Lady Gwendolen Investigates
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Anne Ashley
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15
Chapter One
Were the inns in England always this busy nowadays? Gwendolen wondered, while neatly avoiding a harassed-looking ostler leading a pair of steaming horses across the crowded forecourt.
It was only to be expected, she supposed, that five years spent abroad might result in her forgetting certain aspects of life back here in the land of her birth. Not that she had ever had much experience of travel, of course…of life, even, before her marriage to Sir Percival Warrender.
Pausing in her musings, she stepped to one side, thereby allowing the stagecoach passengers to traipse unhindered from the inn and return to their conveyance. None of them seemed to notice the bitterly cold gusts of wind sweeping across the forecourt at frequent intervals. Gwen, on the other hand, had been very much aware of the unpleasantly low temperature from the moment she had alighted from her hired carriage, and drew her fur-lined cloak more tightly about her. Having lived in a much warmer climate for very many months, she had forgotten, too, just how chilly it could be in England even in March, when travel became more widespread.
The frequently inclement weather was something else she would need to accustom herself to again, she mused, as she took the added precaution of raising her hood against further cold blasts, the result of which severely restricted her field of vision. One moment she was enjoying the protection the busy posting-house’s pleasantly warm interior offered the instant she had stepped over the threshold; the next, she felt as if she had just walked into a stone-hard wall.
Almost at once a strong-fingered hand fastened itself about her left arm, just above the elbow, instantly steadying her. Some few moments later a deeply attractive and clearly refined voice eventually enquired into her well-being, but not before she had detected the muttered oath, only partially smothered, preceding the belated query. Hence, she wasn’t unduly surprised to discover, upon finally raising her head, that the face peering down at her betrayed a deal more impatience than concern.
She took a step away, the better to focus on a pair of dark eyes set in a ruggedly masculine countenance that wasn’t even remotely handsome. ‘I do beg your pardon, sir. Entirely my own fault,’ she declared, generously accepting all blame.
As she removed her cowl with a casual flick of one hand, there was, just for an instant, a marked softening about the set of thin lips, while brown eyes considered the burnished-copper highlights streaking through chestnut locks.
‘Very true, ma’am, it was,’ he agreed in the very next breath, the softer expression having disappeared so completely that Gwen wasn’t at all sure she hadn’t imagined it in the first place. ‘May I suggest, therefore, you attempt to take more care in future. Journeying about the country, even at this time of year, can prove a hazardous undertaking, without having to contend with acts of downright stupidity perpetrated by fellow travellers.’
‘Well, really!’ Gwen muttered, after he had doffed his hat in what she considered a most condescending manner and had begun to stride away in the direction of the main entrance.
Having to deal with abrasive fellows such as that was possibly something else she would need to grow accustomed to, she supposed, as she continued to watch her tormentor’s progress across the room until he had disappeared from view.
Undeniably she had had little experience of such unpleasant fellows. Her formative years, spent in a quiet country parsonage, and her marriage to a very considerate and protective husband, had certainly proved to be a shield against the more unpleasant aspects of life. All the same, she wasn’t completely unworldly. Furthermore, she had no intention of withering, like some delicate bloom touched by an icy wind, merely as a result of a little unpleasantness.
Besides which, she was not entirely alone and defenceless, she reminded herself. Even though she had no immediate family now living, and had been widowed for several months, she could always rely on dear Gillie’s loving protection and unfailing support.
Her blue eyes scanned the coffee room, seeking and quickly locating the plump figure of her lifelong companion-cum-maid. At that moment, the devoted servant just happened to be locked in conversation with a harassed-looking individual, whom Gwen could only assume must surely be the landlord. From the slight look of disappointment so easily discernible when the maid turned in her direction, Gwen guessed there was no private parlour available. Which, considering the number of patrons bustling about the inn, was in no way surprising, she decided, gesturing towards a row of settles set at frequent intervals along one of the walls.
Because the seat nearest the substantial fire was already occupied by a fashionably attired gentleman, Gwen was obliged to slip into a settle sited a little further away from the source of heat. As the seats were placed back to back, she had little difficulty hearing the gentleman talking softly to the inn’s cat, which she had noticed had been curled up beside him and, typically feline, closest to the fire.
She had absolutely no difficulty either, just a few moments later, in recognising the cultured voice that announced authoritatively, ‘My groom will have the carriage round at the door in five minutes.’
‘It’s dashed good of you, Pont, to put yourself out this way,’ the well-dressed gentleman responded, while Gwen herself took the added precaution of slipping further down the high-backed settle so as to avoid detection by the new arrival. ‘It’s a deal more comfortable travelling in a private carriage than going on the mail-coach.’
‘I’ve already told you, Merry, I’m not putting myself out,’ his companion responded, proving instantly that he wasn’t always downright rude and could evidently be quite obliging when so inclined. ‘I’ve managed to conduct my business here in Bristol speedily, as you know. And I did intend to pay a brief visit to the capital within the next couple of weeks. As well go now as later. So long as you don’t object to making that slight detour to Bath first?’
‘Not at all, old chap,’ the abrasive gentleman was speedily assured. ‘Haven’t set foot in the place since great-aunt Beatrice passed away, ten years or more ago.’ There followed a significant pause, then, ‘How have the girls settled in at the seminary?’
‘It’s still early days. Nonetheless, according to the headmistress’s letter, very well indeed…considering.’ The deep and prolonged sigh was clearly audible to Gwen who continued, unashamedly, to eavesdrop. ‘All the same, I’ll not be completely easy in my mind until I’ve seen for myself, and spoken to my wards.’
‘It was a bad business…a very bad business, Pont, especially as both girls had grown so fond of that poor governess. She was quite alone in the world, I seem to remember you saying, no immediate family.’
‘Not as far as I’m aware. I recall her mentioning she’d lost both parents when she was quite young. I do happen to know for a fact she corresponded with someone residing in the capital—a friend, I can only suppose. Naturally, I should have taken the trouble to apprise this person of what had occurred. Unfortunately no letters were found among her belongings offering a clue to the person’s identity. Which was most odd, because I know for a fact she both wrote and received a number of missives during those many months she was in my employ.’
There was no mistaking the thread of sadness in the abrupt gentleman’s voice, proving yet again that he wasn’t wholly devoid of compassion. Although a moment later Gwen wondered if she had credited him with more feelings than he possessed when he added, ‘Oddly enough, I had come to look upon her as one of those rare members of her sex—a refreshingly sensible young woman. Then she ups and does something utterly birdwitted. Takes herself into Marsden Wood, a place she well knew had earned itself something of an unsavoury reputation in recent years. Furthermore, she does so in January, for heaven’s sake! Now, I ask you, Merry, what in the world can have possessed any level-headed creature to go exploring a wood on a dismally damp winter’s afternoon? And what’s more…alone!’
Although, in part, to pass the time while awaiting her servant’s arrival, she had, still without suffering the least pang of conscience, continued to listen to the conversation, Gwen had no very clear idea of precisely what was being discussed. That some misfortune had befallen a woman while out exploring some wood or other was evident. What became obvious too in the next moment was that the gentleman known as Merry was as much at a loss to understand the unfortunate female’s actions as was her abrasive employer.
‘It would take a greater brain than I possess to attempt to explain what motivates many females to act as they do. But that particular woman’s actions on that day were sheer folly, especially after you’d made it clear from the first that to venture alone near the wood might prove unwise.’
The unexpected rumble of laughter that followed the pronouncement suggested that Master Merry had perhaps been well named. ‘And a die-hard misogynist like yourself, Pont, could never hope to unravel the mysteries of the female mind.’
A further pause, then,
‘Why, my dear friend, you above anyone should suppose I dislike all women, I cannot imagine. On the contrary, over the years I have thought well of several. Like yourself, I’ve never been tempted into parson’s mousetrap. But that, let me assure you, is simply a matter of choice. I’ve yet to meet a female with whom I could happily share my life.’
‘Nor are you ever likely to do so while you continue to remain so fastidious, Pont, for ever searching for the slightest flaw in either looks or character.’
‘My dear Merry, you delude yourself,’ was the immediate, drawled response. ‘I should never waste time or energy attempting to seek the perfect woman, simply because such a creature does not exist. Nor do I actively seek imperfections in the opposite sex, either. There’s absolutely no need for me to do so, of course, when they surface within minutes of my making any female’s acquaintance.’
A bark of decidedly mocking laughter quickly followed. ‘Now, you take that idiotic creature I encountered a mere few minutes ago,’ Gwen’s ridiculer continued, evidently having warmed to the subject. ‘No need for me even to attempt to strike up a conversation to know she was utterly birdwitted. Walks into a crowded posting-house with a cowl pulled low over her face. Couldn’t possibly have seen where she was going, and looks startled when she cannons into me…I ask you!’
‘Ahh, but was she pretty?’ the other enquired, after an appreciative chuckle at the derision that had simply oozed from his friend’s every word. ‘I bet you didn’t even notice, Pont.’
‘Truth to tell…no, can’t say as I did,’ he admitted. ‘Noticed her hair, though. Dashed pretty colour! Streaked with copper, it was, and curled quite prettily. Never seen anything quite like it before, though whether the hue was Mother Nature’s gift, I couldn’t say. So many of ’em, as you well know, resort to artifice in order to attract.’
‘What a nerve!’ Gwen exclaimed before she could stop herself. Fortunately, though, neither gentleman seemed to have heard, as the rude individual at precisely the same moment had expressed a desire not to leave his horses standing too long in the cold wind.
Gwen waited a second or two before peering round the end of the settle in time to catch a last glimpse of the close friends as they strode side by side across the coffee room. Aggrieved, justifiably so in her opinion, she was experiencing far too much resentment towards the taller man to appreciate that for a large gentleman he carried himself with a dignified air, his gait both smoothly effortless and remarkably graceful. Instead she favoured his retreating form with a basilisk-glance.
‘Odious, odious creature!’ she muttered, turning back in her seat.
It wasn’t his low opinion of her sex that annoyed her. Innate honesty prompted her silently to acknowledge that she herself had come into contact with numerous woolly-minded females during the quarter of a century she had been on God’s good earth. It wasn’t even his condemnation of her actions a short time earlier, either, that rankled. Indeed, it hadn’t been the most sensible thing to walk into a crowded inn with one’s vision severely restricted. No, what she found unpardonable was his suggestion that her hair was possibly not wholly natural. Evidently he was accustomed to associating with females who would resort to any means in order to attain their ends. She was not so naïve as to suppose such women did not exist here in England. Her eyes suddenly twinkled with a very satisfied glint. But at least no female, virtuous or quite otherwise, had been foolish enough to tie herself irrevocably to such a self-opinionated bore as that person appeared to be!
‘Why, Miss Gwennie! I’ve never seen such a mutinous look on your face, not since that time your sainted mother—God rest her soul!—refused to allow you to play in the garden with Miss Jane until you’d finished your lessons.’
Memories of her long-suffering mother’s attempts to instil in her, her only child, at least a basic education swiftly erased the lines of annoyance from Gwen’s brow. ‘Ah, yes, dear Jane was so much cleverer than I. Just as well I didn’t attempt to follow her example by earning a living. I was always slower to learn.’
‘Only because you wouldn’t apply yourself. Leastways, that’s what I recall your mama always said. When something interested you, it was always you took the lead.’
The maid slipped into the settle opposite, apologising as she did so for being away for so long. ‘But you really oughtn’t to walk into inns by yourself,’ she went on, adopting the scolding tone she had used throughout Gwen’s childhood. ‘You ought to have remained in the carriage as arranged. You never know what nasty folk you might bump into.’
‘True! How very true!’ Gwen agreed, tongue-in-cheek, before deciding finally to thrust the unfortunate encounter with the abrasive gentleman from her mind completely. ‘I assume you were not successful in securing a private parlour?’
‘No, Miss Gwen. Seemingly there’s only two, and both in use at the present time, though the landlord did offer to put himself out and serve us in one of the unoccupied bedchambers, if we were—er—willing to pay the price.’
‘Needless to say you declined,’ Gwen responded, smiling to herself. One could always rely on dear old Martha Gillingham to know how to deal with any presumptuous fellow. She might have been in service throughout most of her life, and her education limited, but she was quite a remarkable judge of character, and was never slow to recognise when someone was attempting to take advantage.
‘I said as how my mistress didn’t intend to break the journey for long, and that we’d be comfortable enough eating our broth in the coffee room.’
‘Which is no less than the truth,’ Gwen quickly avowed. ‘According to the post-boys, we should reach our journey’s end, barring any mishap, before evening.’
‘And as long as the old master’s housekeeper has received your letter, everything should be in readiness for our arrival.’ The maid beamed across the table, her small, round eyes positively aglow with excitement. ‘You must be longing to see your new home, Miss Gwennie. I know I am.’
‘I’m longing to see Jane again far more.’ Gwen released her breath in a sigh. ‘She must have changed a good deal in the years since I’ve seen her. I know I have.’
Martha’s smile faded. Her plump features clearly betrayed a moment or two’s thoughtful contemplation before being replaced by a look of gentle affection. ‘Not that much, miss, you haven’t,’ she eventually countered. ‘You still get that same wicked glint in your eye you had as a child when you’re amused by something, or annoyed. And you’re still not afraid to speak your mind on occasions neither, though thankfully you’re a deal less headstrong than of yore.’
Gwen didn’t waste her breath in fruitless argument, simply because there was a deal of truth in her loyal maid’s utterances, and merely said, ‘Well, let us hope dear Jane hasn’t retained that stubbornly independent streak of hers. She may have been overjoyed to obtain that position as governess to those two orphaned girls, granting her the God-given opportunity to remove to the West Country. And so conveniently close to dear Percival’s house, too! But it doesn’t automatically follow that she’ll be any more willing to come and live with me now that I’m taking up permanent residence in my late husband’s home.’
A shadow of mingled resentment and regret flickered across Gwen’s delicately featured face. ‘I haven’t forgotten she refused to oblige me six years ago.’
A completely trouble-free last stage of the long journey resulted in the post-boys’ prediction of a late afternoon arrival proving accurate. Consequently, Gwen was privileged to enjoy the first glimpse of her new home bathed in flattering pale-golden sunlight glinting welcomingly on mullioned windows. An untidy and overgrown garden detracted somewhat from what might otherwise have been a very pleasing setting for the Restoration building, as did the profusion of choking ivy clinging to the front wall.
If the truth were known, though, Gwen wasn’t so much concerned about the architectural merit of the house that was shortly to become her permanent place of residence, at least for the foreseeable future, as she was about the atmosphere prevailing within. Much, she strongly suspected, would depend on the character of the female her late husband had employed almost twenty years before to maintain the smooth running of his household.
Gwen knew next to nothing about Mrs Travis, save that she was a female now well into middle age, and that Sir Percival had considered her to be a first-rate cook-housekeeper, completely trustworthy and conscientious. So unless she discovered the woman to be quite otherwise, Gwen was prepared to allow things to remain as they were. More importantly, her own dear Gillie had promised not to interfere in the running of the house, and to continue with her duties as personal maid-cum-companion. So one might be inclined to take an optimistic view, expecting everything to run smoothly, and everyone to rub along together remarkably well. Except that Gwen, now, was nothing if not a realist, and was well aware that things frequently didn’t work out as one might have wished. Furthermore, love her though she did, she wasn’t blind to her dear Gillie’s faults.
Martha Gillingham had assisted in bringing Gwen into the world, and had always been treated as a member of the family, rather than a servant. Consequently Martha had never had too many restrictions imposed upon her.
The maid had never been afraid to speak her mind, airing her views whether called upon to do so or not. So, should it be discovered that the house wasn’t being maintained to the high standards to which she herself had always adhered, when she had held the position of cook-housekeeper in the late Reverend and Mrs Playfair’s home for all those years, she wouldn’t be reticent to point out any deficiencies on Mrs Travis’s part.
Gwen quickly discovered there was thankfully no possibility of an early confrontation between the two women, when she was admitted by a housemaid who wasn’t slow to impart the unfortunate tidings that Mrs Travis had taken to her bed.
‘Terrible poorly she be, ma’am. Took bad a few days back, but would drag herself about, as she knew you’d be arriving some time this week, and now the chill’s settled on her chest, so it ’as.’
‘Has a doctor been summoned?’
The housemaid appeared astonished, as though it were unheard of for a practitioner to administer to a servant. ‘No, ma’am…I mean, Lady Warrender.’
‘I should prefer you address me as Mrs Warrender,’ Gwen said, never having grown accustomed to the courtesy title bestowed upon her, simply because her late husband had received a knighthood in recognition of his unblemished record and acts of heroism whilst serving in His Majesty’s Army during the previous century. ‘And your name is?’
‘Annie, ma’am…Annie Small.’
Gwen was unable to suppress a slight smile as the name was somewhat incongruous. The rosy-cheeked Annie was definitely on the buxom side. ‘A doctor must be summoned at once,’ she ordered, her mind swiftly returning to the matter in hand. ‘I understand from Sir Percival’s man of business in London that a male servant is also employed here?’
Annie rolled her eyes, a clear indication that she didn’t wholly approve of the male employee. ‘Yes, ma’am, Manders. He be outside somewhere. Don’t come into the ’ouse much, on account of ’im being a lazy good-for-nothing and not seeing eye to eye with Mrs Travis, as you might say. Made ’imself a snug little place above the stable, so ’ee ’as. You can usually find ’im skulking up there.’
Although she was aware that prejudice often clouded judgement, Gwen strongly suspected that much of what Annie had related had not been too far removed from the truth.
From what she had seen thus far, the garden, although adequate in size, was by no means totally unmanageable for an employee willing to pull his weight. Anyone working outside, even in the remotest corner, would have little difficulty hearing the sounds of an arrival. Yet no one had appeared when the carriage had pulled up at the door in order to assist the post-boys and Gillie in bringing the baggage into the hall.
‘In that case, Annie, it shouldn’t be too difficult a task for you to locate his whereabouts, and dispatch him for the local doctor. But first I’d like you to take me to see Mrs Travis.’
The cook-housekeeper occupied a small apartment, consisting of two rooms, directly off the kitchen. Gwen’s first and very favourable impression was one of combined cleanliness and order. This was quickly overshadowed by a rush of concern, as she set foot inside the bedchamber, to find a thin, angular woman doing her level best to rise from the bed.
Mrs Travis’s assurances that she was now feeling a good deal better after her day’s inactivity, and was more than capable of creating a wholesome evening meal for her new mistress fell on deaf ears, as both Gwen and the loyal Martha headed across the room with purposeful strides. Severely weakened by the infection, Mrs Travis was no match for one, let alone them both, and returned to the warm comfort of her bed without attempting an undignified struggle, though clearly betraying signs of distress at being denied at least an attempt to fulfil her duties.
‘No one, I’m certain, supposes you contracted the malady on purpose,’ Gwen declared, after listening to the tearful apology. ‘Martha, here, is more than capable of catering for my needs, until such time as you are able to resume your duties. Which I sincerely trust will not be long delayed.’
At this assurance that her position as housekeeper was in no way in jeopardy, Mrs Travis began to appear a good deal easier, with the lines of concern that had been steadily increasing beginning to fade from above the lacklustre eyes. The further assurance that she was considered worthy enough to receive a visit from the local practitioner seemed to deprive her of the power of speech, and it wasn’t until Gwen alluded to the maidservant, Annie, that she was able to regain command of her voice.
‘But Annie hasn’t a permanent position here, madam,’ she revealed. ‘When the master’s man of business, Mr Claypole, wrote and told me a few weeks ago of your arrival back in England, he said as how I might employ extra staff in order to prepare the house for your arrival. He knew well enough there was only me and Manders here, on account of his visiting once a year to check for himself how things stood in the poor old master’s absence. He took his duties seriously. Never once forgot to pay our wages come quarter-day, and insisted I write to him, no matter how trivial the matter, if I was concerned about anything.’
As she too had been favourably impressed by Mr Claypole’s conscientious attitude, Gwen experienced no qualms whatsoever over retaining his services when she had called to see him shortly after her arrival in the capital at the beginning of the year. Her concerns now, however, were not about her business affairs, which she felt sure were in trustworthy hands. Her late husband had not left her a pauper. In fact, the opposite was true. He had ensured that she could live in comfort, and although she had no intention of wasting money on frivolous luxuries, she fully intended to concentrate her efforts on turning her late husband’s house into a home in which she might happily dwell.
Consequently, early in the evening, after the doctor’s prompt visit, and a swift exploration of each and every room in her new home, Gwen made a start on her objective. Taking herself up to the best bedchamber, which boasted a commanding view of the sadly neglected front garden, she began to unpack her belongings, some of which had been acquired during her recent sojourn in London.
In the process of hanging yet another new gown in the wardrobe, Gwen paused for a moment to cast a thoughtful glance across at the young maidservant who was proving to be both an obliging and cheerful soul, only too happy to remain later than usual in order to lend a helping hand.
‘I understand, Annie, that you’re not a permanent member of the household here?’
‘No, ma’am. Mrs Travis ’eard I were back at the cottage, taking care of me ma and the young ’uns, and so sent a message over asking if, mayhap, I’d like work for a week or two. Weren’t going to turn it down, not with ’ow things are at present. But I’ll need to find m’ self something more settled again afore too long, now Ma’s on the mend.’
After unravelling the salient points of this response, and asking a few more pertinent questions, Gwen discovered that Annie was currently seeking new employment owing to the fact that her last mistress had chosen to leave the area and reside permanently in Bath. Although having become extremely attached to the elderly lady for whom she had worked from an early age, Annie retained strong family ties, and had chosen not to accompany her mistress, but to return temporarily to the family home in order to care for her younger siblings, while her mother recovered from a severe bout of influenza.
‘Mortal bad she’s been, ma’am. Surprised she weren’t took, after the ’ard life she’s ’ad,’ Annie went on to reveal so matter-of-factly that Gwen was hard pressed not to laugh.
It wasn’t that she didn’t feel a deal of sympathy. It was merely that, having been the daughter of a clergyman, she had frequently come into contact with those much less fortunate than herself, and knew from experience that Mrs Small’s circumstances were sadly the norm for those less privileged members of the human race. Worn out by years of childbearing, hard work and a meagre diet, Annie’s mother was yet another victim of her class, growing old before her time. The wonder of it was that the poor woman had managed to reach middle age, something which her spouse, seemingly, had failed to achieve, having lost his life in an accident involving an unruly piece of horseflesh belonging to his employer, the Earl of Cranborne.
‘And was it because his employer felt in some way responsible for your father’s demise that he permitted your mother to remain in one of the estate cottages?’
‘Don’t expect so, ma’am. Much more likely it’s on account of our Jem working up at the stables as well. Our Betsy’s employed by his lordship too. She’s a chambermaid up at the Hall. But she stays up at the big ’ouse now. Just as well, ’cause it’s been mortal crowded in the cottage—what with Ma and the three young ’uns, not to mention Jem ’imself.’ Annie raised one plump shoulder. ‘I’ve got used to better, I suppose—a room to m’self. So the sooner I finds another situation, the better.’
‘And couldn’t you find work at Cranborne Hall? It would offer you the opportunity to remain close to your family.’
‘Not ’eard there’s anything going there.’ Annie shrugged again. ’Wouldn’t make no neverminds even if there were. I don’t want to work up there.’
Gwen was intrigued to discover this. ‘Why is that? Is the Earl not well liked in these parts, Annie?’
‘Oh, it ain’t that, ma’am. I don’t want to stay a parlourmaid all me life. Wants to better m’self, become housekeeper or some such. Not much chance of that ’appening if I went to the Hall.’
‘And are there no other large households hereabouts, or well-to-do families that might offer employment?’ Gwen wasn’t in the least reticent to make use of this golden opportunity to discover more about her friend Jane’s employer who, she was very well aware, was rumoured to be one of the wealthiest landowners in Somerset. Although she had never heard a word to his discredit, her late husband having enjoyed more than just a casual acquaintance with the gentleman in question, and his father before him, she thought it would be no bad thing to, perhaps, attain an unbiased view from another source before she paid a visit herself.
‘I recall my husband mentioning a Mr Northbridge, a close neighbour of his, I believe.’ She chose not to reveal at this juncture that she had a very dear friend employed as governess in the household. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of Jane’s status. Nothing could have been further from the truth. No, it was merely that she thought she would receive a more candid opinion of the aforementioned gentleman if she kept certain facts to herself.
‘Lord bless you, ma’am! I’d never get a job there!’ Annie exclaimed, much to Gwen’s intense surprise.
She then began to experience slight feelings of unease. ‘Why is that, Annie? Is he not—perhaps—a well-liked person?’
‘Oh, no, ma’am, it ain’t that. It’s t’ other way, if anything. I’m not saying he’s liked by everyone, but he is by most. And that’s a fact! He can be sharp, mind,’ she went on to divulge, after a moment’s thought. ‘Ain’t afraid to say what he thinks, Mr Northbridge ain’t. But ’ee’s fair. My big brother, Ben, him that toils down at the smithy in the village ’ere, would work for ’im tomorrow, iffen there were a situation going. Trouble is, nobody ever leaves Mr Northbridge. Not unless they’re taken away from the place in a box, that is!’
Gwen stared across at the parlourmaid for a moment in stunned disbelief. ‘What in the world do you mean by that, Annie?’
‘Well, ’tis this way, ma’am. Like anyone else, Mr Northbridge’s got ’is faults. All the same, there’s no denying folk lucky enough to get taken on at Bridge House stay there, and only leave when the Almighty decides it’s time for ’em to move on. Mr Northbridge knows fine our Ben would be ’appy to run the stables for ’im, and he’s promised Ben he’ll be given a job soon as there be one. But m’brother’s not daft, ma’am. He knows ’ee might be working at the smithy a good while yet.’
Gwen listened to these disclosures with decidedly mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was comforting to know that her dearest Jane had found herself a position where the head of the family was held in such esteem; on the other hand, though, it might prove no easy task to achieve her objective—namely to prise her dearest friend, the female whom she had always looked upon as a sister, away from this pillar of the community and persuade her to come and live with her now.
There was no denying that Jane had grown into a fiercely independent young woman. The only child of well-respected, if not affluent, parents, she had been both proud and determined to make her own way in the world. Gwen was equally aware that there would have been a greater chance of attaining her dearest wish if this unknown Mr Northbridge had proved not to be such a paragon. Undoubtedly she would discover precisely what manner of man he was for herself in due course.
In the meantime, though, there were other matters requiring her attention, she decided, quickly returning to the unpacking of the various trunks cluttering the bedchamber. Her first visit to Bridge House would need to be postponed for a while, at least until her own home had been restored to full working order.
In point of fact, it was over a week later before Gwen began to think seriously about making that short two-mile journey to Bridge House to see Jane Robbins. She had had much to occupy her since her arrival, not least of which had been engaging the services of Annie on a permanent basis, and hiring one of Annie’s young brothers, Joe, to help bring some much-needed order to the neglected garden.
Although the steadily recovering Mrs Travis had been very well pleased by Annie’s appointment, declaring that she was an excellent maid, one who could be relied upon to work without supervision, and not cut corners, Manders had betrayed no similar delight when informed that there would shortly be an extra pair of hands not only to help about the garden, but also to assist with all the other outside tasks.
His decided lack of enthusiasm hadn’t altogether surprised Gwen, for as the days had passed she had become increasingly convinced that Annie’s low opinion of Manders was fully justified. The resentment she had easily perceived in his expression, when she had informed him of the changes she intended to make, she strongly suspected, didn’t stem from the fact that he believed she thought him no longer capable of doing his work. Oh, no, it was much more likely to have been because, having someone else working alongside him every single day, he would no longer be able to idle so much time away in some out-of-the-way corner, feet up, pulling on his pipe. Already there had been noticeable improvements in several areas of the garden, and it was no longer a rare sight to see Manders himself pushing a wheelbarrow along one of the overgrown paths.
Her housemaid’s sudden appearance in the cosy back parlour, which Gwen had quickly selected for her private domain, drew her attention away from the activity taking place in the garden. For a short while she absently watched as Annie made up the fire, before enquiring into how her two newest employees were settling in.
If Annie felt surprised by this show of interest in her welfare, and that of her much younger brother, she certainly betrayed no sign of it. ‘Champion, ma’am,’ she declared, rosy face beaming. ‘My room in the attic’s nice and cosy. And I knew right enough I’d be happy working under Mrs Travis.’
‘And what about your brother? How’s he settling in?’
‘Well enough, Mrs Warrender. He’s finding no trouble with the work, young though he is. But ’aving a room all to ’imself is summat strange for ’im. Used to sharing with Ma and the little ’uns, you see?’
It said much about the conditions endured by the majority of those less fortunate members of the human race that sleeping alone in a room measuring little more than six feet by eight was considered the height of luxury.
‘Yes, I’m sure Joe must find it odd. But I’d rather he stay where he is for the present, where you can continue to keep an eye on him.’ Gwen turned once again to stare out at where the thirteen-year-old Joe was hard at work doing battle with a bramble patch. ‘The day might dawn when he’d prefer to share those quarters above the outhouses, and I shan’t object if he chooses so to do. As I saw for myself, only the other day, there’s ample room up there for three people. But for the time being I think it best he remains close enough for you to keep an eye on him. He’s still a child, after all.’
Gwen knew she didn’t need to say anything further. Annie was no fool, and although the maid herself was more than capable of holding her own against a taciturn individual like Manders, it didn’t automatically follow that her sibling might quickly learn to do the same. So, for the time being at least, it was worth keeping a watchful eye on proceedings, if only to be certain that young Joe wasn’t being put upon by his co-worker.
Gwen’s thoughts then turned to other events that had occupied her during her first week in her new home. She certainly hadn’t found time hanging heavily on her hands, even though she hadn’t received a single visit from a neighbour. In view of the fact that both Annie and the local practitioner, Dr Bartlet, had mentioned that what had seemed half the county, at some time or other, had fallen victim to the particular malady that had struck down poor Mrs Travis, the lack of callers in no way surprised her. All the same, she did think it rather strange that she had received no word from Jane, not even the briefest of notes awaiting her, especially as she herself had made a point, the instant she had arrived back in the country, of apprising her dearest friend of precisely when she expected to be taking up residence in her late husband’s home.
As was her wont, Gwen wasn’t slow to act once she had come to a decision, and asked Annie to send Martha Gillingham to her immediately and then instruct Manders to have the one and only horse-drawn vehicle the late Sir Percival Warrender had ever possessed brought round to the door.
The journey to Bridge House was blessedly of short duration. None the less, it was with a feeling of intense relief that Gwen alighted from the antiquated conveyance that afforded no more comfort than a farm cart, vowing as she did so to decrease her bank balance in order to acquire a new carriage at the earliest opportunity.
She then turned her full attention on the early Georgian dwelling before her. Set in a garden that was both extensive and well maintained, Bridge House was, as Jane had once described in one of her letters, a very handsome building indeed. Clearly it was a residence belonging to a gentleman of substantial means. Furthermore, if the property was a reflection of his character, he was a person of elegance and good taste.
Apart from one or two details she had discovered from both her late husband and Jane, and those few interesting snippets she had gleaned from Annie in recent days, Gwen knew next to nothing about the owner of the delightful property, save that he was closely connected to several aristocratic families, he could also boast a fine residence in the capital, and he remained a bachelor.
‘Which in one way is a great pity, Gillie,’ she declared, after mulling over the few facts she did know about him. ‘Had he been married, it would have spared you suffering this atrocious journey. I could then have asked to see Mrs Northbridge. As things stand, I have no choice but to drag you along. I might be a respectable widow, but I still cannot go calling on single gentlemen without giving rise to a deal of gossip.’
‘That you can’t, Miss Gwennie,’ Martha agreed. ‘Might be different if you had a few more years in your dish and a face like a horse’s rear. But the fact is you haven’t.’
‘No, and I suppose I should consider myself most fortunate for that, too,’ Gwen responded a little unsteadily, as she reached the impressive colonnaded front entrance. ‘Let’s hope Lady Luck continues to favour me and we should discover Mr Northbridge away from home. I can then ask to see Jane without fear of causing offence.’
‘You could have written again during the past days, telling Miss Jane of your safe arrival down here,’ Martha pointed out, reaching for the highly polished door-knocker before her young mistress could do so.
‘Yes, I know I could have done,’ Gwen agreed. ‘But until I know for certain that Jane’s willing to share my home, I don’t want to make things awkward for her. I know her too well. At the very least she’ll insist on working her notice, or remaining until Mr Northbridge has managed to engage another governess. Furthermore, letters have a habit of going astray or falling into the wrong hands. I had no intention of advertising my close association with Jane, at least not until I’ve discussed things with her first.’ Gwen lowered her eyes, thereby concealing the look of bitter regret. ‘I was once guilty of assuming too much where she is concerned. I have no intention of repeating that gross error of judgement.’
The summons was answered promptly by an elderly male servant who, on discovering her identity, betrayed no reluctance whatsoever in admitting Gwen, or revealing that his master was in residence.
‘If you’d care to wait in here, madam,’ he said, leading the way into a most charmingly decorated and comfortable front parlour, ‘I shall enquire if the master is able to see you.’
Given that her late husband had always maintained he had remained upon the best of terms with this particular neighbour, Gwen didn’t suppose for a moment that Mr Northbridge would refuse to see her, unless of course other matters required his urgent attention. What she didn’t expect, a moment after she had detected the click of the door, was the clearly astonished voice declaring,
‘Good gad! I’d heard Warrender, the old rogue, had married someone years his junior, but I never supposed for a moment she’d turn out to be a chit not long out of the schoolroom!’
