by Sandra Heath
At the top of the staircase Sarah paused, her hand suspended over the large carved rook upon the balustrade. Ransome? Could this possibly be the same gentleman her father had spoken of yesterday? She took a deep breath, swallowing a little nervously. What would he be like? She smoothed the apricot skirts of her day dress and then began to descend the staircase, the murmur of voices becoming louder as she neared the withdrawing room.
“Ah, Sarah.” Her father smiled warmly, holding out his hands to her in welcome and leading her into the room; since the day before he had been almost suffocatingly loving. To her relief she saw no sign of Edward and Hermione, who reacted to Stratford’s recent outburst in a circumspect manner which Sarah found even more difficult to bear than their previous attitude. They had taken to glancing meaningfully around at others in the room, catching whatever eye they could and holding the person in a stare of injured pride. Sarah preferred even their open hostility to this, and was glad to see they were absent.
Her father led her to the center of the room and she found herself standing before a stranger, a tall man with sandy hair and thick side-whiskers. He was somewhere in his late twenties and she immediately liked his relaxed manner and soft brown eyes. He was dressed well, in a dark gray coat and breeches, but never could have been called fashionable. Tall black leather boots and a top hat completed his appearance as he bowed before her, taking her hand in his firm grip. “Miss Stratford.”
“Sir?” She knew that he must be Paul Ransome, but she waited for her father to complete the introduction.
“Ah yes, Sarah, this is Paul Ransome of Mannerby. Ransome, my daughter Sarah Jane.” The gong sounded and Stratford took Paul’s arm. “We were about to eat. Shall you join us?”
The newcomer inclined his head, stepping aside as Sir Peter bent to take up a pearl-handled walking cane which rested against a chair. “A cane, Sir Peter? I trust it’s nothing serious.”
“Damned leeches can’t tell me anything. Nothing wrong, they swear. Nothing wrong! Prattling fools—let them suffer this cursed pain for a day and then swear there’s nothing wrong!”
“Perhaps it’s merely the winter rheums.”
Sir Peter grunted disbelievingly, and everyone stood aside as he crossed the room toward the door, turning to beam at Sarah and hold his hand out in an unbearably paternal manner. Coloring slightly she went to him and the party adjourned to the dining room.
Throughout the many courses of the meal Sarah’s thoughts were mixed. She was relieved to think that her future guardian seemed so pleasant, that he was young and not some ancient ogre whose company would be dreadful. She was glad too to be leaving Rook House for the time being. She could not help thinking of her foolishness in meeting Ralph Jameson, or her incredible misjudgment of his character and intentions.
Other, more unsettling thoughts crept into her head, too, thoughts of Jack Holland which kept her awake at nights. Her appetite was poor and she picked at her meal, her heart plagued with different emotions, but most of all filled with a yearning for Jack. She could see his red-gold hair and his dark gray eyes, the twist of his lips when he smiled and feel the touch of those same lips as he kissed her. Her spoon hovered halfway between her plate and her mouth and she stared at the white tablecloth, lost in her thoughts.
“Sarah, are you feeling unwell? I’faith you’ve nibbled at your food like a lovesick rabbit!” Tinkles of polite laughter greeted her father’s words and she glanced up, startled. Paul Ransome was looking closely at her, sipping his glass of wine, his good-natured face pensive.
A blush crept over her at having caused such amusement. “I’ve little appetite today, Father.” She picked up the crystal glass by her plate and drank deeply, as she had seen the other ladies do. The dark red liquid was heady and she felt its progress to her stomach where it rested warmly.
Attention moved away from her and she lapsed into her private thoughts. Where was Jack? There had been no news, and the empty place which had been set for him seemed to shout his name out loud; but everyone very deliberately avoided all mention of him. It was as if he had never been there at all.
Afterwards the ladies departed for the withdrawing room and their usual catty chatter, which invariably involved the tearing apart of someone’s character. Sarah paused outside, watching them settle down like vultures gathering around a corpse. Who would it be today, she wondered, and the question was answered almost immediately as she heard her name and Jack’s upon the eager lips. She sighed and walked away; this was one conversation in which she would not participate.
The butler raised an eyebrow as he saw the graceful figure of the new lady of the house slipping out through the main door. He shook his head; the master should never have brought her here—never! He sniffed and closed the door behind her.
The sun was shining brightly outside and all traces of the storm had vanished. Her shoes crunched over the gravel as she hurried along, and then she proceeded across the grass lawns toward the formal gardens. Tall hedges soon shielded her from sight and she went more slowly, walking happily in the warmth of the sun and admiring the beautiful precision of the flower beds and fountains. The gardens were at rest at the moment, but soon they would be full of color and life, and she hoped that she would see them.
This thought surprised her, but then she would one day be mistress of all this. This was a notion which had not struck her before, and pondering it she sat down on a garden seat surrounded on three sides by a yew hedge. Mistress of Rook House. She glanced down and saw snowdrops growing in the shelter of the hedge. Bending down, she touched the delicate white flowers. Before her sloped the parklands, an ornamental lake with its swans, a cricket pitch, a huge structure of glass in which grew tropical plants, and away beyond that the dark outline of the woods where she had arranged to meet Ralph. She looked away from the bare trees and concentrated on the gardens instead. It was a tranquil moment, a blessed relief from the backbiting, vicious company in the house.
She did not hear the sound of slow footsteps on the path, nor the murmur of male voices. It was the perfumed scent of pipe smoke which alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone. She recognized her father’s voice and soon realized that he was with Paul Ransome. Should she slip away? But she knew that she would be seen if she left her seat, and her father would be cross, for she should be in the withdrawing room with the other ladies. She decided to remain where she was and hope that they would not observe her.
“What happened to the two fine ash trees which used to be here, Sir Peter? I see only the stumps remain.” The footsteps halted as Paul Ransome stopped close by, just out of sight from Sarah’s niche.
Stratford’s voice was disinterested. “Edward had them cut down.”
“Why? I remember they were excellent trees.”
Sir Peter put his foot on the stump and leaned forward. Sarah could see him vaguely through the yew. “Oh, some bee he’s got in his bonnet about them; he says they spoiled the view or something. I’ve quarrels enough with him as it is without making more by telling him he had no right to touch the trees, and so I let the matter rest. Still, now I come to look at the result of his zeal I’m inclined to anger. Those trees were excellent, and far from ruining the view they formed an integral part of it. However, it’s done now and cannot be undone.”
There was a moment’s silence and then Paul laughed slightly, a peculiar sound, half forced and half embarrassed. “Had this happened in my part of the country then I could have well understood, for some say ash trees are unlucky, especially if planted near the house.”
“Superstitious rubbish!”
Paul cleared his throat. “You said earlier that seeing me was a coincidence. What did you mean?”
“I meant that only yesterday morning I dispatched a rider to Devon carrying a letter to you. I could have saved myself the trouble of putting pen to paper had I realized you were in these parts. Why are you here anyway?”
“Well ...” Now Paul’s voice was very definitely embarrass
ed. “I was on my way to visit Ralph Jameson. He was by way of being a distant cousin of mine.”
Sarah’s heart sank. Oh no, please do not let that be so!
“Ah.” Stratford’s sigh was long and drawn out, and in her mind’s eye she could see the owl-like expression of understanding on his face. “And what you heard on your arrival set you scurrying over here with all speed?”
“Something like that, yes.”
Stratford re-lit his pipe. “I’d no idea you were connected with the Jamesons.”
“Oh, it’s a very distant connection, as I said. I wasn’t in the habit of calling frequently. I was interested in a thoroughbred stallion he owned and he wrote to me last week saying that he was open to offers. I couldn’t afford to miss his moment of weakness and so I traveled up as soon as I could.”
Sir Peter decided to go straight to the point. “Come, Paul, let’s not beat about the bush. You know of my daughter’s involvement in all this, don’t you?”
“I’ve heard bits and pieces, mostly conflicting, I might add.”
“That’s bound to be, bound to be.” Her father was shaking his head sagely, Sarah could tell by his voice. “My daughter is a girl of little experience, Paul, a newborn babe in this jaundiced world. Jameson was skilled; he knew what he was doing and set himself the task of winning her. She was foolish enough to arrange to meet him, not knowing what he had in mind. Luckily—or unluckily, depending on your point of view—Holland chanced to be in the vicinity and drove Jameson off. Later the two men met up again and Holland heard Jameson telling a completely scurrilous story of my daughter’s conduct and character. The result was a duel, which Holland won.”
“Miss Stratford was most unfortunate.” Paul’s voice was polite but noncommittal.
“I trust that is your view of the situation, Paul, for I’ve a favor to ask of you.”
“A favor? I, who am already so much in your debt, can hardly refuse you a favor.” There was a slight hint of irony in the low, soft voice, but Sir Peter did not seem to notice it.
“Yes, I wish, as would any fond father, to protect my daughter from all unpleasantness, and soon there is to be just such unpleasantness over Jameson’s death. Sarah is innocent of all blame and so there’s no need for her to be exposed to any further shame. I wish to send her away for a while and thought that perhaps Mannerby offered an excellent refuge. Would you consider my request, Paul? With your sister being there too, there would be no impropriety....”
“There’s nothing to consider. I’m willing to offer the hospitality of Mannerby to Miss Stratford. Melissa has been there since well before Christmas, as you know, and frets much for London life. She’ll be pleased to have some feminine company, I’m sure. Is it just your daughter who’ll be coming?”
“Also her maid.”
“I’ll send word ahead to Melissa to prepare rooms, air them and so on.”
“Excellent, my boy, excellent! My daughter will be ready to leave whenever you wish.”
“I return tomorrow, but can delay my departure if you wish.”
“No, no. Sarah will be ready then. My thanks to you, Paul,” Sir Peter almost gushed. “I was going to take a ride—if my knee permits me. Shall you join me?”
“I think not. I rode up from Devon and have had enough of the saddle for the time being.”
“I see that you rode the Turk. You take chances with so valuable a beast.” There was reproach in Stratford’s voice, a rap over the knuckles almost.
“I ride him now as I always have done. He’ll come to no harm and remains healthy enough to sire a thousand offspring.”
“Hmm, well I suppose you know what you’re doing, but I don’t want anything to happen to that animal. By the way, if the war against Napoleon goes well, I’ll get that French stud I told you of before. I have high hopes of bringing new blood to the Mannerby stud.”
“As you say, I know what I’m doing, and as for the French horses, well I have little time for them. You’d be making a mistake, an expensive mistake.” Paul spoke brusquely, which surprised Sarah.
“A gentleman pays little attention to whether matters are expensive or not. It is a la mode to do as one pleases, spend what one wishes, and to ignore the consequences if they’re unsuitable. But then, as you insist upon working for your living, you no doubt have little time for such sentiments.”
Paul remained silent.
Stratford’s grin could be heard in his voice. “Then I take my leave of you. When shall you call for my daughter?”
“After breakfast in the morning. But I brought no carriage with me on this trip.”
“I’ll send her in one of mine. I bid you good day.” Stratford’s footsteps crunched unevenly away along the footpath until they vanished from hearing.
As silent as a mouse Sarah waited for Paul to leave, but he seemed content to remain where he was. At last his footsteps were heard—but they were approaching her hiding place! Her eyes widened in alarm, but he did not see her, for he stopped just before the hedge. He was so near that she could make out the gray of his coat through the thick yew and see the shiny black leather of his riding boots.
She heard the long exhalation of his breath and the savage whisper of anger. “Will you never allow me to forget how much I owe you, Stratford? You have Mannerby; that should suffice without foisting your slut of a daughter on me! Innocent as a newborn babe, is she? If that’s the case then I’m a Chinaman!”
Then he was gone.
Sarah stood at last, her hands shaking. She was stunned at the distaste manifested in that whispering voice. She began to walk slowly back toward the house, aware of Paul Ransome heading toward the stable block far ahead of her. She must face facts. Tomorrow she should be going with him to Mannerby and so would have to put up with his dislike. What an uncomfortable prospect that had suddenly become.
Chapter Seven
On the morning of her departure Sarah was dressed by Betty with special care. Finally the maid put down the comb and brush and looked at her mistress in the mirror.
“There, Miss Sarah, you look a treat, honest you do.” Proudly she touched a curl here, patted a tiny plait there, and generally fussed over the black hair.
Sarah smiled. “Shall you like going away from here, Betty? It will be a great change for you.”
“Well, I shall miss Liza, that I will—’cept for my mother, she’s all I’ve got. But I want to be with you, for you’re so sweet and gentle, and friendly.”
Wryly, Sarah pulled a face. “I’ve been criticized for that. No lady should speak so freely with her maid. The stalwart souls at Almack’s would surely swoon clear away at such familiarity.”
“I can’t see what’s so marvelous about that place. It’s awful. I ‘ad to ‘elp out there once; Lady ‘Ermione sent me. They stood around in their fine clothes talking, then they danced a bit, then they talked some more, and everyone was watching everyone else like a load of ‘awks. And the food! Well, my mother would ‘ave been ashamed to put out food like that. The lemonade was a funny color, the tea was almost cold, the bread and butter was curled up at the edges and the cake was stale! Stale! Liza went there, too, to attend Mrs. ‘Olland before she was ill. She said it was dull, too. I can’t think why they all want to go. There’s much more exciting places to go than Almack’s.”
She shook her head at the antics of the gentry and then crossed the room to open the wardrobe. “All these will be packed away soon, miss, so which one would you like to wear for the journey?”
Sarah stared at the bewildering array of gowns which hung in profusion on countless hooks. The finest dressmakers in London had worked on the new Miss Stratford’s gowns, and the result was the envy of many an aristocratic lady; but to Sarah they presented merely another problem. Which was suitable for what? Which color was definitely not allowed before midday? Which hairstyle not suited to a particular kind of gown? And when finally she had arrived at the correct gown, which accessories did she put with it? Every day the same vexing matters a
rose, and every day she had to rely on Betty’s judgment.
“Oh, Betty, you tell me! I’ve no idea. I doubt if I ever shall. Just make certain that I wear my mother’s brooch—the rest I’ll leave to you!”
Betty took the amber pin from the dressing table and looked at it, frowning. “Sir Peter won’t like you wearing it; he says it’s not grand enough for his daughter.”
“It embarrasses him because it was his only gift to my mother.” Sarah took a perverse pleasure in wearing the brooch before her father.
Betty grinned and chose a dress, and soon Sarah was ready to go down the stairs for her final breakfast at Rook House. How she loathed these meals and having to sit with her father and his guests; at least during the hours between she could hide herself away. But soon it would all be over and she would be on her way to Mannerby. She sighed inwardly, remembering Paul Ransome’s savage whispering the day before.
The chatter in the dining room died away as she entered. She moved to the long side table and took a plate from the warming tray, inspecting the vast selection of dishes which steamed invitingly. As she lifted a heavy silver lid, the strong aroma of kedgeree drifted upward. If there was one thing Sarah could not bear, it was the smell of fish first thing in the morning. With a clatter she dropped back the lid to seal in the smell, and the sound was like cannon fire in the polite room. She closed her eyes, cursing her gaucherie which made into a nightmare even a small task like choosing her breakfast.
Edward was naturally delighted at this further exhibition of his cousin’s unease in her new surroundings, and he tried to catch his mother’s eye. But Hermione was busy with a full plate and ignored her son for once. Shrugging, he applied himself to his own meal, glancing now and then at his reflection in a huge mirror on the wall. The way he patted his bright golden curls was so narcissistic that Sarah wondered if he could ever manage to fall in love with someone else.
She walked toward her seat, not bothering to look at anyone. She inclined her head coolly to the butler who hurried to pull out her chair for her.