The Regency Romances of Mira Stables: Part One

by Mira Stables

  “You shall do so, my child, as soon as we have settled this vastly more important matter,” he replied, voice and countenance now wholly serious. “I am utterly sincere in seeking your forgiveness for the shock and fear that I deliberately inflicted upon you,” he said quietly, his eyes holding hers with a determination that she should accept his word. “If I could erase them from your memory, I would most thankfully do so. You will believe me?”

  With that intense blue gaze fixed upon hers, she could only nod dumbly. She did indeed believe him. If ever a man meant what he said, this one did.

  The stern lines about his mouth relaxed. Gently he raised her hand in his and brushed it lightly with his lips. “The kiss of peace,” he explained gravely as he released her fingers. “And I am fully forgiven?”

  “Why, of course, Sir,” dimpled a suddenly happier Clemency, and added, with doubtful truth, “You make too much ado. I had almost forgot.”

  His lips quivered irrepressibly, and his deep soft chuckle startled her, so that she stepped back a pace. “You do well to retreat on that remark,” he said severely. “Of all the shocking bouncers! You have not forgotten, any more than I have. You will recall that I did not express any regret for kissing you the second time? How could I, when the experience was so wholly delightful? You are a very tempting morsel for an ogre to gobble up, my girl, and I deeply regret that some dim memory of the proper behaviour in which I was bred forces me to hold you sacrosanct while you are in my service. It is as much for my own sake as for yours that I am about to remove myself. There is great good sense in fleeing the temptation that one is vowed to resist.” With which astonishing speech he bowed to her with some ceremony and walked cut of the room.

  Miss Longden did not at once resume her secretarial labours. There was food for much thought in that brief exchange, and for even more delicious speculation. There was a mirror set into the front of the cabinet that held the wool samples. She got up and walked over to it. For a girl who had never in her life received a compliment from a man, it was intoxicating to be told that she offered a temptation difficult to resist. She studied her reflection earnestly, half expecting to notice some new born charm. Alas! She looked just as usual — rather worse than usual, with ink on her face. If only her hair was a fashionable colour instead of just golden brown, or curled naturally as Faith’s did, instead of hanging silken straight. She had long abandoned the attempt at a smart style and contented herself with braiding it and piling it on top of her head in the hope that it would at least make her look taller. It never occurred to her that a man might dream of loosening the sweet scented braids, of drawing the silky stuff through his fingers and burying his face in its brown-gold depths.

  She turned her back on the mirror’s impartiality and crossed to the hearth to replenish the crumbling fire with fresh logs, lingering to gaze at the little running flames in blissful reverie. He had spoken truth when he vowed that she had not forgotten, though indeed she had made a valiant endeavour to put him out of her mind. Now, deliberately, she recalled how it had felt to be held close in his arms and kissed; and this time without the fear of the unknown that had filled her. It seemed as though the little flames that were licking over the logs had crept into her own veins, bringing a delicious sensuous warmth. A smile, half eager, half mischievous, dimpled her cheek, and she whispered softly to the glowing heart of the fire, “How if temptation prove too strong for his notions of propriety?”

  And then, quite shocked to hear such an improper possibility suggested, even in a whisper, she sprang up and returned to her place at the desk, though still a long period of pen nibbling ensued before, with a deep sigh, she dipped the maltreated implement into the ink and began to write. Nor did her powers of concentration appear to benefit from her solitary state, for there were long pauses between the bursts of industrious application. She was quite horrified when Beach came into the room to ask if she would take a nuncheon or if she would be returning to the Manor.

  “Pray tell Mrs. Beach how sorry I am to put her to so much trouble. If I could have a cup of coffee and some bread and butter, it will be quite sufficient. Then I can finish the letters in time for the evening mail, as Captain Kennedy wished.”

  Mrs. Beach, not averse to showing that stuck up Betsy a trick or two, very properly ignored this foolish request. Clemency was shortly invited to the parlour, where, in addition to cold meat and fruit, a dish of buttered eggs, some broiled pigeons and a dish of new baked cheese curd cakes had been set out for her delectation, while Beach, promising that she should have her coffee later, brought her a glass of ‘the master’s best Madeira’ which he assured her wouldn’t hurt her a mite. She sipped it cautiously, decided that it did not go with buttered eggs but might not taste too bad with cheese cakes, and proceeded to make an excellent meal, thereby earning Mrs. Beach’s wholehearted commendation.

  “That’s a sensible well brought up young lady,” she informed her spouse. “One that knows good food when she sees it and eats hearty but not greedy,” this last as her eye fell on the untouched pigeons. Clemency had not been able to bring herself to taste those pathetic looking morsels. They would do very nicely for her husband’s supper, decided Mrs. Beach, baked up in a pastry case.

  Perhaps the meal — or the Madeira — exercised a soothing effect on the emotions, for work proceeded quite steadily thereafter, with only one brief interlude spent in poring over the copy letter, not for its content which she now had by heart, but for a closer study of the firm square script in which it was written. She had almost finished when she heard sounds of arrival. There was the clatter of hard driven horses, followed swiftly by the sound of the front door-bell set ringing by a peremptory hand. There was scarce time to wonder who had come visiting in such urgency when the library door was flung open and Faith stood upon the threshold with Giles at her shoulder, a Faith with countenance so changed from the merry rosy face to which Clemency had waved farewell that she sprang to her feet, knocking over the heavy chair in her dismay as she ran to her sister. Eyes huge and dark in a white strained face, Faith moistened dry lips with her tongue, swallowed convulsively and gulped out, “I’ve found Mama!” and burst into hysterical weeping as she cast herself into Clemency’s arms.

  Chapter Twelve

  “NOTHING would do but that she must come herself and at once,” explained Giles. “She would have set out last night if my aunt would have permitted it. As it is we started before daylight, and she has eaten nothing all day. What with the shock and the distress of finding your mother in such a sorry way, it is little wonder that she is in this state. Plucky little soul really, and sensible too. Said at once it was you must hear the news first and would know how best to break it to your father. Mama says she had best stay with us tonight, and I’m to take you both back to her at once.”

  Most of this discourse made but little impression on Clemency’s dazed mind. She was more concerned with trying to soothe Faith. The wild sobbing gradually subsided and presently the child was sitting up, mopping her tearstained cheeks with Giles’s handkerchief, and trying to tell her story. But the tale was so disjointed, so broken by hiccupping sobs, that Clemency begged her to wait until she was more composed and asked Giles if he would desire Mrs. Beach to make some tea.

  This drunk, Faith was steadier and able to tell her tale more coherently, her voice and manner growing more sensible and collected as she went on.

  On the previous evening Mrs. Gordon had fulfilled her promise of taking the two girls to the theatre. It had been afterwards, as they were emerging from Lop Lane and walking towards Museum Street where the carriage was to meet them that Faith, pausing to re-tie a loosened sandal string, had straightened up almost under the noses of two women who were walking in the opposite direction. Her attention was caught by the fact that one of them was so heavily veiled that it was impossible to discern her features. It was then that a casual glance at the lady’s attendant brought instant recognition.

  “Elsie!” Faith had said sharp
ly, not even realising that she had spoken aloud.

  Second thoughts might have caused her to doubt her identification of her mother’s maid. After all it was four years since she had seen the woman. But on hearing her name spoken she had halted, turned, and cried out, “Miss Faith!”

  By this time the rest of the party had turned back to see what was delaying the girls, and if Elsie had wished to deny the mutual recognition and make her escape — as her subsequent behaviour suggested — it was too late. Mrs. Gordon, gathering that the stranger might be able to give news of Faith’s mother, said that they could not discuss so intimate a matter in the public street and had better move on towards the waiting carriage. Elsie had accompanied them most unwillingly, protesting that she had thought the young lady said “Effie”. Faith had said, “But you knew me, too. You called me Miss Faith,” but Elsie instantly denied this, insisting that all she had said was that it was a mistake, and vowing that she had never seen the young lady before.

  At this point they had reached the waiting carriage, and it was here that the veiled lady took a hand in resolving the matter. In the general excitement no one had particularly noticed that she had quietly accompanied them, and she had taken no part in the argument that rose and fell about her. But now she spoke, pronouncing happily in clear and cultured tones, “Oh! A carriage! How delightful, Elsie. It is so long since I have ridden in a carriage.”

  At the first words in that dear familiar voice Faith had sprung forward, her face filled with a wild incredulous joy. But it was abundantly clear, even without the restraining hand of the now proven Elsie, that something was very wrong. There was no mutual recognition here.

  “Don’t, Miss,” muttered Elsie, half sullen, half supplicating. “She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t know anybody. She’s forgotten who she is, and you’ll only upset her.”

  Here Giles had suggested that they had better all get into the carriage and go home, where they could sort things out in decent privacy. One or two people were already loitering in their vicinity with obvious interest, and only the fact that it had begun to rain had prevented the gathering of a crowd.

  It was not very far to the house in Coney Street where they were staying. Upon arrival, Mrs. Gordon explained matters to her cousin and secured the privacy of a small saloon on the first floor to which Elsie and her veiled companion were escorted. It was then that Faith could almost have wished herself back at Ash Croft, with no wonderful discovery made, for that well remembered voice was saying pleasantly, “What a pretty apartment! That is quite the most charming Meissen figure I have seen in an age. A fruit seller, is she not?” and slender hands were removing the veil to show Faith her mother’s face.

  It seemed impossible that she would not hold out welcoming arms, so unchanged did she seem from that dear Mama who had so often greeted a homecoming schoolgirl with a loving hug. Then she turned to look for Elsie, and Faith’s sharp gasp of shock and horror was blessedly lost in the remarks she was addressing in an undervoice to her maid. Giles and Mrs. Gordon heard the pathetic lost note in the sweet voice as she murmured, “I’m so sorry, Elsie. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten again. Are we staying here tonight?” They could not guess at the shattering effect on Elsie when that voice continued, “Is Mr. Longden to join me here?” Mrs. Gordon, seeing the woman’s terrified gaze, moved forward and suggested gently that perhaps Mrs. Longden would like to rest awhile, and then when the enquiry for her husband was repeated, improvised rapidly to explain that Mr. Longden had been delayed but would be joining them as soon as possible.

  “Then if you will forgive me, I think I will retire to my room,” said Mrs. Longden with that sweet vague smile. “I cannot think why it is, but I have the headache a little. Such shocking behaviour in a guest, but I know you will understand,” and she drifted towards the door.

  “My room,” Mrs. Gordon had almost hissed at the startled Giles, and then with an imperative nod to Elsie, “See that she has all she needs, and do not leave her until she is asleep. My nephew will show you.”

  During the long interval that followed Faith gave way to a flood of tears. “Her face,” she sobbed into Mrs. Gordon’s lap. “Her poor lovely face!”

  For the lifting of the veil had shown the left side of Mrs. Longden’s face to be seamed and scarred from brow to chin in hideous fashion, her hair bleached white, and her appearance all the more shocking because, viewed from the other side, she was still a very lovely woman.

  Mrs. Gordon wisely allowed the child to sob out her grief with no more attempt at comfort than a few gentle pats and crooning noises such as she used in soothing her children’s nursery sorrows. When she judged that the storm was abating a little she said firmly, “Now, my dear, you have wept enough. There is much cause for rejoicing, and much to be done. Nor need you give up hope that in God’s good time your mother’s mental faculties may be restored. She has evidently been involved in some dreadful accident, and though the scarring of her face is very sad, the loss of her memory was far worse. If I understood the matter aright, she did not even know who she was. Tonight you heard her recall her husband’s name. Though she did not recognise you, it may well have been your presence that revived the springs of memory. We must move slowly and carefully, but I see no reason for such despair as you are indulging.”

  Faith dried her eyes obediently. Mrs. Gordon pulled the bell and desired the maid who answered it to bring a glass of hot milk. Faith was positive she couldn’t swallow anything, but good manners and gratitude alike insisted that she try, and having managed a few sips she felt a good deal better, and had drunk more than half of it before Giles came back with a very subdued Elsie.

  Elsie Scales had a good deal of explaining to do, thought Mrs. Gordon. But she was a humane woman, and the sight of the servant’s worn and tragic face moved her to kindness. She bade Giles set a chair for her, and offered refreshment, but Elsie, imprisoned in a world of horror of her own creating, shook her head and waited dumbly for the inquisition to begin.

  Since Faith was the only one of them who knew the details of her mother’s disappearance, it fell to her to question the poor soul. And her frank questions, her absorbed interest, and her patent sympathy with Elsie’s sufferings, helped the girl to forget her own share in the responsibility for the tragedy, and brought the tale tumbling out in a breathless flood of narrative that ended in tears and desolation.

  For Elsie it had been heartbreak. Fresh from the country and utterly ignorant of the ways of the world, she had fallen into converse with a chance met stranger at an inn where they had stopped for refreshment and a change of horses on their way south. There had been some small delay, so that the acquaintance had time to ripen, and when the young man turned up in Richmond and put himself to the pains of waylaying her when she went on errands for her mistress, she had been flattered and excited and soon began to fancy herself in love.

  The man was handsome and smooth-spoken, and his obvious interest in Elsie’s small affairs persuaded her that his intentions were serious. She began to dream of wedding bells, with never the least inkling that she was being skilfully drawn out as to the financial standing of her employer. On this head, regrettably, she exaggerated a little. It was understandable. Her Daniel was such a smart young fellow, so well versed in all matters of ‘ton’. She feared that he might look down on her rustic simplicity. So comfortable Ash Croft became a palatial residence, the family’s standing in the County was second to none, and Mrs. Longden’s fortune and valuable jewellery grew, on Elsie’s lips, to fabulous proportions.

  With much time on her hands, and a kindly mistress who was pleased that her maid, too, should enjoy the holiday, there was no hindrance to the growing intimacy between the two. Daniel seemed to be comfortably circumstanced and mentioned that he was thinking of setting up his own livery stable. He took Elsie driving in a very respectable carriage that he had just purchased. So when her mistress decided, suddenly, that she could not endure a longer separation from husband and home, it was only n
atural that Elsie should suggest that her new friend should be employed to take them into Richmond to make enquiries at the Star and Garter about hiring a chaise for the journey back to Yorkshire.

  Mrs. Longden had already heard a good deal about Elsie’s admirer. Had she not been so preoccupied with her own problems she would have sought an opportunity before this to look the young man over. Now that the opportunity presented itself so conveniently she was pleased to take advantage of it. A delighted Elsie was despatched to ask her beau to bring his vehicle round to the house in an hour’s time.

  Repairing to the modest hostelry which he had favoured with his patronage, Elsie found the young man, for the first time since they had met, a little less than smooth, a little less ready to acquiesce smilingly in all her wishes. He looked hot and harassed, and there was mud on his clothes. This dishevelled appearance was soon explained. He had been out riding, and upon his return had received news of the sudden death of a gentleman — no, not a relative or close friend, just one with whom he had business dealings, but whose death could cause complications. Daniel must ride to London at once to set matters in train for an orderly solution.

  Elsie was sadly downcast. “Could you not spare the time to take Mistress and me into Richmond first?” she pleaded. “It is not so very far out of your way — and we could hire a chaise to bring us back.”

  He hesitated briefly, then with a flash of white teeth smiled at the adoring wench and conceded her wish. “Since you desire it so much, my dear,” he bowed.

  Home she ran to say that all was arranged, and then in eager haste to change into her prettiest gown.

  Daniel Pelly, who had shot and killed a man that morning in a mismanaged hold-up on Barnes Common, and who feared that the authorities were already on his track, shrugged, and returned to his hurried packing. So wealthy a woman as Mrs. Longden would doubtless carry a well filled purse. It was a pity that she was unlikely to be wearing much jewellery at this time of day, but the guineas would be useful and he might as well get his hands on them since his schemes were now set all awry by this morning’s mishap.