by Pinki Parks
There they were again, moving ever so slowly, inch by inch as if a person who knew the house very well was selecting where to walk in order to produce the least amount of creaking upon the boards. The noise came nearer, step by step as the bearer of the footsteps inched closer and closer. Charlotte rolled onto her side so that she had a view of the door where the chair was lent up underneath the handle. She dared not breathe as the sound of footsteps ceased and their bearer paused outside her door. The pause felt like an eternity, but then the handle on the door, which she could see illuminated very faintly in the now almost stubbed candle light, began to push down. It made no sound as if this procedure had been tested already by the person now standing on the other side.
She squinted through the semi-darkness as the handle moved gently down but then came upon its barrier. The top of the chair, which she had lent up against the door to guard against just such an occasion, though at the time she had wondered if perhaps she were being a little paranoid, now came into contact with the handle, halting its progress.
This factor had clearly not been considered by the would-be intruder and with the obstruction in place further pressure was applied, but to no avail. There was evident frustration upon the part of the one who desired entry, and as Charlotte watched, still not daring to breathe, further pressure was applied and the door itself pushed against ever so gently. Suddenly, with an almighty crash, the chair gave way and the noise of the handle breaking echoed round the room and corridor.
Charlotte realised this was her chance and letting out her best theatrical scream she roused the household. The assailant on their part fled, as she continued to scream bringing her mother, who had also slept intolerably, rushing from her chamber along with several of the servants.
‘Charlotte, whatever is the matter,’ the Duchess said, as she appeared in the doorway.
‘Someone tried to enter the apartment mother, see the chair and the handle are splintered,’ by this point Charlotte was rather enjoying herself and had not been in the least bit scared by the events which had transpired, after all a little Gothic horror never hurt anyone.
‘Good heavens, treachery, assault! Where is the Marquess?’ the Dowager exclaimed.
Momentarily the Marquess himself appeared, he looked somewhat shocked and rather awake for a person supposedly just roused from their sleep, but the reader can no doubt make their own mind up as to what had transpired upon the corridor just a few moments before.
‘My good lady,’ he cried, ‘has someone hurt you.’
‘Someone has tried to creep into her room, to take advantage of her, one of the servants, you must search them all, line them up, there is a brigand amongst your company sir,’ the Dowager said, ‘come Charlotte, you shall spend the rest of the night in my room, you poor dear.’
As she left the chamber Charlotte gave the Marquess a look which suggested to him that she was fully aware of his misdemeanours and would have no qualms in revealing his scandalous behaviour should the need arise, though what he had hoped to gain from his misadventures was anyone’s guess.
The two women passed the rest of the night somewhat restlessly, and the next morning there was mercifully no fresh snowfall to impede their progress back to Langburn.
When not enveloped in darkness the house itself did present some minor charms, though its cleanliness left something to be desired and so partaking of only a breakfast collation the two women bid farewell to the Marquess before taking to the carriage for their return journey.
‘I must apologise most sincerely for what happened in the night,’ the Marquess said, ‘fear not I shall discover who the servant is that sought such devilish designs upon the young lady.’
‘You should dismiss them all,’ the Dowager said pointedly, ‘one bad apple can make the whole batch rotten.’
‘Forgive me Charlotte, I do hope this adventure has not put you off my company,’ he said addressing the young lady.
Charlotte merely nodded as her mother replied for her.
‘It certainly hasn’t sir, we will be pleased to see you in the near future I am sure.’
And with that Charlotte and her mother departed from the Marquess’ house through the snow, and settled back into the carriage, the gentleman himself watching their progress across the parkland.
The roads were better than reports had indicated, and the driver only had to stop on three occasions to dig out the snow in front. As it was they arrived at Langburn a little before the midday hour, just as the Duke was saddling his horse.
‘Mother, Charlotte!’ he cried, ‘we have been anxious for you, we hoped that you were stuck at the Marquess’ and not trapped by the snow in-route.’
‘We were indeed,’ his mother said, as the footman helped her alight from the carriage, ‘completely snowed in, and what an intolerable night, though the Marquess did his best.’
‘Oh Mother, we have been so anxious,’ the two sisters said running from the door to greet them, ‘Charlotte, come inside and get warm, you’ll both catch your death of cold, we have been so very worried, whatever happened?’
Bundled inside Charlotte had little time to feel cold as the sharp icy wind blew across the front of the house. Inside, Langburn was its usual charming self, and soon she and her mother had made themselves warm in front of a roaring fire, plied with restorative cups of tea and hot freshly buttered muffins fresh from the oven.
It transpired that both of her sisters had passed a sleepless night of worry as they wondered what had happened to their mother and younger sister.
‘The snow was falling so thickly at one point,’ Ellen said, ‘we were so anxious, and Freddie wanted to ride out immediately last night when you did not return at the appointed hour.’
The excitement eventually became too much for the Dowager who declared that the only way she would fully recover would be by taking to her bed, this she did, not emerging until dinner, leaving Charlotte alone with her two sisters in the morning room sipping on the tea, though secretly dying for a cappuccino.
‘So, tell us everything,’ Isabella said once they were alone, ‘was it ghastly?’
‘Yes, do tell,’ Ellen said.
‘It was everything I was expecting Charlotte said, ‘ghastly is the word’ and she proceeded to recount the events of last night, including the shock which had occurred in the night.
‘He tried to enter your chamber?’ Ellen said gasping.
‘I can only assume it was him, though of course he blamed one of the servants and told us they would all be dismissed,’ Charlotte said.
‘The treacherous fiend,’ Isabella said, ‘why, if Freddie or Cecil knew they would challenge him for your honour.’
‘I don’t want to make a fuss,’ Charlotte said, ‘I just won’t go back again.’
‘No, some other poor thing will though, mark my words he’ll soon move on’ Ellen said pointedly.
Charlotte too was tired, and it was not long before she also took to her chambers where she found that Ellen had warmed the room through with a fire. Climbing between the sheets in what she now felt was her own bed she couldn’t help smiling about all that had transpired. If this was Regency life then she was rather enjoying herself, but she wondered what the future would hold for her, how long would she remain here? It had been three nights already and there was no sign that the tale was coming to an end, if anything it was becoming more exciting!
Chapter V
The days at Langburn turned into weeks and Melissa, or Charlotte as we know her now, settled into life at the great house with ease. Her role as the youngest daughter of the Dowager Duchess and late Duke, and sister to Ellen, Isabella and Freddie played out with considerable ease, despite the occasional slip up or faux pas on her part, usually involving a turn of phrase, or ignorance at social custom. The lead up to Christmas had been a season of balls and parties, with the people of the local district enacting customs and traditions dating back several hundred years, amongst these the Boxin
g Day hunt stood out as a highlight of the season at which anyone who was anyone, and many who were no one, made it their business to be present at.
The reader will be pleased to note that Charlotte passed a most pleasant Christmas with her new family, though she often wondered what those in her present, or rather the future, were thinking and doing right now. Did they think she had run away? Were there missing posters up around the neighbourhood? Was her mother sitting waiting anxiously by the phone for news? It was thoughts like this that made her shed the occasional tear, though she righted herself with the knowledge that she did not know the exact circumstances which were, at that moment, occurring back in her own time period, if indeed any circumstances were occurring at all since it was still a very long time until her own birth, at least from her perspective. In short it was most confusing, and she tried her best not to think about it.
Fortunately, there was plenty to keep her mind occupied, and the glorious Christmas celebrations overawed her as the house was beautifully decorated, and the days of feasting and merrymaking began.
The Boxing Day hunt began on the green in Langburn village, and that morning the ladies prepared to depart in order to watch the gentlemen ride out. The Duke would be at the head of the pack, befitting his position, and he would be joined by none other than Cecil, Duke of Hareburn, a fact which Charlotte had noted with some interest.
At this point it might be of value to give the reader a little background as to the person of Cecil himself. He had grown up happily on the estate at Hareburn, just outside the city of Bath, his childhood largely carefree, surrounded by the love and joy of his family which included his younger brother Edward and older sister Ann. His father, the Duke, was a somewhat aloof figure who had married his much younger mother after he himself had become a widow, his first wife having died in childbirth.
Cecil had first met Freddie when they were children, moving in the circles of the English aristocracy and the two had remained firm friends, attending school at Eton together and then going up to Oxford where both had been Christ Church men. But it was during their time at Oxford that tragedy had struck them both, Freddie’s father dying in a horse riding accident on the estate at Langburn, and Cecil’s father meeting his end thanks to a life given over too much to the finer things rather than physical exercise and a good diet.
Thus, it was that both men had found themselves their father’s heirs, much sooner than had been expected; a fact which produced a considerable camaraderie between them, as well as engendering a certain abject terror.
It was because of this that both men made it their business to spend time with one another, and the long-established Boxing Day hunt at Langburn provided just such an opportunity with Cecil arriving early that morning having overnighted at an Inn between the two estates.
~
‘Do come along now dears or we’ll be late,’ the Dowager said as her daughters busied themselves with their cloaks and mittens.
‘It’s so terribly cold though mother,’ Ellen said, ‘we must be suitably attired.’
‘I am sure old Mrs. Thwaite will be selling hot chestnuts on the green today,’ her mother said, ‘and if it’s that cold we shall see to it that you can pass your time in the parlour of the Duke’s Head.’ And then turning to the housekeeper ‘it wasn’t like this when we were girls now was it Mrs. Harlow.’
‘Indeed, it was not ma’am,’ the housekeeper said smiling. She had been with the family nigh on twenty-five years and had watched the girls growing up, ‘certainly in your youth you liked the snow Miss Ellen.’
‘Well I don’t like it now,’ Ellen replied.
The carriage was waiting for them at the front of the house and the four women, now suitably clad, made their way out onto the snow-covered forecourt where Freddie was waiting for them on his horse.
‘I’m going to ride ahead, no doubt Cecil will be on the green by now and I want to be there ready for the muster,’ he said, and with that he turned his horse and made a quick pace towards the village.
Charlotte found herself sat between her two sisters, her mother, wrapped in furs, sat opposite, and as the carriage made its sedate way into Langburn the four considered the day’s coming events.
‘Do you think they’ll catch anything mother?’ Isabella said, looking out of the window at the snowy landscape around them.
‘Oh, they never catch a thing dear, it’s just for the show really,’ the Dowager replied.
‘I wish they wouldn’t even try,’ Charlotte said.
She had found, in the past weeks, that at times certain practices deemed entirely acceptable in the period she was now living somewhat railed against her modern sensibilities. A few Sundays previously a line in one of Mr. Ramsbottom’s sermons had made her blood boil, after he had referred to the fairer sex as being in need of ‘direction and purpose given by a man,’ and today the thought of attending an event in which an innocent creature was chased, before being torn limb from limb did not exactly fill her with zeal.
‘It’s just a bit of fun,’ Ellen said, ‘you do have some funny ideas at the moment Charlotte.’
‘It’s just her age,’ her mother said, ‘she’ll grow out of it.’
And that was the end of the conversation as the carriage ride continued in silence towards the village.
Upon arrival it seemed as if the entire estate had turned out for the spectacle, as indeed it had, for what else does one do in a rural English village on St Stephen’s Day in this time and place? Old Mrs. Thwaite was indeed selling roasted chestnuts on a little stall to the side of the green, and around her others were peddling their wares too. The children from the estate were performing a dance on the snow covered green, the more mischievous amongst them using it as an excuse to kick up clouds of snow. There was an atmosphere of celebration and in its midst the muster of the huntsman was taking place.
Mounted on their steads, with some on foot handling the hounds, the men were dressed in red coats and white breeches with knee length black, well polished boots, the metal work on their saddles glinting in the winter sun.
Amongst them was the Duke and there too was Cecil, surrounded by the gentleman of the hunt, including Lord Carshaw and the Marquess of Collingdale.
As the ladies’ carriage drew up outside the Duke’s Head Freddie trotted his horse over to greet his mother and sisters.
‘What took you so long?’ he said, ‘I’ve been here almost half an hour.’
‘We prefer to spare our horses, rather than run them into the ground,’ his mother replied as she tottered from the carriage followed by the young ladies.
‘Come and see the hounds Charlotte,’ Freddie said as her sisters made for Mrs. Thwaite’s stall.
The hounds were excitable, knowing that the hunt was close to its start, and several of them jumped up at Charlotte as she approached.
‘Down there, lads,’ one of the huntsman said, ‘begging your pardon ma’am.’
‘Oh, it’s fine,’ Charlotte said, ‘I love dogs.’
‘No finer pack than the Langburn’s,’ he said, as the dogs continued to scamper around her feet.
‘Charlotte,’ a familiar voice behind her said, ‘I’m so glad you’ve come.’
It was Cecil, now approaching on his own horse. He looked quite magnificent, dressed in the finest huntsman’s livery and mounted on a beautiful chestnut stead. He climbed down and brought the horse close to Charlotte who patted its nose and smiled at Cecil, waiting for him to speak again.
‘Aren’t you terribly cold?’ he said.
‘I’m alright, it’s worth a little cold to see such a spectacular sight.’
She wondered if he thought she was talking about him or the hunt, but at that moment another voice came from behind.
‘Charlotte, I’m pleased to see you accepted the invitation to come,’ the Marquess of Collingdale said approaching on his own black horse.
‘It is a pleasure to be here,’ she said, as he gazed dow
n on her from above, whilst Cecil stood awkwardly to the side.
Despite outranking the Marquess in aristocratic prowess the Duke was many years his junior and despite his athletic physique he still felt a little intimidated by this thoroughly unpleasant man who had now interrupted his meeting with the woman that he had fallen so desperately in love with.
‘Is your mother here?’ the Marquess continued.
‘She is yes, you will find her with my sisters by the chestnut stall I think,’ Charlotte replied.
But at that moment Freddie blew the horn to signal the final muster and the Marquess turned his horse away from them.
‘Some say,’ Cecil whispered, ‘that a kiss is a sign of good luck to a huntsman, but I feel perhaps such a thing would be improprietous for a gentleman, so I ask you merely to wish me good luck.’
Whilst Charlotte would have happily kissed him, she knew that social etiquette forbade it, and thus she contented herself with wishing him it as he asked before he mounted the chestnut stead and turned away from her, glancing back over his shoulder as he did so.
Charlotte rejoined her mother and sisters, who by now had furnished themselves with the requisite chestnuts and were observing the muster from chairs set up by the footman who had accompanied them with the carriage.
‘Oh, Charlotte there you are,’ her mother said, ‘are they prepared for departure now?’
‘They are mother yes, I saw Cecil and he has the most glorious horse I have ever seen.’
‘The Marquess of Collingdale is here too, I do hope we shall have a chance to converse with him later on,’ the Dowager continued.
The hunt had now departed with a great volley of cheers and the sound of horns, making its way out of the village and into the surrounding fields. The tradition dated back several centuries and Freddie was proud to be upholding his family’s part in it. As predicted the hunt itself was less than successful, the scent of several foxes lost in the snow, and the final chase ending with the fox escaping into a copse of trees, the hounds being unable to penetrate the briar patches.
