Читать книгу The Viscount's Scandalous Return - ANNE ASHLEY, Anne Ashley - Страница 5

September 1814

Miss Isabel Mortimer’s return to her farmhouse-style home coincided with the long-case clock’s chiming the hour of eleven. She had been out and about since first light, and so might reasonably have expected a more enthusiastic welcome than the decidedly reproachful glance her ever-loyal housekeeper-cum-confidante cast her.

‘Oh, Lord, miss!’ Bessie exclaimed, as she watched her young mistress deposit the gun and the fruits of her labours down upon the kitchen table. ‘You’ve never been a’wandering over Blackwood land again? I’ve warned you time and again that there steward up at the Manor will have you placed afore the magistrate, given half a chance. Heard tell he weren’t best pleased back along, when them there high-and-mighty legal folk came up from Lunnon, asking questions about the night of the murders, and he discovered it were you had stirred things up again after all these years.’

‘No, I don’t suppose he was pleased.’ Not appearing in the least concerned, Isabel collected a sharp knife from a drawer and then promptly set herself the task of preparing the rabbits for the stew-pot. ‘What’s more, young Toby told me, this very morn as it happens, there’s been no sign of Master Guy Fensham these past two weeks. Which I find most revealing in the circumstances. After all, what had he to fear if he told the truth about the happenings on that terrible night?’

‘Well, that’s just it, miss. He couldn’t have done, now could he, if what the old master set down on paper be true? And I would far rather believe the old master, ‘cause there were nought wrong with him at the time of writing.’

‘Well, I, for one, never doubted the truth of Papa’s version of events. As you quite rightly pointed out, he wrote his account before he suffered that first seizure.’

Whenever Isabel thought of her late father she experienced, still, an acute sense of loss, even now, after almost two years. They had always been wondrous close; more so after he had become infirm and had come to rely upon her for so much. Yet nothing in her expression betrayed the fact that she had nowhere near fully recovered from his death. If anything, she seemed quite matter-of-fact as she said,

‘So you’ve no need to fear I shall fall foul of Fensham, especially as I didn’t take one step on Blackwood land. I’ve been in the top meadow, as it happens. Besides …’ she shrugged, emphasising her complete unconcern ‘… what would it matter if I had been trespassing? If and when his lordship does return, I shall make it perfectly plain that he owes me a deal more than the few fish I’ve removed from his trout stream for all the damage his overgrown ditch has done to my vegetable garden during his long absence. Why his father ever employed such a lazy ne’er-do-well as Guy Fensham as steward up at the Manor, I shall never know!’

Thoughtfully drying her hands on her apron, Bessie joined her young mistress at the table. ‘Well, miss, no matter what folks may say about the old Viscount—and you’ll find plenty hereabouts who never liked him—you’ll never hear anyone say he neglected either the land or the Manor. When the old Lord Blackwood were alive the steward did his work, and toed the line.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Now look at the place! It’s a year and more since you went to Lunnon to seek out Mr Bathurst,’ she reminded her mistress. ‘And never a word since!’

‘Now, that isn’t strictly true,’ Isabel corrected, striving to be fair. ‘We’ve never been precisely kept abreast of developments, I’ll agree. Even so, Mr Bathurst did take the trouble to send that one letter, confirming he’d set the wheels in motion, as it were, and thanking me once again for the trouble I’d taken in seeking him out personally in order to pass on Papa’s written account. And he fully reimbursed me for all the expense of travelling to London and remaining there for those few days. He was most generous, in fact!’

Isabel cast a long, considering look at the large dresser that almost covered the entire wall opposite. ‘How very fortunate it was that so many hereabouts recalled that it had been none other than Mr Bathurst himself who had sold this very property to my father, and had gone to London to study law. Fortunate, too, that so many remembered he and the Honourable Sebastian Blackwood had been upon the very best of terms in their youth. He was the ideal person for me to seek out and pass on what Papa had revealed about the Viscount’s younger son.

‘And you must remember,’ Isabel continued, after a further few moments’ consideration, ‘Mr Bathurst was in something of a precarious position. Just how much of a hand he had in effecting his friend’s escape from the authorities, after Sebastian Blackwood had been accused of murdering both his father and brother all those years ago, I can only speculate. All the same, for some considerable time Mr Bathurst has been a well-respected barrister, a veritable pillar of the community and a staunch upholder of the law. He would need to be circumspect and surely wouldn’t wish his name to be too closely connected with a man who, as far as we know, is still accused of committing the atrocities.’

After listening intently to everything her young mistress had said, Bessie nodded her head in agreement. ‘But do you know, Miss Isabel, long afore you found your father’s papers about the happenings on that terrible night, I never for a moment thought young Master Sebastian had gone and done that wicked deed. And I weren’t the only one who disbelieved it, neither. Now, I ain’t saying he were a saint, ‘cause he weren’t. For a start, he were a devil for the ladies, young as he was. Not that I ever heard tell he got any round these parts into trouble—think he preferred painted doxies, or maybe those nearer his own class.

‘Oh, but he were right handsome, so he were.’ Bessie continued reminiscing, her plump cheeks suddenly aglow at some private thought. ‘I can see him now—so tall, so proud, riding by on that fine horse of his. Why, he used to send my heart all of a-flutter, to be sure!’

‘Get a hold of yourself, woman!’ Isabel admonished lovingly. ‘I remember him too. And I’ll tell you plainly we’re far beneath his touch. Why, he’d never give the likes of you and me a second glance!’

‘Not me he wouldn’t, that’s for sure,’ Bessie acknowledged a moment before a surge of loyalty, borne of an ever-increasing loving respect, prompted her to add, ‘But you’re quite another matter. Well, you would be, if you’d trouble yourself about your appearance once in a while,’ she amended, frowning at her mistress’s shabby, worn attire, and windswept chestnut locks, numerous strands of which had escaped the confining pins.

Isabel responded with a dismissive wave of one hand. ‘I’ve better things to do than sit before a mirror for hours on end preening myself. I might have been born the daughter of a gentleman, and raised to be a lady, at least when dear Mama was alive, and had a hand in my upbringing, but even so I never was the sort to attract the attentions of any aristocratic gentleman, least of all one so high on the social ladder as the son of a viscount. And I’ve always had sense enough to realise it! I’m far too managing for a start. Besides …’ she shrugged ‘… I’m not altogether sure I really wish to marry. I’m happy enough as I am, and I enjoy my independence. No, if and when Lord Blackwood does return to take his father’s place up at the Manor, my only interest in him will be to see how long it takes him to improve the drainage on his land, and to improve, too, the lot of those unfortunate wretches who rely upon the estate for a living, not least of which, as you very well know, is poor old Bunting.’

At this Isabel became the recipient of a hard, determined look. ‘Now, miss, the old butler up at the Manor be none of your concern. I know ‘tis a sinful shame he weren’t pensioned off years ago, and given one of the estate cottages promised to him by the old Lord Blackwood. I think it’s wicked, too, that a man of his years should be alone up there in that great house, hardly seeing a soul. Why, if it hadn’t been for you and the young curate visiting him so regular last winter, I swear the influenza would have taken him off.’

‘You did your share of nursing too,’ Isabel reminded her.

Bessie, however, steadfastly refused this time to be won over by the warmth of her mistress’s lovely smile. ‘I know I did. But that don’t change matters. You simply can’t afford to take on any more waifs and strays. You’ve too many folk depending on you as it is.

‘And it’s no earthly good you looking at me like that!’ Bessie exclaimed, totally impervious to the reproachful glance cast in her direction. ‘I know you feel grateful to Troake for all the care he took over your father during those last years. And there’s no denying he worked well enough when the old master were alive. But even you can’t deny he’s become dreadful slow of late, not to mention a bad-tempered old demon. And then there’s young Toby. Now I ain’t saying the lad ain’t worth his weight in gold,’ Bessie went on, thereby successfully cutting off the protest her mistress had been about to utter. ‘The boy’s nothing less than a godsend, so he is, the way he repaired the barn roof last winter. But the wages you pay him could be put to better use.’

Bessie’s brown eyes slid past her mistress to the large shaggy dog lying sprawled on the floor, close to the range. Before she could voice any condemnation of the hound, which had been saved from a watery grave in the millpond, and which had become totally devoted to the mistress of the house, his rescuer forestalled any criticism by announcing,

‘Don’t you dare say a word against him! I won’t deny there is some justification in what you’ve said about both Troake and Toby Marsh. But I would never be without my darling Beau! Why, if it hadn’t been for him the house would have been broken into on at least three occasions that we know of these past months. Furthermore, but for him, we wouldn’t be having rabbit stew for supper. He managed to root out half a dozen in the top meadow.’

Bessie, ever sharp, wasn’t slow to pounce upon this interesting snippet. ‘In that case, where be the other two?’

Isabel had the grace to look a little shamefaced in view of what had been mentioned already. ‘I let Toby take them home to his mother.’

Bessie cast a despairing glance up at the ceiling. ‘Now, why doesn’t that surprise me none, I wonder! I don’t suppose you took a moment to consider we’ve an extra mouth to feed, now that young cousin of yours has taken refuge in the house. Now, I ain’t saying you shouldn’t have taken her in the way you did, she being the only child of your papa’s dear sister, and the only close kin you’ve left in the world that’s ever had any dealings with you. And there’s no denying she, too, be worth her weight in gold,’ she hurriedly conceded. ‘I do declare the house has never looked so clean and tidy for many a long year. I defy anyone to find a speck of dust about the place! And sew …? I’ve never known anyone set a neater stitch than Miss Clara, not even your sainted mother. It’s a pleasure to show folk into the front parlour nowadays, what with the new curtains, and all.’

It was clear that Bessie was at least a staunch supporter of the young woman who had surprisingly turned up on the doorstep late one evening a month before, almost begging sanctuary. Isabel hadn’t recognised the beautiful stranger as the young cousin she had seen only a few times in her life, and then many years ago, when her aunt and cousin had paid the occasional visit to London. None the less, she hadn’t doubted her authenticity. Nor did she regret for a moment the decision she had made to help her hapless relation, who had been fleeing from a forced union with a man old enough to be her father. All the same, she couldn’t help feeling that her act of kindness might bring trouble in the future.

She tried not to dwell on this uncomfortable possibility as she enquired into the whereabouts of her relative, and by so doing gave rise to a look of comical dismay in her ever-faithful companion.

‘The young curate were round here again, bright and early this morning, with a few more newspapers from up at the vicarage. It’s good of him, I suppose. But it do put queer notions into your cousin’s head. Now, I ain’t saying Miss Clara ain’t in the right of it not wishing to be a burden on you,’ Bessie went on, somehow managing to preserve a serious countenance. ‘But what wife and mother in her right mind would ever employ such a beautiful girl as a governess? She seems to suppose someone will, though, and begged a lift with the local carrier into Merryfield so that she might visit the sorting office with her reply to an advertisement she spotted in one of them there journals.’

Smiling wryly, Isabel shook her head. ‘Yes, you’re right. Clara has the sweetest of dispositions. She’s hard-working, can set a stitch better than most, and she is far from dull-witted. Sadly, though, she isn’t very worldly.’

She was suddenly thoughtful. ‘I just hope she doesn’t come to regret this determination of hers to find employment. I cannot help but feel that the fewer people who know her present whereabouts the safer it will be for her. Should her stepmother discover where she is, I’m not altogether sure I could prevent her from removing Clara from under this roof.’

The application of the front-door knocker successfully brought an end to the conversation. The housekeeper made to rise from the table, but Isabel forestalled her by saying she herself would go. Although mistress of the house, she had never been too proud to answer her own front door, should the need arise.

Consequently, as soon as she had washed her hands, removed her soiled apron and made herself reasonably presentable by repositioning a few wayward strands of hair, she went along the passageway to discover a man of below-average height awaiting her on the other side of the solid oak barrier.

Everything about him suggested a professional man, so Isabel wasn’t in the least surprised to have a business card thrust into her hand bearing the names of Crabtree, Crabtree and Goodbody, a firm of lawyers based in the metropolis.

‘And you are?’ Isabel enquired, her great fear that he might have come in connection with her cousin Clara’s present whereabouts diminishing somewhat by the fact that the notary was flanked by two young children. By their clear resemblance to each other, Isabel felt they must surely be brother and sister.

‘Mr Goodbody, ma’am,’ he answered promptly, doffing his hat, whilst all the time favouring her with a scrutiny that was no less assessing than her own had been. Evidently he had decided that, although not in the least stylishly attired, she bore all the other characteristics of a young woman of refinement, for he added, ‘Would I be correct in assuming I have the pleasure in addressing Miss Mortimer, daughter of the late Dr John Mortimer?’

Isabel would have been the first to admit that she had been reared to conduct herself in a genteel manner, at least for as long as others had had an influence on her behaviour. Years of increasing responsibilities had tended, however, to persuade her to disregard social niceties, and adopt a more forthright approach when dealing with her fellow man. Some, it had to be said, found her abrupt almost to the point of rudeness, whilst others considered her no-nonsense approach commendable.

Seemingly Mr Goodbody fell into this latter category, for he betrayed not a modicum of disquiet when she demanded to know precisely why he had called, and answered promptly with, ‘I am here at the behest of the present Lord Blackwood, ma’am.’

Although intrigued, and quite naturally interested to discover the seventh Viscount Blackwood’s present whereabouts, Isabel couldn’t help experiencing a feeling of disquiet where the two children were concerned. She could detect no resemblance whatsoever to the dapper little lawyer, which instantly begged the question of whose children they were. An alarming possibility instantly sprang to mind. None the less, although renowned for her no-nonsense manner, she was also known for her innate acts of kindness. The little girl, clearly weary and afraid, clung to the older child like a limpet, instantly rousing Isabel’s sympathy.

‘In that case, sir, you’d best bring the children into the house, and we’ll discuss the matter which has brought you here in the comfort of the front parlour.’

Bessie had not exaggerated about the transformation that had taken place since Clara’s arrival in the house. Tirelessly she had worked on making new curtains. She’d repaired all the upholstery where she could, and had even taken the trouble to embroider new covers and cushions to place over those worn areas that had been beyond her skill to repair. Clearly Mr Goodbody was favourably impressed, for he cast an admiring glance about him the instant he entered the largest room in the house.

After settling the two children on the sofa, and furnishing the lawyer with a glass of Madeira, Isabel once again asked for an explanation for the visit, adding, ‘And would I be correct in assuming that his lordship’s whereabouts is no longer a mystery, and he is presently in the country?’

All at once the little man’s expression became guarded. ‘I’m afraid I am not in a position to divulge his lordship’s current whereabouts, Miss Mortimer. All I am able to reveal is that a successful outcome to the enquiries regarding past—er—unfortunate happenings will not be long delayed now. In the meantime, his lordship feels himself unable to take up his responsibilities with regard to these two young persons.’

There wasn’t so much as a flicker of compassion in the glance Isabel cast the children this time, before fixing the notary with a haughty stare. ‘And what, pray, has that to do with me, sir?’ she enquired in a voice that would have frozen the village pond on the warmest summer’s day. ‘His lordship’s private domestic arrangements are entirely his own affair.’

‘Indeed, yes, Miss Mortimer,’ he readily concurred, having seemingly realised in which directions her thoughts were leading. ‘Perhaps if you were to read his lordship’s letter first,’ he added, delving into the leather bag he had carried into the house. ‘It might set your mind at rest on certain matters.’

Still very much on her guard, Isabel, with some reluctance, took the missive from the notary’s outstretched hand, and broke the seal to read:

My dear Miss Mortimer,

I am fully cognisant of the debt of gratitude I already owe you, and the charge I would settle upon you now. Believe me when I tell you the decision to place my wards into your care was not taken without a deal of consideration, and I can only trust to your forbearance in this matter.

The estimable Mr Goodbody is in a position to answer any questions you might have with regard to my wards, and has been instructed to reimburse you in advance for the expenses you will undoubtedly incur whilst the children are in your care. If, however, you feel unable to burden yourself with the responsibilities of a surrogate guardian, I shall perfectly understand.

And will have the honour to remain,

Your obedient servant,

Blackwood

Although there was a certain familiarity in the tone of the missive, Isabel couldn’t find it within herself to be offended. At least it had vanquished the idea that she was being asked to care for the Viscount’s by-blows!

After reading the letter through again, she raised her eyes. ‘So these children are Lord Blackwood’s wards.’

‘Indeed, they are, ma’am,’ the lawyer duly confirmed, before instructing the boy to stand and make his bow. ‘This is Master Joshua Collier, who has recently celebrated his ninth birthday, and his young sister, Alice, who is six.’

Isabel, having had little experience of children, was at a loss to know what to say to the siblings to put them at their ease, while she considered more fully the errant Viscount’s request. The boy stared back at her now with an almost defiant gleam in his dark eyes, as though he was more than ready to challenge any authority she might in the future attempt to exert over him, while his little sister merely stared, awestruck, as though she were looking at a being from another world. Fortunately the slightly embarrassing silence was brought to an end by Isabel’s cousin unexpectedly entering the room.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Bessie quite failed to mention you had visitors.’

‘No need to apologise,’ Isabel assured her. ‘Your arrival is most timely.’

She was now quite accustomed to the effect her strikingly lovely cousin always had on members of the opposite sex, most especially those who came face to face with her for the very first time. And Mr Goodbody was no exception! Although he refrained from gaping, there was no mistaking the look of appreciation he cast the stunningly lovely girl who glided towards him in order to clasp his outstretched hand.

Few gentlemen, Isabel suspected, would be proof against such wide, brilliant blue eyes, and the sweetest of smiles, set in a heart-shaped face. It was a countenance truly without flaw, and crowned with the brightest of guinea-gold curls.

‘Would you be good enough to take Master Joshua and his sister into the kitchen and provide them with something suitable to eat and drink, Clara? I’m sure they must be hungry after their journey.’

‘Of course,’ she obligingly replied, holding out her hand to the little girl who, after a moment’s hesitation, seemingly decided she would be happy to go with the pretty lady with the kindly smile. Her brother, evidently less impressed by Clara’s physical attributes, frowned dourly up at her before following them from the room, the prospect of plum cake and apple tart seemingly having won the day.

‘Now that we are able to discuss the matter more freely, Mr Goodbody,’ Isabel began, the instant they were alone, ‘perhaps you would be good enough to enlighten me as to why his lordship felt himself unable to place the children with a relative or friend? After all, I am neither. His lordship and I have never exchanged so much as a pleasantry.’

‘And that, I strongly suspect, is one of the main reasons why he chose you above anyone else.’ Frowning, the lawyer considered more fully for a moment. ‘Given what you have unselfishly done on his behalf, his lordship must be satisfied as to your integrity. Naturally, he has the children’s best interests at heart. Until such time as he is able to undertake the duties of his guardianship, he wishes his wards kept well away from their uncle’s sphere—their late mother’s brother, that is.’

‘Does his lordship believe the children’s uncle means them harm?’

‘I shall be diplomatic here, Miss Mortimer,’ he responded after a further moment’s consideration, ‘and say that neither his lordship nor myself believe the gentleman to be in the least trustworthy. He resided with his sister throughout the last year of her life, during which time certain irregularities came to light with regard to her finances. One can only speculate as to why so many large sums were withdrawn from her bank during this period. Furthermore a letter, supposedly written by the children’s mother, unexpectedly came to light shortly after her death. In it she requested an adjustment to her will, naming her brother sole guardian to her children, and sole beneficiary in the event of their deaths, giving the reason for the changes as a staunch belief that the present Lord Blackwood would be an unfit guardian. I am now in possession of certain letters written over the years by Sarah Collier to his lordship, the last one penned no more than three months ago, that clearly refute this. Therefore, it is my belief that either pressure was brought to bear upon the lady, when she was not in full possession of her faculties, to make adjustments to her will, or the letter is a complete forgery. I strongly suspect the latter.’

‘There was nothing suspicious about her death, though, surely?’ Isabel asked gently.

‘Nothing whatsoever, Miss Mortimer,’ he assured her. ‘She died of typhus.’

Isabel was far from sure that she wished to burden herself with the responsibilities of caring for two recently orphaned children. After all, what would happen if the uncle should happen to come to Northamptonshire in search of his niece and nephew?

‘I think that most unlikely, Miss Mortimer,’ the lawyer assured her, after she’d voiced this fear aloud. ‘The uncle, Mr Danforth, is completely unaware of his lordship’s present whereabouts. If he chose to make enquiries, all he would discover is that the Manor and his lordship’s town house are still unoccupied, as they have been for more than eight years, save for one reliable servant in each. Furthermore, Danforth knows I removed the children from their home. I know for a fact that my own house has been watched during this past week. I strongly suspect that he believes, you see, I

have the children safely hidden in London. By the time he has exhausted every possibility, and I have several sisters residing in the metropolis, it is fervently hoped that his lordship will have been cleared of all charges against him, and I myself shall have proved beyond doubt that Sarah Collier’s supposed adjustment to her will is entirely fraudulent.

‘But until such time, and if you are agreeable,’ he went on, when all Isabel did was to stare at him in thoughtful silence, still unsure what she should do, ‘his lordship has instructed me to give you this, in advance, in the hope that you will accept the responsibility he would place upon you.’

Delving into his bag once again, he drew out a bulging leather purse, which he promptly deposited on the low table between them. Isabel could only speculate on how much it contained. None the less, she suspected it held a considerable sum, perhaps more than she’d seen at any one time in her entire life.

‘His lordship will ensure that a draft on his bank is sent to you at the beginning of each month, until such time as he is able to make alternative arrangements. He wishes the children to be as little trouble to you as possible, and therefore requests that a governess be engaged, and any other help you deem necessary. I had no time to engage a suitable person, but if you are happy to accept the responsibility, I shall gladly do so on my return to London.’

‘No, there’s no need for you to trouble yourself, sir,’ she countered. ‘I happen to know of the very person.’

‘Do I infer correctly from that, Miss Mortimer, that you are agreeable to his lordship’s request?’

‘Yes, sir, you may be sure I am.’ The bulging purse on the table having comprehensively silenced the voice of doubt.

Although Clara had little difficulty in winning the trust and affection of little Alice Collier, her stronger-willed brother proved a different matter entirely. As Isabel had suspected, young Joshua had little appreciation of Clara’s beauty and, as things turned out, he wasn’t above taking wicked advantage of her innate good nature either.

On several occasions during those first weeks, Isabel was called upon to restore order to the upstairs chamber that functioned as a schoolroom-cum-nursery. Which she did in a swift and very effective fashion. Whether it was because she would tolerate no nonsense, or the fact that she was happy to take him along with her whenever she went out hunting or fishing that quickly won the boy’s respect was difficult to judge. Notwithstanding, by the time autumn gave way to winter, it was clear to all at the farmhouse that Master Joshua Collier had grown inordinately fond of the mistress of the house.

Naturally, having a young boy and girl residing under the roof resulted in a much more relaxed and cheerful atmosphere about the place. Bessie, however, considered there was more to it than just having two very contented children round the house.

The prompt payments sent by Mr Goodbody early each month had brought about numerous beneficial changes. Clara’s employment as governess had resulted in her feeling a deal happier knowing she was able to contribute something towards household expenses. The extra money had meant that items, once considered unnecessary luxuries, had been purchased, making life at the farmhouse so very much easier and agreeable. Most gratifying of all, as far as Bessie was concerned, was the non-appearance of those troubled frowns over financial matters that had from time to time creased her young mistress’s intelligent brow during recent years, whenever money for large bills had needed to be found.

Although he made no attempt to return to the farmhouse to see how the children fared, Mr Goodbody never failed to enquire after their welfare in the accompanying letter he always forwarded with the promissory note; Isabel duly replied, attesting to their continued well-being, and assumed he must surely pass these assurances on to the children’s guardian.

Of his lordship himself, however, Isabel saw and heard nothing; until, that is, the arrival of Mr Goodbody’s December letter, wherein he apprised her of the fact that the seventh Viscount Blackwood had finally been cleared of all charges against him, and was now at liberty to take up his rightful place at the ancestral home.

Isabel received this news with decidedly mixed feelings. On the one hand she knew it would greatly benefit many in the local community to have the Manor inhabited again; on the other, she would miss the children, most especially Josh. She was honest enough to admit, too, that she would miss the generous payments she had received over the past months for taking care of the orphans.

The New Year arrived with still no sign of the Viscount. Nevertheless, it was common knowledge that an army of local tradesmen had been hired to work in the Manor. So it stood to reason that Lord Blackwood was planning to take up residence at some point in the near future.

An unusually dry January gave way to a damp and dismal February, and brought with it no further news of his lordship. Then, in the middle of the month, an unexpected cold spell struck the county, making travel virtually impossible, even the shortest journeys, for several days. The vast majority of people, of course, were glad when at last the thaw set in, and they could go about their daily business unhindered; but not so Josh and Alice, who returned to the farmhouse with their governess, looking most disgruntled.

‘My snowman’s dying,’ Alice lamented, close to tears.

Both Isabel and Bessie, who were busily preparing the luncheon, tried to appear suitably sympathetic, unlike Alice’s brother, who was far more matter-of-fact about it all.

‘He’s not dying, you goose!’ Josh admonished. ‘He’s just melting. Snowmen aren’t alive, are they, Miss Isabel?’

She was spared the need to respond by Beau’s timely intervention. He had risen immediately the children had entered the kitchen, and was now receiving his customary pats and strokes.

It never ceased to amaze Isabel how differently the hound behaved towards the children nowadays. When they had first arrived at the farmhouse, it had to be said that he hadn’t been at all enthusiastic and had growled at them both whenever they had attempted to venture too close.

Quite understandable in the circumstances when one considered his life had very nearly been terminated by a group of village urchins, she mused. It hadn’t taken Beau very long, though, she reminded herself, while continuing to watch the by-play, to realise that children divided into two distinct factions—those who would cruelly tie a brick round his neck and hurl him in a pond; and those who offered tasty treats, and threw sticks in lively games.

Beau, now, was quite happy to accompany Josh and Alice whenever they went out to get some exercise under the watchful eye of their governess. More often than not, though, he would return in search of the mistress of the house, if she failed to put in an appearance after a short time.

‘Come, children, let’s go back upstairs to the schoolroom,’ Clara announced in her usual gentle way, making it sound more like a request than a command. ‘We’ve time enough, before luncheon is ready, to finish reading the story we began earlier.’

Both children obediently rose to their feet, and were about to accompany their governess, when there was an imperious rat-tat-tat on the kitchen door.

It wasn’t unusual for callers to use the rear entrance. More often than not it was the young lad whom Isabel employed to help her about the place seeking instructions on what work needed to be done. Toby Marsh had quickly become a firm favourite with Josh, who rushed across the kitchen to answer the summons, only to discover a forbidding-looking female standing there, dressed from head to toe in sombre black, accompanied by an equally unprepossessing gentleman, standing directly behind her.

Confronted by two such daunting strangers, Josh quite naturally fell back a pace or two, as did his governess, who also let out a tiny whimper, which not only captured Isabel’s attention, but also that of the unexpected female caller.

‘So there you are, you wicked, ungrateful gel!’ the visitor exclaimed, striding, quite uninvited, into the kitchen, with much rustling of wide bombazine skirts.

Although Isabel had never seen the middle-aged matron in her life before, her cousin’s suddenly ashen complexion and wide terrified eyes, as she fell back against the wall, gave her a fairly shrewd notion of who the harridan must surely be. Unless she was much mistaken, this was Clara’s stepmama, the woman her cousin’s loving father had married in the hope of replacing his beloved first wife. Well, it might have been beneficial for the late James Pentecost to remarry, but from things Clara had revealed during recent months her lot had not been improved by her late father’s second marriage, and the arrival in the family home of a selfish stepsister.

After calmly wiping her floured hands on her apron, Isabel placed herself squarely between her cowering cousin and the woman who was causing her young relative such distress. Evidently her resentment at having her home invaded by two complete strangers had conveyed itself to her faithful hound. Beau’s hackles rose as he let out a low, threatening growl, which had the effect of bringing the fleshy-faced man to a stop, as he made to follow into the kitchen, and even induced his equally unwelcome companion to retreat a pace or two.

‘My name is Isabel Mortimer, Clara’s cousin and mistress of this house,’ she said, managing to convey a calmness she was far from feeling.

Although she detected the sound of the front doorknocker being applied, Isabel considered she had more than enough to cope with at the present time without becoming sidetracked by a further caller, and so ignored the summons, as she turned to her cousin.

‘Would I be correct in assuming this female, who has dared to invade my home without the common courtesy of at least introducing herself first, is none other than your stepmama?’

‘Yes, I am Euphemia Pentecost,’ the woman responded, when all her stepdaughter did was to nod dumbly, and stare at her strong-willed cousin in awestruck silence for daring to remind such a formidable matron of basic good manners.

If Mrs Pentecost had been slightly taken aback, her discomfiture was not long lasting. ‘If I seem rude, miss, then I apologise!’ she snapped, sounding anything but chastened. ‘But let me tell you I have been sorely tried these past months in attempting to trace this wicked, ungrateful gel, who left her loving home without so much as a word to anyone!’

She gestured towards her companion who, keeping a wary eye on Beau, had been attempting to edge ever closer to her. ‘And poor Mr Sloane, here, has been almost out of his mind with worry over his fiancée’s well-being.’

‘Really?’ Isabel raised her finely arching brows in mock surprise as she studied the fleshy-faced gentleman closely for the first time, noticing in particular the lack of neck and wide, thick-lipped mouth. ‘Now, that is most interesting, because I have been led to believe that my cousin flatly refused to marry Mr Sloane, and that she was obliged to flee the family home because of the pressure being brought to bear upon her by you to form the union, ma’am,’ Isabel countered, the accusing note in her voice all too evident. ‘Which begs the question, does it not, of who is speaking the truth?’

Having seemingly appreciated already that she was having to deal with a young woman of character and determination, the antithesis of her stepdaughter, in fact, the widow adopted a different tack, becoming nauseatingly apologetic and ingratiating as she bemoaned her widowed state, and the extra burdens placed upon her since her husband’s demise.

‘Believe me when I tell you, Miss Mortimer, it is my one cherished wish to do everything humanly possible to ensure my stepdaughter’s future happiness,’ she continued in the same fawning tone, ‘and I would be failing in my duty if I didn’t attempt to arrange the best possible match for dear Clara. I’m sure a sensible young woman like yourself must appreciate that it is much better to marry an upright gentleman of property, like Mr Sloane here, who can offer a future wife most every creature comfort in life, than to retain foolish, girlish dreams of meeting a dashing knight in shining armour whose interest would very soon wane.’

‘I couldn’t agree more, ma’am,’ Isabel quickly intervened before the widow could develop the theme. ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact that Clara doesn’t wish to marry Mr Sloane. Nor, indeed, any profligate in armour, as far as I’m aware. Let me assure you that she is more than happy to make her own way in the world, and not be a burden on you any longer, by engaging in a genteel occupation.’

Hard-eyed and tight-lipped, the widow transferred her gaze to her stepdaughter. ‘I am fully aware of it,’ she unlocked her nutcracker mouth to acknowledge, thereby clearly heralding the return to her former inflexible stance. ‘How do you suppose we managed to locate your whereabouts, you foolish girl! The gentleman with whom you attempted to attain employment several months ago just happened to read the notice we were eventually obliged to place in the newspapers regarding your disappearance and, recalling the name, wrote to Mr Sloane, providing us with this address.’

She looked her stepdaughter up and down, the contempt in her eyes all too discernible. ‘Governess, indeed! Who would ever employ you as a governess?’

‘It might surprise you to learn, ma’am, that somebody already has,’ Isabel informed her, experiencing untold delight, before she turned to her cousin, who was holding a now, tearful Alice to her skirts. ‘If you have no desire to accompany these persons back to Hampshire, Clara, perhaps you would be good enough to return to the schoolroom with your charges.’

‘You stay precisely where you are!’ the widow instantly countered as Clara made to leave the kitchen. ‘Until you attain your majority, my girl, you remain under my control, and you will do precisely as I tell you.’

Whether this was true or not did not alter Isabel’s resolve to protect her cousin at all costs from such a harridan. Very slowly she moved across the kitchen and, by dint of using a low stool, was able to reach up far enough to remove the pistol that she always kept ready for immediate use on top of the dresser, much to Josh’s evident astonishment.

‘No, you didn’t know I had this, did you, Josh? I keep it primed and ready for just such an unfortunate occurrence as this.’ Smile fading, Isabel turned to face her unwelcome visitors again. ‘You shall both leave my house at once, otherwise I shan’t hesitate to use this.’

Even the case-hardened widow fell back a further pace or two when the pistol was levelled in a surprisingly steady hand. ‘You’ve not heard the last of this, young woman,’ she threatened in return, though keeping a wary eye on the firearm. ‘You may force us to leave now, but we shall be back with the constable, you mark my words!’

‘Spill her claret, Miss Isabel,’ Josh urged with bloodthirsty delight.

A moment’s silence followed, then, ‘I sincerely trust you will refrain from doing any such thing, my dear young woman,’ a softly spoken voice from the doorway strongly advised.