by Louise Allen
Susan bustled in with the ewer. ‘Good morning, Miss Hester. Which gown would you like this morning?’
‘Oh, just the dimity for now. I think I might drive into Tring this afternoon-I never did buy Maria’s wool and I expect there are a number of other things we need.’ Hester hopped out of bed, feeling invigorated by the thought of some shopping, even though she suspected the small town would have few really tempting shops.
As she stepped out on to the landing she could hear a vigorous altercation coming from the spare room. She pushed the door open to find Miss Prudhome, one finger raised to wag under Jethro’s nose and the lad himself, somewhat white but determined, with one leg in his breeches and one out. His large shirt covered him with perfect decency, but he still blushed scarlet at the sight of Hester.
‘Jethro, what are you doing out of bed? Get back this instant.’
‘That is exactly what I have been telling him, Hester.’ Maria sounded thoroughly flustered. ‘But he insists.’
‘Do you want us to put you back to bed?’ Hester threatened, advancing on the lad who managed to negotiate the other leg of his breeches and backed away from her.
‘Miss Hester, my shoulder feels better if I’m not lying down, honest it does,’ he protested.
‘The doctor said you were to rest for a week.’
‘I can do that downstairs. Please, Miss Hester, I’m going out of my mind, stuck up here. I can sit in the kitchen, quiet-like, and read my book.’
‘Very well, but only if you promise that if Miss Prudhome thinks you look tired or unwell and orders you back to bed, you go with no argument. Now, is that a promise?’
‘Yes, Miss Hester.’
‘Then finish getting dressed.’
‘Only if you ladies go out. I’m not seven, Miss Hester!’
‘Er, no. Of course not. Come along, Maria, and leave Jethro to finish dressing.’ Hester managed to keep a straight face until they were out of the door. ‘Poor Jethro, I do feel he has a hard life sometimes in a household of women. Perhaps Parrott will not mind if he walks over to the Old Manor one day soon for another talk.’
They reached the kitchen to find Ben Aston the handyman propping up the door into the yard and chatting to Susan. He straightened up as Hester entered and knuckled his forehead. ‘I came round in case there was anything you needed doing, Miss Lattimer, what with last night an’ all.’
‘What about last night?’ Hester kept her voice calm with an effort.
‘All the lights on back here, thought perhaps you’d had the burglars or som’at.’
‘Burglars? Goodness, no. Young Ackland was very unwell in the night and we were up for most of it brewing hot possets and warming bricks and I don’t know what else. But it is good of you to be concerned, Aston. How come you were around at such an hour?’
‘Up early to a sick cow, Miss Lattimer,’ he answered glibly.
Poaching, Hester translated to herself. It just went to show how difficult it was to keep anything secret in a village.
‘Now you are here, you can finish turning out the sheds in the yard. Let me have a look at everything you find, but I expect most of it will have to be burned. Then sweep them out and check the roofs for leaks, if you will please.’
They were finishing their belated breakfast to the sound of thumps as Aston tossed a seemingly endless mountain of junk out into the yard when Mrs Dalling arrived for her day’s work at the Moon House. Hester had come to an arrangement with the two village women recommended by Mrs Bunting that they would take it in turns to come in daily on five days of the week for the rough cleaning, the washing, to prepare vegetables for meals and to make bread. In this way, most of the heavy work was taken care of and the household had their privacy by the evening.
Hester and Maria took themselves off to the drawing room, leaving Susan organising Mrs Dalling and Jethro seated in the big Windsor chair by the range with a cushion behind his back and Mr Parrott’s book on his knee.
Hester picked up a pile of bills and her accounts book and Maria started to rearrange a winter bouquet of evergreens on the mantel. But she seemed disinclined to concentrate on the task.
‘What do you think Lord Buckland will do if he finds Sir Lewis with a black eye?’
Hester frowned at the butcher’s account. ‘Is it possible we consume so much stewing steak? Sir Lewis? I have no idea; presumably his lordship has arrived at some plan.’
‘Will he call him out, do you think?’ Miss Prudhome stood, one limp ivy frond in her hand, an excited glint in her eye.
‘I have no idea, Maria. Probably he will do nothing to disclose our suspicions. Now, please, do let me concentrate on these accounts.’
‘Perhaps he will hit him again.’ This seemed to gratify the genteel companion to a surprising degree. ‘He most certainly deserves it.’
‘Yes.’ Hester nibbled the end of her quill abstractedly. The image of Guy, standing over a cowed and beaten foe who had been felled to the ground after a spirited flurry of blows, was a stimulating one. The fantasy developed rapidly to the point where the earl strode over and took Miss Lattimer in his arms, passionately embracing her and raining kisses upon her upturned face.
Hester pulled herself together to find a large blot on her account book. This must stop. It was dangerous folly she was deluding herself with-the one thing that was certain in the life of Miss Hester Lattimer was that no respectable alliance with any gentleman was possible. To fall in love with an earl could have only two endings: heartbreak or the acceptance of a carte blanche.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hester was still feeling somewhat subdued when luncheon was finished. Although she would have been quite happy to take bread, cheese and ale at the kitchen table, Susan and Maria were both shocked at the thought.
‘Not with outside staff present,’ Miss Prudhome pronounced and Susan sniffed and nodded her agreement.
Hester supposed they were right; it was all part of appearing to be the upright, conventional spinster that she must now portray herself as being. Doubtless news of any unconventional behaviour would be all around the village in no time and would soon reach the ears of Mrs Redland and Mrs Bunting.
So she and Maria sat down in the dining room and partook of exactly the same meal, only off china and glass instead of earthenware and pewter, served by Susan wearing a crisp white apron.
‘That Ben Aston’s fishing to know if anything odd’s been happening,’ she reported as she cleared the plates and brought in a bowl of fruit. ‘I told him that Jethro near breaking his neck was more than enough oddity for us and none of us held with nonsense about ghosts and he didn’t ask any more.’ She glanced towards the door. ‘I reckon the whole village is waiting to find out if the stories about the strange goings-on are true.’
This aspect of village curiosity had not occurred to Hester and she tapped her fruit knife thoughtfully against her plate as she considered it. ‘I don’t think having Aston and the women here will do any harm, providing we are all discreet. Everyone will soon get bored if they don’t hear of any strange happenings, and beside anything else, they will be able to observe that there is no truth in all that nonsense you heard at the Bird in Hand about his lordship.’
‘Not if they know he was here at three in the morning,’ Susan observed pertly, whisking out of the door before Hester could retort.
She finished her apple and got to her feet. ‘Would you care to come into Tring with me, Maria’?’
‘Thank you, but I promised Mrs Bunting I would help her with the church flowers this afternoon.’ She broke off with one of her anxious twittering noises. ‘Oh, but Jethro cannot accompany you-should I send to let Mrs Bunting know I cannot join her after all?’
‘No, there is no need for that. I am sure; this is hardly London, Maria. I am sure a lady can shop in a small market town without any fear of causing comment.’ And it would be pleasant to be alone for a few hours, she mused as she collected the list of things Susan had thought of that could not be pur
chased at the village shop.
Ben Aston harnessed Hector and she set off in the gig, feeling quite adventurous. She had often driven alone when in Portugal, but never in England, and, although the roads were far superior, the traffic was heavier. For the first time she could not rely on having Jethro to jump down and take Hector’s head, or check for her that she was not too close to the kerb on narrow streets.
Halfway down the length of the Green she came upon Annabelle Redland, strolling along, her bonnet dangling by its strings from one negligent hand, an expression of dissatisfaction on her face.
‘Good afternoon.’ Hester reined in. ‘A pleasant day for a walk, is it not?’
‘I suppose so,’ Annabelle agreed, ‘providing that is what one wishes to do.’
‘And you do not?’
‘No. Mama said we could go for a drive, but now there is the most dreadful row over the downstairs maid who is…’ she lowered her voice, although there was not another person within fifty yards ‘…in an unfortunate condition.’
‘Oh dear,’ Hester said sympathetically. ‘Is the father willing to marry her?’
‘She will not say who it is, that is why there is such a dreadful row,’ confided Miss Redland. ‘Mama is threatening to call in the vicar and I am not supposed to know anything about it so I have to go out for a walk.’
‘Would you care to come into Tring with me?’ Hester offered. ‘I only have a rather tiresome shopping list, but it would be a change of scene.’
‘Yes, please.’ Miss Redland was up on the seat beside Hester without a second’s thought.
‘I will just turn back and ask Ben Aston to take a message to your mother to let her know where you are.’ Hester executed a turn she felt quietly pleased with and urged Hector to trot back.
‘There is a very good drapers in Tring,’ Annabelle confided. ‘And a confectioners where one can get hot chocolate and ices.’
Ben Aston listened to the message arid agreed to call at the Redlands’ house on his way back home. ‘I was just finishing up, Miss Lattimer. I’ve put all the bits and bobs young Ackland thought you’d want to look at back in the first shed, and I’ll have a bonfire of the rest just as soon as the wind’s turned a bit westerly, otherwise all the washing’ll get smudgy.’ He crammed his hat back on his head and strode off.
‘They say he’s a terrible poacher,’ Annabelle confided as they set off down the Green again. ‘But he’s a hard worker, everyone agrees. And very reliable.’ After this observation she fell silent, then enquired artlessly, ‘Have you seen much of Lord Buckland?’
Hester turned on to the turnpike road. ‘One cannot help it as he lives opposite, but socially, no, not since Mrs Bunting’s At Home. He has been very kind in lending us staff since Jethro fell down the stairs.’
‘Oh.’ Annabelle sounded disappointed. ‘I thought perhaps you might be having a dinner party or something soon.’
‘I can hardly do such a thing as a single lady,’ Hester pointed out. ‘Perhaps your mother is planning some entertainment and you will meet him again then.’ Rather mischievously she added, ‘I expect, like all of us, you are interested by the mystery his presence here poses.’
‘I do not care in the slightest why he is here, only that he stays,’ Miss Redland declared frankly. ‘He is so glamorous, do you not think, Miss Lattimer?’
‘Glamorous?’ Hester considered the question, a not unpleasant excuse to think about Guy Westrope. ‘I suppose he is very sophisticated for village society.’
‘And so good looking, and rich and unmarried,’ Annabelle uttered reverently.
‘He may well have an attachment we know nothing of,’ Hester said firmly, as much to herself as to her companion.
‘Oh.’ Annabelle subsided, momentarily deflated, then rallied. ‘Well, if he has not, do not forget that you and I are the only eligible young ladies in the village.’
‘I am certainly not looking for a husband,’ Hester stated flatly. ‘And perhaps your mama would wish you to have done your London Season before you do so.’
‘I am sure I would meet no one so handsome or eligible.’
Hester was inclined to agree, but felt it more than time to change the topic of conversation to something less painful. ‘I understand that Miss Nugent is betrothed. What a pity that her fiancé should be out of the country and not here to support her after the death of her father.’
‘Hmm,’ Miss Redland observed cryptically, then, the urge to gossip overcoming her discretion, added, ‘If he still is her fiancé, of course.’
‘Really?’ If it had been anyone else but Sarah Nugent, Hester would have turned the conversation, but anything about the family was of interest now. ‘I was given to understand by Sir Lewis only recently that she was betrothed.’
‘Well, where is he, then?’ Annabelle demanded rhetorically. ‘In the West Indies on his big plantation, that’s where- and showing no sign of coming back to England to marry her. I heard that she put herself into a position where he compromised her and had to offer for her. But now he’s all that way away, why should he bother?’
Why indeed? Hester knew perfectly well that she should not be having this conversation with another unmarried girl, but the gossip was too intriguing to ignore. ‘Whatever did she do to compromise herself?’ she asked.
‘I overheard Mrs Piper telling Mama. She heard it from her second cousin who was at this ball in London and she said that Sarah was found in the conservatory with this Mr Bedford, in his arms, with her bodice all disarrayed and her hair half down. Mama was very much shocked, but as he promptly proposed, and local society is so restricted, she thought that everyone should just pretend they hadn’t heard the story.’
‘Perhaps it is just a story.’ Hester guided the cob into the crowded High Street. ‘Do you know which is the best inn to leave the gig?’
‘The Rose and Crown is where Mama always stops.’ Annabelle pointed down the road. ‘See, on the left. I don’t believe it is a story, you know, it is just the sort of thing Sarah would do, she was always scheming and plotting to get her own way, even when we were little. I used to try not to have to play with her: she always wanted to win.’
That was an interesting glimpse of Sarah Nugent’s character. Hester stowed it away to tell Guy and concentrated on turning into the inn yard without mishap.
The ladies spent a pleasant afternoon, even though most of Hester’s shopping consisted of such dull items as darning wool, grate cleaner, two mousetraps and a length of white cotton to replace the petticoat she had sacrificed to swab Guy’s scratched face.
Annabelle pressed her nose to the window of the milliner’s in the High Street and was only persuaded away by Hester denying all intention of going in to try on a hat and her own lack of funds. They did, however, both succumb to the lure of a new consignment of lace trimmings in the draper’s while Hester was buying her length of cotton.
‘I will pay you back tomorrow,’ Miss Redland promised as they loaded their parcels into the gig and went off in search of the confectioner’s shop and ices. ‘I did not think when I went out for my walk that I would need any money.’
They had the refreshment area of the emporium almost to themselves; once their chocolate and vanilla ices were served, Hester observed, ‘You know the Nugents very well, then?’
‘Oh, yes, we all grew up together.’
‘And what is Sir Lewis like?’
Annabelle wrinkled her nose. ‘Very good looking, of course, but I do not know… if I am to be sensible he has not the character I would look for in a husband. He was always too much influenced by Sarah, in my opinion, which is odd, because she is younger than he is. Mind you, their father was a horrid old man.’ She broke off, seeing Hester’s raised eyebrows. ‘I am sorry, Miss Lattimer, but he was. Always cross and all starched up. Poor Lewis never could do anything right, and I overheard Mama saying that he is not making much of a fist of it now.’
It occurred to Hester that Miss Redland had rather sharp ears altogether
and that she should not encourage her predilection for gossip. ‘I thought the Hall looked somewhat shabby when I called the other day,’ she remarked, ignoring her conscience.
‘Exactly, although that is not Lewis’s fault. Mama says that his paternal grandfather was a wealthy man, but all the money just seemed to vanish and Lewis’s father never recovered either it or his spirits.’
Altogether a full basket of interesting facts to recount to Guy, Hester decided as they drove home. She just hoped he would make more sense of them than she could.
She refused Annabelle’s pressing invitation to come in to take tea, reflecting that Mrs Redland would prefer not to have guests if the drama of the unfortunate maid had not resolved itself, and was just in time to wave to Mrs Dalling as she took herself off, apron bundled into her basket, coal-scuttle bonnet tied firmly on her head.
Her household had little to report. Jethro had sensibly retired to bed for a nap after luncheon; Susan was pleased with Mrs Dalling’s work; Sir Lewis’s estate manager had been down and looked at the damp cupboard, promising to return with a plumber to divert the leaky guttering, which he considered the source of the problem, and Maria had spent a profitable afternoon, helping fill the church vases with evergreens from the garden and listening to parish news.
Hester unloaded her purchases on to the kitchen table, scrubbed white at last as a result of Mrs Dalling’s efforts, and observed, ‘Do you think it is right of us to accept the help of Sir Lewis with our damp problem as we suspect him of being our intruder?’
‘If he is, then he owes you at least that, and if we are wrong, then he will never know we suspected him,’ Susan said comfortably. ‘I like this lace, and the cotton is good quality. That’s a relief, I thought we were going to have to go into Aylesbury for all our shopping.’
