chapter Five
‘The Harvest Supper?’ asked Alex Evington, looking at the letter in his hand.
‘Yes,’ said Cicely, taking it as he passed it to her. ‘It’s usually held here.’
It was Monday morning, and they were sitting in Mr Evington’s study, going through the mail. The summer sun was shining through the window, lighting up the piles of paper on his desk.
‘Gibson can give you some help with arranging it if you like,’ she continued. ‘He was the butler at the Manor for twenty years. He knows how these things are done.’
‘That would be very helpful,’ said Alex.
‘I will pencil it in the diary,’ said Cicely. ‘Then you can check the date with the rector before making the final arrangements.’
Alex nodded, before taking up the next letter.
‘Christmas carolling,’ he said.
‘Goodness, they’re getting in early,’ said Cicely, taking the letter from him. ‘The carolling isn’t usually arranged until much later in the year, but it’s true the carol singers usually meet up at the Manor after they have been round the village. After singing a rousing selection of carols they are invited in for punch.’
‘We had better write back, then, and say it can go ahead,’ he said.
‘Miss Fotherington’s wedding breakfast,’ he said, picking up the next letter.
‘Miss Fotherington’s wedding breakfast?’ echoed Cicely in surprise.
‘Yes. Dear Mr Evington,’ said Alex, reading aloud, ‘As I’m sure you’re aware it has always been the custom for the owner of the Manor to provide the wedding breakfast for any young lady who marries within the parish. The Haringays have always upheld this tradition, and I am sure -’
‘Of all the cheek!’ exclaimed Cicely, taking the letter out of his hand. ‘The custom for the owner of the Manor to provide the wedding breakfast indeed!’
‘Does that mean it isn’t?’ he asked with a wry smile.
‘It most certainly is not! Mrs Fotherington is the most penny-pinching woman you could ever hope to meet - or perhaps I should say, the most penny-pinching woman you could ever hope not to meet - but this is outrageous, even for her. You will not answer this letter. I will answer it for you,’ said Cicely firmly. ‘The Haringays always upheld this tradition! The woman takes my breath away!’
‘It’s a good thing I hired you,’ he laughed. ‘No one else would have been able to tell me that Mrs Fotherington is a fraud.’
‘A sharp set-down is what she needs,’ said Cicely.
‘Then we will give her one. Well, that is all the mail for today. But now, there is something else I need your help with. I’ve been looking for a key for the old stable block but I can’t find one. If it’s suitable, I mean to keep my Daimler there.’
‘The key’s in the garden room, in the top drawer of the bureau,’ she said. ‘But I’m not sure about using it for your motor car - although, of course, you must use it as you see fit,’ she said, remembering with a sudden pang that she was no longer the owner of the Manor.
‘Oh. And why is that? Is it already full?’
Cicely nodded. ‘It houses my father’s collection.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Your father kept his collection in the stables?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘As the doors have been locked ever since I arrived, I suppose he did not collect horses?’ he asked.
‘No.’ She smiled fondly as she remembered her father. ‘Not horses. My father collected bone-shaking machines.’
‘Bone-shak— you mean he collected bicycles?’
‘Yes.’ Her smile brightened. ‘My father loved bicycles. He was fascinated by their workings and belonged to an inventors’ club whose sole purpose was to devise more of the machines. He sat me on one before I could walk and I loved it. I have been riding ever since.’ Her smile faded. ‘But they will be of no interest to you,’ she remarked, thinking that Mr Evington would want to dispose of the rickety machines in order to make room for his car.
‘On the contrary. I found an abandoned bicycle when I was a boy. I spent all my free time riding it. I’ll look forward to seeing your father’s collection.’
‘It really needs cataloguing,’ said Cicely, her interest awakened. ‘My father intended to open a museum, so that when people came to visit the Manor they could see the various machines in his possession and chart the history of the bicycle.’
‘I think that’s an excellent idea. When we have finished on the inventory of the house, we could move on to the bone-shakers. In fact, I suggest we go out and take a look at them now.’
‘Oh, yes!’
It did not take Alex long to find the key, and before long the two of them were walking round the Manor and heading towards the old stables which lay behind it
‘I just hope I picked up the right one,’ he said as they approached the stables.
He fit the key in the lock and turned it. The stable door swung wide.
‘Shall we?’
He stood aside to let her pass, and Cicely went into the stable. It was cool and dark. There was a slightly musty background scent, but the overwhelming smell was of hay.
‘It really should be cleared out,’ said Cicely, looking at the soft piles of dried grass as her eyes accustomed themselves to the dim light. Here and there, pieces of dried clover could be seen sticking out of the mounds, adding to the sweet smell.
Alex nodded absently, but his attention was on the bone-shakers and not on the hay.
‘It’s a treasure house,’ he said appreciatively, as his eyes too accustomed themselves to the dim light.
Cicely was gratified at his interest. ‘Do you really think so?’
He nodded. ‘I do.’
Arranged lovingly in the stable were bicycles of every size and description. Some of the contraptions had one wheel, others had two or three. Some of them had wheels of the same size, and others had wheels of startlingly different sizes, most notable of which was a magnificent penny-farthing machine.
‘It must have taken your father a lifetime to assemble his collection,’ said Alex, walking amongst the machines and looking them over.
‘It did,’ said Cicely. ‘He began collecting them at an early age.’
‘Do they work?’ Alex stopped beside an odd-looking contraption.
‘Oh, yes. My father rode them regularly.’
‘How on earth do you ride this one?’ he asked, regarding a huge ball-like wheel, some six feet in diameter, that was stored at the back of the barn. It was made of two halves which were joined round the circumference but ballooned out in the centre to provide room for a seat in between.
‘I’ll show you,’ said Cicely. ‘If you’ll help me take it outside?’
Alex readily lent his assistance, and between them he and Cicely wheeled the strange contraption out of the old stables and into the yard.
‘It’s not easy with a long skirt,’ said Cicely, thinking that if she had known they were likely to look at the bicycles she would have worn her divided cycling skirt, ‘but I think I can show you what has to be done.’
She opened the cage-like machine at one side and climbed in, settling herself on the narrow seat. ‘If you can close the wheel,’ she said.
‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right in there?’
‘Yes, but you will need to keep out of the way. This type of machine is difficult to steer and I won’t answer for the consequences if you get in its path.’
‘Then I’d better look lively.’
He closed the cage and stepped quickly aside as Cicely began to pedal. The huge wheel began to turn, with her inside it, the clever construction of the seat keeping her still and upright whilst the wheel rolled along in a straight line. She steered it with levers inside the machine, and felt all the exhilaration of the wind in her hair as she rode to the end of the yard.
Stopping it was a precarious task but she managed it with skill, and before the wheel could topple she felt Mr Evington catching hold of it, steadying it as she climbed out.
‘That looks like fun,’ he remarked.
‘It is.’
‘I think I might have a go.’
‘It takes some getting used to,’ she warned him.
‘I’ll take my chances,’ he said.
He climbed into the machine and Cicely closed it round him, then he began pedalling and soon he too was bowling along. When it came to stopping the machine, however, he wobbled precariously and only just managed to save himself from disaster.
‘I think I’ll try something a little more conventional this time,’ he said, going back into the stables and wheeling out a cycle with two wheels of almost the same size. He climbed on and began riding round the yard.
‘Be careful,’ called Cicely warningly as he began to build up speed, suddenly remembering that that particular bone-shaker had not been in a good state of repair. ‘The brakes don’t -’
But her warning came too late. Heading for the horse trough he lost control of the steering, and tried to apply the brakes. They did not work, and a minute later he was thrown into the water.
Cicely doubled up with mirth.
He sat up, leaning back on his arms, with his knees pulled up in front of him. His jacket and trousers were drenched. Water dripped from his hair, which was black and sleek, revealing the contours of his head. ‘It isn’t funny,’ he said, annoyed, as he pushed himself out of the trough, dripping wet.
‘Oh, but it is!’ gasped Cicely as she clutched her sides. ‘Turnabout’s fair play!’
But then her expression changed as he began walking towards her with the most determined air and a wicked smile on his face, just ready to shake the water all over her.
‘Oh!’ she let out a startled gasp, as she saw him stretch out his dripping wet hands in front of him. ‘Oh, no!’ she exclaimed, still laughing, and then turned and ran back into the stables.
She glanced back over her shoulder, hoping he had given up the pursuit, but on the contrary he was now running after her, and he was gaining on her!
She sprinted into the stables, but it was too late. He took her arm, halting her flight, but she was determined she would not be caught. Trying to shake off his hand she half turned, and tripped on her skirt. She balanced for a moment, but then gravity took effect and she fell back into the sweet-smelling hay - and Alex, trying to prevent her from falling, was caught off-balance and tumbled after her.
And then everything changed.
Cicely’s heart missed a beat, and then it resumed its course, as she was aware of his body pressing down on her. It was intoxicating. As his weight pinned her to the hay, pressing her deeper into the yielding pile, she gasped.
As if in answer he lifted his body so that it was barely touching her own, but if anything that made things worse. Shivers of awareness shot through her and her body felt more vibrant than it had ever felt in her life. Every one of her nerves was on fire. The sensation exhilarated and alarmed her, even as shivers washed over her, thrilling through her entire body from head to foot. For one heady moment she forgot to breathe.
And then his face lowered towards hers. It was so close that she could see the rough stubble that covered his chin. The dark shadow drew her eyes and focused them on his mouth. His lips moved closer still, so close that she could feel the heat of his breath, and her eyes began to close.
He kissed her eyelids, then brushed her brow with gossamer-light kisses before trailing his mouth across her cheek towards her lips. And then —
‘Alex!’ came a voice.
‘Roddy,’ said Alex under his breath.
He closed his eyes in anger and then opened them again, pulling away from her and pushing himself to his feet.
‘Alex! Where are you?’ The cry came from the direction of the house.
Shakily, Cicely rose too, gradually breaking free of the spell that had gripped her and suddenly overcome with the enormity of what had just happened. She felt herself flushing to the roots of her hair as she realized she had almost succumbed to his warm, earthy scent and his hypnotic charm.
She took a few moments to steady herself. She looked down and realized that she was covered in tell-tale pieces of hay. With trembling fingers she picked them from her long mauve skirt and her white blouse, before following Alex out of the dimly-lit barn into the sunshine.
Fortunately, Roddy was nowhere in sight. But she was badly shaken by what had just occurred and she had an overwhelming urge to hide from her unruly feelings by running away.
‘I . . . I should be going,’ she said. She did not know what time it was and therefore did not know if it was time for her to go home but she did not care. She could not possibly stay after what had happened.
‘Cicely . . .’ he said.
‘Miss Haringay,’ she said in a sudden panic.
Some of the molten heat left his eyes.
‘Of course,’ he said formally, his voice rigidly controlled. Then he said, ‘I must go and change.’ He turned, as though he were about to go, and then said, ‘I hope this will not affect our working relationship.’ He hesitated. ‘You need not be afraid of me. There will be no more . . . horse play . . . in future, I assure you.’ He made an attempt at lightness. ‘One ducking in the trough is quite enough!’
She appreciated his attempt to take the tension out of the situation by making a joke of it, and she gave a weak smile in return, doing what she could to help him pass off the awkward circumstance. ‘I am sure it is.’
‘I will see you on Wednesday as arranged?’ he asked.
She took a deep breath, then nodded. ‘You will.’
‘Good. Then I will bid you goodbye - until Wednesday.’
‘Until Wednesday,’ she said.
He strode off towards the Manor.
As she watched him go, a part of Cicely felt she never wanted to see Alex Evington again. He was too unsettling, and the effect he had on her was too disturbing. But another part of her longed to be with him, to feel his strong fingers tracing the line of her jaw and caressing the curve of her cheek, and to see his eyes, hot with desire, piercing her own.
Oh! It had been heavenly.
But it must not be allowed to happen again. She knew very little about Alex Evington, but everything she knew told her that she must not fall victim to his undoubted charm.
She found that she believed him when he said there would be no more horse-play. But even so, she knew she would have to treat him with more than the usual distance if she were to prevent her unruly feelings from rising to the surface.
She gratefully retreated to the safety of the Lodge, where she hoped to forget all about Alex Evington. But even as she thought it, she knew the hope was vain.
Alex cursed himself as he strode back to the Manor, his clothes dripping wet. What on earth had he been thinking of, chasing Miss Haringay like that? He had had a warning of the effect she had on him when he had shaken her hand in Mr Peterson’s office, and he should have been on his guard.
Instead of which he had behaved like a green boy, careering round on a bicycle and plunging into the horse trough, and then giving in to an urge to pay her back for laughing at him by making her as wet as he was.
If he had been sensible he would have done nothing of the kind. He would have excused himself and returned to the Manor to change his clothes, and no harm would have been done. But had he done it?
No. He had chased her into the stables, and when she had tripped on her skirt he had not been able to hold her upright but had instead tumbled on top of her, unleashing the chemistry that existed between them.
He felt again the raw sensations that had gripped him when he had fallen on top of her. Her soft flesh yielding beneath him had sent an electrical charge through him that had been stronger and more powerful than anything he had ever felt before, and despite all his experience he had been taken aback by its sheer force.
Even now, he could hardly believe its intensity. He had experienced physical attraction before, but never on that scale. It had been so overwhelming that he had almost given into it and kissed her fully where she had fallen in the warm, fragrant hay.
And more than kissed her . . .
As he thought again of her soft hair, deep-set eyes and beautiful lips he felt his body stir. She had looked so right beneath him that he had felt that was where she was meant to be, and he had not been able to prevent himself taking her face in his hands and running his fingers over her smooth and delicate skin. He remembered the soft silkiness of it beneath his fingers, and remembered how it had made him long to run his hands over her entire body.
He made an effort to turn his thoughts into different channels. He loosened his tie as he strode towards the house, glad of the cold water that had drenched him, as it went some way towards cooling the passionate flames that still gripped him, even now Cicely had gone.
Still, there was one bright side to the situation, he thought. At least he had managed to stop himself before things had gone too far.
He had Roddy to thank for that. The sound of his brother’s voice had recalled him to reality just in time, for it would have been madness to have given in to the urges that had overtaken him and made him their plaything in the barn. To even think of kissing Cicely Haringay on the lips had been pure insanity. Cicely Haringay, of all people, who looked down on him and regarded him with contempt! If he had had to experience an attraction so strongly, why could it not have been for a nice young woman who was fun to be with, instead of one of the landed gentry.
But Cicely is fun to be with.
The unwelcome thought pushed itself into his mind.
How else would he have been able to forget himself and behave like a boy, if she had not been fun? He did not want to face the fact, but he had not enjoyed himself so much in years.
He had had the responsibilities of a man put on his shoulders at an early age. With a dead father and a sickly mother he had become the man of the household at the age of twelve and had done what he could to provide for the family. He had taken any job that had offered, and had worked long hours so that Roddy could get the necessary schooling to take up a white-collar job. He had found Katie a place in service, and then, having done what he could for his brother and sister, he had set about making his fortune.
And when he had made it he had rescued Katie from service and Roddy from the life of a pettifogging clerk. It had been work, work, work. Not that he resented any of it. He had done well and he had helped his family, and he was proud of that fact. But there had not been much time for anything else.
And then, out of the blue, he had found himself having fun with Miss Cicely Haringay. She might have been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but she was lively and intelligent and, contrary to what he had at first supposed, she had a sense of humour.
No matter how difficult it was, he had to acknowledge that her company had given him very real enjoyment. Her knowledge had proved invaluable, and her daring in riding the bone-shaking machines had proved impressive. The love she had obviously borne her father had made him admire her, for loyalty was important to him, and it was clear Miss Haringay knew the meaning of it, and her laughter when he had fallen in the horse-trough had proved she had a sense of the ridiculous that was every well bit as developed as his own.
But she was still a Haringay. Still from a long line of landowners who thought that ordinary people were beneath them. Still the kind of person who would have dismissed Katie for something she didn’t do.
The thought sobered him.
Yes, Cicely came from a different world and he would do well to remember it.
He turned the corner of the stable yard and almost bumped into Roddy coming in search of him.
‘There you are!’ said Roddy. Before stopping and looking at him in amazement. His face broke into a grin. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Don’t ask,’ said Alex in exasperation.
Roddy laughed. ‘Fell in a duck pond?’ he enquired humorously.
Alex laughed, too. ‘If you must know, I fell in the horse trough.’
‘The horse trough! What on earth were you doing falling in the horse trough?’
‘I was riding a bone-shaker and the brakes didn’t work. It pitched me off, head first.’
‘That explains it. Or at least, it explains why you’re so wet. But why are you covered in dried grass?’
Alex brushed the hay off his jacket. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said. Adding to himself, And one I am not going to tell you.
‘It’s a good thing Miss Haringay didn’t see you, otherwise she would have been able to get her own back on you.’
‘Miss Haringay did see me,’ said Alex, ‘and I assure you she paid me back in full.’
Roddy laughed even louder. ‘Good for her!’
‘And now I have to get out of these wet things - which are probably ruined,’ said Alex, looking ruefully at his suit. ‘What was it you wanted me for?’ he asked as the two of them returned to the Manor.
Roddy’s eyes took on a bright gleam. ‘I wanted to tell you the news. Our plan has worked - or, at least, the first part of it. The Honourable Martin Goss has replied to your invitation to the house-warming ball.’
Alex’s eyes became alert. He stopped and faced Roddy. ‘And?’ he demanded.
‘He thanks you for your kind invitation, and expresses himself delighted to be able to attend.’
‘Hah!’ Alex’s eyes lit up. ‘We’ve tempted him, Roddy. And once tempted I have no doubt we’ll catch him.’ His face became more thoughtful. ‘Now all we have to do is make sure we have a sufficiently attractive bait.’