Her aunt’s eyes reflected her troubled memories. “When he was thrown no one would believe it, no man could sit a horse like Harry Vyne..” Elizabeth Annesley sighed again, remembering.
“But,” she shrugged sadly, “good horseman that he was, he was thrown at a fence by Fern Hill and never recovered.”
The old lady lapsed into a long sad silence before she spoke again and, when she did, the eyes that held Lydia’s were sombre. “I believe all of us were a little in love with Harry Vyne,” she ended softly.
“And Mr Sheridan?” Lydia asked curiously.
An unwilling smile touched her aunt’s lips and her voice dropped slightly. “Poor, silly Lavinia. She was always so easily spoiled by a man. She met his father, Billy, in London, when he was over from his estates in Ireland! He had money then, of course, but it’s been squandered away since - mostly on strong drink and gaming.”
Lydia looked down at her plate again. How like Brodrick Fortey this Billy Sheridan sounded! And how odd to think that Caleb Vyne’s childhood so closely resembled her own! Perhaps that was why he held such a strange attraction for her?
Her aunt was still speaking, her voice sounding faint and far-away, “So, dear Liddy, you have met them both and I have been unaware of it!”
Lydia glanced at her aunt in embarrassed anguish. “It would seem so.”
“And you did not know they were brothers?”
“No.”
A vexed frown shadowed the old lady’s brow as she chided, “Blanchard had no right to allow you to walk in the park alone. Nor had he the right to take you so near to Raven’s Mill today! I will speak to him about it in the morning.”
“But, aunt, it was I who --”
“Silence, Liddy! I will hear no more of this! You are new to our ways yet. You have much to learn. But, for the present, suffice to say that I would rather you had nothing to do with anything that comes from Raven’s Mill - they mean us nothing but harm!”
“But, aunt, I have no intention of --”
“That’s enough! Raven’s Mill bodes ill for us and I do not want your good Annesley name dragged into any scandal of theirs!”
“Scandal, aunt-?”
But Lydia got no further. She broke off anxiously as her aunt gave a muffled groan and suddenly clutched her hands to her chest.
Elizabeth Annesley’s face was grey as she lurched forward in her chair, her hands grasping even tighter at the black brocade of her heavy dress.
Swiftly, Lydia leapt to her feet and ran to her aunt’s side, not liking the look of the crumpled, ashen face, or the small beads of sweat that were already standing out on the hot, fevered brow. “Aunt! Oh, dear goodness!”
“Leave me, Liddy - leave me, I’m - I need some air!”
“No! No! I won’t leave you, aunt, you are ill and you need a doctor. I will send Blanchard for one right away!”
“Don’t fuss, child!” The old lady’s breath was coming now in great choking sobs. “Open a window!”
“Hush, dear aunt. This time you will do as I say.” And, refusing to accept Elizabeth’s stubborn, gasping protestations that there was nothing wrong with her that couldn’t be cured by a good night’s sleep, Lydia Annesley rushed to the writing desk and scrawled a hurried note, calling for Blanchard and sent him out into the night.
Lydia blamed herself. That was the worst. If she hadn’t spoken of Raven’s Mill! If she hadn’t told her aunt of Sheridan!
She was desperately worried. She had hardly slept at all. And now, as the sun streamed onto her bed, its light making the gold silk-embroidered cover shimmer, Lydia rose and opened the shutters further.
Last night, the doctor’s face had been grave. “For now, and for the foreseeable future, Miss Annesley,” he had told her, “your aunt must have complete rest. No breath of the works at present; no anxieties at all.”
“Of course, doctor, I understand.”
When the doctor had examined his old friend and patient, Lydia had stroked her hand along the parchment-pale brow as Elizabeth lay so weakly in the high bed. And, filled with misgivings, she heard her mother’s words once more as they jolted with alarming clarity into her disturbed thoughts, The whole of Upwych life revolves around the salt works - you will soon have to learn of it!
She had begged to remain with her aunt but the doctor had insisted that she rest too, leaving the capable Wilson in charge.
Lydia had listened deferentially as he had given his instructions for her aunt’s care and she had lifted her worried eyes to his when he had addressed her. “Miss Annesley, come, your aunt is sleeping now.”
“Must I leave her? Can I not stay?” she had pleaded. “I will rest here, in this chair and --”
But the doctor had been adamant. “You are very young, child,” he’d murmured softly as he’d led her out of her aunt’s darkened bedchamber and onto the wide landing, “but you must rest too.
“Wilson knows her duty to your aunt well. Her family have been servants here at Annesley almost as long as your kinsmen have been its masters. Now, my orders are that you should rest tonight. You will have much to do from tomorrow. You will need your strength. You have to take up the reins now.”
“Yes, doctor, but-”
“In the morning, call in the foreman and the bailiff, they will be of great help to you. Both of them good men and loyal to Miss Elizabeth.”
“Yes, yes, of course!” Lydia had replied abstractedly. “Of course, I will do as you say but --”
He had smiled sympathetically. “No buts. Your aunt will sleep for many hours now. I have given her a sedative so you would be wasted here.”
Then, noticing her bright cheeks telling of her anxiety, he had added quietly, “You will find the task not as difficult as you may think. Your shoulders are young and inexperienced but, I warrant, you will find them strong enough to carry the burden of Annesley works until your aunt recovers. I will call in again tomorrow.”
*
Lydia Annesley looked out into the grey light of morning. Had all that happened just a few short hours ago? Was it only last evening that Elizabeth Annesley, frail and sick but still in command, had suddenly succumbed to her illness and left Lydia alone with such an enormous responsibility?
She put on a robe and went softly to her aunt’s chamber. The worthy Wilson was still seated by her side at the foot of the three steps that led up to Elizabeth’s great bed, the housekeeper’s grey-streaked head lolling against her bosom as she slept; rough, work-worn hands folded loosely in her lap.
Lydia glanced anxiously at her aunt. Thankfully, she was still sleeping. But now her face was as white as any salter’s, her thin grey hair spread out over the embroidered linen of her pillow and her breath shallow. Elizabeth Annesley was hardly finding the strength to breathe, let alone run a salt works and a vast house like Annesley.
Lydia felt numb. It was a daunting thought, but the doctor was right! She would have to take up the responsibility of the salt works now and, running her fingers along the wood of the bed’s frame, she took a deep breath.
Where should she begin? But then her chin tilted. She was an Annesley! She would find the way!
*
The bailiff was the first to arrive. Somewhere, a big clock was striking nine as Lydia brought her aunt’s tray down the stairs and Blanchard let him in.
He was a tall man, his rough shirt clean and his shoulders straight. And, even in so short a time, Lydia soon discovered that Elizabeth Annesley’s illness was already the talk of the salt sheds.
And, as she preceded him into the library, the doorbell rang a second time, this time to admit the foreman, Dobson.
Once seated, Lydia found she was not expected to say anything, but merely to listen and to learn. This she did, attentively, as the two men of Upwych talked to her of matters of which she had no knowledge.
They talked of sinking and boring, boiling, and cutting blocks and, as they spoke, it soon began to dawn on Lydia how necessary the support these faithful servants of t
he salt would be. For, without them, how would she be able to face such a new and fearful responsibility alone?
When they had finished, she regarded them both with gratitude and keen interest. “All will be well,” she confirmed. “We will continue as we always have until I see what needs to be done.”
The two seemed satisfied and left within the hour but Lydia found that her next visitor was not so amenable. It was the bank manager. A dapper man with a balding head that seemed to hold nothing else but figures. And it was of no consolation to her when he admitted in his dry way that, although there were still many assets, the Annesley fortune was not quite so solid as their salt.
“Your aunt had many worries of late, Miss Annesley,” he said rather matter-of-factly. “She carries a heavy burden and I feared something may happen of this sort. “However,” he consoled, “the bank shall support you in whatever way we can. Not only because of the circumstances of your aunt’s illness, but for our long years of loyalty to your family.
“But,” the man’s pale eyes narrowed shrewdly, “it may become more difficult as time passes. And I cannot stress enough the importance of gaining more profit from the works.”
Lydia thanked him as he made his leave, keeping to herself the fact that, so far at least, she had no idea what that support would entail, or in what way she could use it best.
And, apart from satisfying herself that everything possible was being done for her aunt, she spent a great deal of the day’s precious time receiving the kindly good wishes of an assortment of visitors.
In between, Lydia Annesley hid herself away in her aunt’s study, trying desperately to familiarise herself in the company’s books and papers.
It was difficult, but Lydia forced her concentration on the task that lay ahead; to shut away everything except the workings of the salt factory.
When the last caller of the day had departed, Lydia Annesley refused dinner, taking a tray into the study and working well into the evening...
She looked up from her papers wearily as Blanchard told her of yet another visitor. A glance at the marble clock on the mantelpiece told her it was already half past nine and she sighed audibly.
“I can’t possibly see anyone else this night,” she said, leaning back in the hard wooden chair and rubbing her fingertips along her aching forehead. “Please convey my apologies to whomever it may be and ask them to return another time.”
Blanchard made an apologetic little cough. “I’m afraid the gentleman insists that he see you tonight, miss.” He cleared his throat again. “He says he will not leave without doing so.”
“Who is the gentleman?”
“Mr. Vyne, from Raven’s Mill.”
The total stillness of the room seemed an eternity as Lydia’s hand tightened around the quill. She could not possibly see Caleb Vyne! How could she, when it was partly his fault that she found herself in this position? She was still sitting speechlessly when the door behind Blanchard opened wider. Unaccountably, as the man stepped through, the room became suddenly alive and vibrant.
“Miss Annesley!” Caleb Vyne removed his hat, tossing it onto the seat of an adjacent chair. “Thank you for seeing me at this late hour.” He straightened his broad shoulders and regarded her a little oddly, moving soundlessly towards her across the room.
“You can go, Blanchard.” Lydia rose from the desk, dismissing Blanchard brusquely. She waited until the coachman was safely out of the way before turning her gaze back to this unexpected caller; to this quiet, mysterious man who seemed so full of contradiction. “Mr Vyne! You are the last person I expected to visit me today.”
A dark flush spread across the man’s handsome face but he responded calmly enough, offering his hand to receive hers. “Yesterday, by the river, I felt the same, ma’am.”
Lydia ignored his courtesy and moved across to the fireplace, hoping to hide her confusion by her action. She gathered her wide skirt to her side with an unsteady hand, its soft fullness enhancing her slender form. “I’m afraid these are no happier circumstances, sir.”
He moved towards her slowly, staring momentarily into the brightness of the coals, then sweeping across her and at the shimmering bronze of her gown as it reflected the fire’s glow.
“Far from happy though our meeting be,” he said quietly, “nevertheless, I come to offer my help.”
Lydia glanced sharply at him. What help could he offer? How could she take him seriously? Wasn’t this man her rival in business? Did he think her so naive? And what was it about him that communicated itself to her so blatantly, and made her so uneasy?
She demanded bluntly. “Your help, sir? In what manner?”
He smiled faintly, his answer confident. “In any way you wish.”
“Please, Mr. Vyne,” she murmured cautiously, intending to put him in his place, “the hour is late and I am not in the best humour for such distasteful drollery.”
A short silence fell and, when he next spoke, his low words were filled with accusation. “I would not make jokes with your aunt so gravely ill.”
Lydia frowned. She suddenly felt nervous and irritable, perhaps the aftermath of her recent worries, or perhaps the disturbing effect this man seemed to have on her - disturbing and uncomfortable! “Then what else could it be?”
Caleb Vyne bowed, smiling with elaborate politeness. “No more than what I say - I come to offer my help.”
Lydia moved away slightly. “I need no help, sir. I have my foreman and my bailiff. All will do their part.”
“Well guarded then, Miss Annesley,” he replied shortly. “However, my offer stands. Should you need it, send Blanchard with your request and I will do my best for you.” She met his gaze levelly as he gave another curt bow. “Convey my best wishes to your aunt, I wish her a speedy recovery.”
Lydia inclined her head stiffly. “I will inform my aunt of your wishes.”
He moved back into the centre of the room, pausing by the desk and looking around. “I had forgotten what a charming place Annesley House is,” he murmured, turning back to catch Lydia’s wide eyed glance of surprise. “Of course, ma’am, you would not know of my familiarity with it.” He bowed again.
“No, I did not know.”
He smiled slowly. “I have been well entertained here.”
Then he turned full on to face her, wrong-footing her again as he admitted, “The room smells of roses, and I have never seen it look so beautiful before.”
It was the most direct and unmistakeable compliment Lydia had ever been paid and, for a moment, she could not speak. He smiled again, bowing slightly, “Goodnight, Miss Annesley.”
Recovering a little, Lydia answered, “Goodnight, Mr. Vyne. Blanchard will show you out.”
“No, leave the man. I know my way.” He moved to the door and picked up his hat from the chair then, turning, his face serious, he added, “Should you receive another visit from a member of my family, I should be wary.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I’m referring to Sheridan.” His voice was like ice again now as he turned away.
“Do you not mean your brother? Why, sir, he is a charming fellow.”
He turned, regarding her whimsically. “Oh, yes, my half-brother is certainly charming. But that, of course, is a lady’s opinion!”
“And you, sir, know a great deal about a lady’s opinion?” The old Lydia was rising, the one who had stood up to Brodrick Fortey and who had wrested her mare’s head away from the sight of this man and Sally Shrike!
“I take my leave, ma’am, before I learn even more.”
Long after he had gone, Lydia Annesley stood by the window looking out at the lonely night. Was she being foolish to reject Vyne’s offer of help so dismissively? After all, her aunt had said no wrong of him, only of Raven’s Mill. Was she wise to heed her head and not her heart?
But then she turned away, snuffing out the candles briskly. How could she allow him to help her? And, as she silently closed the door behind her, her Annesley head was
already affirming that she was right in not trusting the most fascinating and dangerous member of the family at Raven’s Mill.
*
“Are you still awake, aunt?”
“Liddy?” The voice from the bed came weakly. “Is that you, Liddy?”
“Do you need anything, dear?”
“I want for nothing but peace of mind. What have I brought on you, child?”
Lydia gently smoothed the wispy white hair away from her aunt’s brow, answering her soothingly, “Hush, hush, everything is well. I’m surrounded by help, and tomorrow I’m going to the works. There is nothing to fear, aunt. All you have to do is get better.”
Elizabeth Annesley closed her eyes, the lines of anguish smoothing away. She smiled faintly, “I was right when I said you were like your grandfather, Liddy - he could soften the blow, too.”
She tried to lift her head, her hands tightening around the linen sheet. “But, beware of our rivals, dear. I know all about those at Raven’s Mill-”
“Hush! Do not think of those things now, wait until you are stronger. I will take care of things.”
Aunt Elizabeth’s old hand patted gently against Lydia’s. “Raven’s Mill has always been a thorn in Annesley flesh, ever since poor Lavinia.” The dimmed eyes held Lydia’s for a moment then closed again wearily. “Such a foolish girl! She couldn’t resist a handsome face!”
“Hush, hush now, aunt?”
Her aunt sighed. “Foolish - foolish girl - so long ago --”
Then, as Lydia bent to kiss the old cheek, her aunt fell silent, the sound of her breathing steady and deep. Lydia tiptoed softly out of the bedchamber. Elizabeth Annesley was already fast asleep.
CHAPTER 5
Hardly a blade of grass grew on this side of Upwych. There were no trees, no burgeoning blossoms, and nowhere could a bird’s song be heard. Here, there was only the salt! It pervaded everything! The stench of it filled the air - the nostrils - and the soul!
If Lydia Annesley had believed herself prepared for such a feeling of repugnance, then she had grossly under-estimated. The ugliness of the salt works had ingrained itself on everything around. Even the church had not been spared.
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