‘Er… um…’ Millie’s eyes bulged and she swallowed the cake she had in her mouth and took a gulp of wine.
‘That’s a yes, then?’
Millie nodded. ‘Yes,’ she croaked finally. ‘It’s a yes.’
‘Good.’ All the tension in her shoulders dissolved as Lydia grinned at Millie who blinked and grinned back. ‘Then, my dear Miss Cannon, welcome to Riverside House. Let’s go and sort out which room is for my secretary-companion and where we should have our study-cum-library, shall we?’
‘What about a sewing room?’ Millie said wickedly. They both knew Lydia hated sewing of any type.
‘It is up to my companion to decide where that torture chamber should be. And who presides over it. As long as it’s not me.’
****
Snow was the devil. Harry opened the door to his hunting lodge, gave thanks he’d managed to reach it, and shut the door again. It had been a difficult two days to get this far and he still had a long way to go before he reached King’s Lynn. As the weather worsened on his journey north and east, and inn after inn had no room, he’d finally struck across country – in the opposite direction – and eventually reached his hunting lodge. Luckily it was kept prepared for him and his cook and gamekeeper were ready to feed him and make him welcome. However, his overnight stay was now in its third day. Each time he thought he’d be able to leave, it snowed or thawed and froze. Under the ice the mud was feet deep and he really wondered if he’d ever get east to the fens.
He stared at the closed door thoughtfully and made his way through the scullery to the tiny room where heavy coats and boots were kept. If nothing else he could help Bunton, his gamekeeper, check the snares and see if they had a rabbit or two for the pot.
Well covered up, the two men struggled through drifts up to their waists and inspected the snares.
‘Bloody weather, m’lord,’ Bunton said as they bagged the three rabbits they snared. ‘Won’t last above another night but the roads will be right quagmires. Do you reckon you’ll get to wherever?’
Harry considered. ‘I’ll try. If you’re right,’ – and he didn’t think otherwise, as Bunton had the weather eye of a true countryman – ‘I’ll set out first thing tomorrow and see how far I can get. I should have been there days ago. Hopefully I’ll get there by Friday.’ It was Wednesday.
Mebbe, mebbe not.’ Bunton wasn’t very optimistic.
Even so, by mid-morning the following day, Harry was making his cautious way down the drive and turning to the east and a major cross-country route that would take him in the general direction he wanted to go. After the last of winter he’d endured the previous few days, this day was a pleasant surprise. Yes, the roads were a mess and he had to keep his horse to little more than a walk, but the sun was shining and birds sang and went silent as he passed by their hiding places.
He saw a hare lope across a field and a fox slink into a distant copse. Harry realised he was as happy as he could be given the circumstances. He couldn’t help but worry about Lydia, but as he could do nothing one way or another in his present circumstances, he pushed that worry to the back of his mind and concentrated on staying in the saddle and making sure his horse didn’t fall.
It wasn’t easy, and by the time he saw a welcome inn sign swinging in the breeze, he was more than ready to stop, ask for dinner and a room, and enjoy a jug of ale. He prayed he would be able to get them all.
To his everlasting relief, he could. The landlord of the Flowers recognised him, even though it was several years since he had visited, and showed him to a handsome bedchamber. Hot water arrived a few minutes later and he was informed dinner would be ready in a private parlour when he was.
Harry washed the mud and dust from his journey away, changed his buckskins and boots for pantaloons and house shoes, and made his way downstairs. There to eat heartily, enjoy his ale, and eventually decant into the taproom and chat amicably to several other travellers. No one asked the purpose of his journey or his destination and he didn’t offer them. It was enough to talk about the weather, the Regent, and who would bed or wed at the end of the season. To his amusement, his name was not mentioned.
He took himself off to bed at a sensible hour and after a hearty breakfast the next morning headed towards the coast. He reached the outskirts of Lynn before he remembered he had no idea where Esther’s aunt Caroline’s house was situated. Eventually he’d extracted the name – Peach Hall – from Esther but she was very vague as to where it actually was. Her glib explanation, ‘I’m a woman and we pay no attention to such minutiae,’ didn’t ring true then or now. However, he was wise enough in the ways of women to have known not to press further. Surely it would be easy enough to get directions once he was in the area?
Evidently not. It didn’t help that he’d forgotten the aunt’s name, and asking for Aunt Caroline was not going to be any help whatsoever. No one had heard of Peach Hall, and Harry began to wonder if the woman and her home had ever existed except in Esther’s mind.
Disgruntled and frustrated beyond belief, Harry took a suite in the elegant Duke’s Head, and plotted what to do next as he washed and changed. At this rate he’d run out of clean clothes before he reached the mysterious Aunt Caroline’s house. He fastened his cuffs and swore as he caught the hem and several inches became ragged and ungainly. He couldn’t wear that. He might not be in the capital, but standards still had to be met.
One less clean shirt. He put his last one on carefully and, once dressed, caught up the torn one. Perhaps he could persuade the landlord’s wife to find someone to repair it. And do some laundry? Mind made up, he rang the bell, which was answered within seconds by a fresh-faced maid.
She looked at him speculatively. Harry shook his head and her face fell. Obviously she wasn’t averse to making a few shillings by being accommodating. However, when he made his request she smiled. ‘Bless you, m’lord, it needs nowt but a few stitches in it. I can do that and it’s laundry day tomorrow. We can get everything ready for you.’
‘Thank… stiches?’ That was it. ‘Do you know someone called Stitches?’
The maid blinked. Did she think him crazy? Harry thrust the bag with his dirty clothes at her and smiled in his best rakish manner. As he had hoped, it worked and she smiled back. ‘Lady Caroline?’ she asked. ‘Over Hunstanton way?’
‘Sounds like it,’ Harry said gratefully. ‘Can you give me directions? No one seems to have heard of Peach Hall.’
‘Bless you, they wouldn’t.’ The maid laughed. ‘It’s Perch Hall and I only know of it because I’m from a village over thataway. Lady Caroline doesn’t socialise much and Lynn’s a bit far out of her orbit. And she doesn’t like visitors especially…’
‘After five in the afternoon,’ Harry finished. ‘Yes, I know, but I do need to see her, so if I set off, say, around eleven, I’ll be there in time?’
‘Well, you would but I doubt you’d catch her.’
His heart sank. What now? ‘Why on earth not?’
‘Market day. You’d best wait until Sunday and catch her on her way home from church. Regular churchgoer, Lady Caroline is. Her family sorted the roof a year or so back. Got their own pew and everything.’
It made sense. Surely Lydia would go to church with her? Harry resigned himself to a boring day in Lynn.
In the event, it was no such thing, mainly because he discovered a bookshop and indulged his love of reading. The weather was fine and he explored the town, enjoyed a couple of good meals, and went to bed with bright eyes and a clear head, even after several glasses of a superb claret.
Not before he ascertained the times of the church services and made sure he would be at the village church in time to watch the parishioners enter the lichen-clad building.
Unfortunately, no one looked remotely like Lydia and he had no idea what Esther’s aunt looked like. As the service began he slipped into a back pew and wondered wryly if the ceiling would fall in. It wasn’t that he was not a believer, more that he only went to services on h
eydays and holidays or, as Edward said, to see someone matched or dispatched.
Nevertheless, he sang in a pleasant baritone, intoned the prayers, and closed his eyes when needed.
The sermon was short and to the point and Harry admired the vicar’s method of getting his message across with brevity. He knew a few men of the cloth who could do with taking a leaf out of this man’s book. The benediction was clear and dismissed the congregation without excess ceremony, and it wasn’t long before Harry was watching the procession walk down the aisle and the vicar position himself at the doors.
One very smart lady, probably no more than ten years older than himself, caught his eye. She stood back until the rest of the parishioners had left, grinned at the vicar, and tapped his cheek. Harry stood up and moved closer, interested to see what happened next.
‘Melvin, you old dog, you promised me no more hellfire and damnation and what did we get?’
‘Only a little Caro, and besides it wasn’t directed at you, was it?’ the man of the cloth said cheerfully. ‘You know old Totton needs a shake-up every so often. This was this month’s.’
The woman – Caro – chuckled. ‘I’ll let you off then.’ She turned and obviously saw Harry, who now only stood a few feet away. ‘Hello, a stranger in our midst. Lady Caroline Stitches. This reprobate, lovingly known as our conscience, is my cousin Melvin.’
The vicar bowed. ‘Melvin Pritchard, incumbent of this parish.’
Harry nodded and turned to the lady before he bowed. Out of the corner of his eye he glanced at the vicar, who made no pretence of watching the interchange with interest.
‘Harry Birnham, at your service.’
Melvin Pritchard’s eyes widened, as the lady nodded. ‘Lord Birnham, eh? And what brings suck a notable rake to my neck of the woods. Not me, that’s for certain.’
‘Actually, yes, it is. Well, one of your guests.’
Lady Stitches straightened and looked puzzled. ‘A guest?’
Harry nodded. ‘I’m come to speak to Lady Lydia Field. I’ve been told she is staying with you.’
‘Really? Who told you that?’
‘Esther Cranswick.’ Why did he have a feeling of doom about to beset him? A lump of something unpleasant lodged in his stomach. She told me Lydia had come to stay with you for a while. Until the furore of our betrothal had died down.’
‘Esther did? I wonder why?’ Lady Caroline grimaced. ‘I fear you have been sent on a wild goose chase, my Lord. I haven’t seen Esther or Lydia for months.’
****
With the weather fine, and no unwanted news from anywhere, Lydia and Millie settled down in Shaldon and began to slowly carve out a life for themselves. It was enjoyable to find out what their new surroundings had to offer. They spent many happy hours walking around the area and discovering wild flowers and places the blackberries and wild strawberries would appear at the appropriate times. The house became a home and both ladies pronounced themselves satisfied with their new abode.
‘I think tomorrow we should take the ferry across the river and pay a visit to the milliner the ladies at the church social spoke of,’ Lydia said one evening as they browsed through a couple of Ladies Journals. ‘And perhaps join the circulating library. Didn’t the vicar’s wife say, once we were members, books would be brought to the village monthly for us? I think that is such a good idea, especially in the winter. I’d hate to be reliant on the ferry then.’
Millie nodded. ‘I love we can mostly get everything here, but yes, we need to go across sometimes. We might as well go tomorrow while this good weather is fit to stay. According to one of the fishermen we’re due a change at the weekend. Not for long, he says, but rough enough to bring the white ‘osses up river. That is a quote.’
Lydia laughed. ‘I guessed. So tomorrow it is. And who knows, we might even find somewhere for lunch.’
‘How gratifying to find everything slotted into place,’ Millie remarked as they took their seats in a private parlour in Teignmouth’s most recommended inn. ‘And I must say the fish pie looks delicious.’
‘Then let’s have that.’ Lydia gave their order to the waiting maid and settled back in her chair to sip wine and look through the multipaned window at the streets beyond. To one side the river, busy with boats and dockers, and to the other the lane that led towards the shops and the sea. The room had a perfect view of both. ‘I hadn’t thought it would be so busy. It’s not even market day.’
‘Market day is mayhem, so I’m told,’ Millie said. ‘I’m more than happy to have things delivered from it than try to get a seat on the ferry. Plus, according to the church ladies, it gets a bit rough and you can’t get a decent meal for love nor money. Best to stay clear, I reckon.’
Lydia nodded, secretly amused by the way Millie steered clear of any crowds these days. She herself would have enjoyed a wander around the market to see what local produce could be bought there. A sharp elbow worked wonders when needed. However, if Millie wasn’t happy, she wouldn’t go and upset her. Plus, even she knew a lady wouldn’t go alone.
‘Perhaps we can visit it one day, when we’re more settled,’ she said and then stiffened. A distant figure made her heart race and gave her goosebumps. ‘Millie, look.’ She swallowed. ‘Lord help us.’
‘What, where? Show me.’ Millie stood up and peered over Lydia’s shoulder at the dockside. ‘What am I looking at?’
Lydia pointed towards the river where several swarthy dockers swarmed around a newly docked cargo vessel. ‘That man just going behind the large shed. I would swear it was that horrible Jeremy Mumford.’
‘Never, not here, surely? I can’t see anyone who looks remotely like him,’ Millie said reassuringly. ‘You must be mistaken. He’s up in London annoying people there. You’re just jittery for no reason.’
‘I hope so.’ But the brief glimpse she had of the man reminded her of Jeremy. Lydia shivered. ‘If it was him, what would he be doing here? Surely not looking for me?’
Millie tutted. ‘Hardly. Think straight. How would he look for you when no one else has? You’ll be seeing Lord Birnham in a fishing boat next. And Esther at the milliner’s and your mama on the seafront.’
Lydia laughed, reluctantly. ‘Mama on the seafront I’d enjoy. She’d be covered top to toe so no salt water went near her. Ah, Millie, I expect I’m just jittery. You know, waiting for the axe to fall. I can’t believe no one has appeared before now.’
‘Don’t you go there,’ Millie said fiercely. ‘No need to wish it, eh?’
The maid reappeared with their food and Lydia sat back and nodded her thanks as they were served and the maid once more left them alone.
‘And no need to spoil what looks a good meal,’ Millie added. ‘So eat and enjoy it.’
Lydia grinned. ‘Yes, nanny.’
‘Ha, If I’d’ve been your nanny neither of us would have survived.’ Millie took a mouthful of fish pie and sighed. ‘S’good,’ she said through a mouthful of food.
‘And you’d be old by now,’ Lydia said as she forked up some fish. ‘And not here, so I’m glad you are you.’
‘So am I, so forget nasty men, sea-salted mamas, and eat.’
Chapter Twelve
Harry took one look at the inn he approached, frowned and shrugged. This was it, he was certain. It paid to have friends in high places who could ferret out information he couldn’t. One such friend had raised his eyebrows when he’d passed on the information. ‘The village you want is called Shaldon.’ Something Harry knew, along with the name of her property, Riverside House. It was the rest of the information that interested him.
‘You can see Teignmouth docks from the village. Oh, and according to my information there is also an inn involved in it all.’ He’d laughed at his phrasing. ‘This Lady Lydia Field is a lucky lady. Is she… er…?’ Stephen Horton, a minor scion of an ancient house, who worked in something secret for the government from a sense of loyalty to the crown and for no other reason, had coughed and coloured slightly. ‘You know.�
�
‘Who knows?’ Harry said ambiguously. Shaldon suited him perfectly. He, or someone he trusted, had to pay a visit to the region to see what was happening with one of his ships that seemed to be less than profitable. Now he had the perfect excuse for it to be him, and for being around.
‘Well, if you don’t, the rest of us are doomed to never knowing,’ Stephen said. ‘Lord, why not put everyone out of their misery and tell ‘em who won a fortune.’
‘Ha, do you think I wouldn’t if I knew the answer? One reason I crept out of my house like a criminal… or a spy. I’m being hounded.’ Harry ran his hand through his hair. ‘Now I know how Lydia felt.’
‘Well, go and be the one to hound your lady and sort this thing out. I stand to win a pony or two if you marry before April ends.’ Stephen pushed a sheaf of papers across the desk. ‘Take these – you might find them handy. Nothing you couldn’t have found out in time. I’ve just brought your timescale forward a week or three. Hopefully to put me in the money, you know. I can always do with a bob or two.’
Stephen was more than plump in the pocket. His father was one of the richest men in the country and he and his brother both had the knack of turning pennies into pounds.
‘Don’t come that, you skinflint. You just hate losing.’
‘And that,’ Stephen said, unruffled. ‘As do you.’
Harry, not much less wealthy himself, wasn’t bothered who won what, but he’d have been more than happy to know where he really stood. He refused to think it was all over. Hence, here he was, about to take a room he’d reserved as Mr Lawson, his mother’s maiden name. He intended to introduce himself as himself as soon as he arrived, but saw no need to give Lydia or anyone else prior warning of his visit. He urged his horse into a trot, turned into the stable yard, and met pandemonium.
Three men stood over a body. One lady leaned on the wall and moaned. Several other men tried to lead a snorting and rearing horse away and did their best to get it into a stable. The terrified animal was having nothing of it and metal-shod hooves flailed dangerously near them.
The Lord's Persuasion of Lady Lydia Page 18
