Lady in the Veil Read Free Page B

an appointment, making a fool of himself. He turned to go just as Mirabel
trotted into the yard from her ride. There was a scurry of attention to horse and rider but Matt bent his head and rode away.
    ‘Mr Stockdale!’ she raced after him, waving her whip at the groom to get out of the way. ‘I thought it was you.’
    ‘I’ll be off, Miss. Sorry to trouble you. I can see this is not a good time to call.’
    ‘Nonsense, wait . . . Did you bring them? The pictures . . . did they come out?’ she drew aside him whispering, her eyes burning into him with interest.
    His heart leapt that he was acknowledged. ‘It’s hidden in this parcel,’ he smiled patting his long jerkin.
    ‘We can’t open them here,’ she whispered. ‘But wait under the river bridge on the path. I’ll change and say I’m walking down to collect berries or something.
Meet you there,’ she ordered and left him standing.
    The men were watching them but then Mirabel barked at them to get on with their jobs and he was forgotten.
    They stood together under the stone arch as he pulled out the plates for her to inspect from a linen pouch. ‘Do you like them?’ he said watching her face flushing as she examined the
images.
    ‘They’re good. You’ve captured old Hector,’ she offered.
    ‘Aye, but look on yon one of you. It’s got something too. Your father will frame this.’
    ‘He’s not to know about this. He won’t approve of me riding out alone after what happened. The horse, perhaps. This has to be our secret. I think we can be friends. You can
call me Miss Mirabel, if you like.’ She gave him that stare that turned his insides to mush.
    ‘You can call me just Matt,’ he replied.
    ‘Thank you for the photographs. We will reimburse all your expenses. It’s been such a hard time for us these past years and now there’s no one to take my brother’s
place.’
    He sat listening to all her worries. How Eliza was always sickening and her father drank too much each evening. How the staff took advantage of him. Her world was so different from his own farm
life. How he longed to be her equal, to ride and jump for pleasure not necessity, to eat fine foods the likes of which he’d never see in his lifetime, pineapples, melons and other fancy
fare.
    He told her how he wanted to build up their breeding cattle and make Yewbank the biggest and the best farmstead in the district. How his mother’s eyesight was failing.
    ‘We shall be going to stay with Aunt Lydia soon so she can bring us out,’ she added.
    ‘Out where?’ he asked.
    ‘Out into society to make a good marriage, silly,’ she laughed.
    Her words brought a chill into his heart that soon their worlds would separate for ever. He was just a country bumpkin, a distraction to be picked up and dropped. As he rode back that afternoon,
he felt a rage inside him that there was no equality in this world. Only under Christ were they all equal but even when Mirabel Dacre was in church, she sat shielded by a tall oak pew with their
own side entrance away from the rest of the congregation. It wasn’t fair. As he muttered to himself he heard his late father’s voice ranting in his head.
    ‘Then make thyself her equal, laddie. Learn thy letters and make of thesen summat more than nowt!’
    He turned round expecting to see him riding behind him but there was no one in sight. How strange, he thought but his pace quickened at the words. The Stockdales of Yewbank bowed to no man but
their Maker, his father once said. Well, he would show her and all the Dacres that he was worthy to be her suitor one day, not her secret amusement.
    From that afternoon on, Matt Stockdale was a driven man. One day he would make Miss Mirabel not just his friend, his comforter but his bride. How or when, he had no idea but as the voice said,
first he must make summat of himself in the district. Then the rest would surely follow.
    Aunt Lydia’s invitation to attend a young ladies’ seminary in York had thrown