“You did not love your husband?” Melissa whispered.
“It was not in the least a love match, for I was escaping from a vindictive stepmother, and Sir Osborne Hardy was being hounded by his own mother to wed. But I had known him for years, and had always held him in high regard. His character was in no doubt, and he knew mine, and so we realised that we were well-suited. Indeed, we got along in the most amiable manner, for Sir Osborne was always the perfect gentleman, and his behaviour was ever designed to enhance my comfort. He was a most agreeable husband.”
She sighed, while Melissa kept respectfully silent at such a panegyric.
After a few moments, Lady Hardy went on, “Perhaps you and Lord Montague may be just as fortunate, but you do not yet know each other, and it would be advisable not to rush into marriage until you are quite sure of each other’s habits and temper. There is much to be said for a match founded on practicality, rather than romantic love, Miss Frost, but one must be very sure of one’s husband before entering into such an arrangement.”
~~~~~
One day at breakfast, Mr Merton, the marquess’s secretary, came through with something approaching a smile on his face. He was a solemn, not to say dour, man above thirty, who took his responsibilities very seriously, and Melissa knew he was investigating her background and therefore saw him as an enemy. Today, however, he seemed pleased.
“There is a letter from York, Miss Frost,” he said with a bow. “His Grace the Archbishop is pleased to approve Lord Montague to the living of Kirby Grosswick.”
“Oh. Thank you, Mr Merton.” Melissa felt she should be pleased at this development, but her feelings were mixed. It meant the marriage need not be delayed beyond the wait for the banns to be called, and she would have her own establishment and her own servants, and that must be an agreeable situation for her. But still, she would be very sorry to quit Drummoor and all the comforts to be found therein.
Other doubts gnawed at the back of her mind. She was technically betrothed to another man, and, what was worse, she was still under age and could not marry officially without Lord Bentley’s approval, which he would never give. What would be the situation if she were to marry Monty? Would the marriage even be legal? Could Mr Pontefract still claim her? Would Monty renounce her when he learnt the truth? God help her, what a mess she was in! Yet she could hardly tell anyone the truth, for that would delay the marriage until she was of age, and surely the earl would find her long before that. If only she could have hidden away somewhere until she reached her majority. But she tried to smile, all the same. No one must guess at her turmoil.
“Oh, that is excellent news,” Lady Carrbridge said. “Now we may look at your house, dear Miss Frost. Shall we go today?”
It was the first time Melissa had ventured outside since her arrival, and she was aware of a flutter of excitement. Oh, to be free, to go somewhere, to not be tied to the house. She was so unused to any kind of freedom that it had never occurred to her to go for a walk in the grounds of Drummoor. She could even have asked for the carriage, if she had thought of it. If she had dared!
But now she was to go to Kirby Grosswick with Lady Carrbridge, Lady Harriet and Mrs Allamont. Lady Hardy smiled and said that she would continue her efforts in the library.
“However, I shall expect a full report when you return,” she added.
The carriage was summoned and Melissa had her first opportunity to wear one of the two new pelisses in her wardrobe, with the most ravishing little hat to match. She was so warm and snug, with a little fur muff and tippet, and although Mrs Allamont grumbled a little about the cold, and worried that the road was so rutted that they might be overturned, Melissa found not the least thing to trouble her. She gazed out of the window as the bare trees and empty fields passed by, admired a succession of little villages and then the town of Sagborough before they climbed onto open moorland, with a wild beauty in every direction.
“Do you ride, Miss Frost?” said Lady Carrbridge.
“No, not at all.”
“You must get Monty to teach you. Kirby Grosswick is almost twelve miles from Drummoor by road, but no more than three miles away as the crow flies, and you will find it very pleasant to be able to ride over whenever you wish. We are just coming to the turning for Great Mellingham, where Reggie and Robinia live. We may call on them for tea on our way home. And just a few miles beyond Kirby Grosswick is Silsby Vale, where Humphrey and Hortensia have settled.” She sighed. “It is the most comfortable thing in the world to have them so close by, and now you and Monty will be very near, too, and we shall be calling on each other very often. How delightful it is. I wish my sisters were closer to me. They come and stay with me, or else we meet in London, but it is not enough, and Dulcie is far, far away in Scotland and I have only seen her once since she married.”
“Perhaps we should all go to Scotland to visit her,” said Mrs Allamont.
“Oh yes!” cried Lady Carrbridge, clapping her hands in glee. “Oh, what a charming idea. I shall tell Lord Carrbridge this evening that we must go.”
Melissa smiled at her certainty that he would agree to the scheme, but she felt a pang of envy too. How wonderful it would be to have such a large and loving family, to be connected to others in the world by the unbreakable bonds of blood. Perhaps one day, when she and Monty had a horde of little Marfords at their feet she would finally feel that she belonged somewhere.
5: The Parsonage
Kirby Grosswick was an unprepossessing village which sprawled along the road in an uncoordinated fashion, as if all its houses and cottages had been shaken up and then scattered randomly about. A rushing stream alongside the road clattered noisily over stones and under simple plank bridges. There was no obvious centre to the village, no cross or pond or green, although they passed a small inn and a sprinkle of shops, as well as a blacksmith and an apothecary. A wagon road crossed the stream by means of a sturdy stone bridge, and wound into the wooded hills to the south. At the far end of the village, where the land began to rise, were a few better houses and the church and parsonage.
The parsonage would possibly have been a fine house, if they could have seen it, but the walls were completely covered with thick ivy which obscured most of the windows, and the drive was so choked with weeds that the carriage could not get along it.
“Never mind,” Lady Carrbridge said briskly. “We will walk up to the house. It is not far.”
It was indeed not far from the gateposts, the gate long missing, to the front door, but only a narrow path led through the weeds and brambles. Here and there, self-seeded shrubs towered over their heads, and fallen branches from nearby trees almost blocked their way.
“Dear me,” Lady Carrbridge said. “Monty’s first job will be to engage a gardener.”
The peeling paint on the front door and the ivy reaching out its rattling tendrils suggested a similar level of neglect applied to the house. The doorbell was missing but a sturdy knocker announced their arrival in echoing terms. Then they waited. And waited. Lady Harriet knocked twice more before bolts could be heard sliding back, and the door slowly opened.
The white-haired head of a very elderly man peered round the door at them. “He be dead and gorn. Can’t help. Good day.”
He was about to close the door again, but Lady Harriet stepped forward to prevent him. “We are not here for Mr Whittaker. We are here on behalf of your new parson, Lord Montague Marford.”
“Never heard of him.”
Again he would have closed the door, but Lady Harriet, with a cluck of annoyance, pushed it wider and stalked into the hall. “Now, my good man, I am Lady Harriet Marford and this is Lady Carrbridge. You have heard of Lord Carrbridge, I take it? Good. Well, this is his wife. And here is Mrs Allamont, and this lady is Miss Frost who is to marry Lord Montague and so will be mistress here. This is her house, you see.”
The old man looked at her through eyes so pale they were almost colourless. He swayed slightly on his feet. “Mr Whittaker’s house. He
be in the churchyard, but ’tis his house.”
“Not any longer,” Lady Harriet said crisply. “We shall just have a look around, you know. We shall not be here long, I am sure, for there is a very queer smell in here and I do not suppose any of us will want to linger. Come along, ladies. Let us get on.”
They followed her into the dark hall, lit only by a single lamp standing on a table. Opening the first door, a foul smell filled the hall. The room was completely dark. Picking up the lamp, Lady Harriet strode forwards then stopped.
“Hmm. Do not come in, ladies. The floor is… not clean.”
Peering over her shoulder, Melissa felt the understatement was commendable. There may perhaps have been a rug on the floor, and furnishings here and there, but they were buried under mounds of—
Mrs Allamont screamed. “Rats! Rats!” She turned and fled.
They were indeed rats, scuttling about in the darkness, heaps of their droppings littering every surface. Lady Harriet slammed the door shut.
“Connie, you should not be in here, not in your condition,” Lady Harriet said. “Perhaps you and Hope may wait for us in the carriage? Miss Frost, are you strong enough to venture further? The hallway is relatively clean, and we do not have to enter any room, but you will want to get an idea of their number and size.”
Melissa trembled with shock. “I do not know how it is to be cleaned,” she whispered. “I can beat rugs and lay a fire, if I have to, but this is beyond my experience.”
Lady Harriet smiled, her face softening. “I should hope it is beyond the experience of any of us. But you need not do anything yourself. Tomorrow, Mrs Compton will come with an army of housemaids and footmen and grooms to clear it out, and have a great bonfire, for I do not suppose there will be anything to be saved. We shall need Ben Gartmore with the dogs, too, to deal with the rats and whatever else is living here. Then we shall be able to see what needs to be done to make the place habitable, for no one can live here as it is at the moment. But I must see the rest of the house to determine how large an army Mrs Compton must bring. It is just the one room infested, or is it the whole house? Do you see? But you need not come with me if you do not like it. You may wait in the carriage.”
“Oh, no, I will come with you,” Melissa said. “I am not afraid of rats and mice. We used to have them in the stables at… where I lived, so I am used to them.”
“You are a brave girl for one so young. How old are you?”
“Twenty… one and twenty,” she amended quickly.
Lady Harriet looked at her thoughtfully. “Very well. Let us get on.”
All the while, the elderly manservant had been standing behind them, wringing his hands, and muttering, “’Tis Mr Whittaker’s house, so it is.”
“What is your name, my good man?” Lady Harriet said, but he gave no coherent answer.
With a sigh, she picked up the lamp and began her inspection of the house. Melissa followed her dutifully as she opened door after door, climbed stairs, prodded walls and peered up at ceilings, while the strange servant walked behind them, muttering to himself. The rats were only in one room on the ground floor, but the mice and spiders were everywhere, and only one room in the house was even partly habitable, the kitchen, where the late Mr Whittaker and his manservant had apparently been living for some time. The cellar doors were locked, but neither lady was inclined to ask for the keys.
“Goodness, fresh air is most welcome,” Lady Harriet said, as they emerged from the house, the manservant slamming the door behind them. “Well, it will be quite a task to clean up, but I do think the house is sound enough. Getting rid of the rats and mice will be the biggest problem, but the dogs will deal with them. We should go down into the village to spread the word that Monty will be coming here, and find out who that poor soul inside is, and whether he has any relatives to take care of him or else he must go to the work house.”
“Oh, no!” Melissa said, shocked. “I daresay he has lived there for decades. He would hate to move now, and the house is big enough that room may be found for him. He will be no bother, I am sure.”
Lady Harriet spun on her heel to gaze at Melissa in great amusement. “My dear, you and Monty are better matched than I had supposed. That is exactly what he would say, for he can no more resist a charitable case than the sun can resist rising each morning. But it is likely that the old man is half mad, and will be a great nuisance to you. Much better to let him go to the work house.”
“No one should have to leave their home, if it can possibly be avoided,” Melissa said in a low voice. “It is too distressing.”
“Well, well, the decision is for you and Monty to make,” Lady Harriet said equably. “I shall walk down the road, I think, but you may go in the carriage if you wish.”
Melissa relished the clean air after the close confinement of the house, so after a brief discussion with Lady Carrbridge, the carriage rolled away to await them at the inn, and Melissa and Lady Harriet walked on down the hill. From their higher position, the whole valley was laid out before them, its fields and woods edging up onto the moors, while the houses clustered along the stream. Two tributaries gave it strength, one bouncing precipitously down from the moors in a series of cascades, while the other descended more circumspectly, and fed a couple of mills nestling amidst trees. Now that she was looking more carefully, Melissa noticed that the more important buildings all stood on the good ground along the road, while most of the labourers’ cottages sat on boggy land bordering the stream, and their winter vegetables looked pallid and yellow.
“Why do they build in such a bad position?” she asked Lady Harriet.
“I daresay they can get no other place,” Lady Harriet said with a shrug. “Poor people must live where they can afford.”
“But it must be so damp and unpleasant. I daresay they suffer terribly.”
Lady Harriet turned surprised eyes to her. “Why, working folk are much stronger than people like us, you know. They have to be to work all day in the fields. The educated classes are born to rule, and the lower classes to do physical labour, and so it has always been. It is a good system, on the whole, and one may offer a little help now and then for those who fall into occasional difficulties, or are ill. But it is not healthy for them to be given everything they need without effort, or else they will grow lazy and not do their work at all, and then where would we be? Ah, here is the apothecary. Let us enquire regarding the mysterious servant at the parsonage.”
The apothecary was out, but his daughter, a buxom girl of about Melissa’s age, came out to attend to them, and bounced with delight when she heard who they were and the reason for their errand.
“Ooh, that’s so excitin’,” she said. “Best news all year, I’d reckon. We did wonder, when poor Mr Whittaker were buried, and knowin’ it’s Lord Carrbridge what says who comes in, and knowin’ his brother be ordained… well, we did wonder. And he’ll be marryin’, too. Bad news for us village girls, I’d reckon. There were some thinkin’… but that’d never work, him bein’ a lord an’ all. So excitin’, and maybe he’ll be in by Christmas, d’ye reckon?”
“Maybe,” Lady Harriet said. “The house needs a great deal of work before anyone will be moving in. And who is that poor soul still living there?”
“Oh, that’d be Callum. Don’t know his other name. He’s from Scotland… or was it Ireland? Don’t know. Been here for ever, though.”
“Does he have family nearby? Nearer than Scotland. Or Ireland.”
“Oh no, no one. Never married, that I ever heard. But so excitin’, to have a new parson!”
They left the apothecary’s daughter still bouncing at the thrilling news that a vacant living might soon be vacant no more, and walked on to the inn. Lady Carrbridge and Mrs Allamont were settled in the best parlour, or rather the only parlour, for it was a very small inn, drinking sherry.
“There seems to be nothing else on offer except varieties of ale, and one does not quite like to offend the innkeeper by refusing all refres
hment, when they have lit the fire specially for us,” Lady Carrbridge said.
“One does not have to drink the stuff, however,” Lady Harriet said, sniffing the jug disapprovingly. “It does not resemble any sherry I have ever seen.”
“What is the rest of the house like? Is it quite dreadful?” Mrs Allamont said. “I was never so shocked in my life! Rats!”
“The ground floor is quite infested with wildlife of one sort or another, and one dares not imagine the state of the cellar,” Lady Harriet said. “The upstairs is not so bad, but still, everything will have to be stripped out and burned. Connie, may I borrow Ben Gartmore? His terriers will make short work of the livestock, and then perhaps Mrs Compton…?”
“Oh, of course. Naturally. And the library attic is full of furniture removed from Marford House during the renovations, so there will be plenty of—”
A commotion could be heard outside the parlour door, shouting from at least one female voice and several males ones.
“Whatever is going—” Lady Harriet began.
The door crashed open and a young woman half fell into the room. Behind her were the innkeeper and the potboy, arms waving.
“So sorry, milady,” the innkeeper said. “Come along, Bridget, don’t be troubling her ladyship and her friends.”
“I won’t keep them long,” Bridget said. “I’m sure you ladies can spare a few coins for those less fortunate than yourselves.”
Lord Montague Page 5
