by M C Beaton
But by the next afternoon a little yellow winter sun shone dimly through a haze of thin gray cloud and icicles glittered everywhere, hanging in long gleaming stalactites from the eaves. The day was hushed and silent, as only the countryside can be in the chill grip of winter.
Emily was trembling with excitement. She had fought against the temptation to write to her friends at the orphanage to tell them she was going out driving with a lord, telling herself sternly that in the first place, they might not believe her, and in the second, if they did it might make them discontented. She had been further cheered by Mrs. Singleton’s sudden friendliness, and by the present from Mrs. Otley, the housekeeper, of a smart carriage dress in red merino with a warm pelisse to match.
Mrs. Otley had confided that the Kipling girls had left a whole wardrobe behind, something that they usually did after their visits, so that their parents would furnish them with a new one.
Mrs. Singleton had left at two o’clock with John Harris. Emily waited in her room, her hand on Duke’s smooth head. The dog, sensing her agitation, sat very still, staring up at her in an unnerving way out of his close-set eyes. She had brushed his rough shaggy coat until it shone like black-and-gold lacquer.
“He didn’t say what time he would call,” murmured Emily. “It is a good thing Harriet has gone to the rectory, for she would not approve at all. Oh, pray, let Sir Peregrine keep to his room. He might stop me going. Oh, what if he does not come!”
But at precisely quarter to three, an excited housemaid popped her head around the door to announce that Lord Storm had called to take miss driving.
Emily went downstairs, forcing herself not to run.
Duke, on seeing Lord Storm and sensing his mistress’s delight and resenting it, promptly sat down in the hall and refused to budge.
“Do come along, Duke,” begged Emily. “Oh, he must come, my lord, or I cannot leave.”
She pulled Duke by the collar. His rump slid a little way along the polished floor of the hall, but he bumped against an island of Persian carpet and dug in all four paws.
“Oh, Duke,” said Emily despairingly.
Lord Storm looked at Emily’s distressed face. He gazed down at Duke, who scowled up at him in a belligerent way.
“Come!” Lord Storm held out his arm to Emily.
“I can’t!” she wailed.
Lord Storm rapped his short riding crop against his boot and said softly to Duke, “To heel!” Then he turned and marched to the door without looking behind him. At a signal from the butler, who had been an anxious spectator, two burly footmen ran forward, seized Duke, and carried him out quietly behind Lord Storm and deposited him beside the carriage.
“There you are,” said his lordship when he turned around and saw Duke. “All you need to do is give the proper command.”
Emily, who had followed the footmen out, stifled a wild giggle. Lord Storm was completely unaware that Duke had had to be carried out bodily.
Emily was helped up to the box, and the two footmen lifted Duke up by the scruff of the neck and threw him up to her. The dog looked remarkably like a sulky child. He crouched on the box next to Emily, his eyes darting from side to side the way they did when he was plotting mischief.
And so they set off, with Duke riding bodkin between Emily and Lord Storm, his narrow head twisting alternately to look up into one face and then the other.
They drove silently through the glittering world of ice, the horses’ hooves muffled by the powdery snow. Then Lord Storm began to describe the various landmarks of the district.
The folly on the hill had been built by Sir Peregrine’s father, the church at Baxtead was supposed to be Saxon, and there was to be a skating party near the town of Rumford some fifteen miles distant.
Emily tucked a fold of a carriage rug around Duke’s back and enjoyed herself as much as any seventeen-year-old miss would when attired in a new dress, or one new at least to her, and escorted by a handsome lord. She was mature enough to know that she was dazzled by Lord Storm’s title and had enough common sense to enjoy it all without indulging in self-recrimination or guilt.
He began to ask her questions about the orphanage and how long she had been there. Emily told him that she could not remember ever having been anywhere else. He listened as she warmed to her subject, telling of the party that a certain charitable lady had once given for them and how they had been whipped when it was discovered that she and some of the other girls had stolen cakes to hide in their dormitory; of winter days breaking ice in the washbasins; of the endless diet of gruel and burned porridge; and of the day-in-and-day-out sermons urging them to be grateful and pray for their benefactors.
“Of course, I could never really pray properly for mine,” said Emily anxiously. “You see, I didn’t know who he or she was. And then nothing seemed to have been planned for my future. Seventeen is quite old to be still at the orphanage. I had already begun to instruct some of the younger girls, and the teachers said I was coming along nicely, so perhaps I might ask them to take me back. But poor Duke! Who will want him?”
“A dog, like a man,” said Lord Storm, “should be trained to some occupation. If I lost my money, I could at least return to the army.”
“But not as an officer,” pointed out Emily. “You do not realize how much money does for you, because you have always had it.”
Lord Storm tried to think of some way to argue this point, decided he could not, and returned to the subject of Duke.
“The animal has been dreadfully spoiled. He could perhaps be trained as a gun dog, but he has a mean face and no doubt would eat the birds.”
“That is not his fault,” said Emily. “Sir Peregrine rescued him when some boys were torturing him to death. He has not always been spoiled.”
“I am surprised to hear Sir Peregrine has some altruistic feelings. I would have credited him with none at all. Has he made no provision for you in his will?”
“Oh, no! Nor should I expect such a thing! He made me understand that my sole function and reason for being allowed to stay at Manley Court was to take care of Duke. Duke is a sort of talisman, you see. Besides, he has so many close relatives.”
“All of Sir Peregrine’s relatives—and that includes his brother and sister—are well-to-do. They have no need of his fortune. I think the problem is that the bulk of Sir Peregrine’s fortune is in diamonds, and that somehow excites their greed.”
“Well, it does not excite mine,” said Emily. “All I want is one small place to call my own. Perhaps have a few little things of my own, a few books and pictures.”
“You are well-looking in your way,’” said Lord Storm, leaning down at the Baxtead toll and flipping a shilling to the gatekeeper. “You will no doubt marry.”
“How?” asked Emily with interest. “I thought marriage was a matter of having parents and being presented.”
“Yes, yes. But surely we are assuming the worst. Miss Manley may be shrewish, but she will not turn you out of doors.”
“Oh, yes, she will,” said Emily with conviction. “She said so.”
“Well then, James Manley. Surely he will consider it his Christian duty to care for you.”
“Not he,” said Emily. “According to Mr. Manley, I am a viper being nourished in the Manley bosom. He firmly believes my place is in either the orphanage or the workhouse and it has been flying in the face of Providence to keep me from my natural lot.”
Lord Storm decided to change the subject. He could not quite believe the Manley family as black as Emily painted them. One often said things one did not mean. It was inconceivable that the Manleys would put her out of doors as soon as Sir Peregrine died.
He reined in his horses and pointed with his whip. “Look! The waterfall over there is quite frozen.”
Emily stared in delight. The sun, now low on the horizon, had changed to red, and the icy spikes of the petrified waterfall shone crimson.
If only this moment could stay frozen in time, thought Emily suddenly. But h
e was urging the horses forward again at a smart pace, and Emily swallowed a lump of disappointment that her treat was so soon to be over.
But he surprised her by saying, “I am taking you to my home for tea. My housekeeper will be chaperone enough, I assure you. It is no use, I suppose, suggesting that this dog be put in the stables?”
“No… please,” said Emily. “He is still not very strong.”
Emily studied Lord Storm’s home with interest as the carriage approached it up a long drive. It had two projecting wings on either side of the main building, rather like an E with the center stroke knocked out.
Emily found herself becoming nervous at the idea of being alone with him. What if he renewed his attentions?
But a very motherly housekeeper was on hand to greet them, and the drawing room into which she ushered them had such a cheerful fire and such pretty pictures and china that Emily quite forgot her fears and happily surrendered her pelisse and bonnet.
A table was set before the fire, with a small sofa drawn up before it. Emily sat down on the sofa, Lord Storm sat down beside her, and Duke jumped up and squeezed himself in between them, grinning up at Lord Storm in a highly irritating way.
“Down! Get down this minute!” snapped Lord Storm.
Emily fumbled in her pocket and surreptitiously drew out a sugar loaf and threw it across the carpet. Duke leaped down after it.
“There you are,” said his lordship. “A bit of discipline is all that animal needs.”
Fortunately for Emily, Duke, after eating the sugar loaf, decided to go to sleep on the carpet. Had he not been so tired, she knew he would have tried to push himself onto the sofa again.
Emily found herself wondering what it would be like to be brought up to all this ease and comfort and simply take it for granted. But it seemed as if Lord Storm did not quite accept it all completely without thought.
He began talking about his estates, saying there was a great deal of work to be done on them. “Things were not managed properly in my absence,” he said. “There have been bad harvests, and that means hardship. A good landlord should not collect rents after a bad harvest. If the tenants and tenant farmers are well fed and well housed, then the estate runs like clockwork, bad year or no.
“If you take all the money out of the land and have badly housed tenants and starving workers, then you have insurrections—and who shall blame them? In a strange way, I might have been better employed staying here, instead of fighting for my country. I am a good farmer but an indifferent soldier. I think my heart was never really set on a military career, but I felt I had to do my bit to stop Napoleon’s march across Europe.”
“You were wounded?” said Emily gently.
“Yes, my leg. That healed all right, but I was weak with fever and nigh delirious for a month. I was in a sort of makeshift hospital in Lisbon for most of my illness, so by the time I sailed for home, I swear I was nearly recovered.
“But I have been told it was a near thing. I know at one point I was near death. In the stifling heat of that so-called hospital, I began to realize what I had nearly lost. My tenants and servants were glad to see me back instead of cursing me for an absentee landlord. The least I can do is see the land in good heart before I leave again… if I leave. Ah, here comes Mr. Harris.”
John Harris made his bow to Emily and accepted a cup of tea, taking a chair by the fire and stretching his boots out to the blaze.
“It’s snowing again.” He yawned. “I have just taken Mrs. Singleton home, and there’s a great deal of commotion at Manley Court. Sir Peregrine’s lawyer, Mr. Summers, has arrived from London and is closeted with him. Sir Peregrine’s physician is there too and fears the old man will not last the night.”
Emily sprang to her feet. “I must go,” she said in great agitation.
“Of course.” Lord Storm had risen with her. “I’ll drive you home immediately. I realize it is not proper for you to be alone in a closed carriage with me, Miss Winters, and we certainly cannot travel on the box now it is snowing. I will get one of the housemaids to accompany us.”
Despite her agitation, Emily was relieved that he was determined to honor the conventions.
The snow was falling very hard indeed when they arrived at Manley Court.
Rogers, the butler, met them at the door with gloomy tidings. Sir Peregrine Manley was dead.
As he was speaking, the door of the drawing room opened and Harriet came hurrying out. She did not notice Lord Storm, for her eyes were fixed on Emily and Duke.
“My brother’s dead,” she said coldly. “So you, Miss Winters, can leave right now and take that cur with you.”
Duke let out a growl and began to advance on Harriet, who let out a scream, fled back into the drawing room, and slammed the door.
Emily stood very still and white-faced. Then she seemed to summon up her courage. “I do not wish to be a burden on you, my lord, but I would deem it a great favor if you could manage to convey me back to the orphanage.”
Lord Storm stood looking at her. His brain raced. He could not offer her anything less than marriage, for that would be taking ungentlemanly advantage of her distress. But he could not ask her to marry him. He could not. His pride in his name would not allow him to offer marriage to a girl of such doubtful family history.
“Very well,” he said quietly.
Behind him, Rogers let out a little sigh, almost of disappointment.
“Come, Duke,” said Emily in a choked little voice. “I have only a few belongings, my lord. I shall not keep you waiting long.”
Lord Storm nodded, his eyes hooded and enigmatic.
Emily stood helplessly in her room. Word of her departure spread quickly through the house. Mrs. Otley arrived with a pair of housemaids, and together they began to pack Emily’s belongings.
“You must brace up, ma’am,” said Mrs. Otley. “It’s downright wicked of Miss Manley, though it’s not my place to question my betters.”
When everything was ready, Mrs. Otley summoned a footman to carry Emily’s trunk down to the hall.
“Leave me a few moments, Mrs. Otley,” said Emily. “I want to be alone, just for a moment.”
The housekeeper curtsied and left.
Emily pulled a chair up to the window and sat down, looking around the room, suddenly overcome by such a burst of fury and rage she thought she would be ill. How callous and unfeeling were the Manleys! How easily they took all this for granted! Her eyes roamed from the fire crackling on the hearth to the sofa, comfortable bed, and rich hangings. Heat and food and warmth. Never to be hers again. For one glorious afternoon she had been treated as a young lady of quality. Now she belonged nowhere.
Duke pushed his head against her hand, and she absent-mindedly scratched his ears. “I’ll beg them at the orphanage to let me keep you, Duke. But I don’t think they will. Oh, Duke. What is to become of us?”
At last she arose and, taking a last look around, went slowly from the room.
Lord Storm was standing in the hall when she descended the stairs, talking to an elderly gentleman. He broke off as Emily approached.
“It seems, Miss Winters, that we are to stay for the reading of the will. Sir Peregrine’s dying wish was that you should be present. To my surprise he has named me executor. Allow me to present Mr. Summers to you. Mr. Summers, Miss Winters.”
The lawyer peered shortsightedly at Emily over a pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez. “Ah, Miss Winters! Delighted!”
“Oh, Mr. Summers,” cried Emily. “You must help me. Please tell me the name of my benefactor, the person who paid for my keep at the orphanage. And I have longed to know the names of my parents.”
Mr. Summers looked uncomfortable. “I am afraid I must respect Sir Peregrine’s wishes and wait until the will is read before the family.
“It concerns yourself, Miss Winters, and Mr. and Miss Manley. Since we are all present, it would be an idea to gather in the library. I have already informed Mr. and Miss Manley of my intention, and they a
wait us there.”
Wonderingly, Emily followed the lawyer and Lord Storm. Duke padded in the shadow of her skirts. It had finally penetrated his small brain that things were in a miserable way and somehow that state of affairs was shortly to affect his comfort.
The library was a great cavernous room, little used by the family. Harriet and James were sitting on chairs before the table. Mr. Summers went immediately to the table and sat at a chair behind it. Lord Storm stood by the fireplace, and Emily drew up a chair near the table. All eyes were on the lawyer.
“Now that we are all gathered,” began the lawyer, crackling open sheets of parchment, “I shall communicate the contents of Sir Peregrine Manley’s will as briefly as possible. May I suggest the ladies have their vinaigrettes handy? They may find the intelligence contained herein of a somewhat shocking nature.”
“Do simply go ahead,” snapped Harriet.
The lawyer looked at Lord Storm, who nodded.
In his dry, precise voice, he began:
“‘Miss Emily Winters is my natural daughter, fathered by me on a serving wench at the Pelican Inn in Dover by the name of Jessie Winters, now dead many years—’”
“Aha!” cried Harriet. “I knew there was bad blood there!”
“Really, madam,” said the little lawyer coldly. “I think Miss Winters has received enough of a shock without having to suffer further unnecessary cruelty. I wished to impart the news to her in private, but it was Sir Peregrine’s dying wish that the news be given to her thus.”
The door opened and Clarissa Singleton floated in, smiling brightly. Her maid had informed her of the reading of the will. Her curious eyes roved from Harriet’s bright malicious eyes, to James Manley’s glassy stare, to Lord Storm’s rigid face, to Emily’s white shocked one.
“Have I missed anything?” she asked.
Mr. Summers ignored her. “I will now proceed with the will. Before I begin I can assure you that Sir Peregrine Manley was of sound mind. This is a summary of what provision he has made.
