The staff stood before her, terrified. Clearly, they had heard the dispute downstairs, and were all hoping that the next sacking would be someone other than themselves.She tried to return a gaze that was cool and indifferent. ‘By now, you all know the fate of Mrs Martha. This will, of course, cause a certain amount of disarray downstairs ,but…’ she paused to run a hand along the woodwork and wipe the smudge into her handkerchief ‘… I care more for the state of things upstairs , and doubt that anything I’ve done could create greater disorder than was here already.’She smiled. ‘My difficulties with the previous housekeeper were based solely on the errors in the accounts and the state of the house. I assume that these problems are now solved. If I am mistaken, I wish that you will come to me and that we can reach a solution. I will be replacing Mrs Martha shortly, and we will manage as best we can until that point.In the mean time…’ she presented a list of tasks ‘…I would have you be
Supper that evening was a very different affair than breakfast had been. After a short nap, she had composed herself and returned to the kitchen to confront the cook. The woman had been wary at first, but when she was told that she might choose her own ingredients and order what was needed to undo the artificial famine created by Mrs Martha, she seemed most happy with the change.Gwen, at Parton’s insistence, allowed her hair to be dressed and changed into her only decent gown for supper.The gown was a burgundy satin that had been much more fresh fifteen years ago, when it had been one of Lady Danbury’s ball dresses. They’d cut down the puffed sleeves, removed large amounts of skirt to hide the worn spots and managed, by trimming the train and adding some lace from another gown, to create something almost presentable.Archie met her at the dinner table and kissed her hand. ‘Enchanted as always, my dear. You look lovely this evening.’ He looked over his shoulder at the destruction on
Authur looked up at the fading paint on the inn’s sign: The Duke’s Right Arm.It sounded promising. Lucky, if he believed in luck. But the picture, which was of a dismembered arm lying on a grassy background, spoiled the image he wanted of a place that offered aid and succour. It would have been his last choice if he needed a bed for the night, or a drink, for that matter. The windows were dirty, and the door forbidding. It was his last choice now, as he’d visited all the other inns in the area.Gentle questioning of the innkeepers had revealed a thorough knowledge of the area’s great houses and their inhabitants. Everyone knew the local lords, and their families. If he combined the information gained from the various places, he had a good idea of the comings and goings of the guests in the area. Small amounts of gold, spread amongst the ostlers and stable boys, told him all there was to know about who had visited whom and what they drove to get there. And no one, anywhere, knew anyth
Gwen looked up at the workman on the ladder and resisted the intense urge to supervise him. The removal of the old hangings was not her job. Or the cleaning of the chandeliers, for that matter. But it had been so long since some of the household chores had been attended to that the process had been difficult and after the damage done to the dining-room silk she’d felt the need to take an active part in most of the major jobs. It was only eleven o’clock and she was already exhausted. And itchy, as though a thin layer of grime covered her body. The staff had been cleaning for a week and she noted with satisfaction, the improvement was beginning to show. When and if her errant husband chose to return home, he would be well pleased.‘Not still working in here, are you?’ Archie had come up from behind her, spinning her around to face him.‘It needs to be done,’ she said and stepped out of his grasp. ‘The house was really neglected.’ She complained ‘It needs cleaning, certainly, but not b
As he did so he encouraged his horse to a trot, and she did likewise. Her seat was not good and she jolted on thehorse, wishing that they could return to the walking pace. ‘You are managing quite well. I was sure it would only take a short while to bring you back up to speed.’ His voice was full of encouragement.‘Archie, I am not sure—’ she larmented‘It is only a little further. We will stop to rest in the woods and then walk the horses home.’She gritted her teeth. If it was only a little further, she could manage. And, perhaps it was her imagination, but his pace seemed faster still, and her horse speeded up without encouragement to follow Archie’s stallion. She glanced to the side, then quickly ahead to fight down the churning in her stomach. It was better to focus on the approaching woods. When they arrived there, she could stop and rest.She looked with worry at the path before her. It appeared to be narrowing. And her horse was still abreast with Archie’s and too close to the
Authur looked at the house in surprise. Not what he had expected. Not at all. He’d imagined a quiet cottage where two ladies might spend their years in modesty, waiting for an improvement in position. Polite poverty.There was nothing polite about his new wife’s old home. It was poverty, pure and simple. Smaller than the homes of his tenants and packed in between other similar houses. He strode to the door and knocked.The woman who answered dropped a curtsy, but looked at him with undisguised suspicion. ‘Lost your way, my lord?’‘Lady Elizabeth Danbury?’She glared back at him. ‘The “Lady” is long retired from her profession, and you’d best seek your amusements elsewhere.’‘If I could see her, please.’ Authur requested politely ‘Come to get a look at her after all these years? What are you, then? The son of one of her clients, come to be initiated? A bit old for that, aren’t you?’‘I beg your pardon.’ He demanded ‘You take my meaning plain enough. Get yourself off, in every sense o
‘We knew each other first as children. We went to school together and shared a room. We were best friends as girls and both as sweet and beautiful as one could hope. When I was fourteen, my father died. He left sufficient funds to see me through school, and provide a modest Season when I came of age, and left my guardianship to an aged aunt who knew little of what happened while I was away.’Her mouth twisted in a bitter line. ‘There was a trustee there who took, shall we say, a personal interest in my case.He took every opportunity to remind me that my funds were limited, and my position at the school in jeopardy. Finally, he persuaded me to meet him one night in an office. To go over the details of my father’s will. How was I to know what he intended? I was only a girl.’ There was anguish in her voice and Authur felt the man next to him tighten protectively.‘I returned to my room afterward crying and shaking and your mother helped me clean away the blood and swore she would tell n
Gwen was screaming. It was odd, he thought, that he should know her voice. They’d been together so briefly. Butit was her, he was sure. Screaming in terror. He tried to run to her, but the ground turned to mud beneath his feet, sucking at his boots and dragging him downward.‘Authur! Help me! Authur! Please don’t let me die.’ Her voice trailed off as though she was losing the strength to call him.He fought. Fought the sensation of sinking and the fear that at any moment the treacherous ground would close up and swallow him. There was a branch beneath his hand and he closed on it and hauled himself forward out of the mudand towards the place where he knew she must wait for him.He jerked awake, panting and stared around the room. He was in bed in his townhouse in London. There was no mud, of course. He was not even wearing boots. And he could not,hear his new wife because she was miles away in ThornHill.It was folly to place too much credence in dreams. They were not omens of the f