by Mary Nichols
She would lie in bed, wondering what he was doing and, until she learned of the Earl’s death, had tortured herself with wondering whether he and Miss Somerfield had become officially betrothed. She supposed that now he was in mourning that would be postponed. It did not make her feel any better.
* * *
Lord Somerfield, along with many of the Earl’s male friends, his tenant farmers, Dr Graham, Mr Sobers, James Mottram and as many of the estate workers as could be spared, attended the funeral while the ladies, including Lady Somerfield and Verity, waited at the house for the menfolk to return. All were in unrelieved black, a colour which, on the Countess, heightened her pale complexion. She looked almost ghostly.
‘I am glad to learn that Miss Wayland has left,’ Lady Somerfield said, when everything that could be said about the tragedy had been said and they were, for a moment, lost for something to say.
‘Yes, her cousin, Lord Brent, came from Cambridge and fetched her,’ the Countess told her. ‘He has offered her a home.’
‘Good. Of course, with the Viscount—oh, I meant the Earl—in mourning, we cannot make an announcement. It will have to wait.’
‘Mama,’ Verity put in, ‘the Earl has not offered for me and may not do so now.’
‘What nonsense are you talking?’ her mother said crossly. ‘Of course he will.’
‘If he does, I am not sure I wish to be a Countess. The idea frightens me.’
‘I am losing all patience with you, child,’ Lady Somerfield went on. ‘What has got into you? You are not likely to get a better offer.’
‘Papa is rich enough to buy me any husband he chooses,’ her daughter went on. ‘But I should like to have some say in the matter.’
‘Oh, give me patience,’ her ladyship said. ‘What do you say, Dorothea?’
‘I should not like to think either of them was made unhappy by a marriage they do not want,’ the Countess said, choosing her words carefully. ‘There is nothing worse than being locked in a loveless marriage.’
‘You have changed your tune,’ Lady Somerfield said sharply.
‘The circumstances have changed. My husband is dead and Miles must take over the estate. I have no idea what his plans are for that. It is too soon to say.’
Miles had arrived back from the funeral and was on the point of entering the drawing room when he heard his name mentioned and so he stopped outside to listen, and what he heard made him smile. Dear Mama, she was doing her best for him. He entered the room and made his bow to the ladies.
‘It is over?’ his mother queried.
‘It is over. He has been laid to rest. There was a goodly crowd there and many villagers watching in the road. The carriages are following and will be here directly. Shall I order the refreshments to be brought in?’
‘Yes, please.’
The room was suddenly full of people and the servants were passing between them with trays of drinks and food and Miles’s time was spent receiving condolences and hearing tales of his father and fielding questions about his intentions. When most of the mourners had gone except the Somerfields and the immediate family, Mr Sobers read the will, which contained nothing surprising. Miles spoke to the lawyer alone afterwards.
‘I want that case against Miss Wayland dropped,’ he told him, after Sobers had offered his condolences and at the same time his felicitations on his succession to the earldom. ‘I do not care how you do it.’
‘I am not sure it can be done. Sedition is a serious matter and the Crown is prosecuting.’
‘You know it was never sedition. No one would have paid the least attention to it if my father had not taken offence. Now he has gone to his Maker I cannot think there is anything to be gained by proceeding. The premises of the newspaper have gone up in flames and I doubt there are copies of the offending article in existence. People use them to light their fires, you know. Miss Wayland has lost everything. There will be no more reports, seditious or otherwise. I think I can guarantee that. If it takes a purse, then so be it. I will pay.’
He was well aware that Sobers was looking at him critically and would have liked to question why he was so anxious on Miss Wayland’s behalf, but he was the Earl now and could call the tune.
‘Very well. I will see what I can do.’
Relieved to have put that matter in hand, Miles could at last turn his attention to the little group of Lord Somerfield, his wife and daughter.
‘My lord,’ he began, determined not to be sidetracked, ‘the death of my father has changed the arrangements that were made between you.’
‘I realise they will have to be postponed for the mourning period.’
‘Not postponed, cancelled,’ he said firmly, looking at Verity for her reaction. If anything, she looked relieved, which gave him the impetus to carry on. ‘I was never party to them.’
‘You mean you are reneging?’ His lordship was clearly angry.
‘I cannot renege on something I never agreed to in the first place. Miss Verity is a delightful young lady and will undoubtedly attract many suitors more worthy than me. I would not, for the world, hurt her feelings, but I am sure she will be relieved rather than disappointed.’ He turned to her with a smile. ‘I am right, am I not, Miss Somerfield? Do not be afraid to say.’
The young lady looked from her father to her mother and back again, then she took a deep breath as if gathering her courage. ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘I do not think we should suit.’
‘Well, of all the ungrateful…’ His lordship stopped, lost for words.
‘Leave it,’ his wife told him. ‘If that is how Verity feels about it, then we must accept it.’ She turned to Miles. ‘My lord, I hope you will allow, for appearances’ sake, that it was Verity who turned you down.’
He bowed, trying very hard to remain sombre, though his heart was singing. ‘Of course. She just did.’
There was nothing more to be said and they took their leave. Miles went to find his mother. The most important of his many obstacles had been overcome. He could go to see Helen.
* * *
He was in the stables seeing to the harnessing of the horses the following morning, when Byers arrived and detained him. ‘I come to pay the men’s respects, my lord,’ he began. ‘And we was wondering if it made any difference to the Co-operative.’
‘None at all, Jack, none at all.’
‘Good, ‘cos we’ve put a deal of work into it.’
‘I know. Long may it continue.’
‘An’ I was sent to ask how Miss Wayland be,’ he said. ‘We miss her at the barn and there’s the accounts…’
‘Yes, I know, Jack. Miss Wayland is recovering, but she has gone to live with her cousin. I am afraid the accounts will have to wait. Do you need money for anything?’
‘We hev made a start on the barn,’ the man said. ‘We need materials for that.’
‘Order what you need. Have the accounts sent to me. We will sort everything out later.’
Byers grinned. ‘You was behind it all along, my lord, weren’t you?’
‘Yes, but there is no need to spread it abroad. Is there anything else?’ He was impatient to be on his way.
‘You asked us to try an’ find out who set fire to the Warburton Record.’
‘I did. What have you discovered?’
‘One o’ Blakestone’s minions admitted throwin’ the brick through the window, but he swears he knows nothing about the fire.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘Yes, he’d ha’ said if he did. I made sure o’ that.’
‘I hope you did not hurt him.’
Byers grinned. ‘Only a little. He is a coward. What do you want done about him?’
‘Nothing for the moment. I am more concerned about the fire.’
‘I reckon it was that there fire raiser what’s bin goin’ round setting fire to things. Did no one tell you that Ravensbrook Manor burned ag’in last night? Strange, in’t it, seeing it ha’ bin standin’ empty for years. There’s those that think
it’s haunted. Flickering lights have been seen there at night.’
‘I had no idea about the fire, but rest assured—there are no ghosts, Jack. There was a tramp squatting there. Did he get out?’
‘Dunno. Nobody said nothin’ about no tramp. Oh, my Lord! He may still be in there.’
Miles left the hitching of the horses to Greaves, saddled Pewter and set off for Ravensbrook Manor at a gallop.
* * *
As soon as he came within sight of it, he could see it had been totally destroyed. The roof had gone and two walls had collapsed. The ivy growing on the remaining walls was blackened and still smoking. All the remaining windows had gone. He dismounted beside what had been the kitchen and made his way over the rubble to the back parlour. Everywhere was blackened, some of it still smouldering. His fears were realised when he saw the badly burned body, lying face down. Carefully he turned him over. His face was burned, but he might be just recognisable to anyone who had known him. It was the idiot.
He was looking round to find something to put him on when Byers and Greaves arrived, scrunching their way over cinders and broken glass to join him.
‘That’s Jimmy Little,’ Greaves said, looking down at the dead man.
‘Jimmy Little?’
‘He was the boot boy at the Manor. Years and years ago it was when Lord Brent lived here. He was a bit simple in the attic even before the fire, but after that he went off his head altogether. He loved Lady Brent, doted on her. When the house went up in flames he danced about, dashing backwards and forwards getting in everyone’s way, screaming his head off. He had no family and no one knew what to do with him. He were put in an asylum. Where he went after that, I cannot say. Someone must know. What do you reckon we ought to do?’
‘Send for the undertaker and the parson to arrange a funeral,’ Miles said. ‘Do you think you can find something to put him on, a door or something like that?’
* * *
It had taken several hours for everything to be arranged and all the time Miles had been fretting to go to Helen, but it was the following morning before he finally left for Cambridgeshire, deciding to ride Pewter and not take the carriage. It would be quicker across country and he was in a hurry…
* * *
Helen was trying her best to settle down in her new life, but she was finding it very difficult. She was neither servant nor family and, apart from the children and their nurse, hardly spoke to anyone. She had her meals with the children and, after they were in bed, spent her time in her room, reading. There were books in the house and she found one or two to read, but she could not concentrate. Again and again her thoughts turned to Miles. She had had no reply to her letter of condolence and did not expect one, but she could not help wondering what was happening in Warburton and Ravensbrook. William did not approve of ladies reading newspapers, let alone producing them, and so she had no access to news. It was a kind of imprisonment and it irked her, but until she could think of something else to do, she had to put up with it.
The weather did not help. It was so wet, windy and cold that Lady Brent refused to allow the children out of doors, which was not good for them. Harold was particularly difficult to contain. He quarrelled with his sisters and dashed about the upper regions of the house, making a din, which did not please his parents and she was told to keep him in check. It was only high spirits, which could only be released by going out of doors. But at last the rain stopped and a weak sun tried its best to break through the clouds. Helen decided it was time to take the children out and sought permission to take them for a walk.
‘Yes, do that,’ their mother said. ‘I am tired of their noise. You can hear them all over the house.’
And so they ventured out. The air was fresh and Helen breathed deeply, filling her lungs. It was so good to be out. The trees dripped water, there were puddles everywhere and the grass was lush and wet, but they picked their way, while Helen pointed out the names of the trees and the bedraggled wayside flowers. They walked as far as the little girls could manage and turned for home.
* * *
‘Miss Wayland has taken the children out,’ Lady Brent told Miles after she had offered her condolences on his loss and felicitations on his inheritance and he had stated his wish to speak to Helen.
‘How long will she be?’
‘I do not know. It is the first fine day we have had for some time and no doubt the children will want to make the most of it.’
‘May I wait?’
‘My lord, with all respect to you, I do not think anything can be gained by seeing her. She is settling in and her past life has been put behind her, which is as it should be. You will only re-awaken things best left alone.’
‘I think, my lady, that is for me to decide. I have news for her regarding several matters that were left in abeyance when she came here. It is important that I speak to her.’
‘Then you must make an appointment to come when my husband is here. He will want to be present. She is, after all, his responsibility.’
He was furious. How dared she try to prevent him seeing Helen? He bowed his way out, but if she thought he would give up, she was wrong. He rode down the drive until he was out of sight of the house behind the bushes that lined the carriageway, dismounted and prepared to wait.
* * *
He saw her coming towards him on a footpath that emerged from a small stand of trees on the other side of the drive, clasping the hands of two little girls, and his heart gave a great leap of joy. He stepped forwards, smiling. ‘Helen.’
She gasped with shock and then delight, and that was followed by despondency, all in the space of a few seconds. ‘My lord, what are you doing here?’
‘Waiting to see you. That dragon up at the house was determined to deny me.’
‘If you mean Cousin Caroline, no doubt she had my interests at heart.’
‘I will not be denied, Helen. There are important matters we must discuss.’ He looked down at the girls, who were staring at him with curiosity. ‘We cannot talk here. Can you meet me somewhere?’
She gave a cracked laugh. ‘That sounds like an assignation and what my cousins would say about that, I dread to think. I was obliged to promise I would not communicate with you.’
‘You have not communicated with me. I have come to you.’
‘I doubt they would take that into account. I should send you away.’
‘Are you happy here?’
‘I am content.’
‘I do not believe you. Please say you will meet me, or I shall camp on the doorstep and make a nuisance of myself. Lady Brent suggested I should make an appointment when her husband could be present when I spoke to you. I am not having that. What I have to say is for your ears only.’
‘I cannot think what you can have to say to me, my lord, though I should like to know how the Co-operative is coming along.’
‘I will tell you that along with everything else when I see you. There is a coaching inn in the village. I shall take a room there and later this evening I shall take a stroll along the river bank towards the bridge. Meet me there, please.’
‘Very well. I shall try to come after the children have gone to bed. Eight o’ clock.’
Harold came bursting through the trees. ‘I have just seen a badger,’ he said. ‘Come and see.’
She turned to Miles. ‘I must go.’
* * *
He watched her being pulled along by the exuberant boy until she was out of sight, then mounted and rode to the inn to contain himself in patience until the evening.
‘Who was that man?’ Harold demanded.
‘What man?’ Helen was not paying attention. Miles had come. Miles wanted to talk to her. Matters to be discussed, he had said. Perhaps he had some questions about how she had kept the books for the Co-operative. Or perhaps he had come to tell her he was sorry, but the necklace was worth nothing. Why could he not have said that to Lady Brent? Why all the cloak-and-dagger nonsense? Unless he was afraid of Miss Somerfield findi
ng out he had visited her. But then he would not have ridden up to the house. She would be on tenterhooks until she knew and though she realised the meeting could only lead to more heartache, she could not wait for the evening to come.
‘The man you were talking to,’ Harold answered her. ‘Servants are not supposed to have followers.’
So he thought she was a servant, the same as the nurse and everyone else who was paid to administer to his needs. It was not surprising, but someone must have put the idea of followers into his head; she doubted he knew what it meant. ‘That, Harold, was a gentleman. Could you not tell by his dress and that fine horse?’
‘What is his name, then?’
‘He is the Earl of Warburton. I knew him before I came here.’
‘What did he want?’
‘I do not know. I expect he was just visiting your mama and papa.’
She had known that would not be the end of the interrogation because he would be bound to tell his mother of the encounter, which he took great delight in doing when the children were taken down to see her before dinner, which they did every afternoon. She spent an hour or so with them, questioning them about their day and what they had learned. It was soon out that Helen had been talking to a gentleman in the drive.
‘I assume the gentleman was the Earl of Warburton,’ her lady ship said when the children had been sent upstairs again.
‘Yes, Cousin Caroline. I met him as he was leaving. We spoke briefly to each other in passing.’
‘He said he had some matters to discuss with you.’
‘If he did, he must have changed his mind. We exchanged polite greetings and he went on his way and I on mine.’
‘Good. We cannot have you upset by what has happened in the past. You have the children to consider…’
‘Yes, Cousin, I realise that.’
