Marrying the Mistress

by Juliet Landon

  In Prue’s absence, the shop continued to function just as if she was there, for now we had gained a very presentable young apprentice who had taken on many of the daily chores that used up precious time. She was a neat and willing girl, glad of the chance to join our company and so, with Betty as deputy manager and myself to keep an eye on our list of patrons, new designs and accounts, we were able to fulfil all our orders to everyone’s satisfaction.

  * * *

  That evening I called at Stonegate to order the phaeton and pair to be brought round to Blake Street early next morning, come rain or shine. I also bade Goody prepare for an overnight stay at Medworth’s house, since I would be unable to collect Jamie from the party before dark. What a nuisance those short days were. But looking back on those decisions, I can see how unclearly I was thinking, how desperately I was trying to juggle my responsibilities, and how spineless I was being by not explaining to my child that I was going to see Nana Damzell yet again, without him. I even chose not to tell him that he’d be staying overnight at Osbaldwick, sure that, between them, Cynthia and Goody would fill the gap left my by absence. Yes, I admit it; I was afraid of provoking another tantrum. We have a saying, in Yorkshire: ‘What the eye doesn’t see, the heart won’t grieve over.’ Applied to Jamie, it was patently nonsensical.

  Cynthia’s colourful description of the floods between York and the little village of Osbaldwick was not, for once, as exaggerated as I had thought. Although not of the high-perch design, the body of my phaeton was set well above the large back wheels and yet, even at that elevation, the water came within an inch of the floorboard, the horses wading belly-high through flooded tracks. Unusually, Goody was heard to comment that, if dear Mr Monkton could have bestirred himself to send his carriage for us, we would not be subjected to such danger, all for a birthday party. Personally, I was relieved he had not, since I was carrying hidden supplies for my family at Foss Beck.

  As soon as I could politely excuse myself from those gathered for the party, and with Jamie too occupied to notice, I went on my way eastwards out of Osbaldwick. Cynthia, so easy going, assured me that he and Mrs Goode were welcome to stay until I could collect them some time before dark the next day. However, not having ventured in this direction since the snowfall, I had not appreciated how serious the flooding was, kicking myself for not paying closer attention to Winterson’s maps. For mile after mile I drove the phaeton through the flooded lanes, even the higher ground being thick with mud and rubble, the ruts made by other wheels being too deep to get out of.

  I became increasingly concerned, for the skies darkened menacingly as rain began to sleet across the open moors, forcing the hardy sheep to huddle together for shelter. From rocky outcrops, water poured in angry brown torrents into deep gulleys, then across the track, the underground culverts being unable to cope with the volume. Then, and only then, did it occur to me that the usual dainty trickle of water at Foss Beck into the trout stream below would certainly now be as swollen as these.

  * * *

  I was right. The whole mercy mission was a complete disaster, for when at last I managed to reach Foss Beck Manor, the house was up to its second storey in water, completely cut off from the world, and from me. My shouts to the boys had to be conducted across a new lake while I dripped with rain, the phaeton leaning into the mud, the horses exhausted. The news from my brothers was that Pierre had left them, gone who knew where, after angry words. My instructions to make Mother and her companions ready to leave as soon as I could get a boat to them were greeted not with thanks, but with caution, my brothers unable to agree with me that she would go anywhere, even with me. At that, I grew angry and yelled at them to insist, telling them that I would be back the next day, though heaven only knew how I’d get back home that night in those dreadful conditions.

  * * *

  My journey home was no better, for the dark was falling and the horses were unable to find the road in the deepening water and, when the phaeton jolted to a standstill with a lurch to one side, I knew that to walk the rest of the way was my only option. Shivering with the cold, I began to unbuckle the horses from the phaeton. Then, through the howl of the wind, I heard a shout that made them whinny in reply, my own reaction being both joyful and concerned at some gruff traveller’s annoyance that my phaeton was in the way. No one would want to turn back or wrestle with a broken vehicle, having got so far. Paralysed with cold and wet, I stood with my ankles locked into the mud and my shoes buried somewhere behind me, my teeth chattering like castanets.

  Flickering lamps appeared, a coach-width apart. Two large horses loomed up with a dumpling-shaped coachman above them, with doors beyond that opened on both sides discharging men who called instructions and waded towards the horses as if this was all in a day’s work. One tall familiar figure strode forwards out of the grey wetness, leaving a wake to wash against the banks. His arms reached out, ready to catch me. ‘Hell!’ he called.

  Hell, or Helene? I wondered. Either would do.

  ‘I’m s-s-stuck,’ I gasped, flapping my arms to keep my balance.

  Grim and gloriously handsome, with rain dripping from his hair and face, he caught my wrist, bending towards me and ducking his head under my captured arm. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I want you to lie over my shoulder…go on…bend…that’s it. I’m going to pull.’

  I thought he meant the arm held hard upon his chest, but then I felt my feet move through the mud and my body hoisted high into the wind where I hung over the swirling water like a sea bird, a very limp and emotional sea bird that mewed with relief to be wrapped untidily around the neck of its beloved. ‘Burl,’ I sobbed into his broad back, ‘you came for me.’

  ‘Yes, and the sooner you stop galloping over here like an angel of mercy, woman, the better it will be for all of us. How the devil did you think you were going to reach Foss Beck when it’s under water?’

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘Of course I knew,’ he snapped. ‘It’s my property and it’s my business to know who lives on it. I’m not as nicked in the nob as all that. There.’ He lowered me carefully to the ground. ‘Stand there and wait.’ Pulling a rug from the carriage, he shook it out and parcelled me securely inside it, lifting me up on to the seat where the hollow patter of rain made a welcome break from the squall outside.

  ‘I don’t think you’re nicked in the nob,’ I muttered.

  ‘Then you should try thinking with your head instead of your heart, little fool, or I might be performing this wild goose chase once a month.’ The door closed, and I was too exhausted to be affronted, to answer back, or even to think of a snappy reply.

  As I saw it, I’d had little choice when to go, or by what method. As for the angel-of-mercy bit, that was what a man would think, especially one who sees a kindness as a chance to bargain. I lay there helplessly with my head on the velvet armrest, shivering and dizzy, half-listening to the comings and goings outside, the thud and splash of hooves as the horses were released.

  He grunted and closed the door, then quickly opened it again to cover my muddy feet with the rug. ‘Leave the phaeton,’ I heard him call. ‘We’ll come back for it tomorrow. Come on, lads. Let’s be away. Jump on.’

  My deliverance was made all the sweeter when he climbed in, lifting me into his arms to hold me across him with my legs along the seat and my head resting against his wet greatcoat. ‘I can do nothing about the wet,’ he murmured, ‘but I’m sorely tempted to beat the hell out of you, one day.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ I whispered.

  I felt his warm lips touch my forehead, then the softness of his handkerchief wiping my eyes and cheeks, the tightening of his arms to snuggle me closer to him. Rocked and lurched, my aching limbs succumbed to the warm dampness of his embrace while my mind wrestled weakly with an ever-growing mountain of problems. ‘I have to collect Jamie from Osbaldwick,’ I mumbled. Already my plans had become confused.

  ‘No, you don’t. Jamie is at home with Mrs Goode.’

  ‘Home? How d
id he get there? Did Medworth…?’

  ‘No. I took them. Then I set out to look for you. Don’t you ever tell anyone where you’re going these days?’

  ‘I told cook we wouldn’t be home for dinner.’

  ‘Extremely thoughtful of you. But that’s not quite the same, is it?’

  ‘It’s the best I could do. I didn’t know you’d be at Claude’s party too.’

  ‘Just as well I was,’ he muttered under his breath.

  But I heard, and sensed that there was more to this than a kindly lift home for my son and his nurse. ‘Why?’ I said, raising my head. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, pressing me back onto his chest. ‘Jamie is perfectly safe at home, and probably fast asleep. As I suspect you would like to be.’

  I sighed. If Jamie was safe, that was all I could ask for. I knew, however, that once I was home and dry, I would have some explaining to do, for this amazing man was not only Jamie’s guardian, but mine too, and he was taking the role very seriously indeed.

  * * *

  I have no recollection how long it took us to reach York, though I realised it could not have been as long as the outward journey. The rain had stopped by the time we reached Blake Street, and it was the regular rumble of cobblestones under the wheels and the hard clop-clop of hooves that woke me to the clammy warmth of my situation. Never had I been so thankful to be home, to be ministered to by my maid and housekeeper, to bathe in a hot tub, dress in warm robes and then to partake of soup and rolls by the fireside with my feet tucked into my best fur muff, mostly for effect. My hair was left loose to dry, the rainwater having done it no harm and probably some good.

  My Jamie was indeed sleeping soundly and, on careful inspection, showed no signs of injury. Nevertheless, as I sipped at my soup, I questioned Mrs Goode about their few hours at Osbaldwick, expecting to get no less than the full unadulterated female version rather than Winterson’s, which would probably not suit me half so well. He had promised to return in a couple of hours. There was no time to lose.

  ‘No, ma’am,’ said Mrs Goode as soon as the door closed behind the footman, ‘it was not exactly a tantrum, but Jamie has a little temper, as we both know, and he’s taken rather a strong dislike to Claude’s little friend.’

  I groaned. ‘Oh, not the friend again. What was it this time?’

  ‘The same insult as before, ma’am. Only this time, Jamie was not in a mood to ignore it. They were all chasing the ducks over by the mill-pond, with Mr Monkton and a friend of his standing nearby, talking. Then, before we knew it, the two boys were wrestling and pummelling, rolling straight into the pond where the reeds are. It’s flooded, you see. Personally, I would not have let them anywhere near it.’

  My soup spoon hit the dish with a clatter. ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘I’m afraid so, ma’am. Mr Monkton and his friend didn’t even notice what was happening. But Lord Winterson had just arrived in his carriage. I think he was expecting to see you and take you back home,’ she added, coyly. ‘His three hounds raced across the field to the mill-pond and took a flying leap into the water. It was Jamie’s shouts they heard, I think.’

  I whispered from between my fingers. ‘What then? Didn’t Mr Monkton see anything?’

  ‘No, ma’am. It was the wolfhounds the boys clung to. They’re so strong. They pulled them to the edge, barking like mad, and Lord Winterson went running full tilt, and climbed down into the water and lifted them out. I was there by that time, and Mrs Monkton too. I’m to blame, ma’am. I ought to have been there with them.’

  ‘No, my dear. Don’t blame yourself. Not when other adults were there, on the spot. Was he very upset?’

  ‘Jamie? Only a little, and not hurt. The other child was very frightened. Jamie told us in the coach what it was all about.’

  ‘Ah. So Lord Winterson knows?’

  ‘I felt it best to tell him of the first incident too. I hope I did the right thing, ma’am. Jamie was getting a bit mixed up about his parentage. Oh, dear,’ she said, turning a rosy pink. ‘I do beg your pardon.’

  ‘No need, dear Goody,’ I said. ‘It is confusing for a three-year-old, particularly when someone comes along to challenge what he’s been told. Did Mrs Monkton suggest you should go home?’

  ‘Oh, no. It was Lord Winterson who said we should go. I think he was rather annoyed with Mr Monkton, and no one protested when we left, not even Jamie. And I certainly didn’t. What a chaotic household, begging your pardon again, ma’am.’

  ‘So did Jamie’s guardian take him to task for brawling in company?’

  Goody’s tight-lipped disapproval changed to a fleeting smile before her sober reply. ‘Er…no, not exactly,’ she said. ‘But he did promise to teach him how to swim, in summer. And how to hit with the fist closed instead of open, tucking the thumb down.’

  ‘How to hit someone? God’s truth! What kind of a guardian is that?’

  From the doorway, a deep voice replied. ‘A useful one, I hope. I did knock, but you didn’t hear.’

  ‘Do come in, my lord,’ I said. ‘We were discussing the day’s events.’

  ‘Which is what I hope to do too.’

  Mrs Goode rose and bobbed a curtsy. ‘Good evening, my lord. Will you please excuse me, ma’am? I have things to attend to upstairs.’

  ‘Indeed I will. Thank you for all your help. Goodnight.’

  Typically discreet, she left us with a smile. Even though Winterson knew she was totally in my confidence, he closed the door behind her without suggesting that she might stay. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Two half-drowned Follets in one day. That must be some kind of record. Do I get a medal?’

  Chapter Eleven

  The way he looked at me across the cosy parlour, arrogance spiced with a trace of uncertainty, I would have given him anything he asked. But he had told me to think with my head instead of my heart, and my reply was guarded, taking into account his request for rewards after a kindness done. ‘Not a medal, but perhaps an hour of my company, my lord, for what it’s worth. Will that do from one half-drowned Follet? That, and my thanks for the rescue? I’ve heard about the mill-pond incident, and I’m most truly grateful to you.’

  With arms folded, he lounged against the door looking down his straight nose at me with eyes that roamed, halted, and roamed again, sparing me no little confusion. ‘How grateful?’ he said.

  Yes, anything he asked. ‘Oh, dear,’ I said, looking down at my hands. ‘Are we to talk of rewards so soon? Did you ask Jamie, too?’

  ‘No, he’s too young. I prefer to ask his mother instead.’

  My heart was misbehaving badly under his scrutiny. He’d been to Stonegate to change his clothes and to clean up, for he was almost as soaked as I. Now, he was perfectly dressed in a mid-grey tailcoat of smooth superfine with an M-cut collar over a waistcoat, just showing, of silver cut-velvet. It shone like pearls when he moved. The broad shoulder upon which I’d been hoisted only hours before was now unblemished by the slightest wrinkle. His beautiful head appeared to be supported by the white folds of his cravat, and the dark hair showed ridges of dampness along finger-raked waves. He was, in fact, heart-stoppingly desirable. He was also in my room, alone with me, and expecting something.

  ‘His mother,’ I said, ‘has been advised to use more common sense. Perhaps you could help her with that. Will you be seated, sir?’

  ‘I hoped you’d ask me.’

  ‘Forgive me. I’ve only just begun to thaw.’

  He pushed himself off the door and came forwards, settling himself into the wing-chair that Mrs Goode had just vacated. ‘So, if it’s too soon to discuss rewards, Miss Follet, may I ask how you managed to reach your family at Foss Beck? Is your lady mother improving?’

  ‘I didn’t manage to see her. I didn’t actually achieve anything I’d set out to achieve.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘You must be able to guess, after I’d heard how you intend to reclaim the site. If I’d known it was so badly flooded, I’d have tak
en help with me.’

  ‘So why d’ya think I’d drawn a red line round it on the map?’

  ‘Well, to mark it out for reclamation, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes, when the floods subside. The red line enclosed the worst areas, to show my father which part is earmarked for the greatest attention.’

  ‘Attention? You spoke of demolition as if no one lived there. If you knew my family lived there, why did you pretend not to?’

  ‘Because, Miss Follet, I prefer my father not to know. Would you rather I told him? If I’d thought you intended to race there like a mad March hare without first discussing the problem with me, I’d have told you to wait till it was safe.’

  ‘Much good the delay would have done when they’re going to have to leave for one reason or another. The place is in a terrible state, and they’re running short of food and fuel, animals drowned, hens stuck up on the roof. I promised my brothers I’d bring help tomorrow, so I have to make another attempt. Somehow. How long have you known?’

  ‘About your family? Since your visit in the snow. I made enquiries. I knew someone was at Foss Beck, because my bailiff told me. He and my steward keep a close eye on all the estate.’

  ‘My brothers intended to rebuild parts of it. They love the place.’

  ‘Using the money from contraband?’

  ‘Yes. They’ve saved and been thrifty. They work hard, too.’

  ‘And the cousin, Pierre Follet? Is he to be rescued too?’

  ‘Pierre has gone, so my brothers tell me.’

  ‘Aah! Has he indeed? Where? Back to France?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I assumed, that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t know. I shall find out when I get them here.’

  ‘Where…here? In York? You mean, in this house?’