Chapter Six
Gloucestershire—June 1816
Seven years ago, Connor Hamilton had vowed to turn his back for good on the English countryside. But today, as he felt the warm summer sun on his face and breathed in the scent of freshly mown hay, he realised he’d never actually forgotten how beautiful it could be.
He’d chosen to drive from the Hall in his phaeton, with nine-year-old Elvie sitting at his side and Tom, the elderly groom, perched on the back. His two matched bays set a smart pace along the road to Chipping Calverley, but as their destination grew closer Connor reined them to a walk and took a swift glance down at Elvie. Not that he could see a great deal of her, thanks to that huge sunbonnet her grandmother had insisted the child wear.
‘I promise I’ll bring her back in one piece, Laura,’ Connor had teased.
‘I know! I know I’m fussing!’ Laura had laughed. But then she’d added, more quietly, ‘You realise, Connor, how very much my granddaughter means to me.’
An unspoken grief coloured her words and Connor had replied, ‘Of course. She means a great deal to me also.’
Poor Elvie. Poor silent, orphaned Elvie. But she was taking everything in, Connor was sure, with quiet pleasure. And suddenly the little girl tugged at the sleeve of his driving coat and whispered, ‘Look, Connor. There’s a fair!’
She was pointing to the colourful tents set out on a grassy meadow in the distance, the spaces between them already thronged with people and stalls. ‘A fair?’ he echoed teasingly. ‘Never, Elvie. Surely not.’
‘But there is, Connor. There is.’
Connor pretended to lean forward, shading his eyes from the bright sun. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I think you’re quite right.’
She didn’t say another word, but she gazed intently at the bustling scene as they drew closer. And Connor thought, Pray God I’ve done the right thing, bringing the child here. Meaning not just to the fair, but to Calverley, to the very place where he himself had grown up, the place he had turned his back on all those years ago. Thus, in all likelihood, opening himself up to all sorts of memories and regrets...
Concentrate, he told himself sternly, because by now his horses had come to a complete halt in the solid queue of carriages, gigs and carts all heading for the fairground. Connor turned round to his groom. ‘All right if I leave you in charge, Tom, while I walk on with Elvie?’
‘All right indeed, sir,’ said Tom, lowering himself remarkably promptly for a man of his age from the rear of the carriage. ‘You two go and enjoy yourselves, now!’
No one could have been more pleased than old Tom when Connor had arrived at Calverley Hall back in April and told him he was going to buy the place. Its former owner had died five years ago, owing money everywhere; the bank had taken possession and put the run-down Hall up for sale. No buyers appeared. Instead, a succession of tenants had done nothing to reverse its general decline and few of the staff from the old days remained.
But now Connor was the new master of Calverley. ‘Well,’ Tom had said when he heard the news, ‘I was thinking of retiring, to be honest. But since you’re back—if you need a fellow to run your stables, Mr Hamilton, then here I am!’ He’d puffed out his chest. ‘It will be an honour working for you, sir!’
And if Tom was recalling how Connor grew up the son of the local blacksmith, and had laboured every day in the heat of the forge, then old Tom said nothing at all.
Now Connor handed the reins to him, then went to help little Elvie down. ‘It’s a bit of a walk, Elvie,’ he told her. ‘But you don’t mind, do you?’
‘Oh, no.’ She gripped his hand tightly.
‘Good girl,’ he approved and noted how her eyes were round with wonder as he guided her through the lively crowds. So, he thought to himself, people still came from miles around to the midsummer fair at Chipping Calverley. ‘It’s the prettiest village in Gloucestershire,’ people always used to say. ‘With the best fair in the whole of the county!’
And he was finding that every sound, sight and scent brought back memories. The appetising smell from the stall selling fresh bread. The music of the Morris Men with their fiddles and their bells. The laughter of the crowd watching the Punch and Judy show. You didn’t see many smiles on the faces of London’s businessmen, thought Connor. Not unless they’d just
