The Hardie Inheritance Read Free Page B

the cobbled courtyard.
    All Trish’s questions were answered at once. There were no horses to be seen. And the hammering sound was coming fromthe far side of the courtyard, where someone – facing away from them – was hitting a large piece of stone with a mallet and chisel. Could this really be Miss Hardie? It looked more like a man; a tall, thin man wearing workman’s overalls. A strong man, as well; the hammering appeared to be hard work. Perhaps he was a mason, preparing to repair the fabric of the walls.
    Ellis put a finger to his mouth, warning his daughter not to make any sudden noise, in case surprise might cause the chisel to slip. Instead, they moved together round the outside of the stable yard until they could be seen.
    It was after all a woman and not a man who caught sight of them and, startled, paused with her mallet raised in the air for the next blow. She looked from one to the other, waiting for one of them to speak.
    â€˜I’m afraid we’re disturbing you, Miss Hardie,’ said Ellis. ‘Your – your cook, was it? – told us we should find you here.’
    â€˜Cook? Oh, you mean my mother.’ Grace Hardie smiled, and the smile transformed her face. Until that moment the concentration with which she applied herself to her work had given an absorbed, withdrawn look to her dark eyes; but now they twinkled with amusement. She set down her tools carefully in their flat wooden rack and pulled off the cap which had been protecting her hair from the stone dust, shaking her head vigorously as she did so as though to let the air in. ‘How can I help you?’
    â€˜My name may not mean anything to you,’ said Ellis. ‘I come without introduction, I’m afraid. Ellis Faraday. And this is my daughter Patricia, who usually answers to Trish.’
    â€˜Hello, Trish. I won’t shake hands, because I’m filthy.’ But she smiled again in a friendly manner. Then, more seriously, she looked into Ellis’s eyes.
    â€˜Faraday?’ she repeated. ‘Oh yes. The name Faraday certainly means something to me.’

Chapter Two
    Faraday! Grace looked with new interest at her unexpected visitors. The child, fair-haired and pale-faced except for a scattering of freckles on her cheeks, was standing quietly while the adults conversed, biting her lips to hold back the questions she was bursting to ask. The man, a few years younger than Grace herself, had the same fair hair as his daughter and a soft, crumpled face. He was tall and slim – though it was odd that she should use the word slim in her thoughts, rather than thin: that must have something to do with the grace of his movements and the charm of his smile.
    That he was deliberately trying to charm her was obvious enough. In a moment he would be asking some kind of favour and making in return some promise that might never be fulfilled. She would have sent packing any other stranger who smiled at her like this, seeming to appeal for instant friendship, had his name not been Faraday.
    He was presumably related to the architect, Patrick Faraday, who had been killed in the war; and Patrick Faraday had been of significance in her life not just once but twice. He it was who had designed Greystones as a house specifically intended to improve her health. If Grace had ever seen him while the plans were under discussion, she did not remember the occasion, for she was only an infant at the time. But she had met him once ten years later, in the home of her aunt, and that was an encounter she was not likely to forget.
    It was because Aunt Midge, headmistress of a school for girls, had a lover whose existence must be kept secret that Grace had been deprived of the chance to go to the schooland had instead been forced to continue doing all her lessons with a governess. Patrick Faraday was to blame for that. No longer now did Grace mind about the defects in her education or her lack of companionship; but she had