Newborn Under The Christmas Tree. Sophie Pembroke
the women and families of this village. And if they need to get out of a situation, we help them do that too. And we do it all on donations, persuading people to volunteer their time, and by making do with what we have. So no, it’s not just knitting.’
Her eyes were blazing now, her cheeks red and her pale hair had frizzed a little in the steam from the tea—or her anger. And Liam realised, with a sudden, sinking certainty, that Alice Walters wasn’t a gold-digger. She was something much worse—for him, at least.
Alice Walters was a do-gooder. A determined, stubborn, dedicated doer of good. And while he might admire that kind of zeal in someone else, right now he was mentally cursing it. Not because he didn’t want to help all those women—he did. That was the problem.
Because his vision for Thornwood Castle, his big middle finger to the society and family that had rejected him, sure as hell didn’t include groups of troubled women and kids tramping around his personal space, while Alice harangued him to give more, help more, do more. He could see it now—a supplier meeting interrupted by a crying woman, or a visionary design lost to some child’s scribbles.
They couldn’t stay, that much was obvious. But he couldn’t just throw them out either. It wasn’t that she’d got to him or anything, with her speeches about safe places and refuge and need. But if Thornwood had become essential to the local community, he needed to convince the local community—and, more importantly, Alice—that their needs would be better served elsewhere, so he could get on with his own plans.
That, he suspected, might take time. Well, time he had—Thornwood had stood for this long waiting for him; it would last a little longer while he sorted all this out. The castle would be his, and only his, eventually. Liam Jenkins was renowned in business for always getting what he wanted—no matter how long it took.
But for now the only thing to do was to gauge exactly what he was up against. And whether he could buy his way out of it.
Reaching for a biscuit for the road, he said, ‘You’re right. I had no idea of the scope of your work here. Why don’t you show me round the place while you tell me more about the work you do and the fundraising you’ve got going on?’
At least the surprise on her face was a small consolation for the work he had ahead of him.
THE MAN WAS impossible to read. Alice had always heard that Australians were open and honest, friendly but blunt. Clearly Liam had more of his father’s side in him than his upbringing would suggest, because he was giving nothing away. Every relaxed shrug or bland stare hid his thoughts all too effectively.
He’d nodded politely as she’d shown him around the bedrooms, barely even acknowledging the king’s room, where past monarchs had slept. She supposed that the history of the crown might not mean that much to him, but she’d expected at least a flicker of appreciation at the giant four-poster bed, or even just the place Thornwood held in the heart of the nation. Still, nothing.
‘And do the women ever stay over here?’ he asked as she shut another bedroom door.
‘Sometimes,’ Alice admitted. ‘Not often, because even with this many bedrooms if we started setting up some sort of bed and breakfast we’d be swamped in days. We simply don’t have the resources—and, to be honest, a lot of the bedrooms aren’t really in a suitable condition for guests.’
‘No beds?’
‘No heating. Or insulation. Or glass in the windows, in some cases.’ She shivered. ‘Thornwood in winter is not a warm place.’
‘Hence the cardigans.’ What was his obsession with knitwear? Alice wondered, as Liam strode off down the hallway. He had a good stride, she couldn’t help but notice. Strong, muscled legs under his trousers, a long step and a purposeful gait. He looked like a man who was there to get a job done.
Alice just wished she had some idea what the job at hand was, for him. Because obviously he had plans. A man like Liam Jenkins didn’t just show up at Thornwood Castle with a vague dream of medieval re-enactments or something.
‘So, which room is yours?’ Liam called back, and Alice scurried to catch him up.
‘Um, I have a box room on the ground floor.’ Near the boiler, and close to the kitchens. It was the warmest place in the castle, and Alice loved it—even if it wasn’t all that much bigger than her office. Small spaces were comforting. There was no space for anything—or anyone—to hide, there.
‘Rose had the master suite, along here, though,’ she added, taking a left turn in the corridor and leading him to a large oak door. ‘We’ve cleared it out already, and it’s made up fresh if you’d like to use it?’ She hoped so. Rose’s suite was one of the few bedrooms in a suitable condition for long-term accommodation. If he said no, Alice had a feeling it would somehow become her job to clear out and do up another room to suit him.
Somehow, a lot of things around Thornwood became Alice’s job, mostly just because it was quicker and easier to take care of things herself than expect anyone else to do it.
Actually, not just around Thornwood. Alice’s rule for living number two was: don’t expect anyone to do anything for you. She figured if they did it was a pleasant surprise. And at least she was never disappointed when they inevitably didn’t.
Technically, Rose had hired her as a fundraiser—to raise money to help keep Thornwood running, without having to open it up for tours. Alice had convinced her that the best way to keep the house open, useful and sort of private was to use it to help the local residents. Rose’s sense of duty had been tickled, and now here they were. Alice raised money—through begging phone calls to donors, or fundraising activities on site—but she also organised the seminars and classes they held, as well as took care of the women. Her salary—small as it was—was paid from the money she raised, so she rarely took more than her room and board, and money for essentials. She was all too aware of the other uses that money could be put to.
Everyone else on site was a volunteer—except for Maud, the cook-slash-housekeeper, who’d been in Rose’s service for decades. Even Heather, who practically ran the place when Alice was busy, did it for nothing. And she had quickly claimed responsibility for taking care of the women who came to them in real trouble, which Alice appreciated. They’d managed to put together a stockpile in the pantry, full of all the essentials women, children and babies might need—especially if they couldn’t go home again. Some just needed enough food to see them through until payday. Others needed clothes, toiletries, nappies, a pay-as-you-go phone with a number no one had—and a way out. Alice was proud that their work meant they could help all of them—or at least get them to the best place for them to find real long-term help. She’d built up great connections with refuges and charities nationwide, and the work they did at Thornwood was well respected. Women came to them now from across the county, not just the local villages.
She just hoped Liam’s sense of duty was as strong as his great-aunt’s.
Opening the door to the suite of rooms, she let Liam walk in first, ignoring the slight pang in her chest she always felt when she saw Rose’s space empty.
Alice couldn’t honestly say that she and Rose had been friends, but she had certainly developed a great deal of respect for the old woman in the time she’d been working at Thornwood. Rose’s beliefs and opinions might have been from a bygone age in lots of ways, but when it came down to the essentials she was practical and—to Alice’s great surprise—compassionate.
Rose could have sold Thornwood for millions twice over, or she could have hired a company to make it into a tourist attraction. But instead she’d hired Alice, and told her to ‘make Thornwood useful again.’ Not in a large, flashy, lucrative way. In a way that served the community, and filled a gap in society. In a way that helped people—women just like Alice had been four years ago. Desperate.
Leaning against the heavy door, she watched Rose’s great-nephew explore