by Anne Ashley
After filling the two glasses, Benedict subjected the sweet face staring down at him to a further swift appraisal, noting the delicate, high cheekbones, the small straight nose and the lips, perfectly moulded and slightly curling above the softly pointed little chin, before returning his attention back to eyes whose gaze was so refreshingly direct, distinctly lacking the flirtatious glints and coquettish invitation he had grown accustomed over the years to receiving.
‘Everything is…was perfect,’ he confirmed, before lowering his gaze and swiftly noticing the lack of adornment on her left hand, ‘Miss—er—’
‘Lynn…Emma Lynn,’ she obliged him, before enquiring what time they would be wanting breakfast in the morning.
‘Would eight be convenient?’ Benedict answered, not granting Harry the opportunity to do so.
‘That is fine, sir. And will you be requiring your meals served at the same times each day?’
Harry chuckled, thereby swiftly gaining her attention. ‘To be sure we shall, ma’am. Not a minute earlier, nor later.’ He noticed the delicately arched brows rise in surprise. ‘My uncle is a stickler when it comes to time-keeping,’ he explained, sublimely ignoring the flashing look of annoyance from the gentleman seated at the opposite end of the table. ‘He loathes unpunctuality. His life is run by the clock.’
Fine grey eyes, twinkling with more than just a suspicion of unholy amusement, again focused on ruggedly masculine features still betraying faint irritation. ‘Dear me. I should find that most tedious. Each to his own, though, I suppose, Mr…’
Benedict automatically found himself rising to his feet, and reaching for the delicately boned right hand, just as though she had been a young lady presented to him in any fashionable drawing-room. ‘Grantley, ma’am—Benedict Grantley. And this incorrigible young whelp, as you may have gathered by now, is my nephew, Harry Fencham,’ he added, when Harry, following his example, rose also to make his bow.
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, gentlemen, and look forward to seeing you both in the morning.’
She made to move over to the door, but Benedict was there before her, and held it open, thereby earning himself a rather sweet smile of gratitude before she swept out into the coffee room.
‘Good gad!’ Harry muttered, after tossing down his port and reaching for the bottle again. ‘I never thought the day would dawn when I’d be making my bows to a serving-wench.’
Looking distinctly thoughtful, Benedict returned to the table. ‘Miss Emma Lynn is certainly no serving-wench.’
‘Well, she’s certainly a dashed pretty female.’
Benedict raised his eyes from their contemplation of the liquid in his glass. ‘What else did you observe about her?’
‘She has a fine, trim figure.’
‘And?’ Benedict waited in vain for a further response. ‘Didn’t you notice the way she spoke? Her voice was educated—that of a lady.’
‘Yes, now you come to mention it,’ Harry remarked, after a moment’s consideration, ‘she did speak in a very refined manner. Deuced odd, now I come to think about it.’
‘Yes, most intriguing,’ Benedict agreed. ‘I think it might behove me to further my acquaintance with Miss Emma Lynn.’
Harry didn’t attempt to hide his astonishment. ‘What, you, break one of your golden rules by tampering with a serving-wench?’
‘Oh, no. I have no intention of—er—tampering at all.’ The thoughtful expression remained as Benedict continued to study the contents of his glass. ‘All the same, I think the landlady would be well advised to maintain her strict vigil where Miss Emma Lynn is concerned.’
Chapter Three
Neither Martha nor Samuel ever sought their bed of a night until the tap had been restored to order, and everything had been tidied away, by which time Emma was usually sound asleep. Consequently, more often than not, she was the first to rise, and the following morning was no exception.
While she busied herself in the kitchen, making a batch of rolls for breakfast, she couldn’t help smiling to herself as she recalled the expression on a certain someone’s face when she had emerged from the private parlour the evening before, after having made the acquaintance of the inn’s newest arrivals. She doubted very much that the handsome, fresh-faced Mr Fencham was the one causing dear Martha such concern. Oh, no! It was much more likely to be the suave and prepossessing gentleman with the striking violet eyes who was disturbing the calm waters of the landlady’s mind. And perhaps there was reason for dear Martha to be concerned, she reflected, for Mr Benedict Grantley was without a shadow of a doubt something out of the common way.
Emma had always prided herself on being an eminently practical sort of person. Although she had been blessed with a good figure and pleasing countenance, she had never attempted to take advantage of the fact that she had little difficulty in successfully attaining a second glance from the vast majority of masculine eyes, and she had certainly never come remotely close to succumbing to any displays of male gallantry. Yet she was forced to concede that when the very gentlemanly Mr Grantley had, seemingly without having to think about the matter, risen from his chair and opened the door for her to pass into the coffee room, she had definitely felt something that she had never experienced before.
She shook her head, as a slightly wistful smile began to play about her mouth. At that moment she could almost have imagined that she was a female of consequence, attending her first lavish ball and receiving the attentions of the gentleman she most wished to escort her on to the dance floor.
Unutterable madness! she told herself. How fortunate that Mother Nature had also seen fit to bless her with a deal of sound common sense! She must never lose sight of what she was—at best a gentleman’s daughter—well-mannered, well-educated and definitely chaste. None the less, she was certainly no highborn lady who could choose a husband from the most eligible bachelors in the land. To fall victim to such foolish fancies could only lead to wholesale disaster for someone like her. Perhaps darling Martha was right—it might be wise to steer clear, as much as possible, of the very agreeable Mr Grantley!
Fate, mercurial jade, had, it seemed, decreed quite otherwise, as Emma discovered for herself when she entered the private parlour a minute or two later in order to lay the table for breakfast, and discovered the immaculately attired subject of her recent thoughts staring out of the window.
The tiny exclamation of surprise was not sufficiently smothered, and she found herself on the receiving end of a rather quizzical gaze. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Lynn. Did my unexpected presence startle you?’
He had remembered her name! That strangely pleasing sensation returned to torment her. ‘A little,’ she admitted, thankful that her voice at least was behaving normally, even if her pulse rate remained annoyingly erratic. She glanced across at the clock. ‘I evidently misheard you, sir. I thought you required breakfast at eight o’clock, not seven.’
‘Be assured that your hearing is not defective, Miss Lynn. I merely rose earlier than expected.’
His smile seemed effortless, and was all the more attractive because of it, Emma decided, fleetingly wondering why the warmth of that blue-eyed gaze should suddenly make her feel like a gauche schoolgirl. She felt certain she was blushing, and gave herself an inward shake. Why, anyone might suppose that she had never received a smile from a gentleman before!
Striving to maintain at least the outward appearance of self-possession, she busied herself with laying the table. ‘How long do you intend to remain here, Mr Grantley?’ she asked, conscious that he was studying her every move.
If he considered the enquiry an impertinence, he certainly betrayed no sign of it. ‘I have no fixed plans. I intend to visit some of the sights. My nephew is a—er—gifted artist, and is keen to sketch various places of interest in these parts.’
Emma considered the explanation reasonable enough. ‘Well, there’s no shortage of those. I hope the weather remains fair for you. At least yesterday’s rain has cleared away, and it l
ooks set to be a fine day.’ She raised her head to discover him still watching her closely, his gaze not hard, precisely, but certainly penetrating. Not much, she suspected, ever escaped the notice of those intelligent eyes.
‘And providing that slug-a-bed nephew of mine rises early enough, we might succeed in enjoying some of it.’
Emma thought she could detect just a hint of disapproval in his manner, before he finally withdrew his gaze from her and turned to stare at the view beyond the window. Was he annoyed that his nephew might well keep him kicking his heels in the inn, or was something else not quite to his liking?
‘You reside in a pretty part of the world, Miss Lynn,’ he remarked, putting an end to her musings. ‘Are you contented here?’
‘I enjoy the country, sir. I’m really accustomed to nothing else. I think most people living in Ashworth Magna feel privileged to reside in such a pretty place. Your friend, Lavinia Hammond, was certainly very contented to live here.’
‘It would be more accurate to say that she is my sister’s friend,’ he corrected her, without bothering to turn his head. ‘I feel sure you must know precisely where she resides. When I explored the village yesterday evening, I didn’t notice any plaque or sign to indicate a doctor’s residence.’
‘No, Lavinia took it down some weeks ago. There will be a new practitioner arriving any day now, and she didn’t wish to give offence to him, or cause confusion by leaving it on show. She resides in the red-brick house set a little way back from the road. You cannot possibly miss it. It’s the last house but one along the main road to Salisbury.’
‘Ah, yes! I remember. Thank you, Miss Lynn. I shall pay her a call directly after breakfast.’
Faintly surprised to see him quite so early in the day, Lavinia Hammond was none the less delighted when Benedict walked into her comfortable parlour, only moments after the mantel-clock had chimed the hour of nine.
‘I never keep town hours when residing in the country, ma’am,’ he explained in response to her gentle teasing. ‘I have never found it in the least difficult to make the adjustment. Unlike some I could mention.’ Expressive dark brows drew together in a slight frown. ‘I left that young reprobate of a nephew of mine working his way through a positively disgusting quantity of ham and eggs, and enjoying the exercise so much that it wouldn’t surprise me if he demanded a second helping!’
‘Oh, so you did bring dear Harry with you!’ Lavinia was delighted to discover this, and didn’t attempt to hide the fact. ‘Deborah will be pleased. She looks upon him as a brother. Not that Harry requires any more sisters. I dare swear he considers he has more than enough with the four he has already, poor boy.’
She gestured her most welcome visitor towards a chair, before seating herself. ‘I’m not so foolish as to suppose that you’ve called merely to pass the time of day. So you must be here to ask questions. Not that there’s very much more I can tell you.’ As had happened before, when she had called upon him in the capital, she betrayed signs of unease. ‘In fact, since paying that visit to your London home, I’ve begun to wonder whether I didn’t simply overreact after that unexpected encounter with Evadne Spears.’
‘I have never considered you a fanciful woman, Lavinia,’ he assured her, swiftly dispensing with all formality, and smiling in a way which even managed to send her middle-aged heart a-fluttering. ‘Please refresh my memory, and tell me, as far as you can recall, exactly what the late Miss Spears did say to you.’
‘I came upon her quite by chance in Salisbury, on the morning she was awaiting the arrival of the stage to London,’ Lavinia reiterated, after quietly collecting her thoughts. ‘She told me that it was her intention to spend two weeks with her sister who had been unwell. She seemed very ill at ease, and, assuming that she must be nervous about making the journey on her own, I managed to persuade her to await the coach’s arrival in the inn. Quite unexpectedly she began speaking of the young parlour-maid who had died shortly after being employed up at the Hall, and hinting quite strongly that the girl’s death might not have been an accident.’
‘And how precisely was the young maid supposed to have met her end?’ he enquired, when she relapsed into silence.
‘It was generally believed that she must have tripped and fallen down the main staircase at Ashworth Hall. She was certainly discovered lying in the hall at the foot of the stairs.’ She frowned. ‘I clearly remember that there was something preying on my husband’s mind, after he had been to the Hall that day. Although he never attempted to confide his suspicions to me, I did, as I mentioned to you in London, come upon this after my meeting with Miss Spears that morning.’
Lavinia went across to the desk, and drew out a leatherbound diary, which she opened at a page previously marked before handing it to Benedict. It took him a moment to decipher the last entry in the late Dr Hammond’s faintly erratic scrawl, but eventually he managed to read: Not totally satisfied that Sally Pritchard’s death was accidental. Injuries not wholly consistent with those one might expect to find from a mere fall. Will consult with Sir Lionel Brent on Friday.
‘And did your husband meet with Sir Lionel?’
‘That is the odd thing,’ Lavinia disclosed, resuming her chair. ‘They not infrequently got together on Friday evenings to enjoy a game of chess. And they had previously arranged to meet on the evening of my husband’s death. Sir Lionel assured me, however, that he had sent a note that morning to cancel the arrangement, as he expected to be delayed with extra magisterial duties in Salisbury. After my husband’s body was found, Sir Lionel ensured that extensive enquiries were made, but the miscreants were never apprehended.’
Although she had answered his questions clearly, and without betraying the least signs of emotion, Benedict was not so insensitive as to suppose that she was not experiencing a deal of distress. Therefore he changed the subject slightly by asking if she was perfectly certain that there was nothing suspicious about the late Lord Ashworth’s demise, which had occurred a matter of a few months before her late husband’s tragic death.
‘No, nothing,’ she hurriedly confirmed. ‘His health had not been good for some time, as I believe I mentioned before. His heart was weak. But it was not the late Lord Ashworth’s demise which had concerned poor Miss Spears,’ she continued, after a further moment’s thoughtful silence. ‘Though she did seem to suppose, for reasons she chose not to disclose, that his nephew’s life might be in danger. It is sheer supposition on my part, but I imagine she must have overheard someone saying something, after the late Lord Ashworth’s demise, which upset her greatly. Not that we can ever be certain, of course, now that the poor woman herself is dead.’
‘Well, I can set your mind at rest on one point, at least,’ he announced. ‘The authorities do not have any reason to suppose that her death was anything other than an unfortunate accident.’
She regarded him in some surprise. ‘Did you pay a visit to Bow Street, then, sir?’
‘I certainly did,’ he confirmed, with a smile surprisingly betraying a hint of smug satisfaction. ‘I am not unknown there, and so had little difficulty in discovering what I wished to know. If Evadne Spears was uneasy about the death of the young maid, and concerned for the future well being of Ashworth’s heir, she certainly didn’t voice her worries to anyone at Bow Street. Furthermore, the authorities have no reason to suppose that her own death, as I’ve already remarked, was anything other than a tragic accident. The jarvey who drove the carriage that ran her down is a law-abiding man, and there were several witnesses who confirmed that he could have done nothing to avoid the tragedy. She simply wasn’t attending, and walked straight out in front of his carriage.
‘The authorities were kind enough to furnish me with the address of Miss Spears’s sister and I took it upon myself to pay her a visit,’ he continued, betraying the fact that he had not been idle, after her unexpected visit to his London home. ‘She gave me no reason to suppose that her late sister had confided in her. She did, however, impart the fact that she had
asked Evadne to live with her in order to help her run her boarding house. Miss Spears, it appears, had eagerly agreed, and on the morning of her death had sent a letter informing her employer that she wouldn’t be returning to Ashworth Hall. The sister did disclose that Miss Spears had never been very happy with the Ashworths, finding her charge something of a trial.’
‘I do not find that too difficult to believe,’ Lavinia responded, after digesting fully what she had learned. ‘Clarissa Ashworth is a very beautiful girl, but a trifle spoilt, I’m afraid.’
Appearing more than just faintly shamefaced, she gazed across at him. ‘It would seem that I owe you an apology, sir, for wasting your time.’
‘On the contrary,’ he countered, ‘the mystery is far from solved. Just because Miss Spears didn’t choose to confide in her sister, or visit Bow Street, does not necessarily mean that she had no intention of ever doing so. Remember, her sister had been ill, and Miss Spears no doubt had been fully occupied in nursing her, and had no desire to plague her sister further with her own problems. No, I fully intend to solve this mystery if I can…providing that you, in return, clarify something that is puzzling me.’
He held her full attention. ‘Why is it, Lavinia, that I find a young woman with the most refined manners and of quite apparent genteel birth working in a village inn?’
‘Ahh! So you have crossed the path of the divine Miss Lynn, have you?’ Half-smiling, she shook her head. ‘Well may you ask, Benedict!’
She took a moment to make herself more comfortable in her chair. ‘I do not believe I would be betraying darling Emma’s trust if I were to tell you that she is indeed the daughter of a gentleman. Her father was a clergyman who attained a living in Dorsetshire. He married Emma’s mother quite late in life. He had turned forty. But I do believe it was a genuine love match. Up until her marriage Emma’s mother had kept house for her much older brother, who was a partner in a successful firm of lawyers in Bristol. He himself had married a widow, with a young son, only a matter of a year or two before his sister married Joseph Lynn. I also understand that he continued to visit his sister, whom he adored, quite regularly after she had married.