passed on into the inn. However he did not forget Leonora and a few minutes later a tavern boy ran out with a glass of ale.

  “Yon gentleman there, Señor de Guarda, sends you his best compliments.”

  Leonora took a glass of ale from him.

  “Please thank Señor de Guarda for me.”

  The boy ran off.

  Leonora took a tiny sip and grimaced. The ale was thirst quenching, but in a bitter way that she did not like.

  Nevertheless, having no desire to cause any offense to Señor de Guarda, who might well be watching from an inn window, she continued to drink.

  She could not help but wonder at his kindness.

  She had not been much exposed to the company of men and was therefore innocent of the general effect of her delicate beauty on their sensibilities.

  She thought him a very personable gentleman. He was exotic and flamboyant.

  She put the empty glass down on the trunk and rose to stretch her legs.

  On the opposite side of the road, a cart piled with tarpaulin-covered crates was struggling over a rut, the carthorses straining with foam flecking their lips.

  Suddenly a carriage came rolling on at great speed and Leonora thought in alarm that it would surely run into the back of the cart.

  At the last minute the carriage swerved, its wheels running into the ditch at Leonora’s feet.

  She caught a quick glimpse of a crest imprinted on the carriage door before she felt herself engulfed in a wash of black muddy water.

  “Oh,” she spluttered, stepping backwards so swiftly she almost toppled over her trunk.

  Her skirt was drenched – and filthy.

  The carriage stopped several yards further on and, wiping wet mud from her cheeks, Leonora was starting to stride angrily to the carriage when a tiny creature leaped yelping from its open window.

  The creature ran towards Leonora.

  Terrified that it would end up under the wheels of some vehicle, Leonora rushed to scoop it up.

  As she lifted her head from this endeavour, she felt her bonnet slip sideways and her hairpins scatter.

  She turned a flushed face towards the carriage just as the door of that vehicle opened.

  A young woman dressed as a maid came tumbling out. Gathering her skirts she hurried over to Leonora.

  “Oh, gracias, gracias, Miss – ?”

  “Cressy,” replied Leonora.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she did notice that a figure on the point of descending from the carriage now sat suddenly back into its depths.

  ‘I am obviously not considered of enough status to be addressed directly by someone who sports a crest on their carriage,’ she thought wryly.

  “Oh, Miss Cressy, thank you very much,” the maid was saying. “You have saved it!”

  She gazed at the wriggling creature in her hands.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Is a dog, señorita, a Chihuahua.”

  “Cheewawah? I have never heard of it.”

  “Is many of them in our country. My Master – ” she gestured with her head towards the carriage, “he bring her for his elderly relative.”

  Leonora looked again and this time noticed that the figure within was a gentleman. He was leaning forward, his two hands resting atop a silver cane.

  She could not discern his actual features, but she felt his eyes upon her.

  Half visible though he was, there was something in the gentleman’s poise and the quiet intensity of his stare that made Leonora feel a little nervous.

  Even at a distance, he exuded power and authority.

  He is certainly arrogant, she thought, not troubling to get out of the carriage himself to ask if I was all right.

  The maid glanced towards the carriage, seemingly uncertain. Perhaps even she had exp
ected her Master to follow her?

  She shifted the burden of the dog to one arm.

  “The Master,” she said, “is so sorry for your dress. I think – he wants to know, is there something he can do?”

  “Something he can do?” echoed Leonora, realising that by this her Master probably intended to offer her some kind of recompense – which she had no intention of accepting.

  “Actually there is. He can instruct his coachman to drive with more care and less speed!”

  The maid opened her eyes wide.

  Before she could respond, the inn boy reappeared at Leonora’s elbow.

  “There’s a trap arrived for you, Miss Schilling.”

  Leonora was startled to hear herself addressed for the first time by her stepfather’s name and then her brow creased as she wondered where the boy had heard it.

  “The trap is in the yard, through that arch. You go on, miss, and I’ll go fetch your luggage.”

  Leonora nodded.

  “Goodbye,” she said to the still gawping maid and the skinny little Chihuahua.

  In the yard Leonora was looking eagerly about her.

  There was Finny – dear old Finny – sitting on the familiar rickety old trap, chewing on a twig. When he saw Leonora, he jumped down with a grin.

  He was so pleased to see his young Mistress he did not seem to notice her mud-stained dress.

  “Miss Leonora!” he called out, tipping the twig to his forehead in a form of salute.

  “Finny! Oh, it’s so good to see you.”

  “You climb in, miss. I’ll soon have you home.”

  The inn boy arrived with the trunk. He set it down and then stood, passing his sleeve across his forehead.

  “That trunk were heavy,” he grumbled as Leonora gave him a sixpence.

  Finny then lifted the trunk onto the back of the trap, lashing it in place with a length of tarred rope.

  Next he leaped up and reached for the reins.

  “You are leaving!” came a concerned voice.

  Leonora turned to see Señor de Guarda approach.

  “I must, Finny arrived late and I’m sure Mama will be worried if we don’t reach home before dark.”

  He placed his hand on the trap’s high left wheel, as if to prevent its motion.

  “But I am heartbroken you should think to fly away and not say goodbye to Señor de Guarda!”

  Leonora blushed, aware that Finny was listening.

  “Well, I will say goodbye now, Señor de Guarda.”

  He seized on her outstretched hand and, instead of shaking it, raised it to his lips.

  Leonora gave a nervous swallow.

  “Where do you live? Can I visit you?” he asked.

  Leonora looked away from his melting brown eyes.

  “I – that will not be possible – things at home have changed. No doubt we will meet again by chance.”

  Señor de Guarda shrugged.

  “I doubt it. I am here for a few weeks only. Then I go home.”

  Leonora did not know how to respond, so she was thankful for Finny’s intervention.

  “We got to be a-goin’, miss. Your mother and Mr. Schilling will be wantin’ supper. I know there’s beef pie and rhubarb.”

  Señor de Guarda lifted his shoulders in exaggerated resignation.

  “How can I compete with beef pie and – rhubarb?”

  He stepped back and blew a kiss at Leonora.

  “Farewell then, lovely creature!”

  Leonora waved to him as the trap passed under the arch and her cheeks burned from Señor de Guarda’s gaze.

  Emerging into the sun, Finny turned back towards the main road and Leonora could not help but notice that the grand carriage with the crest was still there.

  The gentleman she had glimpsed in the carriage had come out and now stood twirling his cane in his hand and speaking to his maid.

  Leonora noted a tall elegant frame in a velvet cloak.

  As the trap passed near the carriage, the gentleman turned and Leonora quickly looked away.

  She had no wish for more scrutiny from yet another gentleman, particularly one she felt aggrieved with.

  ‘It must be that crest that has irritated me,’ she decided, ‘and his sending the maid out like that to do his bidding. And that silly dog he had brought for his relative!’

  The trap skirted the gulley full of water and turned onto the road for Broughton.

  Finny’s voice intruded.

  “That de Guarda looked like a pirate,” he commented.

  Leonora regarded him and then gave a giggle.

  “A handsome pirate, though, Finny!”

  “Oh, yes, his moustache be as oiled as a gun barrel and his teeth were like the inside of seashells. He had lace cuffs too and he liked lookin’ at you, miss.”

  Leonora decided that Finny had noticed too much for comfort, so she stared out at the road.

  “Did you, Finny – did you send out the inn boy to ask for a ‘Miss Schilling’?”

  “Yes, miss. I was told to.”

  “Told to? By whom?”

  “Mr. Schilling. He said there was to be no more of this Cressy business.”

  Leonora felt hot indignation rise in her breast.

  No more Cressy business, indeed! She would like to know whether it was obligatory under the law for her to change her name to that of her stepfather!

  Finny was pondering, his eyes fixed on the horse.

  “I like Cressy more, miss. Schilling is – why, it’s a silly name.”

  “What’s Mr. Schilling like, Finny?”

  Finny considered.

  “He eats all them prunes, miss. Prunes with mutton stew. Prunes with syrup. Prunes with roast ham. He can’t abide mussels and he kills snails with hot water. He has five red handkerchiefs and I’ve seen ’em dryin’ on the line.

  “He knows of all them gentry – so he says – and he curses under his breath. He put me to sleep in the dried out water trough only it weren’t big enough, so now I sleeps in the stable loft – ”

  “What? Not your old room by the scullery?”

  “It be a gun room now, miss. Guns and traps and fishin’ rods.”

  “Mr. Shilling does a lot of hunting then?”

  “No, miss. But he likes to have those things.”

  Leonora turned to see the light fading on the hills.

  “Finny – how does he treat my mother?”

  Finny kicked the running board of the trap.

  “He likes her to trim his beard,” he replied at last.

  Leonora fell silent. What need to ask more? She would soon discover for herself.

  She next wondered how Mr. Schilling might react if she had invited Señor de Guarda to visit her. She had a feeling that he would not be welcome.

  She had just as clear a feeling that the gentleman with a title, or at least travelling in the carriage of someone with a title, would have been offered the best china.

  After a couple of hours, the trap turned off the main road and clipped along a small country lane bordered with hawthorn.

  The village of Broughton was quiet as they drove through and the gates of Broughton Hall were wide open.

  After a bend in the road as they left the village, her home appeared.

  All her latent fears and apprehensions burst forth as the trap drew up and she caught sight of the sign swinging over the gatepost.

  Once it had borne, spelled out in cheerful scarlet, the name of Cressy Cottage.

  Now the same sign bore a different appellation.

  Schilling House it read, and Leonora’s heart sank in utter dismay.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mama flung open the door to greet her daughter.

  “How wonderful to have you home, dearest!”

  Leonora stared at her mother in shock.

  As Mrs. Cressy her mother had been what people would call a bonny lass with bright eyes and rosy cheeks.

  As Mrs. Schilling she had become thin and anxious, her eyes darting hither and
thither as if seeking to escape.

  “Mama!” Leonora cried. “You don’t look well!”

  She gave a laugh of enforced gaiety.

  “Nonsense, dear! I’m just a little tired – I couldn’t sleep last night with excitement. Now don’t stand there gawping at me! Come in to meet your – Mr. Schilling.”

  Leonora obviously noted the omitted ‘step-father’.

  Mr. Schilling was waiting in the parlour. He stood legs apart on the hearth rug, hands folded behind his back.

  Leonora’s first thought as she entered the room was that he looked like a stoat.

  An angry stoat.

  It was certainly accurate that everything about Mr. Schilling suggested a character permanently on the verge of expostulation. His cheeks were enflamed, the whites of his eyes were shot with red and his very moustache seemed to bristle with suppressed rage.

  “My daughter, Leonora,” declared Mama proudly.

  He ran his eye over Leonora and frowned.

  “It appears that your daughter thinks no better of her Guardian than to approach him in such a filthy state,” he muttered grimly.

  Leonora flushed.

  She had forgotten her dirty skirt and she was about to speak when her mother rushed in,

  “The fault is entirely mine, Mr. Schilling. I was so overjoyed – at seeing Leonora home I-I failed to notice the condition of her gown.”

  She turned agonised eyes on Leonora.

  “Whatever happened, my dear?”

  Leonora, disturbed at seeing her mother rendered so anxious by Mr. Schilling’s displeasure, turned and replied in a low voice.

  “I was waiting for Finny by the road, Mama, when a carriage ran through a puddle and flung muddy water all over me.”

  “Did the carriage stop?” asked Mr. Schilling.

  “Why, y-yes.”

  “And the fellow apologised?”

  Leonora hesitated, wondering whether he meant the driver or the occupant.

  “His maid did,” she answered finally.

  Mr. Schilling took his hands from behind his back.

  “Maid, eh? Was he gentry, perhaps?”

  Into Leonora’s mind swam an instant image of the gentleman with the elegant bearing and silver cane.

  “There was a crest on the side of the carriage – ”

  Mr. Schilling gave a smirk.

  “A crest? Oh, well! You are forgiven, daughter.”

  Leonora flinched.