scrap and went off swimming with Samuel Wright. Edward called us cowards, that’s why I had a fight with him on the grass and fell on the ragwort.’ He fingered the red bumps on his chest.
‘How has your sister got involved in any of this?’ Faye removed Michael’s hand from the rash he was scratching.
‘Peggy’s scared of Edward so she sent Claire to tell the boy to stay away or else he’d get thumped.’
‘I see...’ Faye said, standing up. And she did see. Peggy might try to enlist Claire’s help again this afternoon, as a go-between. Faye realised that Mrs Gideon would be horrified to know her niece was encouraging a gypsy swain. The lad would soon be gone though, travelling on with his kin in their colourful caravans.
Unwilling to let her brother see her agitation, Faye laced his nightshirt, tucked him up, and went out of the room.
Pacing on the landing, she wondered if the best thing would be to send Mr Gideon to Wilverton to fetch Claire back. Or to keep fuss and questions to a minimum, she could go herself. She knew where Mrs Gideon’s brother lived, but didn’t want to create a mountain out of a molehill. It was likely she might turn up and find the girls doing nothing more exciting than sitting on the grass, making daisy chains for their hair. And then she’d feel a fool for spoiling their innocent fun.
It was at times like this that she wished she had someone to turn to for advice. But, even were her fiancé still in the vicinity, she would try to sort out the matter herself, she realised. Peter would be sure to be critical and intolerant of Claire’s behaviour. Peter’s parents, impoverished or not, were sticklers for keeping up appearances. They wouldn’t like their son’s future sister-in-law consorting with riff-raff.
Peering out of the landing window, Faye could just glimpse Mr Gideon, shirtsleeves rolled back, digging over the vegetable patch. It would be an inconvenience for him to have to pack up his tools and harness the pony and trap. But Faye knew that if she didn’t seek out her sister and satisfy herself Claire wasn’t in trouble, she’d not have a minute’s peace.
She pounced on a valid excuse to make the trip to town herself: Anne Holly had sent a note, informing her that her husband’s relations were returning to town in a day or two. She’d suggested that Claire might like to get to know Sarah before her niece returned home. Faye had been on the point of declining because Michael had suspected scarlatina, but now the doctor had called and given his verdict, there was no longer a need to shut themselves away. Faye decided she could pay Anne a visit to thank her for the invitation and set a date to take tea at the vicarage. It would be nice for Claire to make a new friend, especially as they were due to make their debuts together. More at ease, Faye went downstairs to tell Mrs Gideon she was going out.
‘I’ll fetch Bertram to drive you.’
‘There’s no need, Mrs Gideon. I’m quite capable of taking the pony and trap out; I’ve done so on many occasions.’
‘But he’s only digging over and won’t mind.’
Faye pulled on her cotton gloves, giving the woman a smile. ‘I’ll not stop long with Anne Holly. Please don’t wait for my return. You and Mr Gideon must get off home at the usual time. If you’d just leave the stew pot simmering on the hob, that will do fine. No need to fret about Michael; he is feeling much better and itching to be back on his feet.
‘If you say so, miss,’ Nelly Gideon grumbled. ‘Will you bring your sister back with you?’
‘Yes...of course...unless she is already on her way home and we miss one another.’
Faye hurried out of the kitchen door before her housekeeper could find a reason to stop her. Luckily Bertram had left Daisy in harness, probably in readiness to collect Claire later that afternoon.
Bertram eased his weary spine by bowing backwards, hands on hips, as Faye passed him with a wave. Mrs Gideon had come to the kitchen door to watch her leave and Faye noticed that the couple wore matching frowns as she slowly drove herself away from Mulberry House.
They were fine people, loyal and caring, but sometimes their protectiveness seemed stifling. Faye had felt freer when her papa was alive and relying on her assistance. She knew that the Gideons took seriously their vow to Cecil Shawcross to keep a watchful eye on her and her siblings. But she was quite capable of coping on her own and, as kindly as she could, she must make the Gideons see it, too. From a young age she’d had no doting mama to fetch and carry for her, and much as her father loved her, he had allowed her her independence in order to get on with his own business. She had roamed far and wide when not under her governess’s care. Edwina Sharp hadn’t lived with them, but had driven her little gig from Moreton village every day to tutor her, then returned to care for her elderly parents. They were all gone now. Mr and Mrs Sharp had died within weeks of one another, and as though unsure if her duty were done, their daughter had followed them to the family tomb at Michaelmas the same year.
Once on the rutted road with the balmy breeze at her back Faye felt her tension ease. The pony settled into a trot and she loosened the reins. As she passed the brow of a hill she had a clear view of Valeside Manor nestling in all its glory in the valley below. She turned her gaze from it, concentrating on the road ahead; it seemed the more she learned of the new master of Valeside the less she ought to like him. A gentleman with a young Romany concubine and a careless attitude to what people thought of his morals was surely not somebody she should find charming and attractive. And yet...she did.
Faye urged Daisy to a faster pace, annoyed with herself for allowing such a fellow into her head when her fiancé should have first claim on her thoughts. She pondered on the lack of an opportunity to discuss her financial losses with Peter. He had left unnecessarily early for London; had he known that Michael didn’t have scarlatina they would have spent a few more precious hours together.
Approaching Wilverton Faye turned the trap at the turnpike, heading along the dusty main road towards the row of thatched cottages at the far end where Mr Miller lived with his children. Slowing down in front of the last cottage in the row, Faye caught sight of Edward Miller scything the grass and whistling as he worked. Of Claire or Peggy there was no sign. Edward stopped what he was doing to tug at his forelock.
‘Miss Shawcross,’ he mumbled in greeting, coming to the gate. ‘The doctor called on you, didn’t he? Is Michael ailing?’
‘He is getting better now, thank you, Edward.’
‘We heard he’d got spots on him.’ Edward took a cautious step back. ‘Is it something catching?’
‘Luckily it is not. The ragwort he rolled on after swimming gave him a rash.’ Faye gave him a stern look. ‘You had a fight with him yesterday at the fairground. You should know better. You’re a good few years older than my brother.’
‘Weren’t all my fault,’ Edward blustered, glancing about. ‘Have you come to speak to my pa about it?’
‘Not this time...but if it happens again, I will,’ Faye said flatly. She felt sorry for Mr Miller, widowed many years ago and coping alone with his four children. Peggy was the eldest at fifteen and Edward a year younger. ‘I’ve come to take my sister home. Is she inside with Peggy?’
‘Ain’t seen Peggy or Miss Claire this afternoon.’
Faye gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘If you know where my sister is, please tell me.’
Edward shook his head sending his sandy fringe flopping into his eyes. ‘Honest...ain’t seen ’em, Miss Shawcross. Peggy went out this morning to do chores for Mrs Bullman like she always do every day. Ain’t seen her since. And ain’t clapped eyes on Miss Claire since the fair. I’ve been helping Pa indoors ’cos his knees are bad.’ He jerked his head towards the wonky open doorway that led into the cottage. A girl of about seven was stationed there, sucking a thumb.
Faye knew that the butcher’s wife paid Peggy to help out in the shop in the mornings. But it was possible Peggy had met Claire later on.
‘I know about the gypsy boy you were going to punch because he was making