A Bachelor Establishment

by Isabella Barclay

  ‘And now, this has been a difficult interview for all concerned. I can see, ma’am that you are still deeply shocked. My other reason for calling was to ascertain the name and address of your man of business, who resides, I believe, in London, so that I may call on him with all the papers and documents he will demand.’

  ‘I believe I shall be able to provide these details, sir,’ murmured Porlock.

  ‘Thank you. I shall leave our London address with you, should Mrs Bascombe wish to contact us at all. I expect when she is a little recovered, she will have many questions.’

  Porlock bowed.

  Mrs George Bascombe rose to take her leave. Casting a worried glance at Mrs Bascombe, who, although she had automatically risen with everyone else, was plainly not thinking clearly, she put out her hand, saying in her pretty voice, ‘I am so sorry, Mrs Bascombe. This has been such a shock for you. We will leave you in peace now, but I do hope I may write to you. I have never had a sister before and have very much looked forward to making your acquaintance.’

  Mrs Bascombe blindly shook her hand. Major Pirie Bowed and Porlock ushered them from the room. Lord Ryde followed them out. The door closed behind them.

  While Porlock disappeared to fetch the promised information, Major Pirie expressed his concern for Mrs Bascombe.

  ‘This has been a difficult time for her,’ said Lord Ryde. ‘She sustained an accident a few days ago that has confined her to this house. As no doubt they told you at Westfield’

  ‘Oh no, we did not call in. My sister felt we should not push ourselves forward. Especially since we do not expect to return for a long while.’

  ‘I think, when Mrs Bascombe is feeling a little better, she will appreciate such thoughtfulness.’

  ‘I hope the accident was not too serious. Today’s news will not have helped.’

  ‘No, indeed. I believe this is your carriage.’

  The mud-splashed conveyance pulling up outside the door was undoubtedly hired, but of good quality. The Major was obviously a man of means.

  ‘A cut above your average hired team,’ said Lord Ryde. ‘From the Red Lion in Rushford?’

  ‘No, we came directly from Hereford.’

  ‘Will you return there tonight?’

  ‘We are not sure. My sister tires easily. Kitty, are you ready?’

  Porlock approached and proffered a piece of paper.

  ‘You should find everything you need there, sir.’

  ‘Thank you. Once again, my lord, thank you for your hospitality. Will you convey our best wishes to Mrs Bascombe and tell her we hope for a speedy recovery.’

  ‘I shall do so. Good day, Major Pirie, Mrs Bascombe.’

  He bowed and stepped back.

  ‘What a pleasant couple,’ said Lord Ryde, watching the carriage rattle away.

  ‘Indeed, my lord.’

  ‘Please can you send Miss Fairburn to Mrs Bascombe and then ask Sir William and Mr Martin to join me in the library.’

  ‘At once, my lord.’

  ‘And you too, Porlock, if you please.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Mrs Bascombe was barely aware of being helped to her room. Pausing on the threshold, she stared blindly, as if she had never seen it before. Tiller, who had not seen that look on her face for many years, closed her mouth on what she had been going to say and at once bustled forward.

  ‘I have no idea what has happened,’ whispered Miss Fairburn. ‘I believe she received visitors – two strangers – who have since departed.’

  ‘Best leave her to me, miss,’ said Tiller, gruffly. ‘She shouldn’t be up. I told her so. I’ll try to get her to lie down a little.’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Lady Elliott. ‘I am convinced she has not yet recovered from her wound.’

  ‘Was it bad news? Did they bring bad news, my lady? A member of her family, perhaps?’

  ‘I really don’t know. I shall go now to speak to his lordship. Miss Fairburn, will you accompany me?’

  Laura hesitated, torn between curiosity and loyalty.

  Tiller, who wanted Mrs Bascombe to herself, and was agog to know what had occurred downstairs, ushered them both gently but firmly out of the door.

  When she turned back, worryingly, Mrs Bascombe was exactly as she had left her.

  Alternately coaxing and cajoling, she got her laid down upon her bed, covering her with a soft blanket, all the while keeping up a gentle commentary on the events of the day, the weather, the state of Ryde House, anything she could think of, because the awful, blank expression on Mrs Bascombe’s face alarmed her more than she would admit, even to herself. She had thought those days were done.

  She closed the curtains, shutting out the day, and built up the fire. Silence and warmth filled the room. When she looked next, Mrs Bascombe had closed her eyes, so Tiller, supposing her mistress wished to be alone, as was always her preference, quietly withdrew.

  When she returned, some twenty minutes later, Mrs Bascombe was gone.

  Downstairs, Lord Ryde, along with Sir William and Mr Martin, had just finished issuing instructions to an astonished Porlock, when he glanced out of the window to see Mrs Bascombe making her way towards the lake. That she was in some distress was apparent, even from this distance.

  ‘You go after her,’ said Sir William, recovering from his surprise. ‘Mr Martin and I will make all the arrangements necessary. Go at once.’

  His lordship needed no further urging. He left the room and as hatless as Mrs Bascombe herself, was soon striding across the long grass after her.

  The day was blustery and there were spots of rain in the wind. In what state of mind must she be in to be out, without hat or coat, on a day like this? And what were Miss Fairburn or Lady Elliott about to let her do so? Anxiety sharpened his temper.

  He found her standing at the end of the old, rickety jetty, staring down into the deep, dark water. A brief inspection confirmed it unlikely to take his weight as well and he dared not approach further. He halted some ten paces away and made himself take two or three deep breaths before speaking softly.

  ‘Elinor, I do believe the jetty is unsafe. Please allow me to take you back to the house.’

  She made no response.

  He tried again, saying in a slightly brisker tone, ‘Actually, I know the jetty is unsafe. It always has been. I vividly remember the last part giving way when I was a very small boy and being precipitated into the water. I know you take great pleasure in regarding me as the brooding hero of romantic legend, and I am sorry to shatter your illusions, but at the time, I had not learned to swim. If it had not been for the prompt action of my governess of the time, a Miss Peabody, who bundled up her petticoats and jumped in after me as I floundered with all the buoyancy of a small rock, I would not be standing here today.’

  Still no response.

  ‘Before, however, you consider the commissioning of a small monument to the lady’s bravery and dedication to her charge, I should point out that Miss Peabody herself had all the buoyancy of a large rock. The two of us were very noisily and splashily drowning when fortunately, one of the gardeners, hearing her screams, came to investigate and was able to pull us both out. However, I believe in giving credit where credit is due and but for her piercing shrieks, we would certainly have drowned. The point I am making, Elinor, is that should you fall in, I think it extremely unlikely I would ever be able to reproduce those extraordinary sounds and thus ensure your rescue. So, I’m begging you, please, come back at once.’

  She turned her head. ‘I note there is no mention of you jumping in to save me.’

  ‘My dear girl, you cannot be serious! These boots came from Maxwell’s in London and you would not believe what they cost me.’

  ‘You could take them off.’

  ‘By which time you would have long since vanished beneath the surface.’

  She sighed.

  ‘Enough, Elinor. Come to me.’

  He held out his hand.

  For a long while, she stood motionless, an
d then, to his enormous relief, slowly made her way back along the creaking jetty.

  He took her hand, and well aware there would be curious eyes watching them both from the house, led her under the fresh green canopy of a nearby tree. Taking off his own coat, he draped it gently around her shoulders.

  ‘We should go back to the house,’ she said quietly.

  ‘In a moment.’

  She stood silently, staring at the ground.

  Lord Ryde had never been a man for regret. What was done was done and could never be undone, but he knew now, with great certainty, that if he had anything to offer, anything other than a derelict estate and a disgraced name then he would offer it. Now. This moment. Freely, and with great happiness, but it was twenty years too late for that. The knowledge hit him like a blow.

  ‘Did you love him so very much?’

  Her head came up. ‘Love him? Yes, of course I did. He was my protector. In a world filled with … we were naturally thrown together a great deal. He was young and impressionable. I think he saw himself as my parfait, gentil knight. Of course I loved him. I loved him a great deal. I suspect, however, that you mean – was I in love with him? – and the answer is no.’

  She went on.

  ‘All this is my fault. If I had managed to escape away to my room as soon as he started to … That was my usual course of action. I would lock myself in with Tilly and he could rage and bluster all he liked, but he couldn’t get in and then he usually wandered off and drank himself unconscious and Porlock would tell us when it was safe to come out. I just didn’t move fast enough that night. If I had been able to get away, then George wouldn’t have intervened and then he wouldn’t have been thrown out, and he wouldn’t have gone to Ryde House, and maybe your father wouldn’t have died, and you wouldn’t be poor and George wouldn’t have had to flee – to India, of all places – and he wouldn’t have died of fever. He was on his way home. He was coming home. He could have explained what happened. Why would he come home unless he was innocent? And now he’s dead.’

  Her voice rose sharply at the end.

  He said gently, ‘You will never convince me about George Bascombe, Elinor. We must agree to differ on that subject. I am sorry he is dead, because I can see his death is causing you great distress and I am sorry for it. I will not insult you by saying perhaps it is all for the best because you will never agree, but it is very possible that he might have been arrested the moment he set foot in England. He – and you – have been spared that. If you want to remember your friend, remember him as a boy, living with you at Westfield. Don’t remember that night. Don’t even think of it. Find a few happy memories and keep those in your heart instead.’

  She dragged a sleeve across her face. The spots of rain fell faster now.

  ‘Is that what you do?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Is that what you do? Remember only the happy times? And keep them in your heart?’

  Now did not seem to be the moment to say that his heart was empty. And besides, he wasn’t sure that was true any longer.

  ‘I have seen many things. The Acropolis at dawn. Snow on the Alps. And the Pyrenees. Fields of cherry blossom in the spring. More golden sunsets and rosy-fingered dawns than you can possibly imagine. Strange places and strange people.’

  ‘What an empty answer.’

  Of course it was. Because he himself was empty. But, like Mrs Bascombe, he had a streak of resilience.

  ‘Dear God, madam. Much more of this and I’ll be plunging into the water with you. Do you think they’ll say it was a lovers’ pact?’

  She stared at him for a moment, shocked and then began to laugh.

  And then began to cry.

  He let her, simply pulling her further under the tree as she sobbed. And then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. She dragged her sleeve across her nose and sniffed hard.

  ‘You’re very damp today, Mrs Bascombe,’ said his lordship, matter of factly. ‘Soggy, even. Allow me to pass you my handkerchief.’

  She took it from him, pantomimed wringing it out, blew her nose, and then tucked it into her sleeve.

  ‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that on occasions similar to this one, it is customary to request the user to keep the usually revolting object. Since you are, of course, aware of my straightened circumstances, I have no hesitation in requesting you to return it with all speed.’

  Mrs Bascombe obligingly dragged the handkerchief from her sleeve and offered it to him.

  His lordship regarded it and sighed. ‘My acquaintanceship with you, Mrs Bascombe, has added new layers to the horrors of poverty. Please keep it.’

  Mr Martin, meanwhile, had lost no time in acquainting an astonished Miss Fairburn with the substance of the visit. Miss Fairburn’s first thought was that if she and Elinor had to leave Westfield then it really made very little difference whether Mr Martin went to America or not, and immediately reproached herself for her selfishness. She had always said she would never leave Elinor and how much more would she cling to her now there was the possibility they must find a new home.

  Lady Elliot, hearing that Sir William had to return to Rushford on urgent business took such news in her stride. As the spouse of a serving Justice of the Peace, she was aware that these things frequently happened. She was, in any case, far more interested in the day’s events at Ryde House.

  She, Mr Martin, and Miss Fairburn were sitting in the drawing room, discussing the events of the day. Mr Martin was explaining, not for the first time, that the Major and his sister were actually extremely pleasant people who had behaved exactly as they ought and had certainly shown no signs of pushing themselves forwards.

  ‘Their behaviour towards Mrs Bascombe showed the greatest respect and discretion,’ he said. ‘She may remain at Westfield for as long as she wishes. They made a strong plea for her to make her home with them, should she wish to do so. I believe it was the news of Mr Bascombe’s death, rather than their actual appearance which caused Mrs Bascombe such distress.’

  Miss Fairburn went again to the window to peer anxiously across the grass in search of her friend. Lady Elliott, however, more than slightly mollified by Mr Martin’s words, was engaging in a little wishful thinking. Major Pirie was, after all, a single man, not much above thirty, if that, and the arrival of a single man in such a restricted neighbourhood … She began to calculate how long before Clara was out and whether it would be advantageous to bring Louisa, undoubtedly the prettier of the two, out at the same time. She was roused from this reverie by the sound of footsteps on the gravel outside.

  ‘They’re back,’ said Mr Martin.

  They were admitted by the ever-watchful Porlock, who subjected his mistress to a discreet inspection, drew her to one side, and said, ‘I wonder if I might have a word with you, madam?’

  Yes, of course, Porlock. What is it?’

  ‘Are you feeling better, ma’am?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Much better,’ said Elinor, feeling anything but.

  ‘Well, the thing is, ma’am … with everything as uncertain as it is at the moment … everything is changing – which is natural and right, but I wanted to say …’ he paused again, and then with some difficulty continued, ‘I think today has brought home to us all that the old days, for whatever reason, are drawing to an end. Mrs Stokesley and I – well, ma’am, we had always hoped one day to be serving Mr George – and possibly Mr George’s children, too. Well, I think it inevitable that whatever transpires from today’s events, nothing will be the same afterwards. One day there will be new people at Westfield. Young people, probably, and not to put too fine a point on it, Mrs Stokesley and I – we’re not as young as we were and so I wanted to say, when you leave Westfield, ma’am, that Mrs Stokesley and I would count it a privilege to be allowed to accompany you. It is a pleasure to serve you, ma’am, wherever you go. And we thought that having us with you would be beneficial to us all. We could – ease each other through difficult times, as it were.’

  She
stared at the floor for some moments until she was able to command her voice and then laid her hand on his forearm and said, ‘Let us hope it does not come to that, my dear friend, but if it does …’ she stopped again. The magnitude of such an offer was not lost on her. Both Porlock and Stokesley had served at Westfield nearly all their lives. Mrs Stokesley had been born on the estate. Westfield had been their home for so long … what could she possibly say to such an offer? It was impossible to tell them she could not afford to take them with her. That the sum of six pounds, thirteen shillings, and fourpence was all she had or was ever likely to have in the entire world. That it was possible that Porlock had more money in a sock under his bed than she herself possessed. But an offer had been made – a staggeringly generous offer and she must respond.

  ‘Thank you, Porlock. And please thank Mrs Stokesley, too. I am honoured that you should feel …’

  She pulled herself together.

  ‘Whatever happens, I shall never forget what you have said. Thank you, my dear friend.’

  He nodded, much moved himself, and melted away to the servants’ quarters.

  Lord Ryde, who had paused in the shadows to take a pinch of snuff, returned his box to his pocket and watched in silence as she crossed the hall and entered the library.

  He was tempted – strongly tempted – to request the favour of an interview with Mrs Bascombe at that very moment. There were things that should be said to her but it would not do. There had been enough high-flown emotion today. There would be time enough later on. He himself needed a period of quiet and he was certain Mrs Bascombe did as well.

  Entering the library in her wake, he found Mr Martin, Miss Fairburn, and Lady Elliott setting themselves up for a not very serious game of vingt-et-un.

  Drawing her near to the fire, he said, ‘What do you say, Mrs Bascombe? Shall we leave them to their trivial pursuits? Do you play chess, ma’am?’

  ‘I do, sir. I play reasonably well.’

  ‘I daresay, ma’am, but do you play well enough to challenge me?’

  ‘How often our thoughts run together, my lord,’ she replied amiably. ‘I was just thinking the same thing about you.’