~~~~~
MAY
The proposed outing to Stoneleigh Hall caused great excitement, and Lucy was not immune to it. After the frustrations of dealing with Deirdre and Winifred, a day in the countryside held much appeal. A change of scenery would do everyone good, and Mr Audley had generously invited everyone he knew to join the party. In honour of his liberality, he was graciously invited to move back to Longmere Priory again.
Augusta was tearful about being left out of so exciting an entertainment.
“Do you wish me to stay with you, Augusta?” Lucy said. “I am sure Mrs Exton will keep an eye on Deirdre and Winifred.”
“You are very kind, dear Lucy, but I would not deprive you of your day out. Besides, I will get a much better picture of Stoneleigh Hall from you. Peter will no doubt tell me only that it is a fine building in a good situation with a quantity of chimneys, and the girls will tell me that the ballroom is large enough for fifty couples. Mrs Exton will describe the chandeliers and Mrs Cherry the staircase. But you will tell me everything, and in the most expressive manner, so that I can quite imagine it in my mind.”
“Have you never seen the house at all?”
“No, never, and Leo has only been there once, when he came of age and thought it proper to introduce himself to the tenant farmers and staff, and reassure poor Mr Nightingale that he would not be thrown out. I wonder at him taking such a big party with him to view it for the first time. What can he mean by it?”
“It is more fun to make an outing of it, for otherwise I suppose he would be obliged to examine the attics and chimneys and such like dull features,” Lucy said merrily. “Whereas we shall make one circuit of the principal rooms and then move out to the gardens. I for one am very grateful to him, for it is a wonderful excuse to enjoy ourselves for an entire day. If you want company, perhaps one of the Miss Watfords—”
“Oh no!” Augusta said, blanching. “I know they are very good sorts of people, but I could not spend a whole day with any one of them.”
“Then what about the Miss Hardcastles? They will be staying behind, you know.”
Augusta looked dumbstruck. “The Miss Hardcastles? Here, in the morning room?”
“Why ever not?” Lucy said, trying not to laugh at her outraged face.
“But… Miss Hardcastle is chair-bound. How could she—?”
“When Mr Audley takes the ladies out for a drive, the footmen carry her chair down the stairs and lift her in and out of the carriage. Had it never occurred to you to invite them downstairs?”
“Why, no. I go to see them in their room, occasionally, but downstairs? Oh, but of course, there will be no one to see them that day, since everyone will be gone to Stoneleigh. Yes, I shall do that, Lucy dear. How clever you are to think of it.”
But Lucy was too ashamed of her employer to answer.
~~~~~
The day of the visit to Stoneleigh Hall dawned fair, with the promise of a warm day to come. The conveyances met at Longmere Priory, forming a large circle around the fountain at the head of the drive. Then began the delicate business of arranging who was to travel with whom, and in which vehicle, in order to provide the most comfort and least jealousy in all parties.
Four of the gentlemen had their own curricles, and immediately there was contention. Mr Exton wished Deirdre to accompany him, and Mr Cherry asked for Winifred’s company, but both were denied.
“They will travel in the barouche with me,” Mr Kingsley said brusquely. “If they behave themselves, I may permit them to drive back in one of the curricles.”
Lucy felt rather sorry for the two girls, thus embarrassed in front of everyone. Winifred was almost in tears, and although Deirdre put a brave face on it, Lucy could see that she was upset.
“Perhaps they may travel with Mr Audley and Mr Coylumbroke?” she suggested. “That would be unexceptionable, I believe. And that would leave space for the Miss Smythe-Hunters to drive with Mr Exton and Mr Cherry. Then there could be a change for the return journey.”
Mr Kingsley huffed and grunted and dithered, but all the young ladies implored his acquiescence, and Mr Coylumbroke, who had excellent manners, made a very pretty speech entreating him to be allowed the inestimable happiness of driving Miss Winifred, and eventually it was agreed. Lucy then allowed the others to dispose themselves as they chose, standing aside ready to be summoned to whatever place remained free. However, almost before she could catch her breath, Sir Giles Mathom was at her elbow.
“Plenty of room with me, Mrs Price. Come along now.”
Lucy turned to Mr Kingsley, but he nodded, not much interested, and so she allowed Sir Giles to lead her to his elderly but very handsome barouche and hand her in.
“There you are now. No, facing forwards, Mrs Price. You will want to have the best view, you know. Now then, permit me to pull this rug around you, like so. We cannot have you catching a chill, now can we?”
Was it her imagination, or did his hands linger rather longer than propriety demanded as he tucked the rug around her legs?
“Thank you, Sir Giles, that is very comfortable. There, I can manage now, I believe.” The barouche swayed as Sir Giles hauled himself into it, and plunked himself down beside Lucy. “Sir Giles, we have room for two more, I believe.” Then, as Sir Giles waved the footman nearer to close the door, she called out, “Mrs Jarvis? And Miss Jarvis… we have spare seats here, if you do not mind having your backs to the horses.”
They heard, they turned, they made, smiling, for the barouche and Sir Giles was obliged to welcome them and cover them with rugs too, although in a more perfunctory manner. And in a very few minutes more, the procession moved off, and Lucy was left to ponder the nearness of her escape, for theirs was the very last vehicle in the line. If the Jarvis ladies had not joined them, she would have been alone in the carriage with Sir Giles and how easy it would have been for him to find some reason to drop back from the others, or even stop the carriage altogether. She did not dislike Sir Giles as a dinner companion or whist partner, but she had no desire at all to get to know him more intimately than that.
But she need not have worried. As they followed the line of carriages around the turning circle and back down the drive, she saw Mr Coylumbroke with Winifred, moving slowly alongside in his rather splendid curricle.
“Good day to you all,” Mr Coylumbroke said, managing to doff his hat while perfectly controlling his team. “We are just going to bring up the rear to ensure no one falls behind, and you must watch out for us, too, eh, Mrs Jarvis?”
“Certainly, sir,” she called. She caught Lucy’s eye and smiled, understanding perfectly.
The drive to Stoneleigh Hall was accomplished without any misadventures. Lucy was not a great admirer of scenery, for to her mind one patch of muddy field or cow or stand of trees was much like any other. People interested her, however, and she chattered away to Mrs and Miss Jarvis as they rumbled through the burgeoning spring greenery of Shropshire. Miss Jarvis exclaimed over every stone and bush, it seemed to Lucy, and Mrs Jarvis pointed out distant hills or glimpses of houses tucked away behind high hedges, but Lucy was absorbed in watching the long train of carriages in front of them. They were immediately behind the Cherry carriage, and then the Smythe-Hunters’ coach, but when there was a bend in the road she could see further ahead, to Uncle Arthur’s rather battered barouche and Mr Exton’s curricle, and occasionally, when the road was straight enough and not overhung with trees, she could see all the way to the front, and Mr Audley’s stylish curricle, with Deirdre sitting rigidly beside him, gripping the seat tightly and looking neither to right nor to left. How grand it must be to sit so high up, and lead such a long line of vehicles, and have no dust in one’s face! And from time to time, Lucy twisted round to see Mr Coylumbroke bowling along in their dust, and Winifred, beaming with pleasure even as she held her hat firmly in place, waving merrily to Lucy.
Almost before she knew it, Sir Giles said, “Here we are then,” and they were turning in past a pretty li
ttle cottage, between elegantly wrought iron gates. To Lucy’s disappointment, there was no house in sight, and they drove for quite some time, the road curving about between towering shrubs and stands of trees, until they came to a wide lake. There on a rise on the far side sat the house. Lucy gasped at the size of it, the sheer magnificence of the building.
“Oh my!” said Mrs Jarvis in awed tones.
Sir Giles laughed. “Well, I have heard the place described as a fine house, and that it most certainly is. A very fine house indeed.”
“A fine house?” Mrs Jarvis said. “That hardly does it justice, Sir Giles.”
The carriages drew to a halt at the base of a pair of sweeping staircases, where an army of footmen and grooms materialised to tend the horses and open doors and unfold steps so the carriage passengers could alight. At the top of the staircases, a housekeeper oversaw the operation from the shelter of a porticoed arch as high as the house. Lucy sat, stunned by the grandeur before her.
“Mrs Price? May I offer you my arm?”
And there was the owner of so much splendour, his golden eyes laughing up at her. His usual elegance of dress seemed appropriate for the backdrop, yet it was hard to imagine this vast pile as his home, or as anyone’s home. Lucy had never before had occasion to wonder just what sort of life a man might have with an income of twelve thousand pounds a year, but here before her was the answer — a house large enough to accommodate a small town.
“How many rooms does it have?” she said, shaking out her skirts as she stepped down from the carriage.
He laughed. “Exactly one hundred, not counting the attics and offices and servants’ quarters. Do you like it?”
“Like it? I would not presume to dislike it, but it must be an uncomfortable place to live, I imagine.”
His face shifted, the smile slipping into a less certain expression. “It is not cosy, that is true. Come inside. There is breakfast waiting for us.”
The breakfast parlour was slightly larger than the assembly room at the Swan Inn. A long table was set out ready for them, with bread and cake and toast and preserves, and hot dishes on sideboards. Bowls of hothouse fruits were brought in — early strawberries with jugs of thick cream, and several kinds of currants, with dried apricots and peaches and plums in sweet juice, and fresh oranges.
There were more guests awaiting them — members of two neighbouring families, and Mr Audley’s man of business, Mr Dunbar, who had his wife with him. They had a house on the estate, Lucy understood, although they also spent time in Bath, as Mr Dunbar was needed by his master.
Aunt Laurel was in raptures, for this was her childhood home, where she had lived until she was eight. She remembered little of that time, but she told them everything she could call to mind, several times, and Lucy was quietly pleased to see her in such a setting, and pleased with Mr Audley for inviting his sister.
Lucy ate a little of whatever came within her reach, but in truth she was too uncomfortable to eat. Such grand houses as this were not within her experience. They were the preserve of dukes and earls, or those great families who traced their ancestry back to the Conquest. They were not the natural home of Mrs Walter Price, widow of a retired farm manager. So she sat nibbling, saying little, feeling uneasy.
And every time she looked down the table, Mr Audley’s eyes were upon her, watching her with an intensity which unsettled her. What was the meaning of it? All these people were his guests, yet his attention seemed fixed on her. Once, Mrs Exton spoke to him and had to repeat her words, for he had not heard her. And yet, even as he listened to her and made his reply, still he watched Lucy.
After breakfast, they made a tour of the principal rooms, each one more magnificent than the last, with great high ceilings painted with clouds and cherubs, the amount of crystal and gold dazzling. Then they ventured into the grounds, where peacocks splashed brilliant colour here and there. Archery targets had been set up on the lawn between the house and the lake, with comfortable chairs on the terrace for those not participating. Wine and cakes appeared, and some of the older members of the party nodded off.
Lucy felt rather lost. She was not needed as chaperon, for Mrs Exton and Mrs Cherry were supervising the younger people at archery, but nor did she feel at ease with the elders of the group.
Once again Mr Audley appeared beside her, creeping up on her as soundlessly as a cat. How did he do that, sneak up on her in that unnerving way?
“Not trying your hand at archery, Mrs Price?”
She shook her head. “I should be sure to shoot one of the peacocks, or lose the arrows in the lake.”
That made him laugh. “Then would you like to see some other part of the garden? What would interest you?”
“The kitchen garden,” she said at once. “I do like to see a productive kitchen garden.”
“Then let me show you my carrots and beans.” He held out his arm, but she hesitated.
“I do not wish to take you away from your guests, Mr Audley. You have no need to bother about me.”
“You are my guest, too,” he said gravely, his eyes intent. “Everyone else is occupied, and we shall not be far away, if either of us is needed.”
Reluctantly, she placed her hand on his arm, but it made her uneasy that he was devoting his attention to her. That was not right when he was the owner of all this splendour, and she was no one but a lowly paid chaperon. His other guests were far more important than she was. But she could scarcely refuse, so she let him lead her to the far end of the terrace, down the steps to a gravel drive and then round the corner. The walled garden was then within sight, and it was everything she had hoped it would be. The rows of carrots were straight, the beans grew tall, the fruit trees were proudly symmetrical and there was not a weed to be seen anywhere. Several gardeners hard at work bowed and doffed their caps as they strolled up and down the gravel paths.
It reminded her of her little garden surrounding Walter’s cottage at Mill Place, where she had grown much the same fruits and vegetables, although less neatly, it had to be admitted. But the memories of her hours on her knees, weeding or planting or picking, were happy ones, and she chattered away at great length, and her companion was kind enough not to interrupt her.
“So what do you think of it, now that you have seen both inside and outside?” he said, as they emerged from the kitchen garden, and gazed up at the house.
“It is so big,” she said, which made him laugh. “I mean, not just the house, but every room is so big. I feel like a doll from a baby house, and everything around me is the wrong size.”
“Ah, that is very perceptive of you.” He turned those amber eyes on her, the eyes which almost seemed to glow, they were so intent, and she melted a little under his regard. “What you have seen so far are the public rooms,” he went on. “They are designed to impress, and it works, does it not? I am impressed, too, for I have not seen them like this before, with all the furniture uncovered and the wrapping off the chandeliers and all the rugs down. They are a bit… overwhelming, even to me. But there are family rooms, too, where Mr Nightingale and his wife lived, and they are on a much more human scale. Would you like to see them?”
Again, a part of her felt she should protest at monopolising him, but she was irresistibly drawn to his powerful charm. His attention was intoxicating, and she could not bring herself to release him. Soon they would have to return to the others, but not yet.
They went into the house by a side door, and the housekeeper appeared almost at once, as if she had been watching them and waiting for the right moment to present herself.
“Mrs Price would like to see the family wing, Mrs Grace. Would you show us around?”
“Of course, sir, madam. This way.”
They walked through a number of rooms before turning off down a long, curving corridor. And there at the end of it was something that might almost have been a normal house, not unlike Woodside. The rooms were well-proportioned, although much smaller than in the main part of the house, and the fu
rniture was comfortable and well-worn. Lucy walked from room to room in delight, pointing out the modest size of everything and the many comforts. Mr Audley said little, leaving Mrs Grace to describe each room, but he smiled and seemed pleased with Lucy’s praise.
When they had returned to the main house and Mrs Grace had disappeared to attend to her other duties, Mr Audley drew Lucy’s attention to a portrait hanging in an alcove. “My father,” he said. “And here is the first Mrs Audley.”
A fierce woman in a huge powdered wig gazed down from the wall. On either side of her sat her two oldest daughters, Laurel, her pretty face framed in blonde curls, already quite a young lady, and Maria, a mischievous black-haired girl of three or four, while baby Caroline lay placidly in her mother’s arms.
“She looks like a stern lady,” Lucy said.
“So she was, and difficult, by all accounts. But she was never well, so perhaps that accounts for it. That was painted just before the family moved to Bath for her health.” Mr Audley turned his intense eyes on Lucy again. “So how do you like Stoneleigh Hall now that you have seen more of it?”
“It is beautiful, of course.” His acute gaze made her uncomfortable, so she turned quickly back to the portrait. How hard it was to reconcile this pretty little girl with poor, faded Aunt Laurel. And where were her sisters now? Maria, Caroline and the youngest, Martha, not yet born when this painting was commissioned.
“Do you think you will like to live here?”
It took a moment for her to drag her thoughts away from the picture, and realise the significance of the question. He expected her to live here in the future? “Live here?” she said, feeling stupidly lost. “Why will I live here? Do you have a position in mind for me?”
The Chaperon (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 2) Page 14
