“Keep up, you three!” Lady Katheryn scolded over her shoulder. “I did not bring you to the Wandorne estate for nothing!”
Chloe bristled. “My lady, the Head Gardener was more than happy to permit us to wander around for a shilling, and so we have all the time in the world!”
Lady Kathryn stopped short, turned around to face the three of them, and raised an eyebrow.
Chloe’s mouth went slightly dry. Her mother had warned her against speaking her mind – she was forever getting into trouble for it. Her fiery temper and quick tongue reflected her red hair, and it was always a fight to keep from spitting out every thought that entered her head.
“Well, ‘tis true,” she said, a little defiantly. She could feel the slight tug on her arm as Rebecca attempted to quieten her, but she spoke only the truth – why should she be silent? “And after all, the owner of Wandorne has not been seen for months, has he? No one has seen him, and that man in the village said that the house was empty. Gone to the continent, if I recall. He is hardly going to complain that we took a little longer to walk around his park.”
The raised eyebrow had not lowered, but Chloe saw Sir Kyle smiling broadly. At least her friend’s betrothed could see the funny side.
“Ah, the lake!” Rebecca’s free hand pointed and all eyes turned towards it. “Chloe, shall we take a closer look?”
If Chloe had expected to be able to give a reply, she was sorely mistaken; Rebecca strode forward with her friend’s arm in her own. Almost stumbling over the long skirts of her gown – the one that her mother had described as the height of today’s fashion, and Chloe had described as a waste of good muslin – her eyes widened when she saw a small shape flicker in the water.
“A newt!”
“A smooth newt, I think,” Rebecca said, peering as closely as she could to the shadow without falling in. “Although it could be a Palmate newt, of course.”
“And fish,” said Chloe, her societal concerns completely ignored as much as her hostess. “Freshwater, no doubt – though what is the likelihood that saltwater fish could survive in a place like this?”
“It would be a matter of timing,” replied Rebecca seriously. “Any fish will fight to survive, surely, in any given water state, but over time – ”
“What are you girls talking about, that is impossible!”
Chloe closed her eyes for a moment, regained control of her spark of ire that threatened to flash through her, and plastered a smile on her face. Turning to Mr Ramsbottom, she said nothing but waited for the idiot – mental correction, the gentleman – to continue.
Rebecca was more controlled. A brilliant smile asked, “Why is it impossible?”
Lady Kathryn and Sir Kyle were still following the path, but Mr Ramsbottom had followed the two ladies towards the edge of the lake, and there was a mocking smile on his face.
“Everyone knows that saltwater fish live in the ocean,” he said with what he clearly thought was a charming smile on his face, speaking slowly as though to a child.
“Everyone knew that this orb went around the sun,” countered Chloe quietly. “Until they did not.”
“And gravity was discovered but a few hundred years ago,” Rebecca pointed out. “Do you think that it did not exist before then?”
Now Mr Ramsbottom was laughing, and that irritated Chloe more than any of his words had done. What did this fop think was so funny, with his carefully shined boots and his overly complex cravat?
“Your interest in history is commendable,” he said with a smirk. “Do you like reading, Miss Vaughn?”
“I like the sciences, Mr Ramsbottom,” she replied cuttingly. “For that is what we are, Miss Callaghan and myself. Natural philosophers.”
Even from several feet away, Chloe could not miss the look Lady Kathryn gave to the heavens in despair, and it rankled with her in a way that nothing else could.
“Miss Vaughn,” Sir Kyle said quietly. “You know full well that the universities will not allow two young ladies like yourselves – any young ladies, for that matter – to matriculate into their colleges. ‘Tis unjust, and foolhardy to lose the skills of yourself and Miss Callaghan, and yet that is the sad truth of our nation today.”
Before Chloe could open her mouth to agree with Sir Kyle in the injustice of it, a noise startled her to silence.
It was laughter. Mr Ramsbottom was laughing at her.
“A woman – natural philosopher? A female natural philosopher? My, that is good, Miss Vaughn, you almost had me there!” And as if to add insult to injury, he pulled out a large kerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the corners of his eyes.
“And why exactly should such a thing, such a person, be a laughing matter to you?” Chloe had barely noticed that she had taken several steps forward and was now peering fiercely into Mr Ramsbottom’s face, who now looked alarmed. “I see no reason why a woman could not be equally good as a man at discussing the secrets of nature – better, perhaps!”
“Now, Chloe,” came Rebecca’s placating voice, “I do think that Mr Ramsbottom – ”
“That is exactly what he meant,” Chloe interrupted, not taking her eyes from the now slightly concerned Mr Ramsbottom. “He does not believe that a woman could attend university, do you Mr Ramsbottom?”
The scrawny face and slightly overlarge Adam’s apple quivered in her gaze, but he stared back at her resolutely. “I…I simply do not believe that a woman could be intelligent enough to – ”
“Now then, let us not speak on this matter,” said Sir Kyle, moving away from Lady Kathryn and taking his friend’s arm, hissing into his ear. “If you know what is good for you Claude, you will quiet your – ”
“There looks to be a lovely piece of woodland round the corner,” Rebecca said elegantly, and Chloe smiled despite herself at the heart of peacekeeping in her friend. “Miss Vaughn, why do not we explore it together?”
“ – not possible, they simply have not the wit nor drive to pursue science,” Mr Ramsbottom’s whisper broke into the silence, and he looked up at Chloe instantly to see if she had heard.
It had been impossible not to. “You are an insufferable man,” she said in as calm a voice as possible, “and I loathe you.”
No more needed to be said; for Lady Kathryn, it had been quite enough. “Now see here, young lady!”
But she would not. Without another word, Chloe swept away and followed the path along the lake, seething with anger, her irritation fuelling her footsteps. All she wanted to do was get as far away from Claude Ramsbottom as possible, and the rest of them for that matter. It was so unfair – this man’s world that she lived in was becoming impossible to accept.
A gentle hand took hers, and Chloe relaxed slightly to feel her friend’s comforting presence.
“But how,” she said bitterly, as though continuing an earlier conversation, “can you even consider marriage to a man who has friends like Ramsbottom!”
Rebecca’s dark eyes twinkled as she said in a mock serious tone, “Well, you know, I do love him. That has something to do with it.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Men that arrogant are disgusting – they should be repellent to all who meet them!”
“Your temper will one day get the better of you,” Rebecca warned.
Chloe sighed, stopped in her tracks, and nodded. “I know. But I just cannot seem to help it. It is so unfair that our dreams must make way for men of lesser brains simply due to an accident of birth.”
Her eyes looked over the lake once more. It was broad, with just a hint of green trees on the other side. Explorers and natural philosophers through the ages had asked the questions how, and why, and why not another way – and those men had searched for answers. Why not her?
“Take some time on your own,” Rebecca said quietly. “Why not meet us back at the house in an hour?”
Despite herself, Chloe grinned. “Do I look that angry?”
“Furious,” smiled her friend. “And I know you. There is nothing more you like to do when a
ll riled up, than to be alone.”
Chloe watched her friend return to her mother and fiancé, and she sighed. At twenty two, she had hoped – and her mother had certainly hoped – that she would have her emotions under control by now. And yet it seemed to get more and more difficult, not easier, as she got older. The injustices of the world seemed to mount up rather than fall away.
But a few minutes on her own walking around the lake lessened the pressure on her heart. A boathouse, slightly uncared for with peeling paint on its walls, came into view, and Chloe was filled with a sense of irritation once more. It had been her brother who was allowed in a boat on his own when they had been children; their father had not believed that she could manage a boat alone. It hadn’t stopped her stealing one on a regular basis, though…
A swell of mischief broke over her, and Chloe smiled. Walking off the path, she quickly found the door to the boathouse and found that it was unlocked – barely shut, in fact, with rust stretching down the side.
Inside was a small rowing boat, perfectly designed for one. Any other day, it would have taken her three minutes of indecision to eventually conclude that it was better for her not to take the risk – but not today. In those three minutes she was out sculling across the water, watching the way the water moved in waves.
Another small dark shape darted to her left, and the sense of injustice that she would never be able to study the effects of freshwater on saltwater fish at a college welled up in her again. The sunshine was beating down on her, and she lay back in the boat to stare at the clouds scudding past in the sky.
Hot from anger, tired from rebellion, unable to fight it, Chloe was asleep within five minutes.
* * *
It was a jolt that woke her, but in those frantic first moments of waking, Chloe was unsure what kind of jolt. It was then that she realised that she was freezing, and then the darkness of the day overwhelmed her.
The sun had gone down, the lake was a mass of swirling dark waters, and she was cold because rain was lashing down.
She sat up, shivering, and it was then that she noticed what had awoken her: the boat had hit the edge of the lake beaching itself onto the side – which was a mercy when she noticed that one oar must have fallen into the lake while she had been sleeping.
Gown plastered to her body and teeth now chattering, Chloe looked around. Lady Kathryn, Rebecca, Sir Kyle, Mr Ramsbottom: none were to be seen. They must have left hours ago, assumed that she had walked to the village perhaps and taken a coach back to The Beeches.
She was alone, soaking wet, in the dark. But not quite dark; there was a light coming from the Wandorne house. Swallowing and finding herself both hungry and thirsty, Chloe rose unsteadily in the boat, and almost toppled into a few inches of muddy water.
This was not a pleasant situation to be in, and Chloe could only imagine what her mother would say if she knew that she had managed to put herself in such a position. With no other recourse but to go up to the house, Chloe wrapped her arms around herself trying to keep what little warmth she had, and wondered whether the light had come from a servant there, perhaps airing the house while their master was away.
Her pale blue gown was dripping, and she could feel the water seeping down her hair and into her corset. Stumbling slightly on her long skirts, now heavy with water, Chloe found the bell pull and tugged hard at the impressively large front door.
Nothing happened.
With a slight moan, the wind whipped her hair. Chloe pulled at the bell again, and this time she could hear the deep jangle that echoed deep within the house, but after waiting another minute, nothing at all happened.
The rain was coming down harder now, and the wind was rising. If someone did not come soon, she realised, the best place for her to be was back in the boathouse; it would not be warm, to be sure, but it would at least protect her from the rain.
The large door was made of oak, and it had darkened over what must have been decades, if not centuries. It barred her way to warmth and perhaps food, and Chloe’s chilly irritation broke as she banged on the door.
“Anyone there?” She cried out, against all the evidence before her. “Hie there, is anyone there?”
Just as before, nothing happened. Her hands dropped sadly to her side, water pooling around her now. There was nothing for it.
Chloe turned to face the storm, and shivered in the expectation of the freezing wind that would soon be blowing her about as soon as she left the comfort of the doorway. There was nothing for it; no amount of bracing would keep her warmer in the wind. She would have to look elsewhere for shelter.
It was only after several steps into the gale that she realised what the thin line of light that had appeared just to her left actually meant.
Spinning around, she saw that the front door of Wandorne had opened slightly. There in the gap stood a man – a butler, by the looks of him. Running forward, Chloe pushed past him and into a large echoing hall.
“But – but what are you…who are you?” The man stood aghast, staring at her as though she were an evil spirit come to claim his soul – and Chloe had to admit, as she caught sight of herself in a looking glass hanging on the wall, that she was indeed rather frightening to behold. Long white dripping dress, hair hanging loose and sodden, with wide startled dark eyes.
“I apologise for my appearance,” she said in an undertone – the large hall seemed to demand silence, “but I had nowhere else to go this night, and with the storm there is of course no possibility of staying outside.”
The butler closed the door and was now facing her in shock, as though he had never seen a woman before.
“I…I will not be too much trouble,” Chloe said quietly, almost hesitating thanks to his complete lack of reaction to her. “A little food and drink, and a bedroom to rest is all I ask.”
The butler blinked at her, as though attempting to remember how she had got there.
“My name,” she said, with a little edge in her tone now, “is Miss Chloe Vaughn. And you are?”
A frown now appeared on the butler’s face, but he did not seem to have heard her. “You will need to meet the master, then,” he said quietly. “Follow me.”
Without waiting for her agreement, or any sound from her whatsoever, the butler started to trudge down the hallway and towards a corridor, picking up a candle as he passed one. It was the only one in the hallway, and Chloe moved forwards quickly to ensure that she could stay in the light.
It was a strange house. No candles were lit in the corridor which she walked down behind the strangely silent butler, and cobwebs covered the empty candle brackets and paintings which adorned the walls.
She was so focused on watching her feet in the gloom, to prevent herself from falling over, that she almost walked into the butler when he stopped outside a door.
He nodded, muttered something that sounded an awful lot like, “Good luck, miss,” and opened the door.
Chloe swallowed. She was a woman of science, not of mystery. Whatever waited for her in that room could hardly be worse than the storm that raged around the house. Throwing back her shoulders and telling herself that there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of, she walked through the doorway and into a large and equally unkempt room where a tall man was standing by the window in gloomy darkness.
HISTORICAL NOTE
I always strive for accuracy with my historical books, as a historian myself, and I have done my best to make my research pertinent and accurate. Any mistakes that have slipped in must be forgiven, as I am but a lover of this era, not an expert.
About the Author
Emily Murdoch is a historian and writer. Throughout her career so far she has examined a codex and transcribed medieval sermons at the Bodleian Library in Oxford, designed part of an exhibition for the Yorkshire Museum, worked as a researcher for a BBC documentary presented by Ian Hislop, and worked at Polesden Lacey with the National Trust. She has a degree in History and English, and a Masters in Medieval Studies, both from the
University of York. Emily has a medieval series, a Regency series, and a Western series published, and is currently working on several new projects.
You can follow her on twitter and instagram @emilyekmurdoch, find her on facebook at www.facebook.com/theemilyekmurdoch, and read her blog at www.emilyekmurdoch.com
Voyage With a Viscount Page 10
