Tread Softly, Alice

by Jessica Blair

Genres: Sagas; Historical Romance

Synopsis

At the age of eighteen, Alice Ware is pretty, charming and impetuous. Back home in Yorkshire at the start of a new century, she is determined to seize any fresh opportunities and experiences that come her way. The arrival of a new neighbour, the elegant and scandalous Mrs Emma Cheevey, leads to visits from her two highly eligible soldier sons. Alice is instantly drawn to Matthew, the younger brother - and then Captain Steven Cheevey arrives home from South Africa, where he was part of the British expeditionary force at the Relief of Mafeking. Alice's choice is made, her future secure . . . until a reckless decision throws the lives of three people into turmoil. Reluctant to return home, she seeks refuge in the one place where she knows she will find peace, perhaps for ever. It will take a visit from the man who loves her to persuade Alice to reconsider and dare to live again.

Release date: February 4, 2016

Publisher: Piatkus

Print pages: 352

Sample

Eighteen-year-old Alice Ware breathed in the sea air as the ferry Victoria, heading for Dover, cut through the choppy waters of the Channel. She hugged herself as if to lock in place the exhilaration she felt and keep it alive for ever.

But she knew this sense of liberation would not last. Even though the shackles of certain conventions governing the lives of women in particular were slackening, many still governed her conduct and prospects. However, Alice was determined to make the best of her new life as an adult, after being raised by loving and understanding parents, receiving a convent education in England and spending a final year in the home of French friends. Now, in July 1900, as the new century got under way, she was determined to grasp whatever opportunities came along.

She unfastened the ribbon tied under her chin, swept the narrow-brimmed hat from her head and let the wind blow her fair hair free. Her blue eyes sparkled at the thought of the surprise her mother would feel on seeing her again. A year ago Alice had left Wooton Hall, her family home in the North Riding of Yorkshire, very much a schoolgirl still and one her mother was reluctant to let go. Now she was returning from France a confident young lady, one she was sure her mother would welcome and admire.

Unconcerned by the rolling of the ship, Alice took a stroll around the deck, pausing to look back along the foaming wake towards the diminishing coastline.

Her mind drifted back to the happy stay she had enjoyed with the Berger family, in particular their daughter Alexis. Friendship had blossomed immediately between the two girls when they’d met in their final year at the convent to which Alexis had been sent to strengthen her English. At the end of that time Monsieur and Madame Berger had invited Alice to live with them for a year, an invitation she was keen to accept and of which her parents enthusiastically approved, recognising that a good command of another language would be an asset to Alice whatever life might hold for her in future.

With that year over, Monsieur Berger and Alexis had taken Alice to Calais to see her safely on to the Victoria, knowing that her father would be at Dover to meet her.

Recalling their parting, Alice gave a little sigh of regret but immediately comforted herself with the thought of what lay ahead. She was going home! Shortly afterwards her eye was caught by the familiar sight of the white cliffs welcoming her back.

 

Sir Raymond Ware was impatient to greet his daughter after her long absence. She was eighteen now, and with a mind of her own, no doubt. His eyes roamed over the passengers crowding the rail of the cross-Channel ferry closing in on a Dover dockside.

‘Where is Alice, Raymond?’ asked his wife Cecilia. ‘I can’t see her.’ His wife’s grip tightened on his arm.

‘There! Just in front of the ship’s steward,’ Sir Raymond exclaimed, waving his hand to attract Alice’s attention.

‘Ah, yes I see her!’ His wife’s face was alight with joy. ‘She’s waving.’

Sir Raymond started to give directions to the porter standing beside him.

‘I’ve seen her, sir,’ said the man. ‘She has one of the ship’s crew close by. He’ll escort your daughter ashore and then I’ll take over.’

Sir Raymond nodded as he dug into the pocket of his overcoat. ‘I may not have another opportunity when my daughter comes ashore…’ he thrust some coins into the porter’s hand ‘… share that with whoever is helping Miss Ware.’

‘Thank you, sir. I will.’ The man knew from the weight of the coins that the tip had been a generous one.

Once the vessel had docked and passengers were allowed ashore, Lady Cecilia, her eyes damp, was soon embracing her daughter. Then Alice’s slender frame was engulfed in her father’s arms until he stepped back a couple of paces to view her better. ‘You’ve grown up,’ he said. Her mother nodded in agreement. ‘We’ve lost our little girl,’ he observed, a tinge of regret in his voice.

Alice dismissed this, laughing. ‘No, you haven’t, Father, I’ll always be here for you both.’

‘Until some handsome young man whisks you away,’ he observed.

She ignored the implications and asked, ‘How is Nicholas?’

‘Your brother is well,’ replied her mother. ‘He loves working on the estate.’

‘Though he has some extraordinary ideas about its development,’ her father put in. ‘We have to keep a tight rein on him.’

‘Where are we going now?’ Alice asked.

‘Train to London, spend tonight at the Clarendon, then another train tomorrow from King’s Cross to York where Sam will meet us with our carriage.’

‘That sounds exciting,’ Alice observed.

‘It will be,’ agreed her mother, linking arms with her. ‘Oh, it’s wonderful to have you home.’

‘It’s wonderful to be home. Or almost.’

The railway porter had gathered together their overnight luggage. ‘Follow me, sir, ladies,’ he said. ‘You are in first-class carriage A, with compartment B for your exclusive use. That same designation has been reserved for you on the eleven a.m. train out of King’s Cross tomorrow. As requested the rest of your daughter’s luggage has been taken care of, sir. It should be delivered to your home in four days’ time.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sir Raymond. ‘That sounds most efficient.’

‘We aim to please, sir,’ replied the porter. He saw them comfortably seated and bade them a good journey.

Once they had settled themselves and the excitement of being together again had eased, Alice’s father asked, ‘You enjoyed your year with the Berger family then?’

‘Yes, Father. They made my time most pleasant and rewarding.’ She gave a little smile and rattled off a few French phrases, knowing he would not understand a word of them.

He held up his hand to stop her. ‘Very commendable, I’m sure, but if you want to keep your French up don’t use it on me.’

‘Oh, Father,’ Alice said, her expression regretful, ‘and I was so looking forward to teaching you.’ She was teasing, of course, but he took her up on the offer.

‘Never! English is good enough for me, so long as there is a touch of Yorkshire to it. And don’t forget, your great-grandfather fought at Waterloo.’

Seeing her mother wink at her, Alice suppressed a smile as she said, ‘I would never do that, Father.’ When he grunted for reply she asked, ‘What news of home?’

He quickly warmed to this subject, regaling her proudly with information about her mother’s local charitable work.

‘I’ve been helping ease the lot of two small village communities that have suffered since Deepdale Manor and its estate were left deserted. Only the minimum of work on the estate was organised by the solicitor handling probate,’ Cecilia told her.

‘And there’s no sign yet of whoever has inherited it?’ asked Alice.

‘We haven’t heard anything,’ her mother replied.

‘Couldn’t you buy Deepdale, Father?’

He chuckled. ‘Wooton is enough for me to handle and keep viable. It’s a fine inheritance for you and Nicholas as it is. Besides, Deepdale will need some capital spending on it after being neglected so long since the last owner died. I see no need to alter our circumstances. Everything is nicely settled at Wooton.’

Alice felt a deep sense of satisfaction on hearing the resolve in her father’s voice as he made this statement. She loved Wooton Hall and would hate to see any major changes made there. She only hoped her brother Nicholas felt the same. Although he worked alongside his father with enthusiasm, she knew he had ideas of his own that might be brought in once he formally took over. Only time would tell.

Their stay at the Clarendon was comfortable and relaxing so that the next day they were refreshed before the eight-hour journey to York.

There, porters took charge of their luggage and led them to the Station Hotel where Sir Raymond had booked rooms for the night so that they would not be overtired for the twenty-five mile onward journey to Wooton Hall. He knew Cecilia wanted Alice to enjoy the final part of her homecoming.

The following morning as they finished a hearty breakfast they were informed that their carriage had arrived.

Half an hour later as they left the hotel, thankful that the day was warm and the sky clear, their coachman Sam Clark greeted Alice with, ‘Welcome home, Miss, it is good to have you back.’ The greeting came with a touch of his cap and a broad pleasant smile, just as she would have expected from the long-serving groom who was a favourite with her. After seeing them comfortably seated, Sam climbed to his seat, took up the reins and set the coach in motion towards the hall.

 

Emma Cheevey left the dining room of Heatherfold Hall after luncheon and strolled into her study, where she knew Betsy, her personal maid, would have placed the mail that always arrived at lunchtime. She crossed the room to her Regency escritoire, pausing for a moment to look out of the window at the rolling hills of the Scottish Borders, a view she always admired.

She sat down at the escritoire, placed so that light from the window fell across it from the left, and picked up the five envelopes that were awaiting her attention, hoping there might be some communication from her husband Colonel Robert Cheevey or their son Captain Steven Cheevey, both of whom were serving in South Africa in the hostilities that had developed from England’s dispute with the Boers there. Her disappointment deepened when she saw there wasn’t even a letter from her second son, Lieutenant Matthew Cheevey, who was still in England but expecting to be posted to South Africa before long.

Seeing one envelope addressed in what had become a familiar hand to her during the last six months, Emma slit it open immediately and withdrew a sheet of paper.

 

Dear Mrs Cheevey,

I believe I am nearing a solution to the problem that has troubled us for the last six months. I would like to deliver my latest findings in person next Friday the 20th July and hope this will be convenient.

My best wishes and regards,

John Smyth

She smiled to note the way he had signed the letter – a little crack in the formality that had previously existed in his manner towards her, though she had, early in the relationship, sensed that he wished for an easier association between them. Emma had to admit to herself that she felt flattered by the admiration of this good-looking bachelor whose politeness to her was always accompanied by a certain warmth that she believed he did not display towards all his clients. She would look forward to his visit, she decided.

 

‘Mr Smyth has arrived, Ma’am.’

‘Thank you, Betsy.’

After the door had closed behind her maid, Emma stood up, smoothed her dress and examined her face in the mirror. She patted a mischievous wisp of hair into place then went downstairs.

‘Good day, Mr Smyth.’ Emma sailed into the drawing room, holding out her hand in greeting.

He took it and made a small bow. Since Miss Penelope Owens, owner of the Deepdale Estate in North Yorkshire, had died two years ago at the age of ninety, he had devoted his time to discovering who was now its rightful owner. His enquiries had led him down a number of byroads and he had met various potential claimants, though none as charming as this vivacious woman to whom his quest had led him six months ago. Then, the link to Deepdale on her mother’s side of the family had seemed tenuous, and Mrs Cheevey’s admission to having no knowledge of a Miss Penelope Owens seemed to rule her out as the heir, but further enquiries had led him to believe that there was more to Mrs Emma Cheevey’s position than had first seemed possible.

‘I have some news that I believe will settle the matter at last, Ma’am,’ he said, with a gentle smile.

‘I hope so, Mr Smyth,’ Emma replied. ‘I just want it settled now, one way or the other.’ She indicated a chair to him, wondering if his news would put her life back on an even keel.

He acknowledged her gesture and waited until she had seated herself facing him before he sat down.

She looked at him expectantly, an expression he had come to know well over recent weeks when his visits here had become more regular.

‘We have finally collected affidavits ruling out the other candidates as suitable heirs. Therefore, Mrs Cheevey, you are now the sole beneficiary of Deepdale Manor and its contents, together with all associated land, two home farms and two tenanted villages.’ As he further itemised the properties concerned she kept her face expressionless. ‘Well, Mrs Cheevey, that is the property and landholdings dealt with. Now I must clarify the monetary side of your inheritance. To put it simply, Ma’am, when all outstanding debts on the estate, including our expenses, are taken into account, you will be a very rich woman. The round figure I can give you is five hundred thousand pounds.’

As well off as she was in her present circumstances, Emma blanched and gasped at this piece of news. She gave a little shake of her head. ‘I can’t believe it. To think, I didn’t even know this person existed.’

‘She was a distant cousin on your mother’s side who had never married, though I discovered that she was once engaged. Her prospective husband left her a fortune in his will, made just two weeks before he was killed in the Highlands while stalking deer there. His fortune forms the basis of your inheritance… so now you have decisions to make. If there is any way in which I or my firm may help, please do not hesitate to ask.’

Emma Cheevey felt uncharacteristically bewildered. A settled existence was being turned upside down. She had been perfectly happy with life the way she led it, but now big decisions would have to be made and she felt very alone; her husband and one son serving in South Africa, the other expecting to be posted there before long. There was no one at hand to help her, no one to advise on the right course to take with all this wealth suddenly at her disposal. Only this attentive and rather personable solicitor.

‘I will bear that in mind,’ she told him. ‘I have so much to think about concerning Heatherfold as it is, and now to have this thrust upon me too…’

‘Don’t look upon it as a burden, Ma’am. There are ways we can deal with what you have now at your disposal, and I can offer you the best advice.’

‘Thank you. You sound most reassuring.’

‘I hope I do, Ma’am. Don’t rush into any decisions, I beg you. Keep this to yourself and your family, and take your time over deciding what you will do.’

‘It is awkward with my husband and eldest son so far away, and I really don’t want to worry Matthew at this delicate stage of his career.’

‘I understand, Ma’am. With the wealth that has come your way, it would be quite in order for you to keep both properties, maybe view this one as your Scottish retreat.’

‘Thank you. I will think things over and more than likely seek your advice once more.’

‘Contact me at any time. You have my office address in Kelso and York should matters become urgent.’ When Mrs Cheevey made no further comment, he stood up. ‘I will take my leave, Ma’am. Remember, no problem is insurmountable. I’m sure everything will turn out as you wish.’

Emma rose from her own chair and walked with him to the front door, where she paused and thanked him once again for his help in administering this prize that had come so unexpectedly into her life. In some ways she was thankful that Robert and their two sons had been too far away to involve themselves once she heard of it. They would have wanted to take over, or certainly Robert and Stephen would; Matthew would probably have let things take their course without any interference from him. Now she could make her own decisions and act on them as she chose… well, maybe with some more advice from the extremely attentive Mr Smyth.

As the door was opened for him, he turned back towards her. ‘I am pleased with the way things have turned out for you. I have gained great satisfaction from the outcome of this matter, and feel it deserves a little celebration. Would you do me the honour of dining with me this evening at the White Heather in Kelso?’

She left only the slightest hesitation. ‘Why not? That is most kind of you, and I accept.’

‘I will send my carriage for you. Is six o’clock convenient?’

She inclined her head in acceptance and was sure his step was lighter as he went to the conveyance that one of her grooms had taken in charge.

Emma watched it depart then closed the door and leaned against it, lost in thought. A Scottish retreat, he had said. Whatever lay behind that suggestion?

Sam guided the carriage skilfully around other vehicles seeking to pick up their passengers outside York’s busy Station Hotel. He drove over Lendal Bridge, crossing the River Ouse and passing Bootham Bar, one of four fortified entrances to the ancient city. Heading north, he settled the two horses into a steady motion to make the ride comfortable for his three passengers.

After a year’s absence, Alice felt especially pleased to be returning to the countryside that she loved. It felt as if she’d been away longer than that, for her school years had always been divided between home and school, the hall and the convent. Now she anticipated a long settled period at home, a whole lifetime at Wooton stretching ahead of her. She had not yet contemplated what those years might bring, but she was certain they would include her home and all that it meant to her.

She took in the passing landscape of the flat fertile Plain of York, knowing her father owned what he described as ‘some of the best farming land in the county.’ Ten miles further north, with the rolling Howardian Hills and their myriad of summer greens adding variety to the view, Sam eased the carriage away from the main road and on to a lesser one that climbed steadily through the foothills. After two miles the roadway steepened, causing him to encourage the horses with soothing words. After a mile the escarpment flattened. Keeping in mind the Ware family tradition of stopping here to admire the view, he drew the horses to a halt.

‘You remembered, Sam!’ cried Alice excitedly as she jumped down from the carriage, not waiting to be assisted by the coachman.

Cecilia laughed but there were tears in her eyes too when she said, ‘We’ve brought her home, Sam.’

‘And a pleasure it is, Ma’am. It is always good to have Miss Alice back.’

‘It is indeed,’ agreed Sir Raymond. ‘And what could be better than that view to greet her?’

Alice cast her eyes across the scene she had carried in her mind all this last year: the Vale of York stretching north and south and westward towards the Pennines. She glanced along the escarpment on which they were standing and then turned slowly so she could look across the farms in the small valley to the north that rose towards the moors, alluring in their wild majesty. Soon they would be a sea of purple when the heather bloomed in all its glory.

‘Father, Mother, don’t ever leave Wooton. Let us all be here for ever,’ Alice called out to them.

They both smiled to see her so happy but, knowing life was never as easy as that, made no promises.

Within ten minutes they were turning through the gateway to the hall and along a drive that led to a cobbled courtyard overlooked by stables on two sides, one of which gave easy access for horses to be brought to the front of the house when required. Workshops occupied a third side while the fourth overlooked an inviting view towards the south, but also led to walks through well-tended gardens from which there were further spectacular views.

A groom and two stable lads hurried into the courtyard when they heard the carriage arriving. They politely greeted Alice and busied themselves tending to the horses and carriage.

‘Sis! Sis! Welcome home!’ shouted her brother, racing across the cobbles.

‘Nicholas!’ They embraced amid peals of joyous laughter.

‘Sorry I wasn’t at the station to greet my grown-up sister.’

‘It doesn’t matter, Nick. We’re together again now.’

He laughed and whirled her round.

Inside the house they were met by the housekeeper, Mrs Greville, immaculately attired in a tight-fitting black dress trimmed with white lace that accentuated her slim figure and air of confidence. ‘Welcome, home, Miss,’ she said to Alice. She raised a finger and the two maids and a footman, who were standing by, came forward to take the outdoor wear of the new arrivals.

As she escorted them into the house, Mrs Greville informed them, ‘Coffee and Mrs Gordon’s homemade treacle scones will be ready in the morning room in ten minutes.’

Alice let out a whoop. ‘Mrs Greville, you’re a wonder! You remembered my favourite.’

‘You are kind to think that, Miss, but it wasn’t me, it was Mrs Gordon who remembered,’ the housekeeper admitted.

‘Then I shall come to the kitchen and thank her when I have tasted her delights and decided whether she still has the magic touch or not.’

‘I’m sure you will find that she has,’ said her mother, ‘though your father and I can’t confirm that about her treacle scones. Mrs Gordon said she would make no more until you returned.’

‘What?’ Alice laughed disbelievingly.

‘It’s true,’ her mother assured her.

‘I’m off to see my room,’ shouted Alice as she ran for the stairs.

‘Don’t be long!’ called her mother.

Shortly afterwards when Alice entered the morning room her mother was pouring the coffee.

‘My room is just as it was,’ Alice enthused. ‘Oh, it’s so good to be back.’

 

‘Sally, there is no need for you to wait up for me tonight,’ said Emma Cheevey, studying the reaction of her lady’s maid in the dressing-table mirror, while pretending to adjust her earrings.

‘Very well, Ma’am,’ replied Sally, with no discernible change of expression. ‘Will it be a cape or a shawl, Ma’am?’

Emma pondered a moment then said, ‘The green cape and a matching silk scarf would do well this evening.’

Sally removed the required items from the wardrobe and stood by while her mistress made some adjustments to her hair.

Emma then shrugged herself into the cape and draped the scarf casually around her neck. One last look in the full-length cheval glass and she was satisfied. She headed for her dressing-room door. Sally opened it, saying, ‘Have a pleasant evening, Ma’am.’

‘Thank you, Sally.’

Emma’s footsteps were light as she swept down the stairs. She felt younger, prettier – a man had invited her to dine with him. The last time must have been shortly after Steven had been born when Robert had insisted on celebrating his heir’s arrival. Dining with her husband had then become a matter of course whenever occasion demanded. As the years had passed, she’d fallen into the routine required of a serving Army officer’s wife.

When they first married she had supported Robert’s ambitions, knowing he had set his eyes on climbing the officer rankings. Emma accepted that her luxurious life style was based on money derived from his land-owning family. She had played her part as she knew he expected her to do, providing him with an heir and a spare without allowing her figure to be spoiled. She had been satisfied to be there when ever he wanted, but where once there had been passion between them, ennui had set in followed by loneliness, particularly when Robert’s Army commitments required him to serve abroad. True, she had made friends amon the officers’ wives, but she was tired of the Army’s stranglehold on them.

Then John Smyth had walked into her life.

As he made his enquiries about her ancestors, his visits to Heatherfold. . .