She sat back on her heels listening. From below she heard the smack of clogs on the stone floor, which must be the old woman.
There was no sound indicating the presence of the stranger.
Remembering herself clasped against his bosom the night before, a faint flush suffused her cheeks. She had not been herself – she had been in a fever – the concoction he gave her had gone to her head!
She buried her face in her hands mortified. It would be best if she never saw him again. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, he and his Master have already departed!
She raised her head as the smell of hot milk and fresh bread came wafting up through the rafters. She was very hungry.
She must go down and eat or skulk in the loft and die of starvation.
She ran her fingers through her tousled hair, threw her shawl over her crumpled shift and pushed back the trap door.
The old woman looked up as Elvira descended the ladder. She pointed at a table laid with a gingham cloth and set with dishes.
“There be breakfast,” she croaked.
All thoughts of the stranger disappeared at the sight of food as Elvira fell greedily upon the bread and honey. She ate three slices and drank two mugs of hot milk before she felt sated.
She felt so much better and wondered at her frail state the night before.
She looked round. The old woman was sitting on the pew, hands folded in her lap, eyes half closed.
“What time of day is it?”
The old woman glanced toward the window as if the patch of sky beyond was her clock.
“Near enough ten of the hour,” she said.
Elvira was astonished that she had slept so long. She hesitated to ask her next question, but ask it she must.
“W-where is – everybody?”
“You mean the gentleman as brought you ‘ere?” asked the old woman disconcertingly. “He be gone with the other fellow.”
Elvira supposed that ‘the other fellow’ referred to the stranger’s Master.
“W-where have they gone?”
“To change the ‘orses, but it must be done already, for ‘ere be the carriage.”
Elvira turned her head and sure enough, the Baseheart carriage was drawing up before the window. At the same moment a rap at the door announced the doctor.
He came in, his face rosy from the cold air and placed his black bag on a chair.
“Seems I’m just in time,” he said, indicating the carriage. “My patient is about to be whisked away.”
“I don’t feel like a patient this morning,” responded Elvira politely.
“You don’t look like one, either,” returned the doctor cheerfully. He felt for her pulse and after a few moments gave a satisfied grunt. “Hmn! Fit to travel, young lady. Either my medicine is better than I thought or there’s been some magic afoot.”
“M-magic?” echoed Elvira faintly, thinking of the devoted attentions of the stranger and the warmth of his arms about her waist. But the doctor had turned away and was picking up his black bag.
“I am not needed here,” he announced.
Elvira rose in a sudden panic.
“But sir – I must pay you.”
“Pay me?” The doctor shook his head. “No need. The young man paid me already.”
“H-he paid?”
“He did indeed.” The doctor glanced down and pursed his lips. “You have made a remarkable recovery, young lady, but I do suggest you put on your boots now.”
Elvira stared down at her bare feet.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“Ah, youth!” the doctor smiled. “Well good-day to you now, Miss Good-day, ma’am.”
This latter adieu was to the old woman, who nodded amiably from her pew. The doctor departed, encountering the carriage driver on the threshold.
Elvira scurried over to the hearth to put on her boots. She splashed her face with water and then with great effort fixed up her hair and the old woman helped her into her skirt, blouse and cape.
The clothes were all dry, but felt rather stiff and cold and Elvira regretted the horse blanket that had blown away in the wind. The journey was sure to be chilly and the thought made her shiver. The next moment the old woman tapped her on the arm.
“This were left for your use,” she said, holding out the stranger’s dark cloak.
Elvira took it in a daze and as she draped it around her shoulders it seemed still to retain the warmth of the stranger within its folds.
She would have liked to remunerate the old woman for her hospitality, but she shook her head. The gentleman had given her a piece of silver.
Elvira felt faint at the thought of how increasingly indebted she was to this man whose name was a mystery to her!
When she stepped outside she blinked in the bright sun and stared at the carriage. The two lacklustre horses of the day before had gone. In the shafts now were two glossy chestnuts with bright eyes.
“What happened to yesterday’s horses?” she asked the driver, hoping that the poor creatures had at least survived the night.
“They were exhausted after their ordeal,” he replied. “Those two fellows brought new ‘orses and took the others away. They’ll leave them at an ‘ostelry in Gloucester for me to collect when they’ve rested.”
“So the gentlemen were going on to Gloucester?”
“That’s what the one who spent the night ‘ere at the cottage told me,” replied the driver. “The other one – the one who went for the doctor and then ‘elped me and the lads dig out the carriage – he barely opened his mouth. Spoke no English.”
“Spoke no English?” repeated Elvira amazed.
That probably explained why the servant had remained with her and not the Master, who would have been unable to converse. She wondered how he had fared with the doctor and then remembered that he had been furnished with a note.
Still it was strange to think of the Master doing the work of the servant and the servant acting the part of the Master.
‘Would the Master have held me so close, breathed so sweetly upon my neck?’
The question rushed so unbidden into her mind that Elvira was shocked.
The sooner she was away from the scene of her encounter with the stranger, the better.
She climbed quickly into the carriage, neither expecting nor receiving the help of the driver. She was just reaching to close the door when a voice assailed her.
“Would you leave without bidding me farewell?”
It was the stranger, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He was standing in front of the cottage, holding a black stallion by the reins.
“I – thought you had already departed.”
The stranger looped the reins of his horse around a tree and came forward.
“I could not depart without assuring myself that you had fully recovered.”
“I have recovered, as you can see.” Elvira averted her eyes. “Thanks in no small part to your ministrations. I am deeply indebted to you – not least for your cloak! I cannot think how I may ever repay you when I do not even know your name.”
The stranger rested his hand on the carriage door.
“The pleasure of having been of service is payment enough. But my name, since you request it so charmingly – is Serge.”
Elvira raised her eyes to him and encountered his unblinking gaze.
“S-Serge?”
“That is right. And now madam, what name am I to remember you by?”
“It is Elvira,” she told him in a near whisper. “Elvira Carrisford.”
“Elvira!” murmured Serge. “Well, Miss Elvira, it is in the stars that we shall meet again.”
Elvira raised her eyes in alarm, but the stranger was already closing the door.
“Your Master. What is his name?” she called.
Too late!
Stepping back, Serge signalled to the driver and the carriage was off. Elvira leaned forward and tried to catch a last glimpse of him, but he was lost to view.
She san
k back, burying herself in Serge’s cloak.
“It’s in the stars that we shall meet again.”
What had he meant? Was he just teasing her?
An image rose in her mind.
The wench at the White Doe Inn sauntering so casually across to the stranger – Serge – where he leaned against the post. And then later, waiting for him with a towel over her arm. This Serge was used to the attention of women and he was well able to play upon their susceptibilities.
And she, Elvira, had been the most susceptible of all, unused as she was to the company of the opposite sex.
Aunt Willis would not have approved!
At the thought of Aunt Willis, a pang shot through Elvira’s heart. She doubted that she would ever see the stern old lady again.
Well, Aunt Willis and the adventure of the snowstorm and Serge and the cottage – all this was behind her now. Her future lay ahead, on the other side of the forest, beneath the pinnacles and turrets of Baseheart Castle –
*
Though the cloak kept her body warm, Elvira’s feet grew chill. She stamped them to try and keep them warm and even took off her boots to rub her toes, but her hands were not much warmer.
She was relieved when at last the carriage rolled in through the gates of the Baseheart Estate.
It was late afternoon and there was a bluish hue to the air. Elvira wound down the window and leaned out, staring ahead in anticipation.
When she had been left alone in the snow-bound carriage – only last night, though it seemed eons ago now – she had pictured the castle as frozen, under a spell and with spires of ice. Now, as it hove into view, she gasped to see how closely it resembled her conjured image.
Icicles hung from battlements, windowsills and spires. Frozen ivy clung like a shroud to the massive walls and the myriad windows looked white and lifeless. Turrets disappeared into what seemed like low cloud.
The carriage halted before wide stone steps that led up to a nail-studded main door. No one appeared to welcome her.
Silence reigned.
Elvira could hear the jingling of the horses’ harness and the sound of the driver cursing under his breath. A rook landed on one of the balustrades and cawed angrily at the intruders.
Elvira decided she must get out and ring the brass bell. She swung her door open and stepped down, eyes immediately smarting in the cold air.
She stared up at her new home.
Perhaps the castle was indeed under a spell, its inhabitants asleep for a thousand years!
She was about to mount the steps when the main door creaked wide open and a woman in a housekeeper’s cap and apron stepped out. She flapped her apron at the rook before calling down to Elvira.
“Miss Carrisford?”
Elvira nodded, trying to stop her teeth chattering.
“I am the housekeeper, Mrs Prendergast. You poor thing, you look frozen! Do come in.”
The rook flew about Elvira’s head as she mounted the steps. At the top she turned to wave farewell to the driver, but he had climbed down from his box and was already untying the ropes that held her trunk.
Mrs Prendergast ushered Elvira into a Great Hall with tapestries on the walls and a spacious mahogany staircase. In a marble hearth logs the size of small trees crackled and spat.
Elvira held her hands out to the flames while Mrs Prendergast summoned a footman and two servants to fetch the luggage.
“The household is all behind today,” she explained to Elvira. “The family were at a ball and almost didn’t make it back in the blizzard. That’s why they weren’t down to greet you. At this rate, they probably won’t be up until lunchtime.”
“Not true, Prendergast!” a voice called out from above. “I’m up now!”
Elvira, hands still warming in front of the fire, turned and her eyes widened at the creature standing at the top of the staircase.
It was Delphine, but quite different to the shy little girl with flowing locks she remembered. For one thing, the flowing locks were now arranged in an elaborate display of ringlets, feathers and combs. This was despite the fact that Delphine was still in her dressing gown, admittedly a lavish affair of velvet and ermine.
And the expression on her face was far from shy.
“Miss Delphine,” scolded Mrs Prendergast, “you are not properly dressed.”
“Oh, phooey, Prendergast, it’s only my cousin!”
This remark was followed by a giggle as Delphine came running down the stairs, silver bracelets jangling on one plump forearm.
She arrived before Elvira and stood surveying her, head on one side.
“Well,” she pronounced finally. “You aren’t ugly anyhow.”
“Neither are you, cousin,” responded Elvira politely.
“Oh, I am the local beauty, don’t you know,” pouted Delphine airily. “You being the least bit pretty doesn’t worry me one bit. But we were expecting you yesterday. We were due to go to a ball and when you didn’t arrive by dusk we decided to go anyway. Prendergast was here to welcome you, after all.”
“Miss Delphine,” intervened Mrs Prendergast with insistence. “The servants will be here any moment. You cannot be seen in your dressing gown.”
Delphine gave a nonchalant shrug and turned away.
“Come on, cousin. I’ll take you to your room. My aunt and I chose it for you.”
Without another word to the housekeeper, Delphine seized Elvira’s hand.
“Don’t you take any notice of that Prendergast,” she advised as she led her up the stairs. “Papa only puts up with her because she’s been here since he was a boy. And I’m only in my dressing gown because Cissie, my maid, had just finished my hair when I heard the carriage and I was so impatient to see you!
“Papa says I’m a free spirit and it doesn’t matter that I never had a governess as my Aunt Cruddock taught me to read and write, and anyway beautiful people don’t have to bother with such things.
“I am to marry the nephew of a Prince after all, and he’s not interested in whether I can write sums or recite poetry. He’s seen my miniature and he’s interested in my translucent skin and hazel eyes and whether I can sing like a bird, which I can, and dance, which I can. I really am a very good catch for a Prince, don’t you know.”
The chatter continued and soon Elvira became dazed and was barely listening. She felt herself propelled through a number of wide corridors, passing sombre portraits, gilt chairs and leaded windows. Up yet another stairway, along an uncarpeted corridor and Delphine triumphantly threw open a door.
“Here!” she announced.
Elvira stepped in and looked around.
A worsted curtain hung at the tiny window and a plain brown quilt was draped over a high bed. Next to a dilapidated armoire a jug and basin stood on a marble topped table.
Her bedroom at Aunt Willis’s had looked more welcoming than this, but she resolutely decided that she would not allow herself to be downcast. After all, there was a log fire burning merrily in the grate and the room was far enough from the household to guarantee a degree of privacy.
It also contained an object that Aunt Willis would never have countenanced, a mahogany pier glass with a mirror hidden under a large dustsheet.
Delphine leapt on the bed and sat on the edge, swinging her legs.
“Lady Cruddock said we shouldn’t choose too grand a room. You are just a companion, you know.”
“I am perfectly happy with this, I assure you,” said Elvira, eyeing the pier glass with interest as she untied her bonnet.
“Oh,” responded Delphine in a tone that suggested she might have enjoyed a little dissension. “That’s all right then.”
Two footmen now carried in her trunk, while a third brought in her two carpet bags and Serge’s cloak.
Elvira took the cloak and held it for a moment, crumpled against her breast.
Once the servants had departed she placed the cloak on a chair by the fireplace and went over to her trunk. Taking a key from her pocket, she knelt to
unlock it.
Delphine exclaimed in horror.
“You’re surely not planning to unpack yourself? Send for your maid immediately!”
“I prefer to do it,” replied Elvira stiffly.
She didn’t like to admit that she was not used to the services of a personal maid. At Aunt Willis’s there had been a cook and a general housemaid and that was all.
“Well!” sniffed Delphine. “If you must.” She peered curiously over Elvira’s shoulder as she drew out her gowns. “That blue is hardly suitable for a companion. You need more sombre colours to distinguish you from me, don’t you know! I have to be quite distinctive when the Prince’s nephew arrives.”
“They are all I have,” sighed Elvira, glancing at Delphine’s violent green taffeta with its plaid collar and thinking her quite distinctive enough.
A gong sounded far below and Delphine slid quickly off the bed.
“I must go and dress. That’s lunch.”
Elvira, tired after the journey and her cousin’s verbal onslaught, felt herself quail.
“Would you object, cousin,” she ventured, “if I did not attend lunch? I should like to rest before meeting your father – and Lady Cruddock.”
She was expecting a petulant outburst, but to her astonishment Delphine turned on a gaze of quite sincere concern.
“Oh, you poor creature, of course you must rest. I’ve chattered on, haven’t I? I just don’t think sometimes, Papa says so. I shall make your excuses and I am sure they will understand. You must attend supper, though!”
“I w-will,” murmured Elvira, wondering at the sudden temperature change in her cousin.
Delphine disappeared with a wave of her hand. Elvira listened to her footsteps patter away down the corridor and then she began to unbutton her blouse. She slipped gratefully out of her skirt and her eyes alighted again on the pier glass.
She tugged at the dust sheet and stepped back as it slithered to the floor.
She stared quizzically at her reflection in the shimmering mirror.
Was it possible, as the stranger had said, that she possessed beauty? Singular charms? Was her breast – and here Elvira’s hand strayed to the area of flesh now visible above the line of her corset – was her breast truly marble white?
A Perfect Way to Heaven Page 4