A Loving Family Read online

  A gust of warm air almost took Stella’s breath away as she entered the large and equally messy kitchen. Strings of onions and bunches of dried herbs dangled from its beamed ceiling and a flitch of bacon hung above the fire in the cast-iron range. The scene was of homely disarray with discarded newspapers lying on the flagstone floor and articles of clothing flung over the backs of chairs. The remnants of a meal lay abandoned on the kitchen table and Stella noticed a cask of ale occupying one of the ladder-back chairs. Mr Hendy rose from his chair by the range. ‘This is a pleasant surprise. But you look chilled to the bone, Stella. Take off those wet things and come and sit by the fire.’ He gave a fat tortoiseshell cat a gentle nudge and it slid to the floor, swishing its tail in protest.

  The welcome she had received was more than she had expected and Stella found herself close to tears. She covered her embarrassment by taking off her wet and ruined straw bonnet and her equally soggy shawl. Robert took them from her together with her small portmanteau. ‘I’ll be amazed if you don’t go down with a chill, miss. Sit down and I’ll make a pot of tea.’

  ‘Put some brandy in it, Bob,’ Mr Hendy said, eyeing Stella with a thoughtful frown. ‘Take a seat, my dear. Explanations can come later.’

  Stella allowed them to fuss over her and gradually the feeling came back to her fingers and toes. The tea, laced with brandy, had an instant effect and she felt more like herself. ‘You’re very kind. You must think it strange that I’ve turned up on your doorstep like this.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s a very good reason,’ Mr Hendy said, taking a seat on one of the beechwood chairs at the table. ‘But you need not tell us if it makes you uncomfortable. Suffice to say you are most welcome here, Stella.’

  ‘But I must explain, sir. I would not have imposed myself on you like this had it not been for circumstances beyond my control.’

  ‘What happened? You can tell us.’ Robert glanced at his father who was shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry, Pa, but the question must be asked. Who would allow a young woman to roam the countryside alone in weather like this and so near to dusk? There must be a reason.’

  ‘There is,’ Stella said hastily. ‘I had to leave my position at Portgone Place in a hurry, through no fault of my own other perhaps than an ill-judged loyalty to an old friend. I didn’t know where to turn and then I remembered your past kindness, Mr Hendy. I thought perhaps if you would allow me to stay in one of your outbuildings for the night, I would go on my way in the morning without being too much of a bother to you.’

  ‘You will do no such thing,’ Mr Hendy said firmly. ‘You will be a most welcome guest in my house, and you may stay for as long as you like. I know your history, my dear, and I would not see you homeless and alone when we are more than happy to enjoy your company. Isn’t that so, Bob?’

  Robert nodded emphatically. ‘It will be a pleasure to have a guest in the house, but I am not very good when it comes to housekeeping and my brother is even worse. We have a woman who comes in from the village every day to look after us, but our housekeeper died last year and we miss her.’

  ‘That isn’t Stella’s problem,’ Mr Hendy said, rising from his seat. ‘I’ll show you to your room, my dear. I suggest you change out of your wet clothes and then you might feel like coming downstairs to share our meal. Mrs Spriggs is a reasonable cook but she only knows how to make stew, so our diet is wholesome but monotonous.’

  ‘I’ll take Stella upstairs, Pa.’ Robert picked up a lighted oil lamp and made a move towards the doorway. ‘I’ll show her where the clean linen is kept.’

  Stella was overwhelmed by their eagerness to make her feel at home and more than grateful. ‘I can make up a bed, Mr Robert.’

  ‘I’m Bob to my friends, miss.’

  ‘And I’m Stella.’ She turned to his father. ‘Thank you, sir. I really wasn’t expecting all this.’

  ‘It’s no more than you deserve after what you’ve been through in the past,’ Mr Hendy said gently. ‘You need not tell us anything more if you don’t want to, Stella. It’s none of our business, but it must have been a very bad experience to make you leave Portgone Place. I thought you were settled there at least until some lucky fellow claimed you for his wife.’

  ‘I can’t ever go back,’ Stella said sadly. ‘I’ve left without a reference but I’ll find work somewhere. I’m not one to give in to ill fortune.’ She followed Robert from the warmth of the kitchen to the chill of the wainscoted entrance hall and up the staircase to the first floor. The ancient wooden floorboards sloped crazily, making Stella feel as if she was walking on the side of a hill as she followed him along a narrow landing to the rear of the house. He opened a door and the smell of camphor and lavender assailed her nostrils. ‘This was Mrs Bright’s room,’ Robert said, ushering her inside. ‘She came to us after Ma died and was like a second mother to Bertie and me. We miss her very much.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Stella said, not knowing what else to say. She looked round the room, which was eerily shrouded in dust sheets. ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble, Bob.’

  He placed the oil lamp on a small table next to a leather-bound Bible and a daguerreotype of two small boys. ‘That’s me and Bertie,’ he said, whipping the dust covers off the furniture and tossing them outside onto the landing. ‘Mrs Bright thought we were angels, no matter what we did, although I can assure you that we were anything but.’

  Stella smiled and helped him remove the cover from the bed. Once again the strong scent of lavender filled the air. ‘She must have been very fond of you.’

  He glanced at the empty grate. ‘I’ll bring some kindling and coal. A fire will take the chill off the room and make it more welcoming.’

  Stella shivered. Something was tapping on the diamond-shaped panes of glass and outside the wind moaned like a soul in distress. ‘A fire would be lovely,’ she murmured.

  Following her gaze, Robert went to the window and drew the curtains. ‘It’s the climbing rose,’ he said, smiling. ‘When I was a nipper I used to be terrified when the thorns scratched at the glass. I thought it was a witch with long fingernails who had come to get me.’

  ‘I can understand how you felt, but I’m not a child to be easily frightened.’

  ‘No. I can see that.’ He went round the room, lighting the strategically placed candles. ‘I’ll show you where to find clean bed linen. We have supper at five o’clock, which I suppose is a lot earlier than they do at Portgone Place.’

  ‘That life is behind me now, Bob. I have to make my own way and find other employment. It won’t be in a grand house, and that’s for certain.’

  Next morning Stella was awakened by the lowing of cattle and the sound of the cows ambling across the farmyard to the milking parlour. She had slept well in the four-poster bed, sinking into the downy softness of the feather mattress. The glow of the fire warmed the room and calmed the night terrors caused by the rosehips tapping on the windowpanes. It was still dark, but she could hear movement in the house. The stairs creaked and someone was riddling the embers in the kitchen range. She rose from her warm bed and lit a candle. She put on her second-best skirt and blouse, brushed her hair and secured it in a chignon at the nape of her neck. Peering into the fly-spotted dressing-table mirror she was satisfied that she looked presentable and she braced herself to face her hosts. She would have to say goodbye to them and move on, but where would she go? She opened the door and made her way downstairs.

  She entered the kitchen to find a stranger seated by the range with his booted feet on the brass rail. He had discarded his jacket and his shirtsleeves hung open at the wrists as he lounged in the chair. He glanced over his shoulder but made no move to stand up. ‘So you’re Stella,’ he said, looking her up and down. ‘I heard we had a house guest, but as you might guess I’ve only just rolled in after a rather good night at the tables.’

  His louche attitude, bloodshot eyes and the stubble on his chin together with tousled hair, a shade or two darker than his brother’s, all conspired to
give him the look of a dissolute man about town. His clothes were mud-stained but expensive and his boots alone would have cost more than she could earn in a year. Stella was not impressed. ‘How do you do?’ she said coolly. ‘As you already seem to know, I’m Stella.’

  ‘Can you cook, Stella?’

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Not at the moment, but I expect I will be later today when my head stops thudding and I’ve had some sleep.’ He swung his feet to the ground and stood up, holding out his hand. ‘I’m Bertie, in case you hadn’t realised. How d’you do?’

  Somewhat reluctantly she allowed him to shake her hand. ‘I’ll be leaving today. I daresay I’ll be gone by the time you wake up.’

  He grinned, raising her hand to his lips. ‘You’re a woman of the world, I can see that. You’ve seen men in my state before now.’

  She snatched her hand away. ‘Unfortunately, yes.’

  ‘You say what you think. I like that. Can’t stand women who are too shy or too scared to speak up for themselves.’ He leaned closer. ‘You have bold eyes, Stella. Did anyone ever tell you that?’

  She recoiled at the smell of alcohol on his breath. ‘Frequently, but I take no notice. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’d better make myself useful. The least I can do is to prepare breakfast for your father and brother.’

  He shrugged his shoulders and picked up his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder. ‘Good girl. Maybe they’ll be able to persuade you to stay and cook some decent food for us. I’m sick to death of bloody stew.’ He sauntered from the room, leaving her staring after him. She sighed. Drink did terrible things to men and women alike. She had seen the ravages that cheap gin could wreak on the lives of ordinary people, dragging them down to gutter level and destroying their families. Tommy Langhorne might be heir to land and a large fortune but he would be travelling the same route to destruction, and Bertie Hendy was already halfway there.

  She was about to explore the larder to see what she might prepare for the men’s breakfasts when Mr Hendy breezed into the kitchen, followed by Robert. Their cheeks were ruddy from the cold and they brought with them the smell of clean country air.

  ‘Stella, my dear, it’s good to see you looking well and rested,’ Mr Hendy said, smiling. ‘I’m sorry if we woke you early but that’s life on a farm.’

  ‘I hope you slept well,’ Robert added before Stella had a chance to reply. ‘The witch didn’t scrape her fingernails down the windowpanes, did she?’

  ‘What nonsense is this, Bob?’ Mr Hendy demanded with a puzzled frown.

  ‘Just a joke, Pa. I told Stella how I used to imagine such a thing as a child, particularly when the climbing rose scratched on my bedroom window.’

  ‘I hope he didn’t frighten you, Stella. He’s a good fellow but he’s always had a vivid imagination.’ Mr Hendy pulled up a chair. ‘My dear, what I wanted to say was that we’ve talked it over and we have a proposition to put to you.’

  Chapter Five

  STELLA SAT DOWN, looking from one to the other. ‘I’m listening, Mr Hendy.’

  ‘We’re in desperate need of a housekeeper, as you might have guessed by the state of the place. Mrs Spriggs only agreed to help out until we found someone suitable but that hasn’t been easy.’

  ‘It would be a challenge for anyone,’ Robert added, grinning. ‘Life on a farm doesn’t appeal to many women and feeding three hungry men is hard work.’

  His father shot him a warning look. ‘Don’t put her off, Bob. What we’re trying to say, Stella, is that you would be doing us a huge favour if you would consider living here on the farm and looking after three untidy men. We realise, of course, that you’re used to working in a much bigger establishment with a large staff of servants, but we have a girl who comes in to clean every day, and a washerwoman takes care of the laundry.’

  Stella held up her hand. ‘You don’t need to say any more, Mr Hendy. I’m truly grateful but my intention was to search for my family. I won’t give up until I find Ma and the nippers. I have to discover what happened and why they seem to have disappeared without a trace.’

  Robert nodded his head. ‘I can understand that, but how would you start on such a mission? Where would you begin? And how would you live?’

  ‘He has a point,’ Hendy said solemnly. ‘They might have left the country. Have you thought of that?’

  ‘No, it never occurred to me. Where would they go?’

  ‘Your mother was Spanish, was she not?’ Robert said, frowning thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps she decided to return to her own country.’

  Stella was silent for a moment, trying to recall any mention of her mother’s homeland and failing. ‘Ma was only half Spanish. She never lived in Spain.’

  Hendy rose to his feet. ‘Of course you must do what you think best, Stella, but why not stay here while you consider your options? Maybe you could hire a private detective to start the process for you.’

  Robert gave her an encouraging smile. ‘That sounds an excellent idea. Think it over for a day or two.’

  ‘The thought of eating something other than stew might be affecting your judgement,’ Stella said with a gurgle of laughter. ‘You’re both very kind and I would like to stay for a while and work out what I’ll do when I get to London. It’s been so long since I last saw my family that a little longer won’t make much difference.’

  Hendy slapped his hands on his knees with a murmur of delight. ‘Splendid. Just say if there’s anything we can do to make your accommodation more comfortable, Stella.’

  ‘Yes,’ Robert said eagerly. ‘If there’s anything you need I can drive you into Romford on market day.’

  ‘It’s Sunday.’ Hendy heaved a sigh. ‘There’s a joint of beef in the meat safe outside the back door. I was going to have a shot at roasting it myself, but perhaps you would be able to do something with it, Stella?’

  Robert closed his eyes. ‘Roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding. I’ve been dreaming about a feast like that since Mrs Bright passed away.’

  Stella rolled up her sleeves. ‘That’s easily done, but we’d best start the day off with a good meal. What would you gentlemen like for breakfast?’

  Apart from occasional arguments with Bertie, Stella found life at the farm much easier than working at Portgone Place. She was queen of the kitchen with no one to tell her what to do or how to behave. Ellie came in from the village every day to do the heavy household chores and her cousin, Meg, arrived early on Monday morning to see to the laundry. Pleasing three men with hearty appetites was not difficult and Stella basked in their praise. Even Bertie was forced to admit that she was, as he said, ‘a damned good cook’, and he began to treat her with a little more respect, at least when his father or brother were present. She had his measure and she put him firmly in his place when one day he caught her unawares and slid his hands around her waist while she was kneading bread dough at the kitchen table. She turned quickly and caught him round the ear with a floury hand. He yelped and took a step backwards.

  ‘That wasn’t very friendly, Stella.’

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be, Bertie. Keep your hands to yourself.’

  ‘Playing hard to get, are you?’

  ‘I’m employed here to keep house and cook your food. It ends there.’

  He pulled a face. ‘I’m disappointed. I thought you had a bit of a spark in you, Stella, but you’re obviously aiming higher than me.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘It’s plain to see that you’ve got your eye on my brother. He’ll inherit the farm and he’d be a good catch for a woman in your position.’

  ‘That’s a foul thing to say. Such a thought never crossed my mind.’

  ‘You can act the innocent, but I’ve seen the way you are with him. You flutter those long eyelashes and flash your eyes in a way that would drive most men to distraction.’

  Stella thumped the dough down on the tabletop and pounded it with her fists. ‘That’s a lie. I treat you all the same.’

  �
��You don’t smile at me the way you smile at him.’ Bertie moved a little closer, lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper. ‘Be nice to me and I’ll look after you. Pa gives me an allowance and I could set you up in a cosy little room in town. You wouldn’t have to look after anyone but me.’

  She spun round to face him, recoiling at the smell of stale alcohol and tobacco on his breath. ‘Listen to what I’m saying, Albert Hendy. I would rather starve in the gutter than allow you to lay a hand on me. Now leave me alone or I’ll have to tell your father that you’ve been pestering me.’

  He glared at her and for a second she thought he was going to strike her, but suddenly his handsome features creased into a grin. ‘I said you’ve got spirit. You’ll change your mind when you find out what a boring fellow my brother is. You might wed him for security but you’ll want more out of life than slaving away in the kitchen and giving birth every year until you’re nothing but a dried-up husk of a creature.’ He ambled into the scullery and she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the outer door shut with a click of the latch. She sighed. Life had been too easy and she had slipped into a false sense of security, but the time was coming when she must make a move. She had grown fond of Mr Hendy and Robert and she had a sneaking liking for Bertie when he was not under the influence of alcohol, but this had only ever been a temporary arrangement. She could not rest until she had discovered what had happened to her family.

  She put the dough in a large bowl and covered it with a damp cloth, placing it close to the range to prove before going into the scullery to wash her hands at the sink. Outside the sun was shining and she knew that spring was here at last. She plucked her shawl from its peg and wrapped it around her shoulders. Robert was harrowing in the ten-acre field and she had planned to take him his lunch of bread, cheese and pickled onions at midday. It was only eleven o’clock but she needed to talk to him. She picked up the wicker basket containing the food and a flagon of ale, and she went outside into the yard. What she had to say would not take long and she would be back in time to put the loaves in the oven.