you shouldn’t...but neither should you allow those boys to bully you.’ Faye ruffled her half-brother’s fair hair. She felt guilty that Michael had been mocked by some older pupils when the news circulated about his overdue school fees. The headmaster’s letter had been one of the first indications that all was not well. She had accepted Westwood’s explanation that the matter was just an oversight. How she regretted having been so naive!
But now she had terminated the lawyer’s contract the periodic sum the charlatan had charged to nurture her investments would again be available for essentials. They weren’t poor...but neither were they rich, nor even comfortably off as they had once been. Faye bitterly regretted having employed Westwood; but he had come recommended by the man she was to marry and thus she’d trusted the fellow to deliver what he’d promised. Now she suspected he was incompetent at best and corrupt at worst, but she had no proof that he’d done anything underhand. She’d willingly signed the documents, handing him control of half her father’s bequest. Fighting Westwood in court and losing the battle would certainly end in her destitution. With her younger siblings relying on her she couldn’t afford any such action...and no doubt Mr Westwood was aware of that fact.
At twelve years old Michael had many more years at school; further economies would need to be made if her half-brother were to stay in Warwick. Yet she must be even-handed; she also had her half-sister’s future to consider. As though that young lady were aware of Faye’s reflection she skipped into the room.
‘May we go out this afternoon?’ Claire asked excitedly. ‘I saw the caravans from my window. There are crowds gathering already on the village green.’
‘I saw them, too! May we go?’ Michael interrupted his sister to add his own plea to be allowed to visit the local midsummer fair. The Romanies arrived annually and stayed for a few days to entertain the locals before moving on to another town.
‘Yes, indeed, we shall go and enjoy ourselves; only a few pennies each to spend, though,’ Faye cautioned. She sighed happily; a break from the unpleasant anxiety that had beset them all would be very welcome.
Just a few days ago at breakfast she’d unsuspectingly opened the letter from Westwood, finally admitting the truth. From her spontaneous gasp of dismay the children had learned something was amiss. Faye had been tempted to shield them from the dreadful news. But what use was procrastination when they must know immediately that savings had to be made.
‘I’m going to fetch my new bonnet and stitch some ribbon on it.’ Claire skipped towards the door.
‘Bill Perkins won’t be going, so you’re wasting your time wearing it for him,’ Michael ribbed.
‘I’m not bothered about him anyway...’ his sister retorted.
‘No bickering, if you please,’ Faye reprimanded wryly.
Claire had developed a crush on Bill Perkins after the young farmer rescued her from a ditch. Following a heavy bout of rain she’d lost her footing and slipped down into the sludge. The fellow had a fiancée, but always stopped to pass the time of day with them all.
‘I have been thinking about that trip to town we spoke of.’ Faye’s thoughts had jumped from nice Bill Perkins to another worthy gentleman: a faceless, nameless person her sister—God willing—was yet to meet.
‘Must we go to London for my debut?’ Claire asked with a pronounced lack of enthusiasm. ‘It’ll be an expensive trip and I’m not sure I want to bother.’ A private smile curved her lips. ‘I might find a husband hereabouts.’
‘Your dowry is still safe and as you are so pretty you will need no costly embellishment like some of the plain misses.’ Faye tried to encourage her sister with a jocular comment. But the praise was justified. Claire was indeed a beauty and regularly drew attention from the lusty youths in Wilverton, the small town about a half-mile distant. Claire had never shown interest in having a local beau before. Yet, oddly, Faye had just seen her sister look like the cat with the cream when talking of finding a mate in the neighbourhood.
It was said that Claire resembled her; Faye believed that her half-sister took after Deborah Shawcross in looks. But they rarely spoke about her late father’s second wife. Even before Deborah absconded to Ireland to join her lover the woman had been an embarrassment.
‘You should have your Season in London, because I know you will have a wonderful time and meet a splendid fellow and fall in love.’ Faye’s confident tone barely lifted Claire’s frown. But it amused Michael and he made much of patting at his yawning mouth, chortling.
‘Aunt Agatha has invited us to stay with her in Hammersmith,’ Faye continued. ‘I’ll write and let her know that we would be pleased to accept her hospitality in the spring.’
‘I’d sooner stay here,’ Michael piped up.
‘You will be safely out of the way at school, young man.’
‘Might I go and stay with Stanley Scott?’
‘I don’t think so, Michael,’ Faye said apologetically. ‘The cost of the fare to Scotland is rather a lot.’ Her brother had received an invitation from his school chum’s parents to holiday with them in Edinburgh until the autumn term.
‘Shall I ask him to come here?’ Michael asked, but not very optimistically.
‘You know we don’t really have the room for guests.’ Faye gave her brother a rueful smile. Mulberry House was small—nothing like the castle in which the Scotts lived—but, that apart, another mouth to feed would be an additional financial burden. Despite her logic and prudence Faye felt mean denying her brother a friend for the holidays.
‘Now if we are to spend an hour or two at the fair later I must get on.’ Faye briskly clapped her hands. ‘I want to catch the post and the shopkeepers in Wilverton must be paid. Mr Gideon warned of rain this evening; we’ll want to be home from the fair before then.’ Their housekeeper’s husband was invariably accurate with his weather forecast.
Having sealed the note to her aunt about preparations for Claire’s debut, Faye counted out the money owed to merchants and put it into her reticule. She was determined to carry on paying bills on time. But news of her reduced circumstances would eventually circulate and she hated the idea of being tattled over or pitied. The Gideons were aware of what had occurred and were as fiercely loyal to Faye and her half-siblings as they had been to her father. But it was an odd truth that no matter how conscientiously confidences were guarded, rumours spread.
* * *
A ride into town on Mr Gideon’s dog cart was always a revelation. As they moved along at a steady pace the elderly fellow kept up a one-sided conversation past the clay pipe clenched between his teeth. Not that Faye was unwilling to add a comment; it was hard to get a word in edgeways. Mr Gideon had employment with several neighbours and was up to date with what went on in the hamlets that encircled Mulberry House, the Shawcrosses’ residence for over one hundred years. By the time the elderly mare pulling the dog cart was drawn to a halt at Wilverton Green’s turnpike, Faye had learned that there was a bad case of scarlatina in Moreton, to the south, that had resulted in one burial so far, and that twins had been born last week in Fairley, to the east. Having expressed her gladness that mother and babies were all doing well, Faye sprang nimbly down to the dusty ground.
‘Shall I wait for you to finish your business and take you back, Miss Shawcross? It be no trouble.’ Bert Gideon had removed his pipe to make that enquiry.
‘It’s
