The Beekeeper's Daughter by Santa Montefiore Read Free Book Online Page A

waiting for her father to finish chatting to the other parishioners who gathered outside the church.
    ‘I hope that bee doesn’t sting you,’ came a deep voice from behind her. She could tell from the clipped upper-class accent that he wasn’t one of her father’s friends, and she felt herself stiffen with self-consciousness.
    ‘Bees only sting to protect the hive,’ she replied, without daring to look at the stranger. ‘This bee won’t sting me. I’m no threat, you see.’
    He laughed. ‘You must be Mr Hamblin’s daughter.’
    ‘Yes, I am.’
    ‘Thought so.’ He crouched down to take a closer look at the bee. ‘You’re a brave girl. Most children are afraid of bees.’
    ‘That’s because they don’t know them like I do. Dad says people are always afraid of what they don’t know. Fear is the root of all prejudice, he says.’
    ‘Your father is very wise. Do you think the bee might be encouraged to crawl up my arm?’
    ‘We can give it a try, if you like,’ she said, forgetting her embarrassment and sitting up slowly. The young man had taken off his jacket and was rolling up his sleeve. Grace took the opportunity to glance at his face. She recognized him at once, for he had sat in the front pew in church beside her father’s employers, the Marquess and Marchioness of Penselwood. She concluded that he must be their eldest son, Rufus, Lord Melville, and her hands began to tremble, not because he was handsome but because he was an earl and she had never spoken to one of his sort before.
    ‘The trick is not to let it know you’re afraid,’ she told him, searching for confidence in the subject she knew better than any other.
    ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said with a smile. Grace sensed he was teasing her, for a man of his age was surely not afraid of a little bee. He took her thin arm in his hand and rested it on top of his. Against his brown one hers looked very white and fragile. She strained every muscle to stop herself from shaking. They remained with their arms touching for what seemed like a very long time, during which Grace tried to remember to breathe. At last the bee wandered down her arm and onto his. As it stepped lightly onto his skin, he flinched.
    Grace forgot her nervousness and took his wrist in her hand to steady him. ‘Don’t move,’ she whispered. ‘It won’t sting you, I promise. Bumblebees rarely sting, only the worker bees and queens. I’m not sure which this one is – a worker bee, I think. Certainly not a queen; you can tell those immediately as they’re bigger. Anyway, if it does sting you, it’s no bad thing. Dad lets his bees sting him on purpose.’
    ‘Why would he do a silly thing like that?’
    ‘He says bee stings cure his arthritis.’
    ‘Really? Is that true?’
    ‘I think it is. He swears by it.’
    ‘My grandmother has terrible arthritis. Perhaps I should bring her down to your cottage for a sting or two.’
    Grace chuckled. ‘I’m not sure she’d thank you. A bee sting really hurts.’ They watched the insect crawl up his arm. Grace let go of his hand.
    ‘What’s your name, Miss Hamblin?’
    Furious with herself for blushing, she lowered her eyes. ‘Grace.’
    ‘I’m Rufus. I’d forgotten how boring Reverend Dibben is. He does go on.’ Grace giggled timidly. She was quite happy talking about bees, but she didn’t know what to say about Reverend Dibben, except to agree stupidly – he was an exceedingly dull man. ‘You know, I’ve been up at Oxford for a year and it’s been a pleasure not having to listen to the old bore every Sunday. Sadly, he’s coming to lunch so I’m going to have to suffer him through three courses.’ He sighed. She glanced at him again and he beamed a wide, mischievous smile. ‘Well, Grace, you’ve been a fine teacher. Tell me, do you help your father with the hives?’
    ‘Yes, I do, I love everything about bees.’
    He looked at her steadily and frowned. ‘So, you’ll be a beekeeper when you grow up?’
    ‘I