Without a second thought she tumbled from the bed. She paused to adjust the belt of her robe as she no longer had a waist to put it round. Satisfied she was decent, she ran into the corridor but Alexander was there before her. She saw him vanish down the staircase.
She reached the top. The remains of her early morning chocolate was spilt all over the boards. Her hands flew to her mouth, she reeled against the balustrade. Alexander was crouching over what could only be her own, dear Sally.
'Isobel, stay where you're. There's nothing you can do here.' He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes glittered, his face was pale. Sally was dead—she'd been killed by the fall.
'I don't understand, Alexander , she brings up my tray every morning. I insist she uses the main staircase and not the back stairs in order to keep her safe.' Her voice sounded strange, reed thin, as if someone else had spoken through her lips. This was her fault. If Sally had used the servants' staircase she would not have fallen to her death.
Suddenly the entrance hall was full of people. Mary arrived, and close behind were Bill and Sam. Alexander remained where he was shielding the body with his own. Only when someone else could take his place did he turn and bound up the stairs to her.
'My love, your abigail tripped and toppled backwards. She broke her neck, she will have felt no pain, but have died instantly.'
Isobel heard his words but could not take them in. Her head felt light and she fell forward into darkness.
****
Alexander caught her. He was shocked she weighed little more than a child in spite of her advancing pregnancy. The stress and the shocks she'd endured might prove too much for her delicate health. Whatever her objections, from now on he would remain at her side and take care of her. He strode back to her apartment his precious burden held close to his heart. She had no abigail to attend her so he must do whatever was necessary himself.
He placed her tenderly on the bed, then sat chaffing her hands and calling her name. With considerable relief he watched the colour return to her ashen cheeks and her eyes flicker open. Withdrawing her hands, she turned her head away trying to fight back her sobs.
'My darling, let me hold you, this has been a terrible shock. It's a tragedy such a lovely young girl should lose her life in this way. Let go of your grief— it does not do to bottle it in.'
She stiffened, rolling further from him. He must ignore this, she needed comfort and he was the only one who could give it to her. 'Sweetheart, let me hold you, you'll feel better if you cry.'
Gathering her up he returned to the daybed with her cradled in his arms. For a further moment she was rigid, resisting, but then she relaxed and rested her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair, her back, her face as she sobbed. Eventually she was quiet, her breathing even. Thank God, she'd fallen into a deep, restorative slumber. He was then aware the housekeeper was in the room.
'My lord, if you would care to place her grace in bed I shall take care of her now. You're needed downstairs.'
The woman's tone was terse; she had not forgiven him for what he had done to her beloved mistress. 'Thank you, Watkins, I know she's in capable hands. This is a wretched business indeed, I don't understand how this could have happened.'
Downstairs was quiet; a reverend hush had descended over the building. The poor girl's mortal remains had been removed and both the butler and Sam Watkins were waiting to speak with him.
'My lord, there's something you need to see. This is a strange business and no mistake.' Watkins led him to the top of the stairs and pointed to the boards. 'See here, Sally's slippers have made marks where she lost her footing.'
Alexander dropped to one knee in order to examine the place the man gestured to. There was a smear of something on the top step. He dipped his finger in the mark and touched his tongue to it. As he'd thought— somehow the unfortunate girl had trodden in lard and this had caused her feet to slip on the polished surface at the top of the stairs. How this had come about he'd no idea, but servants were in and out of the kitchen all the time. All it took was a careless scullery maid and the deed was done.
'Do you see this? You were right to draw my attention to this grease mark, at least it explains how this tragedy occurred.'
The butler, who had accompanied them to the top of the staircase, shook his head. 'It's right peculiar, my lord. If Sally had walked in fat, then why did she not slip as soon as she left the kitchen?
Alexander frowned. 'The girl must have walked on the central carpet, and then, when she stepped on the boards at the top, her foot slid out from under her. She would have had no chance of saving herself as she was carrying a tray.' Even as he spoke he knew this was not a satisfactory explanation. Walking on carpet would surely have rubbed off most of the grease? However the other two appeared to accept his explanation.
'It's a very sad day, my lord. If ever I discover who was the cause of this death they shall be dismissed on the spot and no references to take with them neither.'
Alexander straightened and patted the butler's shoulder. 'It would do no good to take such action. Accidents happen—you must put it behind you, Brown.' He turned and addressed Watkins. 'I can rely on you to take care of funeral arrangements? Has she family that need to be informed?'
'No, you grace, Sally was an orphan, that's why she was so pleased to be taken on as a lady's maid. Her grace will be devastated, she and Sally got on so well. My Mary must take care of her now, this is no time to employ a stranger to look after her.'
'An excellent suggestion, Watkins. I assume there is someone who can take over the role of housekeeper?'
He nodded. 'Yes, your grace. You may have no fear on that score.'
These matters were not Alexander's concern. He must go and see how Isobel was faring. He was sure a shock of this sort could bring on a miscarriage—she would be devastated if this baby was lost.
****
'Sally? What time is it?' Then Isobel remembered, her maid was dead and the accident was her fault. Her throat clogged and she could not stop fresh tears from soaking her pillow.
'There, there, my dear, all this crying will do no good to your baby. Sally wouldn't want you to make yourself ill on her account.'
Isobel sniffed and dried her eyes on the sheet. 'Mary, what are you doing here? You should not be looking after me, you have the house to run. Ellie will do very well.'
'Bless you, my lady, I've not let anyone else take care of you. It's only a small establishment, young Bill can manage everything as well as I can.'
'It will be a comfort having you close, but only until I've recovered from the shock, then you must return to your duties.' Isobel was heavy eyed, her throat raw from crying and she had no idea what time it was. Pushing herself upright she stared at the mantel clock.
'Good grief! It's almost noon, I must get up at once.'
'His grace insists you remain here, my lady. He is taking care of everything, the funeral will be held tomorrow and all the staff are to attend.'
'I've no wish to cause you any distress, Mary, but I am not remaining in bed. I feel perfectly well. I'm deeply grieved but won't break down again. I am the mistress here, I should be on my feet not malingering here as if I am an invalid.'
Mary had no chance to remonstrate for she threw back the covers and hurried into the dressing room. She had a pressing need to use the chamber pot. Twenty minutes later she was in her parlour waiting for a tray to be brought up. Once clothed, her desire to go downstairs became less urgent. She kept seeing the limp body spreadeagled at the bottom.
The door opened and her mouth rounded. 'Good heavens, Alexander, you're the last person I expected to arrive with my luncheon.'
He smiled, but his eyes were sad. 'I wished to speak to you, my love, and thought I would share your repast.'
His gesture reminded her of the night before her marriage and her gaze softened. 'There's certainly more than enough for both of us on there. Mary has cleared the table so you can place your burden there.'
He did
as suggested then smiled at Mary. 'If you would care to return to your duties, Watkins, I shall be here for the remainder of the afternoon.'
Mary curtsied; she didn't smile but she looked slightly less disapproving than usual. 'Thank you, my lord. My lady, I shall be back before it gets dark.'
When they were alone he approached her, his expression reflecting his concern. 'Sweetheart, how are you now? Your eyes are red - have you been crying again?'
'I am recovered, thank you. It's my condition; according to Mary, it makes me more tearful. I haven't eaten since dinner last night and I am hungry. Tell me, what delicacies has Cook sent up on the tray?'
Removing the snowy white cloth he examined the plates. 'There's a tureen of soup - from the aroma I would say it's leek and potato - and there is fresh bread and butter to go with it. Then we have what looks like game pie and chutney, a decent wedge of cheese and a generous slice of plum cake.'
Her mouth watered as he listed the food, then her stomach gurgled loudly much to his amusement. 'It all sounds delicious, please may I have soup and some bread; no butter. Did Cook send up lemonade?'
He removed the small beaded cloth from the jug and sniffed the contents. 'Yes, it appears we are both to drink this for there isn't anything else on the tray.'
He sounded so offended she giggled. 'Honestly, Alexander, it will be to your taste. Far better than wine or beer, I can assure you.'
The meal did much to restore her, and his kindness and attention warmed her heart. 'I am replete, I could not eat another morsel. Between us we have almost cleared the tray.'
'Excellent— your Cook is an asset, I had forgotten what good plain food tasted like. My chef de cuisine smothers everything with a rich cream sauce so most of it is unrecognizable.'
'And I don't remember ever having a meal served hot.'
'God's teeth! You're quite correct; what nonsense to have a kitchen so far away from the dining room everything arrives inedible.' He brushed off the crumbs and carried the tray into the corridor. She thought he might leave but he returned and folded himself back on the chair with a sigh of what could have been contentment.
A stab of guilt jolted her. How could they be sitting here enjoying each other's company when
poor Sally was in her coffin? 'Where is the service being held tomorrow?'
'In the family church, where else? She will be buried in the churchyard alongside all the staff who have died in our service. That's something I wish to discuss with you, my love. Have you any suggestions for what should go on her headstone?'
'Let Mary decide, she would know better than I what Sally would like. This whole episode is most upsetting.'
He stretched out his legs towards the fire and she noticed his breeches were no longer stretched taut across this thighs, she was not the only one to have lost weight recently.
'I've decided to reopen Newcomb immediately, Watkins and George have gone to select sufficient staff to run the place for us. Maynard and Foster are to remain in Grosvenor Square with the rest of my people; they can take care of Bentley. I've told him to accept invitations on my behalf and enjoy himself. This will be his first experience of theton, I thought to let him benefit from my absence.'
She shook her head in disbelief. 'I've no wish to live next door, you may move there if you so desire but I am remaining here.'
'Isobel, I thought you would prefer to be away from where your abigail died today. Every time you ascend the stairs you'll be thinking of her. If you prefer to stay, then that's entirely your prerogative.'
Her eyes filled, she could not keep pace with his new persona. 'I beg your pardon …' She half smiled. 'I must try not to use that phrase, it reminds me of Bentley. You're quite right, that thought has kept me in here all day. But, Alexander, I still don't understand why George should need to accompany Sam.'
His cheeks flushed a little. 'George will know exactly which members of staff to bring back, he won't select any one likely to make you feel uncomfortable.' He leant forward, his expression earnest. 'I should have been aware how unpleasant things were for you. In future only people with your best interests at heart will work here.'
She was nonplussed by his consideration. 'I don't know what to say, Newcomb is your home, my wishes should come second.'
His grin made him look almost boyish. 'I intend to remain here, in the east wing, I shall oversee the repairs. I've no wish to cause you any further distress. I can assure you Newcomb will no longer be an unfriendly place.'
'I shall still be obliged to eat cold food,' she said laughing, 'and if my cook is to remain with you, then you shall have the best of the arrangement.' There was something about his suggestion that did not sit well. What was it that bothered her? Her good humour vanished as she realised she'd been bamboozled into accepting the fact he did not intend to return to Grosvenor Square.
'Why are you not going back to Town?'
His expression was wary as he answered her. 'You're not looking after yourself, you're too thin. This tragedy has made me decide my place is here, taking care of you and my unborn child.'
Jumping from the chair she glared at him. 'I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Alexander. It's very strange that now I am carrying a possible successor to your title you're all attention. Where were you a year ago when I was miserable and lonely and you were gallivanting all over London with your unpleasant acquaintances and chereamie?'
He loomed over her, his bonhomie replaced by a fearsome scowl. 'Madam, you're treading on thin ice with these impertinent comments.' He stared down his aristocratic nose and her bravado shrivelled. 'I've never been unfaithful, I've my faults, but I don't intend to follow … ' Biting back whatever he'd been intending to say, he nodded coldly and strode from the room.
This did not bode well if they were to spend the next few months under the same roof. No—this did he not just tell her he was intending to live apart from her? She wished her intemperate words unspoken. He was sacrificing his comfort in order to remain close by and she had rejected his kindness by accusing him of infidelity. She would apologise next time they were together. If Bentley had not drawn her attention to the existence of a mistress she would not have considered this a possibility.
Miserably she returned to her bed chamber. The sound of someone moving in the dressing room startled her. Her eyes filled; it could not be Sally, she was dead. She sank back onto her bed in despair— everything was in disarray. The thought of having Alexander watching her every move was not a happy one.
‘My lady, Mrs Watkins said as I was to come up and see if I could do anything. I’ve been sorting out the mending.’
‘Ellie, I’m pleased to see you, I believe you can look after me quite adequately if Mrs Watkins shows you what’s required of a lady’s maid.’
The girl curtsied and managed a wobbly smile; her eyes were red and puffy, no doubt very like her own.
‘I’ll be ever so grateful for the opportunity, my lady.’ She hurried across the room. ‘Shall I help you disrobe, my lady?’
Isobel had been going to lie down as she was but Ellie was quite correct, she would ruin her morning gown if she did so. ‘Thank you, I shan’t be going downstairs today. I shall require my supper to be brought to me.’
*
She found it difficult to descend the staircase the following morning but, unless she intended to remain trapped in her apartment, she had to face her fears. The funeral was to take place in an hour or so. The house was quiet, all the staff had been given leave to attend. This was unusual as females rarely attended such an occasion. In the absence of any close family, Mary and Sam had decided Sally would like everyone to be there. No one even knew her real name or how old she was - she had just been Sally to them.
Isobel drifted around the place unable to settle and eventually decided to take the dogs down to the ornamental lake. This was a considerable distance but the weather was fair and she needed time to clear her head. There was still the matter of the apology she owed to Alexander. With l
uck his anger would have been forgotten by the time she met up with him.
Ebony stayed at her side checking every few moments her beloved mistress was still there, however, Othello saw something in the wood and raced away ignoring all calls to return. This was unlike him. He was usually an obedient animal, he must have unearthed something particularly interesting to remain in the trees barking and growling the way he was.
Fortunately it was nearer to Home Wood then to the lake so taking a detour in that direction would not add to her perambulations. She was decidedly breathless by the time she arrived at the edge of the trees and leant for a moment against a nearby trunk to regain her breath.
Unexpectedly Ebony's hackles rose and a deep rumbling growl echoed through the naked branches. The interior was too gloomy to see what had upset both dogs. A shiver flickered down her spine. It could be a poacher. Although they were not normally violent, being caught red-handed might promote some unpleasant retaliation.
She must collect her dogs and return to the house. The gamekeeper could go and investigate when he returned from church. She shouted for Othello but he continued to bark and snarl as if he had someone, or something, cornered. Should she leave him, rely on his instincts to find his own way home?
Then the matter was decided for her. Ebony dashed from her side barking ferociously. A gun shot ripped past her. Forgetting she was almost six months pregnant Isobel rushed into the trees intent on coming between her dogs and whoever had fired the gun. A shadowy shape was sitting halfway up an oak tree whilst both dogs leapt and growled below him. If she could attract the poacher's attention, tell him he could leave freely, then all might yet be well.
****
Alexander returned from the funeral eager to make his peace with Isobel. The dogs were nowhere to be seen; she must have taken them for a walk. He would find them. Far better to smooth things over away from the disapproving stares of her retainers.
He stared across the rolling green and saw a movement on the edge of the trees. Why the hell would she want to go in there in her condition? As he walked briskly towards the place she'd disappeared he heard both dogs barking and growling. Something was not right, he broke into a run, cursing his damaged thigh which still impeded his movement.
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