by Mary Mackie
‘No, sir.’
‘Do you regret your… what did you call it? – your “change of station”? I understood from the rector that you were willing to come to Hewinghall. If I thought otherwise…’
‘Oh… yes. I was… quite willing,’ Lily lied. ‘Just a little… unprepared. Forgive me. I’m sure, when I am more accustomed to my new position…’
‘I want you to be happy,’ he said. ‘You must be sure and tell me if you are not.’
Lily could not imagine any circumstance in which she would be likely to tell him any such thing, but she answered again, ‘You’re very kind, Sir Richard. I’m only sorry…’ She knew she ought not to mention it, but the words burst out of her anyway: ‘The thing is… I had a new gown made for the ball this evening. A beautiful gown! I was so looking forward to…’
The gentle smile in his eyes said he understood. ‘Then you must wear it. Of course you must.’
Lily stared at him, feeling herself sway a little, as if she were dizzy. ‘May I? But Lady Fyncham said… I’m not to be a guest. I must play the governess. Looking after Bella.’
‘My dear Miss Clare… You were invited to attend the ball as yourself. You must come as yourself. In the circumstances, I think we can flout convention, just a little, just for once.’ His smile widened, asking her to collude with him. ‘I’m already considered eccentric because I adore and spoil my daughter. If I allow some extra privileges to her new governess, it will be in character, don’t you think? And we’ll have your friend Jess on hand, too – she can take Bella to bed when the excitement grows too much for her.’
Lily’s face brightened with incredulous joy. She could have kissed him. What a lovely, understanding man he was! Oh, she’d been an idiot to worry so, she should have known all would be well – the gypsy had told her so. Now she could wear her gown, and dance with Ash. ‘Oh… thank you!’
‘We like to keep a happy household,’ he said with a smile, and, enjoying the sound of alliteration, emphasised the aspirants: ‘A happy household, here at Hewinghall.’
A soft laugh broke from Lily as she added, ‘A wholly happy household.’
‘Splendid!’ he laughed. ‘We shall teach Bella to enjoy words, too.’ Nodding at her, he moved away. ‘I shall see you later, Miss Clare.’
While Bella slept, Lily found herself pacing the schoolroom in a fever of hope and anxiety. It was all working out – she was going to the ball, as a guest, in her new gown. Now, all that was needed was for Ash to come, as promised. Oh, of course he would come!
She would be Cinderella at the ball, appearing in her glory despite the efforts of an evil mistress to clothe her in subservience. Whatever the consequences, nothing else would matter once her prince appeared and swept her into his arms, claiming her before all the world.
* * *
For Jess, the remainder of the afternoon passed in a haze of sick fear. Merrywest hated her because of the wrongs he had done her. Would he harm her family, even if she kept her silence? She’d never be sure. She’d go through life wondering, fearing…
She managed her chores somehow, though her wrist was sore and her head aching. When Sal asked what had happened, Jess shook her head and moved on, knowing the other girl was curious about the marks of strain on her face.
As she was carting a last basket of crockery through the kitchen courtyard, the boy Gooden came running across the cobbles, doffing his cap with one of his nervous grins, saying, ‘Miss Sharp… can you come? Mr Rudd want a word. If you please.’ His glance indicated the game larder at the far side of the courtyard, where Jess saw Dash sitting outside, and Rudd’s sturdy figure just visible in the shadowy interior.
‘I’m busy,’ she said dully, though she longed to share her worries with Rudd. How lovely it would be to tell him the truth and have him comfort her and… oh, she was as bad as Miss Lily, dreaming hopeless dreams. ‘What do he want?’
‘Just a word, he say. That ’on’t take long.’ He’d stopped grinning. He looked as if he might burst into tears. ‘That’s important, miss.’
Suddenly apprehensive, she glanced again to where Rudd was waiting inside the outhouse: What was this? Dear Lord, she couldn’t take much more, not today. ‘Carry you this basket in for me,’ she instructed the boy, glad to relieve her aching wrist. ‘Mind, now, that’s heavy. Don’t drop it, or Mrs Roberts’ll have your hide.’
She crossed the yard with her eyes on the ground, watching her feet because the cobbles were uneven. Peering against the half-light, she stepped over the threshold into the game larder, where Rudd was writing in his tally book while Obi reached to hang yet more of the kill. Dozens of small feathered bodies hung in rows, dangling from hooks in the beams of the ceiling, and there was an odd, sickly odour that made Jess’s nose wrinkle.
Rudd gave her a sidelong glance. ‘Never been in a game larder before, Miss Sharp?’
‘Never had no call – Mr Rudd,’ said Jess. ‘That wholly reeks.’
‘It’s the death sweat you can smell. You get used to it. Don’t you, Obi?’ But Obi only nodded and went on tying the birds in pairs and hanging them up. Rudd cast a bleak look at the carcasses. ‘Wish I could get used to seeing ’em slaughtered, though. It’s what I raise ’em for, but it right grieves me to see my beauties like this.’
‘Didn’t know you was mew-hearted,’ Jess responded. ‘Thought you was the hard man. Scourge of poachers – and their helpers.’
Another hooded look answered this sally. The uncertainty in it only annoyed her more, as did the tears that came hot behind her eyes. She denied them, tossing her head, saying defiantly, ‘Well, hear you this, Reuben Rudd – I was out on a message on Monday night, and that’s all I was about. If there was poachers after your birds, that wan’t nothin’ to do with me. Do you doubt that, then… then you can go hang! I hen’t got time to spare jawin’ about it. What’d you now want with me?’
He had opened his mouth to reply to her attack, but her final question made him pause. He glanced at Obi, who went on with his work. ‘I thought you might want to know – we found Miss Lily’s Gyp.’
His voice and grave expression told her that the news was bad. ‘Where? He’s not…?’
‘Looks like he got into a poacher’s snare.’ The hazel eyes held hers, full of speculation. ‘Tell Miss Lily I’m sorry. I’d have brought him to her, but it might have upset her to see him like that.’
‘His neck was broke,’ Obi said. ‘Strung him up on our gibbet, they had, along of all the stoats and jays and weasels. Blasted warmints, poachers.’
‘Obi!’ Rudd snapped.
The man desisted, but Jess had the full sickening picture; it would stay with her for a long time, poor little Gyp strung up among the rotting carcasses of predators, with his head lolling and blood on his silky coat. ‘Lord rot that Eliza Potts!’ she muttered to herself.
Rudd’s eyes narrowed, hardening. ‘That’s a right lousy thing to say. Eliza wouldn’t—’
‘Oh, yes, you’ll defend her,’ Jess flared, flinging up her head, not caring if he saw her tears. ‘Most men do. But I know her. She’ve alluss hated Gyp. And she hate Miss Lily. She threatened to do somethin’ against Miss Lily and now—’ Oh, what was she saying? Unable to bear the growing anger in his eyes, she turned away. She had no proof of any of it. Just because she disliked and was jealous of Eliza she had no right to make accusations. Besides, it was only confirming Rudd’s low opinion of her.
‘I thought you cared about Miss Lily,’ he said roughly.
‘I do!’
‘Then don’t repeat this wicked slander to her. In fact, don’t tell her any details. No need to upset her. Just say we found him. Tell her it was peaceful – natural causes.’
‘I’ll try.’ She shivered a little, knowing how upset Lily was going to be. ‘What did you do with him?’
‘Buried him in the wood. I thought she’d like that. I can show her where, if she wants to come and say her goodbyes.’
‘I’ll tell her.’ She was backing
away – away from the stench in the larder, and away from the resentment she sensed in Rudd. ‘Yes, I’ll tell her.’
But not yet, she wouldn’t. This was one piece of news that could wait, at least until after the ball.
* * *
Jess was allowed to watch the ball from the minstrel’s gallery, where the five-piece orchestra was placed. It lay over one end of the great hall, reached by a flight of narrow stairs from a door hidden in the panelling of the staircase hall – a door which George the footman showed Jess. She sat on a stool in a corner, out of the musicians’ way, half hidden behind pot plants and peering through a wrought-iron screen.
The ladies in the company below were decked in rainbow hues of silk and satin against which the gentlemen looked grand in their stark black and white. Lady Maud wore a nasty shade of green which went ill with her chestnut hair and pale skin, but Sir Richard looked noble. More people were arriving all the time, their carriages halting at the front door.
Guests were shown into the morning room, which had been prepared as a cloakroom – Sal Gooden was on duty there; they were then announced at the door of the great hall by Mr Longman.
The far end of the room, and the doors to further rooms where supper was laid out, were obscured from Jess’s view by the glare of light from the chandelier. A hundred candles flickered, their flames reflecting from the facets of a thousand crystal drops strung like necklaces from the gilded frame. Still, she could see most of the great hall, its polished floor, chairs ranged round the walls, and the great ladies and gentlemen who had all come to help Bella celebrate her day.
‘And the guest of honour…’ the master of ceremonies sang out, ‘Miss Bella Fyncham.’
As Jess craned to see, all eyes turned to the door beneath her perch, ‘Oh’s’ and ‘Ah’s’ mingling with ‘How dear!’ Sir Richard strode forward to greet his daughter with smiles, but Lady Maud stiffened and stared at someone behind Bella.
Now Jess, too, saw Lily. She walked demurely in her bright kingfisher gown, her head dipped and her gaze on the floor, following as Sir Richard led his daughter to greet her mother, amid a chorus of applause and cries of ‘Happy Birthday, Bella!’ Sadly, pale pink was as unsuited to Bella as that green was to her mother. Jess’s heart went out to the child.
Lady Maud bent to offer her daughter a cheek to kiss, then glared at her husband, muttering something to which he replied by beckoning to Lily, who dipped an immaculate curtsey. She had decked her dark hair with green and blue feathers to shade with her gown. Its sleeves were mere caps, leaving a daring amount of upper arm showing above her long white gloves.
She looked wholly elegant and beautiful, Jess thought mistily, thrilled that she herself had helped to dress Lily and do her hair. Oh, she did hope nothing would go wrong for Miss Lily tonight. She deserved better than she’d had so far. Jess asked nothing for herself – she’d come from nothing, turned out nothing and had nothing waiting for her. But Lily was different. Lily had high hopes and dreams. Please Lord, let Mr Ashton Haverleigh come, she prayed. Let him prove himself worthy of my young lady. If he do hurt her now, I don’t know what she’ll do.
She saw Lily move on to greet her adoptive father respectfully and Miss Peartree with more warmth. The old lady was obviously telling her how lovely she looked. Blushing, Lily leaned and kissed her cheek.
More guests arrived, filling the great hall and overflowing into adjoining rooms. The dancing began, led off by Sir Richard and his little daughter, much to everyone’s amusement. Among the throng the kingfisher gown mingled, now with one group, now with another, with Miss Peartree acting as chaperone, and when the dancing began Lily was not short of partners. She even danced with her papa.
But Jess, who knew her so well and could almost read her thoughts, saw her constantly glancing at the clock or eagerly watching as new arrivals were announced. She was waiting for Ashton Haverleigh.
Jess had started to watch the clock, too. She’d been told to be down in the staircase hall at midnight, to take charge of Bella. The child was dancing again with her doting papa, her face solemn as she watched her feet and tried to follow his steps. Some guests smiled at the sight; others looked askance – in some circles the squire’s affection for his daughter was considered excessive, if not downright unhealthy. Little he cared, Jess thought. Just look at him now, proud as a puffin. The fact that he’d lost his son made him all the more fond of his daughter. What was wrong with that?
As the music ended, Sir Richard lifted Bella into his arms, laughing. It wanted five minutes to midnight, Jess saw. She was searching the throng for a sight of Lily when George the footman gave a soft whistle from below, attracting her attention, beckoning her to come. It was time for Bella to be put to bed.
The orchestra members were setting up their next piece of music with a deal of paper-shuffling and muttered comments and laughter. Even so, Jess heard the loud voice below calling the names of yet more late guests. ‘Mr and Mrs Oliver Clare…’ Longman declaimed, and ‘The Honourable Ashton Haverleigh…’
Jess sighed to herself as she closed the door and went on down the narrow enclosed stairs. Thank the Lord he’d come! Lily would be happy now, for a little while at least.
* * *
Unable to be still, anxious because Ash was so late, Lily had made her way to the morning room. The front half of it was reserved for gentlemen, with a footman on hand and coats and cloaks arranged on a rail. Huge lacquered screens, brilliant with peacocks, shielded the inner half of the room, where stood a few chairs and a table provided with trays of pins, extra flowers, scent sprays and carafes of water. Two or three large mirrors reflected the scene. Ignoring the hovering Sal Gooden, Lily checked her appearance while, outside, the crunch of wheels on gravel presaged the arrival of another carriage. Only by an effort of will did she prevent herself from flying to the window to peer between the long white drapes.
She heard the murmur of voices as the new arrivals came in – a small party, evidently. She heard the gentlemen being greeted by the footman as, behind her, the ladies appeared round the end of the screen, the older one in mustard and claret, the other a golden-haired vision in…
Lily jerked round, doubting the evidence of the reflection in the mirror. But it told true: the first lady was Cousin Oliver’s plump wife, Letitia, and with her, golden hair piled in intricate curls, shoulders white against the outrageous frills and flounces of a gown made of tartan silk – scarlet quartered with greens, blues and yellow – was Clemency.
It was hard to tell who was most disconcerted, they to find her there or she to see them. Clemency’s eyes looked icy blue against the sudden hectic colour that stained her face.
‘Lily!’ Letitia Clare looked her up and down in astonishment and not a little displeasure. ‘Whatever… what are you doing here? And in such… We had heard you were employed as a governess.’
‘I am.’ Lily could hardly think. What on earth was Clemency doing here? Looking so stunning, too, her golden hair and the white skin displayed by an extreme décolletage being a perfect foil for the vibrant, ultrafashionable gown. She looked thin, her nostrils flaring like a nervous mare’s, her eyes too wide and bright…
‘Well, really,’ Letitia was saying. ‘I know the Fynchams enjoy cocking snooks at convention, but—’
‘Don’t be long, Letty!’ came her husband’s impatient voice from behind the screen. ‘We’re already late. It’s almost midnight.’
‘Mama, dear.’ Clemency laid a gloved hand on her mother’s arm. ‘Why don’t you go and join the gentlemen? I want to have a word with Lily. I shan’t be long. Tell Ash I shall be there directly.’
‘Very well, my love.’ She cast another look at Lily. ‘But don’t keep him waiting.’
Lily was hardly aware of her leaving. What had Clemency said? Ash? Ash was here? Escorting Clemency? Oh, surely she had misheard. ‘Did you say—’
‘Fetch me a glass of water,’ Clemency snapped at the waiting maid. ‘Fresh water. From the kitchen.’
Sal had been about to pour from the carafe on the table, but she paused, looking from one to the other, bobbed a curtsey. ‘Yes, miss,’ she said, and departed. There was silence now from beyond the screens – the others had gone on into the lobby.
‘Now.’ Clemency’s hand fastened on Lily’s wrist, drawing her away to a corner by the draped window, where she stared into Lily’s face with burning-cold eyes. ‘Yes, I came with Ash Haverleigh. You may as well know that we shall be announcing our engagement very soon.’ Her nails bit into Lily’s arm, even through both of their gloves as she leaned closer, saying in an undertone full of threats: ‘And listen to me, Lily – you’re not to say anything – not one single word – about that silly fib I told you last June. It was a fib. I only said it to shock you.’
‘No…’ Lily managed.
‘Yes!’ Releasing Lily’s aching wrist, she straightened her shoulders and tossed her head, adding, ‘The fact is, Ash and I had a rendezvous by the river, where unfortunately we were discovered. But I swear to you that was the first time we had been entirely alone together. There was never any improper conduct between us. You must believe that. You won’t be so hateful as to utter a word to the contrary, will you?’
Lily shook her head, though she didn’t believe a word. This could not be happening. Ash loved her – her, not Clemency. Clemency was lying. Lily could sense how high-strung her cousin was, nervous, brittle, and so very thin. She had been through some bad experience and now she was frightened. Lily could almost smell the fear on her. But what was she afraid of?
‘My parents thought the attachment was nothing more than infatuation,’ Clemency went on hurriedly, as if she wanted to have it all said. ‘They hoped that by taking me away for the summer they would put an end to it. They were wrong. Absence has only increased the bond between us. Our parents – mine and his – are now agreed that Ashton and I must be married very soon. Probably by Christmas. We are to live at Syderford for the present and he will work for Papa in some—’