A Waltz with the Outspoken Governess

by Catherine Tinley

  His heart bouncing in his chest at the thought that complete happiness was a possible outcome, Nicholas forced himself to consider again Mary’s known deceptions.

  His voice catching a little, he spoke directly to her. ‘You did not mention anything of this before. For weeks you have been living in Stiffkey Hall, visiting your father and not being fully open with anyone about your true purpose in taking up employment in my household.’

  Her shoulders sagged. ‘I know. I did not know if anyone could be trusted. If you could be trusted.’ Her face was pale, her hands trembling.

  She had allowed their friendship to develop, yet not once had she entrusted him with the truth about her father. That stung and suggested again that deception came easily to her. And yet...he recalled sensing at times she was troubled, yet she would not speak.

  How could she?

  His heart lurched as he recalled her words to him earlier. ‘I wondered if I might have trusted you,’ she had said. ‘Now I know I was right to keep my own counsel.’

  From her perspective, that was entirely justified, he owned. Until now, he had spent his life as a scholar, not engaging viscerally with his companions and the wider world, unaware of whatever troubles they might have. Mary had challenged him to become a better person. Here, then, was his greatest test.

  His decision was made. He brought the curricle to a stop.

  * * *

  Mary held her breath as he halted the carriage. Once he had tied up the reins, he turned to her. Strangely, she had a sense that time was holding still, that this moment would define everything that was to come.

  ‘Mary,’ he said and his use of her given name made her heartbeat skip, ‘I have no way of knowing whether your father is or is not a traitor, but I do know you.’ He gazed intently at her. ‘I believe you.’ His words were uttered with fierce intensity. ‘And I will help you in whatever way I can.’

  Relief rushed through her. Her throat was tight, but she managed to force the words out. ‘That is possibly the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me!’ Overwhelmed, she reached for him, enveloping him in a tight hug.

  Seemingly surprised, it took him a moment to respond, but when he did, and his arms came around her, Mary had the strongest sense of safety that she had felt since the nightmare had begun. They clung to each other, not speaking, as the world waited and even the wind held its breath.

  After what seemed like forever, they separated enough to smile slowly at each other. Neither of them moved for a kiss, as this was not the right moment to indulge in the passion between them. That could wait. Instead they smiled and kept their hands entangled, as they discussed the enormity of the challenge before them.

  ‘Sir Harold is notoriously judgmental,’ Nicholas offered, his brow creased.

  ‘That was my impression, too.’ She shook her head. ‘Actually, it remains vital that I see him as soon as possible. I have some evidence which I believe will help poor Papa.’

  He grinned. ‘Let us go then!’ He untied the reins, and clicked his tongue. Once the curricle was underway, he sent her a sideways glance. ‘Fear not, Mary. I stand with you.’

  The glow this sent through her gave her cause to hope that maybe, just maybe, she could persuade Sir Harold. Taking her hand, Nicholas tucked it into the crook of his arm, and there it rested until the curricle turned into a gateway and up a private drive. ‘Sir Harold’s residence,’ he murmured, ‘as requested, Miss Smith.’ He slowed the horses, then came to a stop outside the front door.

  The house was large and impressive, with a portico in the classical style and wings either side of the main building. It had all of Sir Harold’s glowering bluster, without the elegant homeliness of Stiffkey Hall. The comparison sent a pang through her. Would she ever see Stiffkey Hall again? So much now depended on Sir Harold.

  Mary waited for Sir Nicholas to hand her down, part of her savouring his hand in hers, however briefly.

  Landing lightly on the gravel, she managed to avoid visibly wincing as her kid boots rubbed against her torn heels. The door was opening and a groom had arrived to take charge of the horses. Straightening her shoulders, Mary walked forwards, Sir Nicholas by her side.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sir Harold was currently dressing for dinner, they were informed. The butler led them upstairs to a pleasant parlour, procured refreshments and offered them both the use of the retiring rooms. Mary could not think of eating or drinking, as her throat was tight with anxiety. Wary of the silence between herself and Sir Nicholas, she asked the housemaid if she could possibly freshen up.

  Following the girl to a small retiring room, she was able to use the chamber pot and wash her face and hands. Shockingly, she discovered numerous twigs and bits of leaves on her dress and in her hair, and the housemaid obliged by helping her brush down her clothes and redo her hair.

  ‘There you are, miss,’ the girl said with a smile. ‘You look beautiful.’

  Her kind words helped, although all Mary could see was the scratches on her face and the paleness of her skin. She shrugged. ‘At least I do not look as disreputable as I did a few moments ago. There was an accident on the road, you see, and I was flung into a hedge.’

  ‘Lord, miss, how terrible!’ The maid’s horrified look surprised Mary. By this point she had almost forgotten the accident, more important matters claiming her attention.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it was,’ she replied, ‘although no one was badly hurt.’

  ‘Thank the Lord for that!’

  A knock on the door signalled that the footman had come to fetch Mary back, with the news that Sir Harold was now in the parlour. Mary’s heart thudded in her chest as she returned to the parlour.

  This is the moment. Do not fail.

  ‘She will tell you herself.’ Sir Nicholas was saying as the footman opened the door for Mary. Both men turned to look at her, the brief silence confirming that she had been the topic of their conversation. Drawing upon all her courage, Mary exchanged pleasantries with Sir Harold, then took her seat.

  ‘I am sure you must be wondering why I wished to see you, Sir Harold,’ she said, then took a breath, conscious of the intent gaze of both men. ‘It is because I have information to share with you as Justice of the Peace.’

  Sir Harold frowned. ‘Eh? What’s that? But you are only a slip of a girl, and gently-bred at that. How could you possibly have such information?’

  Mary’s heart sank. Already he dismisses me, for my age and my sex.

  ‘I assure you, Sir Harold, that this is important. I have intercepted a letter containing what I believe to be information about our armies on the Peninsula, along with details of stores and artillery. It is, I believe, the second such letter to appear in the county in recent weeks.’

  Sir Harold was suddenly all attention. ‘Indeed?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You told me you have visited the Walsingham prisoners recently. Have you, perhaps, been given this letter by one of them?’

  ‘No!’ Mary immediately saw his assumption. ‘Indeed, that prisoner—the one who is being held because of the first letter—is, I believe, entirely innocent.’

  Sir Harold curled his lip. ‘Now then, young lady, you can leave the conclusions to the men who have responsibility for such things. Just tell me the story of how you came by the letter, give it to me and we shall have done.’

  ‘I am perfectly capable of reaching conclusions myself,’ she retorted, ‘since I have a good brain and an ability to make deductions!’

  ‘Of course, my dear.’ Sir Harold smiled soothingly, making Mary’s hackles rise further. ‘Now, give me the papers and tell me how you came by them.’

  ‘No.’ The single word dropped like a stone in a well, the shocking defiance of it clear to all.

  There was a silence. Sir Harold’s eyebrows rose. Beside him, Sir Nicholas shifted in his chair. Both men were still staring at her intently. Sir H
arold looked outraged, while Sir Nicholas’s gaze held admiration and pride.

  ‘Not until you listen to me.’ Mary’s voice trembled a little, but she would not, could not allow them to browbeat her into compliance. Here was a moment when her rebellious nature was, for once, helpful. Or so she hoped.

  Sir Harold, as if Mary was not even present, turned to Sir Nicholas. ‘She gives her opinion very forcefully, this girl.’ His words echoed what Mrs Fenhurst had said about her. And Miss Plumpton.

  Sir Nicholas, his expression a mask of geniality, kept his eyes on Mary. ‘I wish to hear what she has to say. Partly because she does indeed have a good brain.’

  Sir Harold lifted his eyes to heaven, then sighed. ‘Very well. Get on with it.’

  Haltingly, for she knew already that Sir Harold was not truly listening, Mary began by stating that she had been lately residing with Miss Sarah Lutton at the Houghton St Giles vicarage. Sir Nicholas nodded resignedly at this revelation, and lifted a hand as if to say Of course! I should have realised!

  She flashed a brief smile in his direction. We have so much to talk about.

  Putting this distraction aside, she focused on telling her tale. She spoke of the messenger with the piebald horse, who was not a local man, and how the package had been addressed with such vagueness. ‘You may not be aware, Sir Harold, that there are three vicarages that may be described as being near Walsingham.’

  He waved this away, his air of disinterestedness causing Mary’s heart to sink further. ‘But twice now, these letters have come to the Houghton vicarage,’ he said dismissingly. ‘That is proof enough for me.’

  ‘Indeed, it is not proof! It is only proof that the messenger does not know the area. Surely justice must be certain that the right man has been accused? It seems preposterous that any vicar could be involved in this, but there are three men, not just one, who might be the traitor.’ Her hands were clasping and unclasping a fold of her skirt. Desperately, she forced them to lie still. ‘Surely it is your task to ensure that an innocent man is not unfairly imprisoned?’

  He remained unmoved, so after a moment’s pause, she moved on to her next point. ‘I am not sure why, but this vicar—whichever of the three—is asked to pass the papers on to someone else. Why would the source not send his messenger directly to that person?’

  Sir Harold patted her hand. ‘My dear, you do not understand how these villains think. They do not trust even each other and so each man is only a connection to the next, with no way of tracing back to the original traitor. They use cheap generic seals, disguise their handwriting as best they can and use hired messengers for some links in their evil chain. Messengers like a certain man with a piebald horse, who has been watched these many months. They do not intend to arrest him until the full chain has been revealed. Unfortunately, they moved too quickly to imprison the corrupt vicar.’ Mary closed her eyes briefly at this damning description of Papa. ‘Still, if there is a new letter, we might use it to discover who was to be next in the chain.’

  Ignoring his air of condescension, Mary continued, hoping that his sense of self-satisfaction might be assuaged a little by having an opportunity to instruct her. Carefully, she hinted at her plan. ‘There is certainly an opportunity here to sniff out the true traitor, for the papers also include instructions about where they must be delivered.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Sir Harold was suddenly more alert. ‘And where might that be?’

  ‘The package is to be brought to a place called Erpingham Gate on Tuesday, and left in an alcove “below and to the left of Sir Thomas”—though I do not know where that is, or who this Sir Thomas may be. A grave, perhaps, in a village called Erpingham Gate?’

  The two men looked at each other. ‘Erpingham Gate!’ declared Sir Harold. ‘An ideal place to hide some papers and for another to collect them there.’

  ‘It is one of the gates to Norwich Cathedral,’ explained Sir Nicholas, his eyes alight. ‘At the top is a statue of Sir Thomas Erpingham.’

  ‘Ah,’ breathed Mary. ‘I should imagine there are crowds there. A person may leave or collect a package without being particularly noticed, I think?’

  ‘Unless,’ declared Sir Harold, ‘someone is waiting and watching, ready to catch a traitor. We may find the next link in this evil network!’

  ‘To catch two traitors, perhaps,’ corrected Sir Nicholas. ‘The man who collects them and also the man who brings them there.’

  Mary squared her shoulders. ‘I should also inform you, Sir Harold, that Mr Smith, the man falsely accused, is my father.’

  Sir Harold slapped his knee. ‘I might have known it! Relatives often go to extraordinary lengths to have villains set free.’ He wagged a stern finger at her. ‘Young lady, your lies are exposed. We cannot take anything you say with any credibility whatsoever. Oh, I have seen this many, many times.’

  ‘But, no! I have told only the truth!’ Mary’s voice was shrill, as fear iced through her.

  Sir Harold was not listening. He turned to Sir Nicholas. ‘So there you have it, my friend. The whole thing is likely a pack of lies. Now we must attempt to deduce if there even was a second letter, or whether this woman has created a false paper to deceive me further!’

  Mary looked at him in horror. He thought her an out-and-out liar!

  Sir Nicholas maintained an enigmatic expression. ‘I believe, Sir Harold,’ he said slowly, ‘that there is a solution here—a way to establish if Miss Smith is telling the truth.’

  Mary looked at him, feeling desperation threatening to overcome her.

  What is he planning?

  Whatever it was, she would trust him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Nicholas thought for a moment. The situation was fraught with danger. Sir Harold had clearly already made his mind up and it would take all of Nicholas’s ingenuity to rescue the situation. He decided to take a cautious approach.

  ‘Miss Smith,’ he said, regarding her evenly without, he hoped, any sign of his regard for her. ‘You suggest that one of the other vicars may be the unknown traitor. It is difficult to imagine that either Mr Fuller or Mr Easton could be capable of such treachery.’

  ‘I know. And yet the possibility exists.’ She sat there, wringing her hands together, yet determined to be heard. ‘It must be considered, before an innocent man is judged.’

  He turned to his host. ‘Sir Harold,’ he said, ‘I have been wrestling with this, trying to discover if there is proof as to whether Miss Smith is truthful or not. Despite my own instincts on the matter, and yours, I have concluded that we cannot at this moment divine it objectively. I therefore suggest we assume for the present that she speaks the truth and we use the information she has to entrap both the person who delivers the papers to the Gate and the person who collects them—if such individuals exist.’ His tone was brisk and businesslike. ‘In three days we shall know for certain.’ He glanced at Mary and his heart lurched at the hope shining in her eyes.

  Sir Harold remained unconvinced. ‘It goes against everything I know to do this. In all my years as a magistrate I have never yet found an innocent person to be falsely accused, yet many times I have found family members willing to perjure themselves for a prisoner. Why should I follow your plan?’

  Sir Nicholas eyed him levelly. It was time to reveal something of his heart. ‘You have not had the benefit of an acquaintance with Miss Smith, having met her, I think, only once before. I, on the other hand, have come to a deeper acquaintance with her these past two months. I know her to be essentially honest, although willing to practice timely deceit in a small way and only to aid others. I have also,’ he continued, avoiding Mary’s eye, ‘seen her belittled and slighted by someone whom she later defended, showing more generosity than I myself would be capable of. In short, I believe her to be honest and good-hearted, and shall continue to do so until she is proved otherwise.’

  He heard Mary gasp. Unable
to help himself, he looked at her and their eyes locked. In that moment, he felt himself to be both entirely lost, yet entirely content.

  * * *

  Mary’s heart was soaring. He truly believed her! To have such support was more than she could have ever wanted. Sir Harold, unconvinced and yet unable to make a strong counter-argument, reluctantly agreed to Nicholas’s proposal.

  Mary passed the papers to Sir Harold and sat silently as the two men read them, then laid their plans. Nicholas would charge Bramber with creating two similar, but false packages, one to be delivered to each of the other local vicars by Fred, his recently-hired London groom. Neither vicar would know the man and it was important they were not alerted to any connection with Nicholas, or Sir Harold.

  Nicholas himself would spend Tuesday in Norwich, along with his trusted secretary, awaiting the possible delivery and collection of the papers. He would, he said, ensure that Miss Smith remained at all times within the house and grounds of Stiffkey Hall.

  She stiffened at this, anticipating the humiliation of being once again in the company of Mrs Fenhurst and Miss Cushing. Having left, she would find it difficult to turn back. Still, it was no more than she deserved, she supposed. She should have known to trust Nicholas sooner. It was not lost on her that, at a time when he had every reason to take revenge on her, he had instead shown a generosity of spirit unlike anything she had ever known. Her heart swelled with love for him.

  She stilled, catching the scent of her own feelings. Love? Love?

  Well, of course you love him, you stupid girl!

  How could she not, when he was the most handsome, the most well-built, the cleverest, and now the most generous young man she had ever known? In truth, she had loved him for weeks. She simply had not seen it until now.

  She feasted her eyes on him, uncaring what he and Sir Harold might think. She loved him and he would help free Papa, and she cared not what the future held. Now, this moment, was enough.