Miss Millie's Groom Page 5

  And so after breakfast she went back to her room and sat gazing through the window, out, over the vast expanse of the place that had, until recently, been familiar to her but now, all of a sudden, felt hostile.

  At about eleven o’clock Millie decided there was nothing for it but to go down to the kitchens. There was one person, she knew, in the household who couldn’t help but at least hint at what had changed during her absence.

  As she’d hoped, Millie found Mrs Overton by herself in the kitchen, perusing the daily newspaper, whilst the other house staff were going about their business. Mrs Overton made no attempt to disguise the fact that she was having a self-sanctioned break from her duties. Millie smiled to witness the no-nonsense lady seated at the large, sturdy kitchen table.

  “Good morning, Miss Millicent. How can I help you?” Mrs Overton asked.

  “I’m feeling a bit peckish, Mrs O. I just wondered if Cook’s baked anything that could tide me over till lunchtime.”

  “Not like you to be hungry between meals,” Mrs Overton observed.

  “No,” Millie agreed half-heartedly.

  “Still, I imagine your journey yesterday must have upset your routine.”

  “I think so,” Millie said.

  Mrs Overton got up from her chair and disappeared into the pantries. Millie took a seat at the table, with her back to the generous open fire that glowed in the kitchen at all hours throughout the winter months. She enjoyed the sensation of its warmth. The rest of the house had felt cold since her return.

  Upon her re-entry to the kitchen, carrying a plate with a tea-towel draped over it, Mrs Overton raised her eyebrows to see Millie installed at the table. “Chelsea buns,” she said, then asking, “Would you like a cup of tea to go with it?”

  “Oh yes please,” Millie said eagerly.

  She watched Mrs Overton prepare the tea, unsure how to instigate her enquiry as to what had been going on, without it sounding too obvious.

  “No doubt Sir Randolph has told you the good news,” Mrs Overton said, pre-empting Millie’s questions.

  “Good news?” Millie asked, trying to sound casual.

  “Effie and Ryan,” Mrs Overton said.

  “Effie and Ryan?” Millie asked, confused.

  “He hasn’t said anything? I suppose he’s got so much else on his mind.”

  “What’s happened?” Millie asked, feeling uneasy in the pit of her stomach.

  “We’ll soon be hearing wedding bells here at Glassnest, Miss. Effie and Ryan are engaged.”

  “Engaged?” Millie said, unable to hide her alarm at the revelation.

  “Isn’t it wonderful? I can’t think of two young people better suited. Why, they’ve both practically grown up here. Especially for Effie – the poor girl hasn’t a soul in the world to call her own but now she’ll have a loving husband.”

  Millie stared down at the bun on the plate before her. “I’m sorry, Mrs Overton but I shouldn’t eat this–”

  “Surely you’re not worrying about your figure – a slip of a thing like you.”

  “It’s not long till lunch now, anyway,” Millie murmured.

  “But you must have a drink of your tea, Miss,” Mrs Overton insisted, pushing Millie’s cup across the table to her, before taking up her own seat once more. “You’re as white as a sheet, Miss Millicent. I shouldn’t wonder you’re ailing for something. You see, that’s why you’d never catch me going to that London. Not if you paid me.”

  Millie sipped at her hot tea.

  From across the table, Mrs Overton, sticky bun in one hand, tea cup in the other, watched her attentively. “Your hand’s shaking, Miss Millicent. I think you must have caught a chill.”

  “I shall be quite alright, Mrs Overton. I’m warming already with the fire. Thank you for the tea. That’s helping too.”

  But it didn’t escape the older woman’s notice that, despite her words, Millie’s shaking hands only became more pronounced.

  “I might just turn around to face the fire,” Millie said, setting down her cup on the table and adjusting her chair, in an effort to hide her tears from the housekeeper’s watchful gaze.

  * * *

  Once she’d managed to escape Mrs Overton and return to her room to compose herself, Millie set out, bound for the stables to find Ryan. It didn’t take long; he was there in Kerry’s stall, changing the straw. Randolph’s supposed tasks had obviously been a decoy.

  Millie crept silently into the stall and stood watching Ryan until he saw her.

  “Millie!” he exclaimed, rising from the stooped position he’d held to fork the old bedding. He looked anxious.

  Millie’s bloodshot eyes looked on him blankly as she awaited an explanation.

  “I didn’t see you,” he said feebly.

  “No,” she replied.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Well I’m not engaged to be married, if that’s what you mean,” she blurted spontaneously.

  “Millie,” he said in a placatory tone, as he put the fork to one side and went towards her.

  “I don’t understand it,” she said.

  “Effie’s like a sister to me,” he explained, placing his hand on Millie’s arm.

  “Exactly! A sister is not a wife.”

  “She and I are from the same background. It would never have worked with us, Millicent–”

  “I just don’t believe you,” Millie cried, unable to maintain her composure. “You don’t love Effie. She doesn’t love you. I love you and you love me.”

  He shook his head hopelessly. “I’m sorry,” he said, unable to look her in the eye.

  Millie longed to hold him – she had longed to hold him the whole time she’d been detained in London. But she knew he was out of bounds now and she sensed he wasn’t going to add insult to injury by making an advance towards her.

  So they stood awkwardly for a time, Ryan’s hand on Millie’s arm, stroking her like an injured pet, neither of them able to look at the other but neither able to break away.

  Eventually it was Millie who ended the encounter, returning to her room to weep again and agonise over this confounding situation.

  * * *

  As Millie opened the door to her bedroom, she heard someone take a sharp intake of breath. Effie was there, making her bed. The two girls stared at one another, before Effie curtseyed and, bowing her head, said, “Miss Millicent.”

  Millie said nothing in response but closed the door behind her and walked into the centre of the large room.

  Effie awkwardly continued to straighten the sheets as Millie stood watching her.

  “Leave off doing that, please, Effie.”

  “Would you like me to go Miss?” Effie asked with forced innocence.

  “No Effie. You and I need to talk. Sit down.” Millie gestured for Effie to take a seat on the bed and then sat beside her when she did. “This thing with you and Ryan,” Millie began, “I’m not going to congratulate you because I know it’s not what it seems. What’s going on, Effie?”

  Effie looked pale and trembled. “I don’t understand you Miss,” she complained.

  “You don’t love Ryan, Effie, and he doesn’t love you. There must be some reason behind this marriage. It’s a sham.” She said it damningly and then worried that she might have got it all wrong. Maybe they did love one another. Maybe she just couldn’t accept that Ryan didn’t love her.

  But Effie had started to cry uncontrollably.

  Millie put her arm around Effie and held her close. “There must be something wrong, Effie, because, if you and Ryan were really in love, you’d be happy.”

  Effie sobbed, struggling to get words out.

  Millie shushed her and held her and when Effie had eventually regained her composure she said, “I’m having a baby.”

  “But not Ryan’s,” Millie surmised instantly.

  Effie was silent, staring blankly at Millie. Then she said, “He says that nobody need know. If we get married quickly enough, people won’t realise–” />
  “But it’s not his baby, is it, Effie?”

  Effie began to sob again.

  “Effie, whose child is it? You have to tell me.”

  But Effie broke from Millie’s embrace, rose from the bed and fled from the room, hiding her tearful eyes as she went.

  Millie sat on the bed for some time, struggling to make sense of it all.

  * * *

  Within the hour, Millie was running along the woodland path that wound towards Ryan’s cottage, trying to catch up with him as he strode ahead.

  She’d gone out to the stables to find him but had been informed by John that Sir Randolph had allowed him to finish for the day and she had just missed him.

  She’d run from the stables and, as soon as he had come into sight, called to him, but he’d ignored her and quickened his pace.

  He was now approaching the house and Millie knew that if his grandma was inside (which she most probably was) they couldn’t discuss things properly in there, so, in a last bid to arrest him, she cried out, “I know Effie’s pregnant!”

  Sure enough, her words stopped Ryan in his tracks. He turned and began to walk back towards Millie.

  She came to a halt and waited for him to reach her, striving to regulate her breathing as she stood.

  “Who’s the father of her baby?” Millie asked as Ryan loomed before her.

  “I am,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Impossible. You’re a Catholic.”

  Ryan stared into Millie’s eyes.

  She felt certain she hadn’t got this wrong. “Remember what you told me, Ryan? I know you wouldn’t have done things with Effie that you weren’t willing to do with me. You’re a good man.”

  He said nothing.

  “If it was some boy on the estate –or in the village– then surely she ought to marry them, not you.”

  Ryan was shaking his head. “You don’t understand, Millie,” he said.

  “Then tell me,” she cried, despairing at being shut out of their secret.

  He sighed and looked compromised. “I swore I wouldn’t say.”

  “Ryan, I don’t think either of you are happy. If you and Effie marry, you won’t be happy together. You can’t be when this is the reason.”

  “Ben Windham,” he said suddenly.

  Millie was aghast.

  “So now you see why it’s such a mess.”

  Millie nodded solemnly.

  “Effie can’t appeal to him – he’d laugh it off,” Ryan elaborated.

  “He’s going away to fight soon anyway,” Millie agreed.

  “A fine officer he’ll make,” Ryan said sarcastically.

  “So you’ve decided to save Effie’s reputation.”

  “I’ve always been fond of her.”

  “But Ryan, that’s not the basis for a marriage.”

  He laughed cynically. Millie realised she’d never detected a hint of cynicism in him before. “And what is? Our unfulfilled passion?” he asked.

  “I just know I love you,” Millie said softly. “I know what that feels like. Nothing else compares.”

  Millie stretched out her arms and placed her hands on Ryan’s shoulders, uncertain whether he would accept her embrace.

  Closing his eyes, Ryan pulled her to him and held her close.

  “And I’ve been longing to do this for the last month,” Millie said, reaching up to kiss Ryan’s cheek.

  She found that her lips were soon met by Ryan’s and knew then that his feelings hadn’t really changed.

  “I didn’t know why you left. I thought you were trying to get away from me,” he said when the kiss finally ceased.

  “No! Never! Rose suspected something and tried to keep us apart. It must only have been when Randolph told her about your engagement that she thought it was safe to let me come home.”

  Ryan was shaking his head but smiling lovingly at Millie. “What a mess,” he said.

  “A fine mess indeed,” she agreed.

  “We can’t stand out here all afternoon. Come inside and have some tea.”

  “But your grandma–”

  “Will be thrilled to see you. Just come in and warm yourself by the fire for a while,” Ryan said, kissing Millie again. “Stay with me for a bit,” he said persuasively.

  Millie nodded and smiled despite everything, stealing one more lingering kiss before they headed for the cottage.

  * * *

  My Dear Millicent,

  Whilst I read your letter with interest, I could not help but suspect that many of the assertions made in it were the figment of your over-ripe imagination.

  If the notion of some dalliance between Mr Windham and your father’s maid was not ridiculous enough in itself, your further claim that he is the father of her unborn child is certainly nothing short of outrageous.

  As to your unquestioning belief in the version of events that the O’Flynn boy has fed you, this is just another facet of your all-too-frequently displayed tendency to romanticise the lives of the lower orders. Of course, O’Flynn would have you believe him to be heroic. The truth is more likely that he himself is the father of Effie’s baby.

  Even if he is not, it strikes me that the best solution to this muddle is the one that Effie and Ryan have already determined. Namely, that they should marry. Your meddling in this matter is, not only unbefitting of a young lady of your station, but also deeply unhelpful.

  Therefore, Millicent, I will not grant your wish that Effie should come to London to reside in my house for the term of her confinement. You must leave this matter well alone, Millicent. It is none of your business.

  Fond regards,

  Rose

  After reading her aunt’s letter, Millie realised that the only course of action open to her was to carry out what she had been loath to do earlier. She had hoped that Rose would agree to be complicit in her plan, to the extent that Randolph himself need never know about Effie’s pregnancy. Now, her aunt was likely to tell him anyway, and the only thing she could try was to appeal to him, in the hope that he would not only believe her, but, further, share her view of the situation.

  Millie knocked on the door to Randolph’s study. Instantly her father called, “Enter.”

  Millie slowly opened the door. Randolph looked up from his papers.

  “Ah Millicent, how can I help you?”

  To Randolph’s surprise, Millie drew up a seat to his desk. The girl looked grave.

  “Is something the matter?” Randolph asked.

  “It’s about Effie,” Millie said softly.

  “Yes?” Randolph replied.

  Millie thought the best way was just to state the facts plainly. “Effie and Ryan are only getting married because Effie is expecting a baby.”

  Randolph raised his eyebrows.

  “But it isn’t Ryan’s baby. It’s Ben Windham’s baby.”

  “Millicent!” Randolph exclaimed.

  “Effie and Ryan aren’t in love so they shouldn’t have to get married. It isn’t Ryan’s fault.” She hesitated. “It isn’t really Effie’s fault either. You know what I told you about Ben Windham, Daddy. He’s a brute.”

  “Millicent, on what authority do you have this information?” Randolph asked, alarmed.

  “From Effie and Ryan.” She paused. “They wouldn’t lie, Daddy. You know them both. Neither of them would ever lie to us.”

  Randolph looked sombrely down at his desk.

  “I had appealed to Aunt Rose,” Millie continued. “I asked her if Effie could go to live with her to have the baby. That way no one need know about the baby and Effie and Ryan needn’t get married.”

  Randolph looked up, asking, “And what did she say to that?”

  “She didn’t believe me and she said Ryan and Effie were best off getting married.”

  “Well she has a point–”

  “She would say that because she’s never been in love,” Millie argued, becoming agitated. “They don’t love each other, Daddy. You understand that. People shouldn’t get married u
nless they’re in love.”

  “Ryan would make her a damned site better husband than Ben Windham,” Randolph said with the nearest thing he was likely to exhibit to anger.

  “But she doesn’t love Ryan. He doesn’t love her. Another woman –other women– will love Ryan. Surely you understand that.”

  Randolph studied his daughter’s countenance, remembering what Rose had suggested concerning Millicent’s feelings for the groom. From her outburst just now, he tended to think that Rose might be right. “Leave it with me, Millicent. I shall think on it,” he said.

  “I want you to try to convince Rose to have Effie to stay. She can work for Rose for as long as she’s able.”

  “Yes, alright, I’ll think about it,” Randolph repeated.

  Chapter 9

  Millie had acted in the heat of the moment when she’d written to Aunt Rose, and it was only after she made her plea to Randolph that she actually informed Ryan of all she had done. She told him as they sat together, huddled over a wood stove, in a shed that Ryan and some of the groundsmen used as a mess. She thought he’d be pleased.

  “I take it you’ve discussed all this with Effie,” he said when Millie had finished explaining things to him.

  “With Effie?” Millie asked absently.

  “Yes, if you’re proposing that Effie should go to live with your Aunt Rose you need to have her agreement.”

  Millie frowned. “Well I assumed she’d realise it’s for the best.”

  Ryan looked forlorn rather than angry. “Millie, it’s not really for you to decide on Effie’s future.”

  “But this solves all the problems–”

  “It doesn’t really solve hers. What about after the baby is born?”

  “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” Millie admitted. “I mean she could always give it up–”

  “Millie, you’ve no idea how Effie feels. How can you assume she’d want to give her baby away?” Now he did sound angry.