choked, Lady Eliot’s jaw sagged and Alex went on, ‘I am sure she understands that to laugh at a child’s achievements is not at all the behaviour you expect of her, so we shall say no more.’
The ample, velvet-shrouded bosom rose and fell. Lady Eliot’s lips pursed tightly. ‘I see. You do not think that making a mockery of her betters–’
‘—is any worse than mocking a child?’ said Alex. ‘No. I do not. And I am not entirely certain why you would consider Miss Susan as Miss Woodrowe’s superior.’ If his voice had been chilly before, now it could have frozen hell solid.
Hoping to change the subject, Polly said, ‘Should you like a cup of tea, Aunt?’ Regrettably, she’d have to use fresh tea leaves.
Lady Eliot looked around and visibly shuddered. ‘I think not, Hippolyta.’ The disdain in her voice brought a stinging retort to Polly’s lips. She choked it back somehow and Lady Eliot smiled thinly. ‘Good day to you.’ She favoured Alex with a chilly nod, ‘Rector’, and swept towards the door. Reaching it, she turned back. ‘Your uncle feels that it would look best if you were to come to us for Christmas and New Year, Hippolyta, despite this foolishness.’
Polly stared at the door her aunt had closed with something close to a bang. She had refused even to think of Christmas, had expected to spend it alone. She wasn’t entirely sure that mightn’t have been preferable...but, no—the Eliots were her only remaining family. Surely once they realised that she no longer depended on them, that she asked nothing of them beyond being her family...why could they not see that?
Because without your fortune, you’re nothing to them. Only a shop-bred upstart. Their inferior.
‘Sir Nathan’s great-grandfather made his fortune importing silk,’ said Alex meditatively. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. I never met your father, but my uncle used to speak of him as a very good sort of man.’
‘He did?’ There was a lump in her throat.
‘He did. Now, if that offer of tea could be extended to me—?’
Alex’s voice was very gentle. She turned to him and somehow the quiet understanding in those clear eyes calmed all the hurt rage. If she allowed the Eliots to make her feel inferior, it would be a betrayal of her father’s hard work. Alex’s quiet words had shown her that.
‘Yes. Yes, of course it could.’ She fetched the teapot to wash it out, and took down the tea caddy he’d given her. Her fingers tightened on it, as she consigned her budget to perdition. For him she’d use fresh tea leaves gladly.
* * *
To her surprise, Polly found that she settled quite easily into the rhythm of her new life over the next week and a half. The children arrived on time each morning and even those villagers who viewed reading and writing with suspicion made her welcome. Hardly a day went by when some small offering did not appear either with one of her pupils, or a father dropping by with something larger, such as the flitch of bacon delivered by Mr Appleby. ‘Give a bit of flavour to a soup,’ he said, hanging it from a beam.
Other parents called, or spoke to her cheerfully in the street. Pippa Alderley visited after school halfway through the second week and brought several books to lend to her.
‘Alex has some you’d like,’ she said cheerfully, smiling over the rim of her mug. ‘He brought some lovely sets of engravings back from abroad. Scenes of Venice and Rome.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘He went to Pompeii, too, but he won’t show me those.’ She sipped her tea and sighed. ‘Dominic refused to take me there when we went to the Continent after we married. He said they wouldn’t let me see the ruins anyway. Most unfair, I call it.’
Polly stared, trying to imagine Alex visiting the scandalous ruins of Pompeii. She couldn’t quite manage it, so turned her attention back to her guest. Pippa seemed quite unbothered by the less-than-grand surroundings of the schoolhouse. She had spotted the tea caddy the moment Polly lifted it down.
‘Did Alex make that?’
Polly flushed. ‘Yes.’
Pippa said no more on the subject, but an odd smile had played about her mouth as Polly made the tea.
* * *
When she rose to go, Pippa said, ‘You’ll come for dinner one day, won’t you? Alex comes quite often. He can bring you along. He’s rather busy just now, but perhaps once Christmas is over?’
Polly flushed. ‘If you think he won’t mind...’
Pippa looked amused. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think he’d mind at all.’
Polly wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Alex Martindale called daily, ostensibly to check on the children’s progress, and she looked forward to those visits far, far too much. It would be far too easy to let herself dream, believe that those visits and the caddy meant something more than a good man’s kindness.
* * *
Alex strode back into Alderford late that afternoon, his gun over his shoulder and Bonny at his heels. The sun had set, but scarlet and gold still blazed in the west. He’d made a couple of nearby visits on foot and walked back over Dominic’s land.
‘Afternoon, Rector.’ Jim Benson touched his cap and looked admiringly at the brace of woodcock that dangled from Alex’s hand. ‘Those his lordship’s?’
Alex smiled. ‘They were.’
Jim grinned. ‘Ah, well. Not like he’ll miss them.’ He nodded at Bonny. ‘Shaping well, is she?’
‘Yes,’ said Alex, looking down at his dog. ‘Very steady. Good nose and a lovely soft mouth.’ Which had fortunately now stopped chewing the rugs.
Jim nodded. ‘Aye. Looks like she’s earning her way.’ He touched his cap again. ‘I’ll be off to my supper. Reckon them birds will go right tasty in Miss Polly’s pot!’ And with a sly grin, he was off.
Alex stared after him in disbelief. How the deuce had the fellow known the birds were for Polly—Miss Woodrowe? Of course, he’d already given a bird to old Jem Tanner. And yesterday he’d given a brace of rabbits to the Jenkins family... Everyone knew he often gave game to his parishioners, but perhaps he ought not to be calling on Polly quite so often. Not daily, anyway. She was managing perfectly well for herself, after all. Now that he was assured of that, perhaps he could call once, or maybe twice, a week? Just to discuss the children’s progress with her.
Pondering this, trying to convince himself that it was a good idea, he approached the cottage, automatically going around to the back door to save Polly having to come all the way to the front door through the schoolroom...
‘Out! Out, you brute!’
Something exploded in a white-hot rush in Alex’s brain. He had no idea how he reached the door, but he flung it open to find Polly, broom in hand, poking under a cupboard.
A rat of monumental proportions broke from cover and hurtled across the room, Polly charging after it, brandishing the broom. Bonny let out a startled bark as the terrified rodent shot between her paws and vanished in the darkness.
‘You let it escape!’ panted Polly, clearly furious.
Alex’s
