by Stella Riley
~ * * ~ * * ~
CHAPTER FOUR
At Brandon Lacey, the day of departure dawned on a sky heavy with the promise of rain. Arabella told herself it was merely the gloomy weather that was robbing the occasion of what ought to have been a glorious sense of freedom and adventure and wondered if Elizabeth felt the same.
To prevent their mother being inconvenienced, Max had hired a comfortable travelling carriage, together with a driver, a very muscular groom and two outriders. Luggage was strapped to the roof and a fully-laden picnic basket stowed under one of the seats in case of emergency. Both families gathered in the courtyard to bid the girls farewell and everyone hugged everyone else.
Max waited until last. Then, gathering Arabella close, he said, ‘Enjoy it, love. Make the most of every minute. But if you’re not happy … if, for any reason, things don’t go well and you want to come home, write to me. To me, Belle. I won’t ask questions. I’ll just come and get you. Is that clear?’
Arabella’s vision wasn’t. Now, as so often during these last days, she ached to confide in her favourite brother … but she knew she couldn’t. Max might know her inside out and trust her judgement but if he knew what she was planning to do now, he would end it in a heartbeat. Pressing her brow against his shoulder, she said unsteadily, ‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Don’t be an idiot.’ He hugged her closer still and dropped a kiss on her hair. ‘Just take yourself off to London and bring all the young bucks to their knees.’
Elizabeth’s leave-taking was much more restrained. Her sisters looked uncomfortable; her father delivered a fond sermon full of useless advice; and her mother held her tight and whispered, ‘If it turns out to be a mistake, don’t be afraid to admit it and come home. You’ll do that, won’t you?’
‘Yes, Mama.’ Elizabeth’s lips felt numb. ‘I’ll do that.’
After that, and seemingly in no time at all, they were off in a flurry of waving and last-minute good wishes. Once out on the open road, Arabella and Elizabeth exchanged long, silent glances and clutched the other’s hand. Watching from the backward-facing seat, Annie said, ‘Coachman says it’s a fair way to Newark, so there’s time to change your minds and do what everyone thinks you’re doing.’
‘Do you want to change your mind, Lizzie?’ asked Arabella.
Elizabeth drew a careful breath. ‘No. Do you?’
‘No.’
‘Well. That’s that, then. Boot and saddle, as Max would say.’
At first, the novelty of setting out into the unknown made time pass quickly. But after the first change of horses, the scenery outside the carriage window lost its appeal and the cousins decided to kill the hours by going over and over every detail of their plan until both they and Annie could recite it to music. By the time they stopped for the night at the Golden Lion in Ferrybridge, Annie was no longer stumbling over calling Elizabeth Miss Belle and all three of them were stiff, tired and not looking forward to an early start and a longer day of travel.
‘If thou wants to make it t’Newark before dark, we’ll be leaving by seven in’t morning at latest,’ announced the coachman. ‘His lordship said as you’ve rooms waiting at the Woolpack and it’s my job to see you get to ’em – so no arguments.’
Elizabeth sighed, Arabella groaned and Annie muttered beneath her breath. But all three were ready to board the carriage at the appointed time on the following morning though none of them were happy about it.
The second day’s travel seemed endless. Annie managed to doze for a large part of it. With a sort of tension building with every mile, Arabella and Elizabeth talked very little, each busy with her own thoughts.
The carriage rattled into the centre of Newark shortly before six in the evening and drew up in the busy yard of the Woolpack. Inside, however, the innkeeper’s wife welcomed them with a cheerful smile and led the way to spacious and comfortable rooms, promising them dinner within the hour. When she had gone, Elizabeth said, ‘I thought I was hungry. Now I’m not so sure.’
‘I know. I feel the same.’ Arabella looked at their trunks, sitting innocently side by side. Both had been meticulously packed in readiness for the morrow, so that only the uppermost garments needed to be exchanged and thus enabling Elizabeth and herself to travel onwards with the other’s luggage. ‘Stage-fright, do you think?’
‘Last chance to change your minds, more like,’ offered Annie flatly. ‘You both better be absolutely sure what you’re doing. If something goes wrong for either of you, there’s going to be no putting it right.’
‘Thank you for those words of comfort, Annie,’ said Arabella sweetly. ‘They’ve made us feel so much better.’
And suddenly, she and Elizabeth were laughing.
* * *
Morning came, bringing rain.
‘Quite lucky, really,’ observed Arabella, sounding more cheerful than she felt. ‘You’ll be able to put up the hood of my cloak so the entourage won’t get a good look at you.’
‘And what about you?’ Elizabeth stood still while Annie finished fastening her into Arabella’s exceedingly smart claret-coloured travelling dress.
‘I’ll stay out of sight until you’ve gone, then wait in the coffee-room for Dr Featherstone.’ She smoothed the unfamiliar dark blue cuff and discovered that her fingers weren’t quite steady. ‘The next Mail Coach isn’t due in until eleven, and he promised to be here by ten … so I’ll be gone before the inn gets busy.’
‘You shouldn’t be alone in a public inn, Miss Belle,’ muttered Annie. ‘If this comes to light, Mr Max will have a fit.’
‘So you’ve said. Frequently.’ She pointed at Elizabeth and, despite the snakes writhing inside her ribcage, managed a valiant grin. ‘And that’s Miss Belle. I’m Mistress Marsden … efficient housekeeper and Generalissima of the schoolroom.’
It was perhaps fortunate that a tap on the door heralded a maidservant telling them that the coach was loaded and ready to depart. Elizabeth and Arabella looked at each other, swallowed hard and indulged in one final hug.
‘Take care, Belle,’ whispered Lizzie. ‘It all sounded fine but if it’s not --’
‘It will be fine,’ replied Arabella firmly. ‘Don’t worry about me. Just make sure you enjoy yourself. And write. I want to know all about the balls and parties and what the duke and duchess are like. Now go – before we’re both in floods of tears. You too, Annie.’ She pressed a guinea into the maid’s hand. ‘Buy yourself something pretty in London and look after ‘Miss Belle’. We’re both depending on you. Go!’
With the most painful moment behind her, Arabella stood at the bedchamber window and watched Elizabeth and Annie climb into the carriage. Then the coachman set it in motion and it rattled out of the yard … and out of sight; her last link with her usual life, gone. Well, she had wanted escape and adventure, hadn’t she? And this moment was the beginning of it. So she stiffened her spine, pulled the bell for the maid and, when the girl appeared, asked for someone to take her trunk downstairs. Then she descended to the coffee-room and settled at a table by the window to wait.
It was the first time in her entire life that Arabella had been completely alone in a public place and for a few minutes she felt unpleasantly conspicuous. However, it gradually dawned on her that no one was taking any particular notice … not nearly as much, she realised, as they would have done had she been wearing her own elegant clothes instead of Elizabeth’s more well-worn and conservative ones. She supposed she looked like what she was pretending to be; a genteel female on her way to a new position. That was encouraging because, if that was what the handful of people coming in and out of the coffee-room saw, there was no reason why Dr Featherstone would not see the same. On the other hand, thought Arabella and trying not to smile, it wouldn’t hurt if the good doctor was either elderly or a bit short-sighted.
Outside, the rain was getting heavier and beginning to beat against the window. A curricle pulled into the yard and a fair-haired gentleman of roughly Max’s age dropped down, tossed hi
s reins to a nearby ostler and vanished inside the inn. Arabella sighed, tried not to fidget and wondered what the time was.
Silently damning the weather, Paul Featherstone narrowly avoided colliding with the innkeeper’s wife. Stepping back with a smile and an apology, he said, ‘Good day to you, Maggie. Are you still baking the best mutton pies in Nottinghamshire?’
‘Aye – and in Lincolnshire, too,’ she retorted, laughing. ‘If you’ve business in town and want to come back around noon, I’ll prove it to you.’
‘Though there’s nothing I’d like better, I can’t. The rain is bidding fair to become a deluge so I’ll be staying no longer than it takes Davey to water my horses. And the only business I have today is to collect a young woman who lodged here last night. One Mistress Marsden?’
‘Young woman?’ The landlady stared at him. ‘Young lady, more like. You’ll find her in the coffee-room, sir – and glad to be removed from it, I’ll be bound.’
A faint frown lit Paul’s eyes but he said lightly, ‘Then I’d best go and tell her that deliverance is at hand, hadn’t I? Thank you, Maggie.’
Having always suspected that Mistress Marsden’s letters weren’t telling him everything, Paul thought he had been prepared for the unexpected. A single glance was sufficient to tell him how wrong he had been … and it stopped him mid-stride.
Good God, he thought. Surely that can’t be her? I doubt she’s a day over twenty.
Turning away from the window, Arabella met the fair-haired gentleman’s expression of shocked disbelief, realised that this must be Dr Featherstone and felt suddenly panicky. He knows I’m not Lizzie, was her first guilty thought. Then, No, that’s stupid. He can’t know – how could he? And finally, the answer came to her. Lizzie said she’d given the impression of being older. How much older, for heaven’s sake? Forty?
Wiping every vestige of expression from his face, Paul walked to her side and, with a slight bow, said, ‘Mistress Marsden, I presume?’
She nodded and got to her feet. ‘Yes. And you must be Dr Featherstone.’
‘I am indeed. Please sit down again, ma’am. My horses need a brief rest and perhaps you would care for some coffee or a cup of chocolate to warm you before we set off? As you can see, the weather is deteriorating.’
‘It certainly is,’ agreed Arabella resuming her seat, hoping she sounded suitably blasé and as if sitting in taverns with strange gentlemen was an everyday occurrence. ‘Thank you. Chocolate would be very welcome.’
He nodded to her and walked away to place the order, whilst trying to decide what he ought to do. She was far too young and Maggie Rowell was right about her being a lady. Not that that precluded a need to earn her own living, of course – but her age certainly did. Julian needed a woman of sense and character, not a schoolroom miss. Paul drew a long breath. All right, he decided. I’ve got half an hour in which to find out what she’s made of and, if necessary, send her back where she came from.
Returning to the table by the window, he sat down facing Arabella and said, ‘Forgive my bluntness, Mistress Marsden – but I daresay you will recall that we advertised for a mature lady. Exactly how old are you?’
Arabella turned scarlet and narrowly avoided spluttering at him. Then, pulling herself together, she lifted her chin and lied. ‘I am twenty-five, Dr Featherstone. How old are you?’
He managed not to laugh. ‘My age is of no consequence, ma’am. Yours, unfortunately, is. What experience do you actually have of overseeing the running of a household – or of managing young children, come to that?’
‘Did I not tell you those things in my letters?’
‘Yes. But you also admitted that you had no previous employers – neither did you seek character references from persons who might have supplied them.’
Not being sure how to respond to this, she said cautiously, ‘Such as whom?’
‘Such as the local clergyman, perhaps?’
‘That would be my father,’ said Arabella triumphantly whilst simultaneously suppressing a faintly hysterical giggle at the thought of asking Uncle Josiah to recommend her as a housekeeper. ‘I imagine you might have considered that somewhat biased.’
‘The doctor, then – or the squire or any reputable person of your acquaintance?’ said Paul impatiently. Then, ‘When you meet Lord Chalfont … or rather if you do … you will appreciate my concerns.’
A maid arrived with a cup of chocolate and a half of home-brewed. As soon as she had set these down and stepped away, Arabella said sharply, ‘What do you mean – if?’
‘At present, I’m inclined to think that his lordship’s best interests as well as your own will be better served by putting you on the York Mail which will be here,’ he drew a watch from his waistcoat pocket, ‘in roughly twenty-five minutes.’
Her breath leaked away and she felt suddenly cold. She had never considered the possibility that the doctor might take one look and find her unsuitable. It was a disaster that couldn’t be allowed to happen – not with Elizabeth already on the road to London and no way to contact her.
Looking him in the eye and keeping her voice as steady as she could, she said, ‘Since you have told me very little about him, I can’t speak for Lord Chalfont. But I think I am better placed to decide what is in my best interests than you are, sir. I am fully capable of running a moderate-sized household and – and I’ve helped in the village school so I’m quite accustomed to dealing with children.’ She stopped and, still holding his gaze, ‘I realise that you were expecting someone a little older but --’
‘Quite a lot older, ma’am,’ retorted Paul.
‘But you shouldn’t judge by appearances. I’m more capable than I look – truly I am.’
‘You’re certainly tenacious,’ he agreed with a hint of grim amusement.
‘I need the position,’ she shrugged. Then, hopefully, ‘And as I recall it, a trial period was offered, was it not?’
There was no denying that. There was also no denying, thought Paul reluctantly, that the girl wasn’t lacking either spirit or determination. Perhaps he was wrong to judge purely by appearances. Perhaps … just perhaps … she might not be so very unsuitable after all. The trouble was that the risk would be Julian’s, not his.
He said slowly, ‘A trial period it is, then. One month.’
That wouldn’t do. Elizabeth would be in London longer than that.
‘Two months,’ said Arabella firmly. ‘You can’t expect me to prove myself in less than that – given that it appears there are challenges I was not previously made aware of. I am not a miracle-worker, Dr Featherstone.’
Paul realised that he was starting to like her. Despite the pulse he could see hammering in her throat, she was holding her ground and refusing to back down. He had to admire that. He also had to admit that anyone dealing with Julian required resilience and a strong vein of obstinacy. Mistress Marsden, it seemed, had both.
Smiling for the first time, he said, ‘Very well, ma’am. You win. Two months it is.’
Relief washed over Arabella. She said earnestly, ‘Thank you. I shall make sure that neither you nor his lordship regrets it.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’ Paul got to his feet. ‘We should be on our way before the road turns to mud. Is that your trunk in the hallway?’ And when she nodded, ‘Good. Drink your chocolate and I’ll get it loaded. All being well, we’ll be at Chalfont in time for tea.’
Arabella watched him go, her heart beating unpleasantly fast. It had been an alarmingly close call … and she still had the earl to face. She could only pray that he would be less inclined to quibble.
* * *
It was an unpleasant journey. The rain continued unabated and, from time to time, lashed in on them under the hood of the curricle. Arabella hugged her cloak around her, felt her hair begin to droop in the damp and was glad the doctor was concentrating on his horses rather than forcing her to make conversation.
When they finally arrived, she had only the briefest glimpse of Chalfont Hall before
the doctor helped her from the curricle and swept her inside out of the rain. Putting back her hood, Arabella had a confused impression of dark, oak panelling and then a red-haired lady wearing a faint frown was stepping towards her, saying briskly, ‘What a horrid journey you must have had. Let me take your cloak – it’s quite soaked.’
‘Y-Yes,’ agreed Arabella weakly. And attempting to sound cheerful, as she surrendered the sodden garment, ‘But at least we are here now.’
‘Indeed you are.’ Behind the girl’s back, Janet raised her eyebrows at Paul, who answered with an unhelpful shrug leaving her with no option but to plough resolutely on. ‘I am Mistress Featherstone, by the way. I hope my husband has been looking after you?’
‘He – he’s been most kind.’
Swallowing a grin at her tepid tone, Paul said, ‘Janet – where’s Julian?’
‘I’ve no idea. He was here a minute ago but --’
‘I’m here.’ Emerging with ill-concealed reluctance from the shadows of the staircase, his face pale and empty of expression, Julian bowed and said woodenly, ‘Welcome to Chalfont, Mistress Marsden.’
All the air in Arabella’s lungs seemed to leak away. This was the earl? This breath-takingly handsome man who looked about the same age as her brother, Adam? It wasn’t possible. She shot a look of confused enquiry in Dr Featherstone’s direction.
He nodded his confirmation. ‘Lord Chalfont, ma’am.’
She managed a curtsy. ‘My lord.’
There was a sudden deathly silence during which his lordship looked anywhere but at Arabella. Stepping into the void, Janet said, ‘Let me show you to your rooms. Paul … have Phelps bring up Mistress Marsden’s luggage and send one of the maids with tea.’
Paul started to offer to fetch the trunk himself but Julian cut across him saying abruptly, ‘No – let Phelps do it. I – I’d like a word with you. Now.’