by Anne Ashley
Rubbing the back of one hand against her cheek, Emma inadvertently transferred some flour to her face. ‘Lavinia was a little vague as to when precisely they would be arriving, but she considered it more than likely today or tomorrow.’
The landlady’s permanent frown grew more pronounced. ‘Did she mention who they were, exactly?’
‘The brother and son of her good friend Lady Fencham… You know, Martha,’ Emma went on to explain, when those permanent furrows deepened once again, ‘she’s that very stylish lady of about your own age who stays with Lavinia from time to time. Her last visit was about six months ago, shortly after the good doctor died.’
Memory stirred. ‘Ah, yes! I recall her now—always travels with an army of servants, and goes about with her long nose permanently in the air. I hope her relatives aren’t so haughty, otherwise they’ll receive short shrift here!’
‘One must make allowances for those higher born, Martha dear,’ Emma responded, hiding a smile at her one-time nursemaid’s blunt manner.
‘I don’t see why,’ was the swift rejoinder. ‘I don’t make allowances for you.’
Strikingly lovely, soft grey eyes began to twinkle wickedly. ‘Ah, but you forget, my dear. I’m merely a tavern wench, and expect no special treatment.’
‘That you are not!’ Martha retorted, the scolding tone very much more pronounced. ‘And I’ll have no more talk like that! Your dear mama was very respectable, every inch a lady, and your papa was the son of a gentleman. And I’ll thank you not to forget it!’
Scooping up the basket of soiled linen, which she had deposited on the floor a few minutes earlier, Martha went through to the laundry, not for the first time suffering pangs of conscience over willingly agreeing to her one-time charge making her home in the tavern. With hindsight, she now realised that what she ought to have done, when Emma had unexpectedly turned up on the doorstep five years ago, was try to make contact with certain of Emma’s relations.
Oh, but it was too late to do anything about that now, she reminded herself, depositing the basket none too gently on the board by the sink. At least there was one advantage to the girl’s residing in the inn—at least she could continue to protect the sweet child from the unwelcome attentions of predatory males, gentlemen or otherwise!
‘Well, in any event, their rooms are ready for them when they do arrive,’ she announced, having little difficulty in picking up the threads of the conversation, as she returned to the kitchen to discover the young woman whom she could not possibly have cared for more had she been her very own daughter now seated at the kitchen table, taking a well-earned rest.
‘And no doubt you’ve chosen to place them in the two bedchambers farthest from my own,’ Emma responded, the wickedly mischievous smile she had had since girlhood appearing once again. ‘I fancy only dowagers and elderly spinsters ever find their way into the rooms next to mine.’ Her tone changed to one of gentle, teasing censure, as she added, ‘When will you learn, Martha, that I’m no longer a naïve girl, susceptible to the desires of lascivious males? I’ve lived here for far too long now not to know precisely what takes place between the sexes.’
‘Yes, you do know, to my everlasting shame!’ Martha joined her at the table, those bitter regrets returning with a vengeance to plague her. ‘I should never have allowed you to remain here.’
Easily detecting the note of heartfelt contrition, Emma ceased her teasing. ‘What should you have done—packed me off to Bristol to live with my aunt Mildred, where I would undoubtedly have been coerced into marrying that nincompoop son of hers? Had Uncle Arthur still been alive, it would have been a different matter entirely. But you would never have been so cruel as to leave me at the mercy of his cunning widow.’
Reaching across the table, Emma gave one work-roughened hand an affectionate squeeze. ‘Besides, I have been extremely happy here. I have been permitted to do work that truly gives me pleasure.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind the cooking, Miss Em. The good Lord knows you’re gifted that way. But I never should have let you venture into the tap of an evening—mixing with all those rascally wastrels, and hearing all their vulgar talk which an innocent like you ought never to hear.’
‘Stuff and nonsense, Martha! Papa never attempted to shield me from the unsavoury aspects of life. I’ve come into contact with poor souls less fortunate than myself for as long as I can remember.’
‘Aye, I know well enough you have,’ Martha responded, with a look of staunch disapproval. ‘But you would never have done so had your dear mama remained alive to protect you. I’m not trying to suggest that your father wasn’t a good and worthy gentleman. I remember well enough that he was tireless in his efforts to help the poor and needy. It was just a pity he was less considerate towards his own daughter. He ought to have ensured that you were well provided for, Miss Em.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘Well, at least your uncle, God rest his soul, saw to that. It’s just a pity you can’t touch a penny piece of your inheritance until you’re five-and-twenty.’
‘Which is less than a year from now,’ Emma reminded her, that mischievous smile of old flickering yet again. ‘I shall be a lady of consequence then, with five thousand pounds to offer a prospective husband. That is when your troubles will really begin, dear Martha,’ she warned, rising to her feet to continue the daily bake of pies. ‘You’ll have every fortune-hunter for miles around hammering on the door, striving to win my favours. However, in the meantime—’
She broke off as her sharp ears clearly detected the sound of wheels on cobblestones. ‘Unless I much mistake the matter, our guests might well have arrived.’
Martha darted over to the open doorway in time to see a very smart carriage pull up in the yard. It wasn’t so much the fine equipage that almost had her gaping in astonishment as the tall, dark-haired gentleman who nimbly alighted from it a few moments later.
‘Oh my gawd!’ she muttered, alarm bells instantly ringing. After casting a furtive and faintly concerned glance over her shoulder, she scurried across to the door leading to the passageway. ‘You carry on with the baking, Miss Em. I’ll see to the gentlemen.’
She arrived in the coffee room only moments before her husband, armed with two portmanteaux, led the way in through the main entrance. Then her worst fears were confirmed when the tall stranger, preceded by a younger gentleman, entered the inn.
Her first impression had been one of natural grace and unparalleled elegance. Now, as the most striking violet-blue eyes, having adjusted swiftly to the dimmer light in the inn, and having taken swift stock of the surroundings, fixed themselves on her, she was offered her first glimpse of the stunningly attractive features beneath the mane of well-groomed, glossy black waves.
She had never considered herself a fanciful woman. Yet as the sun suddenly disappeared behind that thick blanket of cloud which had been slowly gathering from the west, and the inn’s interior suddenly grew very much darker, it was like a portent of doom. This was no ordinary gentleman. This man might well pose a real danger to her innocent lamb.
It took a monumental effort to curtsy and bid welcome, when “be gone” was quivering on the tip of her frequently sharp tongue. ‘Your rooms are ready, sirs,’ she added, glancing briefly at the younger gentleman who caused her no qualms whatsoever. ‘If you would follow me, Samuel will see to your baggage.’
After showing the younger gentleman into one of the large, low-ceilinged bedchambers which boasted a pleasant view across the fields at the rear of the rambling, whitewashed building, she threw wide a second door on the opposite side of the passageway. ‘I hope you’ll be comfortable in here.’
There had been precious little conviction in her voice which, if the faint twitch at the corners of that disastrously attractive mouth was any indication, had not gone unnoticed by the striking gentleman who continued to cause her no little concern. ‘I’ll return presently with hot water, and arrange for the rest of your baggage to be brought up to your rooms.’
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bsp; She turned, about to retrace her steps, when she bethought herself of something else. ‘What time will you be requiring dinner?’
‘Will seven be convenient?’ he responded, after consulting a handsome silver pocket-watch, and Martha was forced to own that he was certainly not lacking in manners.
‘That will be fine for us, sir, if you’re contented. There’s a private parlour off the coffee room, which you are welcome to make use of at any time. I’ll be laying the table for any meals you might require during your stay in there.’
After closing the door quietly behind her, she scurried along the passageway and down the stairs, successfully catching up with her husband as he was about to enter the tap.
‘Samuel! Samuel! Whatever are we to do?’
The homely, weather-beaten face betrayed surprise. ‘What do you mean—what are we going to do? I’m going to help Josh carry in the rest of the baggage, and see to it that the gentleman’s groom is made comfortable above the stables, and you are going to fetch our guests hot water.’
‘I’m not talking about that!’ she responded testily. ‘I mean, what are we going to do about…’ she nodded in the general direction of the kitchen, before pointing one finger ceilingwards ‘…and him?’
Samuel did not pretend to misunderstand. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, woman!’ he exclaimed in combined exasperation and amusement. ‘When are you going to stop mollycoddling the girl? Emma knows what’s what. And is more than capable of taking care of herself. Every time a gentleman who’s halfway good looking puts up here, you’re always in a fidget.’
‘And you can take it from me, Samuel Rudge,’ she warned, once again scurrying after him, as he headed down the passageway, ‘that that there gentleman’s a mite different from most.’
The fixed expression of comical dismay on Samuel’s plump, homely features, and the severe look of staunch disapproval on his spouse’s thin-cheeked countenance, as they entered the kitchen a moment later, was sufficient to indicate to Emma that at least one of the new arrivals was not precisely welcomed by the landlady.
‘Personable—er—gentlemen, are they, Samuel, by any chance?’ She winked slyly across at him. ‘Handsome, no doubt?’
He chuckled. ‘You’re a downy one, Miss Em. And no mistake!’
‘Ha!’ was Martha’s only response, as she busied herself filling two porcelain pitchers with hot water.
‘What a pity Lucy isn’t here today,’ Emma remarked, mischievously stoking the fires of Martha’s displeasure. ‘It will mean that I must wait at table.’
‘Oh, no, it does not, my girl!’ came the swift response from behind her. ‘I’ll do that, until we get busy in the tap.’ Martha tutted. ‘Trust Lucy Lampton to take a chill when we’ve guests putting up at the inn!’
‘It’s a wonder she don’t take a sight more of ’em, with the amount of time she spends flat on her back in the long grass,’ Samuel remarked, thereby earning himself the full fury of his wife’s wrath.
‘I’ll not have talk of that kind in my kitchen, Samuel Rudge! It’s bad enough having to listen to the crude remarks spoken in the tap of an evening, without having them uttered in here. How am I supposed to keep Miss Em halfway respectable when she’s subjected to such vulgarity?’
‘Oh, don’t talk so daft, woman!’ Samuel returned, half-laughing. ‘You think our customers don’t know Miss Em’s a lady?’
‘Which is more than can be said for Lucy!’ his wife countered. ‘I don’t know why you employ her, Sam…really, I don’t.’
‘Because she’s a good worker, that’s why, Martha, as well you know. What she does in her own time is her own business. Besides, she keeps the customers happy.’
‘Yes, and we all know how!’ Martha retorted, before whisking herself away with the pitchers, and leaving the kitchen resounding with deep masculine laughter.
Emma could not help smiling too as she watched Samuel depart by way of the door leading to the yard. Never had she known two people so dissimilar rub along together so well as Samuel and Martha Rudge. Not only were they vastly contrasting in appearance, but they were totally opposite in temperament too. Martha could be quite sharp on occasions, and was not afraid to speak her mind; whereas Samuel was such a placid, easygoing soul, good-natured and amazingly tolerant.
Of course, they had known each other from childhood, Emma reminded herself, as she removed the bread from the oven and replaced the loaves with the tray of meat pies. Martha had been born in the village, but had left when a young woman in order to seek a position as a domestic in Bristol.
Arthur Greenway, a gentleman of no little importance in that city, having recently married a widow with a young son, had been in need of extra staff and had employed the young Martha. By her own admission Martha had never been fond of her employer’s wife. She had, however, swiftly grown very attached to her master’s young sister, and had been only too happy to leave with Miss Greenway when she had married the Reverend Mr Joseph Lynn.
Emma clearly remembered how happy she had been as a child. Her mother had been such a gentle, loving creature, and Martha, although frequently cross-grained, had been no less affectionate. Emma also recalled how she had cried when Martha had left them to marry her childhood sweetheart, Samuel Rudge. Later that same year her own dear mother had unexpectedly passed away, and life at the vicarage had never been quite the same again.
Refusing to become melancholy and dwell on the less happy times in her life, Emma turned her thoughts to what to serve the newly arrived guests for dinner that evening, as she watched Samuel and the young stable-hand, Josh, carrying a substantial leather-bound box past the window. By the amount of luggage Mrs Hammond’s acquaintances had brought with them, their stay was not likely to be of short duration. But what on earth could have prompted such fashionable gentlemen to wish to stay in this rather insignificant, if pretty, place?
An hour later the subjects of her thoughts were leaving the inn by way of the front entrance. The thick bank of cloud, which had been threatening to release its moisture since their arrival at the inn, obliged Benedict and his nephew by not doing so until after they had taken an exploratory stroll about the picturesque village, and had arrived back at the Ashworth Arms to discover the table in the very comfortable private parlour already laid in readiness for their evening meal.
The moment he had sampled his first bite of the sweetest game pie he had ever tasted, Benedict was thankful that he had taken Lavinia Hammond’s sensible advice and had put up at this local inn, instead of taking rooms at one of the busy posting-houses in Salisbury. The sharp-featured landlady might not be the friendliest he had ever encountered, but the quality of her dinner, beautifully presented, its several mouth-watering dishes cooked to perfection, more than made up for her sad lack of geniality.
‘Well, I must say,’ Harry remarked, easing his chair back a little from the table in order to unbutton the dazzling waistcoat which had suddenly grown uncomfortably tight, ‘that was an excellent dinner. If we put up here for very long, I’m likely to require a whole new wardrobe of clothes, several sizes larger.’
Benedict smiled. ‘Yes, the meal was certainly something out of the common way.’
‘Pity the landlady’s such a sour-faced old besom. The look she cast you before we left the inn earlier would have withered a lesser man.’
‘Ah, so you noticed that too. Very observant of you, Nephew!’ Benedict’s smile grew more pronounced. ‘I strongly suspect that there must be a daughter of the house. Mrs Rudge’s attitude will undoubtedly mellow once she realises she has nothing to fear from us.’
‘If the daughter looks anything like her she’s certainly nothing to fear from me,’ Harry assured him.
‘No matter what she looks like, I sincerely trust,’ Benedict advised, before holding up a warning finger, as his sharp ears detected the sound of footsteps nearing the door.
A moment later the landlady entered to collect the dishes, her expression not softening one iota even when both Harry and Be
nedict complimented her on the dinner.
‘The Ashworth Arms has the reputation for serving excellent food, sirs,’ she responded before her nut-cracker mouth snapped shut. Then she unlocked it again to add, ‘The person responsible for preparing your meal will be bringing you port in a minute or two.’ She sniffed loudly. ‘You’ll be able to thank her in person, if you’ve a mind. But you’ll oblige me by not keeping her talking. She’s had a long day, and needs to rest.’
‘Dear me,’ Harry muttered, the instant the landlady had departed, ‘she don’t improve much with knowing, does she? And what makes her suppose that we’d want to hold a conversation with—’
As the door behind him opened again, Benedict saw his nephew’s eyes widen in astonishment. Curious, he immediately transferred his attention to the person who had induced his relative to gape like a half-wit, as she obligingly placed the tray containing a bottle of port and two glasses down on the table.
The face beneath the fetching cap was undeniably young and delicately featured, but it was not until she turned her head slightly, and he received the full impact of a swiftly assessing gaze from smoky-grey eyes, flecked with gold, that he could appreciate his nephew’s blank astonishment.
‘I understand, ma’am, that it is you we have to thank for our superb dinner,’ he remarked, momentarily studying the ridiculous length of the dark lashes which framed the stunningly pretty eyes, before reluctantly drawing his own away while he reached for the bottle.
‘Yes. I hope everything was satisfactory. Please do not hesitate to inform me if you have any particular likes or dislikes.’