Seated next to Fran, inside the leading coach, Helena leaned back against the comfortable squabs with a contented smile on her face. It still amazed her that she had been able to achieve so much in so short a space of time—such was the power of money, she supposed, as she recalled the bank manager’s face when she passed over the twenty-seven unpaid bills that she had found on Markfield’s desk and instructed him to see to their immediate payment. It was true that she did harbour a slightly niggling sensation of guilt for having taken them without having first consulted her husband but, after she had inadvertently caught sight of the one on the top of the pile, it had been quite beyond her strength of will to resist poring through the rest. Besides which, having reasoned that Markfield had expressly commanded her to ‘do as she pleased’ in the matter, she had been very careful to remove only those that pertained to the Hall’s refurbishment. In any case, she kept telling herself, surely his lordship would be over the moon to discover that the settlement of so many unpaid bills had been taken out of his hands?
As she sat back and tried to envisage the look of admiration that would appear on Markfield’s face as she described her day’s activities to him, she found herself overcome by a decided lowering of spirit. She was beginning to have the most uncomfortable feeling that no matter how much the earl might congratulate her for her efforts at securing a workforce in so short a time, he was not going to be altogether happy when he discovered that she had taken it upon herself to investigate his private correspondence. The fact that dealing with much of her father’s paperwork during his recent illnesses had become almost second nature to her could hardly be used as an excuse for her to make free with her husband’s personal papers.
Climbing out of the carriage, she took note of the slates that were stacked neatly against the rear wall and, casting her gaze upwards, was glad to see that Mr Jarvis had been as good as his word and had made substantial inroads to the work over the central hallway. Turning to look at the stables across the way, however, she was surprised to note that all the doors were closed and the only sign of activity, as far as she could discern, was a single stable hand busily engaged in sweeping the yard. Her heart sinking, it became clear to her that, contrary to what she had supposed—given his usual practice of remaining at his work until the light began to fade—it appeared that Markfield had already left the premises and was, in all probability, well on his way back to Westpark even now. By the time she got back, his lordship would have had more than enough time to work himself up into a towering fury, after having discovered her improper actions!
Fran’s hand on her elbow jerked her back to her present difficulties and she turned to face the hushed and expectant group of people who were awaiting her directions.
‘I am afraid that you will find the entrance hall something of a disgrace,’ she told them, as she led the way through the back door of the house. ‘But I am told that there are several habitable rooms in the east wing—I have arranged for some mattresses and bedding to be delivered up there and I understand that the kitchens are in quite good working order.’
‘Doubt if it’ll be much worse than the ’ovel I were stuck in back there, miss,’ averred Bet, with a cheeky grin. ‘An’ scrubbin’ floors will be a darn sight more agreeable than what I been puttin’ up with these last few nights, I can tell you!’
‘And far better pay, I wouldn’t mind betting!’ returned Helena with a valiant smile as, keeping her fingers crossed that Charles had managed to fulfil the considerable list of tasks that she had set him the previous afternoon, she started up the stairs that would lead her troop of recruits to the rooms that would serve as their quarters for a good many weeks to come.
An hour or so later, when she had at last been able to tear herself away from helping Cissie and Rueben sort out the various unexpected hitches that had arisen as a result of the sudden influx of so large a group of people into a property that had suffered so much neglect, Helena, accompanied by an equally weary Fran, made her way back to Westpark in the fast fading daylight.
‘At least we can now cross the river in safety!’ she exclaimed in delight, as she stepped on to the now fully functional footbridge. ‘I have to admit that I was in fear of my life when I was obliged to use it yesterday.’
On reaching the far side, she turned and looked back at the Hall, from where a score of brightly flickering beams of light cast their cheerful glow out of several of the upper-storey windows. ‘I do hope that they will all be comfortable,’ she confided in her companion as, arm in arm, they scurried through the deepening dusk along the riverbank.
‘A good deal better than they’ve been used to, by all accounts,’ countered Fran, somewhat disparagingly. ‘And I dare say you won’t thank me for saying this, my lady, but his lordship is going to have a right fit when he sets his eyes on you!’
Helena bit her lip. Her mind had been so full of other things during the past few hours that she had allowed herself to put aside all thoughts of her own difficulties, especially those in regard to her likely reception by her husband. ‘We did get ourselves into rather a mess, I’m afraid,’ she said, with a rueful glance at her companion’s dirt-streaked face. ‘There was a good deal more grime and dust than I had reckoned on—thank goodness that nice Ben Fuller managed to get the kitchen range working! At least there will be plenty of hot water for them all.’
‘I trust the same will apply to ourselves, when we get back,’ grumbled Fran who, having risen to the status of lady’s maid a good many years earlier, had rather balked at some of the activities in which she had been obliged to involve herself in today’s project. But, having taken one look at the state of the rooms in which she expected her workers to sleep, Helena had simply rolled up her sleeves and set about helping to remove the festoons of dust-impregnated cobwebs that seemed to have gathered in every possible nook and cranny of the place, not to mention sweeping floors that hadn’t seen a brush in more than five years, leaving her maidservant with very little option but to follow her mistress’s sterling example.
Although Mrs Ellis was a good deal taken aback when the new Countess of Markfield strode into her kitchen covered in a varied assortment of grime and filth, she managed to contain her astonishment long enough to assure her mistress that there was more than enough hot water in the range’s back boiler for both her ladyship and Fran to take their much-needed baths.
‘I’ll get Mrs Wainwright to see to it right away, ma’am,’ she declared, rising hurriedly from her seat and thrusting her feet back into the shoes that she was in the habit of removing at the finish of each workday, whilst signalling to the scullery maid, who was still busily engaged in wiping down the draining boards.
‘I am truly sorry to have to disturb you at such a late hour, Mrs Ellis,’ said Helena, unable to stifle a slight gasp as she caught sight of the woman’s badly swollen ankles and instantly making a mental note to get extra help in the kitchen as soon as possible. ‘But I’m afraid we will require something to eat, as well. Just a snack will do. We can eat it here in the kitchen, if you have no objections—I imagine that his lordship has already dined?’
‘No trouble at all, ma’am,’ averred the cook, as she shuffled towards the pantry. ‘There’s a whole rabbit pie, a nice roast capon and a leg of ham—all of them totally untouched—seeing as how the master took himself off to his bed around four o’clock this afternoon and, according to his man, Shipman, he’s been dead to the world ever since!’
‘Good heavens!’ cried Helena, in some alarm, as she started for the door. ‘His lordship has been taken ill? Has anyone sent for the doctor?’
‘Now there’s no need for you to go getting yourself all of a quiver, my lady,’ Mrs Ellis assured her calmly, as she proceeded to carve several thick slices off the succulent looking ham-bone that she had fetched from the pantry and arranged them neatly on the two plates in front of her. ‘It appears that Master Richard—his lordship, that is—indulged himself rather too liberally with the brandy bottle this morning
and was obliged to retire to his room with a slight—er—stomach disorder. Mrs Wainwright gave him one of her special physics and, like I said, he’s been sleeping like a babe ever since!’
‘She means the man was rolling drunk, my lady,’ intimated Fran, giving a disapproving sniff, as she headed into the scullery to wash her hands and face prior to sitting down at the kitchen table to eat her meal.
Helena’s heart seemed to sink right down to her half-boots as she followed her maid’s example. Exactly what sort of creature was this man that she had married? she wondered. Not only a rake, but a drunkard, too, it would seem! Probably an inveterate gambler, as well, just as his uncle and cousin had been, she thought dolefully. Not that any of these shortcomings appeared to have the slightest effect on the way her pulse reacted whenever he happened to walk into a room…or touched her hand…or cast a smile in her direction. And as for his kisses! He had left her speechless, breathless and unable to construct a single sensible thought. Even her belief that her husband was an accomplished philanderer appeared to have done nothing to prevent her from falling completely under his spell, which was decidedly demoralising, when she remembered her previously pompous attitude towards him.
And then, as, once again, the increasingly discomfiting recall of her casual perusal of the earl’s private paperwork invaded her thoughts, a shudder of apprehension ran through her, thoroughly stifling her appetite. Getting to her feet, she said, ‘I seem to have developed a slight headache, I fear. I believe that I will take my bath first, after all, if you don’t mind. Perhaps you would be good enough to have my supper sent up in an hour or so, Mrs Ellis?’
Then, turning to her maid who, her meal only half-eaten, had also risen to her feet in preparation to accompanying her mistress to her room, she added, ‘Do finish your meal, Fran—I can easily ring when I need you.’ And, without further ado, she swept out of the kitchen, leaving the pair staring at one another in frowning consternation.
Back in her bedchamber, she discovered that the preparations for her requested bath were already well advanced and, having finally dismissed the last of the trio of maidservants who had toiled up and down the stairs carrying jugs of hot water on her behalf, she deftly divested herself of her grimy clothing and sank gratefully into the soothing warmth of the violet-scented water.
Still mulling over the several possible excuses that she had hit upon to justify her misdemeanour, she reasoned that it was possible that the earl might not be quite so angry when he learned that so many of his outstanding bills had been dealt with. Although, having recalled his instant withdrawal every time a conversation touched upon money matters, she was well aware that her approach to the subject was going to have to be very delicate.
Now fully refreshed, she stepped out of the bath and, not bothering to ring for her maid, dried herself and, after running a comb through her still-damp curls, slipped into the matching white silk nightdress and peignoir that Fran had laid out for her before their departure early that morning.
Straightening her shoulders, she marched resolutely across to the door that separated her husband’s room from hers, having made up her mind that the best time to tackle him would be whilst he was still slightly under par, so to speak—not strictly ethical, perhaps, but, given Markfield’s predilections insofar as money matters were concerned, Helena was inclined to suspect that striking while the iron was cool might, in the present circumstances, be far the best bet!
Not wishing to alert him to her presence before she had had time to compose herself fully, she reached out and turned the handle gently, only to discover, to her chagrin, that the door was still locked!
Biting her lip in frustration, she glared at the offending mechanism, wondering what sort of fiendish mind had conjured up a system whereby it was possible for a husband to bar his wife from entering his room, but not the reverse! Vowing that she would have one of her own workmen fit a bolt on her side of the room at the earliest opportunity, she swept across to her bedroom door, edged it open and, after peering carefully in both directions in order to ensure that there were no stray footmen wandering about in the vicinity, she scuttled hurriedly down the passageway towards her husband’s chamber.
Chapter Twenty-One
His head feeling as though it was about to shatter into a thousand fragments at any minute, even the soft click of the door handle was, to Richard, highly reminiscent of the deafening sounds of the British cannon on the field at Waterloo. Struggling to rise, but finding himself incapable of doing so, he flopped weakly back on to his pillows, having arrived at the conclusion that, although he was unable to recall the exact details, it appeared that he must have received a mortal wound. The throbbing pain in his head was such that, as far as he was concerned, only instant death could provide a merciful release. He had tried opening his eyes on several occasions, to find that the piercingly blinding lights—presumably blasts from the mortar explosions—made matters a thousand times worse.
‘Richard?’
He grimaced and let out a faint groan. Wasn’t it bad enough that he was lying here, dying in agony, without having to suffer the added anguish of imagining that he could hear Helena’s voice, calling to him from across the void?
Helena? Impossible! Waterloo had long since passed before she had come into his life! Making every effort to marshal his chaotic thoughts into some sort of coherence, he struggled to rationalise the enigma.
‘Richard?’
Tentatively prising one eye open, he reeled back in disbelief as a pulsating flash of light exploded across his vision to reveal the ethereally white-clad figure standing at his bedside. Dear God, he found himself thinking, as a feeling akin to panic swept over him, surely they haven’t sent down an angel to lead me there!
Helena, having observed that he was awake at last, reached out and took hold of his hand. ‘Please, don’t be cross with me, Richard,’ she began. ‘I know that it was very wrong of me to interfere with your papers, but—’
‘Papers?’
His eyes now closed tight against the invasive light and his head pounding fit to burst, Richard found himself growing more confused by the minute. Did one actually need papers to be granted admittance into Heaven? he thought in wonder, as he managed to croak out, ‘You must do whatever you think best, dear angel—the whole matter is entirely in your hands.’
Frowning slightly, Helena leant across the bed and laid her hand on his forehead which felt, as she found to her considerable dismay, decidedly damp and clammy. Since her experience of badly inebriated gentlemen was somewhat less than nil, she was at a loss as to the proper course of action. That the earl was in some sort of distress was obvious, but she could not decide whether to send for Shipman to deal with the problem or to ring down for another of Mrs Wainwright’s willow-bark remedies.
Her concern increasing, she lowered herself on to the bed beside her husband, her eyes quickly registering his pain-ravaged expression and the tight compression of his lips, both of which clearly denoted the torment that he was undergoing and, although she could not help but feel that he had no one but himself to blame for his present distress, she was unable to prevent the sharp wave of pity that ran through her. As she tenderly stroked his damp hair away from his forehead in an attempt to soothe away the worst of the pain, a tight lump formed in her throat and the hot sting of tears began to gather behind her eyelids.
The gently comforting feel of the cool hand on his fevered brow came as utter balm to the still highly befuddled Markfield and it was not long before this most pleasurable sensation, along with the soothing murmurings of reassurance that accompanied the soft caresses, lulled him into a peaceful trance-like state, which had the effect of making him only too glad to lie back and entrust his deliverance to the tender mercies of this angelic vision of loveliness.
But then as, with a startled gasp, Helena became conscious that the earl’s free arm seemed to have found its way across her waist and was now tightening and pulling her more closely towards him, she sa
w that his eyes, far from being shut tightly as they had been earlier, were now wide open and staring—albeit with a slightly puzzled expression—deep into her own.
‘Unbelievably lovely,’ he murmured softly, as he turned his head and buried his face in the mass of unbound chestnut curls that had spread themselves across his pillow during her ministrations. ‘Who would have thought that an angel would be so accommodating?’ With which bizarre observation, his eyelids drooped and he gradually drifted off into a heavy slumber.
Realising that it would be impossible to extricate herself from his hold without waking him, especially since several locks of her hair were still tightly pinioned beneath his head, Helena resigned herself to staying where she was—at least until her sleeping husband chose to change his position which, she reasoned, he was bound to do at some point. Apart from which, she had to admit that the warmth of his arm slung loosely across her back was rather comforting and, after such a long and tiring day, she could not help feeling that it could do no harm just to lie back and close her own eyes for a few minutes…
Several hours later, just as the first pale streaks of dawn were beginning to light up the morning sky, Helena awoke from the most refreshing sleep she had experienced for some time. Stretching languidly, she rolled over, recoiling with a sudden shock as her fingers encountered the satiny soft nakedness of her husband’s arm draped in careless elegance across the pillow next to hers. She was horrified that she had not only allowed herself to fall asleep in his arms, but had also—or so it would appear, given the tumbled state of the bedclothes—actually snuggled down beneath the covers right next to him! Desperately hoping that her hasty movements had failed to disturb her husband’s tranquillity, she edged her way cautiously off the bed, tiptoed across the floor towards her own room and unlocked the adjoining door, pausing only momentarily before extracting the key and thrusting it resolutely into the jewellery box on her dressing table.
A Marriageable Miss Page 25
