With a grim nod, Hope reached to kiss her father's hollow cheek.

"Goodbye, Father."

"I'll come to the jetty with you." Tom said.

"No! Don't do that, stay with Father." A tear slid down her cheek.

Huntley turned away, "I'll wait outside while you say goodbye. Then we best be off."

Chapter Six.

Hope watched the Island grow smaller, the shrinking outline blurred not only by mist, but by tears. As the distance increased, so the separation grew keener as she left her late mother's grave and everyone who loved her. Hope blotted her eyes on her sleeve. Tearing her gaze from the Island, she looked ahead. The mainland filled her vision now, her future rising up in the wooded hills around Sandehope.

Huntley sat silhouetted against the landscape, his face rigid and unreadable. Hope shrank into herself, now was not the time to ask questions. She sat back and let the waves lull her sadness, thinking back to when, as a baby, she had made the reverse journey rocked in her mother's arms.The entirety of the journey pa.s.sed in silence and when the skiff slipped into its mooring, Huntley jumped ash.o.r.e. From the water, staring uphill, The Grange seemed more imposing that she remembered and Hope trembled.

"Here." Huntley extended a helping hand. She glanced up; his expression grim with resolve-and resignation. Something flared inside, for she would not let him be a martyr because of her.

"If I'm a burden, it's not too late to go back."

"That night on the dunes, even then it was too late." For a moment his mask slipped and she saw such longing-that she felt weak. Hope started to speak, to say that he was a good man in an impossible situation, she saw that now-but her words fell on empty air as Huntley strode away.

By the time she gathered her crutch, the Captain was a distant figure. Out of breath and on a painful ankle, she followed him to The Grange to find she didn't know where the servant's entrance was. As she considered what to do, she was surprised to see the front door open and Jenkins, peer out.

"Miss Tyler, this way, if you please."

It was clear from the butler's expression he thought this a dubious request. Hope smiled wanly, knowing she'd have to get used to condescension.

She found Captain Huntley pacing the hall and he acknowledged her with a curt nod.

"Ah, there you are. I've sent for Mrs Brown. She will sort you out."

"Thank you, Captain." Hope fidgeted. Captain Huntley filled her senses, making it difficult to act naturally. From his hawkish brow to that curl of hair behind his ear, he touched her deep inside. She swore he had trembled when he held her on the dock, and yet now seemed to despise her so. Never had she met anyone who confused her in such a way, with the ability to frighten and excite her at the same time. They waited for the housekeeper, awkward in each other's company.

"We are a kitchenmaid short. Clothing and bed provided, wages paid quarterly." A dark brow arched in challenge. "I take it you are not above menial work."

"Of course not."

Huntley grimaced, "Good. Now, what's taking her so long? Couldn't Jenkins find the blasted woman?"

"George! Language, please!" In a rustle of silk Lady Ryevale descended the stairs. "Ah, Miss Tyler. There has been a change of plan?"

"Mother, meet the new kitchenmaid."

Slowly, Lady Ryevale shook her head. "George, what have you done?"

"You disapprove? It was at your suggestion we offer Miss Tyler employment. So I did."

"Oh no!" Lady Ryevale stood tall, looking every inch the imperious matriarch. "Oh no, I'm not having it."

Huntley looked stricken. "You're not?"

"Absolutely not. Miss Tyler is no maid." Her ladyship drummed her manicured fingers on the banister. "I will train Miss Tyler as my secretary."

"Mother, such a position of trust is out of the question."

Unperturbed, Lady Ryevale inclined her head towards Hope and smiled. "Sometimes my son forgets who's in charge here."

Huntley spluttered. "Mother, this cannot be."

"How so, dear?" She asked all innocence.

"Because even having Miss Tyler as kitchenmaid puts my career in jeopardy. To have her privy to estate business...is...is unthinkable."

"Hope has beautiful handwriting, is quick to learn and I'm sure will prove most conscientious and discrete."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

Hope watched with alarm as Captain Huntley turned from red to puce. With cool disregard for her son's outrage, Lady Ryevale continued.

"For an age I have been asking for help with estate business. Charles shows no inclination, you are away so much and with Jack newly married-Miss Tyler is the perfect solution. You will agree, won't you, Hope dear?"

Hope drew in a breath but the black look in Huntley's eye influenced her reply.

"That is a kind and generous offer, Lady Ryevale, but one I must decline."

The Captain deflated.

"Nonsense, why ever not?"

Hope thought quickly. "My skills are limited...and my manners...unconventional. I lack...the refinement necessary to be your secretary.'

"Oh well, if that's all, it will be a pleasant diversion to broaden your education."

From the corner of her eye Hope saw the Captain grow large with indignation.

"And besides, I am grateful for the position of kitchenmaid. I wouldn't want to put Captain Huntley in an awkward situation."

"Heavens, George has faced Napoleon, he can cope with a little gossip."

Hope actually felt sorry for Captain Huntley, clearly when Lady Ryevale made up her mind he didn't stand a chance.

"So, it's decided?" Lady Ryevale smiled benignly.

Before Huntley could reply, Mrs Brown came waddling along the hall.

"Captain Huntley, you sent for me?"

A shiny-faced woman with ruddy cheeks and a double chin, dusted her hands on her ap.r.o.n.

"Indeed," Lady Ryevale broke into a beaming smile. "Please make up a room on the same floor as my bedchamber. Miss Tyler is joining our household."

"Very good, Ladyship. Will that be all?"

"Hmm. In due course, send a message to Mrs Locke in the village. I'd be much obliged if she'd call at the earliest opportunity, to measure Miss Tyler."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Once Mrs Brown had waddled away, Huntley slapped his forehead and sagged against the wall. "You can't get your modiste to dress her!"

"Why ever not, dear? Be reasonable. My secretary can't go around looking like a sack of potatoes, can she?"

"Reasonable? You talk about reasonable-you left reasonable way behind. And yes, as it happens, I'd rather she was plainly dressed."

Hope interrupted. "A maid's livery is fine."

"Now look, George, you are such a bully sometimes. You've intimidated the poor girl."

"Intimidated! Mother you have no idea."

Lady Ryevale rang for the maid to show Hope to her chamber. A girl appeared: thickset with a heavy jaw and rebellious wiry hair which refused to sit neatly beneath her cap. Hope recognised her as the maid who had tended her in the garret.

"Ruby." She grinned, pleased to see a familiar face.

The maid looked confused. "Miss...?"

"You remember me, don't you? Hope."

Lady Ryevale cleared her throat. "Ruby is correct. She must call you Miss Tyler from now on."

The idea sat oddly on Hope's shoulders, but she nodded.

"This way, Miss Tyler."

Ruby lead on up the sweep of the marble staircase. The steps felt cool through Hope's thin slippers, giving a cold welcome. In a borrowed dress several sizes too big, the hem heavy with seawater, Hope felt small and out of place.

"This way, Miss."

On the second landing Ruby peeled off to the left along a corridor lined with marble busts and costly bronzes. Hope noticed the Chinese carpet and tried to walk to one side, lest her feet dirty it. The maid stopped outside a set of double doors.

"This is you then, Miss."

Opening the doors, Ruby stepped back. Bewildered, Hope stared at her.

"This is your room, Miss Tyler." Ruby rolled her eyes. "Tis politeness that you go in first."

"Oh, thank you."

Hope peered inside. Dazzled by the crystal chandelier and rich furnishings, she recoiled.

"It's too grand. The attic room will do just fine."

Ruby's mouth twitched. "This is where her ladyship told me to bring yer, Miss Tyler."

"Oh, please call me Hope."

Ruby grinned but shook her head. "Oh no, Miss. You're a cut above me now, although I'm right glad at your good luck. Go in."

Hesitant, as if stepping into the lion's den, Hope crossed the threshold. She found herself in a large, airy room the luxury and opulence of which she had never seen before.

Heavy drapes in cream brocade, swaged a tall window, the fabric matched the bedhangings and wallpaper. Against one wall stood a huge bed which could have slept a whole family and still had s.p.a.ce, with a veritable drift of pillows, downy-soft and pristine in white, linen pillowslips. There was a lady's desk and a dressing table. Hope stared at the chandelier and nearly fell over- such things were for ballrooms, never in her wildest dreams had she imagined one in a room for sleeping!

She turned to Ruby for rea.s.surance, and found her grinning like an idiot.

"So you like it then, Miss?"

"It's, it's...wonderful. But there must be some mistake? This can't be for me?"

"Aye but it is. Lady Ryevale was most explicit in her instructions-the small chamber just aside hers."

"This is a small chamber?" Hope's hand flew to her mouth. "Heaven preserve us."

Ruby chuckled. "Come now, Miss, best make the most of it."

The enormity of her ladyship's largesse struck home. All this given on a whim and, as suddenly, could be taken away. With a new sense of wonder, Hope remembered her own mother was high-born and used to such luxuries. How much harder then, after sleeping in linen sheets, to live the life of a fisherman's wife?

"You alright, Miss Tyler?"

"Quite. Thank you, Ruby. I've taken up enough of your time, do return to your duties."

"Well, if you're sure, Miss."

"I am. And Ruby, I'd like to call you my friend."

Ruby blushed and backed out of the room.

Alone at last, Hope placed her bundle of possessions on the bed. It looked pathetic-a square of cloth knotted around an old dress and her mother's gold locket. Hope took it out, cradled it in her hand and kissed the pendant, then slipped the gold chain over her head.

As the richness of her surroundings sank in, Hope thought to check her own appearance. She drew out the stool from the dressing table and sat. A vagabond stared back, with tangled hair, pale face and a dress several sizes too big. For several minutes she sat staring at the reflection. Whatever had possessed Lady Ryevale to even let her in the house? With a sigh, thinking she would never understand some people, Hope reached for the washbasin and rubbed the damp flannel over her face. Refreshed, she set about tidying her hair.

A silver brush lay on the dressing table. Hope picked it up, amazed by its weight and the delicate filigree work. This brush was worth more than her family earned in a year. Carefully, she put it down and ran her hands through her hair, making a mental note to ask for a horn-comb at the earliest opportunity.