Katie’s Hero Page 2

  The old lady knocked at the door of his lordship’s study.

  “Come!” he called.

  He had a commanding voice, Katie thought, a posh bloke’s voice. The housekeeper went in and crossed the room, but Mrs. Mallory didn’t follow her, so Katie stayed where she was. Peering through the ajar door, Katie was curious to catch a glimpse of her new employer. He was seated at his desk near the fireplace, with his back to her. His hair was fair, and shone gold in the firelight. He looked up to speak to his housekeeper and in profile he had an aristocratic face, with a long Roman nose — the kind that went with the commanding voice — though he looked a little more boyish than she had expected. He wore a gray civilian jacket, very nicely tailored. He was rather slim, from what she could see, and there was no sign at all of an injury or a war wound.

  “About bloody time,” she heard him say, “the train must have drawn in at the station over an hour ago.”

  Katie tensed. There was something familiar about his voice.

  The housekeeper was apologetic. “They walked, your lordship.”

  “They should have been met, Jessop. Why didn’t you organize that?”

  “I didn’t think it my place, sir, to make that decision … ”

  “Not your place! Have you no common sense, woman!”

  He’s dreadful, thought Katie. For a man with quite a pleasing appearance, he had the most horribly arrogant and high-handed manner with his housekeeper. He was obviously in the wrong, too. He should have issued proper instructions if he wanted things done a certain way. If his long-time, faithful servant had to put up with that kind of tongue-lashing, what chance was there for her? Katie knew she’d never please him in a thousand years. Mrs. Jessop beckoned them forward, and Katie took a last look at Mrs. Mallory for solidarity before entering the dragon’s lair.

  “Try to smile, dear,” Mrs. Mallory whispered, “I promised him I’d find him someone pretty!”

  • • •

  Michael maneuvered his wheelchair with expert skill. He backed it up about half a yard and then spun it around to face his visitors. He jerked his head up to look at them. He hated having to look up at people all the time. It was demeaning for a man who had stood at six foot two, last time he was able to stand. It was as if they were very important and he was kneeling at their feet.

  “Michael, dear! You look awful,” Mrs. Mallory said.

  Michael knew he’d become thinner and paler since the accident, but he had checked his reflection in the mirror just fifteen minutes ago and thought he still had the face of a handsome young flier.

  “Thank you so much,” he said in a sour tone, as Mrs. Mallory plonked the suitcase down beside his chair and leaned forward to give him an unwelcome kiss.

  “No roses in your cheeks,” she said, pinching them with her fingers as if she could improve them, while Michael shrank back in his chair in disgust.

  “Marjory — ”

  “And you always look so cross!”

  Michael rolled his eyes in annoyance. Mrs. Mallory always treated him as if he was a small boy. She started asking him some rubbish about the house, but he didn’t hear the details because he was too busy staring at the girl. She looked frightened out of her wits. She was very pale, with wide, dark eyes that did nothing to hide her fear. Mrs. Mallory obviously hadn’t warned her about the bloody wheelchair, because she was staring at it as if it might burst into flames, or start careening toward her like Boadicea’s chariot. He gave a little snort of amusement. His hands stayed firmly on the wheels to keep it in place. Some things, at least, were completely under his control.

  “Miss Rafferty?”

  “Very pleased to meet you, Mr … my lord … ship,” she said uncertainly.

  That amused him a little, too. “Have you come all the way from Ireland, today?” he asked. He didn’t care if he sounded laconic. Lords were allowed to be laconic.

  She looked at her feet, and a strand of curly auburn hair fell in front of her face. “No, sir. From London, sir.”

  “Have we met before? At a dance, or something?”

  “No, sir. I don’t believe we have,” she replied.

  He didn’t think he was mistaken, but he didn’t challenge her. He noticed the missing button on her little tweed suit, and the way she tried to conceal it with her left hand. He noticed her hands, too. Lily white and very shapely. He suspected her ankles were shapely too, though it was hard to tell because she was wearing such awful, wrinkly stockings.

  “The place she was staying was bombed out, Michael,” Mrs. Mallory explained, since it was clear that Katie was keeping her responses as minimal as she dared. “Katie has been living in a Tube station, according to my sister-in-law. She needs alternative accommodation, and we need her help. So here she is.”

  “Indeed she is.” Michael appraised her once more. She was still almost quaking with fear, he realized. Surely she was over the initial shock of the meeting a cripple by now? “Why on earth did you leave Ireland, Miss Rafferty? Why didn’t you stay where there isn’t a war?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Michael, where are your manners?” Mrs. Mallory scolded. “We need a hot drink, if not something stronger, and Katie needs to know where she will be sleeping.”

  “The attic would be absolutely fine,” Katie announced, a little too fast.

  Michael raised an eyebrow.

  Katie gave a nervous laugh. “Then I won’t be disturbing anyone with my Hail Marys.” She turned to Mrs. Mallory, as if she was silently asking for her help.

  “Miss Rafferty is very anxious not to get under your feet,” the older woman explained, “until the children arrive on Friday.”

  “I see,” Michael said, though he wasn’t sure that he did see.

  “She comes from a very respectable family, Michael, and she is very young.”

  “I can see that. I almost thought she was one of the bloody evacuees when she first arrived.” Michael noticed that Katie colored up a little at his blunt remark.

  “Yes, she’s young and far from home,” Mrs. Mallory said, “and she hasn’t worked for anyone but her own mother before, helping out with her brothers and sisters. So, she needs to know that you wouldn’t compromise her in any way, Michael.”

  Michael stared back in disbelief, but apparently Mrs. Mallory was quite serious. Her face didn’t flinch. She was a marvelous ambassador for the WRVS, with her unbreakable spirit and her undentable hat, but she was a real pain in the neck as far as Michael was concerned. She sat, stately and imposing in her enormous dark blue uniform, waiting for his reply.

  Michael felt a flash of anger. “How very kind you are, Marjory,” he said in a hostile voice. “How amusing to suggest that I might be able to compromise a woman, now that I’m stuck in this thing.”

  • • •

  Katie knew her face was scarlet with embarrassment. Surely this wasn’t the way it was meant to go when a girl met her new employer. If that’s how he spoke to Mrs. Mallory, she dreaded what he might say to her next. She hoped, desperately, that he wouldn’t ask her any more questions about where they had met before. She couldn’t — she wouldn’t — think about that night. Then Mrs. Jessop came in with a tray of tea, although she hadn’t been summoned.

  Mrs. Mallory clapped her hands in delight. “Look Katie, there’s a lovely fruitcake, too! Now isn’t that a welcome sight after all the shortages in London?” Mrs. Mallory removed her hat as if to indicate that a more relaxed mood would be appreciated. She reached for the teapot. “Shall I be mother?”

  Katie tried to slow her breathing down to a normal rhythm. She received her cup of tea carefully, hoping that his lordship didn’t notice that the cup jingled against the saucer as she lifted it up to take a sip. She tried the fruitcake too, and found that there wasn’t really any fruit in it at all. It was dust and ashes. She was a little surprised — she had been led to believe that people ate better in the country, and Farrenden Estate was a working farm, for goodness sake.

  Like a curious schoolboy, Mic
hael reached out and picked up Mrs. Mallory’s hat. Katie watched him as he turned it around in his long, slim hands, admiring it from every angle. He rapped the top of it with his knuckles, and it made an audible “knock, knock” sound.

  “Thought so,” he said.

  Mrs. Mallory snatched it back. “Michael, don’t spoil that. I’d have a devil of a job getting them to issue me a replacement.”

  Katie smiled. She relaxed enough to look around the room. It was big and square, with a high ceiling. Bookshelves lined one wall, and Michael’s antique desk stood over on one side. A pair of tall, double doors had been left open beyond the desk, and she could see through to the next room. There was a bed in there, and she realized it must be where his lordship slept, though it had obviously been a drawing room or billiard room before. It looked as if a hand basin had been installed in there, too. It must have been an inconvenience to him, reorganizing his entire life around his disability.

  As if he saw where she was looking, Michael spoke up sharply. “The children are not to run amok in my private chambers. They are to be kept quiet at all times, Miss Rafferty. This is my study, as you see, and from here, I run the estate. I expect complete acquiescence to my wishes and to my rules. I have written them down in a list, if you will care to familiarize yourself with them.”

  He reached into the inside of his jacket pocket and fetched out a piece of foolscap, folded into four, to hand to Katie.

  She unfolded it, gingerly. It was handwritten in black ink, in a stern hand: The children are not allowed to play games in the hall, on the stairs or along the balcony. Sliding down the banisters is strictly forbidden. The children are to remain quiet and respectful at all times. The children must use the kitchen door when coming and going from school. Homework must be completed before supper, or supper and other privileges will be withdrawn.

  Katie could only conclude that Michael hadn’t encountered many children in the first twenty-six years of his life.

  After tea, Mrs. Jessop finally showed Katie to her room, which she was careful to praise to the older woman. There was a narrow bed with a navy blue coverlet, and a little table with a tiny lamp. The floorboards were dark, covered with a rug made of braided strips of fabric beside the bed. There was a mirror, thank goodness. But the curtains were a bit musty, and there didn’t seem to be anywhere for Katie to hang her clothes, except for one peg on the back of the door. When she sat down on the edge of the bed it didn’t give at all — a concrete slab would have had more bounce. The room was a bit depressing after the grandeur of the rest of the house, but it was a vast improvement on a London Underground Station.

  Mrs. Jessop announced it was time for her to head home, and so it was Katie who showed Mrs. Mallory to the door.

  The older woman hesitated before setting off for the long walk back to the village. “I hope you’ll be happy here, dear, and that your first impressions of Michael aren’t too bad.”

  “Oh ma’am, he hates himself and everyone else in the world,” Katie said, keeping her voice low in case he was listening.

  “He’s been through a lot,” Mrs. Mallory said. “The accident changed him out of all recognition.”

  “Why doesn’t he have a nurse?”

  “He did, when he first came home, but she was a bit of a tartar, and as soon as he could manage on his own, he sacked the old trout. He barely tolerates Jessop. You concentrate on getting into his good books, dear. It will do him good to have someone young in the house. Goodbye, and good luck.”

  Katie sighed. A bitter, broken man for an employer. A musty room with a concrete bed. A list of rules to memorize before Friday.

  Worse than that. Much worse, was the unspoken connection between her and Michael Farrenden. She needed to forget that terrible night in the Tube station. She wanted to start afresh. She’d hoped — desperately — never to have to think about that time again. But she had seen that flicker of recognition on his face. And it forced memories back into her mind that she would much rather forget.

  Oh God, yes, she remembered. She remembered the pain, and the fear, and the feel of his RAF jacket against her face. She remembered squeezing his hand, and his telling her she was a brave girl. She remembered the athletic way he had disappeared from her life, forever, she had assumed.

  Katie consoled herself with the thought that she didn’t have to speak to him again until tomorrow, when they would discuss the arrangements for the children. Her room was not in the attic, but at least it was upstairs, and having those stairs between her and Michael Farrenden gave her a great feeling of security.

  A man in a wheelchair couldn’t climb stairs, she presumed.

  The last thing she did before going to bed was to re-read Tom’s latest letter. Tom O’Brien, who danced so well, talked so well, and kissed so well … Katie didn’t understand why he’d written at all since they had parted on fighting terms. She had told him that she never wanted to see him again in her life. She should burn his letter instead of reading it again, but she didn’t.

  To my sweetheart, Katie,

  Damn cheek! Still calling her his sweetheart!

  I am writing to tell you that my father passed away three weeks ago now.

  That had been a shock. Mr. O’Brien from the general store was a tough old boot. Katie didn’t think he’d had a day’s illness in his life. Mr. O’Brien, dead?

  It was his heart.

  It seemed very unlikely that he had one, Katie thought, remembering the callous way the O’Brien family had treated her when they found out that Tom had got her pregnant.

  So, there’ve been a few changes here. I’ve taken over the shop, for one thing, and it’s got me thinking about you and me.

  Katie sighed. Here it comes.

  You’re a fine girl, and I’ve been missing you. Why have you not come back to Ireland?

  I told you, Tom. I never want to lay eyes on you again.

  You must have had the child by now. Why have you not come back to take up the threads of your old life?

  Her old life? Katie couldn’t believe his insensitivity. He knew her mam and her dad had been disappointed when she started carrying on with Tom. They’d had such high hopes for her. He knew that she had lied to them about the nursing job in England, and that they had guessed the reason why. He knew that her sisters had been told never to mention Katie’s name in the house again.

  I was wondering if the baby was a boy or a girl? Did he look like me? I suppose you didn’t give him my name, did you?

  Katie bit her lip. She didn’t want to read any of this anymore.

  Anyway, if you could see your way to coming back, we could put the past behind us. You could help me run the shop. It’s a lot of work, but we could be happy. I miss you so much. I think it will all work out just fine.

  Never.

  Love and kisses from Tom.

  Katie gave a sort of gasp as if she couldn’t breathe. If he had any idea how she felt about his love and his kisses now! How she cursed the day she met him at the dance at the railway hotel, and how bitterly she wished she had not caught his eye.

  There was no fire in the grate in Katie’s bedroom, but she lit a candle so she could burn the offensive letter. She took it over near the fireplace, and set light to it there so it wouldn’t make too much of a mess. It crumbled into little flakes of blackened ash, and when it was gone, Katie went and lay on the bed and cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter Two

  Katie woke early, too jittery to sleep any longer. She dressed in a plain skirt and a hand-knitted twin set. She considered putting on the little string of artificial pearls that Tom had bought for her, but she decided that was too showy for today. She wanted to look capable and efficient. She wanted to look like the type of young woman who could cope with anything this war flung at her. She brushed out her hair, and clipped it up at the sides. She reached for her lipstick. Red — the red badge of courage, people called it — and if ever there were a day when she needed some of that, it was today. She practiced h
er smile.

  “Good morning, your lordship,” she repeated aloud until she could say it without faltering or sounding fake. She squared her shoulders and went downstairs.

  She headed for the kitchen, where there was no sign of anyone, to her great relief. She made herself a quick breakfast and washed it down with weak tea.

  Mrs. Jessop arrived in a headscarf and a large, old-fashioned overcoat. She spent ages taking off her outer garments, placing them on the coat stand and finally donning her floral housecoat.

  “How long has his lordship been in a wheelchair?” Katie asked.

  “Five months, nearly six.” Mrs. Jessop went over to the enormous butler’s sink and began washing up Katie’s cup and saucer, tutting in disapproval. “He bailed out of his plane. Landed on somebody’s roof. Broke his back.”

  It was brutal sounding, when put like that. Katie shivered. “Poor man,” she murmured, though Lord Farrenden was so proud and haughty it hardly seemed right to feel sorry for him.

  “That’s what everyone calls him these days,” Mrs. Jessop observed, in an acid tone of voice. “Poor man — as if it was part of his title! You have no idea how he was before. Such a charmer. Loads of girlfriends. The parties he used to hold here — champagne on ice, streamers in the hallway, dancing until four in the morning. He loved dancing. He was good at it, too — along with everything else he did. Flying, shooting, skiing in Switzerland. He could ride a horse better than anyone in the county. Nobody would have called him poor man then.”

  Katie gulped. “No.”

  Mrs. Jessop shook her head. “Now look at him. Sits in his study. Doesn’t want to go anywhere. Doesn’t want to see anyone. Doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  “Perhaps when the children arrive … ” Katie began.

  “He’s not used to youngsters. He was an only child.”

  Katie’s heart sank.

  Mrs. Jessop began preparing a breakfast tray for Michael. A boiled egg, some rounds of toast, kept warm under a shiny metal lid. The cutlery was real silver, buffed up on a polishing cloth. Jessop arranged the butter knife reverentially and laid a clean white napkin beside it. She put a tiny quantity of marmalade in a cut glass dish and placed a camellia flower beside it.