by Anne O'Brien
‘My dear Mother, you could not expect me to pay my respects to my future wife in anything less.’
‘And will you go ahead with the marriage, now that you have seen Sir Henry?’
‘Why not? He is willing enough, no matter Mistress Harley’s sentiments. It brings my claim all the advantages of legitimacy. And she did not seem totally unwilling.’ He did not seem too convinced, but shrugged his shoulders. ‘I expect we shall brush along fairly well.’
Elizabeth chose not to comment, once again effectively hiding her concern on this sensitive subject. She changed tack again as Felicity, unbidden and always solicitous, poured and served small ale in pewter goblets. It sounded a bleak prospect, although Marlbrooke, lounging in an armchair before the fire, boots propped comfortably on a fire dog, appeared to be unaware.
‘Mistress Neale has told me of the occurrence last night. About the young girl you found on the road.’
Marlbrooke looked up from his contemplation of the flames. ‘Of course. I had momentarily forgotten. I am sure Mistress Neale has furnished you with all the details. You had retired when I arrived home. When I realised that she was a girl and not the young man she wished to be taken for, I asked for Mistress Neale’s help.’
‘That was very considerate of you! I believe that many would not expect it, Marcus, if gossip speaks true.’ There was a degree of disapproval in her voice.
‘My delicacy and thoughtfulness can be relied upon on such occasions.’ The gleam in his eye held a degree of cynicism not lost on his mother.
‘You could have fetched me, dear Marcus,’ Felicity interrupted with a fluttering of hands and an avid gleam in her eyes, always receptive of gossip and intrigue. ‘I believe that I was still sorting dearest Elizabeth’s embroidery silks in the small parlour. I could have come to your aid.’ Her voice was as thin and dry as her appearance. ‘There was no need for you to be concerned with some runaway girl—so indelicate, do you not think?’
‘Thank you, Felicity. I know. I suppose I did not think of it.’ And I certainly did not want you prosing in my ear about the morality of modern youth.
‘A most unsavoury circumstance, I am sure. Doubtless the girl will be recovered and well enough to leave today.’
‘Mistress Neale suggested that her head wound was quite unpleasant. And a damaged wrist, I think.’ Elizabeth closed her mind to her cousin’s perpetually querulous voice, sipped her ale thoughtfully, and directed her comment towards her son.
‘I suggest it was merely a ruse to get herself into this house,’ Felicity continued, impervious to the lack of response. ‘That type of female might sink to any level to gain the interest of her betters.’
Elizabeth sighed. ‘Are you suggesting that we should lock up the silver? I think not. If you please, Felicity, I find it rather cool in this room. Please would you be so good as to fetch me my quilted wrap from my bedchamber? I am sorry to put you out.’
‘Of course, dear Elizabeth. It is always my pleasure to be of service to you.’
‘She is so judgmental!’ Elizabeth regarded the retreating figure with disfavour. ‘And always so obsequious towards me. Sometimes I find myself wishing that she would curse me so that I could curse her back! But she never would, of course. She is far too grateful.’
‘I do not know how you tolerate her day after day. All her petty criticisms and ill wishes. Does she ever say anything pleasant about anyone?’
‘Rarely! But she helps me with all the intimate tasks that I can no longer do for myself! So I have to be grateful and tolerant.’ There was an astringent quality to her reply that her son could not ignore.
‘I know. Forgive me for my lamentable insensitivity.’
‘Besides, she has nowhere else to live. I try not to pity her or patronise her.’
‘You have more goodness than I have.’
‘So, what of the girl?’ Elizabeth asked somewhat impatiently. ‘Could she have come from the village?’
‘I think not. My impression is that she is of good family—her clothes, if a little unconventional, her hands, her features, all speak of money and breeding.’
‘Is she seriously injured?’
‘It was difficult to tell when I left her in Mistress Neale’s capable hands. She was comfortable enough and Mistress Neale had bathed and cleaned the head wound but it was deep and her face is badly bruised. We must wait. She had hacked off all her hair,’ he added inconsequentially.
Elizabeth raised her fine brows. ‘Then she won’t be pretty enough for you to flirt with!’
‘Never fear! I am now betrothed to be married and so beyond the levities of youth. And, as you know, I never flirt!’
‘Well …!’ Lady Elizabeth’s views on handsome young men who were ruthless and arrogant enough to use flattery to gain their own ends would never be known for they were interrupted by a quiet knock quickly followed by the opening of the library door. Mistress Neale entered in her usual calm fashion, hands clasped before her over her enveloping apron, the jangle of keys at her waist marking her every step. She stopped inside the door.
‘Excuse me, my lord, my lady. I have brought the young lady. She says she is recovered sufficiently to rise from her bed—although I did tell her you would understand if she rested today, in the circumstances. In my opinion, she is far from well.’
Lady Elizabeth registered the faint expression—of what, anxiety or disapproval?—on her housekeeper’s homely features, but with a mental shrug presumed that it was merely concern for the health of their unexpected guest.
‘But yes, Mistress Neale. Please come in. Is she with you now?’
Mistress Neale turned, beckoned and ushered in the young woman who had been standing in the shadows in the hall. She paused, framed by the doorway, her own ruined and unsuitable clothing discarded, now clad in ill-fitting skirt and bodice, borrowed from Elspeth, tied and tucked to take into account her slender figure. Her harshly cropped hair was uncovered. The extensive bruising down one side of her face was shocking to see, but the wound in her hair, covered by some neat bandaging, appeared to be giving her few ill effects. She held one firmly bandaged wrist awkwardly at her side. Exhaustion was printed on her face, the pallor highlighted by the plain white collar, and there was a faint frown between her brows, but she waited with apparent composure for her hostess to make the first move.
‘Come in, my poor child. What an ordeal you have been through. Come and sit with me.’ Lady Elizabeth stretched out her hand in instant compassion.
Mistress Neale curtsied and left. The lady remained standing in the doorway as if she had not heard the invitation. Viscount Marlbrooke saw the instant bewilderment in her expression and so rose and walked across the room, to take her hand. It was icy cold. She did not resist as he led her further into the room but neither did she respond to her new surroundings. His eyes searched her face, but he could detect no emotion. Perhaps she was unaware that she grasped his hand hard as he led her into the room. He felt compelled by he knew not what impulse to raise her hand and brush his lips over her rigid fingers in a formal salute.
‘There is no need to be anxious,’ he reassured her in a gentle voice as he applied a comforting pressure to her fingers. ‘I was at the crossroads and brought you here last night after the accident with your horse. I am Marcus Oxenden. This is my mother, Lady Elizabeth. You are at Winteringham Priory. Perhaps you know of it?’
Her eyes flashed to his face as she shook her head, wincing at the sudden lance of pain. If anything she became even paler, the blood draining from beneath her skin.
‘Thank you. You are very kind.’ Her voice was clear and steady but toneless as if her mind was engaged elsewhere.
‘Forgive me that I do not rise.’ Elizabeth held out her hand and smiled in welcome. ‘I find the cold weather difficult. You must tell me where you were going. I am sure that we can help you reach your destination. You must have a family—and friends—who will be concerned for you, to whom we should send a message. What is your name, my d
ear girl?’
The result of the concerned enquiry was devastating. It was not composure that held the girl in its rigid grasp but naked fear born out of blind panic. She pulled her hand from Marlbrooke’s light clasp to cover her face, to suppress a sob of anguish.
‘But what is wrong?’ Elizabeth struggled to gain her feet, ignoring the discomfort, moved immeasurably by the plight before her. ‘I am sure that whatever distresses you so can soon be put right.’
‘No!’
‘But what is it that causes you such despair?’ Marlbrooke raised his brows, glancing hopefully towards Lady Elizabeth, but she merely shook her head. ‘Surely it can be remedied?’
The eyes that the lady raised to Marlbrooke’s face were wide, stark with terror. ‘I don’t know where I was going,’ she explained, her voice breaking on a sob. ‘I do not know who I am. I cannot even remember my own name!’
‘I cannot remember my name,’ the lady repeated the statement in barely a whisper. ‘I don’t remember anything before I opened my eyes here this morning.’
She looked at the two strangers before her, panic turning her blood to ice, freezing her ability to assess her position with any clarity. The lady with her faded beauty, kind smile but awkward limbs. The gentleman, eyes intent, dark haired, with a distinct air of authority. Both offering compassion and support, but both total strangers. How could she be so dependent on them? She shook her head, wincing again at the sharp consequence, unable to take in her surroundings or the enormity of her predicament. In response to the mute appeal in the girl’s face, her pale lips and cheeks, Elizabeth put a gentle arm around her shoulders and steered her towards the fire. She was trembling, but obeyed as in a trance and sank to the cushioned settle. Elizabeth sat beside her, keeping possession of her hand, stroking the soft skin in comfort.
‘You must not worry so. You have had the most traumatic of experiences. You must know that you were struck on the head when you fell from your horse. I am sure your loss of memory will be temporary and you will soon remember everything quite clearly.’
The lady looked into Elizabeth’s calm grey eyes, clinging to sanity as she clung to her hand. ‘But what am I doing here? Please tell me what happened last night.’
The Viscount had come to stand before the fireplace, leaning his arm along the heavily carved mantel, pushing the smouldering logs with his booted foot until sparks showered onto the hearth.
‘I am afraid that I can tell you very little. You were riding from the south, but from where exactly, I know not. You arrived at the crossroads on Winteringham Common at the time when my coach had stopped because of an incident. We waited to warn you of possible danger on the icy road. You were travelling fast.’ He frowned, watching her closely to see if there was any hint of recognition of the subsequent events. There was none. ‘When you came abreast of us, your horse shied badly on a stretch of ice and you fell, hitting your head on the road. I brought you here. And that is all I know.’
She nodded in thoughtful acceptance, head bent as she contemplated his answer and the blank spaces in her memory, which his explanation did nothing to restore.
‘Do I know you?’ The lady raised her eyes to the Viscount’s face, but without hope.
‘No, my dear.’ Elizabeth sighed in answer and shook her head sadly. ‘We can be of no help to you in that quarter. I do not think you live in the vicinity, although we have only just returned to the area ourselves after some years’ absence. We can make enquiries, do you not think, Marcus?’
‘Of course.’
‘Did I have any possessions with me? Nothing to tell who I am?’
‘No.’ The Viscount had moved silently to a side table to pour a glass of wine. He handed it to the lady, who took it and sipped absently. ‘Your horse may have had saddle-bags, but it bolted out of sight. I have sent out word to recover it if it is found on the estate or in the village. I expect it will—horses rarely stray far, even when frightened.’
‘I … I understand from Mistress Neale that I was dressed as a boy.’ She lowered her eyes in some confusion as a faint flush stained her pale cheeks. ‘And I have cut my hair.’ She lifted her hand to touch in shock and disbelief the shorn strands that lay against her neck. ‘I think I had long hair. I do not understand any of it!’
‘Indeed.’ Elizabeth squeezed the cold hands. There was little she could say to comfort her. ‘You must have had a good reason for doing so.’
‘Yes. I suppose so.’
The door to the library opened to admit Felicity, who had completed her task and returned carrying the shawl. Her pursed lips and the closed expression on her narrow face indicated that she had, in her absence, made it her business to become well informed of events by Mistress Neale and did not approve.
‘Here is Mistress Felicity, my cousin.’ Elizabeth made the introduction, her heart sinking as she read the condemnation in her companion’s stiff shoulders and tightlipped mouth. Uncomfortable at the best of times, Felicity could be a damning influence when her sense of morality was outraged. ‘This is …?’ She looked at the lady beside her in sudden consternation.
The fear had deepened in the lady’s eyes as her lack of identity had immediately presented its own problems.
‘We must decide what to call you, my dear child, until your memory returns.’ Elizabeth smiled and tried to keep her tone light.
‘Why, I … I don’t know.’
‘I do.’ The Viscount had been watching intently and now surveyed the delicate features and deep blue eyes with a light curve of his lips. ‘You are Viola, for sure. Master Shakespeare had the right of it in naming his masquerading heroine. We will borrow it for you, if it pleases you, if only for the short term.’ The smile that accompanied his words held great warmth and charm, guaranteed to put the lady at her ease. He reached down for her hand and bowed elegantly over it. ‘Welcome to Winteringham Priory, Mistress Viola.’
She tried for a smile, but it was a poor attempt, and pulled her hand away as if his touch embarrassed her even more. A shiver ran through her slight frame in spite of the burning logs. Seeing it, Marcus took the shawl from the fussing Felicity and placed it round her shoulders.
‘Thank you. I cannot express how grateful I am for your kindness.’
‘Well, of course …’ he grinned ‘… we had planned to throw you out into the cold and wet to find your own salvation. We always treat our guests with such lack of consideration! Particularly when they are in distress.’
‘Enough, Marcus.’ Lady Elizabeth frowned at his levity. ‘Take no heed of him, my dear. Be assured you are welcome to stay here until we know what is best for you.’
The girl smiled at last with genuine warmth but Marcus had seen the flash of real fear and tried to remedy the effect of his light jest.
‘Indeed, Mistress Viola, there is no cause for concern. I have known cases such as yours before—in the war. A severe blow to the head can bring temporary loss of memory. It returns, sometimes gradually in increasing flashes of realisation, sometimes in one blinding revelation.’ And occasionally leaves the sufferer in devastating limbo for ever! ‘You need to rest. You will stay here as long as you need. Meanwhile, as my mother suggested, we will put out the word.’
‘I cannot express my thanks.’ She placed the almost untouched glass carefully on the table at her elbow. ‘I have a headache a little. Perhaps, if you will excuse me, I will go and rest.’
‘Of course.’ Elizabeth saw the distress and weariness in the young face and understood the need for privacy. ‘Mistress Neale will provide everything you need. Perhaps, Felicity, you will show Mistress Viola to her bedchamber, until she becomes more accustomed to the house.’
Felicity moved to comply with bad grace and a sharp inclination of her head, leading the way from the room, leaving Elizabeth alone with her son.
‘Well, Marcus? She is so young and defenceless to be put in such a position.’
He shrugged as he returned from the door to pour out two more glasses of wine, handing
one to his mother before stretching his limbs again with casual grace in the chair opposite her.
‘It is as I said. Her memory will probably return in its own good time. But what can have frightened her to such an extent that she would cut her hair, dress as a man and ride through the night with no companion or protection?’ He frowned down into the blood-red liquid as he swirled it in the glass, the light catching in the faceted stem. ‘Perhaps her fears are more deep rooted than from mere loss of memory. We must be circumspect in our enquiries. It may be that she does not wish to be found.’
‘I agree.’ Felicity stalked back into the room in time to hear the final comment. ‘A girl who is prepared to dress in such an unseemly manner and take such precipitate action might have all manner of things to hide. I believe that you are too trusting, my dear Elizabeth. We do not know what she might be guilty of.’
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and caught the fierce challenge in her son’s eyes as he prepared to deliver a stinging rebuke. Felicity would only sulk and that would make everyone uncomfortable. She took up the challenge before he could speak.
‘Your lack of charity in the circumstances is unfortunate and does you no favours, Felicity,’ she chided in a mild tone, but leaving her cousin in no doubt of her sentiments. ‘I expect you to treat Mistress Viola with all consideration and compassion until we know for sure who or what she is! I would not like to hear that she has been open to insult in my home.’
Felicity pressed her lips into an even firmer line, if that were possible, and sniffed.
Chapter Five
Viola awoke next morning to the same complete absence of knowledge of her previous existence as when she had taken to her bed. She struggled to quell the all-embracing fear as she became aware of a maid who bustled about the room and drew back her curtains. You must be calm. You have to accept. You will remember as your head heals. At least the headache had gone. She smiled uncertainly at the maid, a young smiling person with quick, deft hands, and felt an immediate lift in her spirits as the pale spring sunshine flooded the room. Of course things would soon be back to normal and she would be able to complete her journey—wherever that was. Was someone, somewhere, concerned for her safety? She shook her head as the maid approached the bed.
