“Would you like some?” she said, with a smile that warmed him inside, but he shook his head.
“Are you coping? This is not overwhelming the household?” he said, taking in Mrs Green standing at the range, grumbling steadily as she stirred a pot.
“No, indeed, for Mrs Shaw and her daughters are making the next pot of soup, you see, and Mr Pargeter and his brothers are in charge of the coal.” Monty saw several village women busily chopping vegetables, while a troop of young men passed through with scuttles of coal. “We are using a vast deal of coal, I hope you do not mind,” she said anxiously. “Also, I have put Mrs Carter and Mrs Wainwright to bed in the spare room, because they were so cold, and they have been up all night. And I should like to put Mr Simpson to bed, too, but it must be a room with a fire. Would you mind if I use your dressing room? I can get more beds set up later, but just for now—”
“Of course,” he said at once. “These people have had a dreadful experience, and we must do everything we can to look after them. Has the doctor been sent for?”
“The doctor will not get through from Sagborough today, for the stream is right across the road down in the village, but Mr Hissop is here.”
“Mr Hissop?”
“The apothecary. He is very good, and his daughter is almost as knowledgeable as he is.”
“Ah. Excellent.”
~~~~~
All day people came and went from the parsonage. The labourers were in and out, watching the water continue to rise and engulf their houses, and then returning to warmth and safety. A few people from lower down the village waded through the shallow water covering the road to bring blankets and food, or just offers of help. So much mud was tramped into the house that Melissa wondered if the rugs would ever be clean again. Still, everyone was safe, and what else mattered? She cheerfully doled out hot soup and bread for hours, and then ordered a whole side of beef to be roasted for the visitors’ dinner. When her path crossed Monty’s, she could not help smiling at him — her hero! So brave, to clamber out on that fallen tree, when he could have been tipped into the water at any moment, and swept away. But that was just like him, only thinking of others and not himself.
After the beef had been consumed to the last morsel, and everyone was warm and dry, Monty led those willing across to the church, where he lit every candle and held an impromptu service of thanksgiving. Never had Melissa heard hymns sung with such gusto, or prayers recited with such feeling. They had all had a lucky escape, and if Monty was the hero of the hour, the heroine was Kitty. The men shook her hand, the women cried over her, and Bridget Kelly’s fallen women were absorbed into the village as if there had never been the least question of their respectability.
By dusk, it was clear that the cottage folk would not be able to return to their houses for some days yet. A few had been claimed by friends in the village, but most remained, having no friends except the other poor folk.
“They must stay here,” Melissa said anxiously to Monty. “We cannot throw them out.”
“No, of course not. I take it we have enough supplies to feed them for a few days more?”
“Oh yes! And there is plenty of room for everyone. We have so many empty rooms here, and blankets enough. I will have all the mattresses brought down, but Monty, Mr Smith is still in your bed, and I do not like to move him for he is so old and frail, and he is very comfortable there, and his daughters are looking after him. But you can share my room — just for tonight, and tomorrow we can arrange something better. You will not mind that, will you?”
Mutely he shook his head, but there was an expression on his face that she could not read, although it made her uncomfortable.
They had no proper dinner that night, for Melissa hardly liked to ask the harassed Mrs Green to cook anything more, but they had supper alone in their dining room, and then read for an hour in the parlour, the only two rooms downstairs not taken over by cottagers. Hardly a word was spoken, and Melissa was aware of her own tension. The coming night would be difficult. Would Monty take the opportunity to claim his rights as a husband?
And a part of her, perhaps the major part, very much wanted him to. How she longed for him to kiss her again, to hold her tightly and whisper in her ear and look at her in that way that made her dizzy and weak. And in just five days, she would be of age and could marry him again, properly, and it would be perfectly all right for him to do so. But until then… and what if, when she told him the terrible truth, he rejected her? She could end up as one of Bridget Kelly’s fallen women. No, it was better to keep him at arm’s length until they were truly married.
So they went upstairs in silence, and Melissa allowed Margaret to ready her for bed in her room, while Donovan did the same for Monty in one of the empty rooms. Then he came into her room, eyes downcast, and stood uncertainly beside the door. Poor Monty! So decisive, so assured at other times, yet now he looked lost and fearful.
“Where will you sleep?” she said gently. “The chair by the fire might be comfortable, or we could make up a bed for you on the chaise longue.”
He licked his lips, lifting his head to look at her, and she saw the agony in his eyes. “I cannot do this,” he whispered. “To be so close to you and yet unable to touch you… no, I cannot.”
She stared at him helplessly.
“You torment me, Melissa,” he said bleakly. “I will keep to your wishes, but do not ask me to share your room.”
“Oh Monty,” she said, tears rising to her eyes. “I am so sorry. If I had realised… perhaps some other arrangement could have been devised. I did not know it was so difficult for you.” She rested one hand on his chest, shocked to feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath it.
“How could you?” he said. “I hardly knew it myself… until now. It is not your fault that you are so lovely, so enticing. I could bear it better if your hair were less soft…” He reached a hand to stroke a loose curl. “… if your skin were less smooth…” One finger traced its way down her cheek, making her shiver in delight. “…if your lips were less rosy…” His thumb rubbed against her mouth, and she uttered a soft mewing sound. Then, his voice so low the words were almost inaudible, “…if I loved you less well.”
“Oh Monty. My dearest Monty.” Almost of its own volition, her hand found its way behind his head, so that she could pull him towards her. His lips touched hers, hot and sweet, and he gave a little groan. Then they were in each other’s arms, held fast in a passionate embrace that caused every rational thought to flee. There was only her and Monty and the great blazing fire that was consuming them both.
When, an eternity later, they broke apart, he picked her up and carried her to the bed.
18: Guests
The sun woke Melissa the next morning, for they had forgotten to close the bed curtains. The first thing she saw was Monty’s smiling face, his eyes shining. Guilt washed over her for an instant, but she set it aside sharply. What was done was done, and there was no going back. Now she must hope that Monty loved her well enough to forgive her deceit.
That day, they drank their morning chocolate in bed together, like a proper married couple, and between Monty’s happiness and her own, and a spate of chocolaty kisses, Melissa wished with all her heart that they might stay thus all day and never leave their cosy nest.
But there were voices all over the house, and somewhere a baby crying, and a couple arguing in the distance, his angry rumble contrasting with her shrill invective. Monty went off somewhere to dress, and Melissa rang for Margaret. After three rings, she put on her wrap and ventured out of the bedroom to find her. Two men on the landing, shirts hanging out of their trousers, stared at her in surprise.
“Beg pardon, mistress,” one said, and he bowed, but his eyes dropped only a little, so that he was staring at her exposed shoulders, only half hidden by her unbound hair.
“Milady,” hissed the other, nudging his fellow in the ribs. “’Tis Lady Montague, see?”
“Beg pardon, milady,” said the other
, but he grinned in an abominably rude manner.
“Go away,” Melissa squeaked, feeling horribly vulnerable. “You should not be in this part of the house.”
They bowed again, and walked away, but they had not taken three steps when the rude one whispered something to his friend, and they both burst out laughing.
Margaret came running up at that point, and Melissa retreated back into her room, wishing she could lock the door, but the key had been lost. She was safe with Margaret, but she was quite unsettled by the whole incident, and all her pleasure in the day was gone.
Not an hour later, Melissa and Monty were just sitting down to breakfast and she had barely begun her tale of the two discourteous men, when a carriage rolled up to the door, mired to the axles in mud.
“Good gracious! Surely no one thinks to call today,” Melissa said crossly, but Monty merely laughed.
“It is only Reggie and Lady Reggie, come to see if we have been washed away.”
And so it was, their faces anxious as they were shown into the dining room.
“Good Lord, Monty, have you taken leave of your senses?” Lord Reginald said. “There are men on your front step smoking, if you please, as if they own the place.”
“And a woman sitting in the front window feeding her baby,” Lady Reginald added.
“They have no homes to go to, until the flood water recedes,” Monty said in his mild way. “I can hardly turn them out of doors, not when they have elderly and sick and young children in their midst. It would be inhumane at this time of year.”
“Shall I send for tea?” Melissa said, stepping in quickly to avoid an argument.
“Thank you but we will not stay,” Lord Reginald said. “The roads are so bad and there is more rain coming, according to our coachman, so we must not delay. We heard last night of the flood, and came at once to assure ourselves of your safety. We might have known you would be playing the good Samaritan, Monty.”
“What else should I be doing?” he said, with his gentle smile.
“That is all very well, but it is most inconvenient for Lady Monty, to be living amongst such people. I am sure they are very good sorts at heart, but they will take advantage of your generosity and it is not as if you might confine them to a spare wing where they would be no trouble. They are everywhere. Why, we had to step over three children crawling about in your entrance hall. If you must fill your house with peasants, at least let us take Lady Monty back to Great Mellingham with us, where she might be comfortable.”
“Yes, do come, Lady Montague,” said Lady Reginald. “I should not have a moment’s peace were you to stay on here amongst such… such rough people.”
Melissa hardly knew what to say. She had no wish at all to leave Monty, yet she had to agree that it was awkward to be surrounded by working men, and in her own home, too.
“That is a very kind offer,” Monty said slowly.
“You think I should go?” she said, downcast.
“It would be for the best,” he said. “Just for a few days, until all these people have somewhere else to go to.”
“But my place is here, with you,” she said. “It is my responsibility to look after you.”
“And mine is to ensure your safety,” he said softly. “It is not fitting that you should be here, and it would please me to know that you were well protected and not exposed to offensive behaviour.”
“Then it shall be as you wish,” she said in a low voice.
“Excellent,” Lord Reginald said. “We shall await you in the carriage.”
But when the door has closed behind them, Melissa burst into tears of despair. To be torn away from Monty now, when they were so happy! It was unbearable.
“I do not want to leave you!” she sobbed.
“Nor do I want you to go,” he said, holding her tight. “I wish you could stay with me, but Reggie is right — it is not fitting for you to be here. It will only be for a short time — a few days, perhaps, and then we will be together again, my darling. And at least you will be safe, and I need not worry about you.”
And he kissed her, and hugged her, and kissed her again, and then he sent for Margaret and told her to pack a box, and within the hour Melissa was in Lord Reginald’s carriage, rolling slowly away from the parsonage. Monty stood on the drive waving farewell, but she could hardly see him for the tears streaming down her face.
~~~~~
Great Mellingham was a fine house, built in the style fashionable more than a hundred years ago, with two splendid wings flanking the central portion, and the whole having a pleasing symmetry. It had not Drummoor’s imposing grandeur, but it was indubitably more elegant. But if the exterior dated to a previous century, the same could not be said of the furnishings, which were all brand new. The house smelled strongly of fresh paint and plaster and newly cut wood, and every door had its shiny new lock and a matching key.
Melissa was assigned a large bedroom in the Chinese style, with an adjoining dressing room almost as large. Footmen lifted her box up the stairs, under the watchful eye of a stern-faced butler, and two maids scuttled about under Margaret’s direction unpacking. When Melissa had changed her gown, and put on her best indoor shoes, leaving her boots to be extricated from the quantity of mud which had affixed itself thereto, the butler led her in stately procession to the morning room, where Lord and Lady Reginald awaited her. Tea was sent for, and other unspecified refreshments, which Melissa rather hoped would be cake, for her breakfast had been interrupted rather.
Lord and Lady Reginald were a pleasant couple, polite to a fault, who made decorous conversation for at least half an hour before the squeaking wheels of the tea trolley could be heard. There was no cake, only some rather stale Bath buns, which Melissa ate hungrily. Lord Reginald excused himself, and Lady Reginald picked up some sewing.
“I forgot to bring my work bag,” Melissa said soulfully.
“There are some journals from London if you would like something to read.”
“Oh, you are very kind! May I? Thank you!”
Melissa picked up a journal at random, and began to flick through the pages. There were plates of the very latest styles from Paris and London, and she wondered just how much they cost, and whether she could ever afford to buy anything so elaborate. Then she realised that one of the evening dresses depicted was very like one that Lady Carrbridge had given her. How she was raised up in the world, to be mingling with such fashionable people!
“Do you like such styles?” Lady Reginald said with a smile. “I confess, I find them a little ostentatious for my taste. Lady Carrbridge carries off such modes charmingly, but I am a simple person with simple tastes.”
Melissa looked at Lady Reginald’s high-necked morning gown of kerseymere, with a wealth of decorative stitchery around the bodice, sleeves and hem, and thought that only a very wealthy lady would think such attire simple. She could see little difference between it and the gowns in the journal, apart from a little extra trimming.
“It is the same with me,” Melissa said, “although I confess it has been most enjoyable allowing Lady Carrbridge to outfit me. It is difficult to know how I shall manage when I must make my own gowns, for how should anyone contrive anything so elegant? These hats might be managed, however. The construction would be easy to copy, I fancy.”
Lady Reginald stared at her. “How clever you are, to make your own gowns! And hats, too. I can trim a bonnet, but only if a milliner has made it for me first, and as for a gown — I might make an adjustment here and there, but no more than that.”
Laying the journal aside, Melissa picked up a book instead, and finding it to be a novel from the circulating library, she settled down contentedly to read.
Not long afterwards, horses were heard approaching, and then a female voice in the hall, and, moments later, a face appeared in the doorway — Lady Humphrey.
“Lady Monty! How dreadful the news is from Kirby Grosswick,” Lady Humphrey said, entering the room with the train of her riding habit carelessly
looped over one arm. “I have just come from there and all is in chaos, and Lord Monty in the thick of it, as always. If there is trouble, there will Lord Monty be. Such a sweet man. But how are you? Oh, may I have one of these buns, Robinia? I am so hungry all the time. I am sure I shall be as large as an elephant before this baby is born.”
The butler materialised in the doorway. “The Lady Humphrey Marford, my lady.”
“Yes, yes, yes, thank you, Marston. There is no need to announce Lady Humphrey when she is already in the room.” The butler bowed and, without haste, withdrew, closing the door behind him with an audible snap.
“Marston is still giving you trouble?” Lady Humphrey said.
Lady Reginald sighed. “He is so grand. He was head footman for the Duke of Camberley before, and he thinks he has come down sadly in the world,” she said to Melissa. “He quite disapproves of me, I know it. The butler we had at home was lovely, like everyone’s favourite uncle, but Marston—!”
“I have resolved the problem by not having a butler,” Lady Humphrey said. “It is most disagreeable when the servants sneer at one, and I am so disreputable, Lady Monty — oh, but may I call you Melissa? I am so disreputable that even the scullery maid sneers at me.”
“Disreputable?” Melissa said, faintly.
“Oh, indeed. I am quite beyond the pale. My father made all his money from trade, you see, and I am liable to shoot people if I take a dislike to them. Now Robinia here is frighteningly proper, and always behaves as she should, but I do not.”
“Ah, but I am so dreadfully provincial,” Lady Reginald said.
“So you are,” Lady Humphrey said. “I had forgotten that. No wonder your butler looks down on you.” Both ladies laughed. “Robinia, these are yesterday’s buns, I swear it.”
“I asked for a cherry cake,” Lady Reginald said, plaintively. “Or something with coconut. But Mrs Launceston does whatever she wants.”
Melissa’s eyes were round. “I thought I was the only one having trouble with the servants.”
Lord Montague (Sons of the Marquess Book 4) Page 17
