As they walked along, a number of the inhabitants came out to exchange pleasantries and to be introduced. No one seemed to be at all concerned with formality here. In the market square, a carter greeted them loudly, and the earl made certain to stop by the man’s wagon and introduce Rebecca and then ask about the man’s family. A baker and his wife hurried out amid a cloud of flour dust, spiced mince pies in hand as gifts for the lord.
Beyond the square-steepled stone church, Lord Stanmore led her up a narrow lane. Stopping at the new stable, he handed his reins over to a cheerful young groom, and the two ascended a path past a tidy garden of vegetables and flowers to the door of the rectory.
“The good rector’s curricle was not in evidence at his stable, and Reverend Trimble has been known to make a visit or two around the parish in the mornings. So you may not have the opportunity of speaking with him, either. Nonetheless, Mrs. Trimble, the rector’s wife, is rather fond of company. I’m quite certain she will be eager to receive you.”
As they waited for the door to be opened, Rebecca secretly watched his handsome profile as he gazed thoughtfully into the garden.
“I pray you will forgive me, Mrs. Ford, but I will be leaving you in Mrs. Trimble’s care for a while. I am afraid there are a few other matters that I need to see to this morning.”
“There is hardly reason to apologize, m’lord. I can find my way back to Solgrave. I very much appreciate what you have done already.”
“May I call back for you before noon?”
She found herself captured by his dark and inquiring eyes. “Well, I don’t know…I have already troubled you far more than I should. Truly, I…”
“Since you don’t mind, then, I shall return for you just before noon.” As the door opened, Stanmore smiled broadly into the face of a surprised servant, who hurriedly curtsied and pulled the door open wide. As the girl turned to lead them into the parlor, the earl’s words were a whisper against her ears. “You do me great honor in allowing me the pleasure of your company twice in one day.”
Taking her by the arm, Lord Stanmore led her to a sunny, pleasant room where a very tall and friendly-looking woman rose to greet them.
As they were introduced, however, all Rebecca could do was to pray that her own flushed cheek would be attributed to the walk and not to the attentions of her escort.
***
Mrs. Trimble walked with a pronounced limp, but the older woman’s lively wit and warm hospitality seemed to indicate that the rector’s wife possessed a spirit undaunted by any personal affliction.
After introducing the two women, Lord Stanmore excused himself, and Rebecca and Mrs. Trimble sat together, their conversation punctuated by the pleasant sounds of birds singing in a cherry tree just outside the open windows.
Tea was brought into them in the parlor and, after some pleasantries about the weather and the village, Rebecca found herself completely at ease with the woman. There were no prying questions. Nothing asked of Rebecca’s life in Philadelphia. No nosy queries about her past, or about Jamey’s upbringing. As she sat sipping her tea, she realized that no one she’d met since her arrival at Solgrave had questioned her on these topics. And with very little prompting, Mrs. Trimble chatted easily about her life with the Oxford educated Irishman, and about the eight years they had spent at the old village church. At one point, however, she paused with a slight frown clouding her face.
“Now, when my husband was offered this living at Knebworth Village so many years ago, he didn’t hesitate to accept the position. He had met his lordship—that is, the present earl—while the previous Lord Stanmore was in his declining years. Reverend Trimble has always been genuinely impressed with his lordship’s stand on the politics of our time.” Mrs. Trimble leaned toward Rebecca and lowered her voice confidentially. “So you can imagine the distress my husband experienced when the neighboring manor came into the possession of Squire Wentworth during our third year in Knebworth. The changes at Melbury Hall were immediate and not for the better, let me tell you, in spite of the efforts of my husband and Mr. Cunningham, the schoolmaster.”
Rebecca listened intently.
“Growing up in that troubled land of Ireland as he did, my husband has never been a man who could turn a blind eye to such conditions. And he has never been one, Lord bless him, to seek favor with other gentlemen at the expense of the downtrodden…at Melbury Hall or anywhere else!”
“Are the people openly mistreated there?”
Mrs. Trimble got up and placed her teacup on a sideboard. Rebecca could see from her movements that the woman’s knee was quite stiff.
“Conditions were ghastly from the beginning. I’ve heard Reverend Trimble and Mr. Cunningham place blame for much of it on the succession of hard men that Squire Wentworth has employed to oversee the management of the manor and the farms. But the problem runs deeper. The squire keeps Africans as slaves, you know.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Many of us know it to be a barbaric practice, but Squire Wentworth believes he has the model estate for the modern gentleman farmer.”
“And Lord Stanmore stands with you on the issue?”
“Well, of course! He is a strong advocate in Parliament for abolition. And here in Hertfordshire, he has been very persuasive with his fellow landowners. Samuel Wakefield is a force to reckon with when it comes to such unfairness.”
“Is he?”
“He and the squire have had a number of heated discussions, I’m told, about the keeping of slaves. Of course, the squire is not a man to defy Lord Stanmore openly…at least, not in so many words. I believe he envies his lordship’s influence in society too much to make him an enemy. But no one thinks there is any love lost between the two men.”
“Are conditions still so bad?”
“I believe Lady Wentworth has tried to do what she can. At least, I’d like to think so, but…well, those poor people are still kept like cattle!” Mrs. Trimble sat down again beside Rebecca. “Though she is good-hearted and far different from her husband, Lady Wentworth is a timid thing. Unfortunately, she also prefers to spend most of her time in London. Reverend Trimble and Mr. Cunningham have taken on the plight of those poor people as their personal mission, but there is only so much that they can do.”
No matter how improved their lives might be and how kind the squire’s wife was, Rebecca agreed that slavery was abominable and cruel by its very nature.
“May I ask if there is a way that I might assist Reverend Trimble in his efforts at Melbury Hall?”
Mrs. Trimble took Rebecca’s free hand in hers. “Of course, Mrs. Ford! Both my husband and Mr. Cunningham could use your help in a dozen ways.”
“Mr. Cunningham appears to be a great help to your husband.”
“Indeed he is. As fine a young Scotsman as you’ll ever meet.” The woman gestured toward her own knee. “But more help is always welcome. Since my carriage accident, my assistance has been limited to what I can do around the rectory. Going as far as Melbury Hall is a little beyond me, I’m afraid.”
“You clearly do so much. There is an aura of such beauty and happiness surrounding your home. Your house, the gardens…they all do you credit.” Rebecca cast an admiring eye around the room. She turned her attention back to her host and was greeted with an appreciative smile. “But can you think of some specific way that I can be of some use? You see, I don’t honestly know how long I shall be at Solgrave.”
The woman nodded with understanding. “Thus far, the squire has not dared to try to disallow Reverend Trimble’s visits to Melbury Hall. You could accompany him and check on the health of those living there. Mr. Cunningham has been trying to teach a little reading and writing, but the schoolmaster’s presence there has been…well, only grudgingly allowed by the squire. If you have any aptitude for teaching, I know they would appreciate any help you could give them in…”
“I’d be very willing.” Rebecca said, feeling her spirits rise. “Perhaps you could appoint a time that I shou
ld return to meet with your husband.”
“Even better, Mrs. Ford, I’ll make certain to have Reverend Trimble stop out and visit you at Solgrave tomorrow morning.” Her hostess pursed her lips thoughtfully. “But perhaps we should arrange a meeting with Lady Wentworth first. Mr. Cunningham mentioned to us last evening that she has come down from London earlier than expected. Apparently, an acquaintance of hers…or her husband…will be visiting at Melbury Hall. Expected to arrive last night, in fact.”
“Whatever you think best, Mrs. Trimble,” Rebecca murmured, glancing at the ornate clock above the hearth. There was still half an hour left to noon and her heart had already begun to drum along pleasantly at the prospect of Lord Stanmore’s return.
“Now, the King’s Birthday is less than a fortnight away,” Mrs. Trimble continued. “and I would assume that Lady Wentworth will remain at Melbury Hall at least until then. I will see to it that my husband makes the arrangements for the two of you to meet.”
Delighted with the thought of being useful again, Rebecca was starting to ask the rector’s wife about the village school when the sound of voices drifting up the garden path and through the open windows drew her hostess to her feet.
“Well, how wonderful! They are already here.”
Rebecca stood, as well, and joined Mrs. Trimble by the window.
“I’ll introduce you when they come in, but here is Reverend Trimble accompanied by Lady Wentworth. The other lady must be the guest they were expecting from London.
Reverend Trimble was shorter in stature than his wife, but he had the same lean build. Rebecca’s gaze traveled to the fashionably dressed woman standing at the rector’s side and making some remarks about the gardens. Her deportment showed her to be a woman accustomed to command. The wide brim of her high, plumed hat hid the upper part of her face, but the golden curls framing the firm chin, the perfect nose and the red full lips bespoke the finest of English gentility.
“Lady Wentworth is a great beauty,” Rebecca said softly to her hostess.
“Lady Wentw…? Oh no! That would be their guest.” Mrs. Trimble nodded toward a woman crouching over a flower a little down the path, half hidden behind the full skirts of the guest. “There she is…behind the others.”
Rebecca tried to look past the rector, but other than a tip of a parasol and the pale yellow of her skirts, there was not much more of Lady Wentworth that she could see. At that moment, however, the rector turned to usher the ladies up the path and noticed the presence of his wife at the window.
At the sound of his cheerful greeting, Lady Wentworth and her guest looked up, and Rebecca’s blood ran cold in her veins.
CHAPTER 17
Feeling her knees ready to buckle under her, Rebecca reached for the sideboard and took a wobbly step backward. Horror washed through her as she watched the new arrivals climb the path to the house. She glanced desperately at the door, thinking there might still be time to escape.
It was too late. Even if she ran, they would surely hunt her down. She stood still and waited for her fate. Through the window, she could see Lady Wentworth, the former Miss Millicent Gregory—a friend and fellow schoolmate at Mrs. Stockdale’s Academy for Girls in Oxford—climb the step to the front door.
Too late, Rebecca swore silently, as the deep voice of the rector sounded in the foyer, ushering his guests toward the parlor. She continued to back away until her legs came in contact with the cushioned chaise. She forced down the bile rising in her throat and stared at her hostess as she made her way toward the door.
“I am so delighted that you are here. Welcome, Lady Wentworth.”
The two women entered the room first, and Rebecca half-listened to Reverend Trimble’s introduction of the visitor to his wife. Suddenly, he was standing in front of her, though, presenting himself to her.
His voice was kindly, and his handshake warm and friendly, but during the entire exchange, Rebecca hardly looked at him, hardly looked up from the floor. As the cleric moved away, though, she hazarded a quick look at Lady Wentworth, who was standing with Mrs. Trimble and the beautiful visitor.
Despite her own distress at being in the same room with an old friend, what she found strangely upsetting was the pale and dispirited vision that Millicent presented. Though never a beauty, in the years that Rebecca had known her, the young woman’s cheerfulness and lively personality always managed to distinguish her from so many of the others. Now, however, she seemed to be nothing more than a pale, insipid shell of what she had been.
The visitor, on the other hand, was holding forth with Mrs. Trimble, completely comfortable in her position as the center of attention. After a moment, the hostess turned and gestured toward Rebecca.
“Lady Wentworth, may I present to you Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Ford is at Solgrave, the home of Lord Stanmore. Mrs. Ford, this is the Lady Wentworth of Melbury Hall that we were speaking of earlier.”
“Only kind things, I hope, my dear,” Reverend Trimble joked, his deep laugh filling the room.
Rebecca froze as Millicent’s indifferent gaze drifted upward to her face. She could feel the knot in her throat choking her as she accepted the gloved hand of the other woman.
“Mrs. Ford.” Immediate recollection brought a spark into the pale depths of her gray eyes, and Rebecca desperately clutched the other woman’s hand, applying slight pressure. A wan smile appeared on Lady Wentworth’s face. “Rebecca! Well, I must say I am genuinely delighted to see you again…Mrs. Ford, did you say?”
“Again? How delightful! I had no idea you two were acquainted already!”
Mrs. Trimble’s exclamation drew the curious gazes of the other occupants of the room, causing Rebecca to blush deeply as she continued to hold on to Millicent’s hand.
“Surely, you must have me confused with someone else, Lady Wentworth,” she said desperately, sending a pleading glance in the direction of her old friend. “True, my given name is Rebecca, but this is my first trip to England…so unless you were in the colonies…I don’t know where the two of us could have met.”
There was a moment of confusion in the other woman’s face, but somehow Rebecca’s consternation must have registered, for Millicent gave an understanding nod and withdrew her gloved hand.
“I must apologize for such an impetuous response. You do remind me of someone I once knew. But that was so many years ago, and my recollection is increasingly vague, I fear.”
“How curious that your given name should be Rebecca, as well, Mrs. Ford.”
Rebecca’s gaze was drawn to the other woman in the room. She was dressed rather ostentatiously in a velvet walking dress of deep blue, a matching blue jacket, and blue hat with blue feathers. Her face and figure were truly beautiful, but her eyes were as cold as ice.
Mrs. Trimble saved Rebecca from answering by making the introduction first. “Lady Nisdale is a guest at Melbury Hall. She came down from London yesterday, I understand. Lady Nisdale, please allow me to present Mrs. Ford.”
Rebecca accepted another gloved hand.
“But you are a Rebecca, as well?”
The chill in the voice, the superior manner, turned Rebecca’s earlier fears into annoyance. She gave the other woman a cool smile before withdrawing her hand.
“A coincidence, I admit, but my name is fairly common.”
“Quite common,” the haughty woman said with an ironic look. “And your stay at Solgrave? Have you taken a position there?”
Mrs. Trimble let out a gasp of surprise, and a flash of temper rose in Millicent’s eyes as she stared reprovingly at Lady Nisdale. The rector was all too willing to offer an explanation and ease the tension in the room.
“Mrs. Ford is Lord Stanmore’s guest, m’lady. She has had charge of Master James, the earl’s son, for the past ten years.”
“Ah, I see. A governess.”
“No, m’lady,” Rebecca answered quietly. “I am a guest.”
Though she said nothing further, Lady Nisdale made little effort to hide the mocking look she now dir
ected at Rebecca.
“Won’t you sit down, ladies?” Mrs. Trimble offered brightly, calling for a tray of fresh tea to be brought in.
As Lady Nisdale ensconced herself in a chair by the doorway, Rebecca took a seat on the edge of the chaise and glanced discreetly in the direction of her old friend. She had to find a time, somehow, to meet privately with Millicent. They had been friends once, but she could not rely on that. She only hoped Lady Wentworth’s compassion was the same as young Millicent Gregory’s had been so long ago. Glancing at her now, though, Rebecca felt an uneasiness settle into the pit of her stomach, for the languid look she had observed through the window had once again taken possession of her old friend’s demeanor.
“Mrs. Ford has come by today not just to pay us a visit, Reverend Trimble, but also to volunteer her time.” Mrs. Trimble spoke cheerfully to her husband and directed a bright smile at Rebecca. “We were just trying to sort out some of the particulars when you arrived.”
“Well, thank you, Mrs. Ford. Thank you, indeed.” The rector bowed gratefully. “Between Lady Wentworth’s plans to grace our neighborhood with her presence longer than we normally enjoy at this time of year, and your offer of assistance, there is so much that we can plan to accomplish this summer. Why, I can hardly wait to tell all of this to Mr. Cunningham. He will--“
“You must tell Lord Stanmore about our meeting here today, Mrs. Ford,” Lady Nisdale commanded, cutting off the rector’s animated speech. “For now that I have come down to this charming little corner of Hertfordshire, his lordship will surely wish to extend his own stay in the country…to show me around personally.”
Hot jealousy flared unexpectedly in Rebecca’s chest as she watched this stylish member of London’s ton shake the blond curls so artfully arranged around her face.
“Are you acquainted with his lordship, then?”
An arched eyebrow above Lady Nisdale’s haughty eyes answered Mrs. Trimble’s innocent question.
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