Friday's Child Read online

  Friday’s Child

  By

  Stephanie Wyatt

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘I suppose you have a glamorous career,’ Jay said, and Mirry found herself longing to impress him, but had to admit.’

  ‘Well, no. For the last two years I’ve lived at home.’

  Before she could explain the reason, he said with a distinct sneer, ‘With five brothers to pander to your whims, you feel justified in living off your parents while you wait for your slice of the Wenlow estate?’

  Mirry’s initial reaction was shocked indignation, but with a superhuman effort she managed to rein it in. ‘You do believe attack is the finest form of defence, don’t you?’ she said reflectively. ‘Just what is it you’re defending yourself against, Jay?’

  Her restraint paid off, because she could see he hadn’t been prepared for it, nor did he like it. But he recovered quickly, that beautiful mouth curving into the semblance of a smile, while the silvery eyes remained contemptuous. ‘Oh, come now, the estimable Mrs Barks informed me the Greys at the Dower House were Lady Jayston’s only relatives. Legitimate relatives. And you must all be hating my guts, the bastard you’re having to share the loot with. So why are you all pretending the friendly welcome?’

  Another book you will enjoy

  by

  STEPHANIE WYATT

  THIS MAN’S MAGIC

  How could she get her career off the ground if no one knew her name? Sorrel Valentine knew there was one way—if her father would acknowledge her as his daughter to Lucas Amory, head of Amoroso. It was a lot to ask, but Sorrel had never taken into account the possibility that Lucas would believe her hard-won letter of introduction was a forgery…

  First published in Great Britain 1989

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  © Stephanie Wyatt 1989

  Australian copyright 1989

  Philippine copyright 1989

  This edition 1989

  ISBN 0263 76255 6

  CHAPTER ONE

  Martha Barks didn’t like people letting cold air into her warm kitchen, but the sight of the slender girl, her long, reddish hair rioting into curls from the frost, changed her frown to a smile of welcome. Mirry Grey had that effect on everyone. Compared to her handsome brothers she wasn’t strictly pretty, but her small face had an animation that was more arresting than mere prettiness, the dancing brown eyes reflecting a zest for life that was infectious.

  ‘Hi, Martha!’ The girl stripped off her anorak. ‘I’ve just had a call from Aunt Georgie. Very cryptic!’

  The corners of Martha’s mouth turned down. She had been housekeeper at Wenlow Hall since Lady Georgina Jayston had come there as a bride thirty-five years ago. Widowed twice during that time, she had very definite ideas of how the newly bereaved should behave, and her mistress was not conforming to those ideas.

  ‘Got some bee in her bonnet. Helen says she had a restless night and she’s been up since crack of dawn, racing all over the house.’ Her mouth tightened further. ‘Not the sort of thing you expect, with Sir David barely cold in his grave. Anyone’d think—’

  ‘Everyone copes with grief their own way, Martha,’ Mirry said quietly. ‘And Aunt Georgie’s never been one to weep and wail.’

  After an inward battle Martha was forced to concede, ‘No, that’s never been her way.’ She watched as Mirry tugged off her boots. Such a tiny thing, little more than five feet tall while her brothers were all six feet and more. Though, of course, she was forgetting there was no actual blood relationship.

  Mirry’s wide mouth curved into a grin. ‘Whatever she’s planning has to be a good thing if it’s giving her a new interest. Not making a show of it doesn’t mean she’s grieving any less.’

  ‘Aye, love, I know,’ Martha agreed. ‘The kind of feeling they shared…’ Her tone changed as she looked at Mirry accusingly. ‘You, now—when are you going to stop taking on other people’s problems and settle down with a man of your own?’

  ‘I think the kind of man I’m looking for has gone out of fashion,’ Mirry retorted, and she was only half joking. ‘Now, I’d better try and find her. Any idea where she’ll be?’

  Martha’s mouth turned down again. ‘Well, she won’t be in the attics. The lift doesn’t go that far.’

  Mirry laughed, pushing open the baize door that led to the front of the house, as familiar with the miles of corridors and endless rooms as she was with her own home. Bounding up the curving marble staircase, she was relieved to see Helen grinning at her from the door of the sitting-room that was part of the master suite. ‘From what Martha said, I was expecting to chase you round for hours before I caught you.’

  Helen gave a bark of laughter. ‘And you would have, too, if I hadn’t threatened to disconnect her motor.’

  ‘Mirry, darling… I’m a monster, dragging you out on such a cold morning!’ The rich contralto voice had Mirry crossing quickly to the electric wheelchair drawn up beside the fire. Years of pain had scored deep lines across Georgina Jayston’s face, but her blue eyes were bright with indomitable life.

  ‘Nonsense! I’d be taking Nick to his speech therapy if Mum hadn’t wanted to go into Leicester herself.’ Mirry bent to kiss the powdered cheek beneath the halo of short white curls. ‘How are you, Aunt Georgie?’

  An honorary aunt only, Lady Georgina Jayston was actually Mirry’s father’s cousin, as well as her own dear godmother.

  ‘All the better for seeing you, darling. Now poor Helen can have a break. I’m afraid I gave her a rough night. I was worrying, you see, then I had this marvellous idea…’

  Mirry exchanged an understanding smile with Helen Dutton who, not much younger than her patient, had been Lady Georgie’s nurse for at least ten years. Normally she lived in one of the cottages in the village, but since Sir David’s death she had moved into the house.

  ‘Yes, why don’t you take the rest of the day off, Helen?’ Mirry suggested. ‘I can stay with Georgie.’

  ‘Oh, but I couldn’t expect—’ Helen’s protest was stifled by a yawn.

  ‘You were saying?’ Mirry’s brown eyes danced. ‘Helen, dear, if you don’t go and put your feet up, I’ll carry you out myself.’

  A big, rawboned woman, Helen laughed at the ludicrous threat. ‘You and whose army?’ she challenged, then threw up her arms in surrender. ‘All right, you bully, but you’ll call me if you need me.’

  ‘So what’s this fantastic idea of yours?’ Mirry asked as the door closed behind the nurse, sitting down and drawing the embroidery frame either she or Georgie were constantly working on towards her.

  ‘Converting the wings of the house into flats,’ Georgie returned promptly, and sat back to enjoy her goddaughter’s reaction.

  Accustomed as she was to Georgie’s unconventional ideas, Mirry gaped. ‘Aren’t you being a mite ambitious? It would mean an awful lot of upset.’

  ‘I don’t intend to do the work myself, neither do I expect to live to see it finished.’ Mirry made an involuntary sound of protest and, seeing her distress, Georgie added quickly, ‘Oh, darling, don’t look so unhappy. I’ve kept going for David’s sake, but now he’s gone…’

  Tears brimmed in Mirry’s eyes and, taking her hand, Georgie shook it in remonstration. ‘No, you silly girl, I absolutely forbid you to cry. Look at it from my point of view, darling. To be free of pain, free of this wheelchair. To be with David for all eternity… Is that very selfish?’

  Mirry dashed the t
ears from her eyes. ‘Of course it isn’t, and I do like to think of you and David being together again.’ With a tremendous effort she attempted to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Will you take to the harp or do you think they’ll allow you your clarinet in heaven?’

  Learning to play the clarinet had been one of Georgie’s interests after imprisonment in a wheelchair had prematurely curtailed the active life she had loved, and over the years she had become a competent exponent, particularly of jazz, delighting in her goddaughter’s shared interest and facility.

  Mirry’s remark struck just the right note and Georgie gurgled her amusement. ‘Oh, Mirry, I wouldn’t have missed having you in my life for anything! I love your brothers too, but you are something special. It just goes to show that environment is as important to a child as heredity.’ She sobered quickly. ‘Poor Jay wasn’t so lucky.’

  At this reference to Uncle David’s son, Mirry looked startled, but said nothing as Georgie went on, ‘He’s not going to find it easy, stepping into his father’s shoes without any preparation.’

  Mirry and her family had always known that one day Wenlow would go to Jay Elphick, though none of them had expected it to happen for years yet. Sir David’s sudden death two weeks ago at only sixty-four had stunned them all. ‘I don’t think you need to worry about that,’ she said reassuringly.

  ‘But I must.’ Georgie’s hands plucked at the armrests of her chair. ‘I’ve always felt so guilty…’

  Mirry stared. ‘You’ve felt guilty? Darling, you must be the one person who had nothing to reproach yourself for.’

  ‘But I’ve always stood between David and his son,’ she explained sadly. ‘And between Jay and his rightful place here at Wenlow. But you must know the story.’

  Mirry nodded. ‘I know Valerie Elphick worked here for a while as Uncle David’s secretary, that he— they—’

  ‘I never blamed David,’ Georgie said quickly. ‘We’d been so much in love, shared such.. .passion. What are you blushing for, child? Your generation didn’t invent sex, you know.’

  Above her pink cheeks Mirry’s brown eyes held an answering gleam. ‘I have noticed Dad often can’t keep his hands off Mum.’

  ‘Yes, Donald’s been very fortunate with his life-partner, too.’ Georgie sighed. ‘It was hard enough for me, remembering what we’d shared before I was paralysed, but it must have been impossible for a virile man like David to be tied to a woman who could no longer respond to him, let alone give him the children he wanted. Poor David.’ Georgie’s gaze was directed at the fire burning in the grate, but she was seeing the past. ‘He was so wretched, so—so shamed. Valerie was demanding marriage to make the child legitimate. It seemed the best solution, so I offered to divorce him.’

  ‘That was very brave of you,’ Mirry said quietly, her tender heart wrung.

  ‘He cried, Mirry.’ There were tears in Georgie’s eyes as she remembered. ‘He told me it wasn’t even infatuation, that Valerie was a woman of the world who’d offered him ease. He begged me on his knees not to leave him.’

  ‘He loved you,’ Mirry insisted.

  ‘Yes, but he paid such a price, poor darling. He wanted the child so much. We both did. We pleaded with Valerie to let us adopt him, but she would never agree.’

  Mirry knew that was when Uncle David had sold the Dower House to her father, settling the money on Valerie and her child.

  ‘I don’t think David ever quite gave up hope that Valerie might change her mind,’ Georgie mused. ‘Not for years and years.’

  ‘But Uncle David used to see Jay sometimes,’ Mirry prompted. ‘I remember when I was small he used to talk to me about him. And then he suddenly stopped, and I never liked to ask…’

  ‘That would be when Jay was eighteen and refused to have anything more to do with his father,’ Georgie revealed. ‘All we knew was that after university he got a job with a bank. I’ve no idea what position he holds now, but I doubt he has the means to put Wenlow back on its feet.’

  At Mirry’s startled glance she shrugged helplessly. ‘Oh, I knew Valerie’s demands over the years had been a drain on the estate—Odden Wood went, then Dicken’s Farm— but I didn’t know quite how bad things were until Mr Golding…’ There were signs of strain on the lined face that Mirry guessed were put there by the visits the solicitor had made since David’s death.

  She marvelled that Georgie could be so concerned for a man whose very existence had cause her so much pain. ‘So this is where your idea comes in, then?’ she prompted.

  Georgie sat up straighten. ‘Well, it occurred to me that if the house itself could provide an income… All those empty rooms. Mirry, I want you to do a survey and draw up some plans for me.’

  ‘Me?’ She was taken aback. ‘But you know it takes seven years to become an architect, and I only did two.’

  ‘You advised Jessica and Rory about enlarging the tearooms, and your plans were passed by the council.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Mirry conceded. ‘But that was very straightforward…’

  ‘I don’t see that this will be that much more complicated,’ Georgie persisted. ‘It would involve building walls rather than knocking them down. I’ve been looking round this morning and I’m sure it could be done.’

  ‘Well, of course it could, but do you really think I’m the right person to—’

  ‘I never thought to see the day when Mirry Grey was afraid to face a challenge.’

  And, just as her godmother expected, Mirry looked affronted. ‘Of course I’m not afraid, I just—’

  ‘Good, in that case you’ll have no objections to coming with me now to take a look.’ Expertly, Georgie swung the wheelchair towards the door.

  Two hours later, lunching on one of Martha’s delicious pies, Georgie asked innocently, ‘Well, Mirry, what do you think?’

  Seeing right through that spurious innocence, Mirry grinned. ‘I think you’re a wily old witch. You know very well I’m hooked on the idea.’

  Her godmother’s smile was complacent. ‘This wily old witch has been even more forward-thinking. Have you realised this could be the beginning of a new career for you? Well, you’ve been telling me how doubtful you are of picking up your studies again after so long.’

  Mirry chewed thoughtfully. It was an idea. Now Nick was so much improved, she would soon have to consider her future. ‘You do realise a conversion of this size can’t be done for peanuts, Aunt Georgie? If the estate’s in such a bad way, will you be able to raise the money?’

  Georgie relaxed now she had Mirry’s agreement. ‘I have some money of my own that David always refused to touch. Wenlow is Jay’s heritage. I can’t change the past, but I can try to ensure his future.’ She reached across the table to clasp Mirry’s hand. ‘Mirry, you’ve always known how much you were wanted and valued, known the love of parents and family, when it might have been very different. You of all people should be able to feel for him.’

  Mirry could. However much Jay’s mother had loved him, it couldn’t make up for the lack of a father, for close family ties, that sense of belonging. She nodded. ‘There, but for the grace of God…’

  Her answer seemed to lift a weight from her godmother’s shoulders. ‘I knew you’d understand. What’s that line in that old nursery rhyme? “Friday’s child is loving and giving…” I don’t know anyone it applies to more aptly, Mirry. I know you’ll make Jay feel welcome, convince him Wenlow is his rightful place, that he was always wanted here.’

  Mirry felt the tears pricking behind her eyes because Georgie was talking of the time when she would no longer be here. But she blinked them back, telling herself it wouldn’t be for years yet.

  It was barely nine weeks later, and on the day of the funeral Mirry woke to find the weather too was mourning, the March wind rattling the rain against the windows to run down the glass like the tears she had promised not to shed.

  She had overslept too, which wasn’t surprising considering the time she had got to bed. Flinging back the duvet, she crawled out of bed an
d walked blearily through the connecting door, dragging off her pink satin nightshirt.

  Built in the time of the early Tudors, the Dower House had in fact been the original Hall. It had been a Jacobean Jayston who, tiring of a house where room led haphazardly out of room, had built the present Wenlow Hall. When all her brothers had still been at home and their family swelled still further by the many foster brothers and sisters who had shared their childhood, this smaller room that led out of Mirry’s had been a bedroom, but several years ago it had been converted into her own bathroom.

  A few minutes under the shower made Mirry feel more human, and, hurrying into jeans and sweater, she went downstairs, pattering along the stone-floored passage to what had once been the dairy and was now a small gym.

  The harsh strip-lighting illuminated the face of the young man on the exercise machine, his face set in a rictus of concentration as he tried to co-ordinate his movements. Her appearance distracted him and the weight that balanced the tension bar fell with a crash. ‘Sorry, Nick, but it’s time you finished anyway.’ He no longer needed her to supervise his exercise sessions, but she liked to make sure he didn’t overdo things.

  But Nick’s jaw jutted pugnaciously and a steam of unintelligible protest burst from him, the words jumbling together as they still did when he was under pressure. Mirry laid a calming hand on his shoulder. Nick was the youngest of her five brothers, and the one nearest to her in age, at twenty-four little more than a year her senior. They had always been close, but since his accident they hardly needed words. She knew what he was trying to say, but reading his thoughts wasn’t part of the therapy. ‘Whoa there, Tiger! Take it slowly, huh?’

  Nick took a deep breath. ‘Want to try again, Mirry, get it right.’ The words were still slurred, but this time intelligible.

  Pride and affection sparkled in Mirry’s eyes. And this was the same Nick who, two years ago, the doctors had declared would never be more than a cabbage! ‘OK, just once, then breakfast.’