Читать книгу The Ton's Most Notorious Rake - Sarah Mallory - Страница 11
ОглавлениеDespite her brave words, Molly came away from Prospect House knowing there was very little she could do to protect its residents. It was unlikely that any of the gentlemen would actually come to the house, but it was very possible they would see the girls when they went into town to fetch supplies or to sell produce on market day. However, when she mentioned her worries to Edwin, he was sanguine.
‘I believe your charges have little to fear from the gentlemen at Newlands,’ he told her. ‘There is enough sport to be had to keep them hunting, shooting or fishing for weeks, and apart from the assemblies there is little to bring them into Compton Parva. Why, it is quite possible they will never set eyes upon your girls, as you call them!’
With that Molly had to be satisfied. Since Edwin had no wife to help him, she took it upon herself to visit the sick and distribute clothes and food to the poor of the parish. This, combined with her role on various committees, including that of Prospect House, kept her busy most days and she was able to put her worries about the Newlands party out of her head until the following Sunday.
* * *
When she accompanied Edwin to the morning service at All Souls, Sir Gerald and some of his guests were already occupying the box pew allocated to Newlands. She spotted Mr Russington’s tall figure immediately, but Sir Joseph and Mr Flemington were absent.
The residents of Prospect House were amongst the last to arrive. They were all most soberly dressed, with the ladies heavily veiled, and they were accompanied by Moses and little Billy Matthews, scrubbed and dressed in his best coat. The whole party slipped into their usual seats at the back of the church and, although they quickly settled down for the service, Molly found it difficult to concentrate. She rebuked herself for her inattention and told herself there was no reason at all why Sir Gerald or his friends should have occasion to look back at Fleur and her companions, but she did not relax until the service was over and the Newlands party had gone out without sparing a glance for the rest of the congregation. She hovered at the church door and watched them exchange a few words with Edwin and only when they had climbed into their carriages and driven away did she turn her attention to her friends.
‘Everything is well at the house,’ Nancy told her, in answer to Molly’s anxious enquiry. ‘We have had no unwelcome visitors and Moses has found us a guard dog.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘He brought home the prettiest little terrier! Not a mastiff, I know, but he has a good bark, which is what we need, and Moses tells me he will be useful for keeping down the rats in the barn.’
Molly laughed. ‘He sounds perfect.’
‘Why not come back with us and you can see him for yourself?’
‘I would love to do so, but I am helping with the Sunday school today, and tomorrow I have promised to call on Mrs Calder at Raikes Farm. Edwin tells me she has not been well and asked me to visit her. No matter, I shall see this new addition on Tuesday, when I come over to help you prepare everything for the market. If the weather is as fine as today, I shall walk.’
‘And you will bring your maid?’
‘Of course. I intend that Cissy shall go everywhere with me from now on, whenever her other duties allow. Having recommended that you must all be circumspect, I must lead by example!’
* * *
Alas for such good intentions. On Monday, when Molly went below stairs to collect the basket of food for Raikes Farm, she found that the upper housemaid, who also acted as her dresser, was in tears, having received word that her mother was very ill.
‘Then you must go to her immediately,’ Molly decided, quickly revising her plans. ‘Gibson shall take you in the gig. He is waiting for me at the door now.’
‘Ah, no, ma’am, I couldn’t possibly,’ sniffed Cissy, mopping her eyes with her apron. ‘You and the master is too good to me already, taking me in, and me without a reputation—’
‘Nonsense,’ said Molly briskly, handing Cissy her own handkerchief and shepherding her up the stairs. ‘Reverend Frayne and I know very well that you were too young to be blamed for what happened to you. But I hope you know better now than to walk out into the gloaming alone with a young man.’
‘Aye, I do, ma’am, and it won’t ever happen again, I promise you. I am much wiser now.’ She managed a watery smile. ‘And the baby is doing very well.’
‘You have no regrets about sending him to live with your sister and her family?’
‘Oh, no, because I wants to become a lady’s maid and I can’t do that if I have my baby with me, so I was very happy when my sister offered to have him. No, he is very happy where he is. They quite dotes on him.’
‘I am very glad of it,’ said Molly, ‘and you are proving to be a very good dresser, Cissy. As soon as we can find another housemaid to take your place, I shall promote you to my personal maid.’
She cut short Cissy’s effusive thanks and instructed her to run up and fetch her cloak. ‘I will tell Gibson there is a change of plans and he is to take you to your mother. And you must remain with her at least until tomorrow. Promise me.’
‘Very well, miss, if you say so, but what will you do about delivering your basket?’
‘Mr Frayne shall drive me to Raikes Farm in the carriage.’
Having seen the maid off, Molly went in search of her brother, only for him to tell her that he had made other arrangements.
‘My old college professor is on his way to Ripon and is breaking his journey at Compton Magna tonight,’ he said. ‘He has invited me to join him at the White Hart for dinner.’
His face clouded when she explained she had sent her maid off in the gig and he immediately suggested he could cancel his engagement, but Molly stopped him.
‘No, indeed you must not do that,’ she said, smiling. ‘You will be passing the turning to Raikes Farm on your way, so if you set off a little earlier you can drop me off there. Now, please do not argue, Edwin. It promises to be a fine afternoon for me to walk back. I do not intend to stay above an hour and it is barely two miles from here cross-country, so I shall be back in good time for dinner.’
The arrangements having been agreed, Molly collected her basket and set off with her brother in the carriage. The inclement weather had not let up for the past week, but at last the skies had lifted and although the sun only showed through intermittently, there was every promise of a fine afternoon and evening.
Molly’s visit to Raikes Farm was much appreciated. Mrs Calder was the wife of a hard-working farmer and the young family had been struggling to cope while their mother was ill. They fell with delight upon the basket of food, with its bread and pies and cakes. Molly soon ascertained that Mrs Calder was on the mend and after spending an hour talking to them all, she set off to follow the footpath back to Compton Parva.
The sun was peeping in and out of the clouds, but there had been so much rain over the past week that the footpaths were thick with mud. Molly did not mind. She had taken the precaution of wearing serviceable boots and she would be able to change as soon as she reached the vicarage, so she strode away from the farm, determined to enjoy her walk.
The highway to Compton Parva followed a circuitous route, but the footpath was much more direct, ascending between enclosed pastures until it joined the stony cart track running along the ridge. A solidly built drystone wall ran along one side of the track and separated the farmland from the moors that stretched upwards to the skyline. To avoid the thick, glutinous mud that covered large sections of the lane which had not yet dried out, she walked along a narrow grassy strip at the side.
The view from here was unrivalled. Looking across the valley and the road that ran through Compton Parva, she could see the lane leading to Prospect House, while directly ahead was the dark green mass of Newlands’s Home Wood. At this distance she would see immediately if anyone was riding out from the Park, but all was quiet and she knew she would shortly be cutting back down towards the town, so she had little fear of meeting anyone while she was alone and unprotected. She gave a little sigh. Before Sir Gerald and his rakish friends had appeared, she had never worried about walking unaccompanied in the town or in the surrounding countryside. Now she was aware of the constant danger.
As if summoned by her thoughts, her eye caught a movement on the lane ahead of her. Someone was approaching from the opposite direction. The gentle curve of the lane meant she could not see the figure clearly above the walls, but she could make out it was a man, carrying a long staff. Most likely a farmer, checking his stock. A shepherd, perhaps, looking for a stray sheep.
Distracted by trying to peer into the distance, Molly missed her footing. Her boot slipped off the uneven grassy bank, and she lost her balance. Her left foot flew forward, but landed awkwardly amongst the stones of the rutted lane and she gasped as the impact jarred her ankle. The next moment she found herself measuring her length along the ground.
Bruised and shaken, Molly pushed herself up, feeling very cross. Her skirts and spencer were filthy and she suspected that her face, too, had not escaped the mud. As she tried to stand a sharp pain shot through her ankle and she fell back. She took a couple of moments to compose herself, then struggled to her feet, but one tentative step was enough to tell her that the pain was too severe for her to walk unaided.
She hobbled to the wall and leaned against it, considering what she should do. The farmer, or shepherd, had by this time reached the junction and turned to follow the footpath down to the road in the valley bottom. A glance each way along the cart track showed her that it was deserted. She might sit there all day in the hope of someone driving past. Molly bit her lip, knowing she had no choice but to shout out and ask the only other person within sight for help.
She called, then called again. The man stopped and she waved to attract his attention. He started back up the path, but it was only as he turned into the lane that Molly realised he was no farmer, despite the long staff he held. As he strode along the lane towards her she could see the embroidered waistcoat and the tight-fitting buckskin breeches he wore beneath his country jacket and his mud-spattered top boots had the cut and fit only obtained from a first-class bootmaker. With a sinking heart she raised her eyes and looked into the lean, handsome face of Beau Russington.
* * *
It took Russ a few moments to recognise the bedraggled figure leaning against the wall and he was aware of a most reprehensible feeling of satisfaction. So the widow who had so plainly shown her dislike of him, who had been so contemptuous, now needed his help.
‘Mrs Morgan.’ He touched his hat, all politeness. ‘How may I be of assistance?’
Her cheeks were flushed with a mixture of annoyance and chagrin.
‘I think I have sprained my ankle.’
‘Indeed?’ He could not help it, his lips twitched. ‘Possibly fate is paying you back for your using the excuse the other night. I should be flattered that you were prepared to go to such lengths to avoid dancing with me.’
She bit her lip and glared at him, but he noticed she did not deny it.
She said icily, ‘I thought, perhaps, if you would lend me your staff, I could manage to walk home.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He rested the staff against the wall and came closer.
‘Wh-what are you going to do?’ She shrank back, putting her hand out as if to hold him off.
‘I am going to carry you.’
‘B-but you can’t.’ She looked horrified.
‘Oh, I think I can. You do not look to be too heavy.’
‘But I am covered in mud. Your clothes—’
‘The mud will certainly test my valet’s skills,’ he agreed, scooping her up into his arms. ‘However, we must risk that.’
‘And it is too far,’ she protested.
‘Flack is waiting with my curricle at the bottom of the lane.’
‘What about your staff?’ she objected as he began to walk.
‘I will send someone back to collect it later.’ He settled her more comfortably in his arms and set off towards the footpath. They had only gone a few yards when he stopped and looked down at her. ‘I think you will be more comfortable if you allow yourself to lean against me,’ he said. ‘And you might want to put your arm about my neck to support yourself.’
Her cheeks flamed, but one dainty hand crept around his collar.
He grinned. ‘That’s better.’
She did not reply, neither did she look at him, but Russ did not mind. He was enjoying himself, bringing the haughty widow down a peg or two. That might be an ignoble and unchivalrous sentiment but it was damned satisfying. After all, he was only human.
* * *
The curricle was soon in sight and Flack showed no surprise when Russ came up with a woman in his arms, merely watching in wooden-faced silence as Russ deposited his burden on the curricle seat. She winced as her foot touched the boards and he frowned.
‘We had best ascertain the damage to your ankle. May I?’
She did not protest, but pulled her skirts aside to reveal her footwear. As Russ untied the laces, he reflected wryly that he was more in the habit of removing satin slippers than serviceable half-boots, but such thoughts disappeared when he looked at her ankle.
‘I do not think you have broken any bones, but it is already swelling,’ he muttered. ‘We must get some ice upon that as soon as we can.’
* * *
Molly was beginning to feel a little faint, and she clung on to the side of the curricle as the beau jumped up beside her and they set off at a smart pace along the road, the groom swinging himself up into the rumble seat as the vehicle shot past him. Her ankle was throbbing most painfully and she was content to sit quietly as the curricle bowled along, but when it slowed and turned off the main road she sat up, saying urgently, ‘This is not the way to Compton Parva.’
‘No. I am taking you to Newlands.’ He glanced at her. ‘Do you have any ice at the vicarage?’
‘No, but—’
‘We need to reduce the swelling, and thus the pain, as quickly as possible. Newlands has an ice house. Not only that, but it is considerably closer.’
Molly was silenced. She knew she was not thinking clearly and all she wanted was for the pain in her ankle to be over. She gave a sigh of relief as they reached the door of Newlands and made no demur when her escort lifted her into his arms to carry her indoors. Miss Kilburn was crossing the hall as they entered and as soon as she realised the situation, she sent a footman running to fetch some ice before instructing Mr Russington to follow her upstairs to one of the guest rooms. However, when she directed that Mrs Morgan should be laid upon the daybed by the window, Molly was roused to protest.
‘No, no, my clothes are far too dirty.’
She was dismayed to find her voice broke upon the words, but no one remarked upon it. Agnes pulled a cashmere shawl from the back of a chair and spread it over the couch.
‘No one will worry about a little dirt, ma’am, but you shall lie on this, if it makes you feel better. Oh, goodness, you are looking very pale.’
‘Shock,’ said the beau, removing Molly’s gloves and beginning to chafe her hands. ‘Perhaps we might find a little brandy.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’
Agnes hurried away and Molly thought she should protest at being left alone with a gentleman who was no relation, but she did not have the energy to complain and the way he was rubbing warmth into her hands was so comforting she did not want him to stop, so she lay back against the end of the daybed, watching him from half-closed eyes, thinking idly that it was quite understandable if ladies threw themselves at such a man. He was very attractive, in a dark and rather disturbing sort of way...
Molly knew she must have drifted off to sleep, because the next moment, she felt a glass pressed gently against her lips and heard a deep, soothing voice urging her to drink. She became conscious of being cradled against a man’s chest. The smooth softness of a waistcoat was against her cheek and when she breathed in her senses were filled with a heady mix of citrus and spices and something very male. There was something familiar about that scent, but at the moment she could not place it.
Obediently she took a sip from the glass and coughed as the sharp and fiery liquid burned her throat. She struggled to sit up and immediately the strong arm around her shoulders released her. For the first time she saw Agnes Kilburn standing on the other side of the daybed, looking down at her with concern. Molly was relieved at her presence and even more so when she looked back to Mr Russington, kneeling beside the daybed, and realised he was in his shirtsleeves.
His eyes were full of amusement, but also understanding.
‘I beg your pardon for removing my coat, ma’am, but it had picked up rather a lot of mud from your clothes, and I did not want to rub that into you.’
Molly murmured a faint thank you and looked past him as a footman hurried in.
‘Ah, the ice at last,’ exclaimed Agnes. She removed the bucket of ice and towels from the servant and brought them over. ‘Mr Russington, will you see to it, if you please? You have much more experience in these matters than I. That is, if you do not object, ma’am?’
‘I think Mrs Morgan might prefer you to remove her stocking,’ the beau remarked. He smiled at Molly and held out the glass to her. ‘You might like to finish drinking your brandy, for it may hurt a little.’
Molly was relieved that he turned away while Agnes began to untie the garter and roll the stocking down over her damaged ankle. Cautiously she sipped at the brandy. He was right, it did hurt, but she was also mightily embarrassed. She had never liked to be the centre of attention and now she sought for something to distract the gentleman from what was going on behind his back.
‘It was fortunate for me that you were walking on the moor, Mr Russington,’ she said at last. ‘Although I am curious as to why you had left your curricle at that particular spot.’
‘I have formed the habit of walking the moors every day before breakfast. There are golden plover up there, did you know? I have been watching them. It was not possible to make my usual walk this morning, so I stopped off on my way back to Newlands. No doubt you thought my only interest in birds was in killing them. For sport.’
She flushed guiltily. ‘I did not think that at all, sir.’
‘There, it is done,’ said Agnes.
Molly was relieved that the soft words brought an end to their interchange. The beau turned his attention back to her ankle and she clasped her hands about her glass, biting her lip as he used towels to pack the ice around her foot.
‘It is exceedingly swollen. Are you sure it is not broken?’ Agnes asked him.
‘I inspected it earlier, when I first came upon Mrs Morgan, and I am sure it is merely sprained,’ he replied. ‘However, if you would feel happier we will send for the doctor.’
Molly quickly disclaimed. ‘I am sure I shall be well again very soon,’ she assured them. ‘Although I may have to trouble you for the use of your carriage, Miss Kilburn, to take me home. My brother has gone off to Compton Magna and will not be back until very late, if at all tonight.’
‘Then it would be best for you to stay here,’ said Agnes. ‘We will send a carriage to the vicarage to tell them what has happened and to bring your maid—You look distressed, Mrs Morgan, have I said something amiss?’
‘No, no, it is merely that I gave my maid the evening off.’
‘Then on no account can you go home,’ declared Agnes. ‘You must stay here, where we can look after you.’
In vain did Molly protest. Shy, quiet little Agnes Kilburn proved immovable.
‘There is no time to fetch your clean clothes before dinner, so you shall dine here,’ she told Molly. ‘And afterwards, if you feel well enough, my maid shall help you change and you can be brought downstairs to rest on a sofa in the drawing room. I know everyone will want to assure themselves that you are recovering well and the evening will pass much more quickly in company, do you not agree?’
Molly did not have the strength to withstand such common sense. With Edwin out for the evening, and Cissy looking after her mother, she knew there was no argument she could put forward that would not sound ungrateful.
‘Very well, then. Thank you, Miss Kilburn. You are too kind.’
‘Call me Agnes, please,’ said her hostess, smiling. ‘And, if I may, I shall call you Molly.’
‘Then it is settled,’ said Mr Russington, picking up his coat. ‘We will leave you in peace now, ma’am, and I shall return after dinner to carry you downstairs.’
‘I am sure that will not be necessary, sir,’ said Molly swiftly. ‘I might be able to walk by then, or, if not, one of the servants—’
‘Oh, but I insist,’ he interrupted her, his eyes teasing her in a way that made Molly want to hit him. ‘As your rescuer, I think I have earned that privilege.’
He followed Agnes out of the room and Molly was alone. She felt exhausted, and not a little homesick, despite the undoubted comfort of her surroundings. She glanced at the small table beside her with its glass of water, the vinaigrette bottle in case she should feel faint and the little hand bell that Agnes had urged her to ring, should she require anything at all.
She closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to drift. Nothing could have exceeded Agnes Kilburn’s kindness, but Molly could not help thinking that she was in the lion’s den. The people in this house stood for everything she detested: wealth, privilege and a lack of moral restraint that she could not condone. But even as the idea formed she rebuked herself for being unfair. Sir Gerald had not brought a party of single gentlemen and their inamoratas to Newlands. The ladies were all perfectly respectable and if any of the gentlemen had a reputation for loose living, it was up to the mothers of Compton Parva to protect their offspring from these dangerous individuals.
Molly stirred restlessly. It was one of those dangerous individuals, Beau Russington, who had come to her aid that afternoon and she had come to no harm. Now that she was alone with time to reflect, she realised that what disturbed her most was that when the beau had lifted her into his arms—as if she weighed nothing!—she had not felt at all afraid. In fact, she admitted now with great reluctance, she had never felt safer. Not that that made the man a jot less dangerous!
* * *
‘So, Russington, you have been rescuing damsels in distress.’ Joseph Aikers helped himself to more brandy before pushing the decanter towards his neighbour.
‘I could hardly leave her sitting in the lane,’ said Russ, refilling his own glass. ‘It was fortunate that my curricle was nearby.’
He kept his tone neutral. The ladies had withdrawn and Gerald had dismissed the servants, so there were only the gentlemen left in the dining room and Russ knew from experience that at this stage of the evening the conversation could easily degenerate, and somehow he did not want Molly Morgan to become the object of any lewd discussion.
Flemington gave a coarse laugh. ‘I’d wager the beau would have preferred to find a pretty young gel languishing at his feet. I saw a few that I wouldn’t mind trying at the assembly last week.’
Gerald met Russ’s eyes as he took the decanter from him.
‘Seducing innocents has never been the beau’s way,’ he remarked. ‘He’s like me—too afraid of the parson’s mousetrap.’
There was general laughter at that, but it was Lord Claydon who answered.
‘I know you young bucks think yourselves awake upon every suit,’ he said, shaking his head in mock severity. ‘But let me warn you that one day you will find yourselves in the suds and I hope when you finally make a fool of yourself that you have the sense to choose a good woman.’
Gerald chuckled. ‘I am not sure a good woman would suit the beau.’ He grinned at Russ. ‘If I thought that, I’d have suggested m’sister as a match for you, my friend, but your roving ways would break her heart and I would have to call you out.’
