Instead she retired to the kitchen where there was a large scrubbed wooden table, perfect for the intricate cutting she must do. She found Hester drowsing by the open stove and a wave of impatience took hold. What was she doing in this house of sleeping women? Once she had settled this business with Justin Delacourt, she must take hold of her life and drift no longer. She cleared the table with an impetuous sweep, rousing Hester as she did. The maid blinked herself to full wakefulness. Intrigued by Lizzie’s plans for the dress, she found a sudden new energy and plunged into the preparations with unusual vigour, unpicking seams, fashioning love knots and finally pinning the gown to exactly the right shape.
‘The dress will look some lovely, miss,’ Hester opined, ‘once you’ve done all the fancy stitching.’
‘I hope so or I will have wasted some very expensive material! Mrs Croft’s granddaughter must have had excellent taste even though her dresses are now a little dated.’
‘She did that, miss. A lovely lady was Miss Susanna.’
‘She never married, then?’
‘Bless you, no. She were too sickly ever to marry. Her mother died giving birth and it was two to one that the baby would follow. But the little mite survived—just. And it were thanks to her grandmother’s care.’
‘What happened to her father?’ It was the inevitable question for Lizzie.
‘He disappeared, thinking both his wife and child had perished. Mrs Croft sent looking for him, but he never came back.’
‘So the baby lived here?’
‘All her life. She was the mistress’s angel. So close they were.’
‘But she was always sickly, you say. Poor Mrs Croft, to lose her so young.’
‘She were sickly, it’s true, but if it hadn’t been for that man...’
‘What man?’
‘We don’t talk about it, miss, not in this house.’
‘You have talked about it, just this minute.’ Lizzie’s tone was tart for she had pricked her finger from inattention. ‘Who was he?’
‘Nobody knew. He were a stranger but here in the garden. Scared the daylights out of Miss Susanna when she went to call the cat. She doted on that cat.’
‘But how could that have led to her death? Did he attack her?’
‘Not exactly. But her heart was weak and seemingly when he jumped out at her in the dark, it faltered and then stopped.’
‘How very dreadful. And she did not live to identify him?’
‘All Miss Susanna could whisper was “A man”. I heard her myself for I had run out into the garden when I heard her scream. “A man,” she said. “A man” and “behind me”.’
‘And was there was no investigation?’
‘There were nothing to investigate, miss. Just a few words from a dying girl who everyone knew to be sick.’
Lizzie thought this the saddest story she had ever heard and her respect for Mrs Croft rose. To lose your daughter in childbirth was dreadful, but then to lose the child you had raised and loved in her stead was truly terrible. She would make sure that this dress was something that Miss Susanna could be proud of. She sewed on furiously and by midnight was ready to try on the rough toile she had made. Both women held their breath while Hester slipped the gown over her shoulders and stood back. It was a perfect fit.
* * *
Lizzie had worked late into the night and for most of the next day, but by seven o’clock that evening she was dressed in a fashionable new gown and ready to leave. Since she had refused the ride in Justin’s carriage, they would need at least an hour to walk to Chelwood Hall. Hester had tried to persuade her to recant her decision, but she had been resolute in refusing. She was no longer angry, but she was still disillusioned. He had been led by the nose—and by such a woman! She was going to Chelwood only because she had compelling news and she was doing it, she reasoned, more for the Armitages’ sake than for his. Nevertheless she could not help but feel a tremor of excitement. This was the first party she had attended in Rye, indeed the first party she had attended alone and without the eagle eye of Miss Bates overseeing her every move. The first time, too, that she had dressed just as she wished.
While she waited for Hester to collect her cloak from the scullery, she studied her image in the mirror, anxious that no crease marred her gown, no smudge sat on her nose. Miss Bates would doubtless have found fault with her appearance this evening, but she was delighted with it, knowing that she would be the equal of any woman there. The maid had helped tame her luxuriant curls into the popular Roman style and glistening ringlets now cascaded from a carefully arranged topknot. A string of pearls wound its way in and out of the ringlets and she had artfully feathered a few stray tendrils of hair to frame the perfect oval of her face. The slightest blush of rouge to her cheeks—Miss Bates would certainly not have approved that—and a smear of rose salve to her lips completed her toilette.
‘You look lovely, miss. A real picture!’ Hester was as delighted as she with the result of their hard work.
She was not as pleased though with the tramp along country roads that awaited them, for at this hour of the day there was no possibility of taking the ferry which would have shortened the journey considerably. From the outset Lizzie set a spanking pace with the maid dawdling a little in the rear. She had ignored Hester’s advice that she wear boots until they reached the Hall for she could not bear anyone to see her so attired for a party. Instead she had donned the flimsiest of evening slippers and after half a mile, the slippers—so beautiful, so creamy—began to pinch. Gradually they grew more and more painful and by the time they had covered another mile, Lizzie could barely walk.
‘There now, miss, didn’t I tell you. We’ll never get to Chelwood at this rate.’
‘We will.’ Lizzie’s tone admitted no argument. ‘And why are you complaining—you have boots to walk in!’
‘And whose fault is that?’ Hester muttered. ‘If we ever get there, it will be a miracle and we’ll be so dirty, we won’t be worth setting eyes on.’
Their progress was becoming slower by the minute. The lane they were walking was heavily used by farmers’ vehicles and they were forced to zigzag from hedge to hedge in an effort to avoid the worst potholes and here and there patches of deep mud. When a cart coming from the opposite direction rounded the bend a little too quickly, they found themselves stranded in the middle of the track with a horse thundering down on them.
The driver managed to bring the beast to a sudden halt, missing them by a whisker.
‘It’s Mr Jefferson, that it is,’ Hester exclaimed, her bonnet knocked askew.
‘Well, what have we here?’ The farmer’s face broke into a wide smile. ‘Two damsels in distress!’
Lizzie scowled at him and started to walk on, but was stopped by Hester clamping a fierce hand on her arm. ‘We are in a little trouble, Mr Jefferson. The carriage we ordered never came and, as you see, we’ve been left to walk in our party clothes.’
Lizzie gaped at the maid’s dishonesty, but before she could contradict her, Mr Jefferson had jumped down from his box and was moving bales of hay around in the back of the open wagon. ‘We can’t have that, can we, me dears?’
In a few minutes he had arranged the cart to his satisfaction and held out his hand to Lizzie. ‘There now, ladies, your carriage awaits. Seats fit for a queen, I swear. And where might you be wanting to go?’
‘Chelwood Hall, please,’ Hester said quickly before Lizzie had time to protest.
The farmer propelled Lizzie upwards into the wagon and on to the nearest hay bale where she sat fuming at her own stupidity. Why on earth had she insisted on wearing these slippers, for now she must suffer the indignity of travelling in a hay cart. Hester had no such qualms. Smiling contentedly, she took a seat beside Lizzie as the cart lurched forward and once more began its swaying progress.
In less than h
alf an hour they were clip-clopping up the drive to the entrance of Chelwood Hall. As they drew near, Lizzie could see the house ablaze with light and hear the sounds of distant music, its faint ripples escaping into the night.
She felt herself freeze. If she could hear music singing through the air...the huge oak door stood wide open! She cursed her luck for she had wanted to bid the cart farewell before anyone could see her. But, no, the front entrance was ajar and who was standing there but Justin Delacourt himself. Of course he would have to be, she thought bitterly. He had positioned himself so that he might greet his guests one by one, but he could not have bargained on such an arrival. He had seen the whole sorry spectacle and it was mortifying. She tried not to look at his splendid figure walking towards her and failed. He was dressed in the deep-blue jacket of the Dragoons, gold buttons gleaming and a white-silk sash crossing his powerful chest. Tight grey pantaloons clung to a pair of muscular legs and on his feet the lightest of evening slippers. For a moment the image of another uniformed soldier floated across her vision and she felt a great lump rising in her throat. But not for long. She looked again at the fine, sensitive face and her father was forgotten. A golden halo of hair and a pair of smiling eyes was quickening her heart and sending her stomach twisting and turning in the most alarming fashion.
He came level with the cart and she felt sure that he was struggling to keep his face straight, but barely a quiver ruffled his polished tone. ‘Welcome to Chelwood, Miss Ingram.’
He helped her down from the vehicle, carefully brushing the stray straws from her cloak. ‘I am delighted that you have been able to attend our small affair. You must come in and meet my other guests.’ He turned back to the maid. ‘Hester, you will find a ready welcome in the kitchen, I believe.’
Hester bobbed a curtsy and Lizzie, unable to say a word, found herself steered expertly towards the open door.
Chapter Seven
‘You must have had an uncomfortable ride, Miss Ingram. I wish you had sent me a message—my carriage was entirely at your disposal.’
‘Thank you, you are most kind, but really how I travel is of no account.’
She was an extraordinary girl, he thought. Most women would have been close to hysterics if they had been discovered in such a predicament, but she was brushing the matter aside as though arriving on a hay cart was a daily occurrence.
He tried once more to break the ice between them. ‘The evening air has a chill about it these days. I hope that you have not caught cold.’
‘On the contrary, I find it most invigorating.’
Her tone remained curt and he knew himself unforgiven. ‘Here, let me take your cloak. One of the footmen can banish any lingering straw.’
She glared at him. It must appear that he was enjoying her difficulty, he thought, but she allowed him to slip the cloak from her shoulders and hand it to a waiting servant. He saw her snatch a quick glance at the long, ornate mirror that hung to the right of the door and smile slightly at her own reflection. She seemed relieved that her beautiful silk gown had come to no harm and that she still presented a creditable appearance.
To Justin she was more than creditable. He stood behind her, the two of them gazing at her image in the mirror. She looked lovely, utterly lovely. The eau-de-nil silk of her dress shone lustrously and skimmed her body in the most enticing fashion, setting off to perfection the soft cream of her skin. Beneath the branches of candles that lit the flagged hallway, auburn ringlets flashed sparks of fire, sufficient to warm a man’s body through and through, he thought. He was staring at her, staring too hard and too long. He must stop right there. Surely a military man could discipline himself sufficiently to get through this evening with feelings as hazardous as these under strict control. He straightened his shoulders and offered her his arm into the drawing room, where champagne was working its magic and the scatter of voices had become an ever-increasing buzz.
She made no move, but remained standing at arm’s length, a defiant expression on her face. ‘I will play at being your guest, Sir Justin—’ her voice was coldly clipped ‘—but I have come tonight for one reason alone and that is to pass to you crucial information. As soon as we have talked, I would like to return to Brede House.’
He felt scorched. For a moment he had been caught in a dream: an enchanting woman emerging from out of the night, young, lissom and lovely, and here this evening only for him. But in a few words the dream had folded—she had come not as his muse, but to resurrect a tiresome quarrel. He felt himself begin to bristle as he remembered what had passed between them in the cove. She had been wrong to accuse him of weakness when they had last met and she was wrong now. He had not been weak, simply pragmatic. He had Rosanna’s measure, he was sure, and no amount of flattery or fluttery had influenced him. Gil had been mooning over a woman, it was clear, and if by any chance that woman had been Rosanna—and he still found the idea ridiculous—adoration from afar was all there would have been. Gil was too timid to embark on a full-blown love affair and Rosanna would never have got close enough to know anything useful about his disappearance. He knew his friend and Lizzie Ingram did not.
Lizzie’s brow puckered. She had thrown down a challenge and was waiting for his response. ‘Naturally, Miss Ingram, you may leave whenever you choose. You have only to tell me and I will have my carriage take you back to Brede House. I hope, though, that you will be happy to meet some of our neighbours and perhaps enjoy a little music. The Cheriton Quartet is reputed to be excellent.’
‘I am sure they are, but I have not come to listen to music. I am here for quite other reasons.’
He groaned inwardly. The evening was heading for trouble. It was like swimming towards submerged icebergs with the tip of their next quarrel hovering just above the water line. He did not want to fight again with this lovely girl, but it seemed inevitable, for what could she possibly know? Some unimportant snippet of gossip she had gathered from her last visit to the town? Really, all he wanted was to take her in his arms and kiss away this whole worrisome business. His reaction shocked him, but then, ever since their first meeting, he had been shocked by the feelings she provoked.
‘I understand that you have information for me,’ he said in a level voice, ‘but for the moment, I must remain at my post to welcome any late-arriving guests. As soon as I am able, I will seek you out and we will talk.’
He was not going to escape, so better to advance immediately into enemy territory. Once all the guests had arrived, the quartet could be formally introduced and with everyone engrossed in the musical recital, it should be easy to extract Lizzie from their midst. She deserved a hearing after braving the hay cart—the least he could do was listen.
She thanked him crisply and allowed herself to be escorted into the adjoining room. It had been simply decorated for the occasion with posies of wild flowers lining the buffet table and branches of greenery hung from the panelled walls. Nothing too festive or fancy, he had told his people, and they had managed a backdrop which fittingly celebrated his father’s life and work in the community he had loved.
‘Allow me to introduce you to some of our neighbours.’
They hovered on the threshold of the drawing room and nearly every pair of eyes were on Lizzie, many of them warmly admiring. He felt a stupid pride that he had the most beautiful woman in the room on his arm and, for the moment, forgot that they were hardly on speaking terms. One or two of the younger men hastily broke off conversations and began to advance towards them, but before they could reach their goal James Armitage was there, bowing low to Lizzie and tapping Justin’s arm in a friendly fashion.
‘You must introduce me, Justin. This is a lady I have not yet fully encountered in Rye, but I feel I most definitely should!’
‘Miss Ingram, this is Mr James Armitage, our very good friend and neighbour at Five Oaks. Mr Armitage, Miss Elizabeth Ingram—she is staying with Mrs Croft a
t Brede House.’
‘So you are quite used to being beaten and battered by the elements, Miss Ingram! What a house that is. I wonder that Henrietta can bear to live there still what with—’
Justin cut in. ‘I must return to my post, but will you escort Miss Ingram to the buffet? I imagine she has not yet eaten.’
‘It will be my pleasure.’ James Armitage bowed elegantly in Lizzie’s direction. ‘Caroline is already enjoying your hospitality, Justin.’ He gestured towards the long dining table which had been set up against one of the panelled walls and was crammed with dishes of every variety of savoury and sweetmeat. ‘Come with me, Miss Ingram, and meet my wife.’
* * *
He had not introduced her as Mrs Croft’s companion, Lizzie noted. Was that because Justin Delacourt was ashamed of inviting a servant to his party or because he wished to show delicacy towards her feelings? She had tried very hard to remain cold and reserved, but it had been difficult to stop herself from falling back under his spell. She had felt his hard gaze on her and knew herself admired. She had wanted him to admire her, wanted him to desire her as she desired him and had done from the very first moment they’d met. Even now, with irritation so strong within her, she was unable to protect herself from these most inconvenient feelings. Just the warmth of his body as he had walked beside her to the drawing room had made her heart beat erratically. And it was the strangest thing, but she felt secure. She felt herself relaxing into safety when she was with him, as though he offered a haven, a pair of arms in which she could rest. It made no sense—in fact, it was plainly stupid. He was far from safe: excitement did not go with security. Piers was security and she could not remember enjoying one exciting moment with him. And unlike Piers, Justin Delacourt could not be relied upon. Had he not let her down in succumbing to Rosanna’s charms? And once he had put Chelwood Hall to rights he would leave the district, he would return to Spain and to the war. It was inevitable. He might look at her admiringly, but she was simply a pretty object to him, an item to appreciate before moving on.
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