A shudder ran through her and, drawing in a trembling breath, she straightened her shoulders, stepped out into the corridor and made her way down the stairs, steeling herself to face the uncertain rigours of her new position.
Having decided that she would conduct the interviews with the cook and housekeeper in a relatively informal manner, she turned in the direction of the cosy-looking sitting room that she had viewed briefly the previous day. After tugging at the bell cord next to the mantelpiece, she settled herself into a comfortable armchair near the window and, after offering up a silent prayer, sat back and waited.
Mrs Ellis, the cheerfully buxom cook, having spent the past quarter of an hour or so hovering at the top of the staff staircase in high expectation of the summons, was the first to arrive, anticipating the equally impatient Mrs Wainwright by a good thirty seconds.
‘Good morning, my lady!’ she cried, as she bustled in with her daybook and grocery lists, her crisply starched apron crackling as she moved forwards. ‘You slept well, I trust?’
Then, accepting her mistress’s invitation to sit, she proceeded to spread her lists in on the table in front of her before turning an expectant eye in Helena’s direction.
‘Lamb today, I should think, my lady, possibly with a smoked haddock roulade to start—Mr Pearson tells me that he has some fine French beans that are just ripe for picking—new potatoes, of course, and maybe a cherry almond syllabub to finish? How does that sound, ma’am?’
‘It all sounds very nice, Mrs Ellis,’ replied Helena, with just the slightest lift of an eyebrow. ‘But rather as though you hardly needed to confer with me in the first place, it would seem.’
‘Ah, well, that’s true, ma’am,’ said the cook, looking slightly abashed. ‘Mr Richard—his lordship, that is, usually just lets me get on with it.’
‘Well, since you have already gone to so much trouble to arrange this evening’s dinner menu, Cook, perhaps we ought to leave it at that for today. In future, however, I do believe that a little discussion would be in order. Needless to say, of course, I shall always rely on your expert knowledge to assist me in my choices.’
Her chubby face wreathed with gratification at the implied compliment, the smiling woman gathered up her bits and pieces and sketched her new mistress a brief curtsy. ‘Why, of course, ma’am—it will be my pleasure, ma’am.’
‘Let’s say tomorrow at ten, then,’ nodded Helena, as the cook prepared to depart. ‘Ask Mrs Wainwright to come in now, if you would, please.’
Having already been given ample time to weigh up the housekeeper’s assets on the previous afternoon, Helena lost no time in assuring Mrs Wainwright that she was more than happy to leave the general running of the house in her capable hands for the time being.
‘And, if I happen upon anything that I would like to change, I’m sure we won’t need to come to cuffs over the matter,’ she added, with a swift smile at the older woman.
‘I should think not indeed, your ladyship,’ returned the other, with an answering smile. ‘And, may I say, on behalf of all the staff, ma’am, how very glad we all are to see the master happily settled down at last!’
‘Why, thank you, Mrs Wainwright—how very kind of you to mention it.’
Feeling somewhat flustered at hearing such a fond reference to her husband, Helena sought desperately to change the subject.
‘You have been with the family for a long time, I imagine,’ she ventured, at last.
Her eyes lighting up, the housekeeper nodded. ‘Why, yes, ma’am—thirty years this coming August, as it happens. Brand, spanking new the house was, when I first came here. I was just twelve years old and only a kitchen skivvy in those days, of course, and Captain and Mrs Standish—his lordship’s parents—were just newly-weds themselves then.’
Despite her current antipathy towards her husband, Helena could not help feeling a certain curiosity about his early days.
‘His lordship was born here, then, I take it?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes, ma’am! I can remember the day as if it were yesterday. Such a fuss and palaver there was going on—what with the master being born scarcely six hours after Lord Leo’s son Simon! Captain Standish’s father—the old earl, that was—brought a whole hogshead of ale down to the kitchen for the staff to celebrate the two births—he was over the moon with joy at getting two grandsons at almost one and the same time.’ She paused, reflectively. ‘A grand fellow, he was, his old lordship—he’d be turning in his grave if he could see the state of his old home now!’
Helena nodded in sympathy. ‘How did it come to be allowed to fall into such a state of disrepair?’
The housekeeper shook her head. ‘An unfortunate combination of events, really. When the old earl died—six years ago, that would be—Lord Leo, Viscount Lexington, as he was then—being the eldest of his old lordship’s three sons, inherited the title, but he was a very poor landlord, having always been a bit of a loose fish, ever since his wife ran off with one of the grooms back in ’92!’
‘Ran off with one of the grooms?’ repeated Helena faintly. ‘Why did his lordship not just go after her and fetch her back?’
‘Oh, he did try, my lady,’ replied Mrs Wainwright, with a pensive sigh. ‘That was the start of it, really. He took after the pair like a maniac, grabbed hold of the leader’s harness and brought the carriage up so sharply that the whole lot tipped over on its side. Poor Lady Julia didn’t stand a chance, I’m afraid—that was when Lord Leo started all the drinking and gambling. Never took the slightest bit of interest in either the estate or young Lord Simon from that moment on—not until the lad turned seventeen, that is, when his father chose to introduce him to all his rakehell associates and their obnoxious pursuits!’ She gave a disapproving sniff.
‘I understand that the present Lord Markfield and his cousin Simon were very close, in those days,’ put in Helena carefully. ‘Am I to take it that he, too, joined in the general revelry?’
‘Good gracious, no, my lady!’ The housekeeper looked thoroughly shocked. ‘The master has always been far too much of a gentleman to involve himself with that sort of set. He preferred to spend whatever spare time he had in his grandfather’s stables, just as he does now, my lady—he’s been totally besotted with horses ever since he was in leading strings!’
‘But, the two of them were close—as children, I mean?’ persisted Helena, unable to reconcile her husband’s own description of events with what the housekeeper now seemed to be telling her.
‘Oh, yes, ma’am,’ replied Mrs Wainwright, with a satisfied nod. ‘Almost inseparable, they were then—on account of the poor lambs both having lost their mothers at such an early age, I suppose—Lord Simon barely six years old when his mother was killed and then Mrs Standish dying in childbed the following year, just after the master’s seventh birthday. Spent most of their time with their grandparents over at the Hall, after that, the pair of them did,’ she added reflectively. ‘Went off to Rugby together the following year and then on to Cambridge—joined at the hip, they seemed to be—until Lord Simon was sent down for getting up to some sort of mischief, that is—although I never did get to find out what that was all about.’
‘And that was when the two of them started drifting apart, I suppose?’ suggested Helena, her interest growing by the minute. ‘Lord Markfield joined the military…?’
Mrs Wainwright nodded. ‘His father—who was General Standish by then—bought him a cornetcy in the same regiment that he was in—the master didn’t really seem that keen at the time, to my way of thinking, but he’s always been the sort of lad who puts duty before self and, once he makes up his mind to do something, he just knuckles down and does his very best to make a success of it. He refused to sell out—even after the old earl died and then his father was killed at Vimiero. Fair knocked him sideways that did, I know, but I remember hearing him tell Lady Isobel that there was still a war to be won and that he had no intention of quitting until our lot had settled those Frenchies for good an
d all!’
A moment’s silence followed, during which Helena reflected upon the rather different picture of her husband that the housekeeper had succeeded in conveying to her. A pensive frown crept across her brow as she wondered if it could be at all possible that she had misjudged him—his indignation and subsequent fury last evening had been extremely convincing, after all, and, if Mrs Wainwright’s assessment of his character held any credibility, it seemed hardly possible that so principled a man would ever involve himself in the sort of devious chicanery of which she had held him guilty!
‘It does seem most unlikely,’ she murmured softly to herself.
‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’
Helena started. She had been so wrapped up in her re-evaluation of Markfield’s character that she had almost forgotten the housekeeper’s presence.
‘That Lord Markfield would quit his post!’ she parried hastily. ‘I was merely remarking how unlikely that would be!’
‘Very true, my lady,’ nodded Mrs Wainwright, in mournful agreement. ‘Stuck it out right to the end, he did—too bad he had to come home and find that his uncle had sold off all the old earl’s horses and let the Hall to go to rack and ruin. Fair broke Master Richard’s heart—oh, I do beg your pardon, ma’am—I’ve been so used to calling his lordship by that name that it just slipped out!’
A stricken expression in her eyes, the mortified housekeeper got to her feet and, smoothing down the skirts of her black bombazine gown, dipped a hurried curtsy and made ready to leave, but Helena, putting out her hand, stayed her.
‘Please do not concern yourself, Mrs Wainwright,’ she begged. ‘It is perfectly natural for you to think of his lordship as Master Richard and I really don’t mind a bit. I would dearly love to hear more about his childhood, if you can spare me another few minutes of your time, some time in the near future?’
‘Why, certainly, my lady,’ returned the housekeeper, highly relieved that her careless slip had not been taken amiss. ‘I’d be more than glad to do that.’
Having also risen, Helena accompanied the woman to the doorway. On reaching it, she paused momentarily, before asking, ‘The old house—Markfield Hall—how far is it from Westpark?’
‘The drive gates are about two miles up the road to the right,’ volunteered Mrs Wainwright. ‘But, if you were wanting to surprise his lordship over at the stables, my lady, your best bet is to cut across the lawn out here and follow the river path down to the old footbridge, which goes straight over the river into Markfield itself—you can see the back of the old Hall from there and the stables are just behind the walled garden. It’s a very pretty walk and shouldn’t take you more than twenty minutes or so.’
Having collected a wide-brimmed straw bonnet and a lightweight wrap, Helena slipped out of the house through the double doors of the sitting room on to the terrace beyond, and ran lightly down the steps and across the sloping lawn towards the path that bordered the little river that snaked its way between the two estates.
Just as Mrs Wainwright had said, the walk proved to be a most attractive one, with magnificent willow trees draping their freshly budding fronds into the water on one side of the path and a copper beech hedge sheltering neatly kept vegetable and herb gardens on the other. Even though it was still only mid-April, the air was still and the temperature pleasantly mild. Strolling dreamily along in the sunshine, Helena was soon drinking in the beauty that surrounded her; the huge drifts of wild daffodils adorning the grassy banks of the river and, most enchanting of all, the clusters of primroses, violets and celandines that nestled randomly amongst the roots of the hedgerows. She stopped and watched in awe as a pair of haughty-looking swans sailed majestically by, then laughed out loud at the antics of a noisy family of ducks as they jostled for position at the river’s edge.
Just the sort of property she had always envisioned whilst endeavouring to persuade her father to sell up and move out of the capital, she recalled, as she let out a wistful sigh. His health could hardly have failed to improve had he chosen to surround himself with such serene tranquillity and now, she was not even sure that she was in a position to invite him down for a short stay! After last night’s bitter confrontation, it would not have surprised her to learn that her husband had every intention of filing for an immediate annulment of their hasty marriage—a resolution with which she would have heartily concurred until less than half an hour ago. Her rather enlightening chat with Mrs Wainwright, however, had raised a host of doubts in her mind and she was now finding it impossible to reconcile the housekeeper’s sturdy avowal of Lord Markfield’s upright character with her own less than complimentary appraisal of him.
Nevertheless, it was difficult to see how she could have been so mistaken about everything—the Cummings woman had been in the church, after all and, despite the earl having pointed out that church services were open to the public, Helena still could not understand why any self-respecting female would feel the need to attend her ex-lover’s marriage ceremony since, as far as she could see, any such action could well be likened to the rubbing of salt in an open wound!
Rather more perturbing, perhaps, had been the matter of that ruby earring. Despite Markfield’s angrily vehement protests and denials, there had been no doubt in Helena’s mind as to the trinket’s owner, although she felt bound to admit that, had it not been for the fact that his earlier long-term absence over at the stables still rankled somewhat, she might easily have persuaded herself to take her husband’s word on the subject. As it was, the earl’s protestations had finally ground to a halt and, turning furiously on his heel, he had made for his own chamber where, after slamming the door behind him, she had actually heard the click of the lock as he turned the key.
Summoning up the nerve to face him after all the bitter antagonism that had flowed between them was not going to be easy, she told herself, as she approached the rather ancient-looking footbridge. If, as was beginning to look increasingly likely, her husband turned out to be totally innocent of all that she had accused him, then an abject apology would seem to be in order. Having recalled Markfield’s expression as he had flung himself out of the room, however, Helena could only view such a prospect with increasing apprehension. And yet, as she well knew, if the fault lay at her door, she would just have to steel herself to admit the possibility of a mistake.
But that still did not explain the presence of the earring! Could it have fallen out of her husband’s pocket during an earlier inspection of her room? she wondered. Perhaps he had retrieved the earrings from Lady Cummings at their final meeting, she then conjectured—but why, then, would he need to deny all knowledge of its existence? It was all so very perplexing!
The footbridge, as she was soon to discover, spanned the river at its narrowest point, just before it altered its course to curve sharply westwards, thereafter to meander its way between Charles Standish’s Southpark property and the main Markfield estate. Mrs Wainwright had mentioned that there was a second bridge some three-quarters of a mile beyond this one but, since she had made up her mind that it was up to her to make the effort to effect some sort of a reconciliation between herself and her husband, Helena could see no virtue in postponing the inevitable any longer than was absolutely necessary.
Despite the fact that the distance between the two banks was little more than eight feet, she could not help but feel a moment’s unease at the sight of the river rushing along beneath her feet through the many gaps in the bridge’s woodwork. No sooner had she reached the far side, however, than she was taking herself to task for behaving in so juvenile a manner—doubtless the estate workers who crossed the bridge on a daily basis would have been highly amused to witness the tottering steps of their new mistress!
Richard, doing his best to keep his mind on his work and off the disastrous events of the previous evening, had an uncanny sense of Helena’s presence long before he could bring himself to turn around and confront her.
The amount of brandy he had consumed the previous evening, in a
n effort to blot out the image of his wife sprawled on the bed in fervent anticipation of his lovemaking, had resulted in him suffering from the most blinding headache. Now, every time he tried to redirect his attention towards trying to fathom out how the offending jewel could have found its way into his wife’s bedroom, a searing pain shot through his head, rendering him incapable of any kind of constructive thought. He had managed to get as far as questioning Fran, the maidservant, as to precisely where she had come across the bauble—snagged up in one of her mistress’s bed curtains, apparently—but beyond that, he was totally mystified as to how it could possibly have come to be there.
The fact that he had allowed his angry frustration to get the better of him galled him intensely, but he doubted that there was a man alive who would have regarded so unpropitious an interruption with any sort of equanimity. It was bad enough that his ardour had been dashed for the second time that day, but to find himself accused of—what? He was not entirely sure of the charge. Did Helena seriously imagine that he had invited his ex-paramour to share his soon-to-be-wife’s bed with him during the past week? Good God in heaven! To the best of his knowledge the room had been shut up ever since his mother’s death and only his forthcoming marriage had caused him to unlock the door and order its total redecoration and refurbishment.
The only other explanation that his fuddled head had been able to conjure up was that both of these ploys—Helena’s tale about having seen Rachel in the church and her maid’s supposed discovery of the earring—had been drummed up by his new wife in some sort of desperate attempt to avoid an unwanted consummation of their marriage!
A Marriageable Miss Page 22