Ash could hardly believe his ears. If the boy had been talking Chinese, he couldn’t have been more astounded. “The fabrics?”
“Fabric trade. We have connections in all parts of Europe,” the boy said calmly. “Why, we once even had silks from the Far East in our warehouse.”
A member of the House of Ashburnham working in a warehouse? Ash grimaced in distaste. “Our warehouse?” he asked.
“Frau Else’s.”
“I suppose”—Ash frowned. The mere thought of it made his stomach roll—“your mother was working there too?” Gad, this sounded like one of those fantastic tales from the Arabian Nights. Or like one of those gothick stories where hapless maidens dashed through crumbling castles and dirty dungeons. He tried to imagine Georgina working in a warehouse, her tired face streaked with dirt, her hair dusty, and her aching limbs clad in the cheapest grey dress.
“Mama?” The cool facade cracked. Genuine surprise registered on the boy’s young face. “Why, no. She is Frau Else’s companion.”
Ash nearly groaned. The Countess of Ashburnham... “A lady’s companion?” Georgina at the beg and call of some selfish, haughty society lady? Downtrodden, harassed, treated like a mere servant?
The boy scratched his cheek. “Frau Else’s not a real lady, I suppose. She is a tradesman’s widow and from what I’ve heard”—he leaned forward, his eyes suddenly twinkling—“she is at least part Gypsy.”
This time Ash did groan.
“You must know, she has these cards. She makes us all shuffle them and then she lays them out and ponders over them.” The boy frowned. “She never tells one what she sees, though. Not directly, at least. She’s a funny old bird, really.”
Ash wiped the back of his hand across his brow. How utterly ghastly! When he had thought of her in all these past years... He might have wished her wretched, yes, but the reality of this... “What about Mr. Crawley?” he managed to force out between gritted teeth.
The boy blinked, obviously perplexed. “Mr. Crawley?”
“Guy,” Ash said impatiently. How could Guy have condoned her working for a merchant’s widow?
Yet if anything, the boy’s confusion increased. “I’m afraid I do not know what you are talking about.”
Again, it was Ash’s impatience that made him blurt out something he never wanted to say. “Guy Crawley. Have they separated then?” He rubbed his forehead. “Dash it, didn’t St. Asaph mention a Mr. Renner? Has he replaced Guy as her current lover then?”
At the ominous silence from the bed, he looked up. The boy’s face was flushed once more, but with anger this time. He gave Ash a murderous glare. “My mother has never—do you hear?—never had a lover. And as to this Guy Crawley—I’ve never heard of him in my whole life.”
Chapter 11
Ten days had passed since Ashburnham had ruined Miss Simmerly’s musicale. Ten whole days and he had not deemed it necessary to send an apology for his oafish behaviour. And even Lady Ashburnham hadn’t written, though she was usually a stickler for high morals and manners. More curious still, Lady Ashburnham had stayed absent from church that Sunday. Her son and his heir had been there, so whatever mysterious illness had ailed the brat, he must be quite recovered by now. Yet even then, Ashburnham had not deemed it necessary to explain himself on the subject of her musicale.
Her ruined musicale.
And so Miss Simmerly decided to pay a call on Lady Ashburnham—to slake her curiosity, but also to remind her Ladyship how much effort it took to prepare an evening of musical entertainment, how time-consuming the preparations for such entertainments were, how many hopes one set on a smooth progression of such an evening, and, most importantly, how much mischief her Ladyship’s son had caused when he had left the party so prematurely. Why, surely her Ladyship remembered the sight of poor Miss Emmelie nearly overcome by a fainting fit when her Ladyship herself had left the room while the unfortunate girl had been performing. Such a delicate constitution Miss Emmelie possessed that this harrowing experience had caused her to declare she would never perform in public ever again.
Miss Simmerly debated with herself the wisdom of using the phrase “harrowing experience.” Some might consider it too strong an expression. And yet—Miss Simmerly fully intended to rouse her Ladyship’s remorse. It would, she hoped, lead to a gesture of goodwill. An invitation to dinner, perhaps?
Yes, she decided. An invitation to dinner would be perfectly acceptable.
Yet how annoyed was she when the butler informed her stonily that her Ladyship was indisposed. “Indisposed?” she exclaimed. “Pray tell, what is that supposed to mean? She cannot be ill, can she?” These aristocratic ladies—always succumbing to some imaginary ailment or other! Miss Simmerly forced her lips to curve into a smile. “In that case, don’t you think it would do her a world of good to see an acquaintance, a friendly face?”
The butler’s expression did not change. “Very well, miss. I will inquire whether Her Ladyship will receive you.” And with that he finally let her pass through the door and showed her to the small salon right off the entrance hall. “If you would be so good as to wait here, miss.”
With a gracious nod, Miss Simmerly stepped into the room—and immediately stopped when she spotted the person already sitting on one of the delicate chairs. Upon her entry, the woman stood, seemingly as surprised as Miss Simmerly herself. “Good morning,” she said, and gave a small curtsy.
Miss Simmerly barely managed to refrain from wrinkling her nose. Dressed in shabby grey, the woman looked like a governess at best. Whatever was such a person doing in the Small Salon of Ashburnham Hall? How unfortunate to find the Crawley family not only lacking in manners, but also in taste and discretion as far as their acquaintances were concerned. Miss Simmerly sniffed delicately. “Good morning,” she replied. Was she expected to wait in one room with this person? What an outrage! She chose the chair furthest from the woman’s and sat down, seething.
“What a lovely day we have,” the other finally remarked after a short, uncomfortable silence.
Miss Simmerly pointedly looked the other way. “Rather pleasant,” she said woodenly.
“Rather warm for autumn, don’t you think so?”
Miss Simmerly gritted her teeth. The nerve of that person! To force a conversation upon her, when she was obviously no better than a lowly servant. Why, they hadn’t even been properly introduced either! “I dare say I can perceive no particular difference to other autumn days.” Miss Simmerly used her coldest tones and hoped the woman would get the drift.
Yet instead she sighed and said somewhat wistfully, “Ah yes. I suppose I must have forgotten the loveliness of the golden autumns in Sussex.”
Miss Simmerly removed a non-existant fleck of dust from her dress and smoothed out her skirt. She would not deign to answer that person’s ramblings.
And it seemed to work, for the woman lapsed into silence. Several minutes ticked by until the butler finally returned. Shouldn’t an earl be able to afford a butler who was less tardy? Miss Simmerly sniffed.
“My la—” He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Crawley, the doctor has left and Master Finnian is ready to receive you now.”
Mrs. Crawley?
Miss Simmerly’s head whipped around. Her eyes widened. Disbelieving, she let her gaze run over the woman once more. Surely that...that person could be no relative of the Earl of Ashburnham?
“And Miss Simmerly.—Miss Simmerly?”
“Yes,” she snapped, and stared after the woman’s retreating back.
“Her Ladyship has announced herself well enough to receive you,” the butler said blandly.
His words finally registered, and she looked at him. His face was still expressionless, but it seemed to her there was something disapproving in his gaze.
She narrowed her eyes.
He inclined his head towards the door. “If you would be so kind as to follow me.”
And so there was nothing else to do than to walk after him, up the stairs towards the private
rooms of the family. The other woman was no-where to be seen.
Where had she disappeared to so quickly? And why had there been no footman to accompany her? One couldn’t be too careful with the silver when such persons traipsed around one’s house! Really, this was most irregular!
The butler stopped at the door to Lady Ashburnham’s apartments in order to announce Miss Simmerly. Such formality always gave her a pang. One day, she swore to herself, one day a particular familiarity would make such cold formality unnecessary. If anybody could rule my lord, the Earl of Ashburnham, it must be she. Her mind occupied by such happy imaginations, Miss Simmerly swept into the room.
She found Lady Ashburnham reclining on a chaise longue in her boudoir, wrapped in a robe and looking spent and wan. Her maid hovered near her like a watchdog.
“Lady Ashburnham.” Miss Simmerly curtsied. “How good of you to see me.”
“Oh, my dear.” The dowager countess reached out a hand towards her. And surely there it was: positive proof of my lady’s affection and appreciation!
“My lady!” She hurried across the room and took the offered hand. “You look very unwell. Should you be up at all? Have you seen the doctor?”
The old lady half closed her eyes. “I am the most wretched woman on this earth,” she whispered. And then, stronger, “Leave us alone, Clara.”
“But, my lady—” the maid protested.
“Now.” For an indisposed woman, Lady Ashburnham’s voice had a surprising bite. The next moment, though, it was utterly weak again. “Do take a chair and sit down, my child.” She patted Miss Simmerly’s hand.
When the door had clicked closed behind the maid, Miss Simmerly leaned forward. “Oh, my lady, it is most shocking to find you thus. I was so worried when I heard nothing from you after the musicale.”
The other woman’s eyes shot open. “Ah yesss, the musicale...” she hissed, disgust plain in her voice.
Offended, Miss Simmerly reared back and tried to free her hand. “Did it not meet your approval then?”
“What?—No, no, it is not that. It was a rather nice musicale. Surely it was.” The dowager countess patted her hand and didn’t seem to notice the offence she had just dealt Miss Simmerly.
A nice musicale? Surely, this was the height of effrontery!
“No,” Lady Ashburnham continued darkly, “you see, that was the evening she arrived on our doorstep.”
Curiosity replaced Miss Simmerly’s feeling of annoyance. She leaned forward once more. “She? Mrs...” She licked her lips and ventured a guess. “...Crawley?”
For a moment, the dowager countess’s voice sounded as brisk as always. “Have you seen her?”
Miss Simmerly nodded, somewhat breathless with anticipation. “She was downstairs when I just arrived.”
“Oh that horrid, horrid woman!” Lady Ashburnham leaned her head back and covered her eyes with her hand. “She has come back to poison our lives once more, I tell you. Oh, that little hussy. Why couldn’t she have stayed in whatever hole she crawled out from? Oh, I swear, she will be the death of me!”
The juiciest tidbit of news this year, and it had fallen right into Miss Simmerly’s lap! She slid forward in her chair so she could lean even closer to the old lady. “But, my lady, who is she?”
Lady Ashburnham’s hand fell away from her face and revealed eyes glittering with such hatred that Miss Simmerly flinched back. “My son’s former wife, that’s who she is!” the dowager countess gritted out—and then she told Miss Simmerly the most sensational story. How that Mrs. Crawley had once been the Countess of Ashburnham—how extraordinary! whatever had the earl seen in such a dowdy person?— how she had wrecked poor Ashburnham’s life, had kidnapped one of his twin sons, and had disappeared before justice could have been served. And now, like a bad penny, she had turned up again in order to destroy Ashburnham’s life once more.
“Oh dear,” Miss Simmerly said blandly. “Men can be so blind.”
“Indeed, my dear, indeed.” A little absentmindedly, Lady Ashburnham patted her arm. “So you must see that I am in desperate need of your help.”
“Mine?” Miss Simmerly couldn’t help feel but flattered.
“Yours. It is a most fortunate turn that you have called on me today.” Suddenly the dowager countess gripped her arm tightly, her fingers digging uncomfortably into Miss Simmerly’s flesh. “It is of the utmost urgency that you post a letter for me.”
“Well, surely one of your servants could—”
“You don’t understand,” Lady Ashburnham hissed. “They’re all in my son’s employ—naturally, even my maid. I don’t trust the lot of them. No, no, this has to do be done by a person of understanding.”
“I—”
“Help me up, help me up.” The dowager countess leaned heavily on Miss Simmerly’s arm as she stood. With surprising agility she walked over to her small writing desk, took out a sheet of paper, and quickly scribbled a few lines before she folded and sealed the letter. The wax had not yet dried when she held out the missive to Miss Simmerly.
“And to whom—”
Again Lady Ashburnham’s eyes shone in that unholy light, which made Miss Simmerly shudder inwardly. “The constable in Hastings.”
Thus, a short time later Miss Simmerly hurried across the fields and meadows. As soon as she arrived home, the groom of the Simmerlys was dispatched to Hastings with the all-important letter, while Miss Simmerly herself sat down at the small table in her bedroom to pen a letter of her own to be sent to London posthaste. For she had not forgotten the slight Lord Ashburnham had dealt her when he had left the musicale. And wasn’t it shameful that his mother had not even thought of offering an apology? Something like that was neither easily forgotten nor forgiven. Besides, it would be a pity to let the delicious little story the dowager countess had told her go to waste. Such a delicious little story would surely make for wonderful fodder for the society pages of the newspapers.
~*~
Little by little, Georgina’s heart sank as she watched her youngest son struggle with the buttons of his waistcoat.
“And the doctor said you are quite cured?” she asked again.
“Quite.” Finn took the jacket his brother offered him and shrugged into it. “All hale and healthy, he pronounced me. Didn’t he, Gary?”
“Fit as a fiddle, right as rain,” Gareth confirmed, and ran his fingers through Finn’s hair from behind.
“Bah.” His brother ducked away. “Whatever did you do that for?”
Her heart in her mouth, Georgina watched her sons engage in a mock squabble. Dear God, how could she bear to leave both of them behind this time? She blinked against the sting of tears. But she had known the price even before she had come here. And look at them: so happy together. Whatever happens, they will be fine. They’ve got each other now. Her breath escaped in a weary sigh. Yes, her sons would be fine.
She forced a smile on her lips and hoped she would manage to hold on to her composure a few moments longer. “Right then, my dears. I better head back to the inn.”
Scowling, her eldest turned towards her. “Ah, Mama, whyever do you have to stay at the inn? You could just as well—”
“Gareth.” She held up her hand. “No. Leave it be.”
“But—”
“No.”
He pouted.
With a choked laugh, she stepped up to him and kissed his cheek. “Darling boy, remember to beware of the wrinkles, will you?”
From the other side, Finn slung his arm around her waist and buzzed her cheek. “Why don’t you stay for dinner at last?”
“Because for one thing, I am not dressed for dinner at so fine a place as Ashburnham Hall. And for another...” Her voice faltered and it took all of her willpower to continue lightly, “For another, my presence would surely ruin the earl’s appetite, and we cannot have that.”
“Devil take the earl!” Gareth muttered rudely.
Her heart squeezed tight. So much anger in such a young one. Whatever had Ash do
ne with his son? Still, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Gareth Crawley, I don’t want to hear you use such language! It is quite improper for a gentleman to swear in the presence of a lady, as you should well know.”
He gnawed on his lower lip. “Yes, Mama.”
“And I don’t want to hear you speak about your father in such a manner either.”
“Why, he—” He flushed, then lowered his head and scraped the toe of his boot across the floor. “You have never told us what really happened all these years ago.”
With a gentle finger, she lifted his chin. “Because it is in the past. It is all over.”
“No, it’s not.” He wrenched his chin away. “It still concerns us.” An angry gesture towards his brother. “We’ve got a right to know what happened!” His hands clenched into fists. “You know we do.”
Each of his words seemed like a slap to Georgina. Her hands trembled and she clasped them tightly together so her sons would not notice. “This is between Ashburnham and me, Gareth.”
“The devil it is!” he shouted. “Why did you do it? Why did you run away when you were innocent?” His eyes glittered. “Or weren’t you?”
“Gary!” his brother snapped. “How can you?”
But Gareth kept his gaze trained on Georgina. “Sometimes I do wonder.” And with that, he slammed out of the room.
For a moment all was silent, except for the humming of the blood in her ears.
Then Finnian touched her shoulder. “Are you all right, Mama?”
Georgina let out her breath in a puff. “It’s that dratted Crawley temper,” she said wryly. “They roar like lions if provoked.” She turned her head towards him. “Don’t worry. He will apologise when I come here tomorrow. But you will have to teach him how to control himself.” Driven by a urgency she understood only too well, she cupped his cheek in her hand. “Promise me that, Finn. Take care of him.”
Confused, he searched her face. “Yes. Mama.”
“Good.” She gave him a quick kiss and hoped he would not see the tears in her eyes. “Now go after your brother. I will see you tomorrow.” Perhaps for the last time—but it did not bear thinking about. “Go, Finn, go.”
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