by Valerie Wood
She closed her eyes to unfasten the cord which bound them and concentrated fully on the music. Music of Mozart of which she knew nothing, and yet which seemed so familiar that it opened up her emotions. The notes of a flute soared and she could hear within it the sound of the sea, and the haunting cry of a gull as it swooped and dived above the headland, giving out a shrill warning of imminent danger as it flew before the wind in a storm.
Startled, she opened her eyes. Something was wrong. She was needed, but by whom? Involuntarily she stood up and gazed wildly around the room, her eyes wide but unseeing, and with a silent cry in the back of her throat she picked up her skirts and ran out of the room.
She stood hesitating in the corridor, not knowing where or which way to go, her senses returning, leaving her drained and bewildered. She heard another door open from the hall and turning towards it saw Mr Anderson coming towards her.
‘My dear young lady, I fear you are unwell. I saw your pallor and your swift departure from the music, and came at once to enquire if I could be of assistance?’ He bent over her solicitously, a concerned frown upon his face.
‘You are very thoughtful, Mr Anderson, but it is nothing really. A slight headache, it will be gone shortly.’
‘But I insist!’ He took her arm.
She allowed herself to be led into a small anteroom where attentively he helped her into a chair and poured her a generous measure of brandy.
He pulled up a footstool to sit at her feet and in fright she drew back into the chair.
‘Please, do not be alarmed. I intend no hurt. I simply wish to feast my poor eyes on your beauty.’
‘Mr Anderson. Give me room, please, sir.’ She felt suffocated by his presence. ‘If someone should come in!’
His eyebrows rose quizzically. ‘You are afraid for your reputation?’ He smiled and took hold of her free hand and raised it to his lips; she looked around for somewhere to place the glass of brandy that she might at least have one hand free, but laughingly he took hold of her wrist, holding her fast. ‘Now I have you. No, don’t struggle, I shan’t harm you.’
‘Sir, I beg you to leave me. You are not behaving as a gentleman should.’ She was afraid and near to tears.
‘So, you are familiar with the habits of gentlemen?’ He fingered the rose at her breast, still keeping tight hold of her so that she felt the warmth of her own hand as well as his against her skin.
‘A rose for a rose!’ His mocking expression faded and he studied her face. ‘You must know, Miss Foster – Sarah, that I am besotted by you.’
He leaned forward and touched her lips with his, and she crouched further back into the chair to escape him. ‘Please, sir. I beg you. I am nothing to you; a servant merely, but worthy of respect.’
‘A servant!’ he whispered softly. ‘Of course you are. Why else would we be here? And you could serve me very well. I would treat you well, buy you pretty clothes and trinkets. You could be the toast of the town and the envy of all your friends.’ He let go of her hand and took hold of her foot, and gently ran his fingers around her ankle, ‘What say you?’
She flung the contents of the brandy glass with one quick, sharp movement across his face and jumped to her feet. ‘I say you are no gentleman, sir. Now please let me pass.’
He rose from the footstool to face her, the brandy streaming down his face staining his frilled cravat. He lifted his hand to strike her, but then with a smile he took hold of her roughly and pulled her towards him. ‘That’s what I like, Sarah. A woman of fire and passion. What a pair we would make.’ He crushed her to him, bending her body to his and searching for her lips with his own, until she felt the pressure of them on hers, and the taste of blood in her mouth.
John had seen Sarah’s obvious distress and flight from the room. She had made little disturbance, but one or two people had turned round as the door whooshed to a close. He was trapped by occupied seats between him and the door, and he waited impatiently on the edge of his seat for the finale before he could politely withdraw.
The outer hall was empty, as was the corridor. He opened the front door and looked out to see if she had gone out for air, and then ran across the road to the garden, but that was locked and empty save for a few squirrels chasing up and down the tree trunks in the gathering darkness. A footman appeared on the steps and enquired if he could be of assistance, but John waved him aside and came back into the house.
Perturbed, he walked back down the corridor. There was a hum of conversation and laughter coming from the concert room, as guests rose to take refreshment, but as he hesitated in the dimness his ears became attuned to another sound, of voices coming from a room on his left. Slowly, not wanting to cause embarrassment to whoever might be inside, he opened the door a crack, then with an exclamation as he saw Sarah’s dishevelled appearance and plight, he let it fly open with a crash, startling both Sarah, who fell back into a chair, and Bertram Anderson.
‘My dear fellow,’ began Anderson, adjusting his stained and crumpled cravat. ‘You might have knocked.’
Furiously John clenched his fists. ‘How dare you have the audacity to take advantage of this young woman. You are a scoundrel, sir!’
Anderson smiled mockingly. ‘What nonsense. We were merely having a tête-à-tête, were we not, Sarah? Not jealous, are you, Rayner? Got an arrangement with her, have you? Lucky devil! She’s a beauty all right, but you’d better watch out, she’s going to be in demand.’
John took two swift steps forward and Anderson stepped back in alarm as he saw his raised fist.
‘Steady on, Rayner. Nothing to get too upset about. You know how the ladies tease. It’s more than a man can stand once the blood is up!’
John pinned him against the wall and Sarah in distress ran towards them. They none of them heard the door open, but they all turned swiftly as Matilda Pardoe’s quiet voice requested the meaning of the disturbance.
She stood with her back to the closed door, and without taking her eyes from them felt for the key and turned it. ‘Gentlemen. I trust that you will settle your differences elsewhere and not in my father’s house. He would be much alarmed!’
John, contrite, came swiftly to her side and bowed apologetically. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Pardoe. It was unforgivable, I had no intention of causing you embarrassment.’
‘Oh, come on, Matty. Rayner and I were only fooling about, and this little thing got in the way.’ Anderson waved in Sarah’s direction, but didn’t look at her, and a slow flush suffused her cheeks.
Matilda Pardoe raised her head and looked coldly at Bertram Anderson. ‘When I give you permission to use my name, it is Matilda, not Matty, Mr Anderson, and until such time I would prefer my courtesy title. However, if it is the case that you and Mr Rayner were simply indulging in horseplay, then nothing more need be said.’ She looked across at John for confirmation.
He drew in his breath. She surely knew him better than that? As he hesitated he thought he saw a request in her eyes, an appeal for moderation, and suddenly he understood the implications if he should tell her what had really happened.
There would be a scandal; his word against Anderson’s that he had burst into a private room in her home and found him entangled with a young woman. Anderson would deny it, of course, or else assert that it was a romp with a willing maidservant, which all his cronies would believe, but which would leave Miss Pardoe embarrassed and Sarah compromised and without a shred of character. The consequences could not possibly be tolerated.
‘A misunderstanding, Miss Pardoe. I apologize most profusely.’
‘Then the matter is closed.’ She turned and unlocked the door, holding it open, inviting them to leave. Anderson went first, bowing to her and ignoring John and Sarah completely, and John, glancing at Sarah who was still standing as if frozen to the spot, followed him.
Miss Pardoe closed the door after him, her face serious as she indicated that Sarah should take a seat. Her hands shook as she did so and she clasped them together so that Miss Pardoe
, who had started to pace up and down, wouldn’t notice.
‘Sarah.’ She glanced at the gilt clock on a side table. ‘I haven’t much time as my guests will be looking for me, so I will be brief.’
Sarah trembled. She was to be sent home in disgrace, she knew it. Whatever would Mrs Masterson say?
Miss Pardoe stopped her pacing and sank on to the footstool where Mr Anderson had sat, the folds of her skirts falling around her like a shower of rose petals. ‘You may think that you have been betrayed. That I wouldn’t believe what probably happened in here this evening, that Mr Anderson tried to take advantage of you, and that Mr Rayner,’ here she hid a slight smile, ‘that Mr Rayner came to your rescue.’
She got up from the stool and started to pace again. ‘Well, I can tell you that I do believe it. I do believe that Mr Anderson is a seducer and that Mr Rayner, from what little I know of him, is a gentleman.’
She turned towards Sarah, who was alarmed by the anger in her face. ‘But there is nothing I can do about it. Nothing, nothing, nothing! My hands are tied. I am a mere female like yourself, and bound by men’s rules!’
‘Please, don’t upset yourself, ma-am.’ Sarah was horrified at the thought of the trouble she had caused. ‘He didn’t hurt me, Miss Pardoe, just frightened me.’ She fingered her swollen lip and Miss Pardoe, noticing the gesture, shook her head.
‘Don’t you realize, Sarah? it’s not just you! It’s all women. They’re all at the mercy of men like Anderson, especially young women like you. However, you may be sure that this matter won’t rest here. We cannot get Mr Anderson refused admission at his clubs, but he will not be dining here again, and people will wonder why and speculate. And sooner or later he will go too far.’
She walked to the door. ‘Go to bed now and rest. I will send supper up to you and say you are unwell if Miss Lucy should ask. You wouldn’t, I’m sure, wish to face Mr Anderson again this evening, and I cannot give him marching orders in front of my guests, much as I might wish to. Besides, you deserve a little comfort, I think, after your ordeal.’
She turned to leave, then with a slight hesitation turned back. ‘It was fortunate that Mr Rayner was passing by the door. He seems to take an interest in you; to be considerate of you?’
Sarah swallowed nervously. ‘Yes, ma-am, he is always very kind towards me. He’s known me all of my life, ma-am. Since the day I was born, in fact. He was there when my mother needed help.’
‘Indeed?’ A fleeting look of ease came into Miss Pardoe’s face and she suddenly smiled. ‘Then Mr Rayner is indeed a champion of women. We must nurture him, for they are very rare.’
22
Sarah’s sleep was disturbed and broken by strange, disjointed dreams. She could hear voices calling to her but she knew not who the voices belonged to. Images of her mother and father came into her mind, and unclear distorted pictures of Ma Scryven, who was whispering something into her ear, but no matter how she strained she couldn’t hear what the old woman was saying, her voice coming and going like the sound of surf on the shore. She sat up in bed and put her head in her hands, trying to clear it of tangled thoughts of home and family, of Mr John and Mr Anderson fighting over a silk rose, and her own distress when she tried to pick it up and found that it had crumbled away in her hand.
She was weary as she dragged herself out of bed the next morning, wakened by Rose who brought up water for washing and who noisily opened the shutters, then whispered in a low voice her apologies for the day before when she had revealed that Sarah had been seen out in the street talking to Mr Rayner.
‘It’s that Miss Hamilton,’ she hissed resentfully, ‘she worms information out of folks. I didn’t mean to tell, honest.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Rose. It isn’t important,’ Sarah replied as she sat on the edge of the bed, trying to rouse herself.
‘No? Well what I say is, what folks do ain’t nuffing to do with anybody else, and besides a bit of ’anky panky never did anybody any ’arm.’ She winked wickedly as she went out, a broad smile on her face.
They spent the day sightseeing, gazing at monuments and strolling through parks and gardens, and though Sarah would normally have taken delight in such an excursion, the ancient trees, ornamental shrubs and exotic flowers laid out in brilliant display failed to lift her spirits. She had a deep-seated foreboding of some forthcoming event which cast its shadow across her path.
They were escorted by Miss Pardoe and her brother. There was no sign of John that day or the next, but the following morning she met him as they crossed the hall. ‘Mr John, I would like to speak to you, if you can spare the time.’ She had no clear idea what she wished to say, only that she must tell him of her anxieties.
‘Then it must be today, Sarah.’ He spoke softly, mindful of listening ears. ‘Tomorrow I leave early for home.’
‘I see.’ She spoke calmly, not showing the dismay that gripped her.
‘Sarah?’ He spoke urgently, but before he could continue Mrs Masterson came hurrying down the stairs, greatly agitated and waving a letter in her hand.
‘John, John! Thank goodness you are here, and you too, Sarah – no, stay, I wish to speak to both of you.’
Sarah’s heart sank. So Miss Pardoe had spoken to Mrs Masterson after all. She glanced at John but his manner was collected.
‘Is there something amiss, Aunt? You appear upset.’
‘I am upset, John! Something quite dreadful has happened!’ She put her hand to her brow. ‘You must do something about it.’
He opened a door to the morning room. The sun was streaming through the windows into the elegant room and he suggested that they sat down.
‘Have you had bad news?’ He indicated the letter in her hand.
‘Read it!’ she said. ‘It is from Mr Masterson. I cannot leave for five minutes but that the household falls apart!’
Sarah closed her eyes. So there was something wrong at home, she had known it all along.
‘What is so strange, however, is that there is a letter for you, Sarah. From Lizzie of all people! Now when did she learn to write?’
She waved the opened scrap of paper towards her. ‘She says that your mother is ill, as is Mrs Scryven. What are we to do? How will Mr Masterson manage without a cook or housekeeper?’ She glared at Sarah as if it were her fault that such calamities had befallen the household and handed her the crumpled note which Lizzie had laboriously penned.
‘I wish you was at ome.’ The letters, large and spaced out, indicated Lizzie’s determination to convey an urgent message. ‘Maria is sik and Ma S is so porly she won’t last long. She keeps axing for you and mayster as gowt and can’t get owt of bed Me and janey is at our witsend love Lizzie.’
Sarah looked at Mrs Masterson, who in turn looked at John who was reading Mr Masterson’s letter.
‘Mr Masterson says that your mother is ill with a fever, Sarah, and Mrs Scryven is confined to her bed. He fears that she won’t get out of it again. I’m sorry,’ he said as he saw the pain cross her face. ‘My uncle is also bedfast with a bad attack of gout.’
He turned to Mrs Masterson. ‘What would you like me to do, ma-am? I am at your disposal. I intended returning tomorrow, but I can quite easily go tonight if you wish to return home earlier.’
‘I?’ She looked at him in astonishment. ‘I cannot possibly return. I cannot leave Lucy alone here, and there are so many things planned. I would not insult Miss Pardoe by even thinking about it!’ She had become quite pink and flustered at the thought of it. ‘Besides, if Mr Masterson has the doctor visiting him as he says he does, there is nothing I can do to help him.’
She drew herself up in her chair. ‘You must return, Sarah. Lucy will have to manage without you. You will be of more use at Garston Hall than you are here, which is what I said before we came away, and no-one would listen to me.’ She looked pious for a moment then added condescendingly, ‘I know you will be disappointed, but you have been very lucky. Lucy has been very good to you, more than was merited, I’m su
re you would agree.’
She stared at her and Sarah could feel her hostility though she didn’t understand the reason for it. ‘So off you go, get your things together. If Mr John wants to leave today, don’t keep him waiting.’
Isobel, in fact, was pleased to have an excuse to send her home. She had seen Lucy’s fair skin and hair turn colourless at the side of Sarah’s vibrant glow, and knew that others had seen it too. The contrast was too marked and, though she couldn’t fault Sarah on her manners or behaviour, there had been much comment on Miss Lucy’s lovely companion which she had found very hard to tolerate.
‘Is it in order, Aunt, that Sarah travels alone with me?’ John put the question after Sarah had left the room.
‘Good heavens, why ever not? She is a servant after all, and she won’t be worried about such proprieties.’ Isobel adapted the rules to suit her own inconsistent whims. ‘And besides, I know, and I’m sure she knows, that she will be perfectly safe with you.’
It was not yet dusk as the carriage pulled away from the house and out of the iron gates on to the main carriageway. Sarah heaved a sigh of relief and turned to look back. The street was deserted and the gateman was pulling the two gates together and locking them. Only Rose and a footman had been there to see them off. John had suggested that Sarah should pay her respects to Miss Pardoe early in the day so that they could slip away as soon as they were ready. She had done so, and also said goodbye to Lucy, who was deciding which dress to wear for that evening’s entertainment.
‘What do you think, Sarah, shall I wear the pink or the yellow?’ She had held first one, then the other in front of her.
