By the time Hannah returned downstairs a couple of hours had passed. Returning the young mistress’ luncheon tray to the kitchen, she was about to retire to her room for a while when she heard someone weeping. The sound was coming from a small room at the back of the kitchen that was kept for the sole use of Mrs. Hudson. Hannah hovered outside the doorway, wondering what to do. The housekeeper was prickly at the best of times, but she sounded so upset. Knocking gently, Hannah opened the door slightly and peered inside.
Mrs. Hudson was sat at her desk, the one where she usually sat every evening with a tot of brandy, pouring over the household accounts. Now she sat, miserably hunched over the dark wood, a letter crumpled on the surface and an old sepia photograph in her hand. On seeing Hannah, she sat up quickly in an attempt to pull herself together, quickly pushing the letter and photograph inside one of the desk drawers.
Despite her obvious discomfort she scowled fiercely at Hannah; annoyed that someone had witnessed her moment of weakness. "Yes Miss Simpson, is there something I can help you with?"
Hannah sighed. Why did the woman always have to be so cold towards her? They should be comrades in arms rather than enemies. "I just thought I heard something Mrs. Hudson and I wanted to check, to see if you were all right?"
The woman blew her nose on a delicate lace handkerchief that didn't look very practical and looked at Hannah through cold blue eyes. "Of course I'm all right. I'm perfectly all right. Why shouldn't I be?"
"I'm sorry to disturb you Mrs. Hudson." Hannah felt suitably chastised and closing the door behind her, stepped back upstairs. Something was definitely wrong and she had to find out what it was. Mrs. Hudson was not easily upset and it all seemed to be too much of a coincidence. Could there possibly be a connection with Lord Montgomery’s death? She would have to bide her time.
Later that afternoon, when the kitchen was quiet, Hannah ventured back downstairs. Both of the kitchen girls had gone off into town, having been given their half day leave early; there was not much work to be done with only the mistress at home now. Mrs. Hudson was at the market, sorting out the menu for the week, while Stephens was in the master’s room, organizing the clothing to be stored, donated, or thrown away.
Crossing over the empty kitchen, Hannah hesitated outside the door of the housekeeper’s room. Her throat was dry and she could feel her heart racing in her chest. Normally, she would not dream of prying into someone else's business, but it was something she had to do for the sake of her poor mistress.
Placing her head near to the door she listened carefully; all was quiet within. Glancing around to make certain she was alone, Hannah pushed slowly on the door.
There were no windows in the room and at first it was difficult to see. Opening the door wider to let in more light, she crossed over to the desk. What if it were locked? She would have risked being caught for nothing.
Moving her fingers below the surface of the desk she felt around for the small brass handle to open the drawer. Tugging lightly, the drawer opened with ease. She had half expected it to be empty, but Hannah's heart skipped a beat, for there lay the crumpled letter and beneath it a faded photograph.
The letter was short.
I need to see you urgently. I am staying nearby but it is a slum of a place. I need money and fast. Don't let me down like before. I haven't forgotten. I will call again tomorrow at ten in the evening.
A.
The words were threatening and there was an undertone of malice in the letter. Who on earth could be writing to Mrs. Hudson in such a hateful way? The words had obviously caused the woman much distress.
Hannah turned her attention to the small photograph and was surprised to see the portrait of a woman with a small boy sat upon her knee. The woman looked young but rather severe, with her hair scraped up into a formidable bun, the dark eyes looking directly into the camera lens. There was no doubt that the woman in the photograph was a younger Mrs. Hudson; but what about the boy?
He looked angelic in his sailor suit; a stray light curl dangling from his jaunty cap. There could be no don't that this must be Mrs. Hudson’s son; the same deep eyes with a touch of willfulness in the young man’s gaze.
Could this be the young Mr. Andrew Crawley, and the author of the letter?
It was hard to put an age on the picture. Mrs. Hudson could have been any age from twenty to thirty-five. But that could mean that the child would now be in his twenties, just like Mr. Crawley. There was no doubt in her mind that the author of the letter must be the same young boy in the old photograph.
Hannah started with fright at the sound of footsteps in the kitchen just outside, and in a panic stuffed the letter and photograph back into the drawer, just as Stephens walked past the open doorway.
"Miss Simpson, can I help you?"
She could feel her face flush, the guilt immediately obvious as her voice shaking slightly with fear. "Mr. Stephens. I was just looking for a sheet of writing paper. I have a letter to write and seem to have run out of my own paper. I didn't think Mrs. Hudson would mind.” The words came out in a garbled rush as she thought quickly on her feet. Mr. Stephens eyed her suspiciously, but displayed little emotion.
"I believe there are some sheets on top of the desk Miss Simpson. It's a cheap paper she uses for writing out the shopping lists, but no doubt it will be more than adequate and serve your purpose.”
Hannah had not seen the paper and her hand trembled as she picked up a few sheets under his watchful gaze.
"Now, if you have quite finished Miss Simpson?"
Stepping quickly out of the room Hannah could feel her whole body start to shake as Stephens closed the door behind her. Taking a large bunch of keys from his belt, he proceeded to lock it. She wondered how long he had been in the kitchen and what he had seen. He would be sure to tell Mrs. Hudson that she had been snooping around in her room, but had he seen her with the letter and photograph?
As she headed for the stairs the old man called her back. "Oh Miss Simpson?"
Halting on the bottom stair she glanced around, the butler standing, watching her carefully. "If you need anything in future, then please ask. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson or I will be more than happy to assist you.”
With his rebuke ringing hotly in her ears, she set off to tell Christabel all about her findings.
***
That evening as Hannah walked into the kitchen in readiness for her evening meal, she could sense a tension in the room. She could tell that Stephens had already spoken with Mrs. Hudson; her stare was icier than usual. Ruth and Daisy were still out and supper would be difficult.
"I'm not feeling too well. I think I'll take a tray to my room. The mistress is still asleep and I can take her something up to her room when she wakes.” Fetching a plate, she spooned some of the vegetables and meat onto it before covering it over with a cloth, and placing it on a tray.
As she was about to carry it out to the stairs Mrs. Hudson caught her by the arm. "Did you manage to write your letter Miss Simpson?" The cold stare in her eyes sent a chill right to Hannah's heart.
Chapter Five
The following day was a bright, beautiful spring day. Christabel had slept through until morning; exhausted by the events of the last few days. Yet her dreams had been complicated, disturbed by Hannah's findings. She had dreamt of the handsome and young Mr. Crawley. It almost seemed a slight on her husband, even if it was only just a dream. She had been staring over poor Charles grave when the young man had stolen up behind her and taken her by surprise. His strong arms had pulled her to the ground, onto the same earth that now covered her dearly departed, his hands up her skirts and pulling at her delicate undergarments.
Remembering her dream her hand reached beneath the coverlet and found the moist spot between her legs. It had only been a week since she had lain with Charles, but her whole body yearned for him. Touching herself, she could feel the hot wetness on her fingers. She found the spot, the one that Charles had so worked so wonderfully, licking it lightly with his t
ongue and bringing her to orgasm. Her nub was already swollen with longing and her fingers worked back and forth as she rubbed herself lightly. It wasn't quite the same as when she was with Charles, but it did the trick. Eventually, the dull ache started to ripple across her body into a feeling of sheer ecstasy, as she shuddered with a mixture of both pleasure and pain. At least for a short time her passion was sated and she lay back on the bed and rested.
The thought of Mr. Crawley was starting to weigh heavily on her heart and she could not understand her emotions. Could she be in love with Mr. Crawley? Love at first sight? She had certainly read about it in her novels but never believed that anything so wonderful could ever happen to her? She shook her head and laughed, maybe she was just being fanciful. There were more pressing issues to deal with.
Englebert had promised to call that very morning, and as she sat at her breakfast in the small sitting room she wondered what she would say to him, how she could keep him at arm’s length. She had barely started eating when there was a knock at the door and Stephens entered.
"Sorry to disturb you madam, but you have a visitor.” Christabel's heart sank. Englebert was here already!
Crossing the room, Stephens handed her a calling card.
Mr. Andrew Crawley Esq.
65 Belgravia Road
London
With her heart fluttering in her mouth, the young woman panicked, feeling the color rise in her cheeks. "Tell him I'm not at home Stephens"
"I'm afraid I have already told him you are at breakfast madam, and he is waiting in the drawing room.”
"Then tell him that I do not want to see him.”
Stephens hesitated for a moment. "Do you think that wise madam?"
He was right, of course, she would have to see him. It was just that she hadn't expected him to call so soon. "Tell him I will be down shortly, if he would be so kind as to wait.”
With a solemn nod of the head, Stephens left the room.
What to do and what to say? She would have liked to change into one of her prettier dresses, but she was still tied to wearing black. She blushed at the thought of wanting to look attractive for this stranger; this man who was due to push her out of her home and take her financial security. The man with an air of mystery and suspicion around him. This man who invaded her dreams with erotic intent. Well, she would not make the man welcome, of that she was quite certain.
As she stepped across the hallway to the drawing room, her boldness deserted her and she lingered for a while outside the door to think.
"Is there anything wrong madam?" Stephens appeared from the kitchen stairs. It would be no good to show that she was afraid in front of the servants and lifting her head, she placed her hand firmly on the door handle.
"I'm absolutely fine Stephens.”
He was standing by the window as she entered the room, his back to her. Taking in a deep breath, she walked towards him. "Mr. Crawley, what a pleasure.” The sarcasm was obvious from her tone.
As he turned around to face her, all of her steely resolve melted away; he was the most beautiful young man that she had ever seen. His bright blue eyes looked troubled and his face grave as he stepped towards her and gave a polite bow. He was different from all the other men she had met and he did not have the same animal look of lust in his eyes. He almost looked like a man she could trust.
"Lady Montgomery, forgive this intrusion on your grief and privacy, but I felt that I must come with haste to speak with you.” His tone was apologetic and she bid him sit in one of the high-backed leather chairs that were grouped in front of the fireplace.
As she joined him to sit, she could feel the burning in her cheeks and hoped that he would not notice the effect that he was having upon her. Her heart fluttered wildly in her breast and she felt almost breathless.
He began in earnest.
"After yesterday’s reading of the will I felt that I must speak with you Lady Montgomery. Your late husband’s brother appeared to be rather hostile towards me and I thought it neither the time nor the place to speak. I had no idea that your husband, the late Lord Montgomery, was my father until I received the solicitor’s letter a few days ago. It was hard to believe at first, and as much of a shock to me as it was, I believe, to yourself. But there had always been a mystery surrounding my parents. I was adopted by a young couple out in the country when I was a baby. I believe that my mother was unmarried and in service when I was born and had to give me away to keep her position. I often wondered who had paid for my schooling. It was obviously something that my parents could never afford; they were good, yet simple country folk.”
Christabel's heart went out to the young man. He spoke with conviction and truth; of that she was certain. He spoke well but as she looked at him she realized that his clothes were quite shabby; the elbows in his jacket were rubbed shiny with wear and she noticed a small tear in his collar. Her heart almost overflowed.
"I just wanted to tell you that I have no intention of evicting you from this house. As far as I am concerned, this is yours and I intend to ensure that you receive a generous yearly allowance.”
She could scarcely believe his words and a sudden brightness filled her, clearing away the clouds from her heart. Almost immediately, she felt ashamed for all her ill thoughts and suspicion towards the young man. "I don't quite know what to say Mr. Crawley. Your offer is too generous, but what about Edward, he is sure to contest the will."
The young man sighed. "I am hoping to speak with Mr. Montgomery, to see if we can come to some mutual arrangement. I am not a greedy man, I have never had wealth and it does not particularly bother me. I am sure there is enough money to keep everyone happy?"
Christabel sighed sadly, unconvinced. "Well, I wish you luck with that Mr. Crawley.”
Stephens entered the room with a sharp rap at the door, halting their conversation. "Excuse me madam, but Mr. Williams has called to see you. Shall I show him into the library?"
Andrew Crawley stood up sharply. "There's no need, sir. I must go at once."
Christabel’s heart sank at the thought of Englebert Williams. She would rather spend a pleasant morning finding out more about Mr. Crawley. "Please don't go Mr. Crawley. Stephens will tell Mr. Williams I am occupied at the moment and to please call back at a later hour. Whatever he has to tell me, I am sure can wait.”
The young man looked reluctant to leave but remained standing. “I'm sorry, but I really must go, Lady Montgomery. I have an appointment at ten o’ clock with Mr. Lewis. Perhaps I may call again tomorrow?"
Smiling she took his proffered hand and although he only brushed it lightly with his lips, the warmth of his body burnt against her skin.
Taking his leave, he hesitated and turned. "By the way, none of this Mr. Crawley business; please call me Andrew.”
Before she had time to gather her thoughts, Englebert Williams entered the room and the smile quickly slipped from her lips. The man rushed to sit by her side. "My dear Christabel, I have just passed that odious man Crawley in the hallway. What on earth is he doing here? Not evicting you already is he, the scoundrel? How dare he show his face in this house with Charles barely cold in his grave? Are you alright my dear?"
I was until you arrived, she thought wistfully. "I'm fine Englebert. I fear we were wrong about Mr. Crawley. He is a genuine man.”
Englebert Williams laughed pitifully in her face. "So he has charmed you as well, has he my dear? Well, I suppose he is young and pleasing to a young woman’s eye, but can't you see he is just trying to win you round? He knows that Edward will contest the will and wants you on his side."
As he attempted to put his arm around her she stood quickly to escape his grasp, and walked over to the fireplace. "He says I can remain here, live in this house. He will even give me an annual allowance.”
Englebert laughed again, the scorn obvious in his voice. "Surely you didn't believe him; this imposter? Why on earth would he give you this house and an allowance?"
Christabel suddenly fel
t unsure of herself. "He said it was the least I was entitled to and he wanted to do right by me.”
"I'm sure he does!" His tone was lewd, suggesting something unpalatable and he followed her to the fireplace and took her by the arm. "You are naive in the ways of men, Christabel. You are young and beautiful, yet you are penniless and are easy prey for such a man. Now let me look after you. You will be safe with me. I can care for you. I looked after you before you were married didn't I, after your father died? Without me where would you have been?"
Knowing where the conversation was leading, she broke away from his grasp. "You have been very kind to me in the past Englebert. It was good of you to take me under your wing and become my guardian, and for that I am very grateful to you, truly I am.”
"I could do it again Christabel. It would be just as before.” He had maneuvered her into the corner of the room by a section of old encyclopedia’s bound in red leather, and moved his body up close against hers. His touch repulsed her, yet she froze to the spot, unable to move.
"But I don't need a guardian anymore Englebert, besides Hannah can take care of me. I'm not a child. I am a grown woman!"
Grasping one of her hands in his, he slowly let his free hand run the length of her body; from the top of her shoulder to the slim waist and she shivered as his fingers lingered lightly on the soft curves of her breast. "I can see that my dear. And what a beautiful woman you are. I was not thinking of becoming your guardian but your loving husband.”
Recoiling at the thought she struggled to break free from his grasp but he held her tightly, inflamed by the touch of her body. He wanted more and pressed his face close against hers. "Am I so repulsive to you Christabel? Without me you have no one, no future. I have invested a lot in you, sweet Christabel, and I am looking for a return on my investment. Now how about just one kiss? That can't hurt, can it? You seemed to enjoy it in the carriage ride home yesterday. Surely you are not thinking of that callow youth Mr. Crawley? I’m afraid that imposter will do you no good."
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