Rags-to-Riches Bride. Mary Nichols

rich and poor, a chasm that the rich for the most part ignored, salving their consciences with donations to charity. The poor had always been part of the population, but in this young lady’s case, he was sure it was of recent duration. That she had managed to hide it so successfully said a great deal for her pride and determination. Was that the sort of thing his great-grandmother wanted him to find out?

      Without answering him, she turned and went out again. Neither spoke as she walked swiftly down the street, holding her grey working skirt out of the mire, with him in attendance. Why had Papa slipped back, after being good for so long? And tonight of all nights.

      They could hear the sound of raucous singing long before they reached the door of The Dog and Duck. She hesitated with her hand on the latch, but it wasn’t as if it were the first time she had been obliged to enter that establishment, so she took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

      ‘Stay here,’ Richard said, putting a hand on her arm to detain her. ‘I’ll fetch him out.’

      ‘He won’t go with a stranger.’ It was said half-heartedly. Now her horrible secret was out, the invitation to Borstead Hall would be withdrawn, there would be no marriage to Stephen, probably no job either. She was not so concerned about the invitation or Stephen’s half-hearted proposal, but the job was important. And she had a dreadful feeling one depended on the other.

      The tavern was crowded with working men, some of whom were singing lustily. James Bywater was sitting in a corner between two scruffy individuals apparently deep in conversation. His suit of clothes had once been smart and his cravat had been clean that morning, but was clean no longer. On the table at his side was a tricorne hat that he had once worn when commanding his ship. Diana hurried over to him. Oh, let him be sensible, she prayed. Make him come home quietly.

      The trouble was that, even sober, he was difficult to handle, rather like a truculent child determined to have his own way. And yet, like a child, he was warm and loving and he never meant to hurt her. For her dead mother’s sake she persevered with her effort to help him to help himself.

      From his corner seat he saw her and waved his full glass at her, slopping the contents over his fingers. The strong weatherbeaten seaman was gone and in his place was a shabby middle-aged man with an empty sleeve and brown stains on his cravat. His dog, Toby, sat patiently at his feet, waiting to lead him home because that was what had frequently happened in the past. ‘Diana, what are you doing here?’ She was thankful his speech was not too slurred.

      ‘Looking for you, Papa. I was hoping you would be at home. I have brought someone to meet you.’

      He looked past her to where Richard stood. ‘Your young man?’

      She felt the colour flood her face. Just lately he had been talking to her about making a good marriage, telling her to encourage her employer’s son, as if that would solve all their problems. ‘You would be well set up there,’ he had said. ‘No more scrimping and trying to make ends meet and we could leave this sordid place.’

      ‘No, Papa, this is Mr Richard Harecroft.’

      James shrugged as if it was all one to him. ‘Join me in a drink, young feller.’

      ‘Thank you. I’ll have a pot of ale.’

      Diana gasped. She had been relying on Richard’s help to extricate her father, and here he was encouraging him. ‘Papa—’ she began.

      ‘Sit down.’ Richard spoke quietly, but it was a command and she found herself obeying, even as she opened her mouth to protest that she did not frequent taverns and had only ever stayed long enough to haul her father out and that had not happened for nearly a year. ‘Say nothing,’ he murmured. ‘He has a full glass and he will not come away until it is empty, so be patient a minute.’

      That was all very well, she thought as Richard beckoned a waiter. Papa would not want to leave even when his glass was empty; they would still have a fight on their hands. It was nerve-racking and exhausting and all she wanted was to go home and hide and never have to face the world again.

      ‘You work at the shop with your father?’ James asked. The two men who had been with him had disappeared at a nod from Richard and the three of them were alone at the table.

      ‘No, trade is not for me. I am a writer.’

      ‘Writer, eh? What sort of writing?’

      ‘Papa, you should not quiz Mr Harecroft,’ Diana said.

      ‘Oh, I do not mind it,’ Richard said. ‘I only wish more people were interested. I write about the common soldier and the trouble he faces finding employment when his services are no longer required.’

      ‘Not only soldiers,’ James said meaningfully. ‘Sailors too.’

      ‘True, but I know very little about the navy. You could perhaps enlighten me, tell me about the men and their children. Particularly the children.’

      ‘Like children, do you?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘But you have none of your own.’

      ‘I am unmarried.’ He began to wonder who was quizzing whom, but he was also aware that he was playing right into his great-grandmother’s hands.

      ‘Time enough to remedy that.’

      James finished his drink, but before he could suggest ordering another, Richard drained his tankard and stood up. ‘Time to go home.’

      ‘Later, let us have one for the road first.’

      ‘Papa.’ Diana stood up and bent to take his arm, but he pulled himself roughly from her grasp.

      ‘Do not rush me, girl. You know I hate to be rushed.’

      ‘Papa, please come home.’

      Richard turned to Diana. ‘You take his arm and I’ll take the other side and off we go. Do not give him a chance to struggle.’

      It worked like a charm. Diana held firmly on to his one arm and Richard put his hand on his shoulder on the other side and more or less propelled him out to the street. Diana marvelled at his sheer strength and command of the situation. When anything like that had happened before, she had had to plead with her father, but because her strength did not match his, even when he was drunk, she had not been able to drag him away before he wanted to come. He was always sorry afterwards and begged her forgiveness, promising not to let it happen again. And for nearly a year he had kept that promise. Until tonight.

      With Toby trotting behind, he walked fairly steadily between them; though he did not appear to need their support, neither released him. He was not as bad as Diana had thought at first, hardly more than slightly tipsy. At any rate the two men were chatting quite amiably. She began to revise her opinion of Richard. Although he was firm, he did not appear to condemn, he simply accepted the situation, almost as if he were used to it. She could not imagine Mr Harecroft senior or Stephen imbibing too much or even condoning it in others, but Richard had been in the army and no doubt that accounted for it.

      ‘How long were you in the army?’ the older man asked the younger.

      ‘Six years, most of it in the colonies.’

      ‘I am a naval man myself, man and boy, never knew any other kind of life—’ He stopped suddenly and buckled between them, and taken by surprise, neither could hold him. He sank to the ground at their feet.

      ‘Papa!’ Diana cried, bending over him. ‘Do get up, please.’

      Richard gently pushed her to one side and crouched beside the unconscious man, bending his head to listen to his chest and then leaning back to look at his contorted face. Diana stood looking down at him with her hand to her mouth while the dog whined round them in agitation.

      ‘Stay with him, while I fetch the tilbury,’ Richard said, straightening up. ‘He is not drunk, he has had a seizure. We must take him to hospital.’ They had attracted a small crowd. He turned to them. ‘There is nothing to