Tavern Wench

by Anne Ashley

  ‘During my years on the Bench I have been forced to listen to numerous accounts of violence. Quite sickening, some of them, most especially those perpetrated against the weaker sex. Yet I would be less than honest, Grantley, if I didn’t acknowledge that there have been occasions when the palm of my hand has quite itched to administer a slap to that ward of mine.’

  A reluctant smile tugged at one corner of Benedict’s mouth. ‘I applaud self-restraint as a rule, sir. But I too would be less than honest if I did not own to the fact that I might have wished that you had yielded to temptation on occasions.’

  Sir Lionel’s deep rumble of appreciative laughter vanquished the faint atmosphere of restraint which had needlessly arisen between them, and for a few minutes they spoke quite without reserve, until the Baronet recalled the reason he had abandoned his position by the door in order to have a private word with the gentleman who had swiftly earned his respect.

  ‘By the by, I received a communication from Richard Ashworth this morning. He’s at last arrived in this country, and is at present in the capital. He plans to travel to Wiltshire in the very near future, although he did not specify precisely when.’

  He saw the faint lines appear across the high, intelligent brow, and experienced a twinge of mild irritation. ‘I wish you would take me fully into your confidence, Grantley,’ he urged, having sensed the younger man’s unwillingness to do this. ‘I made it clear at the start that I wished to be kept informed of any small details which you might have unearthed concerning Hammond’s death. Yet I have felt increasingly that you are reluctant to trust me.’

  ‘Disabuse yourself of such a notion, sir. It is far from the truth,’ Benedict assured him, his worried expression still very much in evidence. ‘It is just that I am disinclined to point an accusing finger at anyone unless I am very sure of my facts. As yet I am far from certain, and, until I am, I would prefer to keep my suspicions, for that is all they are, to myself.’

  He regarded the older man intently for a moment. ‘There is one task, however, that you might undertake when the young Lord Ashworth eventually does arrive here… Watch over him.’

  ‘God damn it, Grantley!’ Sir Lionel exploded. ‘If you believe the boy’s life might be in danger, then I demand to know on what grounds you base this judgement!’

  Although he could appreciate the older man’s wrath, Benedict remained doggedly determined not to commit himself quite yet. ‘Sir, I do not believe for a moment that you would ever pass judgement on a fellow human being without first being very certain that the person standing before you had indeed committed some crime. And so it is with me. I have my suspicions—yes. But as yet that is all they are. A hazy picture is beginning to build up in my mind,’ he felt obliged to admit in an attempt to soothe the Baronet’s understandable ire, ‘but there are still areas, many salient details, still to be uncovered before everything becomes perfectly clear.’

  That winning smile, which even the vast majority of his own sex found hard to withstand, successfully induced a nod of assent from Sir Lionel. ‘The truth of the matter is, sir,’ he continued, ‘I have suffered something of a highly pleasurable distraction since my arrival at Ashworth Magna which has tended to occupy my thoughts—a rare occurrence, believe me, but one that I shall never regret having experienced to my dying day.’

  Benedict then turned his attention once again to those taking part in the dance in time to glimpse a second expression of dismay flit over a delicately featured face, and guessed at once what must have occurred. ‘Yes, it is high time I successfully settled the matter of the delightful distraction. Then I shall be more able to concentrate on the business which prompted my visit to your county.’

  Benedict’s suspicions were correct: her energetic partner’s less-than-perfect footwork had succeeded in wreaking the inevitable damage to the hem of her dress, and the instant the set came to an end, Emma sought the aid of the Ashworths’ aged butler.

  He cast her a glance of fatherly concern as he accompanied her from the salon. ‘Don’t you worry, Miss Emma,’ he advised, leading the way across the lofty hall, and into a small parlour. ‘You wait in here and I’ll send Mary to you. She’ll have the gown put to rights in a trice.’

  Left alone, Emma made herself comfortable in one of the chairs, and looked about the room with interest. There were none of the elegant silk-covered sofas and fine Sheraton chairs which lined the walls of the salon, where the party was taking place, to be found in here; only an old-fashioned, low-backed sofa, festooned with an assortment of cushions, and three slightly worn winged chairs. Undoubtedly this room was used by the family when not entertaining guests as a place where they could sit in comfort and relax of an evening.

  As the door opened again she withdrew her attention from the area of threadbare carpet near the hearth, and looked up to see Mary, her wide eyes clearly betraying astonishment, enter the room.

  ‘So it is you, Miss Em! Why, I couldn’t hardly believe it when Mr Troughton said as how it was you that had torn the hem of your dress.’

  Emma could not forbear a smile at this somewhat artless disclosure. ‘I can hardly believe I’m a guest in this house myself, Mary,’ she confessed. ‘And it was Colonel Meecham who tore my gown.’

  Mary, having knelt on the floor to examine the rent, raised her eyes ceilingwards. ‘You’d have thought a man of his age would have given up prancing about a dance floor long since. I only hope he don’t ask Miss Clarissa to stand up with him again. Tore her gown at the party here last Christmas. And what a commotion she set up over that! Still,’ Mary shrugged, ‘it were a judgement on her is what I say. Shouldn’t have been dancing at all, what with her father not six months in his grave.’

  Emma’s interest in Clarissa Ashworth was lukewarm at best. None the less, she wasn’t prepared to waste the golden opportunity the damage to her dress had given her to discover something which might be of interest to Benedict.

  ‘Miss Clarissa is something of a troublesome young mistress, is she, Mary?’

  ‘She can be contrary at times, and no mistake. But she ain’t as bad as certain people make out…providing she gets her own way, that is.’

  Once again Emma found herself smiling at the young maid’s honesty. ‘I’m rather surprised to find you here. You’re usually back home by this time, aren’t you?’

  ‘I always stays in the house when there are guests here, Miss Em. Miss Ashworth has her cousin, Mr Cedric, and his family staying here at present. So I’ll remain here until they go next Thursday.’ She paused in her sewing of the hem to cast Emma a swift glance. ‘Mind you, what I says is it’s high time Miss Isabel employed some extra staff. She always gets one or two of the village women to help out from time to time, but we’re in desperate need of another maid, and a footman.’

  The opening was there and Emma did not hesitate to take advantage of it. ‘Ahh, yes! I remember Mrs Wright mentioning something about that. Miss Ashworth never did replace the maid who died here, did she?’ No response was forthcoming this time, so she adopted a different tack. ‘You must find the house somewhat changed these past months, Mary—what with Lord Ashworth’s demise, the servant girl’s—er—accident, and then poor Miss Spears’s death. The place must seem quite empty.’

  ‘It do that. Though I did hear tell that Miss Spears wrote Miss Isabel a letter saying that she had no intention of coming back here as she were going to stay in London with her sister. Which didn’t surprise me none.’ Mary cast a brief glance over her shoulder before adding in an undertone, ‘Overheard Miss Spears talking to Sally one day. Sally were saying as how she wouldn’t be here much longer on account of her coming into some money. And Miss Spears said that she didn’t intend remaining neither, and had been looking for a new position. Mind, I don’t know who were going to leave Sally money. Her father were only a farm labourer, like mine. She used to keep house for him until he died. If she did have some rich relations, why didn’t she go and live with them, instead of coming down here? I reckon it
were all talk myself.’

  ‘Yes, you might be right,’ Emma agreed, before remarking on the fact that it was strange Miss Spears should suddenly take it into her head to leave, after working for the Ashworth family for so many years.’

  ‘Ahh, well, she were a funny old stick, and no mistake! Forever creeping about she were, and you’d never know she were there. Remember one occasion late last summer when Miss Isabel came out of the library, after she’d been talking with the steward in there, and caught Miss Spears hovering in the hall near the library door. Took her roundly to task, Miss Isabel did. Which ain’t like her. She’s so calm and quietly spoken as a rule, but she weren’t then.’

  Interesting, Emma thought, but said, ‘Perhaps Miss Spears resented the reprimand and that was why she was so determined to leave at the first opportunity.’

  ‘That I couldn’t say.’ Mary set a last neat stitch, before snipping the thread and rising to her feet. ‘I can tell you something, though—Miss Ashworth ain’t been quite herself since her brother died. She certainly weren’t best pleased when she found out that her cousin, Mr Cedric, weren’t the heir.’ Again Mary cast a swift glance over her shoulder towards the door. ‘Between you and me, Miss Em, I reckon Miss Ashworth were hoping to marry Miss Clarissa to Mr Cedric’s son. There’s been talk of it for years. Miss Ashworth’s always had her niece’s best interests at heart. Why, Miss Clarissa’s own mother couldn’t have taken better—’ Mary broke off as the door opened, and none other than Miss Ashworth herself entered the room.

  After discovering the urgent repair had been completed, she dismissed the maid, and then turned to Emma. ‘I am here at Mr Grantley’s behest, Miss Lynn. He wishes to remind you that you have promised him the first waltz, which is due to begin shortly.

  ‘Such a charming gentleman, Mr Grantley,’ she added, surprising Emma somewhat by accompanying her from the room, and pausing in the hall, which forced Emma to do likewise. ‘Have you been acquainted with him for very long?’

  ‘Only since his arrival at the inn, ma’am.’

  ‘You must find life at the inn far different from the life you led in a vicarage, my dear,’ Miss Ashworth remarked, thereby betraying the fact that she had at some point during the evening taken the trouble to discover something about her unexpected guest.

  But why this sudden interest? Emma wondered. During the past five years Isabel Ashworth had never betrayed the least desire to get to know her a little better. Why, she had never once offered even to pass the time of day when they had attended the same service at church on Sundays!

  ‘Indeed, it is vastly different, ma’am.’

  ‘You must be kept very busy at present with two guests staying.’ A slight frown added more lines to the high, intelligent brow. ‘I wonder why Mr Grantley chose to put up at the inn, when he might have stayed with Lavinia Hammond? He is a close friend of hers, I understand?’

  ‘They are certainly acquainted, ma’am, but I think it would be more accurate to say that Lavinia is a close friend of Mr Grantley’s sister, Lady Agnes Fencham.’

  Although her hostess appeared satisfied with this, Emma remained on her guard when the penetrating dark eyes continued to regard her rather searchingly. ‘What, I wonder, can have brought him to this part of the world? Such a fashionable gentleman is usually to be found in town, enjoying the Season.’

  Whether or not Benedict truly suspected that someone residing at Ashworth Hall might in some way be connected with Dr Hammond’s death, Emma wasn’t sure, but she did feel certain that, had he wished her to know his reason for being in the area, he would have taken Isabel Ashworth into his confidence on the evening he had dined here. Patently he did not wish her to know.

  ‘Did he not mention, ma’am, when he dined with you the other evening, that he’s on a sightseeing tour with his nephew? I understand they intend to move on to Somerset quite soon,’ she responded, improvising quite beautifully, and wondering just at what point in her life she had learned to lie so convincingly.

  Once again her hostess appeared satisfied with the explanation, for she gave a faint nod of her head before moving towards the salon, where they discovered the subject under discussion hovering near the entrance.

  ‘I have brought her to you as I promised I should, Mr Grantley,’ she announced, as he turned at their approach, that wonderful smile which never failed to send Emma’s foolish young heart fluttering coming effortlessly to his lips.

  ‘And perfectly restored to order, I see,’ he responded, with a slight bow in their hostess’s direction, before entwining Emma’s arm through his.

  ‘Was it perhaps my reason for being in the district that our esteemed hostess was endeavouring to discover a moment ago, my little love?’ he astonished Emma by asking the instant they had moved a safe distance away.

  His perspicacity was quite frightening on occasions, Emma was forced silently to concede. The dreadful possibility that he might already have penetrated her most secret thoughts crossed her mind before she confirmed his suspicions. ‘Needless to say I didn’t reveal anything. But I cannot imagine your real motive will remain a secret for very much longer. You’ve been asking a good many questions. People are bound to become suspicious.’

  ‘Unless I very much mistake the matter our hostess is already suspicious. Do not underestimate her, Emma. Behind that quiet reserve lurks a keen intelligence and a deal of ruthlessness and cunning.’

  She wasn’t granted the opportunity to ponder over whether this was an accurate assessment or not, for the musicians hired for the evening struck up a chord, and her thoughts were suddenly turned in quite a different direction, as they took up their positions for the commencement of the waltz.

  Although powerless to control the suddenly erratic behaviour of her pulse, as one masculine hand slid to her waist and the other captured her fingers, Emma was determined not to disgrace herself by missing a step, and resolutely focused her attention on the neat arrangement of the well-starched neckcloth, as they began to swirl about the room.

  ‘The top of your head is quite charming, and your hair is looking particularly lovely tonight,’ the faintly amused voice from above drawled, ‘but I rather think I would prefer to look at your beaux yeux, my darling.’

  How she wished he would not use such sweet endearments when addressing her! Raising her head, she looked into those dark blue eyes which had so swiftly melted her foolish young heart. And she was foolish to feel as she did, she silently reminded herself. Incredibly so! What possible future could they ever have together? It was madness even to suppose it might happen.

  ‘What is it?’ His gaze was suddenly searching. ‘What has occurred to upset you?’

  ‘Why, nothing…nothing at all!’ The sceptical arch of one black brow proved that he was patently unimpressed by this assurance. ‘Well, if I do seem a little preoccupied it is simply because I am determined not to step on your toes. Tell me,’ she went on hurriedly, in an attempt to prevent him from probing further, ‘have you stood up with the belle of the ball yet?’

  ‘I am standing up with her.’ He smiled at the telltale surge of colour. ‘I rarely dance these days, Emma, and never with spoilt children.’

  She did not pretend to misunderstand, and glanced fleetingly in the direction where Clarissa sat, still surrounded by several ardent admirers. ‘I was not offended by what she said,’ she declared. ‘It was no more than I expected.’

  ‘Be assured it will not occur again,’ he pledged, his lips set in a grim line, and she swiftly changed the subject by asking him if he was acquainted with certain other members of the Ashworth family.

  He allowed his gaze to stray momentarily to that spot in the room where a portly, middle-aged gentleman stood beside a chair, upon which a sallow female in a fussily adorned puce gown was seated. ‘I take you to mean the abominable Cedric Ashworth, his insipid wife Caroline, and their obnoxious son Percy.’ His brow rose. ‘What is your interest in them, my sweet life?’

  Once again forcing herself to
ignore the endearment, she related what she had discovered a little earlier, and was surprised to find herself the recipient of a rather disapproving look.

  ‘I did not bring you here this evening so that you might question the servants, and you will cease to do so forthwith,’ he informed her in a tone which brooked no argument. ‘You are here to enjoy yourself, my girl.’

  Although she discovered herself once again very much resenting the dictatorial tone, the command itself was not in the least difficult to obey, and all too soon, it seemed, Emma found herself seated once more in the comfortable carriage, heading back towards the village.

  Lavinia and Deborah did not linger over their farewells, and Harry too appeared eager to seek his bed, for no sooner had they entered the coffee room at the Ashworth Arms, where some considerate soul had left a lamp burning low, than he picked up one of the candles, lit it and did not delay in bidding a swift goodnight.

  Once the sound of his footsteps along the passageway above had died away, the inn seemed strangely quiet, and Emma was intensely aware that the man standing silently beside her was staring fixedly at her profile. She had never once experienced the least reticence in being alone with him, and she certainly wasn’t the least uncomfortable now. Yet the atmosphere since Harry’s departure seemed quite different, charged with something almost tangible.

  ‘I think it is time we too sought our beds, sir,’ she suggested, and reached up to throw the top bolt across the door, only to have her hand captured and held in a firm clasp.

  ‘No, not yet,’ he countered, his attractive voice thickened by a strangely husky note. ‘There is something I wish to say to you first.’

  As she found herself being turned to face him squarely, the shawl slipped a little off her shoulders, drawing her attention, and reminding her of a lamentable oversight on her part. ‘And there is something I wish to say to you, sir. Firstly, I would like to thank you for perhaps the most pleasurable evening I’ve ever spent in my life.’