Stranger at the Dower House (Strangers Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  And then Pamela saw it as her sisterly duty to try to persuade Louisa to return to Roseacre. “You must be so lonely here in this tiny village, so far from your family,” she said over and over. “I’m glad you have friends but it’s not the same, is it? I hate to think of you dwindling away here when you could be at home, and surrounded by your nearest and dearest.”

  Louisa had to bite her tongue not to point out that in some cases one’s nearest were not necessarily dear at all.

  Happily for her sanity, her friends in the neighbourhood rallied round. On Saturday, the Gages invited them to dine at the Grove, along with the three London investigators and Squire Winslade and his family. Captain Edgerton and Mr Chandry exerted their considerable charms on Pamela, Mr Pritchard and the squire struck up an odd rapport and Louisa was left to savour the delights of good food and wine, while progressing her project with Mr Gage.

  There was only one sticky moment, where the squire said loudly, “I hope you will stay until after Easter, Lady Mountsea, for then you will be able to join us at the Manor for our ball. Always the first Saturday after Easter, and everyone stays until Monday. A most enjoyable occasion. Do say you will come.”

  The Saturday after Easter! Louisa held her breath in sheer terror, until Pamela tittered and said, “Oh, how kind, but I cannot leave the dear children for so long. What a pity.”

  What a pity? What a relief! Sunday was another good day, for both her guests enjoyed showing themselves off at divine service, and Lady Saxby extended the courtesy of her table to a fellow noblewoman. Another good meal to be had.

  On Monday, however, they were back in Mrs Nokes’ hands.

  “It is not quite up to the standards of Maeswood Hall or Lower Maeswood Grove,” Louisa said apologetically, as they took their places and looked at various dishes laid out before them. “I hope you will find something to tempt your appetites, however.”

  “Splendid array, Mrs M, quite splendid,” Mr Pritchard said, as he carved the mutton with vigour. “Mmm, lovely piece of meat.”

  “Oh yes, this is lovely,” Pamela said. “So much more appetising than all those strange things in sauces that Lady Saxby served. Lobster! Eww! Horrid stuff. She offered me some and I felt obliged to take it but I left it on my plate, hidden by some of that peculiar vegetable. Are those boiled potatoes? Such a treat to have food that hasn’t been messed about and mangled. Chambers never does anything of the sort, and he is so expensive. Have you any idea how much we pay him? Well, I daresay you have, since you engaged him, but it is not worth it for no matter how much he tries he cannot make a good gruel. Poor Pa is a martyr to his dyspepsia, you know, and a dish of gruel at bedtime sets him up wonderfully. Your Mrs Nokes makes a lovely gruel, doesn’t she, Pa? He has been so much better since we’ve been here, and all because of Mrs Nokes’ gruel. If only Chambers could make gruel.”

  Louisa could think of no sensible response to this. Her wonderful man-cook, so hard fought for and long awaited, so carefully chosen and greatly prized, set to making gruel! It was unspeakable.

  “He is quite good with pastry, however,” Pamela rattled on, oblivious. “His pies are lovely, aren’t they, Papa? But he will never do a boiled chicken, just as I like it, and I think he should cook what I tell him, don’t you, Lou? So I’ve had to let him go. Mm, this cabbage is delicious.”

  Louisa squeaked, and dropped her knife. “Let him go? You have dismissed my man-cook?”

  “Well, strictly speaking, he is my man-cook now, and I do not find him satisfactory. I have given him notice, but he may stay until I’ve found a replacement.”

  “Send him to me,” Louisa said urgently. “Send him here and you can have Mrs Nokes, with my goodwill.”

  Pamela looked at her in surprise. “Can you afford him? I mean, you’re an impoverished widow now, aren’t you?”

  Mr Pritchard chuckled. “Didn’t you listen when Mr M’s will was read out? Very handy jointure Mrs M has, and no sticky conditions about remarriage, either. Your sister-in-law is a wealthy woman, and even Chambers’ extortionate salary is well within her means.”

  “Oh. Then you can have him, I suppose,” she said, huffily. “Are you sure you will not come home with us, Lou? I shall worry about you, all alone here, and it is not as if we were just down the road. You should be close to your family.”

  “I am very content here,” Louisa said. Or she would be when Pamela had left and Chambers had arrived. She had her gowns, her horse, some of her books and very soon she would have her man-cook. And perhaps, if her project came to fruition, she would have Mr Gage as well. And then she would be perfectly content. For a while, at least.

  ~~~~~

  Laurence was worried about Louisa. Louisa! There was a thrilling frisson to using her name, even in the privacy of his own head, but he had heard Lady Mountsea address her so, and now he could not think of her any other way. Louisa… Louisa entering his drawing room in shimmering gold, making all of them look dowdy. Well, perhaps not Mr Willerton-Forbes, who was a very fine dresser, but everyone else. Lady Mountsea looked like a veritable drab beside her glorious sister-in-law.

  But there was a definite strain on her lovely face, and it was not hard to work out why. Pritchard was in trade, and although Viola as good as held her nose while conversing with him, Laurence found him a straightforward man, not well-educated perhaps, but sharp as a needle and not at all pretentious. His daughter was another matter. She displayed all the sensitivity of an ox, insisting that Louisa must be lonely, even while she saw her surrounded by friends. Nor had she even done the one thing required of her, and brought all Louisa’s property from Roseacre. The wrong instrument and only a small portion of her books.

  “But at least I have enough clothes now,” Louisa had said with a wry smile, as the dinner wound to a close. “I was so tired of the few I had brought with me. It is excessively dispiriting to rotate the same three gowns for morning and three for evening, day after day. Is it so for men, too? Do you like to put on a different coat every day, Mr Gage?”

  “I cannot speak for the whole of my sex, but for myself three coats for morning and three for evening gets me through most weeks. The first coat is for Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, the second for Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, and the third for Sundays. I am very dull, where coats are concerned.”

  “And you have old coats that you wear when you take the dogs out,” she said, smiling.

  “Which make me look like a gamekeeper. True enough.”

  That made her laugh. She was so beautiful when she laughed. It was not Catherine’s exquisite perfection, but a different, more approachable type of beauty. It had been enough to admire Catherine, to worship her from afar, but with Louisa there was an almost overwhelming desire to touch — to stroke her lush hair, to hold her, to kiss those ripe lips. Such nonsense, of course, but it was enjoyable to sit beside her, to share the choicest dishes with her, to savour the wine with a fellow connoisseur and to talk to her, all the while wondering just what it would be like to kiss her.

  Lady Mountsea had exceeded expectations in one direction, by bringing Louisa’s horse all the way from Durham. It was a subject which animated the whole table, or at least the male portion of it.

  “The finest grey you ever saw,” Chandry said, his enthusiasm a marked change from his usual easy-going manner. “Fifteen hands and a quarter, the groom told me, and such a sweet stepper. He walked him round the yard for me, to show off his paces. Splendid back on him, and deep through the girth. Not a hunter, though he looks as if he’d be up for it.”

  “He would certainly be up for it, but I am not,” Louisa said with a laugh. “I will jump if I know the terrain, but I dislike the helter-skelter atmosphere of the hunt.”

  “If ever you want to sell him, let me know,” Chandry said.

  Louisa smiled but shook her head, and when the conversation had moved on and the attention was no longer on her, she said in a low voice to Laurence, “He is not truly mine, Gaius Valerius. Not a personal gift
, not bequeathed in anyone’s will. I am very glad to have him, but I shall have to buy him from my brother-in-law, and then I shall need another horse and a groom, and it is more than I bargained for just now.”

  “Then leave him here,” Laurence said promptly. “I have more than enough space, and grooms, too. We will treat your Roman very well. Is he named for the consul or the poet?”

  “The poet.”

  “Ah, the Argonautica. I have not read it for years, but it is worth rereading I think. Please do bring Gaius Valerius to me.”

  “How kind you are! I may avail myself of your generosity briefly, perhaps, but it would not be a permanent arrangement. I am hoping to persuade my sister-in-law to let me keep Spencer, his regular groom, but if she will not agree to it, I shall send Gaius Valerius to you for a while. He needs expert handling and although my footman was trained as a groom, I would not entrust him with a beast of Gaius Valerius’ mettle.”

  “Will Gaius Valerius take kindly to a dog? Because my breeder at Woollercott has a litter which will soon be ready.”

  “Oh, yes, the Roseacre dogs often came out with me when I rode. That would be lovely! Could he spare me two, do you think? They are always better with a friend.”

  “Just like humankind,” Laurence said, and she smiled in acknowledgement. Although he had not realised it, he had needed a good friend, and now he had one.

  And then had come the difficult moment. Squire Winslade had invited Lady Mountsea to his Easter ball, and for a second Louisa’s face had registered pure terror. She had quickly schooled her features into neutrality, but Laurence had seen it and it made him long to protect her from her dreadful relations. A strange marriage she must have had, and now she was left with this vulgar, intrusive woman as almost her only family. It was abominable.

  On Sunday he had briefly glimpsed Louisa at church, but had no opportunity to speak to her. On Monday, he had not seen her at all, and was left fretting and wondering how soon he might call to see how she did. Then on Tuesday came the glorious news that Lady Mountsea and her merchant father were leaving, the coaches sent for and the servants busy loading the luggage. Viola, too excited by the spectacle even to walk to the village, spent half the day running back and forth to the gallery above the saloon, which was high enough above the shrubbery to give a clear view to the Dower House. By the time the two carriages departed, she could list the exact number of boxes on top and the passengers inside each.

  “Did the groom go with them?” Laurence said. “He would have been riding his own horse.”

  “No, there was no other horse but the carriage horses.”

  “Ah. Pity,” he said. Now Louisa would have no excuse to leave her beautiful animal at the Grove.

  At least he would see her again that evening, for it was their card party, and she had never missed one yet. All afternoon he was in a pleasant glow of anticipation, wondering what gown she would wear now that she had her full wardrobe and hoping to see her face with its usual contentment. Even at dinner he was in an unusually good humour, venturing the odd joke now and again.

  She did not come.

  At first he assumed she was just a bit late. But then the tables were set out and play began and still she had not come, and he was aware of a heaviness inside like a lump of lead. The degree of disappointment he felt took him by surprise, and he could hardly gather his scattered wits to concentrate on the play.

  After supper, a few people departed but the serious players reformed into three whist tables, leaving Laurence to sit out.

  “Do take my place, Mr Gage,” Willerton-Forbes said. “I am perfectly content to watch.”

  “By no means,” Laurence said at once. “I have a letter to finish, so I will bid you all a goodnight.”

  He collected a fresh bottle of Cognac from the cellar and then made his way across the saloon to the spiral staircase and up to the gallery. His eye was irresistibly drawn to the Dower House, where the shutters and curtains were open and lights still burned in Louisa’s study. She was still up, then.

  From there, he went through his wife’s bedroom and dressing room to reach his own bedroom, for the principal rooms all connected one with another, in the old manner. When Catherine was alive, he had always reached his room the other way, never venturing into her rooms unless invited, but since her death it had comforted him a little to pass that way. It was almost as if she were still alive.

  In his own room, he stopped, irresolute. He could not settle to letter-writing when he was so uneasy. He turned, went back, all the way to the window in Catherine’s bedroom. For some minutes he stood, watching the glow from Louisa’s window, puzzled and hurt by her non-appearance that night, needing her company. The brandy bottle was heavy in his hand.

  Impulsively he fetched a greatcoat and slipped the bottle into a deep pocket. Then he went down to the hall, where Skeates was lurking.

  “I am going out for some fresh air. Make sure you do not lock me out.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The air was crisp and cool, with just a hint of dampness. He made his way down the drive and across the road. Inside the Dower House grounds, he stepped off the drive onto the lawn to move soundlessly up to the house. There was no point in alerting the servants if she was not receptive to an evening caller. Or perhaps she had long since retired, leaving the candles burning. Silently, he drew near the study window, pushing through a flowerbed as he did so. Roses, but fortunately well pruned, or he would never have got through. He went right up to the window and peered inside.

  She was stretched out on a chaise longue near the fire, a book in one hand while the other played idly with a stray curl of hair. On a table beside her was a plate and a glass of something dark and red. Smiling, he tapped on the window.

  With a startled look, she raised her head. At first, she looked at him unseeingly, then abruptly she smiled, set down her book and rose to her feet. He held up the bottle, as a token of his good intentions. Laughing, she nodded, then pointed in the direction of the front door.

  He pushed his way back through the roses, and by the time he reached the door she was already drawing back the bolts inside.

  “Good evening, Mr Gage! What have you brought me?”

  “Cognac.”

  “Then come inside at once. It is the one thing I forgot to order from the estimable Mr Matley. Some ordinary brandy but no Cognac. William has gone to bed, worn out by my exhausting relations, so leave your coat over the chair there and let us sit by the fire. Would you be so good as to add a few coals while I fetch glasses? How did the card party go? I was very sorry to miss it.”

  “I was sorry you missed it, too. Were you too tired? It would be understandable, if so. You have had a busy day.”

  They fell silent for the ceremony of opening the bottle and pouring the golden liquid, then, flopping into her chair, she said, “Busier than you can imagine. Along with all her own multitude of boxes and the unwanted clavichord, Pamela took my cook with her, which is not a tragedy by any means, for I shall have my wonderful man-cook in exchange, but it did leave us dinner-less tonight.”

  “You could have come to us. One extra would be neither here nor there,” he said.

  “You are kindness itself, as always, but it would not have done, for it would still have left the servants scratching round for a meal. There is food in the house, so it would not seem to be a hard task to create a simple and nourishing meal, would it? I can tell you, Mr Gage, it is harder than it looks. There we were in the kitchen, all six of us, and at the end of it we had a passable soup, a haunch of beef that was half burnt and half raw, and an assortment of sad, wilted vegetables. Have you any idea how hard it is to keep a spit turning regularly? We would set the mechanism going and then go off to do other things, and turn round to find the meat stationary and blackened.”

  He laughed. “You should indeed have come to us! We would have fed you better than that, and a few more in the servants hall would not be a problem either. You must dine with us every
night until your man-cook arrives.”

  “No, indeed! There is not the slightest need, for tomorrow Tilly’s sister will be back from Market Clunbury and will help out. Oh Mr Gage, this Cognac is wonderful. What a generous man you are. I was never allowed to drink Cognac at Roseacre, or Armagnac either. My father-in-law was sternly opposed to anything French.”

  “What, nothing at all? No claret?”

  “Oh, we had claret, but we told him it was Spanish wine. Once it was decanted he never knew, except to say that it was remarkably good for a Spanish wine.”

  Laurence spluttered a mouthful of Cognac. “The devil you did! ‘We’ being you and your husband of course.”

  “Yes. Ned understood my appreciation for good food and fine wines. My life was tedious enough without depriving me of those little pleasures too.”

  A tedious life… she had never been so open before, and because he was desperate to know, he blurted out, “Why ever did you marry him, Louisa? Why marry a man old enough to be your grandfather?”

  And then he could have bitten off his tongue for the hurt look on her face.

  13: Cognac And Confidences

  Louisa got up to fetch the brandy bottle, to give herself time to consider her reply. At first she was disappointed in him. Such an intrusive question, and one that was still difficult to answer, even after all these years. But by the time she had refilled both their glasses, she acknowledged that their friendship had reached a point where such questions were bound to arise. If her project should ever come to fruition, such intimacies were inevitable. Besides, she was curious about his marriage, and naturally he was equally so about hers.

  “You looked him up in Debrett’s, I suppose.”

  “I did, yes.” No apology. Actually, she rather liked that. It was a straightforward question, and she could answer it or not as she chose.

  “You find it difficult to understand.” A statement, not a question.

  “I think you must have had good reason for the decision,” he said slowly.