The Emma Harte 7-Book Collection: A Woman of Substance, Hold the Dream, To Be the Best, Emma’s Secret, Unexpected Blessings, Just Rewards, Breaking the Rules. Barbara Taylor BradfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
I think.’
‘Begging yer pardon, sir?’ Murgatroyd seemed flustered. He glanced swiftly at the empty grate and condemned Emma under his breath.
‘A fire, Murgatroyd!’ Adam repeated. ‘It’s cold enough in here to freeze the balls off a brass monkey—’ Adam stopped and coughed behind his hand, a flicker of amusement touching his eyes as he noted Murgatroyd’s discomfort. ‘Ahem! Well, let me put it this way. The atmosphere in this room is comparable only to the Arctic this morning. It seems to me that I employ enough servants to run a battleship and yet it appears that I cannot get a few simple amenities.’ Annoyed as he was, this was said in Adam’s usual self-contained way, for he rarely displayed temperament with anyone, least of all the servants.
Bloody hell! He’s in a right proper mood this morning, Murgatroyd thought, and said in an oily voice, ‘I’m ever so sorry, sir, I am indeed. Polly’s badly and the other lass was late. I don’t know, if I’m not standing over ’em every minute of the day these lasses do nowt. I told yon lass ter light the fire in here ages ago, I did th—’
‘What’s wrong with you, man? Are you crippled?’ Adam interjected softly, but his eyes were like icy pools.
A startled expression flashed across Murgatroyd’s dolorous face. ‘No! No, of course not, sir. I’ll attend ter it right sharpish, Squire,’ he said hurriedly, bowing subserviently several times in a jerky fashion.
‘Yes. Do!’
‘Right away, Squire.’ He bowed again and backed out of the room.
‘Oh, Murgatroyd!’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Did the navvy arrive from Leeds? Young O’Neill.’
‘Yes, sir. Came by this morning, early, he did. I’ve given him the list of repairs.’
‘Good. See he has everything he needs to do the job right. And make sure he has the facilities of the kitchen. Plenty of food and the like.’
Murgatroyd nodded, surprised at the Squire’s concern about a mere labourer. It both baffled and interested him. ‘Yes, sir. Yer can rely on me, as always. I’ll handle it. By the by, Squire, what shall I be paying him for his week’s work?’ His crafty eyes did not leave Adam’s face.
Adam frowned. ‘I told you last night he was to receive one guinea for his work. Is your memory failing you, man?’
‘No, sir. It must’ve slipped me mind, that’s all.’
‘I see. Well, no harm done. In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you would attend to the fire immediately. I am rapidly turning into a block of ice. And I would like a cup of hot tea, Murgatroyd, if that’s not too difficult to accomplish.’
The edge to Adam’s voice did not go unnoticed by the butler. ‘Right away, sir,’ he said, bowing. He turned and scurried out, full of venom for Cook and the maids, and not so kindly disposed towards the Squire either. All that there tippling in the dead of night, that’s what makes him liverish, he mumbled under his breath as he closed the door softly behind him.
Adam gazed at the door. Murgatroyd was developing a peculiar tendency to forget conversations about money, especially when related to wages for the outside workers, who came to the Hall from time to time. The butler was too parsimonious by far and it bothered him. Also, Adam, who thought Murgatroyd was an ignorant man, suspected that the butler was a tyrant in his own domain downstairs.
He shook his head and turned again to his youthful portrait. He did not need to see that face to be reminded of his abandoned military career. It had been much on his mind recently. He had come to believe that his life would have been so very different if he had followed his lodestar, and not turned away from it, out of loyalty to his father. It was too late for regrets, but, nevertheless, he had them.
As he stood there in the dark cold room a mental image of himself as a youth flashed into his mind’s eye. He saw the thin intense boy he had been, home from Eton for the holidays, announcing to his father, with a fervency bordering on fanaticism, his intention of entering the army. His father had not only been flabbergasted but strongly, and vehemently, opposed to the idea, which he refused to countenance.
Adam recalled how unwavering his determination had been, how his dogged persistence and all manner of persuasive tactics had eventually convinced his father that he was sincere. The old Squire had finally succumbed and grudgingly agreed to let him take the entrance examination for Sandhurst, which he had passed with no problem. The old man really behaved quite decently, Adam now thought, and with a certain fondness, as he remembered his father.
The old Squire, Richard Fairley, had been a hearty, blustering Yorkshireman, one of the most powerful and richest industrialists in the North of England, with a gambler’s instinct for the main chance, a shrewd eye for business, and a mind as sharp as a steel blade. Once Adam had proved himself to be an exemplary cadet at the military academy, he had thrown all of his power and money behind his son. When Adam expressed a desire to join a cavalry regiment, being an incomparable horseman, Richard Fairley had left no stone unturned to accomplish this end. Through his wealth and his political connections he had obtained a place for Adam in the Fourth Hussars. He could easily afford the expense of two hundred pounds a year a commission in the cavalry entailed, along with the cost and upkeep of two horses and a string of polo ponies, which he had bought for his younger son. Being an astute observer of human nature, the old Squire had come to recognize that Adam had all the natural attributes of character a soldier required. He was ideally suited to military life, for he had a keen mind, great discipline, a sense of honour, and courage. Something of a romantic, Adam thirsted for adventure in foreign parts and, as an imperialist devoted to the goals and ambitions of Queen Victoria, he longed to serve his country, and his Queen, in the rapidly expanding Empire.
Adam had just gained his commission in the Fourth Hussars when his elder brother Edward had been tragically drowned in a boating accident. The old Squire had been brokenhearted. He also believed that the touchstone of a man’s character was dedication to duty. In no uncertain terms, and in spite of his understanding of Adam’s basic temperament, he had informed his younger son that his duty was to return to Yorkshire and take Edward’s place in the family business enterprises, which were huge.
This morning Adam could remember his father’s voice. ‘No more gallivanting around on horses in fancy uniforms, quelling the natives in godforsaken foreign regions,’ he had blustered, valiantly striving to subdue and disguise his raw grief for Edward. It was a grief that had been painfully apparent to Adam, who had been reluctantly compelled to resign his commission. He was bitterly disappointed, but he had behaved in the only way he knew how, as an officer and a gentleman, bound by codes of honour and obligation to family. He had accepted his filial duty with grace, not recognizing at the time that his ready acquiescence to his father’s command was a mistake that was irrevocable. He knew it now. It was a fact that haunted him. As he walked back to his desk Murgatroyd knocked on the door and hurried in carrying a coal scuttle. ‘Yer tea’ll be coming up in a minute, sir,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Murgatroyd. I would appreciate it if you would light the lamps at that end of the room.’ As he spoke Adam struck a match and lit the lamp on his desk and then pulled his engagement diary towards him. He looked over his appointments with boredom. He had a board meeting at the Yorkshire Morning Gazette in Leeds, the newspaper company of which he was the controlling shareholder. Later there was luncheon with a cloth buyer from London, one of his most important customers. Not such a heavy day after all. He would have time to stop at the mill in Fairley on his way to Leeds, to speak to Wilson, the manager, about his son Gerald’s progress. He stifled a sigh. Business was beginning to pall on him. There were no challenges any more. Now that he thought about it, there never had been really. He had no interest in the pursuit of money; in fact, he had never harboured any ambitions for great wealth or power. His success was his father’s success, and his grandfather’s before him, and he had only reaped the rewards.
Certainly Adam Fairley had increased the fortune he had inherited, but to him it seemed as if this had happened through fortuitous accidents