by Mary Nichols
Emma, remembering her role as companion, tried to shrink into the background, but it was difficult on account of her height and the fact that she was still wearing the blue dress and matching pelisse and a hat that did not help her to blend into the background. Mrs Summers turned and drew her forward, about to ask her if she might present Miss Hurley and Miss Charity, which would have been the correct thing to do if she were Lady Emma Lindsay, but remembered just in time that she was not Emma, but Fanny Draper. ‘Doctor Hurley, this is Miss Fanny Draper, my friend and companion, who will be staying with me for a little while.’
They nodded in acknowledgement and Emma remembered to give a brief curtsy and a murmured ‘How do you do’, and then subsided in silence while they continued their conversation, much of which centred round Lord Bourne’s death and how much everyone would miss him, and the appalling summer they were having. It ended when Alex invited them to call at Highhead Hall, and they went their separate ways.
Alex and the ladies had hardly gone a dozen yards when they met Mrs Griggs, wife of the Rector, her son, James, and daughter, Rachel, who had just descended from their carriage. Once again the presentations were made and Emma introduced. While Alex, Mrs Summers and Mrs Griggs talked and Rachel answered a question Alex had put to her, Emma became aware that James was looking at her with an expression that seemed to say, ‘Here is someone I might have a little fun with.’ It made her feel uncomfortable and she turned away, pretending to study a row of jars in the window of a tobacconist’s. She did not turn back again until she heard Alex issue another invitation for them all to visit Highhead Hall.
Emma began to think there were drawbacks to being a companion she had not considered, one of which was to have to stand by and watch Viscount Malvers making polite conversation with single young ladies who obviously found him fascinating, and be able to do nothing to divert him, though her motives for wanting to do that she would not go into, preferring to put it down to being unfamiliar with the ways of society in what many might consider a rural backwater. In London, as Lady Emma, she could have held her own, but here, as Fanny Draper, she was constrained by her role. It was just one more injury to lay at the door of her stepfather. What sort of coil had her disappearance put him in with Lord Bentwater? she wondered. Whatever it was, she was not going to give in. Never. If being married was anything like the existence her mother endured with her second husband, she would stay single.
Alex left them on the corner of the market place and Mrs Summers took Emma’s arm and led her into a shop that seemed to deal in nothing but strong wool skirts, thick boots and all-enveloping coats with capes. ‘You will need clothes like this if you are to go walking in the hills,’ Mrs Summers said.
‘When am I to go walking in the hills?’ Emma asked. ‘You don’t go, do you?’
‘Not any more, but I used to love it. I know Alex likes it, and, if he should ask you to accompany him, you must be equipped for it.’
‘I cannot do that. It is not part of my job as a companion to leave you alone while I go off enjoying myself.’
‘Your job, my dear, is to please me and if it pleases me to see you enjoy yourself, you have no choice in the matter. Now, let us see what they have to offer.’
There was no gainsaying her, but when Emma saw the prices of these sturdy garments she was shocked. There was nothing five guineas would buy except woollen hose and gloves. ‘But, Mrs Summers,’ she protested, ‘I cannot afford—’
‘Of course you cannot. It is the duty of any self-respecting employer to kit out her companion, did you not know that?’
Emma doubted it, but she did not want to hurt the old lady by arguing. Some day, she did not know when, she would make it up to her. They chose a walking outfit, a plain black skirt gathered into the waist, but full at the hem, which was slightly shorter than her day dresses to allow her freedom of movement. With it was a white blouse and a black military-style jacket. Having paid for them, they carried their purchases back to the Unicorn where they had arranged to meet Lord Malvers.
He was in a cheerful mood as he drove them back to Highhead Hall. His interview with Mr Dewhurst had revealed the exact extent of his new fortune, which would enable him to do some of what he had always dreamed of doing. He needed staff, not only here in Westmoreland, but at home in Norfolk, and those he employed would be ex-soldiers or the children of soldiers killed in battle. He would expand, he would set up workshops and smallholdings. Work, not charity…And he would solve the mystery of Miss Fanny Draper, because she figured very largely in his plans.
He risked a glance at her. She was looking straight ahead, but there was a faint smile on her face. There had not been many smiles on the journey from London, except perhaps one of irony, or a pretence at one for his benefit when he was trying to help her and she was resisting. This was different; it was a smile of pure pleasure and he meant to make sure she had no cause to be sad again. If she would let him!
Chapter Six
The next day Alex drove them to Kendal, where they left the gig at the Woolpack and set off to explore the town, which seemed to consist of narrow lanes and yards branching off from the main street. Some of these ran down to the river where there were weaving sheds, dye works and manufactories producing all manner of goods from the ubiquitous sheep of the area. One of these manufactories was part of Alex’s inheritance and he left the ladies to their shopping while he went off to make himself known to the management and inspect it. ‘I shall see about buying my equipage after that,’ he told them. ‘Shall we meet at the Woolpack when our errands are done?’
Having agreed to this, Mrs Summers and Emma set off arm in arm to find the shops. Amelia was in her element and took no notice of Emma’s protests as she set about renewing her wardrobe. She bought three day dresses, one in green-spotted muslin for warmer days, another in a light wool in a tawny colour that complemented Emma’s hair for when the days were cooler, and a third in a soft dove-grey taffeta. And, according to Mrs Summers, she must have at least one dress for evenings. ‘I expect to be invited out,’ the old lady said. ‘And you will come with me, so you need to be properly attired. I shall be in mourning, of course, but you do not need to be, though I do not think bright colours would be suitable under the circumstances, do you?’
‘Not for a lady’s companion,’ Emma agreed ‘But I prefer softer colours in any case. With my height, bright hues make me look like a maypole.’ She chose one in lilac silk trimmed with matching satin ribbon under the bust, in bows on the gathered sleeves and in three rows round the hem of the skirt. If Emma thought that was the end of the shopping, she was mistaken.
‘And now for a riding habit,’ Mrs Summers said, leading her out of one establishment towards another.
‘But, ma’am, when am I to go riding? You don’t ride, do you?’
‘Not any more, but that does not mean you cannot. If you enjoy it, that is.’
‘I like it above everything, but who will go with me?’
‘His lordship, of course.’
‘You mean Viscount Malvers?’
‘Yes, of course I mean Alex. He always used to ride out when he stayed with his uncle as a young ’un. And if he should ask you…’
Emma laughed, remembering the argument over the walking clothes. ‘I know. I must be equipped for it.’
‘Shall you not like to have him as an escort?’
‘I should like it very much; he is an amusing companion when he is not laying down the law in that top-lofty manner of his.’
‘Oh, that is only his way, my dear. And I collect you are perfectly able to stand up for yourself.’ This with a smile.
‘Permissible in Lady Emma, but not to be tolerated in Fanny Draper,’ Emma said. If it were not for that big black cloud hanging over her, she would be enjoying her stay with this dear kind lady and her handsome nephew.
Mrs Summers must have divined her thoughts, for she said, ‘Could you not confide in him, my dear? I am sure you will find him sympathetic and you can rel
y on his discretion.’
‘I do not want his sympathy, Mrs Summers.’
‘No, of course not, but—’
‘Please, I beg you not to say anything to him. It would mortify me.’
‘I would not dream of doing so, my dear—if anyone tells him, it must be you, but the longer you leave it the harder it will become.’
Emma sighed. ‘Yes, I know, but perhaps there will never be any need for him to know.’
Mrs Summers shut her mouth firmly on her reply and instead ushered Emma into the next shop. Here she asked to see ready-made riding habits. There was not a great choice, considering Emma’s unusual height, but they settled on a plain navy blue whose only decoration was a double row of black buttons running down the bodice from the squared shoulders to a narrow waist. The skirt was completely plain, but very full.
The shopping did not end there. Mrs Summers marched Emma to a bootmaker’s, where footwear was purchased, and then to another shop to buy petticoats, chemises, a cape, a mantle, and then another where a couple of hats were obtained. They had so much they were obliged to hire a lad to carry everything back to the Woolpack where Alex waited for them.
‘My goodness, you must have emptied the town of stock,’ he said, seeing the lad struggling beneath his burden. ‘Put it down on the table, young shaver.’ And when the boy had done so, he gave him a few coins, which had him pulling his grubby forelock and grinning from ear to ear. After he had gone, Alex turned to his aunt. ‘What have you bought?’
‘No more than was needed,’ she said blithely, sinking into a chair and patting the one beside her for Emma to sit. ‘My companion’s apparel reflects on me as an employer, do you not agree?’
‘I suppose it must,’ he said. ‘I never thought about it.’
‘No reason why you should.’
‘I did try to restrain her, my lord,’ Emma put in, ‘but she would not be moved from her purpose.’
He laughed. ‘Yes, I collect she is as stubborn as you are.’
‘More so, for I lost, though that is the wrong thing to say, for I have gained a whole new wardrobe. I am surprised there is so much to be had so far from London.’
‘We do not live in the dark ages in Westmoreland,’ Mrs Summers told her. ‘This is a very busy area for people wanting to travel and explore, especially since the war when travelling abroad was not a possibility, unless, like Alex, you were in the army or navy.’ She paused. ‘What about your errands, Alex? Did you manage to find a suitable carriage?’
‘Yes, and it is as well I did, or how would you have conveyed all that home?’ He indicated the heap of shopping.
‘Where is it, then?’
‘Patience, Aunt, patience. Let us eat first. I am sure you are hungry after all your exertions.’
They agreed they were a mite peckish and did justice to the meal the landlady served them: baked ham, stewed mutton with vegetables and herbs, followed by a pudding rich in fruit and spices. When they had eaten their fill he ordered their parcels to be taken out to his coach and led the two ladies out to the yard, where he waved an arm. ‘Voilà!’
The vehicle was a post chaise, smaller than a park coach, but larger than a town chariot. It had seats for four, with a front board for the driver and a double outside seat above the boot at the back for grooms, coachmen or footmen, whichever was deemed necessary. It was painted black, its lines and wheels picked out in red and blue, its seats padded in dark blue. But it was not the carriage that made Emma cry out in delight, but the two horses harnessed to it.
They were a matched pair of greys, with broad hind quarters and muscular shoulders. Their manes and tails were black flecked with grey. Their ears were pricked and their eyes intelligent. They rattled their harness a little as if impatient to be off. ‘Oh, they are beautiful,’ she cried, running over to pat their flanks and stroke their noses. ‘I’ll wager they are goers too.’
Alex smiled. Miss Fanny Draper was used to being around horses, he could see. He was learning more about her every day, but not what he most wanted to know. ‘Do you ride, Miss Draper?’
‘I…’ She paused. How could she tell him she had been riding since she was three and that at home in Hertfordshire, before her mother married Sir George, she had ridden out almost every day on her mare, Walker? It was not a name to describe the mare’s gait, for she could fly like the wind when occasion demanded, but the name of her previous owner, which no one had bothered to change since the animal was comfortable with it. ‘I have hacked a little.’
‘Good, because these two are not the only specimens of horseflesh I have acquired.’ He turned towards a groom, who was leading two riding horses out from the stables where they had been delivered and looked after until their new owner was ready to take possession of them. One was a big black stallion, the other a chestnut mare, only slightly smaller, for he had bought it bearing Miss Draper’s height in mind.
Emma’s eyes widened in delight; she could not wait to get on the mare’s back and put her through her paces, but even as he watched, delighted by her reaction, her face clouded and she stood back. Her role had to be maintained—she could not afford to behave like some giddy débutante.
‘Do you not like her?’ he asked.
‘She is magnificent.’
‘Her name is Bonny and she is yours.’
‘No, my lord, I cannot accept such a gift. It would not be proper.’
He was about to say, ‘Proper be damned’, but thought better of it and instead said, ‘I meant while you are staying with us, of course.’
‘Oh, then of course.’ She turned to the stallion and patted his nose. ‘He’s a beauty. My father had one like him once…’ She stopped, confused. She had not mean to give anything away about her past.
He pretended not to notice. ‘His name is Salamanca. Named after the Spanish city, I suppose.’
While they had been admiring the carriage and the horses, three rough-looking, shabbily dressed men, one of whom had a patch over his eye and another a hook for a hand, had appeared. The one able-bodied one climbed into the driving seat of the carriage and the other two mounted Salamanca and Bonny. ‘Come, ladies, your carriage awaits,’ Alex said, bowing and flinging his arm outwards. ‘The shopping is in the boot, the lady’s saddle is tied on the roof and we are ready to go.’ He handed them both in and got in himself, sitting opposite them.
‘Are those men old soldiers?’ Emma asked as they moved off.
‘Yes. I know they look like ruffians, but I assure you they are anxious to work and I will kit them up.’
‘Like Mrs Summers kitted me up?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Can’t go about town attended by men in rags, can I? Not if I want to be taken seriously.’
‘Have you decided what you are going to do?’ Amelia asked.
‘Not yet. I am waiting for inspiration. Simply working the estate and assuming the trappings of a landowner is not enough. I could expand the weaving business, but I know so little about it that it might turn out a disaster and not only will my new employees find themselves out of work, but so would the established ones. And sheep farming does not need a large workforce, only a few extra hands at lambing and shearing times. There is the tourist trade, I suppose, but that needs something out of the ordinary…’ His voice tailed away as if he were thinking aloud and had come to a stop.
‘Better to make haste slowly, as Henry was used to say,’ Amelia said.
‘Yes. I shall feel more at ease when I hear from my mother that all is well at Buregreen. Running an estate from this distance is not easy.’
‘You could sell up here and go home.’ This from Amelia.
Emma remained silent; she, too, was wondering what was going on at home. She had written to Lady Standon, signing herself Fanny Draper, but the letter would hardly have reached London yet and its contents would have to be conveyed secretly to her mother; she could not receive an answer for another week at least. Not that she expected it to say the danger was over, the deception no lon
ger necessary and she could go home. She would be very surprised indeed if it was as easy as that.
‘No, Aunt, not until I have fulfilled my uncle’s wish and done something useful with my inheritance,’ he said, noting Emma’s thoughtfulness. Was she thinking that if he sold up she would be without a home? He wished he could tell her here and now that it would never happen, but until he knew for certain who she really was…He did not care who she once was, he chided himself, all that mattered to him was what she was now. But even so he knew society would not agree, his mother would not agree and even his aunt, for all she was befriending the girl, would not agree. Breeding was important, background was important, the kind of life she had lived before was important. It would be disastrous to tie himself to another Harriet Wilson, one of the most notorious demi-reps in London, who was easily able to pass herself off as something she was not.
Aunt Amelia was probably in on the secret, if there was one. He was not even totally sure of that. But everything about Fanny Draper pointed to its existence: her manner of holding herself upright—most tall girls stooped, Miss Hurley was a case in point—and the authoritative way she spoke, though she could have learned it from another mistress; her strange assortment of clothes, luxury and dross muddled together; her ignorance of the ways of travelling by coach and, for all her independence, her reliance on Rose Turner. And now her ease with horses, which he meant to test as soon as he could.
On the other hand she was desperately poor—not a feather to fly with, Joe Bland had said—and her lack of experience of travelling could easily be put down to a life lived in one place. And as for the horses, she might be the daughter of a groom who liked to spend time with him in the stables. If she was running away, could it be because she had done some wrong, committed a crime? Aunt Amelia would never knowingly agree to house her if that were the case. Unless there were mitigating circumstances. She was an enigma, and the mystery surrounding her occupied his mind until he thought he might go mad.