Ivory Innocence Read online

  Janey sank cross-legged on the lawn, conceding, "Sometimes. I was in hospital. It was good fun— especially when I started to get better. There were a lot of other children to play with."

  "I'm sure you'll make friends in the village before long," Ivory said softly.

  "I would, if Daddy would let me go out," the child replied, sighing as she sprawled on the daisy-strewn grass.

  There was very little wrong with her mind, Ivory decided, but if she had been ill that would explain her physical frailty. All she really needed was for someone to take a real interest in her. She had lost her mother, and her father was often away, he had said. From what Ivory had seen of the relationship, the father was ill at ease with the child, and Janey appeared nervous of him.

  "If you come to live with us," Janey said suddenly, looking with earnest dark eyes into Ivory's face, "does that mean I won't have to go to boarding school?"

  "Boarding school?" Ivory echoed.

  "That's what Carla wants to do with me," the child said bitterly. "I heard her saying to Daddy that boarding school would be the answer."

  "As far as I know, he's intending to keep you here," Ivory assured her.

  But Janey was not convinced. "Is that what he said? What did he say your name was?"

  "Miss Andersen. But why not call me Ivory? It's much easier. And if I do come, I want us to be friends, Janey."

  "I'd like that too," Janey said. "At least you're not like Carla. Carla's rotten!"

  Ivory was surprised to see hatred twist the child's wan face. "Who's Carla?"

  "She's Daddy's friend." Suddenly she confronted Ivory with burning brown eyes. "I hate her!"

  "But I'm sure your father wouldn't send you away if you don't want to go," Ivory replied, worried by the violent emotions that ran through the child.

  "He would if Carla wanted him to," Janey said flatly. "I know he would!"

  Leaping up, she dodged into the playhouse and closed the flap as if wanting to be alone.

  Deciding not to press matters at that point, Ivory stood up. Brushing down her skirt, she said quietly, "I'm going in now, Janey. Will you come?"

  There was no answer. Janey had retreated into her hurt little shell, and to probe now would only make her shut herself away further.

  "Well, come and say good-bye to me before I go," Ivory called. "I'm going to have that cup of tea."

  As she walked back over the lawn, her mind was on the unhappy child. She felt she could help Janey, if she was allowed a chance, though she had not expected to feel so involved so quickly.

  Lifting a hand to smooth a blowing tendril of spun-gold hair, she paused on the edge of the terrace as she saw Matthew Kendrake lounging in the doorway watching her. His face expressed nothing, but she knew he had been standing there for some seconds, watching her approach.

  "I was about to call you," he said. "Mrs. Barnes has brought the tea."

  "Oh, thank you."

  His glance swept her again, lingering near her hip. "You've got grass stains on your skirt."

  "Oh, no!" She looked at the offending green smears, brushed ineffectually at them, and sighed. "I expect they'll come off."

  "Yes, probably."

  Alerted by a strange tautness in his voice, Ivory lifted her eyes to him, but found his face expressionless, bland. "Come inside and sit down."

  Since he didn't move, she was obliged to pass close to him, his proximity making her aware of the power in his muscled body. He strolled after her and resumed his own chair, and leaned to pour tea from a silver pot into delicate china cups.

  "And how did you get along with my daughter?" he inquired as he passed her a full cup. "She's a peculiar little thing, don't you think?"

  Ivory's eyebrows knotted at the description so negligently expressed. She sipped the hot tea, feeling it ease her dry throat before she dared raise her eyes. When she did, she was in control of herself.

  "I don't think any child is 'peculiar,' Mr. Kendrake," she said levelly. "They have their little quirks like the rest of us. Janey seems to be a trifle insecure, but that's hardly surprising."

  "Oh?" His eyebrow slanted questioningly. "Why not?"

  "I understand you haven't been in Hedley Magna very long," she replied, returning his look with cool gray eyes. "Children often find a move unsettling. And Janey has no mother. May I ask how long it is since your wife—"

  "Six months," he said flatly.

  "I see. Then that's another factor, another blow for Janey."

  She was amazed when his mouth twisted into a cynical smile. "You think so?"

  "Of course it was! Have you been so busy with your own grief that—" Embarrassed, she stopped herself and looked down at her tea. "Forgive me, I had no right to say that. But Janey is obviously unhappy. If I'm to take care of her, she must be my main concern."

  "Really?" Irony was strong in his voice. "Even if you have to fight with me to protect her?"

  Very slowly, Ivory lifted her head until her eyes met the mocking blue ones. "I would hope we could cooperate, but… Yes, Mr. Kendrake, if you employ me I shall, if necessary, fight you for what I believe is right for Janey."

  His gaze swept her with open amusement, telling her he found little to fear in her slender femininity. "I shall certainly be careful not to underestimate you, Miss Andersen. Let us hope we can see eye to eye over Janey's welfare." Pausing, he rubbed a long finger down his nose. "She has obviously made a great impression on you."

  "Yes, she has," Ivory agreed.

  "And you on her? Though not enough to persuade her to brave my presence, I notice." He smiled wryly at Ivory's look of surprise. "I'm quite aware that as far as Janey is concerned I'm an ogre. If you can help us achieve a closer understanding, I'll be grateful."

  "I shall do my best," Ivory said. "Do I gather you're offering me the job?"

  "Let's make it a three-months' trial, shall we?" he suggested. "I'll contact the Education people tomorrow and arrange it. How soon can you start?"

  "I could move up here next weekend, if that's convenient."

  "Fine. Now have your tea before it gets too cold. I'll go and bring Janey in to hear the good news."

  Ivory watched him walk out to the terrace, a frown on her face. He was an enigmatic man. She suspected that he found having a small daughter more of a drawback than a blessing.

  Hearing him roar, "Janey! Janey, come back here!" at the top of his voice, Ivory put down her empty cup and went out, to see Janey fleeing as if from the devil himself, coining toward the house with her father storming angrily behind her. She darted up the steps, flung herself past Ivory, and rushed through the sitting room and into the hall, slamming the door behind her.

  Bewildered, Ivory stared after the child, then heard Matthew Kendrake behind her breathing hard in his fury.

  "What happened?" she asked. When there was no reply, she whirled round to look into snapping blue eyes above lips compressed so tightly they were rimmed with white. "Mr. Kendrake! If she's been ill you really ought to—"

  "I won't have her swearing at me!" he said through his teeth.

  "Swearing? Surely she didn't—"

  "I assure you, she did! She's been allowed to get away with too much because she's been ill. I shall expect you to teach her to curb her temper, Miss Andersen. I won't be spoken to like that."

  "But what caused it?" Ivory asked.

  "She refused to come out of that playhouse when I told her to. Something put her into one of her stubborn moods. Was it you?"

  Inwardly flinching under the rage that simmered behind his eyes, Ivory straightened her back. "She was upset when I left her, but not because of anything I'd said or done."

  "Then why?" he demanded.

  "She—she said something about being afraid you might send her away to boarding school."

  A sharp laugh escaped him. "I would have thought the prospect of leaving me behind might appeal to her. Boarding school? What put that into her head?"

  "Apparently she overheard you discussing it with
someone."

  "I see." He thrust his hands into his pockets, his jaw thrust out aggressively. "So Mrs. Barnes isn't the only member of my household who's given to eavesdropping. Well, I sincerely hope you'll cure my daughter of any such tendencies, Miss Andersen. And I can assure you, I have no intention of sending her anywhere. Obviously, she's already spent far too much time away from my influence. I take my responsibilities seriously. I hope you do, too."

  "Yes, I do," Ivory said stoutly. How he could call little Janey a "responsibility" in that grim way was a mystery to her.

  The more she saw of Matthew Kendrake, the more she was convinced that he was an exact replica of his uncle: George Kendrake, the man who had ruined her grandfather. They were both cold, calculating, and utterly ruthless.

  Chapter Two

  Feeling some need for reassurance, Ivory left her car in the lane and walked across to the church, through the wooden gate and along the path between the yews. Inside, on stones carved with names and dates, the church walls bore evidence of her Meldrum ancestors, who had once been masters of Hedley Hall. Ivory renewed her acquaintance with them all, recalling how her grandmother had pointed the memorials out to her when she was a child no older than Janey Kendrake. Mrs. Meldrum had been proud of her heritage and had taught Ivory to be proud, too.

  The cottage on the hill was the only real home Ivory could remember. She recalled nothing of her early life in Africa, where she had been born.

  "Why your mother had to marry Nils Andersen I shall never know," her grandmother had been wont to say with a sigh. "Of course he was tough and good-looking—brown as a berry and fair as Apollo—but then who wouldn't be, living in the sun the way he did? He was a typical wild Colonial, but there was nothing we could do to stop your mother from marrying him and going out to that farm in Kenya."

  Ivory had been born on the farm. But shortly before her fourth birthday her parents had been killed when a duststorm brought down their plane as they flew back from a business trip to Nairobi. Their small daughter was hastily brought home to England, to live with her grandparents in the cottage at Hedley Magna.

  Her early life had been uneventful. Her grandmother seemed able to perform miracles on a tight budget. There were riding lessons, piano lessons, and the excitement of a brand-new bicycle when Ivory was eleven years old.

  "You need these things," her grandmother had often said. "You're a Meldrum. I can't let our neighbors think the Meldrums are living on the breadline. That wouldn't be proper."

  The fact that she was a Meldrum had been drummed into Ivory from an early age, and over the years she learned what lay behind this schooling: when her grandfather had been a young man, he had inherited Hedley Hall and its estate, which included the vast acreage of Home Farm and half the village properties. But he had been cheated out of his lands by a man named George Kendrake.

  "All because of jealousy," Mrs. Meldrum declared. "George Kendrake courted me—he was one of many, I may tell you. I was quite a beauty in my day. But when I married your grandfather, George Kendrake was so bitterly jealous that he set out to ruin us."

  The story was told so often that Ivory learned it by heart, but she listened patiently every time her grandmother was in the mood to reminisce. It was always her grandmother who spoke in anger about George Kendrake; her grandfather said only, "That's all in the past."

  Ivory grew to detest the sight of the tall, ramrod-straight figure of George Kendrake, whom she saw occasionally when he came to spend a weekend at the Hall with friends.

  "Just look at him!" her grandmother would say in disgust. "Playing lord of the manor. He pretended to be our friend, but all the time he was plotting, using your grandfather's trusting nature to ruin him and take the Hall. All he left us was this cottage."

  Ivory had never clearly understood the nature of the swindle; Mrs. Meldrum spoke vaguely of bad financial advice given by George Kendrake, and business deals that went wrong. What was not in doubt was the fact that in time, through the influence of his "friend," John Meldrum faced bankruptcy.

  "That was when George Kendrake played his ace," Mrs. Meldrum had said. "He stepped in and offered to buy the estate, which was what he'd been scheming for all along. If it hadn't been for that man, we'd still be living at Hedley Hall."

  Ivory remembered her grandfather as a gentle man who had grown sadder as he grew older, a bent, graying figure pottering aimlessly about while his wife valiantly attempted to keep up appearances.

  Mrs. Meldrum had chaired the local Women's Institute and been on the flower roster at the church. She gave coffee mornings for good causes and helped out at jumble sales, as if she were still the lady of the manor. Most people respected her for it; most of the local people regarded George Kendrake with contempt. Ivory sometimes wondered if that was why he had chosen not to live at the Hall but had used it as a weekend retreat.

  Ivory was at college when her grandfather died suddenly. She returned to Hedley Magna to find her grandmother distraught and showing her age. Ivory did her best to offer comfort, but the old lady refused to be consoled.

  "When I've passed my finals," Ivory promised, "I'll come home and find a job somewhere near. I won't leave you alone. There's one consolation, grandmother: you've still got the cottage."

  Mrs. Meldrum had raised drowned, red-rimmed eyes and sobbed, "Oh, Ivory, if you only knew! If you only knew!"

  But she wouldn't say what it was that Ivory didn't know, and Ivory was left to guess that something other than her husband's death was distressing her.

  Fate had its ironic laugh when, only a few months later, the perfidious George Kendrake died. Mrs. Meldrum wrote and informed Ivory of the news with great bitterness:

  I can't feel sorry. I shall always hate that man. I'd have thought more kindly of him if he'd just stabbed your grandfather, but instead he killed him slowly, over forty years. And I hear he's left the estate to his nephew—another Kendrake to put his curse on the village. I expect he, too, will be an absentee landlord, since to my knowledge he's never been near the place. He lives abroad somewhere, so they say.

  Ivory, it's so unfair. The Hall should be yours instead of going to some stranger who cares nothing for it. But I shall make sure he receives a cool welcome when he comes to claim his ill-gotten inheritance.

  Unfortunately, months before Matthew Kendrake arrived, Mrs. Meldrum died, in a fire that gutted the cottage just before Easter in Ivory's last year at college.

  Even now, over a year later, Ivory vividly recalled now she had stood in pouring rain and stared in disbelief at the burned-out shell of the place that had been her home for sixteen years. Investigators said an electrical fault was to blame, but in Ivory's shocked mind this tragedy, too, could be laid at the Kendrakes' door. Everything she loved had, literally, gone up in smoke.

  Grieving, she had visited the solicitor and heard even more shocking news: the cottage had not belonged to her grandparents; it was still part of the Hall estate.

  Ivory recalled sitting in the solicitor's office and reading the letter her grandmother had left for her:

  I'm afraid it's the truth, Ivory. I always believed we owned the cottage, until your grandfather died, when I found out that he had been paying rent to George Kendrake. He must have kept it from me to save me from knowing that we were virtually living on that man's charity. And I have done the same for your sake. But now I must write the truth. George Kendrake took everything. There's nothing of value I can leave for you, except my bits and pieces of jewelry. But at least I know you will have the capital that came from the sale of your father's farm in Kenya. I hope you understand why I had to use the interest, on your behalf, to keep you and give you those little extras, and to put you through college. Oh, my dear, life has been cruel for us all, but I did my best for you. God bless and keep you, my love, and never forget—you're a Meldrum.

  Ivory had been surprised by the amount of the legacy she was due to inherit on her twenty-first birthday, but the money had meant little to her. She went bac
k to college to take her final exams and then went to stay with friends in Bournemouth, on the south coast, far away from memories. She had believed she could never bear to come back to Hedley Magna, but as her grief passed she began to form a plan. Her legacy might be enough to buy the Hall if she could find proof of George Kendrake's treachery and persuade his nephew to sell the estate back to her—if necessary under the threat of revealing his uncle as a heartless villain.

  She did not like the idea of blackmail, but as a last resort she had promised herself to use it.

  But before she had a chance to do anything more, Rob Garth, her childhood friend from Hedley Magna, had written one of his long chatty letters, which included the news that Matthew Kendrake had taken residence in the Hall and was thinking of employing a teacher to help his little daughter. It was the opening Ivory had been needing. She would come back to Hedley Magna and spy out the land before making any further moves.

  Her one regret had been that George Kendrake himself was no longer alive to regret his perfidy toward her grandparents. But now that she had met his nephew, she knew him to be exactly the same sort of man as his uncle. There must be something about Kendrake blood that turned their men into monsters. Ivory was prepared to use any weapon she could think of to settle old scores.

  As she left the church, a bus drew up by the junction and discharged a few schoolchildren. A young girl with golden hair fastened into pigtails over her ears called good-bye to her friends and set off up the lane, her bag trailing from one hand.

  "Becky!" Ivory called, hurrying across the road.

  Rebecca Garth turned, her face puckered in a frown, then her smile beamed. "Oh, hello, Ivory! I'd forgotten you were coming today."

  "Let me give you a lift," Ivory said, indicating the car that waited beneath swaying branches of sticky lime leaves. "I'm on my way back to the farm now."

  "Oh, great!" Rebecca said. "I'm worn out. We've been playing rounders the last two lessons. I was bowler. I'm good at that. I can throw really hard. Is this your car? I didn't know you could drive. Is it true you're coming to work at the Hall? What's the new girl like? I've never seen her. Mrs. Barnes told Mum she's delicate."