Lord Ravensden's Marriage

by Anne Herries

  'Oh, pray do not,' Beatrice said, smitten by guilt. 'I dare say it was all my fault you were ill, Lord

  Ravensden. The room had not been used in years, and though the fire was lit as soon as I

  understood your intention of staying, it could not have thoroughly aired the chamber.'

  T quite thought you meant to drive me out,' Harry said. 'That was a dashed uncomfortable

  mattress.'

  'The struts are broken,' Beatrice said. 'I must ask Bellows if he can repair them.'

  'So you do mean to banish me?'

  'Be quiet, you provoking man,' Beatrice said as they reached the bottom of the stairs. 'Of course I

  do not mean to send you back there. I am quite comfortable sharing with my sister for the moment.'

  'I understand there is a bedroom not in use...next to Mr Roade...' Harry raised his brows. 'If the

  bed were aired, I might move there in a day or so. Or is that bed also broken?'

  'No, it is a very good mattress,' Beatrice said. 'It was my mother's room. She died in that bed, and

  it has not been used since. Obviously, I could not expect Olivia to sleep there, as it was where

  Mama died— but if it would not disturb you?'

  'I have no fear of departed spirits,' Harry said. 'If Mrs Roade was as generous as her daughter, I

  am sure I shall sleep quite satisfactorily in her bed. And it would mean that you could be

  comfortable in your own room again.'

  Beatrice kept her face averted. Really, such consideration from a man who was supposed to be

  careless! What did he hope to gain by this? Or was she being too critical?

  'Well, I shall have the room aired properly since that too has not been used for a while, but you

  need not think of moving for a few days,' she said, then wrinkled her brow. 'Were you thinking of

  staying long?'

  Harry gave a shout of laughter. 'You heartless minx,' he said. 'How can you think of sending me

  away, when I have been so thoughtful of your comfort?'

  Beatrice glanced up at him, then quickly away as her heart raced. Really, the man had too much

  charm. He imagined it would gain him anything, but he much mistook the matter if he thought she

  was to be twisted around his finger.

  'Pray go in to my sister,' she said. 'I am not so heartless that I would send you away before you

  have had a chance to win back Olivia's affections—but I must tell you that I shall not force her to

  take you, and nor will Papa. You must fight your own battle, sir.'

  'Oh, indeed, I intend to do so, Miss Roade,' Harry said, a glint in his eyes. 'By whatever means

  necessary. They do say that everything is fair in love and war, do they not?'

  Beatrice gave him a speaking look and left him, as he tapped at the parlour door and then went in.

  His manner left much to be desired in a prospective bridegroom, but she would not try to influence

  her sister one way or the other.

  Had she been able to send him packing the first day, that would have been an end to the whole

  affair, but circumstances had been against her. Now they were all caught in the coils of a

  mischievous fate and must play out the game until its end.

  It was Thursday the seventh of November. Beatrice was in the kitchen when Farmer Ekin's boy

  came in at the back door. She looked up, a flicker of amusement in her eyes, as he entered, basket

  on arm. It was immediately clear to her from his expression that he had news. Ned visited many of

  the houses in the four villages, taking produce from his father's farm to their customers, and he

  usually had some titbit of gossip to offer.

  'There you be, Miss Roade,' Ned said, setting his basket on the table. 'A leg of pork, and two

  plump cockerels—for the gentleman as is stopping here, I dare say. Ma says there's no need to pay

  her. She don't want money, says she should rather have some of your good shortbread when you

  have the time to bake it, and a jar or two of your pickled walnuts. Pa is proper partial to them.' He

  grinned at her. 'His lordship's Miss Olivia's fiancé so they say...she be stopping, too, I reckon. A

  houseful, you've got, miss, and no mistake.'

  'Well, as to the matter of Lord Ravensden being my sister's fiancé, we are not sure if they are

  suited or not. Nothing is yet settled,' Beatrice said. She offered him a plate of buns she had baked

  earlier. 'Have you any news for me, Ned?'

  He parked his backside on the edge of her table, taking a bite of the bun and looking as if he

  appreciated it. Miss Roade's baking beat that of any cook in the four villages that Ned had come

  across, and she was always generous.

  'Well, miss...funny you should ask that,' he said, a sparkle in his eyes. 'I was up at the Vicarage,

  see. Mrs Hartwell wanted some eggs and a side of bacon, but when I got there she was in the

  parlour, and our Mary told me...' He paused for effect. 'It seems the Vicar was up at the Abbey

  early this morning. Went to see the Marquis, on account of his thinking it was up to him to make

  him see the error of his ways...getting on a bit his lordship, and like to burn in the fiery pit for his

  sins, I shouldn't wonder.'

  'Yes, I dare say you are right.' Ned's sister Mary ,was cook to the Reverend Hartwell's household.

  'What happened? Was the Marquis very rude?' She imagined that he might be, and wondered that

  anyone should risk the kind of reception such a visit would be bound to bring on a chance caller.

  'Our Mary says he opened the door hisself...the Marquis, that is, miss. In a flaming temper...drunk

  like as not, I dare swear.'

  'Where was his butler?' Beatrice asked. 'Surely it is properly Mr Burneck's job to answer the

  bell?'

  'Our Mary says she heard the Reverend telling her mistress. It was the Marquis what came to the

  door, still in his dressing-robe, and carrying on something awful he was 'cos the Crow hadn't been

  back to the Abbey all night. Went over to Northampton to see his cousin the previous afternoon

  and hadn't come back.'

  'The Crow...'

  Beatrice smiled at the name, one often used by the village folk to describe Solomon Burneck, the

  Marquis's butler. Burneck had been with his master for years, even before the Marquis first came

  to the Abbey. He was called the Crow because he always wore the same rusty black clothes, and

  because his nose was rather large and hooked like a bird's beak. His eyes were narrow set, his

  lips thin and pale, but despite his unfortunate looks, he was held in respect and some awe by local

  people. Solomon Burneck was a man of few words, but when he did speak it was often to quote

  something from the Bible, and he was thought to be a religious man. Why such a man should

  remain in the employment of a master such as the Marquis of Sywell was a mystery, but as

  Beatrice knew well, there was no accounting for loyalty.

  'I did not know Mr Burneck had any relatives.'

  'She came with the Marquis, worked for him for a few years,' replied the obliging Ned. 'You

  wouldn't remember but Ma does; it were a good many years ago when Mistress Burneck went off

  to be married... to a merchant with a house and shop of his own, so me Ma told me.'

  'And Mr Burneck has not yet returned from his visit to his cousin? Well, that is odd,' Beatrice

  said. 'I wonder why he did not come back. Do you suppose he has left the Marquis's employ?'

  'If he has done a bunk, he ain't the only one,' Ned said, hugely enjoying himself. 'The Marquis

  raved and shouted at the Reverend something awful, told him
to clear off and never bother him no

  more— and...' Ned paused importantly. 'He said as her ladyship had cleared off and left him. Said

  the whole place were empty 'cept for him. What do you think of that then?'

  'The Marquis said his wife had gone...' Beatrice felt an unpleasant shiver trickle down her spine

  as her memory flashed back to the night she had nearly been knocked down by the Marquis's

  horse. That scream she had heard...that terrible, unearthly scream! 'How long ago did she leave?'

  'Dunno...mebbe a few days, mebbe longer...' Ned shook his head. 'Our Mary didn't hear no

  more...the mistress come out of the parlour, caught her earwigging and sent her back to the

  kitchen.'

  'And there were no other servants up at the Abbey at all?' Nan had come into the kitchen in time to

  hear the last part of Ned's story. 'Well, I suppose that is not surprising—after the way he has

  behaved in the past. I am sure no decent woman would dream of working there. No wonder folks

  say it is all going to rack and ruin. A crying shame, that's what I call it. He is an important

  landowner hereabouts. He ought to employ a lot of people, and I dare say there's suffering in the

  villages because of it. It is a great shame he ever came here!'

  'It is all very odd,' Beatrice said. The cold chill settled at the nape of her neck. She could not help

  thinking about the blood-curdling scream she had heard the night she crossed the Abbey lands.

  'Where do you suppose the Marchioness could have gone?'

  'I dare say she has run off,' said the practical Nan. 'Who could blame her? Married to such a man,

  and with the house falling into ruin about her, as it must be.'

  'Yes...' Beatrice nodded, but something was not quite right. She felt uneasy as she considered what

  might have happened to the Marquis's young wife. 'But...'

  Nan shook her head as if in warning, and Beatrice remembered they were not alone. There was no

  need to spread gossip unnecessarily.

  'Well, thank your mother for me,' Beatrice said. 'Tell her I shall bring the shortbread down this

  weekend... and perhaps you would like another bun to eat as you go?'

  Ned grinned from ear to ear as he took the offering, then went out of the back door. His cheerful

  whistling could be heard as he sauntered off, carrying his empty basket.

  'I know what you are thinking,' Nan said. 'But a still tongue makes a wise head, Beatrice. We must

  consider carefully. It would not do to start a malicious rumour only to have Lady Sywell turn up

  next week.'

  'No, you are very right,' Beatrice said. 'Besides, Ned may have got it all wrong. I shall be

  interested to hear what the Reverend Hartwell has to say this evening and...' She broke off as the

  back door opened and Bellows entered, carrying a large wicker hamper.

  'His lordship ordered this, Miss Roade,' her manservant told her. 'There's a rib of beef, various

  cheeses and a whole ham, besides the wines and brandy waiting to be brought in from the carter's

  wagon.'

  'And how are we supposed to pay for these things?' Beatrice felt her temper rising. 'There is no

  way we can afford luxuries like this...' She had opened the hamper to find jars of Gentlemen's

  Relish, marchpane comfits and candied fruits, also several pounds of tea and sugar—and

  chocolate! 'Really, it will all have to go back!'

  'No need to take on so, miss,' Bellows said in his bluff way. 'It was all put on his lordship's

  account... same as the carriage and horses he ordered from the livery stables, together with the

  services of a groom and driver. Said it was easier to hire than send for his own...' Bellows

  faltered as he realised his mistress was now more incensed than ever. 'And various other things

  for his personal use...'

  'How dare he?' Beatrice fumed. 'How dare he be so—so condescending as to think I would be

  pleased for him to pay for the food he eats in this house!'

  She began to take off her apron. Nan eyed her warily.

  'Where are you going, dearest? Not to remonstrate with his lordship, I hope? I dare say he meant it

  for the best...'

  'Meant it for the best?' The light of battle was in Beatrice's eyes. 'It is an insult, Nan. And I mean

  to tell him so.'

  'Do pray remember that the poor man has been ill...' Nan called after her as she walked from the

  kitchen. 'You do not want him to suffer a relapse.'

  Beatrice was not listening. How dare Lord Ravensden insult her so? The only reason she had not

  offered him the beef he so urgently required was that she would not give him inferior meat, and for

  quality it was necessary to go into Northampton...to the superior establishment Bellows had

  clearly visited. Had he only been patient, she would have provided proper meals once she had

  been able to buy the provisions she needed.

  Lord Ravensden was sitting in the parlour when she entered, a book of poems in his hand. He had

  obviously been reading to Olivia, for she sat idle, her mending laid down on the table beside her.

  She flushed and looked guilty as she reached for the shirt collar she had been turning for her papa.

  'Lord Ravensden was reading aloud— The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Mr Samuel Taylor

  Coleridge,' Olivia said, looking at her sister uncertainly. 'It is a favourite with me.'

  'How very pleasant,' Beatrice said. 'Olivia, dearest—would you run upstairs and fetch my shawl,

  please?'

  'Yes, of course...' Olivia seemed startled by something in her sister's tone, but rose obediently and

  left the room.

  'Lord Ravensden,' Beatrice began as the door closed behind her. Her eyes flashed with green fire.

  'I dare say you are not accustomed to staying at such a house as this one...'

  Harry had risen to his feet at her entrance. He eyed her warily as he caught the note of anger in her

  voice. What had he done now?

  'Forgive me, Miss Roade. In what way have I offended you?'

  'You sent my servant to Northampton without a by your leave, then you have the effrontery to order

  food and wines—and to put them on your own account. I am aware that I have not been able to

  offer you the sort of hospitality you are accustomed to, sir, but had you been patient another day or

  so...'

  'Forgive me,' Harry said in a contrite tone that somehow took her breath away. 'I have been clumsy

  and I see that I have hurt your pride. I meant only to ease the burden I know my visit must have

  thrust upon you. Indeed, I have no complaints at the hospitality I have received here. I doubt that

  anyone has ever offered me so much...'

  Beatrice was not to be so easily mollified. 'You have sent for a carriage and horses—does that

  mean you intend to leave soon?'

  'No, indeed, for I fear I could not yet contemplate a long journey,' Harry said and was taken by a

  fit of coughing, which lasted some seconds. When he had recovered enough, he went on, 'It was

  just that I thought it might be useful to have some of my own servants...to run my errands. And to

  help do the jobs that Bellows would normally do outside.'

  'Oh...' Beatrice found herself at a stand. She could hardly complain when he had obviously been at

  pains to alleviate his reliance on Bellows's services. 'I see...well, I suppose that might be a help.'

  'And you will forgive me?' Harry asked, a soft, persuasive note in his voice. 'Please accept my

  small gift in the light in which it was offered, Miss Roade. I understand you have
guests this

  evening. Perhaps you may find it of use for them if nothing else?'

  'I dare say I may,' Beatrice replied and frowned at him. 'You are a very tiresome creature, my

  lord.'

  'Yes, indeed, I know it,' Harry said, and took a step towards her. 'Miss Roade...'

  Whatever he was about to say was lost as Olivia returned with her sister's shawl. She looked

  relieved to see that they had not yet come to blows.

  'Is everything all right, Beatrice?'

  'Yes...yes, of course.' Beatrice laughed, wondering why she had felt so very angry. 'It was all a

  mistake, I dare say.' She hesitated, then, 'We are to have visitors this evening, as you know. Before

  they come, I believe I ought to tell you both something I have learned this morning...'

  Olivia looked at her as she hesitated. 'Pray do go on, sister. Have you some gossip to relate?'

  'Well, yes, I have,' Beatrice replied. 'Do you recall we spoke of the Marchioness of Sywell the

  evening you arrived?'

  'Yes, indeed...or at least, you said you knew nothing of her, that she was almost a recluse...'

  'Well, it seems she has disappeared.'

  'Disappeared?' Olivia stared at her, eyes opening wide. 'What do you mean?'

  Beatrice related the story as it had been told to her, then drew her breath in sharply. 'You may

  remember I was almost knocked down by the Marquis as he rode past me one night...some two

  weeks ago now?'

  Olivia nodded, her eyes beginning to glow with anticipation. 'Well, I had earlier heard the most

  terrible scream. I thought it must have been the cry of a trapped animal, but now...'

  Olivia clapped her hand to her mouth. 'The poor Marchioness, she has been murdered by her

  wicked husband!'

  'Well, as to that,' Beatrice said doubtfully. 'We should not jump to conclusions, Olivia...but it does

  seem a little odd.'

  'How did the Marchioness's disappearance come to light?' Harry asked, the mischief beginning to

  dance in his eyes as he saw the gleam of excitement in Olivia's.

  'The Reverend Hartwell made a visit to the Abbey,' Beatrice said. 'Mysterious lights have been

  seen at night in Giles Wood, and the Reverend Hartwell thought there might be some—some

  unpleasant things going on up there. It seems that he thought it his duty to remind the Marquis that