Читать книгу An Ideal Companion - ANNE ASHLEY, Anne Ashley - Страница 8

Chapter Two

Ruth took one final look at her overall appearance in the full-length mirror. Vanity had never been one of her besetting sins; at least she sincerely hoped it had not. Notwithstanding, she had always taken pride in her appearance, and, yes, attempted to make the best of what nature had seen fit to bestow upon her.

Unlike her mother who had been breathtakingly lovely in her youth, Ruth had never considered herself in any way out of the ordinary. Oh, she was well enough, but certainly no ravishing beauty, she decided, taking a moment to glance at the portrait that had always taken pride of place in the bedchamber, before returning her critical gaze to her own reflection.

The large brown eyes, which had been acclaimed by more than one discerning soul as very fine, and the mass of glossy chestnut locks had most definitely been inherited from her father’s family. Only the fairness of her skin and a gently curving mouth, which was neither too wide nor too small, could have been said to have come from her mother. Thankfully, she was neither overly tall nor too short and, although slender, her figure was accounted very good indeed. Yet, her reflection on this occasion brought scant satisfaction.

Although Agatha—bless her!—had arrived unexpectedly and had gone to the trouble of arranging her chestnut hair in a more elaborate style, nothing could detract from the fact that her best gown was sadly outmoded now and, worse still, made her look faintly dowdy. She resembled nothing so much as a well-mannered governess who might be asked to join the family for a special occasion, but who knew well enough how to appear insignificant and fade into the background.

But did it really matter how she looked? Who was she attempting to impress, anyway? Certainly not the middle-aged doctor who had arrived at the door with a decidedly bedraggled spinster sister in tow; nor was it the sharp-featured little lawyer or the attractive widow who had been among the group who had pooled their resources in order to hire an innkeeper and his conveyance to take them on the first leg of their journey. And as for the young sprig who had been stupid enough to attempt tooling a light sporting carriage in a snowstorm...? That beggared belief! Ruth decided. The only other male guest, of course, was the Colonel.

She had to own that she had attained a deal of pleasure in that tall gentleman’s company. Perhaps it was because he possessed many of those qualities she admired. For instance, he had gone out of his way to be as obliging as possible, suggesting that one of his fellow stranded travellers share the blue bedchamber with him, thereby revealing he was anything but a selfish person. He had also proved himself a leader—a gentleman born to command. Moreover, there was an imperturbable quality about him that seemed to permeate others. Amazingly, he had even managed to reconcile Lady Beatrice to housing all the hapless wayfarers with a good grace.

Yes, she did rather like that tall gentleman, she reiterated silently. Given the opportunity, she would have very much enjoyed becoming better acquainted with him. That pleasure, she very much suspected now, would be denied her. It had ceased snowing completely late in the afternoon. If a substantial thaw set in overnight— and there was no reason to suppose it would not now the wind had changed course and was coming from the more usual south-westerly direction—the Colonel would undoubtedly wish to be on his way at daybreak and she would be unlikely ever to see him again. Not only that, there had been nothing in his demeanour to suggest he was interested in her in the least. He had been polite and friendly, offering what assistance he could in an attempt to minimise the extra work the household staff would be obliged to undertake. But by no word, look or gesture had he conveyed his interest in her personally was anything other than lukewarm, a casual meeting of strangers, destined to be brief and so easily forgotten. And maybe it was destined to be that way, she told herself.

The sound of a tinkling bell from the adjoining room obliged her not to dwell on the unsatisfactory conclusion of her reverie, and she went into Lady Beatrice’s bedchamber to discover that lady seated before her dressing-table mirror, rummaging through her jewellery box, whilst Agatha stood behind, adding the finishing touches to her mistress’s coiffure.

Although having received no professional training, Agatha Whitton had proved herself to be a most competent lady’s maid, with an innate gift for arranging hair. She had even succeeded in teasing Lady Beatrice’s somewhat lacklustre, greying locks into an attractive style.

‘You wanted me, my lady?’ Ruth enquired, thereby drawing the widow’s attention to her presence.

‘Yes, my dear. Do come over and help me choose something to wear this evening. I cannot decide between my pearls and the amethyst set.’ She then turned to the maid. ‘You may go, Whitton, and attend me later. No doubt I shall be retiring at a more advanced hour than usual. But, in the circumstances, it cannot be helped. I can hardly seek my bed, and leave my guests to their own devices, without attempting to entertain them for at least part of the evening, forced upon me though they all were.’

Ruth acknowledged Agatha’s knowing look with one of her own, before the maid whisked herself from the room. She knew precisely what her confidante-cum-friend had been attempting to convey—that she, too, suspected that, although sounding slightly disgruntled at the unforeseen invasion of her home, Lady Beatrice Lindley was secretly enjoying the prospect of presiding over a dinner table with more company than had been under her roof at any one time for many a long year.

‘I think either would go well with the lavender-coloured gown you’ve chosen to wear, ma’am,’ Ruth responded, after staring, with a touch of envy, at the dazzling array of sparkling gems contained in the wooden casket. She herself had had no such difficulty in choosing her own adornment. The simple gold locket, once belonging to her mother, was the only necklace she possessed.

World-weary grey eyes regarded her through the dressing-table mirror, staring in particular at the gold chain encircling a slender throat. ‘Perhaps you would care to choose something from my box yourself, child?’

Although moved by the offer, Ruth didn’t hesitate to decline. ‘It’s kind of you, my lady, but this old gown would do no justice to any fine gem. My mama’s simple trinket is more in keeping. Besides...’ she shrugged ‘...I’ve no desire to make an impression on anyone.’

The response appeared momentarily to please the widow, before one thin brow was raised in a distinctly questioning arch. ‘Do I infer correctly from that that there are no handsome young blades among our unlooked-for company?’

Ruth slanted a mocking glance. ‘Well, you met the Colonel yourself, ma’am. One would scarce describe him as an Adonis, though at the same time it would do him a grave injustice to call him unappealing. I believe you are acquainted with another of the wayfarers—Lady Fitznorton’s great-nephew, Mr Tristram Boothroyd. Apparently he’s been sent down from Oxford for committing some misdemeanour or other. In disgrace, he’s doing penance by suffering several weeks enforced rustication with his great-aunt.’

Lady Beatrice appeared to consider for a moment. ‘Yes, I do seem to recall meeting him once, some years ago. He was little more than a boy at the time.’

‘He isn’t so very old now, ma’am, not yet two-and-twenty, I shouldn’t have thought. He seems pleasant enough and handsome in a boyish sort of way. But one might question his intelligence. Somewhat irresponsible to take out a curricle and pair at the height of a snowstorm, wouldn’t you agree? If he had no regard for himself, he might at least have considered his horses.’

‘Sadly, not all are blessed with your sound judgement and thoughtfulness, my dear Ruth, especially not many of the male sex,’ Lady Beatrice responded in her usual disparaging way. ‘I understood from Whitton there are two other gentlemen beneath my roof?’

‘Yes, ma’am. A doctor by name of Dent, Samuel Dent, who is travelling with his sister. She, so I understand, keeps house for him in London. I placed him with the lawyer, who was travelling with them, in the green bedchamber. The other member of their party is a Mrs Julia Adams. She’s a handsome, pleasant woman...around the same age as the Colonel, I should have supposed, or perhaps a little older. She also resides in London, I believe.’

Lady Beatrice’s brows again rose in two fine arches this time. ‘My, my! So many travelling in our part of the world at this time of year. How unusual!’

‘Not so strange, ma’am.’ Ruth countered. ‘One hardly expects snow so early. Besides which, they all seemed to have legitimate reasons for visiting the area. Colonel Prentiss, as you know, had been staying with friends, and Mr Boothroyd with his great-aunt. With the exception of Mrs Adams, who happened to be staying with her sister, the others were all putting up at the same hostelry in Lynmouth. Although I believe I’m right in thinking that it was Mrs Adams who arranged for the landlord at the inn to take them all as far as our local town in his somewhat antiquated carriage. There they hoped to travel by stages to Bristol and then on to London on the Mail.’

‘That’s all very reasonable, but what brought them all to the West Country in the first place?’

‘Business brought Mr Blunt, the lawyer, here,’ Ruth enlightened her. ‘And as for the other three—apparently they were visiting dying relatives. In the circumstances I considered it thoughtless to question them too closely, as I gained the distinct impression that both Mrs Adams and the Dents have both suffered recent bereavements.’

‘How very singular! It would seem I’m about to preside not over dinner but a wake!’

Although Lady Beatrice could never have been accused of indulging in frivolity, or of possessing a sense of humour, come to that, on occasions she did seem to derive a degree of morbid delight in other people’s misfortunes.

‘We must hope it will not turn out to be so solemn an occasion as that, ma’am,’ Ruth responded, returning the jewellery box to its rightful place at the bottom of the wardrobe. ‘We must trust to the Colonel and young Mr Boothroyd to lighten the evening with some lively conversation.’

Once again Ruth found herself the recipient of a long and considering look before Lady Beatrice said, ‘Young Tristram might, indeed, bring a degree of levity to my table, but I very much doubt we can trust Colonel Prentiss to do likewise, given his turn of mind.’

Ruth was slightly taken aback by this declaration. ‘What makes you say so, ma’am? I found the Colonel’s manner not only polished and gracious, but also friendly and sincere. A most amiable gentleman, I would have described him.’

‘I agree, my dear. On the surface he seems so.’ She returned Ruth’s puzzled gaze with a steely look. ‘But how many times must I caution you against judging by appearances alone, especially where members of the male sex are concerned? A great many vicious defects can lurk beneath the outward trappings of masculine charm.’ All at once her mouth was twisted by a decidedly sinister curl. ‘I discovered the truth of that for myself.’

Lady Beatrice then seemed to return from some dark, haunted place in the depths of her memory and even managed a semblance of a smile. ‘Oh, I’m not suggesting for a moment that Colonel Prentiss is some unfeeling monster beneath that outward show of affability. I do not know him well enough to judge. That said, I suspect he keeps a deal of himself well hidden. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, that’s for sure. To look at him no one would suppose for a moment that he suffered a tragic bereavement during his early manhood, from which, I strongly suspect, he has never fully recovered.’

In the pit of her stomach Ruth experienced an unpleasant tightening of muscles and was somewhat surprised by it given that she was barely acquainted with the gentleman. ‘Do—do you mean he lost his wife, that he’s now a widower?’

‘Oh, no. He’s never married, unless he’s done so recently, and quite secretly, for I have never read of any such occurrence in the newspapers. And he certainly doesn’t give the impression of being a married gentleman. But he was once, I believe, engaged to be married many years ago, before he embarked upon his career in the army.’

For some reason that she failed to comprehend Ruth digested what she had been told with a distinct lack of pleasure. It ought not to have mattered a whit to her if Colonel Prentiss, a virtual stranger, had once given his heart to another; it ought not, but oddly it did.

‘He must have been very young at the time,’ she commented, feeling some response was expected of her.

‘He was,’ Lady Beatrice concurred. ‘And his affianced bride, a Miss Alicia Thorndyke was a truly lovely girl. Tall and willowy, I seem to remember,’ she went on, after pausing to study Ruth’s much shorter stature through the dressing-table mirror, ‘highly suited to a gentleman of the Colonel’s size. They were childhood sweethearts by all accounts and quite constant in their affection for each other. I have always been blessed with a surprisingly acute memory, and recall Miss Thorndyke’s one and only Season clearly. She attracted several eligible suitors, but remained true to Hugo Prentiss.’

‘What happened to her, ma’am?’ Ruth felt sufficiently interested to ask.

All at once the widow frowned. ‘Do you know, I’m not altogether sure I ever learned precisely how she died. It goes without saying that Hugo Prentiss, of course, has never found anyone to replace her. Rather sad, I suppose, but I dare say after all these years he’s now resigned to his bachelor state.’

The sound of the gong announcing dinner put an end to any further possible revelations, for which Ruth was not entirely sorry. Conscious that her reactions had been studied closely, she could only hope she had not appeared overtly interested in the Colonel’s past life. After all, she ought not to have been so. The trouble was she knew the opposite was nearer the truth.

* * *

By the time all the stranded wayfarers had gathered in the hall, just prior to filing into the large dining room, Ruth, thankfully, had her oddly disturbing feelings well under control again. In a determined effort not to betray a preference for any one person’s company, she made no attempt to engage the Colonel in conversation. In fact, she went out of her way to appear more interested in the other unexpected guests, ensuring they had everything they needed to make their stay as comfortable as possible. Even when she seated herself at the dining table, she made a point of conversing mainly with the gentlemen seated on either side of her, while at the same time attempting to draw the two female guests into the conversation whenever possible.

The same could not have been said for their hostess, who betrayed a marked partiality for the Colonel’s company. It could not be denied, either, that she showed an interest in Lady Fitznorton’s great-nephew, whom she actively encouraged to regale them with examples of his less-than-commendable exploits up at Oxford. She did condescend as the meal wore on to direct the odd remark in the middle-aged practitioner’s direction. Sadly, his sister received no such minor attention and, save for staring at them both fixedly from time to time, Lady Beatrice virtually ignored completely the hard-working lawyer, who had been obliged to travel on business, and the pleasant woman who had come to the West Country in the hope of seeing her father before he died.

Lady Beatrice’s snobbery was clearly rearing its ugly head yet again. Although she had raised no objection whatsoever to all those seeking shelter under her roof being offered a seat at her table, she could not have made it more plain that she considered most of the company quite unworthy of the philanthropy she had shown towards them.

Yes, anyone might have been forgiven for supposing that Lady Beatrice was already heartily regretting her charitable actions towards so many strangers. Yet, as she cast a long, considering look at the head of the table, Ruth was amazed to detect a glint of what looked suspiciously like suppressed excitement in those world-weary eyes, which suggested nothing could have been further from the truth; that their hostess was, in fact, enjoying herself hugely for some very private reason of her own.

All the same, it came as something of a surprise, even to Ruth, when Lady Beatrice suddenly turned to the tall gentleman seated on her left to ask in a raised voice that instantly captured everyone’s attention, ‘No doubt you have seen much death during your illustrious career, Colonel...a great number of murders committed.’

The large, yet shapely, hand reaching for the glass of wine checked for an instant. ‘When engaged in battle, ma’am, a soldier doesn’t consider he’s committing murder when destroying the enemies of his country,’ he responded solemnly, after fortifying himself from the glass.

‘Naturally not. Even so, I’m sure numerous instances of murder have been committed among the ranks.’ Lady Beatrice, it seemed, was determined to develop the theme. ‘After all, where better to conceal a murder than on a battlefield already strewn with corpses?’

She then again favoured Dr Dent with her undivided attention. ‘And gentlemen engaged in your profession are equally well placed to rid themselves of those they do not wish to exist, without causing undue suspicion, don’t you agree?’

The doctor visibly bridled at this accusation. ‘I shall take leave to inform you, ma’am, that those engaged in my profession do their utmost to preserve life, not terminate it!’

Lady Beatrice’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. ‘That may also be so,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I am equally certain that some have hastened the deaths of patients, whether by accident...or design. Like the Colonel, here, practitioners are equally well placed to commit the undetectable murder.

‘And the most unlikely people do commit murder, you know,’ she continued, after pausing to stare almost accusingly at each of her listeners in turn. ‘Why, anyone sitting here this evening might be quite capable of committing such an act... And might well have done so.’

‘By heaven!’ Tristram Boothroyd exclaimed in a jocular fashion. ‘Best lock the bedchamber door tonight. What say you, Colonel?’

Unperturbed, and even smiling faintly, Hugo reached for his wine again. ‘No need to take such precautions, lad. I’m a light sleeper.’

Ruth, for one, didn’t doubt it for a moment. For all his appearance of relaxed affability, not much, she suspected, ever escaped his notice. In fact, Colonel Prentiss was not an easy man to judge at all. As Lady Beatrice had intimated earlier, he gave little of himself away. For instance, it was impossible to assess just what was passing through his mind at the present time: whether he had taken Lady Beatrice’s remarks seriously or not. As for herself she didn’t know what to think. For all that her ladyship didn’t entertain frequently, she lacked none of the social graces. None the less, murder hardly seemed an appropriate topic for dinnertime conversation!

‘You quite unnerve me, ma’am,’ Ruth said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. ‘If what you say is true, it must be nigh impossible to judge who is capable of committing such a crime. I, for one, could not point an accusing finger at any person here present. So, unless one happens to see or hear someone plotting, or committing the act itself, how on earth could one recognise a person capable of committing murder?’

With the contours of her mouth set in a thin smile, Lady Beatrice appeared supremely satisfied. ‘There you have it, my dear! Disregarding the obvious exceptions— those who are observed actively engaged in acts of violence—it is extremely difficult to judge who might be capable of committing such a heinous crime... It is not always so straightforward, either, to assimilate what one has witnessed.’

‘Oh, come now, ma’am!’ Mr Blunt, the stooping-shouldered little lawyer, countered staunchly, thereby proving at a stroke that his appearance of timidity might not have been an altogether accurate assessment of his character. ‘Surely one must know whether one has witnessed murder or not?’

‘Do I infer correctly from what you’ve said,’ Hugo put in calmly, ‘that you believe you did witness such an event yourself, ma’am?’

‘Not the act itself, Colonel, no,’ Lady Beatrice responded, after once again staring at each and every person present. ‘I witnessed the prelude and the aftermath.’

‘I trust you reported what you did see to the appropriate authorities?’ the lawyer enquired, thereby breaking the silence which followed the startling disclosure.

Raising her chin, Lady Beatrice regarded him down the length of her aristocratic nose, much as she might have done a menial. ‘But what did I witness, after all, my good man? Two persons, standing close to a cliff edge, who happened to be exchanging high words. I was not raised to indulge in vulgar curiosity, so did not linger to discover what the altercation between the two might possibly have been about. Besides which, I had concerns of my own to occupy me at the time.

‘But when I had walked some distance,’ she continued, after a moment’s reflection, ‘and chanced to turn, I noticed just one of those I had glimpsed earlier walking back in the direction of the coastal town. At the time it never occurred to me to wonder what had become of the other. It was only a month or so later, after reading a report in the newspaper of a body being discovered amongst some rocks on a certain stretch of coastline, that I began to wonder, and realised, too, that I had been acquainted with the dead man.’

Tristram Boothroyd’s suggestion that it might have been an accident was instantly challenged by Hugo. ‘Were that the case, lad, I would have expected the incident to have been reported by the dead person’s companion. You heard Lady Beatrice say this other person was seen walking back in the direction of the town. Had it been an accident, surely there would have been some urgency in getting help?’

‘That is precisely the conclusion I eventually drew, Colonel,’ Lady Beatrice revealed. ‘As I mentioned before, at the time, I did not recognise the victim. It was a blustery day and he had the collar of his cloak turned right up, besides wearing a hat and having his back towards me. The other person’s face I did see quite clearly. Although this other was a complete stranger...justice might still be served... The passage of time is kinder to some and they change very little. What is more, I never forget a face, you see...not ever,’ and so saying she rose to her feet, inviting the ladies to join her in the drawing room.

Ruth, for one, was more than happy to oblige. Although capturing the gentlemen’s interest, the conversation over dinner hadn’t been quite the norm, and she was pleased to be granted the opportunity to discuss less controversial topics with the ladies in the drawing room.

Lady Beatrice, as was her wont, positioned herself by the hearth and, once tea had been dispensed, appeared quite content with her own company and private thoughts, leaving it to Ruth to entertain the ladies as best she could. She began by remarking on the lucky chance that so many were putting up at that particular inn at Lynmouth and were able to share the cost of the innkeeper’s services. ‘Not so lucky with the weather, though, sadly.’

‘No, indeed,’ the attractive widow agreed. ‘Although Dr Dent, his sister and I were all born in the area, we never met until recently. My father was the vicar of a small parish near the town. My sister and I lived quite a solitary existence—my sister still does, come to that. It wasn’t until I was obliged to seek employment and attained a post as a governess that I began to experience life.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘I suppose I must have seemed very naïve in those days... In fact, I know I was—a little country mouse. Most unworldly!’

‘Oh, I do not think anyone would call you that, Mrs Adams,’ the doctor’s sister countered. ‘If I may say so, you seem a very capable woman, quite able to take care of yourself.’

The widow smiled wryly. ‘I suppose marriage and widowhood have added greatly to my experiences,’ she responded in a quiet, reflective way, ‘not to mention raising a child on my own and owning and running a profitable little enterprise.’

Ruth was impressed. Very few women went into business. There just weren’t the opportunities. Marriage was the only option for most of her sex, or engaging in one of the so-called genteel professions, such as a governess or paid companion.

‘How do you support yourself, if you do not mind my asking, Mrs Adams?’ she enquired, after glancing in the direction of the hearth to discover Lady Beatrice, eyes closed, looking very comfortable in her chair. Ruth might have supposed her to have fallen asleep had not the lady of the house been smiling faintly, seemingly at some private thought.

‘Oh, nothing in any way spectacular. After my husband died I eventually returned to London to live in the house that had been my late husband’s home since boyhood. I was obliged to live quite frugally for a time, as my late husband had invested most of his money—wisely, as things turned out. After a few years I was able to buy a much larger property and turned it into a boarding house. I have two permanent lodgers with me now and others who stay on a regular basis during the Season. I’m hoping to persuade my sister to come and reside with me. I’ve plenty of room and I could do with the extra help. And, of course, she’ll not be able to remain at the vicarage now that Papa has been taken from us.’

‘My dear,’ Lady Beatrice unexpectedly interjected into the proceedings, thereby corroborating Ruth’s suspicions that she had possibly been attending to everything that had been said, ‘would you be good enough to arrange for a couple of tables to be set up before the gentlemen rejoin us. I’m sure they would enjoy a game or two of cards before finally retiring.’

* * *

Surprisingly enough Lady Beatrice’s prediction turned out to be accurate. Despite the fact that all the guests, with the possible exception of young Tristram Boothroyd, had been up and about since first light, they all seemed more than happy to make up pairs for whist—even both female travellers were content to join in proceedings.

It surprised Ruth not at all when Lady Beatrice commandeered Colonel Prentiss as her partner. After all, she had more in common with him than with any of the others. What did give her pause for thought was the invitation directly afterwards issued to the good doctor and his sister to sit at the hostess’s table and make up the four, thereby obliging Ruth to take a seat at the other.

She wasn’t offended by the deliberate exclusion. She didn’t even object to having Mr Boothroyd as her partner. Although he was not a particularly skilful player, he provided her and their opponents with some lively conversation. Even the strait-laced little lawyer uttered a wheezy chuckle a time or two. What had initially escaped her entirely, however, was the reason behind her deliberate exclusion. It wasn’t until Colonel Prentiss suddenly suggested a change of partners and turned directly to Ruth, issuing the invitation to join him, that the truth suddenly dawned on her. Seemingly Lady Beatrice had no intention of allowing her companion to become better acquainted with at least one of the guests.

Lady Beatrice wasted no time rising to her feet. ‘I’m afraid, Colonel, I must deny you that pleasure. Miss Harrington’s presence is required elsewhere.’ She then turned to the others, encompassing them all in a brief glance and the faintest of smiles. ‘I shall bid you all goodnight...and better fortune for the morrow.’

She moved slowly across to the door, bidding Ruth accompany her as she did so. ‘It is my custom to break my fast in bed,’ she added, her back firmly turned towards the assembled company, ‘so I doubt we shall meet again. Do feel free to ask my servants should you require anything further in the morning’, and with that she left the room, without so much as a backward glance, and leaving Ruth to close the door behind them.

Candles a-plenty had been placed on the table in the hall, enough for everyone to see themselves safely to the upper floor. Lady Beatrice lit her own before speaking again. ‘I feel unusually fatigued this evening, but suspect with all the disturbances of the day I shall find it difficult to sleep. Be kind enough to indulge me by making that beneficial nightcap I reserve for just such occasions as this. You do it so much better than anyone else. And send Whitton to me.’

There was sufficient light in the hall to guide Ruth safely through to the kitchen, where she discovered Agatha sitting alone by the range. ‘Lady Bea’s ready for you now, Aggie. Have all the other servants retired...? I cannot say I’m surprised,’ she went on, after receiving a nod in response. ‘Cook must be absolutely exhausted. And she’ll need to be up bright and early tomorrow.’

‘That she will,’ Agatha agreed, rising wearily to her feet. ‘The snow will mostly be gone by then. At least the roads will be passable, so I expect they’ll all be wanting to be on their way.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Ruth agreed hollowly, contemplating with a distinct lack of enthusiasm taking leave of at least one of the unexpected company. ‘I’ve enjoyed today. It has made such a pleasant change. You’d best go up, Aggie,’ she added, while going about the kitchen collecting the various ingredients she required to make the requested nightcap. ‘Don’t worry about extinguishing the candles, I’ll see to that.’

Soon after the maid had departed the door leading to the passageway swung open again, catching Ruth completely unawares. ‘Why, Colonel, you did give me a fright!’

The warmth of his natural smile as he strolled into the room had an even more alarming effect on her pulse-rate than his unexpected appearance had done. ‘I’m sorry if I startled you. I sometimes forget that certain ladies can find my size a trifle alarming.’

‘I don’t,’ she assured him promptly, then could only be grateful for the dim light in the kitchen, which she hoped concealed the sudden heat in her cheeks from that all-too-perceptive blue-eyed gaze. What on earth had possessed her to say such a thing? Why, her response had been tantamount to flirting, for heaven’s sake!

Thankful that the necessity of plunging a poker into red-hot embers enabled her to turn her back on him for a few moments, she attempted to regain at least a modicum of her natural poise. ‘Have you everything you need, sir, or is there something I can get for you?’

‘I thought to have a last word with my servant about our departure tomorrow, but I rather fancy I’ve left it too late. He’ll have sought his bed long since.’

Receiving no response, Hugo watched her going about the task of making a hot toddy, her tread so light, as she moved about the kitchen, that she hardly made a sound on the stone floor. ‘I also came to tell you that everyone has decided to retire and that I’ve extinguished the candles in the drawing room.’

Her expression revealed her gratitude, even before she voiced it. ‘Why, that was considerate of you, sir. Thank you.’

‘Not at all!’ Hugo countered, dismissing the thanks with a wave of his hand. ‘Very least I could do, Miss Harrington, most especially after...after unwittingly upsetting you earlier in the day.’

‘Upsetting me...?’ Ruth’s puzzlement could not have been clearer. ‘But you haven’t upset me, sir. Whatever made you suppose you had?’

His gaze betrayed a suggestion of amusement. ‘Because I could only suppose it was the mild scold I administered for carrying my bags that induced you to virtually ignore me for most of the evening.’

The bluntness of the response left Ruth almost reeling for a moment. That he’d been fully cognisant of her deliberate avoidance came as no very real surprise. After all, hadn’t she already decided there was absolutely nothing wrong with the tall man’s understanding? But now he was proving himself to be so confoundedly astute, too astute to be fobbed off with a deliberate lie! Yet, how on earth could she admit to having avoided him without offering some explanation for her actions. And the truth of the matter was she didn’t know the reason for it herself!

Deciding the best form of defence was attack, she said, ‘I shall take leave to inform you, sir, that it would take a deal more than a mild verbal chastisement from a virtual stranger to overset me. I’m not such a poor creature.’

Behind the amused glint lurked a growing respect. ‘I’m pleased to hear it. Here, let me take that,’ he added, reaching for the tray, after she had completed her task. He sniffed appreciatively. ‘Smells delicious. I’m almost tempted to have one myself.’

‘Have that one. I can easily make another,’ she obligingly offered, but Hugo shook his head.

‘No, it’s time you were abed.’ He slanted a look that was gently teasing and yet at the same time touchingly earnest. ‘I should feel aggrieved if I’m obliged to set out on the morrow without being granted the opportunity to say a final farewell.’

Had he but realised it, Ruth herself was continuing to experience scant pleasure at the prospect and yet sensibly accepted there was precious little she could do to delay his departure. Moreover, although he lived in an adjoining county, he might just as well have resided on the other side of the world, so slim were their chances of ever meeting again, at least by accident.

Sensible though she might have been to have accepted this already, as she accompanied him up the staircase, she racked her brain for something, anything that might delay him seeking his bed immediately. Sadly, any hope of doing so was thwarted by surprisingly discovering Julia Adams lurking in the passageway at the top of the stairs.

She appeared momentarily startled by their appearance, then seemed to collect herself. ‘Oh, I was hoping you hadn’t retired, Miss Harrington. I was just attempting to locate your room. There must be a split in my valise. I’m afraid everything has become so very damp. Could you possibly oblige me by lending me a nightgown?’

‘Of course,’ Ruth responded before masterfully suppressing a resigned sigh as she turned to the Colonel. ‘Just put the tray down on that table outside Lady Beatrice’s room, sir, and I shall bid you goodnight.’

After taking a minute or so to locate the required garment, Ruth emerged from her bedchamber in the hope of seeing the Colonel still lingering there, only to discover Mrs Adams awaiting her.

After handing over the freshly laundered nightgown, Ruth didn’t delay in whisking herself into Lady Beatrice’s room to find the lady sitting up in bed, supported by a mound of pillows, and not, as expected, appearing in the least fatigued.

‘Was that Colonel Prentiss I heard you conversing with a few moments ago?’

‘Yes, and Mrs Adams. She wished to borrow a nightgown,’ Ruth enlightened her before placing the small tray containing the nightcap within easy reach on the bedside table. ‘If there’s nothing else I can get for you, ma’am, I shall retire myself.’

She was subjected to a piercing stare. ‘Yes, you do look tired. A pity, I was hoping to have a private talk with you. There was something I wished to explain,’ Lady Beatrice revealed, then shrugged. ‘No matter, it can wait until morning. Just lock my door before you leave. I don’t feel safe with so many...strangers in the house. And you would do well to do likewise.’

Although she happily did as bidden, Ruth flatly refused to be influenced by such foolish flights of fancy. Who was likely to visit her at the dead of night, for heaven’s sake? Certainly neither Dr Dent or Mr Blunt, she mused, changing into her nightwear. They were far too strait-laced for such capers; not to mention too sensible to risk their respective livelihoods if rumours of such scandalous goings-on were ever spread abroad. As for Tristram Boothroyd...? Well, he possibly viewed her in the light of some dull maiden aunt, she decided, somewhat dispirited at the thought. And as for the Colonel...?

For a few deliciously frivolous moments she allowed herself to ponder on just such an occurrence, and what her possible reaction might be, before common sense prevailed and she took herself roundly to task for even contemplating such a scandalous situation. The Colonel was a gentleman, kind and considerate, but certainly not interested in conducting a dalliance with her. He’d be the very last person to pay her a midnight visit!

* * *

Yet, later, something did succeed in rousing her briefly from slumber. The fire in the grate had long since ceased to send flickering darts of light about the bedchamber and the room was in total darkness, save for the suggestion of candlelight beneath the communicating door. There was not so much as a sound except that of her own breathing and there was no shadowy movement from any corner. Even so, Ruth couldn’t shake off the eerie feeling that she wasn’t alone, until sleep finally reclaimed her.