by Anne Ashley
The man was a marvel! Emma was forced silently to concede as, following his example, she too decided to go up to her room to freshen up, and change her attire. She had a sneaking suspicion that dear Martha didn’t quite know what to make of the very gentlemanly Mr Grantley. She was a woman who very much appreciated good manners, and Emma suspected that his polite behaviour, clean habits and evident appreciation of the service he was being offered at the inn was slowly beginning to melt darling Martha’s ice-cool reserve.
Entering her bedchamber, Emma could not prevent yet another wry smile. Well, he had certainly succeeded in chipping away all of hers! Not that she had ever attempted to erect a barrier between them which, with hindsight, she was forced to own, might yet prove a grave error of judgement on her part. But how could she possibly have known that here, of all the unlikely places, she would meet someone who was…oh, so very right for her in every respect? Had she had an inkling of what was to befall her, she might have been more able to deal with the situation in which she now found herself.
Experiencing scant pleasure, she gazed about the prettily decorated room which had been her own private little sanctum for so many years, and was forced to accept that for the first time in her life she was utterly dissatisfied with her lot. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of the work she did—nothing could have been further from the truth. She had earned her keep and had been able to hold her head up, secure in the knowledge that she had been a burden to no one. Somehow, though, this undeniable fact no longer brought the satisfaction it once had.
Perhaps foolishly during these past few days she had begun to dwell more and more on how very different her life might have been if her father had not been quite so philanthropic, had not turned his back on the trappings of wealth, and had not ostracised himself from the other members of his wealthy family. Might she then have gained entry into Benedict’s world? Might they have met at some ball or rout, and become better acquainted during the dizzy whirl of a London Season? She had never known that world where the rich and famous gathered in fashionable salons, privileged to enjoy the very best that life could offer. Yet when Benedict was with her she was experiencing increasingly the rather foolish fancy that she belonged there, and not here. He possessed the most wonderful ability to make her feel in no way inferior, but his equal in every respect.
The fact of the matter was, of course, she just very much enjoyed being with him; much preferred his company to that of anyone else she had ever known. Sadly, though, unless she was very sensible, and swiftly erected a barrier between them, she might easily find herself falling hopelessly in love with a gentleman who in reality was far beyond her touch. Or had she, a taunting little voice queried, left it rather too late even to make the attempt?
With this very real possibility weighing heavily on her mind, Emma set about the task of making herself look more presentable, and gained a modicum of satisfaction, as she left the bedchamber a short time later, from the fact that, on the surface at least, she appeared as neat as wax, even if her thoughts and emotions remained an untidy, jumbled mass of contradictions.
As she descended the stairs, she clearly heard that attractive masculine voice bidding both Martha and Samuel to enter the private parlour. She hoped to be excluded from the meeting. Someone else, however, had other ideas, and arrested her progress across the coffee room by bidding her join the little gathering.
Having swiftly come to the conclusion that attempting to avoid all contact with him would be a complete waste of time while he remained at the Ashworth Arms, especially as he had proved already that he was not above seeking her out when he chose to do so, and that trying to distance herself was not the solution to her present predicament, she acquiesced to his request, but made it clear, as she entered the parlour, that she would be unable to remain for very long, as she must return to the kitchen shortly.
‘Lucy’s keeping an eye on the bread,’ Martha assured her, at her most grim. ‘And I’ve warned her that if she dares to ruin a second batch she’ll receive a sound box round the ears!’
No one appeared to doubt that the landlady would carry out the threat, least of all Benedict who drew out the chair next to his own, and waited for Emma to oblige him before seating himself at the table. He then wasted no further time in confessing his real reason for putting up at the Ashworth Arms.
‘So that’s why you’re here, sir!’ Samuel brought his massive fist down on the table, very nearly spilling the contents of the two filled tankards he had placed on the shiny surface only minutes before. ‘I knew it! I told Martha there was more to poor Dr Hammond’s death.’
‘And what made you think so, Mr Rudge?’
‘Because that very day Tom Pike sees two men skulking in the lane, sir, and that night, while he were about his—er—business, as yer might say, he spied ’em again, skulking behind the hedge, waiting like.’
Benedict had a pretty shrewd idea of precisely what occupation Mr Pike was engaged in, which possibly explained why he had not come forward to volunteer any information. Emma had been absolutely right when she had suggested it would be beneficial taking these two into his confidence!
Deciding it might be wise at this early stage not to probe too deeply into the affairs of the enterprising Mr Pike, he said, ‘Which would suggest they knew the doctor, or someone, would be travelling along that infrequently used lane on that particular night.’ He then went on to relate what he had learned from Sir Lionel earlier in the day.
‘Alice happens to be my niece, sir,’ Martha informed him, looking faintly troubled. ‘If she said she delivered Sir Lionel’s note, then I for one wouldn’t doubt that she did. She finishes at Sir Lionel’s place most evenings at six, or thereabouts. I’ll pop along to my sister’s house and have a talk with her, when I have the time.’
‘That would be of immense value, Mrs Rudge, thank you,’ he responded, thereby very nearly winning a smile from the austere landlady. ‘I understand from Emma that both of you were born in the village, and have lived here most all your lives. Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me what you know about the Ashworth family.’
Although he betrayed mild surprise, Samuel didn’t hesitate to confirm what Benedict had already discovered from Sir Lionel that day, ‘Well, that’s true enough, sir. Miss Isabel Ashworth and the late Lord Ashworth were twins.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘And Sir Lionel weren’t spinning no yarn when he told you everyone in these parts always thought it were a great pity that Miss Isabel weren’t a boy. Happen she were first born, too. She were the one with the brains, and the love of the land. Why, it were she who mostly looked after the house and the estate. Everyone’s always felt she’s looked upon it as her own.’
Martha nodded in agreement. ‘I’ve been told, although I myself weren’t here at the time, that that was why she was so put out when her brother upped and married, after a whirlwind romance, as you might say.’
Benedict’s brows rose. ‘The marriage was not planned?’
‘No, sir.’ Samuel took up the story. ‘Seemingly, after a brief courtship in London, Lord Ashworth married and brought his young bride back to Ashworth Hall. Miss Isabel were right put out about it by all accounts.’
‘Understandable, when you come to consider it,’ Emma put in. ‘Isabel no doubt considered herself mistress of the Hall, after virtually running the estate for so many years. Then for a perfect stranger to come along and usurp her position…well, it would be bound to make her peeved.’
‘Aye, there you have the right of it, Em,’ Samuel agreed. ‘Began to behave quite unlike herself after Lady Ashworth arrived at the house. There were talk at the time that she paid regular visits to Squire Penlow’s place. Which she never did before.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Benedict murmured, memory stirring. ‘I believe I did hear mention of some wild goings-on at the late Squire’s abode.’
‘Disgusting, some of the tales I’ve heard!’ Martha resembled nothing so much as an outraged hen. ‘The Squire’s son frequently had his
friends to stay. And indecent women visiting the place at all hours too!’
‘You can’t call Miss Isabel indecent, m’dear,’ Samuel pointed out. ‘And even if it were true that she did fall in with bad company, she didn’t do so for long. She upped and left and went to live with some maiden aunt, as I recall.’
Lines of deep thought etched Benedict’s high, intelligent brow. ‘And only returned when she learned that her sister-in-law had died giving birth to Clarissa Ashworth, I understand?’
‘Aye, that’s right, sir,’ Samuel confirmed.’ And took charge again, just as though she’d never been away. Which, I might add, was a blessing. I heard tell the baby weren’t expected to live, neither. But Miss Isabel, well, she gets a new nursemaid to look after the child, though whether it were this that saved the little mite, or that Dr Hammond arrived in the village at about that time, I couldn’t rightly say. I do know that Miss Isabel called on his services not long after he arrived.’
‘And she has taken care of the girl ever since,’ Benedict murmured.
‘Like her own daughter, as you might say,’ Samuel responded, and Emma noticed a distinctly speculative gleam appear in Benedict’s blue eyes.
‘Can you recall exactly how long Isabel was absent from Ashworth Hall?’ Benedict asked, after a moment’s silence.
Samuel rubbed his fingers back and forth across the slight stubble on his chin. ‘Five or six months, or thereabouts, I’d say.’
‘I see,’ Benedict responded, the speculative gleam increasing marginally before he changed the subject by asking about the younger brother.
‘Oh, everyone in these parts liked Mr George,’ Martha didn’t hesitate to confirm. ‘He were a real nice young gentleman. A bit wild, I suppose, but not like the Squire’s son.’
‘I gained the impression from Sir Lionel that he didn’t get along too well with his elder brother and sister.’
‘Well, that I couldn’t say, Mr Grantley,’ she responded, scrupulously truthful. ‘But it’s been my experience when there’s twins in a family that they do tend to stick together. And there was some six or seven years between Mr George and the other two. All I do know is that if the son is anything like his father, the new Lord Ashworth will be most welcome here. I overheard Mrs Wright mention earlier that there was to be a party up at the Hall to celebrate Miss Clarissa’s eighteenth birthday next week. It would be nice if he arrived in time for that.’
‘Ah yes, a timely reminder, Mrs Rudge!’ Eyes still glinting, only this time with an unmistakable hint of mischief, Benedict turned to Emma. ‘You have been invited to attend that celebration.’
She didn’t attempt to hide her astonishment. ‘What? You cannot be serious!’
‘And I cannot imagine why you might suppose I should lie,’ Benedict returned, deliberately sounding haughty. ‘But if you require confirmation, you may ask Harry when he returns from his trip to Andover with the Hammonds. Which reminds me,’ he added, turning to Mrs Rudge whose expression was now faintly troubled. ‘Do not be afraid that Emma will not be suitably chaperoned for the occasion. Both Lavinia Hammond and her daughter, Deborah, will also be travelling in my carriage, so everything will be quite in order.’
A look of approval instantly erased the worried frown. ‘Well, that’s all right then, sir.’
‘No, it is not all right!’ Emma countered, feeling as if she were being swept away into terra incognita on an unstoppable tide. ‘How can I possibly attend? I would be totally out of place at such an occasion and with such people.’
‘Do not be ridiculous, girl!’ It was difficult to say who was most startled by the steely element in Benedict’s voice. ‘You are the daughter of a gentleman, and you are closely related, unless I much mistake the matter, to one of the most respected and influential families in Derbyshire.’
‘Why, I do believe you’re right, sir,’ Martha announced. ‘I recall the late Reverend Lynn, God rest his soul, mentioning once that his family lived in that part of the country.’
‘Well, and what of it?’ Emma responded, having at last recovered from the shock of discovering that there was a surprisingly hard, determined streak in the personable Mr Grantley’s nature. ‘If you suppose for a moment that I would trade on the fact that I have some influential relations to gain entry into polite society, you are far and away out.’
‘No one who knows you would ever suppose any such thing,’ Benedict assured her. ‘You will attend the party because I wish it, and will be there under my protection.’
Much moved by this assurance, Emma hovered for a moment, tantalised by the prospect of being amongst those at a fashionable event, before fear of the unknown shattered the pleasurable vision her mind’s eye was conjuring up of her swirling about a dance floor on a certain gentleman’s arm.
She shook her head. ‘No, impossible. Besides, I have nothing suitable to wear. And before you suggest I don the dress I wore for Lavinia’s dinner-party,’ she added in response to the faintly sardonic lift of one dark brow, ‘you may save your breath. It would not be in the least appropriate to wear for such an occasion as a formal evening party.’
‘But I could make you something that would be,’ Martha surprised everyone by announcing. ‘I asked Mrs Hammond if she would kindly purchase a length of silk for me when she made her recent trip to London. I intended to make up a new dress for you as a surprise, Emma. I’ve got almost a week to do it, which ought to be ample time. You might be gifted where cooking is concerned,’ she added, ‘but you’re no match for me with a needle.’
Emma was about to protest further when she distinctly detected a certain highly suspicious odour. ‘If that is my bread burning…’ she muttered, before disappearing into the coffee room.
Benedict rose also. ‘Then I shall leave her attire in your very capable hands, Mrs Rudge,’ he announced, looking very well pleased with himself.
Martha watched him pick up his tankard and leave the room, before turning to her husband, the troubled look once again back in her eyes. ‘I wonder if I did the right thing, Sam, offering to make the gown.’
‘Course you did, m’dear. You’ll do a splendid job.’
‘I wasn’t meaning that, exactly.’
He reached out his arm to clasp thin shoulders. ‘I know you weren’t, but you can rest easy. Just because I’m a man don’t mean I don’t notice things. And I’ll tell you this, Martha—our Emma will never come to any harm at that gentleman’s hands.’
Chapter Seven
‘You might think it marvellous, Deborah, but I most certainly do not!’ Emma’s nerves were very much on edge, and she wasn’t attempting to conceal the fact. ‘I am being coerced by that wretched man into accompanying him to the party. And by Martha, too, would you believe? It was she who insisted I come here this morning to borrow your mother’s most recent fashion journals. I really cannot understand what has come over her. She’s determined I shall be the belle of the ball.’
‘And so you shall be,’ Deborah assured her, striving not to add to Emma’s obvious vexation by laughing. She simply couldn’t understand why her dear, and normally sensible, friend should appear so flustered, and echoed her thoughts aloud. ‘After all, Em, it isn’t as if you’ve never attended such affairs. I clearly recall your mentioning once that you frequently accompanied your father, after your mother had died, to numerous parties.’
Emma had almost forgotten that. It seemed such a long time ago now, when she and her father had attended social evenings held by the more affluent families in the parish. ‘But that was different, Debbie. My father was a well-respected gentleman, and I was his daughter.’ She shrugged. ‘Now, I’m just—’
‘And you still are respected by those who know you well,’ Deborah interrupted, refusing to allow Emma to belittle herself further. ‘No one meeting you for the first time would have the least difficulty in appreciating your gentility. Mr Grantley evidently doesn’t think any less of you because you have been forced to make your own way in the world. When you came here to di
ne the other evening, I could tell at once that he admired you, Em. And I was by no means the only one to notice, either. Why, even Harry remarked that he’d never known his uncle display such a marked partiality for a particular female’s company before.’
Emma had little difficulty in quelling the pleasurable sensation which this intelligence engendered by silently reminding herself that Mr Grantley’s displays of attention stemmed from nothing more meaningful than a desire to enlist her aid in uncovering the truth surrounding Dr Hammond’s demise. That, in all probability, was the sole reason why he was so keen for her to attend the party at Ashworth Hall. No doubt he thought that she might be more successful in quizzing the servants further than he would be, should the opportunity arise. It would have been flattering to suppose that Benedict wished to squire her to the party because he found her company agreeable, but she refused to delude herself, and swiftly turned her thoughts to something which had continued to puzzle her, before her sombre reflections had a chance to depress her still further.
‘I would dearly love to know how he managed to persuade Miss Ashworth to include me among her guests.’ She sat bolt upright as a dreadful possibility suddenly occurred to her. ‘I’ll wager she doesn’t even know! Oh, that wretched man! I’ll lay a monkey he quite brazenly asked if he might bring a companion, knowing full well that Miss Ashworth is far too well bred to enquire precisely whom he wished to escort.’
Deborah’s shrug betrayed the fact that she didn’t consider this very real possibility in the least important, even before she said, ‘Well, and what of it?’
‘What of it?’ Emma echoed, fearing her friend might well have fallen victim already to a certain black-haired gentleman’s pernicious influence. ‘I should have thought it obvious to anyone possessing a ha’p’orth of sensibility. I simply won’t go if it turns out to be—’
Emma caught herself up abruptly as the door opened and Mrs Hammond, carrying a substantial pile of the requested journals, returned to the parlour.