The Master Of Michaelmas Hall

by Vanessa Brooks

  The maid bobbed a curtsy and scuttled away to do his bidding.

  He entered the breakfast room some while later, fully groomed and dressed. Selecting some kedgeree from the sideboard, he seated himself at the top of the table, hoping his guest would soon join him so he could uncover her identity and bring to light whatever game she was playing. The hour ticked by, and yet there was no sign of her. Gabriel pulled the bell cord.

  “You rang, Milord?” Carroll, the butler, answered his summons.

  “Aye, has the countess arisen yet?”

  “Indeed, sir. The lady and her maid departed some while ago.”

  He jerked upright. “Departed, in this weather?”

  “I attempted to dissuade the lady from leaving, my lord, but she was adamant. I believe she mentioned something about fetching a boy from your sister’s house?”

  Thoroughly agitated now, Gabriel threw down his napkin and leapt to his feet.

  “How did she depart?” he asked, pushing past Carroll.

  “I am not entirely certain, Milord. I heard cook say that she’d seen the lady and her maid leave on horseback,” the butler called after his retreating back.

  “Hell and damnation, the foolish bloody woman!” he muttered, adding several more colourful curses to his litany as he loped through the house to the boot room.

  He appeared in the stables a short while later, warmly clad and carrying a pile of blankets and furs. “Ready the sleigh,” he bawled at no one in particular.

  “Milord, a moment?” the under-groom called, hastening to his side.

  “Yes, what is it, Joseph?” he asked, short on temper.

  “The countess, she has taken Star, and her maid has Merry, the mare you purchased for your fiancée.”

  Gabriel turned the air blue with language he would never normally countenance, but in this instance, it was required that he release his pent-up fury before he hit something or someone.

  The woman, whoever she was, deserved a sound thrashing, which he was more than tempted to give her once he got his hands on her. In fact, if Star and the gentle Merry were harmed in any way, he swore to personally deliver his own brand of justice.

  In no time at all, the sleigh was prepared. The two mules, Jolly and Chestnut, were tacked and ready to pull the little-used sledge. Piling blankets upon the seats behind him, Gabriel took up the driver’s position.

  Being hardy, these mules, bred from a draught horse as mother and a large Jack donkey as father, were much stronger and tougher than any horse, ideal for hauling the sled through the deepening snow. Although the going would be slow, at least they would persevere and be equal to the task.

  Gabriel instructed Joseph to take control of the back of the sleigh. The groom first lit the candles in the lanterns set either side at the front before he jumped nimbly up onto the back of the sled and held on with both hands. Joseph was thoroughly versed in the art of knowing in which direction he should lean in order to stabilise the vehicle as it approached a bend.

  With a flick of his riding whip, Gabriel had the two mules plodding forward.

  It was easy to follow the deep tracks made by the horses. The mules came into their stride after a half mile of travel and progressed onwards at a steady pace. Gabriel did not push the beasts, for he had no way of knowing how long they would be out in these freezing conditions. He took no pleasure as they passed through this sparkling world of shimmering white. No, his full attention was on finding the direction of the road now hidden by the changed contours of the snow-capped landscape. He was resolved to save his horses and the women from frostbite or worse. His heart raced in time with the bell that jangled at the front of the sleigh.

  They had a moment of near disaster as they rounded a snowy bend, the sledge rearing onto its side traversing a snow-covered bush. Gabriel had miscalculated the highway’s direction. The sleigh tilted alarmingly, but Joseph, skilled at such manoeuvres, leaned the opposite way in order to right the sled, thus calamity was averted. After that, they journeyed onwards without further mishap.

  Chapter 7

  Angele realised her foolhardiness shortly into their journey. She’d been too hasty in her decision to return to Churchton immediately. Star shuddered beneath her, finally coming to a halt. He simply stood still, his flesh quivering in the biting cold whilst he snorted in distress. The mare that Ivy rode had fallen far behind; it was obvious she struggled with the depth of snow.

  They should return to the house, but it seemed Star had other plans. The brave stallion picked his way across the pristine snow at an angle to the highway. Angele instinctively trusted the steed and made no attempt to control his wayward behaviour. She studied the brightness ahead, squinting, just about able to make out the outline of a building. Shortly after, a dwelling came into view. No smoke rose from the chimney, and the cottage was covered in thick snow, a sure indication that no welcome fire blazed within the hearth which would have melted the worst of the snow from the roof.

  Star plodded laboriously around the small cottage to the back where a rudimentary stable was to be found. Stiffly, Angele dismounted and was instantly up to her knees in snow, making walking difficult. She and the horse made their way inside the shelter, which was cold but offered some protection from the blizzard outside. Hay was stored at one end while two stalls were at the other. Star needed no persuading to enter a stall. Angele fetched hay and filled a bucket with snow, placing both in front of the horse, hoping the snow would soon melt and provide the animal with water.

  There was a creaking of doors as Ivy entered the stable, leading the exhausted Merry. Angele took the reins from her maid and stabled the mare in the same manner she had Star. The two women then closed and re-barred the doors of the stable to keep out the arctic chill. They held on to each other as they struggled towards the back of the cottage.

  Angele hammered on the door, already suspecting no one lived here. When there was no reply, she tried the latch, and the door swung inward. Inside, there was an old wooden table and four chairs. A blackened range sat against the far wall.

  “I saw a stack of firewood outside. Please fetch some logs, Ivy, we must have a fire. I shall investigate inside the cottage.” Angele didn’t wait to see if her maid obeyed her instruction but moved through the tiny scullery and into the main room.

  It possessed two ancient fireside rocking chairs set upon a reed-covered floor. A small latched door stood open on the opposite wall, revealing a winding stairway. Angele tentatively climbed the twisted stairs to the upper floor onto a poky landing. There were two identical-sized bedchambers. Each one sported an old carved wooden bed with ticking-covered straw mattresses. A bolster lay at the head of each bed.

  In one of the rooms, a large recess had been shelved. There were a few motley items of bedding folded, a couple of blankets and some aged bed linen. Frost fronds decorated the inside of the tiny diamond-paned windows, and her breath vaporised into mist in the frigid air. She shivered. Making her way back down the stairs, she knew that to survive they must manage to light both the fire and the range, but how?

  Gabriel and Joseph had not travelled very far when the horse tracks they were following veered off the road. They were still within the estate grounds, but it was obvious that the ladies’ horses were suffering difficulty with the growing depth of snow. Meanwhile, the mules picked their way through the driving weather without showing any sign of distress.

  Shortly after they’d left the road, a small house came into sight. Horse tracks led toward the deserted tied cottage that had stood empty since old Jeb, the farrier, had passed away. Gabriel knew that his estate manager intended filling the position come spring, when the labour market was normally buoyant.

  At least the woman purporting to be Marie had the good sense to seek shelter. He just hoped it wasn’t because one of his horses had turned lame. He drove around the back of the farrier’s cottage and pulled up the mules.

  Conditions had turned ferocious. Snow blinded him, swirling about his head, disorie
ntating him as he made for the makeshift stable. Thank goodness he had no need to continue his search in this forbidding weather. Joseph was already unhitching the steadfast mules. Gabriel paused to pat each stoical creature as he passed by.

  He was grateful to find his prized pet safely ensconced in a stall. He spent a few moments running his hands over both the horses’ fetlocks, assuring himself they were unharmed. He then led the gallant little Merry into Star’s stall. It would be a tight fit for them, but the warmth they would generate between them would benefit both animals. The now empty stall could house the mules. Leaving Joseph to stable them, Gabriel bent his head into the howling blizzard and fought his way over to the cottage door.

  Inside he found the woman, calling herself Marie; head down inside a range, her backside thrust upward into the room. He resisted the urge to land a hard slap to the tempting target, recognising it as inappropriate to antagonise the woman. Instead, he placed his hand upon her shoulder.

  “Allow me.”

  She shrieked, leaping backwards in shock, stumbling against him. He was stiff with cold, his wits dulled. Unable to react quickly, they unbalanced and tumbled together to the floor. Her veil swung towards him, and without conscious thought, he reached to grasp it. Quick as a flash, she snapped her head back, his hand flailing uselessly in the air. With a sigh of discontent, he lowered his arm and heaved himself from the floor. The door opened, and Joseph came in cradling the flickering candle taken from inside one of the sleigh lamps.

  “I thought we might use this to light a fire, Milord,” he said, looking about for a holder in which to set the candle.

  Ivy appeared from inside the main room and darted back the way she had come, reappearing a moment later with a bougie nightlight. Between them the maid and groom lit the wick of the coiled bougie and set the candle safe within a pewter holder that Ivy found on the mantelpiece.

  Meanwhile, Gabriel hauled the imposter to her feet. While she dusted herself down, he set about getting the fire going using some of the rushes from the floor as tinder. Joseph stacked the logs that Ivy brought in and set them beside the range before braving the blizzard to gather more.

  Soon a fire blazed in the hearth of the main room, and the range had been lit. Joseph brought in the picnic basket, and Ivy bustled around to put together a meal for them from the ample contents. They sat together at the wooden table, eating in silence. It seemed both servants knew better than to start a conversation with their employers. Gabriel had no intention of beginning the task of interrogation in front of the maid and groom. He stared at the woman feeding herself beneath her obscuring veil and wondered what her motives were. Itching to pull the damnable thing from her face, he resisted the urge, concentrating instead on the cold collation set before him. He selected a chicken leg and tore into the meat, watching sourly as the woman slipped a quail’s egg beneath her veil.

  Who the devil is she?

  Dusk fell, and the cottage warmed. Discussion over sleeping arrangements became the topic of conversation. Gabriel decreed that the two women should sleep in one room while he and Joseph should share the other. The women took themselves upstairs first in order to dress the beds with the linen which Angele had found on the shelf in the bedchamber.

  “Joseph, I do not wish to leave the women unguarded. I propose to take first watch down here in order to stop them absconding should the storm die down before dawn. I also think we need to keep the fires in all night.”

  “Very good, Milord, but I can stay down here. ’Tis only fitting that you should take the bed, sir,” Joseph insisted.

  Gabriel shook his head. “No. You need your rest, lad. I need you to be alert on the morrow. We are tasked as men to care for the ladies, and that is what we shall both aim to do.” He slapped the young man playfully upon the shoulder.

  Joseph blushed but answered in the affirmative.

  The next few hours proved uneventful. Gabriel woke Joseph at two in the morning, and Gabriel retired to the small bed chamber. Meanwhile, Joseph went to sit before the fire, occasionally feeding logs into both the range in the scullery, and the hearth in the main room.

  A drop in the howling winds occurred at about five, and by six the snow had stopped altogether. By eight, light filled the cottage, and Ivy appeared, looking tired. She offered to make tea and cut slices of yesterday’s fruit cake. Joseph left her to her task and went to wake his master.

  As the men drank their tea and ate slabs of fruit cake along with slices of cheddar cheese, Ivy took a plate upstairs to her mistress. Gabriel immediately took Joseph aside.

  “When Ivy returns, I wish you to take her directly back to the house. Delay your return for us by a couple of hours. I have something private to discuss with the Countess. Go now and hitch the sleigh. Use the mules and send help back later in order to collect the horses. They will need to be walked home at a sedate pace; the snow appears to be deeper than ever this morning.”

  “Aye, Milord.” Joseph hastened away to brave the cold.

  It was some time before the lady in black descended the cottage stairs. She stepped into the small living area. Gabriel stood and bowed. She curtsied.

  “Where are Ivy and Joseph?” she asked, glancing around anxiously.

  “They have returned to the house. Help will arrive erelong. I wished to speak with you first.”

  She moved towards a fireside chair.

  “Who are you, for I know that you are not my wife’s cousin?”

  She froze.

  “Of course I am Marie,” she insisted.

  He took a menacing step toward her. The woman retreated to the stairway.

  “No, you are not.”

  He lunged, intending to pull the veil from her face, but she evaded him, hurrying up the stairs. He followed in hot pursuit. At the top, she attempted to slam the old latched door in his face, but he forced her back into the small bedchamber, stalking her until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She floundered, landing on her back with a shriek. He was finally able to snatch the wretched black veil from her face.

  His mind refused to accept what his eyes bore witness to.

  It cannot be. It is not possible. I am deluded.

  Bemused, he lifted a hand and rubbed his eyes. Then he stared at her again, but the vision before him did not fade. The woman lay on her back, staring up at him with an expression of resigned fascination. Her blue gaze devoured him with eager hunger.

  Winter sunlight filtered through the small dusty windowpanes, lighting her pale-gold hair as she lay prostrate upon the bed. Her hair glowed in the halo of light. His heart leapt, beating rapidly, sending his blood racing at dizzying speed through his veins. He felt faint.

  The woman was an exact replica of his dead wife. How was that possible? Who on earth was she?

  “Who...? You…? What...?” His words made no more sense of the situation than his brain.

  She made no move to speak but stared up at him looking painfully familiar.

  “Angele?” he finally dared to whisper.

  “Hello, Gabriel.”

  Her reply astonished him. The world tilted on its axis. He faltered; his legs would not hold him. He sank beside her on the bed.

  “Angele?” he asked again, bewildered.

  This time, she stretched out a palm and cupped his cheek. “Oui, it is I, your Angele.”

  Her reply seemed incredibly unlikely, yet his spellbound eyes did not deceive him. This realisation was the catalyst that awoke him from his stupor. Flinging himself to lie heavily across her body, he cupped her face, caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. He gazed at the deep groove of a scar that began above her left eyebrow, one beautiful blue eye drooping in a permanent wink before the ravaged skin continued down over her cheek, ending at her chin. Her throat had been spared, but as he cast his attention down to her shoulder, he saw where the deepest cut had landed, leaving behind a much deeper wound, one which had long since healed into a thick puckered scar. He bent his head and placed a tender kiss there.


  “They hurt you, those bastards,” he muttered, pressing a line of soft kisses along her scarred flesh.

  She gasped, and her hands rose to grip his shoulders. His mouth seared hers. He moaned her name against softly parted lips in stunned disbelief. He slid his tongue inside her mouth, tasting something so precious, so poignant, nectar he had never thought to taste again—at least not in this lifetime.

  She welcomed him by cleaving to him, tilting her head back, vulnerable, offering her mouth. She was a delicacy he had thought lost to him forevermore.

  Groaning, he pulled her tighter into his embrace. She opened her legs beneath him so he lay snug in the skirted dip between her thighs. Lying still for a few moments, breathing in her scent, attempting to reconcile fact from fiction, not daring to believe, the firm, sweet reality of her finally managing to convince him that this was no fantasy. Then he frantically yanked at her trapped dress. She aided him until his way was clear.

  He watched in desperation as she fumbled with his fall. Pushing her hand away, he deftly unhooked the flap. As soon as his breeches were parted, she moved her hand inside, adroitly clasping his iron-hard shaft. She guided him towards the apex of her spread thighs. He needed no urging. He shoved her rumpled black skirts aside, entering her forcefully, without finesse. She was primed, wet and ready for him. The coupling was rhythmic, swift and furious, a dance once learned, never forgotten. This frantic joining, a confirming act of belonging and instigated by both parties. Over quickly as each reached their euphoria jointly moments after they’d begun. With mingled cries of completion, they subsided as one.

  Afterward, he settled heavy upon her breast. He had no wish to remove his member from her channel, the home where it lodged so safe and warm. She made no protest but held him close, crooning nonsensical words of love into his ear, using her own seductive French tongue.

  As Gabriel slowly recovered from shock, reason surfaced, and along with sense came the buzz of questions and a slow burn of rage. That she should have kept her live state a secret from him for all this time was unthinkable, Fancy her allowing him to think her dead for five long years, thus putting him through agony while she was actually alive was untenable. There had better be a bloody good explanation for such wicked deception. He slipped from her body. Rolling over, he sat up.