Yorkshire: Richard and Rose, Book 1

by Lynne Connolly

  I shuddered. “I don’t want to stay here too long, Mrs. Peters. This nursery isn’t pleasant.” Mrs. Peters didn’t seem to feel it, but she nodded. We wrote down what we needed to, and hastily left.

  The night nursery was next to it, and on the other side the little room once occupied by the night nurse, or the nursemaid. To our surprise, we found this much neater than the other rooms. Someone had neatly folded the bedding away, the drawers and cupboard were bare—all much more normal in appearance.

  “Perhaps this room was discontinued for use before the rest of the house was abandoned.”

  “Very likely, ma’am.” Mrs. Peters didn’t venture any theory of her own.

  We passed on to a dark and grimy series of bedrooms, children’s for the most part, which contained small beds and nightlights. The room allotted to the governess was much like the others, except for a bigger bed, but we found some clothes in the drawers, which we pulled out and examined. They were all plain, serviceable clothes, full of moth holes.

  I made a note for the maids to empty the drawers here. “Why didn’t she take her clothes with her?”

  “The last governess never left, ma’am. She died of a lingering illness. It began with a lump in her breast and ended with a stick thin woman sitting in the servants’ quarters, crying with the pain that laudanum could no longer touch.” Mrs. Peters related this terrible narrative with little emotion. “I wasn’t working here then. I heard about it in the village when the poor lady was buried.”

  “She was buried here?”

  “She had no family.”

  I dropped the clothing hastily, noting down that they be burned, for fear of infection. Poor woman. When I reckoned it up, I realised this must have been the governess of the last two earls. There had been no children in the house since. How had it had affected them, what had the painful death of someone so close to them done to their spirits?

  I wanted to discuss this with Richard. This was passing strange, since I hardly knew him, but I wanted to tell him how sad it was up here, perhaps even show him if he wished me to.

  “Mrs. Peters, do you know anyone who had a grudge against the last two Lord Haretons?”

  “In what way, madam?”

  She wasn’t stupid, only acting so. “Did anyone dislike them?”

  She shrugged. “Most of the village. They took away jobs and custom. The landlord at the inn was very bitter.” The list of suspects had widened, but I thought we’d best forget the village for now or the search would become impossible. Later, it might prove necessary to enquire there.

  “There’s always Ellis.” Mrs. Peters straightened from her task of looking through the drawers.

  “Ellis?” Anything I could find out about that man would help.

  Mrs. Peters lowered her voice. I had to assume she did this for effect since no one else was within earshot. “He came back with Lord Hareton after visiting Mr. Pritheroe. He never mixed with the other servants. They resented him. Then, the day before you arrived, he went into Lord Hareton’s room and we heard a terrible sound of raised voices.” She paused. I kept silent, waiting for her next words. “We couldn’t hear a word anyone said, however hard we tried.” I’ll wager you tried hard enough, I thought, but kept it to myself. “He’s still here, but Lord Hareton isn’t. He stays in the kitchen now.”

  “Do the other servants get on with him?”

  “No. The extra servants her ladyship has employed are from the village. He only speaks to tell us we’re doing wrong.”

  “I’ll speak to Lady Hareton. I think it might be better if he goes home with Mr. Pritheroe, once he’s recovered.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” she replied, with considerably more warmth.

  I meant to repeat the gist of the conversation to Richard that afternoon. Carier had surprised me, asking if I would assist in taking out Richard’s stitches. I’d been there at their inception, so to speak. I was more surprised to find we were the only three people in the room, as when he’d made the request Carier had led Martha to believe Miss Cartwright would be present.

  Richard met me at the door. He kissed my hand and led me to a seat. Carier had made the room very comfortable with a warm fire, cushions, books and other comforts. Richard’s considerable collection of toiletries were neatly ranged on the dressing table, crystal bottles glittering among the panoply of silver-backed brushes and pounce boxes.

  There were two chairs placed either side of the fire. We sat and smiled at each other. He wasn’t wearing his coat, just shirt and waistcoat. I loved to look at him, but I had to stop thinking about what he looked without the shirt and waistcoat, how he’d feel. That way lay madness.

  I told them what Mrs. Peters had said about the servants.

  “It tallies with what we’ve discovered,” Richard said. “What do you think, Carier?”

  Carier looked grave. “Yes, ma’am. Those two servants Mr. Pritheroe sent are hated by the others. The only books they read are the Bible and Mr. Pritheroe’s sermons, and they don’t join in. Now there are more servants they’ve been pushed aside. They only attend their master now.”

  “The argument sounds interesting,” Richard added.

  “I heard something of that in the servants’ quarters, my lord,” Carier said. “But either no one knows what they discussed, or won’t say. I’ll talk to Mrs. Peters, to find out more. She was in a place of advantage during the argument.”

  “She stood right behind the door,” I said.

  “Precisely, madam,” the manservant agreed.

  Richard looked up at him. “You’ll have to use your seductive charms on her, Carier.”

  Carier’s face was expressionless. “A bottle or two of good red wine should do it, my lord.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  No twitch marred the manservant’s stern features. He busied himself about the task for which I had supposedly come here.

  Carier proceeded to roll the sleeve of Richard’s shirt out of the way, tenderly resting his lordship’s arm on a small table covered by a towel. Another table held a decanter of red wine, one of brandy, and three glasses. Carier poured some brandy into a glass, handing it to Richard. “There shouldn’t be too much discomfort, my lord, but this will help to ease any you might feel.” Richard obediently drank, and leaned back in his chair.

  I went over to where Carier was unrolling the bandage, both of us anxious to see the wound. I’d seen such injuries before, swollen to twice their size with pus and bad liquid. These often killed the unfortunate person who had sustained them, so I hoped with all my heart I saw no signs of this on my lord.

  We were lucky. The wound looked clean, probably the result of the gin that Carier had poured so liberally over it that first day, and they way he’d changed the dressings twice a day. I breathed out in relief, but I hadn’t realised until then that I was holding my breath.

  The ten brown stitches Carier had put there held the edges of the long gash together, but the flesh was beginning to grow over them. When I mentioned this to him, Carier nodded. “That’s why they must come out now. They could grow right into the skin.”

  I nodded.

  “You’re a wonderful woman.” Richard looked down at the wound. “Any other lady would have fainted or thrown a fit of the vapours or the like.”

  I made a scornful noise. “I’ve always been interested in healing. There were accidents aplenty around the village where I grew up. After I stood by helpless when a man bled to death from a scythe cut, I promised myself I would learn more. It will never happen again when I’m there to help.”

  Richard smiled. The brandy had been a generous dose. While not drunk, I think he felt a trifle relaxed. “A wonderful woman.” He smiled and leaned back, closing his eyes.

  “Hush, sir,” I scolded sharply.

  He lifted his head, looking at me through half-closed eyes. “Don’t mind Carier. He knows all my business. He guessed how it is between us, but he knows how to hold his tongue. Besides, he would infinitely prefer you
to Julia. Wouldn’t you, Carier?”

  The manservant glanced at him. “It’s not for me to say, my lord,” he replied primly, busy now at his work. He picked up a small pair of scissors which lay on the table, and with those, and a pair of tweezers, he snipped and pulled out the stitches. Richard fell silent.

  I decided to distract him, telling him about our discoveries in the governess’s room and the nursery that morning.

  His first comment was a brief, “Poor woman.” But after a few moments he added, “From what I’ve heard of their father, the boys were given little familial affection.” He glanced at Carier, who continued stoically with his work.

  I saw his point. “You mean they would have looked for that attention elsewhere?”

  My heart turned over at his smile. “Just so. What a perceptive woman you are! Now if the governess died in pain in front of her charges, without anyone to love her, it must have had an effect on them.”

  “If their father had ignored her illness. They might have resented his indifference.”

  A pause followed, broken by the crackling fire and snipping scissors. Richard said, “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know for sure, but I would be very surprised if this house isn’t haunted.”

  Carier was halfway done. “Would you try to flex the arm just a little, my lord?” Richard obediently bent the arm. We were relieved to see the reddened edges of the wound held together. Carier smiled in satisfaction, and gently pulled out the last five stitches. Richard sat back in his chair, his eyes closed for the most part while Carier worked on him.

  When all the stitches were removed, Carier examined the wound closely for any gaps. Then he sighed contentedly. “That will do very well, my lord.” He picked up a fresh bandage, lighter than the original one, and I returned to my chair while he bound the arm.

  Carier rolled the shirtsleeve back down, fastening it. He took the operation’s debris into the dressing room, returning with the most beautiful dressing gown I’d ever seen. Richard refused it. “I’m quite warm enough.” Carier poured wine for us, and left the room.

  Richard flexed his arm once or twice, grimacing, and then picked up his wine and took a sip. “Carier does like you, but he never took to Julia, so I must be right this time, don’t you think?” He looked at me, and lost the smile. “And there’s another thing—I haven’t yet toasted you in any form.” He raised his glass. “To your beautiful brown eyes. May I drown in them forever.” He drank.

  I laughed. “You’re the first person to notice them.”

  “They hold everything I need. You’ll be a great hit in London, you know.” He sat back. He must be more comfortable now the stitches had gone. I could only hope so.

  I shook my head, troubled. “I don’t think so. No one noticed me in Exeter, next to Lizzie. Well, only one person.”

  He opened his eyes more fully now, looked at me with that clear blue stare that missed nothing. “Who? That Drury fellow? I thought it a tryst. It dismayed me, but I didn’t think you entirely welcomed his presence, and from what you told me later I was right.”

  I bit my lip. “I didn’t. I suppose I’ll have to tell you the whole.” I looked down to avoid his eyes. I’d been so foolish. I couldn’t bear the thought of Richard’s disapprobation, but I couldn’t let Steven hold me to ransom over it. Richard sat perfectly still. He let me take my time telling him, giving no clue how he would feel about the business.

  I took a deep breath “I never took when I made my come-out. I don’t know how it happened. Perhaps I’m too tall, or blondes were all the rage that year.” I wouldn’t let him comment, desiring no sympathy. “The following year I was just part of the scenery. I wasn’t unhappy ever, I had a loving family and friends, but I just never took.” He made a sound, but I carried on, still not looking at him. “Then word got around about my sister, Elizabeth. She’s very beautiful, everything a young man could hope for, pretty, clever but not too clever, and amusing. No young man wanted me after that. I didn’t realise I was on the shelf until a couple of years ago. Martha’s remark about wanting an extension because the manor house was too small for all of us made me realise I was probably there for good.” I cleared my throat, remembering my unhappiness. It might be an old wound, but it still hurt.

  “Then, the year after that, Steven Drury arrived; tall, handsome, and penniless. He had excellent manners, and he came from a good family, so he was made welcome. At first, he charmed everyone. Then someone told him about our fine relations, and this must have tipped the balance in our favour. He sought us out, and paid us a great deal of flattering attention. When Lizzie made it clear she had no interest in him, he concentrated on me.”

  I stopped to take another sip of my wine, and Richard quietly came over and refilled my glass. Afterwards he sat and listened, his fingers curled around the stem of his own glass, his feet crossed before him. The pattern card of peaceful repose.

  “I foolishly let myself think I loved Steven. Of course, I didn’t. Infatuation might be more like it or desperation, but it filled long hours and provided me with some excitement. Oh, I did nothing to be ashamed of, but accidental meetings in the village, which were not so accidental, little notes, foolish things, which I should really have got out of my system at sixteen. All this made me think I could be loved and wanted.”

  “What made you realise what his true motives were?”

  I frowned, and tried to think back, tried to be as honest as I could. “Nothing in particular. Just a gradual realisation. He never seemed interested in my personal problems—he’d never have listened to my nonsense as you’re listening now. And he asked me about my illustrious relations rather too much. When we received the invitation to come here, and my brother Ian hurt his foot—he should have been our other escort, you know—Steven quickly volunteered his services, even before he had asked permission from our vicar, his superior. He abandoned his duties without a second glance, although some people depended on him.”

  I took a deep breath. I had never told anyone this much before, and I found it hard. I tried to think of him as someone else, anyone else so I wouldn’t falter in my confession. “I knew by the time we reached here I wished to break off my connection with him. To tell the truth, he irritated me with his solicitous attentions and attempts at lovemaking.”

  I looked up, startled. I’d forgotten to whom I was speaking. I’d never told the full story to anyone like this, and now I had started, I found it such a relief to talk, I could almost be talking to myself.

  Richard gave me no clue what he was thinking, his face serious. He gestured for me to continue.

  “Now he’s waylaying me, asking me about the promises I made to him—”

  “Did you make any promises?” he interrupted, his eyes intent on me.

  “Never. I took care not to. He assumed I did, but I never promised him anything, I swear it. But I’m so worried he’ll make trouble. The prize is so much greater for him now, you see, and oh, I wish none of this had ever happened!” The dam within broke as my stupidity and unhappiness broke through. I twisted my fingers around the stem of my glass, and very nearly snapped it.

  Richard looked startled at my last outburst, but since I had by then burst into tears, the least he could do was come across to comfort me. Without any hesitation at all he knelt before me and took me into his arms and I rid myself of a great deal of my anxiety in a long bout of crying. I hadn’t cried like that for years.

  After a time, he lifted my chin and dried my tears with his own handkerchief. “Poor sweetheart. To be so distressed by your first fortune hunter. That’s all he is, my love, and easily disposed of. They crawl all over London in the Season. My sister’s been approached time out of mind, and these days she deals with them herself instead of asking us to help.”

  I glanced at him through tear-blurred eyes, shyly. “You’re not disgusted with me? You don’t think I’m a hussy, or too forward?”

  “No, why should I?” he said, laughing a little. “I’ve had my fair share of fortun
e hunters too. They come in female form as well, you know.”

  “I feel so stupid, for allowing him to take me in.”

  “Not at all.” He kissed me, very gently. “No wonder you doubted my approaches. To be taken in by a fortune hunter, and then to meet a libertine… Shall I let you into my secret? Yes?” I nodded. “Perhaps it’s my turn to confess.” He leant back on his haunches and took my hand. “I can’t deny I’ve known many women. I used to collect them like butterflies, and they had about as much meaning for me. Last year, about the time my brother returned from his travels, I realised I was bored with it all. There’s nothing in such encounters, nothing at all, except some amusement and a little experience. No real links, no communication, no fondness. Other vices have no appeal for me. I’ve never seen the appeal of gambling to excess, though, of course, I do play. Everyone plays, but I’ve never been too excited about the turn of a piece of pasteboard. So, that leaves my interest in my little problems—and you.” He looked directly at me. “I was ready for you, but I didn’t know it until I saw you.”

  He’d made me smile again. Sharing my problem did seem to halve it, like the proverb says.

  “Now.” He kissed the tip of my nose. “I want you to promise me you’ll go to your brother and ask him to give this curate a living.”

  His solution startled me. “But that’s just what he wants.”

  “Not in East Anglia. Or perhaps Northumberland might be better. Then you can send your would-be lover away happy, never see him again and keep him out of the way.”

  I laughed shakily. “You make it seem so simple.”

  “Nothing is simple when it worries you night and day.”

  He stood and looked down at me. His amused expression changed to something that evoked a response I couldn’t remember experiencing before I met him. Warmth, intimacy and a connection that astounded me.

  He watched me with such a heated expression I might have melted. “Every day—everything you say makes me want you more. I want to share my life with you, to have you for myself. I want everyone to know and love you as mine.” He pulled me to my feet and kissed me, not at all gently this time, exploring my mouth thoroughly, returning for more when I held him as tightly as he was holding me. Then he drew back.