Torn. Karen Turner

winning my approval. She began immediately picking the ripened fruit and placing them in her upturned bonnet.

      Simon climbed into the tree beside ours and tied the ends of a net round a narrower branch to form a sling.

      The three of us talked between the trees, laughing and swapping stories and before long I felt as though I’d known Julia for years. At times we stopped to eat a fat, ripe plum, and the blood-red juice trickled over our chins and hands.

      The Chapmans were from Harrogate. I’d heard of them before – successful business people, though untitled. Hardly my mother’s social equal, however she and Mrs Chapman spent a good two hours together while their daughters scrambled through a number of trees, laughing and chattering like sparrows before we realised that time had escaped us.

      Except for the plum-coloured stains inside her bonnet – at which she shrugged, stating happily, “No-one will see,” – and a couple of dusty marks on the skirt of her dress, Julia looked as though she’d spent the entire time in the parlour.

      The three of us were waiting innocently on the porch as Mrs Chapman and Mother emerged.

      “Oh there you are,” Julia’s mother said. “We were wondering where you’d taken yourself.” Mrs Chapman was taller than Mother, and carried herself with a soft and comfortable grace. Her russet hair and smiling mouth were engaging, and the scattered freckles across her nose were features I’d already noted in her daughter.

      “Miss Broughton and Sir Simon were showing me their lovely gardens, Mama,” my accomplice said ingenuously.

      “How lovely.” Julia’s mother responded though her eyes skimmed critically over my masculine clothing.

      Later, as their coach trundled down our drive, Mother’s experienced eye regarded me with an entirely justified suspicion.

      I was sitting in the library window. Open in my lap was a book about Ancient Rome and I flipped its pages absently. My attention was focused directly below where I could see the front porch and the steps leading to the drive. The gravel created a divide between the two halves of our garden.

      To my right was an expanse of lawn interrupted by the Great Oak and the wide grassless patch beneath its limbs. On the left was more lawn, a rose garden, and terraced walkways. Six stone steps led to further garden beds; an additional four steps led to the orchard. An ancient stone wall separated the orchard from property owned by our neighbour, Eliard Jackson. Jackson owned the grumpiest black bull alive; such was his scowling demeanour that I was certain the creature was costive and trespassers did so at their own risk.

      One of the stable-lads was busily raking the gravel – Mother insisted this was done each morning, and the dry, scrape-scrape sound filtered up to me. The drive curved to the left and disappeared into the thick, green foliage of the birch trees that sheltered our property from the public lane some quarter mile from where I sat. It also served to effectively screen Collings’ cottage from the main house.

      Lord Thorncliffe’s children were expected today and I bore the knowledge with thorny resentment toward the changes Mother’s return had wrought.

      My mind drifted to the breakfast room that morning. I had been sulkily moving my food around my plate, peeved that my idyllic existence was being so drastically altered. Lord Thorncliffe attempted to catch my eye and offer a conciliatory smile hoping I’d return his approach, but I would not. I was sullen, sour and not pleased with the fact that I was being subjected to a stepfather, stepsiblings, and a newborn brother or sister, in so short a time.

      “I am so looking forward to having a new brother and sister, Father,” Anne gushed sycophantically and I rolled my eyes at my plate. “Simon and Alex are exceedingly poor company.” Her mutinous expression challenged me and I glared at her in response.

      “Perhaps, Gerrard, this is as good a time as any to …” Mother prompted with a pointed nod of her head in Simon’s direction and I groaned inwardly; not another surprise.

      Lord Thorncliffe stammered and reached for his ear and before he could respond, Mother had leapt in, “Simon, Lord Thorncliffe’s son will be staying here only until the university year resumes. It is intended that he continue his law studies at Oxford. Perhaps you should go with him – your future would benefit and I think you’ve probably outgrown Master Baxter.”

      I watched my brother curiously. He had been riding the estate early this morning with Collings and held a genuine care for his land and tenants. The latter, perhaps enticed by the young master’s good looks and considerate nature, were quite taken with him and he wore his adult responsibilities well.

      Over the years he had casually mentioned following a path into medicine, with no real expectation of the opportunity arising. Given the choice, would he opt to stay here, or would he grasp the chance to go to university? I for one, would be devastated should he leave, and clasped my hands together tightly beneath the linen tablecloth in a silent plea that he would decline the offer.

      He was slow to respond, but finally he addressed Lord Thorncliffe. “I think I would like that, Sir. The property is managed well under Collings. It will still be here when I return.”

      “Good, good.” Lord Thorncliffe smiled. “Er … We must consider your subjects, of course, and I shall prepare all the paperwork. You should be able to depart for Oxford with Patrick.”

      And just like that, the turning upside down of my life was complete. Anne began babbling excitedly about her scholarly brother, while Lord Thorncliffe and Simon discussed the subjects necessary for medicine. Mother reclined in her chair, a look of quiet satisfaction on her face, and when I asked to be excused she nodded in reply.

      That had been this morning, and now, as Simon joined me in the library, we sat briefly in companionable silence before he spoke. “You know, I’ve always wanted to be a physician.”

      “You hadn’t mentioned it for some time. I thought you had changed your mind.”

      “I’d put the idea aside – resigned to remain here, though of course we couldn’t have foreseen the current turn of events, could we?”

      “So you’re happy then?”

      “Yes I am,” he said, firmly. “And Mother seems pleased.”

      “Why wouldn’t she be? Sending their sons to Oxford is what people like Lord Thorncliffe do. Mother has ever aspired to be more than the wife of a mere baronet.”

      “And now she’s about to become a countess.” Simon finished.

      “And you’re prepared to leave this – your home, your inheritance?”

      “Collings has been helping me become more involved with the tenants lately and I rather enjoy it – they seem to like me too.”

      I snorted indelicately. “The tenants’ wives and daughters like you. The men respect you because they’ve watched you grow up and know you’re not a brute.”

      “But I wasn’t expecting an opportunity like this, Zan. An opportunity to study medicine …”

      “So you’ll leave your lands in the hands of a stranger,” I stated, unfairly.

      “Collings is no stranger – he knows the place better –”

      “Not Collings,” I said with significance and he frowned.

      “Lord Thorncliffe? He wouldn’t be involved. Collings will remain in charge and besides, this place is my inheritance – no-one can change that.”

      “I suppose not,” I mumbled.

      “Why are you upset? Do you think I’ll be so absorbed in anatomy and biology that I’ll not have time to marry you off?”

      I thumped his arm playfully. “Don’t be a rat, Simon. I’m in no hurry to bear the brats of some cranky old man so don’t make any plans.”

      “And