September 1814
With a heartfelt sigh Miss Bethany Ashworth transferred
her gaze from what had once been very familiar countryside
indeed, and focused her attention on her sole travelling
companion.
'I'm so weary, Ann,' she revealed softly, 'so very tired,
now, of it all.'
The admission was instantly acknowledged by a soft smile,
which managed to combine both affection and sympathy.
'Hardly surprising, my dear. We've both done more than our
fair share of jaunting about Europe during these past five
years or so. And speaking for myself, I've found this last
journey from Paris particularly trying.'
'It isn't the travelling I find irksome,' Beth revealed,
once again turning her attention to the view beyond the
window. 'It's my own indecisiveness, not knowing my own
mind, that I find so confoundedly bothersome.' She gave vent
to a shout of self-deprecating laughter. 'I've frequently
deplored the lack of resolution displayed by so many of our
sex. Yet here I am now, indulging in just such a weakness
myself! I shall have to take myself roundly to task, and do
some very hard thinking in the not-too-distant future.'
Brown eyes betrayed a degree of concern. 'Are you trying
to say you now regret your decision to return, here, to your
childhood home? I remember, after your dear papa passed
away, you were quite undecided.'
'No, I don't regret that,' Beth answered, before a
faintly enigmatic smile curled what more than one gentleman
in recent years had considered a perfectly shaped feminine
mouth. 'It might yet prove a means to an end. But whether I
shall choose to remain indefinitely is quite another matter.
Thankfully, we shan't be forced to stay should we become
restless. Which should come as no great surprise to either
of us, considering the life we've led in recent years. And
Papa, bless him, has ensured I'm no pauper. I could reside
permanently in the capital should I choose to do so. Perhaps
not in one of the most favoured locations, but at least at
an address that is not frowned upon. But, no, Ann, I don't
regret returning to the house I grew up in,' she reiterated,
her mind turning to more mundane, practical matters. And
providing the indispensable Rudge has done his job, it will
provide us both with a very comfortable abode for as long as
we choose to stay.'
The older woman appeared a good deal easier having
learned this. 'Well, I for one am very much looking forward
to residing in your childhood home, and putting down roots.
I'm seven years your senior, remember, and rather weary now
of the nomadic life, even if you are not.'
'In that case, my dear Ann, I shall do my utmost to speed
up our arrival,' and, so saying, Beth pulled down the window
to instruct the post-boys to turn off the road directly
ahead.
The chaise then drew to a halt before a pair of
impressive wrought-iron gates. One of the post-boys gave a
blast on his horn to alert the gatekeeper to their presence,
and a few moments later a small, stocky figure emerged from
the lodge, looking anything but pleased at being summoned so
summarily.
'And what be your business 'ere at Staveley Court, may I
ask?' he demanded to know, the sight of a
post-chaise-and-four seemingly having made no impression
upon him whatsoever.
'My business is my own affair,' Beth called,
half-smiling, thereby alerting the gatekeeper to her
presence. 'So just you look lively, and unlock those gates
and let me pass, George Dodd, otherwise I might well be
tempted to play the talebearer and have a word with your
master when next I see him.'
For a full half-minute the gatekeeper peered between the
iron bars at the hatless young lady staring back at him from
the chaise window, before his craggy, weather-beaten face
eventually broke into a near-toothless grin.
'God bless my soul! As I live and breathe, if it ain't
you, Miss Bethany! And after all these years an' all!' he
exclaimed, throwing wide the gates without further ado, and
then moving as swiftly as his arthritic, bow legs would
carry him to the side of the vehicle.
'Never thought to see you back 'ere again,' he declared,
his beady-brown eyes betraying a suspicion of tears as he
stared up at a face he well remembered.'
'How are you, Dodd? she asked gently. 'Still suffering
with the old joints, I see.'
'I do well enough, miss. All the better for seeing you.
And I fancy I won't be the only one, neither. The master be
up at the 'ouse. Come back from Lunnon weeks back.'
All at once Beth's radiant and unforgettable smile began
to fade. 'Truth to tell, Dodd, I'm not here to see your
master. I've been travelling for the best part of three
weeks, and thought to make use of the short cut across Sir
Philip's land. But I don't want to get you into trouble.'
'Bless you, Miss Beth, you go right on ahead. Master
wouldn't mind you crossing 'is land, that I do know.'
Staveley Court was not so much distinguished by its size
as by its architectural splendour, and the magnificence of
its surrounding park, which could be viewed unrestricted
from most every room in the house. Consequently Lady
Chalford had had little difficulty in following the progress
of the post-chaise-and-four from her brother's west-facing
library window.
'You didn't mention at luncheon that you were expecting
visitors, Philip. I wouldn't have taken my customary
afternoon nap had I known. You may as well make use of me
during the time I'm here. At the very least I could have
made your visitors welcome.'
The shapely hand moving back and forth across the page
did not falter even for an instant, as the recipient of this
disclosure confirmed his only caller that day had been his
steward in the forenoon.
Lady Chalford's brows came together in rare show of
disapproval. 'In that case, dear brother, someone is once
again taking advantage of your good nature. I've told you
before, Philip, you are far too tolerant in many respects,
too complaisant by half! It's common knowledge that, since
the war, pockets of unrest have sprung up all over the
country. Why, look what happened to you earlier this summer.
Someone tried to take a pot-shot at you. And it's of no use
your pretending otherwise! You simply cannot afford to let
strangers trespass on your property, even if they are
travelling in a post-chaise-and-four.'
Completely unruffled, Sir Philip Staveley signed his name
with a flourish, before rising to his feet and joining his
sister at the window. 'I would be extremely surprised,
Connie, if that shooting accident was anything other than
just that. Remember, it took place on my land. In all
probability the culprit was one of my neighbours'
over-enthusiastic sons discharging his gun without due care.
And as for that carriage… I very much doubt all the
occupants can be total strangers, otherwise entry would have
been barred, most especially by Dodd on the east gate.
Furthermore, that conveyance, unless I much mistake the
matter, has travelled some distance, possibly from London.'
Lady Chalford turned her head to stare up at her much
taller brother, thereby instantly revealing a similarity or
two in their profiles. Both had inherited certain Staveley
facial characteristics—the long, thin aristocratic nose, not
to mention clear, grey eyes.
Unlike his sister's, however, Sir Philip's orbs had once
betrayed a disarming twinkle that a great many members of
the fair sex had found most winning. His hair, a shade or
two darker than his more mature sibling's, swept back in
soft waves from a high, intelligent forehead. A firm
jaw-line, a shapely yet not overgenerous mouth, and a pair
of gracefully arching brows above those thickly lashed eyes
were all features worthy of note; and although he might not
have been considered strictly handsome by the more
fastidious among his class, a great many discerning female
members considered him most attractive.
Which was more than could be said for his sister, whose
youthful bloom had long since faded, and whose thickening
figure betrayed the fact that she had presented her spouse
with several pledges of her affection during fourteen years
of marriage. Notwithstanding, even her fiercest critics
would never have stigmatised Lady Chalford as an
ill-favoured woman. In fact, when animated, as now, she
still held an appeal to a certain number of the more mature
members of the opposite sex.
'You're bamming me, Philip!' she chided gently. 'How can
you possibly deduce that?'
'By using my eyes and brain, Constance,' he returned,
slanting a mocking glance down at her. 'Firstly, not many
can afford the luxury of travelling in a
post-chaise-and-four. Those in these parts with funds enough
to do so, like myself, own their own carriages. Secondly,
the majority of the larger houses in the locale lie to the
north and east of my property. Furthermore, there is only
one house situated on the western boundary whose owner has
been absent for any length of time, and whose return might
well be undertaken in a hired carriage.'
Lady Chalford's jaw dropped perceptively, a clear
indication that her mind had woken up to a startling
possibility. 'You don't suppose, do you, that young Bethany
Ashworth has returned home after all these years?'
Unlike his sister, Sir Philip betrayed no emotion
whatsoever as he said, 'Naturally, I shan't know for sure,
until I've consulted with Dodd. All the same, it's a
distinct possibility. Augustus Ashworth, together with his
associates and members of his family, was among the favoured
few who attained permission from our sire to take a short
cut across the park in order to reach the village more
quickly.'
As the post-chaise at last disappeared from view behind a
screen of stately elms, Sir Philip moved across the room in
the direction of a small table upon which several decanters
stood. 'Common report would have me believe the shutters
have been removed from the Grange's windows these past three
weeks or more, and that a couple of village girls have been
hired to work in the house. Seemingly someone, I know not
who, has been buying in supplies of food, and making use of
several local tradesmen in order to make the house ready for
habitation.'
'It stands to reason, then, that Bethany must be
returning home,' Lady Chalford concluded, after having
accepted the glass of ratafia her brother held out to her.
'What other explanation could there possibly be?' she asked,
rearranging her skirts as she made herself comfortable in
one of the chairs.
Seating himself opposite, Sir Philip gazed across at his
sister with lazy affection. Fond of her though he had always
been, he had never rated her capacity for understanding very
highly. At the same time he did appreciate her finer
qualities. For instance, she was, basically, a very kind
person, never one to bear a grudge or utter a deliberately
unkind remark. Moreover, as she had never attempted to make
unreasonable demands on his time, he was able to ignore for
the most part her less favourable traits when she did choose
to inflict her company upon him for a prolonged stay.
'Several, my dear,' he responded, after fortifying
himself from his glass. 'Dodd, as I mentioned before, must
have recognised at least one occupant of that vehicle,
otherwise he would not have allowed entry. It might have
been Beth, of course. Or it might easily have been the late
Colonel Ashworth's man of business, who could well have
received instructions to ensure the house is in good order
for a new occupant.'
He couldn't forbear a smile at his sister's look of utter
bewilderment. 'Evidently you hadn't considered the
possibility that Beth might have chosen to sell the house in
order to live elsewhere, possibly abroad,' he went on.
'After all, she's lived away from these shores long enough.
And now I come to think about it, when last I saw Lady
Henrietta Barfield during the Season she mentioned something
about her niece's intention to remain in Paris for a while.'
All at once Lady Chalford was silent, clearly in a world
of her own, before surprisingly announcing, 'Do you know,
Philip, I always considered her actions most strange.'
Philip paused in the act of raising his glass to his lips
again to gaze across indulgently at his sibling. Clearly her
thoughts had spun off at a tangent. In which direction,
however, was anybody's guess.
He wisely took the precaution of taking a further
fortifying mouthful from the contents of his glass before
asking, 'Are we referring to Beth, now, or Lady Henrietta?'
'Why, Bethany, of course!' his sister exclaimed, clearly
amazed at having been asked the question in the first place.
'I never quite understood why she went to live with her
mother's relative in Plymouth. Surely Lady Henrietta
Barfield was her favourite aunt?'
'That I couldn't say with any conviction,' Philip
responded. After her mother's demise, she certainly spent
time with her father's sister. And it's also true to say
that Lady Hetta, taking an active role in Beth's upbringing,
was a more frequent visitor to the Grange than any other
relation. But you must remember that Colonel Ashworth was
summoned urgently to London in the spring of '08, and soon
afterwards set sail with Wellesley for the Peninsula. Poor
Beth was hardly granted much time in which to consider where
she wished to reside. And who knows, maybe she felt that
Lady Henrietta had interfered in her life quite enough. Or
maybe she just didn't wish to be an extra burden on the
Barfield family at a time when they were fully occupied with
matters relating to Eugenie's future.'
At mention of his deceased fiancée, Lady Chalford shot
her brother an anxious glance from beneath her lashes. It
was rare, indeed, for him ever to allude to that period in
his life, let alone his engagement to Lord Barfield's
beloved eldest daughter. During the past years, whenever the
topic had been raised within her hearing, he had never been
slow to change the subject.
Notwithstanding, this knowledge did not deter her from
saying, 'But that is precisely what I find so puzzling. She
and Eugenie were so close—more like sisters than cousins, I
seem to recall someone remarking once. One would have quite
naturally supposed that Beth would have wanted to be with
the Barfields at a time of such celebration.'
All at once it seemed as if her brother's f ace had been
cast into shadow, his lids lowering like shutters,
concealing any emotion mirrored in his eyes.
'As I said before, Constance, I'm sure Beth had her
reasons for choosing to live with her late mother's aunt.
You may be lucky enough to satisfy your curiosity if she
has, indeed, returned,' her brother replied, with the
all-too-familiar hint of finality in his tone that revealed
clearly enough that he considered the topic at an end.