‘Why would you do that?’
Her eyes widened, as if she was unsure herself. She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I would like us to be friends.’
They could never be friends. It was impossible and he didn’t even want to anyway. He could easily put an end to her absurd idea.
‘I don’t need a new friend. Least of all a child.’
‘You aren’t much older than me,’ she argued. ‘I am thirteen — almost fourteen. Mother says I can move out of the nurserysoon and have my own bedroom. I will be able to see Lady May’s lion from my window.’
Drake did not answer. She was much younger than him with regard to experience of life. However, her ramblings had given him a glimpse into her life behind the walls of the grand house and it left him with more questions than he cared to admit to. Why, when she lived in such a large house, did she not have a bedroom of her own? What was a nursery? Why would a girl who has everything, want to talk to him? He was too proud to ask them, conscious that he might appear ignorant in her eyes.
‘I’m sorry that my cousin made fun of you.’ He knew she was watching him, waiting for a flicker of forgiveness. He did not give it.
She attempted conversation again. ‘Miss Brown says it will be too cold to paint in the gardens again. I will paint from my window until spring.’
She waited for his reply, but received none. Drake heard her sigh and felt the cart shift as she climbed down.
‘Goodbye, Drake.’ He jabbed the seaweed with his fork, but his action lacked both energy and purpose. She was finally leaving.
Drake lifted his gaze to watch her walk away. She had been the only one to use his first name and in doing so made him feel valued as an individual for the first time since his arrival. A sense of unease swept through him. Had he been wrong about her after all?
* * *
If any doubts lingered in Drake’s mind regarding Miss Evelyn’s remorsefulness, they were swept away the following week with the arrival of thick blankets for the bothy workers. The blankets were, undoubtedly, cast-offs from Carrack House’s well-stocked linen store, but despite being faded and well used,they were still serviceable and provided much needed warmth as the winter chill set in. The other bothy boys whooped with joy when they discovered the new bedding. Their gratefulness did not last long. Their resentment of their employer’s wealth soon resurfaced and their earlier enthusiasm quickly changed to grumbles that it had taken so long to receive adequate bedding in the first place.
Drake turned his back to them and snuggled deep down into the warmth provided by the blankets. Only Evelyn knew that they lacked blankets, he thought, she must have arranged their delivery. Perhaps he had misjudged her. He cringed when he remembered how rude he had been to her. He wanted to take it back and thank her for the blankets, but knew that he probably wouldn’t see her again until spring. Spring seemed so far away. Strangely, the thought of having to wait so long marred the joy the arrival of the blankets had brought.
Chapter Five
As a first year apprentice, Drake was given the responsibility of maintaining the temperatures in the glasshouses and pineapple pits. He spent most of December and January carrying sacks of bark for the pits and coal for the boilers. The rest of the time he was a slave to the thermometer, either stoking the boilers to increase the heat or opening the glass vents should it reach too high. Outside, biting frosts blanched his fingers and stung his cheeks, whilst the heat of the glasshouses and sheer exertion of shovelling coal, caused sweat to trickle down his back.
The gruelling work built muscle, chiselling his arms and legs as his body grew taller. He turned fifteen and thought of Miss Evelyn, wondering if she had also had her birthday.
February brought a night of heavy snow. It fell silently, watched only by Drake as he made his final check on the glasshouse’s temperature during the night. By the morning the landscape was covered in a diamond encrusted blanket of thick, white snow. It glistened in the sun and provided the perfect backdrop to the flowering camellias, hellebores and daffodils.
It was within this enticing scene that he saw her again, picking her way carefully through the snow covered path, with Master Nicholas by her side. They walked slowly, their heads bowed, their arms interlinked, ready to support one another should either of them slip. Drake stopped what he was doing to watch her. She wore a deep burgundy coat, with mink fur cuffs, brown buttoned boots and matching gloves and hat. She was a flash of vibrant colour in a white sea and he wondered if this might be his opportunity to thank her for the blankets. He wiped his hands on his trousers as he rehearsed in his head what he would say if he got a chance, but all his good intentions were forgotten when he saw Master Nicholas collapse.
Drake was already running before she called for help and was the first to arrive. She was kneeling in the snow and looked up at him as he approached. She looked stricken.
‘Nicky’s not well,’ she needlessly explained. ‘He wanted to see the snow.’ Master Nicholas’s head lay in her lap. There was a blue tinge to his lips as his chest heaved for breath. ‘Nicky! Nicky! Wake up!’ she pleaded.
His eyes moved beneath their lids and flickered open. He looked about him, confused. His wide-eyed stare frightened them both.
‘Fetch Father and Mother!’ cried Evelyn.
Drake did not need to be asked a second time and sprinted towards the house.
He ran to the nearest entrance, the grand front door, and banged on its oak panels with the side of his fist. Too impatient to wait for an answer, he pushed open the door and ran into the hall, leaving a trail of snow to melt on the marble floor in his wake.
He hesitated, momentarily overwhelmed by the opulence of his surroundings. Statues stood in alcoves and looked at him with disdain and the high ceiling, decorated with ribbons and swag mouldings, made him feel small. A footman’s loud reprimand brought him to his senses. He ran to the nearest door and pushed it open.
Sir Robert Pendragon stood by a large white marble fireplace, with a letter in his hand. Lady Pendragon sat at her writing desk, penning one of her own.
‘It’s Master Nicholas, sir. He has been taken ill.’
Lady Pendragon abruptly stood, causing sheets of paper to flutter to the floor from her desk.
‘Where is he?’ asked Sir Robert, striding for the door.
