The Highborn Housekeeper

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘Oh, I think not.’ She looked up at Hester, a rueful smile in her eyes. ‘I really do not see how we can leave these two poor men to fend for themselves, do you?’

  * * *

  Gabriel was surfacing from some deep, black pit. His eyelids fluttered but he did not open them fully, for the light was painful and the slightest movement of his head made it throb. In fact, as consciousness returned, he was aware that his whole body ached like the devil.

  He lay still, not struggling to recall what had happened, but allowing memory to return. Still, icy night, the cold bone-deep. The empty lane to Darlton, black shadows and the sudden rush of his attackers. He had thought it was footpads, but those two assailants proved to be no more than a diversion for whoever came from behind and knocked him unconscious. Then he was on the ground, among the trees and being harangued by a female to get up.

  Gingerly he opened his eyes. He was in Dell House, in his own bedchamber. Presumably she had brought him here, as she had promised. Another memory stirred. Someone wiping his forehead with a damp cloth, the soothing smell of lavender. The woman’s voice, softer this time, bidding him to be still. Now he did make an effort to remember. He closed his eyes again, concentrating. Yes, he had seen her. She had come towards the bed, into the lamplight. A full, womanly figure, dark-eyed, red-lipped, with an abundance of glossy dark hair. She had leaned over him, her face full of concern. The same woman who had found him in the copse. Or had he dreamt the whole?

  He heard the click of the door, soft footsteps and Thoresby appeared beside the bed, carrying a tray. The man was so much more than a servant, Gabriel counted him a loyal friend and he was relieved to see him.

  ‘John.’

  ‘Good morning, sir. I am glad to see you awake at last.’

  Gabriel frowned. ‘You were laid up in bed. I feared influenza.’

  ‘Thankfully it was nothing worse than a bad cold, sir, and I am much better now.’ John Thoresby set down the tray on a table that had been pulled close to the bed. With the smallest movement of his head Gabriel could see it held a bowl of something looking suspiciously like porridge. However, that was not his most pressing concern.

  ‘But you were too ill to get out of your bed.’

  ‘That was five days ago, sir.’

  ‘So long!’ He tried to sit up and winced as pain shot through his bruised body.

  Thoresby came to help him, gently supporting his shoulders and rearranging the pillows. Gabriel muttered his thanks and leaned back, closing his eyes until the pains in his body settled into no more than a dull ache.

  ‘There is laudanum, sir, if you wish it.’

  ‘No. Just a little water, if you please.’

  He insisted on holding the glass himself and managed to take a few sips, even though his hands shook. He was glad to relinquish it when he had finished and he leaned back against the pillows, his eyes closed.

  ‘John, there was a woman.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Mrs Hopwood.’

  The name struck a chord.

  ‘She brought me here?’

  ‘Yes, she did. And very relieved I was to see you, even though I could scarce drag myself to the door when she knocked. I knew I shouldn’t have let you go out alone.’

  ‘Damn it, John, you were too ill to be of use. Feverish, too. That is why I left you sleeping. But never mind that now. The woman. Did she stay here?’

  ‘Oh, yes, sir, she stayed,’ said Thoresby. ‘She is still here.’

  ‘What!’

  John spread his hands. ‘It was impossible to stop her, sir. She marched in and took over. I was coughing and sneezing, trying to collect my wits, and the next minute she and her servants were putting you to bed. And no sooner had she made you comfortable than she set about preparing rooms for herself and her maid, while her footman and coachman made themselves at home.’ Thoresby paused. ‘I have to admit, sir, that I could not have tended you without her and that’s a fact. She packed me off to my bed and said she would see to everything. Said a good rest was probably all I needed and after a couple of days I’d be up and about again. And before you say I should’ve protested, I did. I tried, sir, I promise you. And all she said was I should stay away from you, in case I was infectious. It went against the grain, I can tell you, but truth to tell, I was too weak to be much use for the first couple of days.’

  Gabriel recognised the truth of this and held his peace, but he was far from mollified. He glanced again at the tray.

  ‘I suppose that is what she considers a fit breakfast for an invalid.’

  For the first time Thoresby would not meet his eyes.

  ‘Yes, sir. Porridge. It’s what we’ve been managing to get down you for the past couple of days. That and a little chicken broth she cooked up.’

  Gabriel said drily, ‘Mrs Hopwood appears to be a very resourceful woman.’

  Thoresby allowed himself a wry grin. ‘She’s helped us out of a rare scrape, sir, and that’s for sure. If she hadn’t come across you in that wood, you’d have perished by morning. And she and that companion of hers nursed you for the first three days while I was fit for nothing but sleep!’

  ‘And there’ve been no unwanted visitors, no one skulking about in the night?’

  ‘No sign that you was followed back here, sir. With the snow it’s been easy to see that the only tracks around the place are those made by myself or Mrs Hopwood’s servants. We’ve had that much snow the past few days that the roads are blocked now, so nothing’s moving by road.’

  ‘Then we must hope our whereabouts are unknown to my attackers. They may come looking for me, though, if they realise I am alive.’ He lay still for a moment, considering, then said, with sudden decision, ‘It is too dangerous for anyone else save ourselves to be here. You may tell Mrs Hopwood that her help is no longer required.’

  ‘I can try, sir, but I doubt she’ll go until she sees for yourself that you are recovered. Perhaps if you were to eat a few spoonfuls of the porridge...’

  Gabriel cursed him roundly. ‘Take that stuff away and bring me my usual breakfast. Well, what is the matter now?’

  ‘The ladies have quite taken over the kitchen, sir. They have prepared every meal between them since they arrived. I’m not sure...’ Gabriel’s furious gaze made him say quickly, ‘I will go and see to it immediately, I am sure there will be no difficulty.’

  ‘There had better not be.’ Gabriel scowled at him. ‘After that you may help me to get up. If you won’t tell the damn woman to leave, then I will!

  Chapter Three

  Nancy was trimming a piece of beef when Thoresby came in with the tray. She glanced at the untouched breakfast dish.

  ‘Is your master still sleeping?’

  ‘No, ma’am, he is very much awake, and insists upon his usual morning meal of eggs and ham.’

  He announced this with no little trepidation and such an appearance of one prepared to be executed for being the bearer of bad tidings that Nancy had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. She had some sympathy with Mr Thoresby, for she knew she had been something of a tyrant in the past few days, but kitchens and cooking had been her domain for over a decade and she felt at home here. She had taken control, organising the meals and producing food suitable for the injured man, once he had been able to eat a little. Her friends laughingly called her a mother hen, wanting to look after everyone. A sudden warmth spread through her body. Not that she wished Gabriel Shaw to think her motherly!

  She said now, ‘I am glad to hear he is feeling so much better. Would you like to prepare something for him? I am happy to leave this and attend to it, but you will know exactly how he likes his breakfast.’

  The man quickly assured her that he was more than happy to prepare his master’s breakfast and set about finding eggs and fetching the large ham that was in the larder.

  * * *

  Later, when he
had taken a fresh tray to his master and then helped him to dress, he returned and issued an invitation to Nancy.

  ‘My master begs that you will join him for dinner tonight, ma’am. In his room. He deeply regrets that he is not yet well enough to manage the stairs.’ Having performed his duty, John Thoresby unbent a little and added, ‘To tell you the truth, he is weak as a cat and it’s as much as he can do to sit upright in his chair beside the fire. But he hopes you will not object to the informality of dining in his chamber.’

  Nancy was not fooled. However politely Mr Thoresby wrapped it up, it was clearly a summons. Not that she was averse to having dinner with Mr Gabriel Shaw. She had a great many questions she wanted to put to him.

  * * *

  Just before dinner, Nancy went upstairs to wash away the heat and grease of the kitchen, leaving Hester and Thoresby to put the final touches to the meal. There was no time to wash her hair, so she brushed it well and bundled it up on her head before turning her attention to what to wear. Her trunks held an array of colourful, expensive dresses, the jewel box was full of ostentatious pieces, all designed to attract attention, but she had no wish to display her charms tonight. Quite the opposite, she thought, remembering Mr Shaw’s smile and its effect upon her pulse.

  She chose the most sober of the evening gowns, a sheath of deep sapphire-blue silk with a high waist and long sleeves that she thought would be a necessity, because the continuing icy weather seemed to permeate the very fabric of the building. She arranged a muslin fichu in the neck of the gown, partly for warmth and partly for decorum. It would also remove the need for jewels. She pushed her feet into the matching kid slippers and took a moment to study herself in the looking glass. She gave a little nod of satisfaction, confident she would pass as a respectable widow, fallen on hard times, which was just how she wanted Gabriel Shaw to see her. Throwing a fine woollen shawl about her shoulders to keep her warm, she set off through the unheated passages.

  ‘Mrs Hopwood, good evening.’

  Gabriel Shaw greeted her politely as she entered his room. She had half expected him to receive her in a garish dressing gown, but he was fully dressed in biscuit-coloured pantaloons and a dark evening coat that fitted without a crease across his broad shoulders. Even in the candlelight she could see it was of impeccable cut. He wore it over a gold silk waistcoat and immaculate white linen, and above the intricately tied cravat his face was unmarked, save for the ugly bruise on one cheek. It had been darkening when she had cleaned his face on the night they had arrived. The night she had perched on the bed, holding his hand. The memory evoked a sudden fluttering in her chest, but she ignored it. She had nursed him as she would have done any injured man.

  She glanced at him again. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, but she thought he looked remarkably well. Even the cut on his head was healing and hidden now by the sleek dark hair that was brushed back from his wide brow. No fobs or seals adorned his clothes and his fingers were bare of rings, but she was sure he was no country gentleman. He was as fashionably dressed as any of the men she had seen during her recent sojourn in London. Even more reason to question him.

  He was sitting at the little dining table that had been set up before the fireplace and he struggled to get up when she came in. She quickly waved him back to his seat.

  ‘I pray you will not exert yourself, Mr Shaw. You are not yet fully recovered.’

  She remembered the purple-black bruises she had seen on his body. A strong, muscular body, she recalled, and hastily buried the thought, hoping the sudden heat in her cheeks was not noticeable.

  ‘I am well aware of that,’ he said ruefully, dropping back into his seat. ‘I shall have to leave it to John to escort you to the table.’

  He lifted a hand and beckoned to his manservant, who was hovering in the shadows. Nancy smiled her thanks at Mr Thoresby and while he filled her wine glass, she removed her shawl and arranged it over the back of her chair. She was surprised how nervous she felt to be dining alone with a man and needed time to compose herself.

  Thoresby stepped back and gave a little bow. ‘If you are ready, ma’am, Mrs Yelland and I will serve dinner immediately.’

  When the man had left them, Gabriel picked up his glass and saluted her. ‘I am greatly in your debt, Mrs Hopwood.’

  ‘It is no more than any Christian would do. I could not leave you to perish in the cold.’

  ‘Come, madam, you have done so much more than that. Not only did you save my life, but for the past several days you have helped to nurse me and yet, Thoresby tells me, you have never once pressed him for an explanation.’ He looked at her, a gleam of laughter in his blue eyes. ‘Not many women would have been so forbearing.’

  She felt a smile tugging at her mouth.

  ‘The poor man has lived in fear of my interrogation, but I thought it best to wait until you could tell me everything.’

  A sudden draught announced the opening of the door. Hester and Thoresby came in. Nancy watched them, a feeling of pride warming her as she saw the food she had planned and laboured over placed on the table. Gabriel, too, was regarding the array of dishes with blatant appreciation.

  ‘I fear I have greatly inconvenienced you, madam,’ he remarked. ‘You have had to break your journey. Will that not make people anxious, friends, family?’

  ‘Robert, my footman, has gone ahead with a message. He is a resourceful fellow and, with a full purse, I have no doubt he found a way to reach his goal. My friends will know I shall be perfectly safe with William Coachman. And there is Hester, too. My companion.’

  She smiled up at the older woman, who was setting out the remainder of the dishes on a small side table.

  Hester bent an unsmiling gaze upon Nancy and said pointedly, ‘Would you like me to stay, madam?’

  ‘No, no, we shall serve ourselves, thank you, Hester. Go now and enjoy your own dinner.’ Noting her friend’s hesitation, she added, ‘You may be sure I shall call you if I need you.’

  When they were alone Gabriel cocked an eyebrow. ‘Does she fear for your reputation?’

  ‘Very likely.’ Nancy laughed. ‘I really do not think I have anything to fear from you in your present state. After all, you can barely stand up.’

  Again, that glinting smile in his eyes.

  ‘I might beguile you with my charm and ready wit.’

  ‘You might try,’ she agreed cordially, accepting another glass of wine from him, ‘but you will not distract me from my reason for agreeing to dine with you.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘I want an explanation, of course. Why you were attacked, why you are living here with only Mr Thoresby to look after you. He says he is your valet, but he is able to turn his hand to almost anything.’

  ‘Yes, he is indispensable to me. But before we discuss anything more we should eat,’ he suggested, surveying the table. ‘It looks and smells very inviting. I believe you cooked everything yourself?’

  ‘With Hester to help me.’

  ‘Then, pray tell me what we have here.’

  ‘There is beef brisket, cooked in wine, and stewed mushrooms—I found a jar in the larder, very neatly labelled and dated, for which I am grateful to whomever left it there!—an apple tart and a hash of wild duck from a fine bird that my coachman acquired when he went to buy the vegetables.’ She noted his sudden wariness and added, ‘Pray calm yourself, Mr Shaw. William was very discreet. I sent him to the market in East Markham, rather than Darlton.’

  ‘What makes you think there is a need for discretion?’

  His innocent look did not deceive her. ‘Everything about you!’

  He laughed. ‘Very well, we shall discuss that later. For now, let us eat!’

  * * *

  It was surprisingly enjoyable, dining alone with Gabriel Shaw. She had expected to feel ill at ease, she had certainly intended to keep the man at a distance, but it took onl
y a short time in his company for her to relax and she found herself talking to him as she would to an old friend. Not that she trusted him, of course. She knew nothing about him. But he was good company, he spoke like an intelligent man, and made no attempt to patronise or flirt with her.

  He tried most of the dishes, which was gratifying, but he did not eat heartily. Unsurprising, she thought, considering he had only that morning risen from his bed. When he had finished his meal, he pushed away his empty plate.

  ‘My compliments, madam. The food is excellent. Where did you learn to cook like this?’

  ‘From a Frenchman. I spent many hours in his kitchen as a child and he thought it better that I should be working than to have me getting in the way.’

  He raised his glass to her. ‘Then you proved an apt pupil.’

  His praise warmed her, but it also set alarm bells ringing. She must not allow herself to fall for his undoubted charm. Time to make him aware of her menial status.

  ‘He was an excellent teacher. Cooking is now how I earn my living.’

  He sat back, his brows raised in surprise. ‘Yet you have your own carriage and servants.’

  ‘My employers insisted upon it.’

  ‘They must think very highly of you to allow you to travel in such style.’

  ‘Good cooks are difficult to find and even more difficult to keep.’

  ‘But you were not born a servant, Mrs Hopwood.’

  She hesitated. ‘No.’ She gathered up the empty plates and carried them to the side table. ‘I am a widow and must needs make my living where I can.’

  He reached out and caught her hand as she passed his chair.

  ‘This is an expensive wedding ring. Surely your husband made some provision for you?’

  Nancy glanced down at the heavy gold band on her finger, a necessary accoutrement for her masquerade as the relict of a wealthy man. Harder to explain on the hand of a poor cook.

  ‘His death was...unexpected. This is all I have left of him. I could not bear to part with it.’