frequent, then I might be persuaded. Fortunately, retail is in good financial shape in general, and I’m not against expansion. We’ll need something to make up for this disaster.’ He gestured at the documents from France.
This response made James happy, and a cautious smile broke through. ‘My cousin William Venables has several sites he wants us to look at, whenever you can spare the time to go to Hull, Mr Malvern. And when you’re ready to give it your attention. Also, I’ve done a bit of research and come up with the plans you had made for the Harrogate arcade. They would work very well for the Hull project.’
‘Very enterprising of you, Falconer,’ Henry answered, with a small rush of pleasure. He had always known that this young man was clever; he had also proved to be a hard worker and extremely disciplined. Occasionally he was also fierce, a young lion marking out his territory. And now he had offered a way out of this hole. Henry Malvern thought for a moment then cleared his throat and said, ‘We should go to Hull as soon as possible. Maybe we can make a start on this before the cold weather sets in. What do you think of that?’
James beamed at his boss. ‘I’ll start making the arrangements immediately, sir.’
Esther Marie Falconer was the kind of woman whom everyone liked, and many truly loved. To her family she was Mother Earth, compassionate, understanding, full of wisdom and kindness. To her employers, the Montagues, she was the best head housekeeper in London, calm, organized and discreet. And as her staff and her children knew, she could also be tough, relentless, and implacable, but by nature loving in her heart. And she loved her family to the very depths of her soul. They were her whole life.
Now, she sat in her small but comfortable housekeeper’s parlour, which served as an office in the Montague mansion near Regent’s Park. Five days ago her husband, Philip Falconer, the house’s butler, had fallen down the stone steps leading to the cellar and broken his ankle. He had only just been discharged from hospital and she had some thinking to do.
She cringed yet again when she thought about the accident and how lucky he’d been. If he had fallen and hit his head, he might not be alive today. She closed her eyes, leaned back in the chair and thanked God for protecting him. Her devoted husband, her stay and her stand, had never had an accident of any kind before in his life. And she prayed that the first would be the last.
Opening her eyes, Esther glanced at the calendar once more, adding up the weeks the Montague family would be travelling through Europe. It was as she thought. They would not return until late October. Lucky again. Philip would be recovered by that time.
It struck her suddenly that she and Philip had always been lucky. In a certain sense they had led charmed lives.
Her thoughts fell backwards in time … to when she was twelve years old, growing up in Melton, a small village just outside Hull, one of the great seaports in England.
Even at twelve she had been clever and ambitious, and also quite pretty. She knew perfectly well that those were the reasons she had been taken into service at Melton Priory, home of Lord Percival Denby, the Sixth Earl of Melton.
Through her mother’s connection to Lady Minerva Denby, Lord Percival’s sister, Esther was trained to be a lady’s maid in order to look after Lady Agatha, the sixteen-year-old daughter of the earl.
Esther had been with her mistress ever since, travelling with her when she was a young girl and staying with her once she married – for fifty years, to be precise.
How time flies, Esther thought, with a small shock, remembering she was now sixty-two years old. Philip was four years older, almost sixty-six. Not that he looked it, and neither did she. But then they had been protected and well fed living with the Montagues, who appreciated their loyalty, honesty and devotion, and all the hard work they put in. As long as his ankle healed well, they would continue to serve. She rubbed her left hand absent-mindedly, where a niggling arthritis made it ache.
Over the years, Esther had risen in the ranks to become the head housekeeper at Lady Agatha’s two homes – the John Nash-designed Regency house in London and the old country estate in Kent, Fountains Court.
Esther and Philip had met at the London house when Lady Agatha married the Honourable Arthur Blane Montague, who owned both of their homes. Philip, a Kentish man, had also gone into service when he was young, just sixteen. Having started out as a junior footman at Fountain Court, he was now head butler and devoted to the Honourable Mister, as he referred to Mr Montague.
Like his wife, Philip had remained with his original employer and was highly valued.
Just imagine, Esther thought, glancing around her parlour, I was married from this house and I am still here. She smiled as she looked at the small photograph of her husband with their sons and grandchildren and remembered the boy she had fallen in love with all those years ago.
We met, looked at each other and just clicked. Lucky. Indeed, I was. And so was he, she thought.
Pushing back her chair, Esther got up and went out into the corridor, walked down to the kitchen, pushed open the door. ‘I’m going upstairs now, Cook, since we’ve settled everything about supper tonight.’
‘It’s all in hand, Mrs Falconer,’ Cook answered, and gave her a huge smile. ‘I’m looking forward to cooking a few of your family’s favourite dishes.’
Esther smiled back and retreated. She climbed the back staircase and crossed the hall, discovered Philip and their grandson sitting together in the conservatory, which opened onto the garden at the back of the house.
‘There you are!’ she exclaimed, hurrying across the room. ‘Nattering away like two old codgers.’
‘I am an old codger,’ Philip said with an amused laugh.
‘That’s not so!’ his wife answered, and went and sat next to James on the sofa.
‘I’m so happy we can have our Saturday supper here downstairs in the servants’ dining room, instead of at your house. Easier for your grandfather.’
James nodded, glanced at Philip. ‘It was nice of the Honourable Mister to let us all come here, wasn’t it?’
‘Indeed it was, James,’ Philip replied, and looked down at his left leg encased in plaster of Paris, stretched out and resting on an ottoman. ‘He sent a telegram from Monte Carlo immediately after he received mine. He insisted that you all join us here for our traditional supper. Even told me to choose one of his wines.’
‘Wonderful things, these telegrams,’ Esther observed. ‘I can’t imagine how we ever managed without them. The Honourable Mister also insisted your grandfather rest in here as well, to benefit from some light and warmth. Anyway, James, I’m relieved to see you looking well. Your father told me you are working long hours.’ She gave him a hard stare.
‘Yes, I am, Grans, but I’m in fine fettle at the moment. And Mr Malvern is such a nice man to work for. We’ve been doing some reorganization of the whole company, and he’s appreciated my help. He says he couldn’t have done it without me.’
‘James, whatever happened to Mr Malvern’s daughter? Is she not working alongside her father and you?’ Philip asked.
James shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid not.’ He looked from his grandfather to his grandmother, and continued in a solemn voice, ‘It’s rather a sad story, really. Miss Alexis doesn’t seem to have recovered from the death of her fiancé. Just a week before they were to be married. She lives in Kent and hardly ever comes to Malvern House.’
Esther frowned, said in a low voice, ‘I seem to remember you talking about her. She was a first-class businesswoman, one of only a few in London.’ Esther paused and shook her head. ‘Isn’t she his only child? Mr Malvern’s heir?’ she asked, puzzlement echoing in her voice.
‘That’s correct, Grans. But she doesn’t seem to be interested in the business. Or anyone. Not even her father. It’s a shame. So sad to see the pain he’s in. He’s heartbroken, in my opinion.’
Esther leaned