Mary Nichols - Rags-to-Riches Bride

At dawn she was still sitting on a bench outside the room where her father lay fighting for his life. Richard had left to take Toby back to Mrs Beales and then he was going home himself. ‘I will tell my father what has happened,’ he had said before leaving. ‘You will not be expected to go to work today.’ She wondered what else he would tell his father and the rest of the family. She was thankful that it was Saturday and there was all the next day before she need worry about her job.

If her father lived, she would devote herself to him and try even harder to help him overcome his problem and she would put all ideas of marrying Stephen out of her mind. In any case, as soon as he knew her circumstances, Stephen would make excuses not to take her out again and the subject of marriage between them would be tacitly dropped. It was not that she minded about that. She was not in love with him and had only been considering it because her father had told her not to dismiss the idea out of hand. But Stephen’s strange way of proposing had made her wonder if he too might be having pressure put to bear on him. Though why? She was no catch. She had no dowry, no fortune and no more than average good looks.

Thinking about that set her thinking about Lady Harecroft’s party. In normal circumstances she might have been thrilled to be asked, would have anticipated it with pleasure, but the circumstances were far from normal. What was going on in that old lady’s head? She did not appear demented, but perhaps she was, perhaps she was mistaking her for someone else, someone far more suitable as a bride for her great-grandson. And from those thoughts it was a simple step to thinking about the other great-grandson.

Mr Richard Harecroft had shown himself to be masterful and completely in charge of the situation. He had not turned a hair at having to go into that low tavern, nor shown any kind of disgust, either at their dismal lodgings or the state of her father. And he had known at once that Papa was ill. He had saved both her life and her father’s in the space of a couple of hours, and he had paid for the private room. She owed him more than she could ever repay.

She looked up and jumped to her feet as a nurse approached her. ‘How is he?’

‘He is a fighter, I will give you that. We think he will pull through.’

Diana let out a long breath of relief and scrubbed at her eyes with an already sodden handkerchief. ‘Thank God. Can I see him?’

‘Yes, you can go in and see him for a few minutes, then I suggest you go home and rest. The worst is over and now only time will tell how far he will recover.’

‘What do you mean, how far?’

‘He will need careful nursing and a great deal of help and patience. He will have to learn to manage his disability…’

‘You mean the loss of his arm. He manages that very well.’

‘No, I mean the paralysis of his left side and not being able to speak properly. We do not know how permanent that is. He might recover some speech and movement in time. It is in God’s hands. We have done all we can.’ She pushed open the door of the sickroom. ‘Captain Bywater, here is your daughter, but she must not stay too long and tire you.’ She turned to Diana, who had followed her. ‘Take his hand and squeeze it now and again,’ she murmured. ‘You never know, you may arouse a response.’

Diana moved towards the bed. Her father’s normally weatherbeaten face looked grey and still had that contorted look, which had so frightened her. She sat in a chair beside the bed and took his hand. ‘Papa, it’s me, Diana.’ He turned to stare at her, but she was not sure if he had taken in what she said.

His lips moved slightly, trying to frame a word, but he gave up and she realised he could not speak and that made her want to cry again. ‘Do not try to talk,’ she said, determined not to let him see her tears. ‘Just squeeze my hand.’ But he did not; his own hand lay limply in hers.

‘Mr Harecroft took Toby home,’ she said, making herself sound cheerful. ‘He said he would make sure Mrs Beales looked after him. You remember Mr Harecroft? He came home with me last night. I do not know what I would have done without him. I will go home when I leave here and see how he is.’ She forced a laugh. ‘Toby, I mean, not Mr Hare-croft. I expect Mr Harecroft has gone back to Harecroft House and I did not have a chance to thank him properly.’ She prattled on. He neither moved nor spoke and only his eyes seemed to have any life as they searched her face.

The nurse came in. ‘Time to go, Miss Bywater. Your father needs to rest and so do you.’

Diana bent over to kiss her father’s forehead. ‘I must go now, Papa, but I will come back soon.’

He moved his lips and she heard him utter the word, ‘Kate’. It was her mother’s name and she turned away blinded by tears.

In the corridor the nurse asked, ‘Did he say something?’

‘Only “Kate”. He thinks I am my mother.’

‘Do not let it worry you. Saying anything at all is a good sign. Now off you go. He is in good hands.’

‘I know and I cannot begin to thank you.’

‘You do not have to. It is our job.’

It was more than just a job, Diana thought as she made her way out of the hospital, it took courage and dedication, both of which would be required of her in the next few days and weeks. Or perhaps it would be months and years. How was she ever going to manage?

‘Miss Bywater!’

She looked up and was surprised to see Richard Harecroft striding towards her. And suddenly she felt more cheerful, simply because he was there. ‘How is he?’ he asked.

‘Comfortable. He is being well looked after and I have been sent away to rest.’

‘Quite right, too. I have brought the gig to take you home. Stephen would have come, but he has gone to work, so I have come in his stead.’ He took her elbow to usher her towards the patient pony. ‘I know, you are going to say you can easily walk…’

‘No.’ She managed a smile. ‘I am glad you came, I wanted to thank you for what you did for my father last night. And for me.’

‘I did nothing.’ His tone was brusque, dismissing her gratitude.

‘All the same I am grateful, and I am sure Papa will be too, when he understands what happened.’

He helped her into the gig, climbed in beside her and set the pony off at a trot. She was silent, too tired to make conversation, until they came out of the end of the street and turned towards the river. ‘Mr Harecroft,’ she said, sitting forward in dismay, ‘this is not the way. You have taken a wrong turn.’

‘I do not think so. Great-Grandmama instructed me to take you home and that is what I am doing, taking you to Harecroft House.’

‘Your home! Oh, no. I cannot go.’

‘Why not?’

‘I am unkempt, my father is in hospital and I must be on hand to visit him; besides, you could not have told her ladyship the whole sorry story.’

He knew what she meant. ‘No, that is between you and me and no one else’s business unless you choose to tell them.’

‘Oh.’ She paused to reflect; she could not keep her job and look after her father at the same time, and yet she needed to earn if they were to live. It was a problem that would have to be faced, but at the moment she was too exhausted to think about it. ‘Would that not be dishonest?’

‘I do not see why. Your father is ill and he is not going to be in a position to go wandering off on his own for a little while, is he? Why stir up more problems for yourself?’ He turned to look at her. She was very pale; there were dark circles under her troubled blue-grey eyes and her hands were shaking in her lap. He put one hand over hers. ‘Our secret, eh?’ Even as he spoke, he wondered what he would say to the dowager if she asked him what he had discovered? What had Great-Grandmother seen in her that had made her so anxious to probe? The whole business was on the way to distracting him from his main purpose, being elected to Parliament and having his book published. He thought becoming an MP ought to come first, but he had heard nothing from Peel or Chadwick.

‘Thank you.’ She looked down at his strong brown hand covering hers and it felt so comforting and so right, she did not withdraw it as she ought to have done, but a minute later he was obliged to put both hands on the reins to steer the pony to a stop in order to pay the toll over Waterloo Bridge and the moment of intimacy was gone. ‘But I still do not think you should take me to Harecroft House. I am an employee, it is not fitting…’

‘That makes no difference as far as the old lady is concerned. When she says do something, we all jump to obey.’ His voice softened. ‘Do not be alarmed. She will not eat you. You will be given a room where you can rest and refresh yourself and later someone will take you to visit your papa. It is better than going back to those dismal rooms and the uncouth Mrs Beales, is it not? You could never rest in the daytime there.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘I suggest you accept, it will be easier in the long run.’

‘Thank you.’ She leaned back and shut her eyes and let him carry her forward, though she could not help feeling she was being manipulated, losing control. Accustomed to directing her own life, of looking after her mother before she died and her father since then, she was not sure she liked it. But she was too tired to argue, much too tired…

Chapter Three

Harecroft House was an imposing residence, four storeys high with a porticoed porch to its front door reached by a short flight of steps. Richard pulled up outside, jumped down and handed Diana down. By the time they were walking up the steps, the door had been opened by a footman.

‘Tell young Johnny to take the tilbury round to the mews, will you, Braithwaite,’ Richard said, ushering Diana into the marble-tiled hall. Then, to Diana, ‘Come, I expect Mama is in the drawing room.’

He took her arm and guided her up a magnificent cast-iron staircase, turned along a short corridor, and ushered her ahead of him into a large room whose windows looked out on to the square. The dowager and a younger woman were sitting on sofas, one on either side of the hearth. The younger woman’s erect posture was due, Diana surmised, to stiff corseting that diminished her waist and emphasised her bosom, now clad in forest-green taffeta. ‘Here she is,’ Richard said. ‘Mama, may I present Miss Diana Bywater?’

Diana, still feeling bewildered, bowed her head. ‘Mrs Harecroft.’

‘Miss Bywater, you are welcome.’ It was said with rigid correctness and made Diana wonder if she really did welcome her. She turned to the old lady, who was smiling like a child who had got her own way. ‘Lady Harecroft.’

‘Sit down by me,’ the dowager said, patting the seat beside her. ‘I was very sorry to hear of your father’s illness. Richard tells me he has had a seizure. How is he?’

‘They think he will pull through, but it is too soon to talk of a full recovery.’

‘Oh, dear, I am very sorry to hear that, very sorry indeed. I hope he has been made comfortable?’

‘Yes, thanks to Mr Richard Harecroft. I do not know what I would have done without him.’

‘I did nothing,’ he said. ‘It was fortuitous I was there.’

‘Why were you there?’ his mother demanded.

‘Father asked me to escort Miss Bywater home last evening. She had been working late and Stephen had already left or he would have taken her.’

‘I told them it was not necessary.’ Diana felt she had to explain. Already she had a feeling that Mrs Harecroft disapproved of her and, remembering Richard’s expression when he had come upon her and his father in the office, she certainly did not want her to think there was anything untoward going on. ‘But in the event I was very glad Mr Harecroft was there.’ She paused. ‘I did not expect to be brought here today and would not, for the world, intrude—’