She had managed to persuade Lund to bring her water, logs and candles, and had set about lighting a fire. Then she had pulled the dust sheets from some of the furniture. The first chair she had uncovered had been a heavily carved armchair with a pointed back, which had looked most uncomfortable. Swallowing her disappointment she had uncovered a second chair and had been relieved to see that it was upholstered in faded tapestry. Next she had uncovered a washstand, complete with porcelain bowl; a small table; and finally a four poster bed. The bed, however, had not been made up.
A pull of the bell had eventually brought a grumbling Lund to her room and she had asked him for a pair of sheets. She had been dreading their arrival, fearing to find them dirty or damp, but had been pleased to discover that they were well aired and spotlessly clean. She had made up the bed, then, having seen to the room, she had drawn the heavy damask curtains across the arched windows to shut out the wild night and set about tending her ankle, soaking her shawl in cold water and wrapping it round her foot to reduce the swelling.
And now here she was, sitting by a reasonable blaze, with a roof over her head and a bed to sleep in, and for these small comforts she must be thankful.
She examined the shawl. Unwinding it carefully, she was relieved to see that her ankle had almost shrunk back to its usual size. Only the livid bruising showed that she had been injured.
As she lifted her foot gingerly onto a stool she could not help her thoughts returning to Lord Carisbrooke. He was a strange man. A puzzling man. He had an ancient home and a title, and yet he seemed to care for neither. He had grimaced when she had addressed him as "my lord", and if the Red Room was anything to go by, he neglected his home. He employed, it seemed, only one servant, a man so gloomy anyone else would have dismissed him long ago, and on top of this, he appeared to hate women, for why else would he say he couldn’t have a woman in the abbey?
Her imagination took wing. Had he suffered an unhappy love affair in the past? Was that why he buried himself in the abbey? Perhaps. And yet she did not think so, for there had been something tender in the way he had taken her foot and started to unlace her boot.
She shivered slightly as she recalled the way his fingers had brushed against her ankle, touching the skin that had been exposed by her torn stocking. They had been firm yet gentle, the epitome of power held in check, and their touch had set her quivering inside.
It had been a strange feeling, enlivening and disturbing all at once.
Then, too, had been the moment when he had swept her off her feet. She had been alarmed, and yet she had felt somehow right in his arms. She could still remember the hard ridge of his muscles beneath his clothes, and the way she had trembled at the feel of them.
And then there had been his scent. He had smelled of the wind and rain, of forests and trees, of roots and musk. It had been a masculine smell, with all the strength of nature, virile and powerful.
Her senses had been heightened when she had been near him, she realized. Her body had become finely tuned, reacting to the feel of him, the sound of him, the sight of him, the smell of him ...
Discovering that her thoughts were being monopolised by Lord Carisbrooke, she thought it was just as well she was not to work at the abbey. If one afternoon spent in his company could have such a profound effect on her, what would a few weeks do?
If only it was not the only position she had been offered in the last three months. Well, she must just find another position, and find it soon, or she would be destitute.
Perhaps Lord Carisbrooke’s cousin would know of something, she thought, brightening. He seemed to be a pleasant young man, and might know of a family who needed a governess. Failing that, perhaps the rector had heard of someone in need of assistance. He and his wife had both been friendly, and they might be prepared to help her. She would call at the rectory on her way back to the village in the morning.
Having settled the matter as much as she could for the time being, she turned her thoughts away from that direction. She did not want to think of the long walk, very possibly in the rain, as the storm showed no signs of abating.
Now that she had settled herself comfortably, she found she was ready for some occupation. She wondered whether she should take The Mysteries of Udolpho out of her portmanteau. It was a wonderful book, but perhaps it would be better not to read it in the abbey. Its ghostly apparitions and terrible secrets were spine-tingling enough in a sunny garden; in the cavernous bedchamber they might seem too close for comfort! She decided to take out her needle instead and darn her stocking.
She was just about to begin stitching when a knock came at the door. She gave a start, then laughed, thinking it was a good thing she had not been reading Udolpho, otherwise she would have jumped out of her skin!
Telling herself that there was nothing sinister about the knocking, which would most probably be Lund, come with the supper he had promised her on a tray, she called out, ‘Come in.’
It was indeed Lund, but to her surprise he entered the room empty-handed, and said in a surly manner, ‘The master sent me to bid you join him for dinner.’
Then, having delivered his graceless message, he departed as gloomily as he had come.
His gracelessness did not disturb Hilary, however. The thought of a hot meal lifted her spirits, and wasting no more than a minute on wondering why Lord Carisbrooke should have invited her to join him, when he had already indicated that he did not want to see her again, she stood up.
She wondered briefly whether she should change her gown, but then decided that Lord Carisbrooke would not expect it. Besides, her other two dresses were even shabbier than the one she was wearing. At least her brown linsey-woolsey dress had a high waist, which gave it some pretence to fashion.
She was about to go downstairs when she remembered her hair. Her eyes swept the room. Over in the corner was an item of furniture, swathed in a dust sheet, which could be a dressing table. She pulled the sheet from it and discovered that she had been right.
One look in the mirror showed her that her mousy locks were in a dreadful state. Blown about by the wind and drenched by the rain, they were hanging in tangled coils down her back. Unpacking her hairbrush, she loosed her remaining hair, and then brushed it to remove the tangles. Working quickly, she arranged it in a simple knot at the back of her head, then surveyed herself in the mirror with calm grey eyes. She could do nothing about her small, shapeless figure, made even more ungainly by her unfashionable woollen gown, nor could she do anything about her plain features, but she was at least neat and tidy and she was ready to go downstairs.
The descent was difficult. Although her ankle had returned to its normal size, it throbbed every time she stepped on it. She favoured her other foot and supported herself on the banister, until at last she reached the bottom. She hesitated. Then, spotting light spilling out of one of the doorways, she followed it across the stone-flagged hall to the drawing-room.
The leaping fire was a welcome sight. Its logs were ablaze and its flames filled the enormous fireplace, throwing heat into the huge stone-walled room. It was flanked by two heavily-carved oak armchairs. Above the fireplace was a looking-glass, set in a heavy frame. A green brocaded sofa was pushed back from the fire, and behind it, on the wall, hung an ancient tapestry. Its colours were faded, but Hilary could just make out the picture of a hunting scene. The carpet was threadbare and the thick curtains were shabby, but they formed an effective barrier across the windows and kept out the draughts.
Sitting in one of the chairs by the fire was Lord Carisbrooke’s cousin. And there, standing next to the huge fireplace, was Lord Carisbrooke himself.
The two men made a marked contrast. Mr Ulverstone was fair, with small features, golden hair and blue eyes. He was slightly built, having narrow shoulders and graceful limbs. He held himself well, with an elegance that marked him out as a man of style.
Lord Carisbrooke, on the other hand, was huge and dark. His shoulders were massive and his chest was broad. He made no
effort to hold himself well, and leant his elbow against the stone mantelpiece in an attitude of carelessness.
It was not just in terms of physical attributes that the two men made a contrast, but also in terms of dress. Mr Ulverstone had changed for dinner. He was wearing an immaculately-cut tailcoat with an embroidered waistcoat, satin knee breeches, white stockings and black pumps, whilst Lord Carisbrooke was still wearing the buckskin breeches and battered tailcoat he had been wearing earlier in the day, and by their poor fit it was obvious they had been designed for comfort rather than show. But despite this, his clothes could not hide the power of his frame. He might look like an unmade bed, but it suited him. He had altogether too large a personality to be confined in the rigid lines of fashionable clothes.
Hilary’s gaze moved to his face. It might not be handsome but for all that it had a wild fascination, like the sea on a stormy day, or a vast expanse of rugged moor. There was a compellingness to his features, a stark grandeur that drew her eye and held it.
‘Ah. Miss Wentworth.’ Mr Ulverstone, rising with alacrity, came forward to claim her attention. ‘I am so glad you could join us.’
So this is the source of the invitation, thought Hilary: Mr Ulverstone suggested I should join them for dinner.
‘I am sure you are hungry,’ Mr Ulverstone continued. ‘We will go straight in.’
He offered her his arm.
Hilary hesitated. Somehow it did not seem right that she should be treated as a guest, but she happened to catch sight of Lord Carisbrooke’s frown in the looking glass and her spirit stirred. She was, after all, entitled to courtesy, and if Lord Carisbrooke was not willing to show it to her, then Mr Ulverstone certainly was. Turning to the charming young man she took his arm and together they went out of the drawing-room.
‘What dreadful weather we are having,’ said Hilary to Mr Ulverstone.
‘Atrocious!’ he said, happy to join in with her pleasantry as they crossed the hall. ‘I have never seen such rain. I was hoping to return to town today, but the weather would have made it a miserable journey and in the end I decided against it. I can only hope that tomorrow will be better, or else I will have to trespass on my cousin’s hospitality for a few days longer.’
Hilary heard a ‘Harumph!’ behind her, but beyond that Lord Carisbrooke did not comment.
They entered the dining-room. Like the other rooms in the abbey it was large, with walls made of stone. A long table ran down its centre. It would seat about twenty people, and to begin with Hilary found it overwhelming. But once Lord Carisbrooke had taken his place at the head of the table and Hilary had settled herself opposite Mr Ulverstone, one on either side of Lord Carisbrooke, it did not seem quite so daunting.
Lord Carisbrooke made no effort at conversation, but merely sat looking at her from underneath his jutting brow.
Does he resent me for being at the table? she wondered. Or is he simply taciturn by nature? Whichever it was, she felt she must do what she could to lighten the mood.
‘Have you been in the country long?’ she asked Mr Ulverstone.
‘Almost a week,’ Mr Ulverstone replied. ‘Ordinarily I live in London. I am a town mouse, rather than a country mouse, I fear! I seldom venture far from the capital, but unfortunately just now it is a sad place to be. I felt I had to get away.’ His face darkened. ‘The Golden Jubilee celebrations were magnificent, but alas, King George’s illness has cast a pall over everything since.’
Lund brought in a large tureen of soup and proceeded to ladle it into three bowls.
‘I had heard something of it,’ said Hilary, saddened to think of the king’s uncertain health, which was causing concern. ‘There is talk of it being his old trouble. Do you think it is his madness again?’
At her question Lord Carisbrooke stirred.
Hilary looked at him questioningly. Did he think she would not keep up with the news? she wondered. Did he, perhaps, think she would know nothing of the world beyond gowns and bonnets? Was that why he had refused to appoint her, because he wanted someone who was conversant with the topics of the day, and thought that no woman could be? If so, here was a chance for her to show him that she had a lively interest in the world around her, and that she was as well informed as any man.
‘It is a great pity,’ she went on, knowing from his expression that he was listening to her. ‘But the King has been under such a strain recently that it is perhaps not to be wondered at. With Princess Amelia’s sad illness and untimely death, he has had much to try him.’
‘That is true. He loved Amelia dearly. But the madness became apparent before she died. Indeed, he does not know she has gone, but believes that she is living in Hanover,’ said Mr Ulverstone.
Hilary sighed. ‘Perhaps it is better that way.’
‘I believe you are right,’ said Mr Ulverstone sympathetically.
Hilary turned her attention to her soup. She took a spoonful, and found it surprisingly good. She had expected a thin, tepid liquid, but instead it was a good, thick pea soup, tasty, hot and nourishing. After her earlier ordeal in the storm, it was most welcome.
‘Is it certain it is his old malady?’ asked Hilary, continuing the conversation as she lowered her spoon.
‘I’m afraid there is no doubt about it. The symptoms are exactly the same as on previous occasions: the rapid speech, the unnatural excitement, the insomnia and the stomach spasms. I have a number of friends at court, and they are all deeply concerned for the king. His Majesty does not seem to be able to stop talking. It is a terrible outpouring, they say, completely beyond His Majesty’s control. He addresses invisible people, and lectures those he knew years ago. It is very distressing for all concerned.’
‘Then we must hope he makes a speedy recovery. He always has done in the past. After a few months his symptoms usually disappear, leaving him to resume his life.’ She put down her spoon. ‘I hope he is being well treated. Some of the things done to him on previous occasions ... ’
‘You don’t approve?’ Lord Carisbrooke broke his silence, and there was an interested light in his eye.
Is he testing me? wondered Hilary, meeting his gaze; is he trying to find out if I have my own ideas? It was a necessary quality if she was to be able to make sense of a neglected library, cataloguing and arranging it without ever disturbing the master of the house. Perhaps he was starting to change his mind about appointing her, she thought. Having considered what she had said about not having a choice, he was perhaps coming to realize that if he did not appoint her, he might find himself without any help at all.
Well, she would pass his test.
‘No, I don’t. I can’t see how beating someone can cure their madness, and although I can understand that at times the King might have needed to be restrained, fastening him into a chair and leaving him there seems to me to be barbaric.’
‘And yet there are some people who say that that is how we should treat the mad. Lock them away. Tie them up. Beat them into insensibility,’ he growled.
‘It is appalling, and besides, it doesn’t work,’ she said. ‘The poor creatures in Bedlam rarely show any signs of improvement, and if they do, it is despite their treatment, rather than because of it. Besides, the king has always recovered from his malady in the past with or without the help - if it can be called help - of doctors. So of what use were the beatings?’
Lord Carisbrooke’s eyes were grim. ‘What indeed?’
‘What is the word at court?’ asked Hilary, turning back to Mr Ulverstone. ‘Is it believed he will recover?’
‘It is hoped so. But, as usual, it is impossible to be sure.’
‘There is talk of a Regency,’ said Hilary. ‘Prince George is healthy and would be able to rule in his father’s stead, until the king recovers.’
‘It might come to that. The Prince of Wales would certainly like it to happen. He has been waiting in the wings for long enough. But even if he becomes Regent, will things be any better? There are those who say Prince George is afflicted with the sa
me madness, though in a less severe form. That is perhaps the greatest tragedy, that such an affliction is hereditary.’
‘A fine choice of conversation for the dinner table,’ rumbled Lord Carisbrooke. He had been growing increasingly irascible throughout the conversation, and his ill humour had now broken out with full force. ‘Miss Wentworth does not wish to talk about such a grim subject, I am sure.’
Hilary almost dropped her spoon in surprise at this sudden concern for her likes and dislikes! Really, Lord Carisbrooke was a most surprising man.
Even more surprising was the fact that Mr Ulverstone seemed unperturbed by his cousin’s sudden outburst. In fact, he seemed almost to have been expecting it. ‘To be sure,’ he replied, ‘there are other things to talk about.’
There was a lull in the conversation and they turned their attention to finishing their soup.
Once it was finished, Hilary lay down her spoon and took a deep breath. This was her opportunity ask the question she had been longing to ask all evening.
‘You live in London,’ she said to Mr Ulverstone, ‘and your acquaintance must be large. I was wondering whether you might know of anyone in need of governess, or perhaps a companion?’
‘Unfortunately not,’ he said ruefully. ‘I don’t usually hear of such positions - they fall into the province of ladies, you understand. But I will certainly make enquiries as soon as I return to the capital, and if you give me your direction I will write to you as soon as I hear of anything.’
‘Thank you. You are very kind.’
‘Not at all,’ said Mr Ulverstone amiably. ‘It is no trouble. You are returning home tomorrow, I take it?’
‘I am.’
‘Then you must let me take you up in my carriage. You live in Derbyshire, I believe, and it is on my way. My equipage is a comfortable one, and I am persuaded it will make your journey easier than travelling on the stage.’
Carisbrooke Abbey Page 3
