A Fall from Grace - Maggie Ford (have you read this book TXT) 📗

view of the road for any passer-by to witness the inevitable confrontation she knew would occur. To this end she entered by the servants’ entrance, alarming Mrs Plumley in the midst of her cooking as she burst in through the door closed against the steady rain. The woman shot upright like someone scalded, to stand staring at her as if petrified.

‘Good God Almighty! Miss Maddie! What in—’

‘Shh!’ Madeleine hissed. But Mrs Plumley was too flabbergasted to heed her.

‘What in God’s holy name are you doing here! Your father’s home…’

‘I know,’ Madeleine whispered. ‘I don’t want him to see me until I am standing in front of him. How could he be so wicked as to withhold telling me about my mother, not even how seriously ill she was all that time?’

‘I’m sorry, miss… Mrs… I mean madam…’ Floundering, she lapsed into silence. Madeleine gave her a stiff smile.

‘It’s not your fault, Mrs Plumley. Where is he?’

‘In the library, miss… I mean…’ Floundering yet again, she gave up but stiffened. ‘Please don’t go antagonizing him, Miss Madeleine. I shall get in awful trouble for not warning him.’

But Madeleine was already through the door and up the few steps to the hall, making her way to the library, her mind saw-edged.

She found him sitting in his upright leather armchair as she burst in. His startled expression, seeing her there, was almost laughable but instantly changed to one of disbelief. ‘What in God’s name…’

Leaping up, face now livid with rage, his voice sounded strangled. ‘How dare you walk into my home? I’ll thank you to leave this minute!’

She stood her ground, her own anger dominating her. ‘I’m not leaving until—’

‘I’ve nothing to say to you,’ he cut in, but she in her turn cut him short.

‘But I’ve plenty to say to you. I can’t believe anyone could be so heartless as to prevent their daughter knowing her own mother had passed away. It was evil and you are an evil man and I shall never forgive you. Never!’

‘What you choose to do is no concern of mine,’ he said slowly. Having regained control of himself, he was speaking now in level terms in the face of her rage, but Madeleine was trembling with anger and hatred.

‘I never once imagined it would,’ she raged. ‘Nor do I care if I never set eyes on you again. I just pray you die as my poor mother did and take a long time doing it. And I’ll be happy never to see you again. One thing I want you to know – I don’t care about your loathing of me. I’m happily married now and as far as I’m concerned you can rot away and I for one will as they say, dance on your grave.’

Her father remained calm before the torrent, lips curling in a sneer. ‘Happily married?’ he echoed. ‘An elderly, wealthy man, I hear. Turned gold-digger, eh? No more than I would have expected of such as you.’

‘I don’t care what you expect!’ she screamed at him. ‘I came here to confront you for not letting me know how ill my mother was. Then not to tell me of her death… you disgust me, you and your righteous attitudes!’

Her raised voice filling the house, she could imagine the staff having no need to strain their ears as she raged and she knew that she was losing the battle; had in fact already lost it and had only been in this house a few minutes.

‘As far as I’m concerned,’ she ended lamely, hating her tone of defeat, ‘You’re not my father any more and to me you’re already dead.’

‘I’m not interested in your concern,’ he replied, his voice low and controlled. ‘Now you have said your piece, I will thank you to leave my home as I have already requested you do. Mrs Plumley will see you out and off the premises.’

With that he turned his back on her and sat back down in his hard leather armchair, taking up a book that lay on the small table beside him, its pages open to where he had been reading before she had burst in, his other hand retrieving the tumbler of whisky that had lain beside that. Ignored now as he bent his head to his book, she found herself dry of words.

All she could do was back out of the room but she managed to slam the library door as loudly as she could, hoping it might make him jump and spill his whisky. Although she would never know, there was some satisfaction in hoping.

Nevertheless she felt diminished, defeated, as she made her way back to the kitchen. How would Mrs Plumley receive her now? Her face turned away from her as she concentrated on her cooking?

Instead the woman was looking at her as she entered. ‘Would you like a quick cup of tea before you go as it’s a long way back to London, miss?’ she asked, apparently having given up on trying to address her as madam, settling on her more familiar ‘miss’. ‘I’m so sorry things have turned out here for you the way they have, miss.’

She seemed so genuinely sympathetic and on her side that Madeleine felt that here was at least one ally, although what good it would ever do her she couldn’t think.

‘Why do you still work for him?’ she asked.

‘He pays me wages,’ was the simple reply. ‘What about that cup of tea, miss? The master won’t be out of his study for ages, not until lunch now.’

‘That’s kind of you, Mrs Plumley, but no thank you.’ Somehow the idea of drinking tea in this house, even hastily, felt abhorrent. ‘I need to be on my way. I need to get home well before dinner.’

‘Very well, miss. But you take care now. Nice to know you’re settled and married… I heard it being said. Hope you have a nice life if I don’t ever see you again.’

‘Thank you,’ Madeleine said as she turned towards the outer