by Leela Ash
Back in the carriage Englebert sat close with his arm around her shoulder, pretending to be fatherly; yet his rapid breathing gave him away. He was aroused by her closeness. Christabel felt numb and incapable of any feeling or speech and lay back against his arm feeling his hard fingers pressing against her. At that moment she did not care what he did; her life was in pieces and she was an easy target for all of the predators around her.
***
Without the safety net of Mrs Hudson and Stephens around, Englebert felt emboldened. Christabel was homeless and penniless. The young ward had been the subject of his lust and fantasy for years and now she was practically his. His cock was already stiff within his trousers and his hand slipped up to her breast. At first her body stiffened, it was after all the hand of Englebert Williams, but as he squeezed and fondled her in the confines of the carriage, she started to feel strangely aroused. Feeling her nipples start to respond and harden beneath his touch the older man felt encouraged. She closed her eyes and imagined Mr Crawley’s face before her.
"My poor Christabel. You don't need to worry about a thing. You are safe with me. Now how about a little kiss for your guardian?" Reaching across he straddled her with his leg, pushing his groin against her, his face red and close; lips wet and open.
His mouth was upon hers; greedy and slippery. It was not like the kiss of Charles; it was firm and demanding and she felt a little repulsed by the wetness of his mouth; his soft tongue slobbering against her own. His hand was upon her skirts, reaching up towards the top of her stocking and towards the flesh of her exposed inner thigh. Grinding his crotch against her leg, he let out a low moan as he quickly reached his climax and almost immediately pulled away from her. Flopping back into the carriage seat he sprawled, red faced and sweating; all his sexual cravings spent.
Luckily the drive home was short and a kiss and fondle were all that he had time for. Still, the experience had left her a little breathless and had done nothing to ease her desire, even if it was just Englebert.
“Now my dear, this morning has been a shock to you. I suggest you go and lie down to rest for a few hours and then you will feel a little better. I will wait in the house for you and perhaps we can take dinner together a little later to discuss our plans?”
Christabel flinched at the emphasis on ‘our’ plans. She needed time on her own, time to think, and all of this was impossible with Englebert constantly whispering in her ear. “Don’t come in Englebert, I will be fine. I don’t want anything more disturbing today. Go home, and perhaps we can talk later in the week. I just want some time on my own.”
Englebert shrugged and removed his arm, in a few weeks she would have nowhere else to go and would depend entirely upon him. He could afford to wait. “Not a problem, my dear, but I will call on you tomorrow to see how you are doing. Do not worry and try to rest. I will look after you.”
Kissing her hand, he helped her out of the carriage, his hand patting her bottom as she navigated the steps to the stones, and he continued to watch until she was safely inside. She looked so young and beautiful, so vulnerable. Soon she would be all his!
***
Hannah greeted her young mistress in the hallway, and as soon as the front door was closed Christabel burst into tears. The two women headed quickly upstairs to the safety of her bedroom and out of earshot of the servants; although they would soon hear of her plight and all of the gossip when Stephens and Hudson returned.
“Oh Hannah; what am I going to do? Even Mrs. Hudson will have more money than I shall. Englebert is coming to see me tomorrow and shall ask for my hand, I know he shall! And I won’t be in a position to refuse.” Christabel sobbed gently on the bed whilst Hannah cradled the poor girl in her arms.
“There must be another way my love; something will happen. If Mr. Williams does propose marriage then you will have to tell him it is too soon after Charles’s death, that you are still grieving. That will put him off for a while; at least to give you time to think.”
“But I have no other options Hannah. This Mr. Crawley has dashed any hopes that I might have had.”
“What is he like?” Hannah’s question was innocent but caused Christabel to blush.
“He’s quite young.”
“And attractive?” Hannah smiled at the young woman’s reaction.
“Hannah – we hardly know the man; he may be an imposter for all we know. Edward certainly hinted at the fact and even suggested that he and Arthur were colluding together and possibly had something to do with poor Charles death.”
Hannah frowned “Surely that is Edward speaking out of anger; he has no proof of this?”
“Nothing concrete, but it is strange, Edward was almost accusing poor Arthur of being involved in some kind of fraud. We know that he has gambling debts and who knows what else? I don’t particularly like Arthur, but I can’t imagine that he would be mixed up in all of this, even if he does need the money. Charles did leave him a more than generous provision in his will. Oh Hannah, I don’t know what to think!”
Sitting down on the bed next to her mistress, Hannah looked thoughtful for a moment. “Sometimes people say hurtful things under pressure, but if it is true about the money, then it does appear strange. I will keep my ears open in the servant’s quarters, you know how they love to gossip and just maybe someone has heard something. If your husband’s death was suspicious, then it may affect the content of his will; who knows what might happen?”
Leaving her young mistress to sleep, Hannah made her way back downstairs. She had heard Stephens and Hudson enter the house and the kitchen would be full of idle gossip. Maybe she would hear something to Christabel’s advantage.
As soon as she entered the kitchen, the buzz of voices quieted. Like the young mistress, she too, was an interloper and was not trusted by the older members of staff. Although polite, Mrs. Hudson was always stiff towards her and Stephens was a man of few words. As Christabel’s personal maid she didn’t have many dealings with the general run of the household and could keep herself much to herself for most of the day, but at mealtimes she would join the rest of them, taking her seat at the end of the table and making polite conversation.
Mrs. Hudson was now seated in front of the kitchen fire, sipping on a nip of brandy, her feet propped up on a small stool. The woman wasn’t old, perhaps late forties or early fifties, but she often complained of this pain or that ache and her feet seemed to be constantly swollen and giving her grievance. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she had been crying again, the two younger kitchen maids standing around her wide eyed. Mrs. Hudson had obviously been recounting the tale of the morning events.
Hannah was surprised that the woman still seemed to be grieving for her late master; she had considered the woman to be quite cold and heartless, without much feeling; perhaps she had been wrong. She thought the housekeeper would be celebrating her good fortune, but perhaps she had not told the good news to the rest of staff, and both were keeping their windfall a secret.
“We were just saying, Miss Simpson, what a shame it is for the young mistress. A terrible business on all accounts.” Mrs. Hudson was not interested in the mistress, only in further tittle-tattle and Hannah was not going to add to their gossip.
“It is indeed Mrs. Hudson.”
“So what is the young mistress going to do now that we have a new master?”
Hannah frowned “Nothing is for certain yet, Mrs. Hudson. There are still a number of legal procedures to go through and who knows what might happen?” She had already said too much and stopped. There was enough idle gossip around.
Mrs. Hudson sighed; she was not going to get anymore out of Hannah and changed the subject. “Well I suppose we had better look to making some lunch. I, for one, am in need of some sustenance after such a morning. Look lively Ruth, Daisy, there’s potatoes to be peeled and onions to be chopped.”
The two young kitchen maids immediately started to prepare for their chores; they were simple yet honest girls and were ruled with a rod of
iron by the steely Mrs. Hudson.
“Oh, Mrs. Hudson, I quite forgot.” Fishing a crumpled envelope out of her apron pocket, Daisy handed the letter over to the older woman. Mrs. Hudson studied the envelope carefully, her expression suddenly changing to one of shock.
“Who brought this?” She almost barked at the poor, timid girl. The envelope had no postage stamp and only her name was written in a scrawled ink on the front of the envelope. It had obviously not been delivered by the postman.
“A young man called this morning and he asked me to give you this and to say that he would call back later today.”
“His name?”
The young girl was visibly shaking. “I don’t know Mrs. Hudson; he didn’t say.”
Dismissing the girl with a cuff around the ear, Mrs. Hudson stuffed the envelope into her apron pocket and looked around. All eyes were watching the scene.
“Well, what are you all gawping at? Daisy, Ruth, get on with your chores, or it will be time for supper, let alone lunch. I must go and speak with Mr. Stephens.”
All through lunch, Mrs. Hudson was quiet, which was most unlike her. Hannah wished she could find out what was in the letter, but it would be almost impossible. The young girl had mentioned that the young man might call back – she would keep on the lookout.
After her own lunch, she took a tray up to Christabel. The young girl was wide awake and sat up in bed – she looked relieved at the sight of her maid and some color had returned to her cheeks. Hannah chatted whilst Christabel ate, telling her the news from below stairs.
“What if Mrs. Hudson’s young man and Mr. Crawley are one in the same?”
Hannah shook her head. “I doubt it, he was with you at the solicitors all morning and besides, Mrs. Hudson would have spoken to him then, surely?”
Christabel thought hard. “I suppose so. It doesn’t make sense and yet, he was the first to leave. He did seem in a hurry. I thought it was because Edward was getting angry, but maybe it was something else, maybe he left early to come here?”
“But how on earth would Mrs. Hudson know Mr. Crawley?”
Shaking her head, the younger woman sighed “We shall both have to be vigilant Hannah, and see what we can find out.”
Chapter Four
By the time Hannah returned downstairs a couple of hours had passed. Returning the young mistress’ luncheon tray to the kitchen, she was about to retire to her room for a while when she heard someone weeping. The sound was coming from a small room at the back of the kitchen that was kept for the sole use of Mrs. Hudson. Hannah hovered outside the doorway, wondering what to do. The housekeeper was prickly at the best of times, but she sounded so upset. Knocking gently, Hannah opened the door slightly and peered inside.
Mrs. Hudson was sat at her desk, the one where she usually sat every evening with a tot of brandy, pouring over the household accounts. Now she sat, miserably hunched over the dark wood, a letter crumpled on the surface and an old sepia photograph in her hand. On seeing Hannah, she sat up quickly in an attempt to pull herself together, quickly pushing the letter and photograph inside one of the desk drawers.
Despite her obvious discomfort she scowled fiercely at Hannah; annoyed that someone had witnessed her moment of weakness. "Yes Miss Simpson, is there something I can help you with?"
Hannah sighed. Why did the woman always have to be so cold towards her? They should be comrades in arms rather than enemies. "I just thought I heard something Mrs. Hudson and I wanted to check, to see if you were all right?"
The woman blew her nose on a delicate lace handkerchief that didn't look very practical and looked at Hannah through cold blue eyes. "Of course I'm all right. I'm perfectly all right. Why shouldn't I be?"
"I'm sorry to disturb you Mrs. Hudson." Hannah felt suitably chastised and closing the door behind her, stepped back upstairs. Something was definitely wrong and she had to find out what it was. Mrs. Hudson was not easily upset and it all seemed to be too much of a coincidence. Could there possibly be a connection with Lord Montgomery’s death? She would have to bide her time.
Later that afternoon, when the kitchen was quiet, Hannah ventured back downstairs. Both of the kitchen girls had gone off into town, having been given their half day leave early; there was not much work to be done with only the mistress at home now. Mrs. Hudson was at the market, sorting out the menu for the week, while Stephens was in the master’s room, organizing the clothing to be stored, donated, or thrown away.
Crossing over the empty kitchen, Hannah hesitated outside the door of the housekeeper’s room. Her throat was dry and she could feel her heart racing in her chest. Normally, she would not dream of prying into someone else's business, but it was something she had to do for the sake of her poor mistress.
Placing her head near to the door she listened carefully; all was quiet within. Glancing around to make certain she was alone, Hannah pushed slowly on the door.
There were no windows in the room and at first it was difficult to see. Opening the door wider to let in more light, she crossed over to the desk. What if it were locked? She would have risked being caught for nothing.
Moving her fingers below the surface of the desk she felt around for the small brass handle to open the drawer. Tugging lightly, the drawer opened with ease. She had half expected it to be empty, but Hannah's heart skipped a beat, for there lay the crumpled letter and beneath it a faded photograph.
The letter was short.
I need to see you urgently. I am staying nearby but it is a slum of a place. I need money and fast. Don't let me down like before. I haven't forgotten. I will call again tomorrow at ten in the evening.
A.
The words were threatening and there was an undertone of malice in the letter. Who on earth could be writing to Mrs. Hudson in such a hateful way? The words had obviously caused the woman much distress.
Hannah turned her attention to the small photograph and was surprised to see the portrait of a woman with a small boy sat upon her knee. The woman looked young but rather severe, with her hair scraped up into a formidable bun, the dark eyes looking directly into the camera lens. There was no doubt that the woman in the photograph was a younger Mrs. Hudson; but what about the boy?
He looked angelic in his sailor suit; a stray light curl dangling from his jaunty cap. There could be no don't that this must be Mrs. Hudson’s son; the same deep eyes with a touch of willfulness in the young man’s gaze.
Could this be the young Mr. Andrew Crawley, and the author of the letter?
It was hard to put an age on the picture. Mrs. Hudson could have been any age from twenty to thirty-five. But that could mean that the child would now be in his twenties, just like Mr. Crawley. There was no doubt in her mind that the author of the letter must be the same young boy in the old photograph.
Hannah started with fright at the sound of footsteps in the kitchen just outside, and in a panic stuffed the letter and photograph back into the drawer, just as Stephens walked past the open doorway.
"Miss Simpson, can I help you?"
She could feel her face flush, the guilt immediately obvious as her voice shaking slightly with fear. "Mr. Stephens. I was just looking for a sheet of writing paper. I have a letter to write and seem to have run out of my own paper. I didn't think Mrs. Hudson would mind.” The words came out in a garbled rush as she thought quickly on her feet. Mr. Stephens eyed her suspiciously, but displayed little emotion.
"I believe there are some sheets on top of the desk Miss Simpson. It's a cheap paper she uses for writing out the shopping lists, but no doubt it will be more than adequate and serve your purpose.”
Hannah had not seen the paper and her hand trembled as she picked up a few sheets under his watchful gaze.
"Now, if you have quite finished Miss Simpson?"
Stepping quickly out of the room Hannah could feel her whole body start to shake as Stephens closed the door behind her. Taking a large bunch of keys from his belt, he proceeded to lock it. She wondered how long he had been
in the kitchen and what he had seen. He would be sure to tell Mrs. Hudson that she had been snooping around in her room, but had he seen her with the letter and photograph?
As she headed for the stairs the old man called her back. "Oh Miss Simpson?"
Halting on the bottom stair she glanced around, the butler standing, watching her carefully. "If you need anything in future, then please ask. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson or I will be more than happy to assist you.”
With his rebuke ringing hotly in her ears, she set off to tell Christabel all about her findings.
***
That evening as Hannah walked into the kitchen in readiness for her evening meal, she could sense a tension in the room. She could tell that Stephens had already spoken with Mrs. Hudson; her stare was icier than usual. Ruth and Daisy were still out and supper would be difficult.
"I'm not feeling too well. I think I'll take a tray to my room. The mistress is still asleep and I can take her something up to her room when she wakes.” Fetching a plate, she spooned some of the vegetables and meat onto it before covering it over with a cloth, and placing it on a tray.
As she was about to carry it out to the stairs Mrs. Hudson caught her by the arm. "Did you manage to write your letter Miss Simpson?" The cold stare in her eyes sent a chill right to Hannah's heart.
Chapter Five
The following day was a bright, beautiful spring day. Christabel had slept through until morning; exhausted by the events of the last few days. Yet her dreams had been complicated, disturbed by Hannah's findings. She had dreamt of the handsome and young Mr. Crawley. It almost seemed a slight on her husband, even if it was only just a dream. She had been staring over poor Charles grave when the young man had stolen up behind her and taken her by surprise. His strong arms had pulled her to the ground, onto the same earth that now covered her dearly departed, his hands up her skirts and pulling at her delicate undergarments.
