“Ah! The Old Priory!” Richard repeated, after he had worked out what she was saying. “I thought it must be something like that.”
He was just tucking into a plateful of fragrant ham with boiled potatoes and thick parsley sauce when a stout man pushed open the cottage door.
“How do!” he greeted Richard in a gruff voice.
Then he turned to Mrs. Oldroyd.
“This be the lodger, lass?”
Anyone less like a lass than Mrs. Oldroyd with her grey hair and dour expression, Richard could not imagine.
But she nodded in reply to the question.
“Well, you can send ’im away, if you want!”
The man reached inside his coat and pulled out a fat envelope, which he slapped down on the table.
Mrs. Oldroyd’s eyes widened and she clasped the cooking spoon to her apron front.
“Yes, lass,” the man continued, “’is Lordship, God save ’im, ’as come good at last. He’s won back all ’e lost and more and I’ve made a tidy bit meself too. We shan’t end up without a penny to our names. We’re saved!”
Richard was so intrigued that hungry as he was, he stopped eating to listen.
Mrs. Oldroyd’s face frowned.
“Until the next time,” she murmured. “I’ll place no trust in yon feckless lad.”
She put down another plate on the table and ladled some food onto it.
Richard stood up and extended a hand.
“Richard Stanfield – Mr. Oldroyd, I presume?”
“Aye, that be right. Lord Hartwell’s coachman at Fellbrook Towers.”
He sat down and started eating.
Richard was longing to hear more about what had happened, but Mr. Oldroyd had fallen into the same silence that afflicted his wife.
After a few moments, observing that Mr. Oldroyd’s dinner was almost eaten, Richard suggested tentatively,
“Perhaps I should go and find some other lodgings now that your situation has changed?”
Mrs. Oldroyd picked up the envelope and pulled out the five pound notes that had been stuffed inside.
She counted them out and put them into her pocket. It looked like a great deal more money than she would ever make from Richard’s modest payments, even if he stayed for months.
But she turned to him and shook her head.
“No, lad! Stay. ’Ard times may come again with a man like ’is Lordship at the ’elm. And you’ll not be under my feet if you’re out all day at your paintin’.”
“If the Missus says stay on, I’m certain you’re right welcome,” Mr. Oldroyd added, pushing his plate away.
“Although if that young woman keeps on pickin’ winners, we’ll ’ave no need of a lodger.”
“Really? Who do you mean?” Richard asked him, hoping he would continue talking.
“She be a real angel in disguise and it’s no mistake. Told his Lordship to back the outsider for us and the mare came in at 100 to1!”
Mrs. Oldroyd clattered the plates together loudly as she cleared the table.
“Pure chance, Arthur, and nothin’ else!”
“No, lass!”
Mr. Oldroyd’s broad face turned a little red.
“The girl ’as a gift. She turned white as a sheet and looked as if she’d faint away as she told us the winner.”
“But who is she?” Richard asked, fascinated by the story.
“Lord Hartwell’s cousin, fresh up from London and never been on a Racecourse in ’er life!”
Richard smiled away to himself, imagining a pale, haughty Society girl, performing a fit of the vapours as she attempted to guess which horse might restore her cousin’s fortunes.
Surely Mrs. Oldroyd was correct – it could only be pure chance that had made this girl guess the winner.
Richard was glad that he was going to stay on at the cottage as he was looking forward to the next instalment of gossip from Fellbrook Towers and it sounded like a hotbed of scandal and intrigue.
And Mr. Oldroyd, who was now explaining that he lived most of the time in a room over the coach house, so that he was always to hand should his Lordship need him, would be in a good position to provide it.
*
Elissa lay curled up under the warm bedcovers with Marmalade in her arms.
Several times through the long afternoon she had thought of running away from The Towers and heading off along the secret green path that led over the hill.
But her cousin had returned and she pictured him coming after her on his swift black horse, and knew that she would be completely at his mercy as he swooped down upon her just like the deadly bird of prey, his namesake.
“Miss!”
Ellen was shaking her shoulder.
“Lady Hartwell is askin’ for you!”
Elissa rolled over in the bed, a sick feeling of dread in her stomach. Surely by now her grandmother must know what she had done?
“I cannot go, Ellen, I am not well!” she whimpered.
“But miss!”
“I cannot, Ellen, I cannot!”
Elissa pulled the covers over her head and after a moment heard the door click shut as Ellen left the room.
From down below she could hear voices shouting and doors banging and to shut the sound out, she buried her face in Marmalade’s soft fur and let his rumbling purr fill her ears.
Suddenly he slid out of her arms and jumped to the floor, growling and fluffing his tail like a feather duster.
“What is it?” she asked him, sitting up and pulling the covers around her.
The shouting now seemed to be coming from the landing outside her room.
“Where is she? Come on out and show yourself!”
It was her cousin’s voice and now he was banging on the door.
‘No!’ Elissa determined, her heart racing, and she wished that she had thought to turn the key in the lock after Ellen had left.
But it was too late.
The handle was now turning and then he was there in her bedroom, mud on his riding boots and his black hair still tousled from his wild gallop across the moors.
“Well, you shy violet! What do you have to say for yourself?” he shouted.
Elissa could not bear to look at him and instead she watched Marmalade, who was backing away, hissing and spitting, his back arched in a hoop.
“What can you be doing hiding away in here?” he demanded.
And then to Elissa’s horror, her cousin seized the edge of her satin quilt and pulled it off the bed, leaving her stranded before him, clad in just her petticoat.
Now he took hold of her hands in a grip so tight that she winced with pain and pulled her onto her feet.
“I’m so so sorry,” she gasped. “Please let me go!”
“Out of the question!” he cried and, to her utmost astonishment, she saw that he was smiling at her. “I shall never, never let you go after today!”
And he tugged at her hands and spun her round as if she was a little child.
“No, stop! Please!” she called and suddenly found herself caught in his arms, pressed tightly against his velvet riding coat.
“My angel, Elissa,” he screamed and she caught the vapours of whisky and wine on this breath.
“What – ?
“Wings of a Dove! Came in first at 100 to 1!” he howled. “We did it!”
Shocked to her very core, Elissa gazed into his dark eyes.
“Oh, yes, my little angel! We did it!”
He bent towards her, as if he was going to kiss her lips.
“No, no – please – let me go!” she pleaded and felt his rough cheek graze her face as she turned away.
Now he was touching her hair, pulling out the pins and running his fingers through it so that it fell in a cloud over her shoulders.
“You even look like an angel,” he muttered. “So sweet and innocent in your petticoat with your beautiful golden hair, which, I do confess, I have wanted to see loose and free like this since the first moment I met you.”
S
he struggled to get away, beating her fists against his arms and after a moment he let her go.
“Please forgive me, cousin,” he declared. “I should be kneeling at your feet, thanking you from the depths of my heart for what you have done.”
“I – did nothing!”
He then threw back his head and laughed, swaying a little on his feet, as if he was drunk.
“Nothing? A brilliant ‘nothing’ that has restored to me everything I had lost!”
He frowned suddenly.
“I stood to lose so much more – almost everything – if Wings of a Dove had not flown very sweetly past the winning post. I had so little money left that a good part of the estate was up for wager!”
“I did not know that,” mumbled Elissa. “I just don’t know why I picked Wings of a Dove! I am glad it won, but it was just a lucky chance – ”
Her cousin made as if to sweep an imaginary hat from his head and made a low mocking bow to her.
“Never say that, my angel, as I won’t believe you. And now, I must take my leave – for you are clearly not used to entertaining gentlemen in your boudoir – and since you have brought me such amazing luck, your wish must be my command!”
And as good as his word, he swaggered out, leaving Elissa so weak with shock that she collapsed onto the sofa.
“Miss? Are you feelin’ better?”
It was Ellen, who had crept into the room carrying a mountain of packages piled in her arms.
“Ellen – what are these?” asked Elissa, reaching to catch the topmost parcel, as it slipped from her arms.
“His Lordship, miss, brought them today.”
“But – ”
Through a tear in the brown paper, Elissa could see the gleam of a pale-coloured silken fabric.
“If all these are gifts from Lord Hartwell, I cannot accept them.”
Ellen’s face fell.
“Miss, ’er Ladyship told me to bring them to you. You must open them, she said, as you will need the things for tonight.”
Elissa’s heart contracted with a tight cold pain.
It did not feel right that her cousin should be giving all these presents to her and yet if her grandmother insisted, she would have to accept them.
“Look, miss!”
Ellen put the packages down and began to tear the brown paper from the parcel on Elissa’s lap. Inside was an exquisite gown of grey silk, trimmed with a delicate rose-pink collar and cuffs.
“And miss! There is this!”
Ellen was holding up a shawl, as soft in colour as mother-of-pearl.
“And these!”
The maid then unwrapped a cluster of pink ribbons, threaded through with gleaming pearls.
When Elissa stayed silent, sitting on the sofa, Ellen carried the clothes to the bed, and laid them out ready for her to wear.
“Come on, miss – or you’ll be late for dinner!” she urged.
The fine silk of the dress felt so chill and smooth as she slid her arms into the sleeves and she definitely missed the familiar warmth of her old black dress.
‘I am sorry, Papa, to lay aside my mourning clothes so soon,’ she whispered, ‘but grey too is sometimes worn for mourning. I hope you will forgive me.’
Lord Hartwell raised his glass and beamed at Elissa across the laden dinner able.
“Well, Governess, do you like your new dress?”
His eyes were bloodshot and his hand shook a little, and a drop of foaming champagne spilled onto the damask tablecloth.
“It becomes her well,” Lady Hartwell chipped in.
Her eyes were very bright and she looked dazed, as if she did not quite understand the wonderful change in her grandson’s fortunes.
“From the finest dressmaker in York,” he was now saying. “I’d so rather see you all in pink like a lovely rosy angel, but I know your modest tastes, cousin, so I chose the grey.”
Elissa’s skin shivered as she felt his eyes running over her. The silk felt so thin and light compared with the wool of the black dress she normally wore.
Lord Hartwell drained his glass.
“And tomorrow – sweet angel – we shall look over The Racing Times again – ”
This was what Elissa had been really dreading.
Had he not heard what she had said to him when he came into her bedroom?
Lady Hartwell was still looking confused.
“Dearest, you have been extremely fortunate today. Surely you cannot expect Elissa to repeat the lucky guess she made this morning? Anyway racing and everything to do with it is a gentleman’s pastime and not something that a young lady should concern herself with.”
Her grandson sighed impatiently.
“Darling Grandmama! My excellent fortune today is entirelymy sweet little cousin’s doing. Have I not told you a hundred times already? By some wonderful, magical intuition she chose the winning horse for me!”
Lady Hartwell turned to Elissa.
“Yes, Falcon, so you keep telling me. But, Elissa, you know nothing about horses or Racecourses, do you?”
“No, Lady Hartwell. I don’t know what happened. I had a strange dream, and then I picked out Wings of a Dove – and I was so frightened, and I was sure I had made the wrong choice.”
“You see, Falcon! It’s all nonsense, Elissa does not know what she is doing. You have had a very lucky win. Just be grateful and let us have no more of these infernal wagers.”
Lord Hartwell gave her a dark look.
“Grandmama, don’t push the point any further,” he grunted in a low voice, “or I may find myself asking you to mind your own business!”
Then he turned to Elissa, a smile hovering on his lips.
“Now, angel, if you have eaten and drunk your fill, I think it could be time for you to retire and may I wish you many sweet and very lucky dreams – all of which you must remember for tomorrow morning, when you come to the library.”
As he winked at her, he downed yet another glass of champagne.
*
“I cannot do it!” cried Elissa, her voice catching in her throat with fear. “Please, don’t ask me!”
Her legs were trembling and she feared that at any moment they might give way beneath her and she would tumble down onto the purple rug that stood in front of the library fireplace.
Her cousin scowled at her and his face was drawn and sallow in the morning sun that streamed in through the library windows.
“It is a simple request, is it not?” he leered. “Here is a list of runners in the three o’clock race this afternoon. All I ask is that you choose one.”
He thrust The Racing Times into her face.
The printed list of names swam in front of her eyes and she could not make them out as she was close to tears.
“What in the name of Heaven is wrong with you!” he shouted suddenly. “What foolish games are you playing with me?”
Elissa swallowed, trying to clear her voice.
“I am not playing – any games,” she quavered.
“I don’t believe you, you ungrateful little witch,” he hissed. “Look at you in that fine blue gown, just one of the many lovely dresses I sent to your room yesterday. What are you thinking of by refusing so simple a request!”
“I did not ask you for anything,” she stuttered. “I – did not think the horse I chose would win – I don’t know how I did it.”
Lord Hartwell came up to her and took her elbows in a painful grip.
“You told Grandmama you dreamed of the winner, surely that must be how you did it! Well – what were your dreams last night?”
Elissa shook her head.
She did not like to tell her cousin that she had not slept at all after all he had said to her over dinner.
She had stayed awake and terrified all through the long dark hours, dreading that he would ask her to pick yet another winner.
Lord Hartwell swore and let go of her arms.
He paced up and down in front of the fire, hitting the palm of one hand with the fist
of the other, glaring at Elissa as if he would have preferred to be striking her.
“I can easily pay off all my debts with what I won yesterday,” he said in a slow measured tone, as if he was explaining it to a small child.
“But it is just not enough. If I am to live as a true gentleman should do, then I must substantially increase my fortune. And you, Elissa, are deliberately preventing me from doing that, you insolent little witch!”
It was only last night, Elissa reflected, that he had been calling her an angel.
“Don’t just stand there, staring at me!” he roared suddenly and then he was running at her, hurling one of the chairs that stood between them out of his way.
Elissa tried to dodge away from him, but the heel of her boot caught in the rug and she fell heavily, catching her shoulder against a small table in front of the fire.
“How do!”
A deep voice then cried out in a strong Yorkshire accent.
“The lady is down!”
It was Oldroyd, dressed for the road in his caped coat and heavy boots.
“I am all right,” Elissa gasped, struggling to stand up, although a stabbing pain ran from her shoulder all the way down her arm.
“Really, I am absolutely fine.”
Lord Hartwell was hovering over her his brows knit together in an angry frown and she could not bear the mere thought of him touching her.
“Twas a heavy fall, miss,” muttered Oldroyd.
“Well – she is on her feet, she cannot have come to much harm,” Lord Hartwell snarled. “I suppose it’s time to leave for the Racecourse? I warn you, Oldroyd, I have no hot tips for today, thanks to this stubborn creature.”
“Ah!” the coachman replied and Elissa thought that his wide red face held a kindly expression.
“We cannot expect to be lucky every day!”
“I do expect it, Oldroyd. I do. And I don’t like to be contradicted and disobeyed by those who could easily help me if they wished to do so.”
Lord Hartwell kicked at the leg of the sofa, leaving a dent in the polished wood.
Oldroyd then took a step towards him watching him closely, as if he was an unruly horse.
“Perhaps the young lady has worn ’erself out with ’er efforts yesterday. We can wager small amounts today, as I’m sure she’ll come up trumps again another time.”
“She had better!” smirked Lord Hartwell.
The Trail to Love Page 9
