by Anne Ashley
Chapter Two
Ruth took one final look at her overall appearance in the full-length mirror. Vanity had never been one of her besetting sins; at least she sincerely hoped it had not. Notwithstanding, she had always taken pride in her appearance, and, yes, attempted to make the best of what nature had seen fit to bestow upon her.
Unlike her mother who had been breathtakingly lovely in her youth, Ruth had never considered herself in any way out of the ordinary. Oh, she was well enough, but certainly no ravishing beauty, she decided, taking a moment to glance at the portrait that had always taken pride of place in the bedchamber, before returning her critical gaze to her own reflection.
The large brown eyes, which had been acclaimed by more than one discerning soul as very fine, and the mass of glossy chestnut locks had most definitely been inherited from her father’s family. Only the fairness of her skin and a gently curving mouth, which was neither too wide nor too small, could have been said to have come from her mother. Thankfully, she was neither overly tall nor too short and, although slender, her figure was accounted very good indeed. Yet, her reflection on this occasion brought scant satisfaction.
Although Agatha—bless her!—had arrived unexpectedly and had gone to the trouble of arranging her chestnut hair in a more elaborate style, nothing could detract from the fact that her best gown was sadly outmoded now and, worse still, made her look faintly dowdy. She resembled nothing so much as a well-mannered governess who might be asked to join the family for a special occasion, but who knew well enough how to appear insignificant and fade into the background.
But did it really matter how she looked? Who was she attempting to impress, anyway? Certainly not the middle-aged doctor who had arrived at the door with a decidedly bedraggled spinster sister in tow; nor was it the sharp-featured little lawyer or the attractive widow who had been among the group who had pooled their resources in order to hire an innkeeper and his conveyance to take them on the first leg of their journey. And as for the young sprig who had been stupid enough to attempt tooling a light sporting carriage in a snowstorm...? That beggared belief! Ruth decided. The only other male guest, of course, was the Colonel.
She had to own that she had attained a deal of pleasure in that tall gentleman’s company. Perhaps it was because he possessed many of those qualities she admired. For instance, he had gone out of his way to be as obliging as possible, suggesting that one of his fellow stranded travellers share the blue bedchamber with him, thereby revealing he was anything but a selfish person. He had also proved himself a leader—a gentleman born to command. Moreover, there was an imperturbable quality about him that seemed to permeate others. Amazingly, he had even managed to reconcile Lady Beatrice to housing all the hapless wayfarers with a good grace.
Yes, she did rather like that tall gentleman, she reiterated silently. Given the opportunity, she would have very much enjoyed becoming better acquainted with him. That pleasure, she very much suspected now, would be denied her. It had ceased snowing completely late in the afternoon. If a substantial thaw set in overnight— and there was no reason to suppose it would not now the wind had changed course and was coming from the more usual south-westerly direction—the Colonel would undoubtedly wish to be on his way at daybreak and she would be unlikely ever to see him again. Not only that, there had been nothing in his demeanour to suggest he was interested in her in the least. He had been polite and friendly, offering what assistance he could in an attempt to minimise the extra work the household staff would be obliged to undertake. But by no word, look or gesture had he conveyed his interest in her personally was anything other than lukewarm, a casual meeting of strangers, destined to be brief and so easily forgotten. And maybe it was destined to be that way, she told herself.
The sound of a tinkling bell from the adjoining room obliged her not to dwell on the unsatisfactory conclusion of her reverie, and she went into Lady Beatrice’s bedchamber to discover that lady seated before her dressing-table mirror, rummaging through her jewellery box, whilst Agatha stood behind, adding the finishing touches to her mistress’s coiffure.
Although having received no professional training, Agatha Whitton had proved herself to be a most competent lady’s maid, with an innate gift for arranging hair. She had even succeeded in teasing Lady Beatrice’s somewhat lacklustre, greying locks into an attractive style.
‘You wanted me, my lady?’ Ruth enquired, thereby drawing the widow’s attention to her presence.
‘Yes, my dear. Do come over and help me choose something to wear this evening. I cannot decide between my pearls and the amethyst set.’ She then turned to the maid. ‘You may go, Whitton, and attend me later. No doubt I shall be retiring at a more advanced hour than usual. But, in the circumstances, it cannot be helped. I can hardly seek my bed, and leave my guests to their own devices, without attempting to entertain them for at least part of the evening, forced upon me though they all were.’
Ruth acknowledged Agatha’s knowing look with one of her own, before the maid whisked herself from the room. She knew precisely what her confidante-cum-friend had been attempting to convey—that she, too, suspected that, although sounding slightly disgruntled at the unforeseen invasion of her home, Lady Beatrice Lindley was secretly enjoying the prospect of presiding over a dinner table with more company than had been under her roof at any one time for many a long year.
‘I think either would go well with the lavender-coloured gown you’ve chosen to wear, ma’am,’ Ruth responded, after staring, with a touch of envy, at the dazzling array of sparkling gems contained in the wooden casket. She herself had had no such difficulty in choosing her own adornment. The simple gold locket, once belonging to her mother, was the only necklace she possessed.
World-weary grey eyes regarded her through the dressing-table mirror, staring in particular at the gold chain encircling a slender throat. ‘Perhaps you would care to choose something from my box yourself, child?’
Although moved by the offer, Ruth didn’t hesitate to decline. ‘It’s kind of you, my lady, but this old gown would do no justice to any fine gem. My mama’s simple trinket is more in keeping. Besides...’ she shrugged ‘...I’ve no desire to make an impression on anyone.’
The response appeared momentarily to please the widow, before one thin brow was raised in a distinctly questioning arch. ‘Do I infer correctly from that that there are no handsome young blades among our unlooked-for company?’
Ruth slanted a mocking glance. ‘Well, you met the Colonel yourself, ma’am. One would scarce describe him as an Adonis, though at the same time it would do him a grave injustice to call him unappealing. I believe you are acquainted with another of the wayfarers—Lady Fitznorton’s great-nephew, Mr Tristram Boothroyd. Apparently he’s been sent down from Oxford for committing some misdemeanour or other. In disgrace, he’s doing penance by suffering several weeks enforced rustication with his great-aunt.’
Lady Beatrice appeared to consider for a moment. ‘Yes, I do seem to recall meeting him once, some years ago. He was little more than a boy at the time.’
‘He isn’t so very old now, ma’am, not yet two-and-twenty, I shouldn’t have thought. He seems pleasant enough and handsome in a boyish sort of way. But one might question his intelligence. Somewhat irresponsible to take out a curricle and pair at the height of a snowstorm, wouldn’t you agree? If he had no regard for himself, he might at least have considered his horses.’
‘Sadly, not all are blessed with your sound judgement and thoughtfulness, my dear Ruth, especially not many of the male sex,’ Lady Beatrice responded in her usual disparaging way. ‘I understood from Whitton there are two other gentlemen beneath my roof?’
‘Yes, ma’am. A doctor by name of Dent, Samuel Dent, who is travelling with his sister. She, so I understand, keeps house for him in London. I placed him with the lawyer, who was travelling with them, in the green bedchamber. The other member of
their party is a Mrs Julia Adams. She’s a handsome, pleasant woman...around the same age as the Colonel, I should have supposed, or perhaps a little older. She also resides in London, I believe.’
Lady Beatrice’s brows again rose in two fine arches this time. ‘My, my! So many travelling in our part of the world at this time of year. How unusual!’
‘Not so strange, ma’am.’ Ruth countered. ‘One hardly expects snow so early. Besides which, they all seemed to have legitimate reasons for visiting the area. Colonel Prentiss, as you know, had been staying with friends, and Mr Boothroyd with his great-aunt. With the exception of Mrs Adams, who happened to be staying with her sister, the others were all putting up at the same hostelry in Lynmouth. Although I believe I’m right in thinking that it was Mrs Adams who arranged for the landlord at the inn to take them all as far as our local town in his somewhat antiquated carriage. There they hoped to travel by stages to Bristol and then on to London on the Mail.’
‘That’s all very reasonable, but what brought them all to the West Country in the first place?’
‘Business brought Mr Blunt, the lawyer, here,’ Ruth enlightened her. ‘And as for the other three—apparently they were visiting dying relatives. In the circumstances I considered it thoughtless to question them too closely, as I gained the distinct impression that both Mrs Adams and the Dents have both suffered recent bereavements.’
‘How very singular! It would seem I’m about to preside not over dinner but a wake!’
Although Lady Beatrice could never have been accused of indulging in frivolity, or of possessing a sense of humour, come to that, on occasions she did seem to derive a degree of morbid delight in other people’s misfortunes.
‘We must hope it will not turn out to be so solemn an occasion as that, ma’am,’ Ruth responded, returning the jewellery box to its rightful place at the bottom of the wardrobe. ‘We must trust to the Colonel and young Mr Boothroyd to lighten the evening with some lively conversation.’
Once again Ruth found herself the recipient of a long and considering look before Lady Beatrice said, ‘Young Tristram might, indeed, bring a degree of levity to my table, but I very much doubt we can trust Colonel Prentiss to do likewise, given his turn of mind.’
Ruth was slightly taken aback by this declaration. ‘What makes you say so, ma’am? I found the Colonel’s manner not only polished and gracious, but also friendly and sincere. A most amiable gentleman, I would have described him.’
‘I agree, my dear. On the surface he seems so.’ She returned Ruth’s puzzled gaze with a steely look. ‘But how many times must I caution you against judging by appearances alone, especially where members of the male sex are concerned? A great many vicious defects can lurk beneath the outward trappings of masculine charm.’ All at once her mouth was twisted by a decidedly sinister curl. ‘I discovered the truth of that for myself.’
Lady Beatrice then seemed to return from some dark, haunted place in the depths of her memory and even managed a semblance of a smile. ‘Oh, I’m not suggesting for a moment that Colonel Prentiss is some unfeeling monster beneath that outward show of affability. I do not know him well enough to judge. That said, I suspect he keeps a deal of himself well hidden. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, that’s for sure. To look at him no one would suppose for a moment that he suffered a tragic bereavement during his early manhood, from which, I strongly suspect, he has never fully recovered.’
In the pit of her stomach Ruth experienced an unpleasant tightening of muscles and was somewhat surprised by it given that she was barely acquainted with the gentleman. ‘Do—do you mean he lost his wife, that he’s now a widower?’
‘Oh, no. He’s never married, unless he’s done so recently, and quite secretly, for I have never read of any such occurrence in the newspapers. And he certainly doesn’t give the impression of being a married gentleman. But he was once, I believe, engaged to be married many years ago, before he embarked upon his career in the army.’
For some reason that she failed to comprehend Ruth digested what she had been told with a distinct lack of pleasure. It ought not to have mattered a whit to her if Colonel Prentiss, a virtual stranger, had once given his heart to another; it ought not, but oddly it did.
‘He must have been very young at the time,’ she commented, feeling some response was expected of her.
‘He was,’ Lady Beatrice concurred. ‘And his affianced bride, a Miss Alicia Thorndyke was a truly lovely girl. Tall and willowy, I seem to remember,’ she went on, after pausing to study Ruth’s much shorter stature through the dressing-table mirror, ‘highly suited to a gentleman of the Colonel’s size. They were childhood sweethearts by all accounts and quite constant in their affection for each other. I have always been blessed with a surprisingly acute memory, and recall Miss Thorndyke’s one and only Season clearly. She attracted several eligible suitors, but remained true to Hugo Prentiss.’
‘What happened to her, ma’am?’ Ruth felt sufficiently interested to ask.
All at once the widow frowned. ‘Do you know, I’m not altogether sure I ever learned precisely how she died. It goes without saying that Hugo Prentiss, of course, has never found anyone to replace her. Rather sad, I suppose, but I dare say after all these years he’s now resigned to his bachelor state.’
The sound of the gong announcing dinner put an end to any further possible revelations, for which Ruth was not entirely sorry. Conscious that her reactions had been studied closely, she could only hope she had not appeared overtly interested in the Colonel’s past life. After all, she ought not to have been so. The trouble was she knew the opposite was nearer the truth.
* * *
By the time all the stranded wayfarers had gathered in the hall, just prior to filing into the large dining room, Ruth, thankfully, had her oddly disturbing feelings well under control again. In a determined effort not to betray a preference for any one person’s company, she made no attempt to engage the Colonel in conversation. In fact, she went out of her way to appear more interested in the other unexpected guests, ensuring they had everything they needed to make their stay as comfortable as possible. Even when she seated herself at the dining table, she made a point of conversing mainly with the gentlemen seated on either side of her, while at the same time attempting to draw the two female guests into the conversation whenever possible.
The same could not have been said for their hostess, who betrayed a marked partiality for the Colonel’s company. It could not be denied, either, that she showed an interest in Lady Fitznorton’s great-nephew, whom she actively encouraged to regale them with examples of his less-than-commendable exploits up at Oxford. She did condescend as the meal wore on to direct the odd remark in the middle-aged practitioner’s direction. Sadly, his sister received no such minor attention and, save for staring at them both fixedly from time to time, Lady Beatrice virtually ignored completely the hard-working lawyer, who had been obliged to travel on business, and the pleasant woman who had come to the West Country in the hope of seeing her father before he died.
Lady Beatrice’s snobbery was clearly rearing its ugly head yet again. Although she had raised no objection whatsoever to all those seeking shelter under her roof being offered a seat at her table, she could not have made it more plain that she considered most of the company quite unworthy of the philanthropy she had shown towards them.
Yes, anyone might have been forgiven for supposing that Lady Beatrice was already heartily regretting her charitable actions towards so many strangers. Yet, as she cast a long, considering look at the head of the table, Ruth was amazed to detect a glint of what looked suspiciously like suppressed excitement in those world-weary eyes, which suggested nothing could have been further from the truth; that their hostess was, in fact, enjoying herself hugely for some very private reason of her own.
All the same, it came as something of a surprise, even to Ruth, when Lady Bea
trice suddenly turned to the tall gentleman seated on her left to ask in a raised voice that instantly captured everyone’s attention, ‘No doubt you have seen much death during your illustrious career, Colonel...a great number of murders committed.’
The large, yet shapely, hand reaching for the glass of wine checked for an instant. ‘When engaged in battle, ma’am, a soldier doesn’t consider he’s committing murder when destroying the enemies of his country,’ he responded solemnly, after fortifying himself from the glass.
‘Naturally not. Even so, I’m sure numerous instances of murder have been committed among the ranks.’ Lady Beatrice, it seemed, was determined to develop the theme. ‘After all, where better to conceal a murder than on a battlefield already strewn with corpses?’
She then again favoured Dr Dent with her undivided attention. ‘And gentlemen engaged in your profession are equally well placed to rid themselves of those they do not wish to exist, without causing undue suspicion, don’t you agree?’
The doctor visibly bridled at this accusation. ‘I shall take leave to inform you, ma’am, that those engaged in my profession do their utmost to preserve life, not terminate it!’
Lady Beatrice’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. ‘That may also be so,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I am equally certain that some have hastened the deaths of patients, whether by accident...or design. Like the Colonel, here, practitioners are equally well placed to commit the undetectable murder.
‘And the most unlikely people do commit murder, you know,’ she continued, after pausing to stare almost accusingly at each of her listeners in turn. ‘Why, anyone sitting here this evening might be quite capable of committing such an act... And might well have done so.’
