by Nicola Slade
‘Miss Nightingale wishes me to attend an interview in a day or two,’ she explained briefly. ‘She is offering me a situation.’
‘A what?’ To Charlotte’s surprise Barnard bellowed the question, his face reddening in evident anger. ‘What the devil – harrumph, I beg your pardon, ladies – but what the deuce makes her do such a thing? Damn it, it’s an insult to a lady of your standing, Char, and to me. Makes it look as though you have no family to look after you, blast the woman. She always was a nuisance when we played as children, wanting to take the part of Robin Hood herself, and such like. Quite ridiculous.’
‘But Barnard…’ Charlotte was touched at his outburst. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t mean it as an insult. In fact, I think she intends it to be seen as a compliment.’
She turned to answer a question from Lily who, in the face of Barnard’s roar, had bitten back the sharp comment that she was about to make. ‘I don’t know why Miss Nightingale formed such an opinion of me, but it appears she thinks I would be a suitable candidate for some administrative post within her proposed nursing order.’ She shrugged. ‘Naturally I have no intention of taking up any such offer,’ she said, glancing at Gran who had mercifully said nothing. No need for Lily to know that the offer had already been made earlier and rejected, though clearly Miss Nightingale had no intention of giving up. ‘I’ll write a polite note to her later this morning,’ she told Lily with a slight smile. ‘I’m far too comfortable here in Finchbourne. She’ll have to look elsewhere for her candidate.’
A thought struck her and she shot a covert glance in Sibella Armstrong’s direction. Well, why not? The other woman was quiet and sensible, well read and with a pleasant nature and a sense of humour, Charlotte surmised, when not overwhelmed by circumstances. Perhaps she’d postpone her reply until she’d had a chance to talk to Sibella.
After breakfast, the plan was that such members of the household who were so inclined should walk down to the village to see the hunt go off.
‘In former years,’ Barnard explained, ‘the meet has been at Knightley Hall but this year, well…’ he shrugged helplessly. ‘Anyway, the upshot was that back in the autumn, Kit and I discussed whether the manor would take it on this year, but Lily said….’
‘Barnard decided,’ Lily looked daggers at her hapless spouse. ‘And I agreed with him, that the Boxing Day meet would be too close upon the heels of our dear little Algy’s arrival, so for this year only the meet is at The Three Pigeons. They’ll be going off at about eleven o’clock and as the snow has settled and the sun is shining this morning, we can walk down; it should be a splendid sight.’
Amid the murmurs at the table, Charlotte took the opportunity to whisper to Barnard, ‘Didn’t you want to ride yourself then, Barnard? Surely Lily would have let you off the leash just for this morning. I know how much you love hunting.’
He shook his head. ‘Not fair to leave her with such a houseful,’ he murmured, rolling his large brown eyes as he looked from Melicent and her captain, to the doctor, by way of his grandmother who was still addressing her usual gargantuan breakfast. ‘Don’t you worry, Char, there’ll be hunting a-plenty later. Besides,’ he turned suddenly serious. ‘I didn’t like … in the circumstances. I mean, Kit’s a very old friend and somehow it doesn’t seem right to be….’ He shook his head and looked surprised but pleased when, after casting a surreptitious glance round to make sure Lily wasn’t observing them, Charlotte stood on tiptoe to plant a hearty kiss on his cheek.
‘You’re such a good man, dear Barnard,’ was all she said, with an affectionate pat on his arm.
Just before eleven o’clock, Charlotte was consulted by Lily in a panic.
‘What do you think, Char?’ she hissed, beckoning Charlotte into her room. ‘Will this shawl be sufficient to keep me warm? I should like to wear the sealskin mantle dear Barnard gave me yesterday, it cost a guinea, after all, but I would not wish to outshine Lady Granville, you know. I remember she was wearing something very similar at dear Algy’s christening.’
Charlotte blinked at this unusual consideration for another’s feelings, but hastened to reassure her sister-in-law. ‘It’s freezing outside, Lily,’ she said firmly, nodding as Lily’s maid helped her mistress into the new coat. ‘You must wrap up as warmly as possible, think of the baby. Besides, Lady Granville isn’t the sort to worry anyway. She’s so secure in the knowledge that her ancestry goes back to Adam and Eve that she’s probably too well-bred even to notice what we wear.’
Despite Lily’s brave speech about walking down to the village, Charlotte was under no illusion; Lily had no intention of taking a brisk walk, today or any other, and as a new mother she had the perfect excuse, so she bundled Melicent Penbury into the brougham which was now clean and gleaming having been vacated by the stable cat who had conveyed her three kittens elsewhere. Lily nodded kindly at Miss Armstrong’s polite but definite refusal, and bullied Charlotte into abandoning the walk she had planned.
‘Nonsense, Char,’ she snapped as the brougham set off at a careful pace down the icy drive. ‘Of course you must come with us, what would it look like? The manor must be represented. Gran is excused attendance, of course, and Miss Armstrong, no doubt correctly, feels it would be inappropriate to make a public appearance at a sporting event though I’m relieved she’s said no more about missing the party this afternoon.’ She gave a disparaging sniff, ‘I see that unbridled grief does not interfere with Dr Chant’s enjoyment of the day’s entertainments.’
Charlotte knew better than to answer Lily’s pronouncements but inwardly she was surprised. So Lily didn’t like the doctor either, that was interesting. Dr Chant, as a society darling who numbered Prince Albert among his distinguished patients, should have been in high favour with his hostess, but that was apparently not the case. There was no opportunity to question Lily about this though, as they had arrived at the village inn.
Lily began to fuss again about her bonnet and coat while Charlotte helped to manoeuvre Melicent down the awkward step, just as Captain Penbury bustled forward to add an arm to his lady’s aid, saying, ‘Now, now, my dear. You must take care, we must not forget there may be a murderer still in the vicinity.’
On cue, Melicent set up a shrieking and gasping and Charlotte glared at the captain. ‘I doubt, Captain, that any of us would be the target of an attack in the midst of so many.’ She gave Melicent a withering stare and glanced round the village green, ducking her head back into the brougham.
‘Do hurry up, Lily. I can see more people arriving, hacks and hunters alike and there’s quite a throng outside the front door of The Three Pigeons. It won’t do for you to be late.’ She gave a sigh as she realized Lily was still anxiously inspecting herself in a tiny hand mirror. ‘For heaven’s sake, Lily. Remember that you are the great lady of Finchbourne village now and it’s your duty to be on show. Besides, if you don’t make haste, you’ll find Melicent Penbury playing the hostess and greeting all the local dignitaries. And you don’t want that, I know.’
The ploy worked and the two young women made their brisk way along the slippery pavement to the village inn, just in time for Lily to elbow the egregious Melicent out of the way.
‘If you please,’ she hissed, stepping with careless malice on Melicent’s one good foot and causing her to yelp in pain. ‘I am the mistress of Finchbourne Manor, and it is my place to welcome everyone. Remember your place, Mrs Penbury, and kindly remain in the background.’
Charlotte took a few judicious steps away from this confrontation, although she noted with concern that Melicent looked very pale and that tears stood in her eyes. Oh dear, sighed Charlotte, feeling guilty. I wonder if her leg is paining her? I know she wears a harness for the artificial limb and it must surely chafe unbearably at times. She moved towards the other woman, but felt an involuntary spasm of relief as Melicent turned away and headed, her limp definitely more pronounced than was usual, for the cluster of local dignitaries. Charlotte went to stand by the horse trough, admiring the gat
hering of horses and huntsmen, but contented herself with a nod and a wave when she spotted Oz Granville and his parents. Time enough for polite conversation later today; besides, Oz was wearing an expression of mulish obstinacy from which she surmised that he had hoped to join the hunt. No fear of that, she grinned to herself as she turned aside; Lady Granville would never permit her darling to risk his neck in such a dangerous pursuit.
Barnard was soon absorbed into a group of men all wearing concerned frowns and pacing up and down as they glared at the snow-covered village green. I wonder, mused Charlotte, I know nothing about hunting in these wintry conditions, but I’m not sure I should like to take a horse out today. What would it take to make them cancel the meeting: a further fall of snow, perhaps?
Captain Penbury was outside the inn, injudiciously draining a glass of port handed to him by one of the hunt servants. Lily, she realized, had routed her enemy and was now in eager conversation with some of the more illustrious neighbours, so Charlotte was free to remain in the background and enjoy herself, but she shook her head with a frown as she watched the captain accept a second glass. This meant yet another set of complaints about his old war wound, she sighed and looked round for the captain’s lady. True to form however, Melicent, who had been rebuffed – or worse in her eyes – simply ignored by the gentry, was now hanging about outside the inn, full of her own woes about her social standing, rather than concern for her spouse’s state of health.
‘My dear Mrs Frampton Richmond,’ she fussed as she limped towards the younger woman. ‘I should be grateful if you would have a quiet word with Mrs Richmond about her manner to me. She forgets that I am no longer a mere governess, to be slighted and put upon, but am now the respected wife of a gallant naval gentleman. It is too much, too much.’ She dabbed at her overflowing eyes with a tiny lace-trimmed handkerchief. ‘And I am so sadly sensitive that my delicate feelings are lacerated by the unkindness of more brutish persons.’
Charlotte was about to return a soothing answer, when she was hailed by Kit Knightley.
‘Kit, what a pleasant surprise. Do excuse me, Melicent, I must go and ask how Mrs Knightley goes on.’ She extricated herself from Mrs Penbury’s clutches, to shake hands with Kit and to put her enquiry to him. ‘Barnard explained about the Meet so I didn’t expect to see you today. You are not hunting yourself?’ she asked, noting his suit of country clothes, covered by a warm coat.
‘Not today,’ was the response, then he added, ‘Elaine insisted I put in an appearance, but I shall take myself back to the Hall directly they are off. She’s not at all well.’ He looked away and Charlotte murmured in sympathy. ‘I’m afraid, Char,’ he said simply and looked away as she gasped, eyes filling with tears. He stared over the heads of the swelling crowd and took her hand once more. ‘I must speak to Barnard,’ he said. ‘Don’t come tomorrow, Char, she had a bad time yesterday evening and a sleepless night, but all being well, she’ll be glad to see you the day after. I expect I’ll put in a brief appearance, for form’s sake, at the Granville lad’s birthday affair this afternoon.’ He turned to go, but looked back at her soberly, ‘I promise to send for you at once,’ he told her, ‘If she should ask for you, or, or if Dr Perry thinks ….’ His voice tailed away and he left her watching after him, her excitement at the bustling scene before her vanished, as her feelings of dismay echoed, in a small way, his despair.
She pulled herself together. It would not do to break down in tears; her task today was to act as lady-in-waiting to Lily, who however, was happily occupied with her neighbours. Melicent was now clinging to her husband’s arm and in no need of attention, so Charlotte hugged her shawl more warmly round her shoulders, over her stout cloth coat, and began to walk round the village green to inspect the first snowfall she had ever encountered.
Brrr, even as she shivered in the still, cold air, she was enchanted by the beauty of her surroundings. Finchbourne Manor was handsome enough at any season, with its original Tudor parts, and the mellow brick of the Queen Anne wing tacked on to the side, but today, viewed from the other side of the green, with the pale sunshine lighting up the snowy whiteness, she was lost for words. The village too, was lovely, with its ancient church, and the cluster of cottages and villas looking picturesque amid the snow-covered bushes and gardens. There were icicles too, hanging from the cottage eaves and decorating the lych-gate, and the trees were weighed down with snow. A few minutes’ walking about though, was more than enough to make her turn back towards home, until her name, called out, made her whip round to stare at the woman trudging gamely along the street.
‘Why, Bessie,’ she cried, hurrying towards her old friend. ‘What a pleasant surprise, I’m so glad to see you, I hoped we might meet. Do come inside somewhere and get warm.’
The Three Pigeons boasted a small back parlour and Charlotte ushered her old friend in there, noting with relief that a fire had been kindled in the grate. The landlady brought in hot coffee and when Charlotte was satisfied that Bessie was comfortably settled, she began to ask eager questions.
‘That’s right, Miss Char,’ was the response to a query about the blacksmith’s brother. ‘He’s a nice enough man, to be sure, and I did think he might do for me.’ Charlotte hid a smile, remembering Will’s amusement at this phrase of Bessie’s. ‘I’ve lost count,’ he had whispered to his wife after one of Bessie’s romances, ‘of the number of men who were going to “do” for Bessie. Let’s hope none of them ever does so, but she does take some foolish risks.’
The trouble was, Charlotte recalled now, that even at a tender age she had recognised her nurse’s fatal weakness. Bessie Railton fell in love at the drop of a hat and the objects of her affections were always utterly unsuitable. Having heard rumours in the village, Charlotte was sure that the blacksmith’s brother was yet another.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Bessie nodded sagely. ‘He’s been making up to me for a week or two and he even brought me over to stay with his brother last night. I thought for sure he’d be down on one knee by today.’ She sighed gustily and Charlotte patted her hand in sympathy. ‘Aye, I even went to chapel with him yesterday, and a tedious affair that was, to be sure.’
‘But, Bessie,’ Charlotte frowned. ‘The blacksmith attends the village church, so why does his brother go to chapel?’
‘That’s the rub,’ Bessie sighed once more. ’T’was his late wife as was chapel and he took to it like a natural, jumping up and down praying out loud, he was, all through the service. And that went on for an age too, just when I was hoping for my dinner and my stomach grumbling as it was.’ She shook her head. ‘He won’t do,’ she announced. ‘I’d rather have his brother any day. He’s a real man, he is, the blacksmith.’
‘And so is his wife,’ Charlotte interposed hurriedly. ‘Her arms are even brawnier than his, so give up that idea, for she has a temper to match. But tell me, did you by any chance see anything of that incident at the church gate yesterday? You saw our old pony shy and try to take the chaise with him?’
‘Lord above,’ Bessie looked aghast. ‘If I didn’t go and forget all about that. I should say I did see something and I was just going to run over to help when some young lady – I didn’t see her plain, her bonnet hid her face – caught the pony and saved the day.’
‘Well?’ Charlotte was in a sudden agony of curiosity. ‘What was it that you saw? One of the ladies said there was a dog that went under the traces and startled the pony, but I didn’t see it.’
‘A dog? No, that there wasn’t, but besides the lady that caught the pony, there were two people standing close to it and I reckon one of them must have jabbed a pin into the poor creature’s flesh the way it reared up and squealed. I couldn’t see precisely but what I do know is that one of them patted the rump and the other the neck, both at the same time though I doubt that was by design.’
‘But, but that’s hardly conclusive,’ Charlotte was disappointed. She had built so much on Bessie having seen the whole thing. ‘You say you saw two people? Could you desc
ribe them?’
‘You may not think it’s likely, Miss Char,’ Bessie folded her lips in a determined pout. ‘But I say there was nothing else that could have upset that fat old pony. No dog, no sudden noise, nobody running about silly-like, just those two people touching it.’
‘Very well,’ Charlotte was reluctant to suggest her mother’s former maid might be romancing, so she asked again, ‘What did the two people look like, were they in conversation?’
‘There was a man, a gentleman, for I could see his clothes. Trouble is, Miss Char, I didn’t see his face clear for he was blocked from my view most of the time by the gentry that stood nearby. No dear, they didn’t speak; he was by the pony’s rump and ignoring the lady. I doubt he’d have been happy at being left to the mercies of some plump spinster, for that’s what she was and no mistake about it. She was dumpy and dowdy, dressed in black and fussing about all the time with her hat and her hair and her handkerchief. And her showing off, a-patting that pony as if she liked him, whenever she saw anyone glance her way.’ She hesitated and looked puzzled. ‘I’ve seen that one before somewhere,’ she frowned. ‘But for the life of me I can’t remember where it was. And not long ago either.’
Charlotte and her visitor stared at each other as Bessie repeated, ‘I know it doesn’t seem possible, Miss Char dearie, but I’m certain sure that one of those two did something to make that poor pony try to gallop off with his carriage dragging along behind him.’
Chapter 10
REFRESHED BY HER coffee, Bessie heaved herself out of her chair and announced that she must be getting back to the baker.
‘For,’ she admitted with a rueful grin, ‘whatever my feelings about my gentleman friend, I can’t deny that the ride he’s promised me back to Winchester will be very welcome. After that, well, we’ll see, but don’t you worry, Miss Char,’ with a nod and another smile. ‘I’ll stay well away from the blacksmith. You’re right about his missus and it won’t do to go looking for trouble.’
