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‘I’m sorry, miss, for I dunno how the mistake was made—and there’s little I can do about it now, for the gentleman has taken the room.’
‘Oh, well, I suppose there is no help for it. Have you a truckle bed for my maid to sleep in?’ She saw the denial in his face. ‘You do not expect us to sleep in the same bed?’
She saw that he did and sighed inwardly. Mary was a large girl and she snored. Elizabeth knew that for a fact, because she had fallen asleep in the carriage and after some half an hour or more she had been forced to wake the girl up.
She turned back Mary, who had lingered behind her, making faces at the young lad who was carrying tankards of ale through to a private parlour.
‘Come along, Mary,’ she said, just as the door of the private parlour opened and two gentlemen came out. ‘It seems that the landlord has let one of our rooms to someone else, which means that you will have to sleep in my bed.’
‘But I snore, miss,’ Mary said looking as alarmed as Elizabeth felt. ‘’Tain’t right you should have to share with me. Tell him as you want the rooms you sent for, miss.’
‘I have already done so,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do. You must make up your mind to it, Mary.’
‘But I kick, miss. Leastways, my sister allus said as I did when we were children.’
‘Come along, Mary. I have told you, the room is let and we must make the best of things.’
‘Excuse me, ma’am.’ One of the two gentlemen from the parlour came towards her. ‘I could not help overhearing your maid. I think I may have taken one of your rooms. Please forgive me for any inconvenience. I shall have the landlord move my things immediately.’
‘There ain’t no more rooms, Mr Elworthy,’ the landlord objected. ‘You’ll have to sleep with the other gentleman or over the stables.’
‘I shall be quite happy with the stables,’ John Elworthy said and smiled at Elizabeth. ‘I think that perhaps I have the best of the two rooms. If you would care to sit in the parlour for a few minutes, I am sure the landlord can make all right. Perhaps you wish to take supper?’
‘I had thought the parlour would be ours,’ Elizabeth said. She had stiffened at the mention of his name and did not wish to be obliged to him, for she could not help wondering if he were the same Mr Elworthy who had been a witness to her father’s ruin. ‘But I believe we shall do well enough in our rooms—if the landlord would be good enough to send us some supper up?’
‘Yes, of course, miss. Just you wait in the parlour for a moment or two and my wife will fetch you as soon as maybe.’
‘I would give the parlour up to you,’ John Elworthy said and glanced awkwardly towards the stairs, up which the second gentleman had disappeared. ‘However, Sir Montague has bespoken his supper there and I fear he would not accept a move to the taproom.’
‘You are here with that man?’ Elizabeth looked at him in horror. ‘If he is using the parlour, then I shall not set foot in it. Indeed, I do not think I can stay here at all this night…’
She turned to leave, but Mr Elworthy caught her arm urgently. ‘You know something of Sir Montague Forsythe?’
Elizabeth looked back at him, her face pale. ‘He—and I think perhaps you in part, sir—were responsible for my father’s ruin and his death.’
It was Mr Elworthy’s turn to look shocked. ‘Then you must be…’
‘Yes, sir. I am Elizabeth Travers.’ Her eyes were bright with a mixture of anger and accusation as she looked at him. ‘I had not thought you such a close friend of Sir Montague, but since you are travelling together—’
‘Indeed, Miss Travers, you wrong me.’ John Elworthy hesitated, and then, ‘Would you do me the honour of stepping into the parlour for one moment? I have something I would wish to say to you in private.’
Elizabeth was inclined to refuse, and yet he seemed a steady, pleasant man, not handsome by any means, but with an attractive manner. And of course this was the opportunity her brother had sought and been refused. She inclined her head and went in front of him into the parlour, leaving Mary to wait for her in the hallway.
‘Well, sir—what have you to say to me?’
‘Firstly, I wish to say that I was never more shocked in my life than when I heard what had happened to your father, Miss Travers. I knew him only slightly, but had not thought him a man to gamble so carelessly. Nor did I expect that he would—’ He shook his head and looked grave. ‘But I did see him in the company of Sir Montague and I happened to hear the wager he made on that horse race, for I was standing next to their party. I would say that Sir Edwin had been drinking unwisely and that he spoke recklessly.’
‘You were standing next to Papa when he made the wager?’
‘Yes, I was. I thought it foolish, but it was not my affair. I wish now that I had remonstrated with him, but of course I could not—a wager is, after all, a matter of honour between gentlemen and once accepted cannot be taken back.’
‘But if Papa was drunk…’
‘I agree that no true gentleman would have accepted such a wager—but I fear that Sir Montague is not of such nice scruples.’
‘No, indeed, for we were given only two weeks to leave our home and we were not allowed any time to grieve.’
‘That was wicked indeed.’ Mr Elworthy looked distressed at the news of how harshly they had been treated. ‘He should be ashamed of himself!’
‘I had not thought you a friend to Sir Montague, sir? Lord Wentworth told me that your word was to be trusted.’
John Elworthy met the angry sparkle of her eyes. Miss Travers was a tall girl, attractive rather than pretty in his opinion, her figure shapely, her dark hair peeping beneath the brim of her bonnet. However, her eyes were lustrous and expressive and just now held a challenge that had to be answered. He could not tell her the truth, of course—which was that he had deliberately followed Sir Montague in order to have what seemed a chance meeting.
‘We travelled here independently. We are polite to one another socially—our estates are no more than twenty miles apart—but I have never been more than an acquaintance, I assure you. I hope you will believe me?’
‘Yes, I must do so since you tell me as a gentleman,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I have always believed there was some mystery in this matter of the wager, but—’ She broke off as the parlour door opened and another gentleman came in. He was in his middle years, a tall, heavy-boned man with a ravaged complexion and a long nose. Knowing that he must be the man who had, she still believed, in some way cheated her father, she gave Mr Elworthy a speaking look and left the room immediately.
As she went out into the hall, the landlord came to tell her that her room was now ready, and Mary beckoned urgently from the top of the stairs. Elizabeth went straight up, her head held proudly as she fought the rush of anger that had come over her as her father’s murderer entered the parlour. Nothing could alter the fact that he had caused her father’s death by taking that infamous wager.
‘We’re side by side, miss,’ Mary told her. ‘I shall be able to hear you if you call me in the night.’
Elizabeth doubted that, for the girl slept like one of the dead, but she smiled and nodded. She had not wanted to bring Mary at all, but Lady Wentworth had insisted that she ought not to travel alone, because it would be necessary to stop at an inn for one night on the way.
‘I do not think that likely,’ Elizabeth told her. ‘I intend to lock my door when I retire and I should advise you to do the same. I will require your help to unpack my things,’ Elizabeth added. ‘But I shall not need your services again this evening.’
After Mary had unpacked she left the room. Elizabeth took off her bonnet and travelling cape, laying them down on the stool at the foot of the bed. At that moment there was a knock at the door, and then the landlady’s wife entered with a tray containing a dish of cold meat, pickles and some bread and butter together with a glass of ale, a jug of water beside it.
‘You said as you wanted a light meal, miss?’
‘Yes, thank you, that will do very well,’ Elizabeth said. She might have wished for a cup of tea, but doubted that it would be worth drinking had she ordered it.
After the woman had left, she ate a little of the bread, with some butter. It was fresh and wholesome. Elizabeth had no appetite for the meat or pickle, and drank only a mouthful or two of the strong ale.
It was still light as she looked out of her window, and she felt restless, disinclined for sleep. Yet she felt it might not be prudent to go downstairs again, especially as Sir Montague was staying at the same inn. He probably had no idea of who she was—unless Mr Elworthy had told him after she left the room, of course—but she had no wish to meet him.
At least there was a decent supply of candles in her room, which meant she might read for a while before she slept. She would be glad to reach her journey’s end, she thought, for it had been tedious with only Mary for company. How different it might have been if her dear mama had been alive.
Elizabeth pulled a wry face. It was time to start thinking of the future—even though there was little to cheer her in that if the truth were faced. She must be at the beck and call of her employer, and though she believed that would be an easy task in Lady Isadora’s case, she might not always be in that lady’s service.
Sometimes, Elizabeth wondered what her life might have been had she accepted one of the three proposals she had received when she was nineteen. She had not been universally popular during her Season, but she had attracted some admirers. However, she had not felt that she wished to marry any of them, and her mother had told her that she should wait, that the right man was bound to come along. They had spoken of giving her another Season, but somehow it had not happened. Her father had been unwell one year, and then he had seemed to be anxious about his estate, and things had drifted—until he had died and the estate was no longer theirs.
No, she would not have wanted to marry any of the gentlemen who had asked her, Elizabeth decided as she began to brush her hair. In the soft candlelight her skin looked creamy and her hair had a reddish tint. Her features were perhaps a little plainer than was required for true beauty, but her eyes were remarkable. However, she saw none of this, for she was not in the habit of noticing her own appearance, except to make sure that her hair was tidy and her gown clean and respectable. She had gone into company very seldom these past two years, and had long ago given up hope of marriage. The best that might come her way now was to be an aunt to her brother’s children should he find himself able to take a wife.
Elizabeth read her book, which was a slender volume of poems that had come from her father’s library, and was one of the few items that she had managed to bring away with her. She and her mother had been told they might take only personal possessions, and the book had been amongst her things for she often read at night. Lady Travers had taken a few pieces of silver, which had been personal gifts to her, but all else was denied them. Those silver items remained at Worth Towers, for Elizabeth believed they might be sold for a few guineas, and her brother would have need of money when he came down from Oxford if he were to have time to look about him for a suitable position.
Somehow she could not see Simon as a lowly clerk, but it would not be easy to find a post as an estate manager. Perhaps she would talk to him when he came down, try to discover what he would truly wish to do if he had the choice.
‘Oh, Papa,’ Elizabeth murmured as she got into bed. ‘I do wish you had not made that wager…’
Elizabeth partook of a breakfast of bread and honey in her room the next morning. When she went downstairs she looked for Mr Elworthy, but saw nothing of him. On inquiry, she was told that both gentlemen had departed some minutes earlier. For a moment she regretted that she had not taken the chance to question him further about what he had seen, but supposed that he had told her all he could about her father’s behaviour. It would simply have to remain a mystery, for she had woken with a new determination to put the past behind her.
Mary did not make the mistake of oversleeping, so they were able to leave the inn in good time. Elizabeth had asked the innkeeper’s wife for a basket of provisions, and they ate a picnic in the carriage, stopping only once at a post house to change the horses, which meant that they approached Cavendish Hall at just before three that same afternoon.
Elizabeth craned to catch a glimpse of the house as the carriage drove up to the front entrance, feeling pleased as she saw that it was not a huge, ancient mansion, but a pleasant country home. She would guess that there were no more than ten or twelve bedrooms, and it had the look of a substantial building put up in the last century with long windows and a good slate roof. In fact, it was much like her father’s house, and she immediately felt that she would be at ease here.
‘You’ll be all right ’ere, miss,’ Mary gave her opinion as the door opened and an obliging footman helped them both down from the carriage. ‘I reckon as it ain’t much bigger than Worth House.’
‘No, that is very true,’ Elizabeth agreed. ‘And very pretty. Look at those roses growing against that wall.’
‘That’ll be south facing, mark my words,’ Mary said. ‘If your room looks out this way it will be warm even in winter, miss.’
‘I dare say the family has the front-facing rooms,’ Elizabeth said. She glanced up at the windows and glimpsed a female figure clothed in a gown of pale peach for a moment, and then another woman, dressed more soberly in grey, came out of the house. She smiled as she approached them.
‘Miss Travers?’ the woman asked. ‘I am Mrs Bates—Lady Isadora’s housekeeper. You are in good time, miss. We wondered whether you might be late because of the state of the roads.’
‘No, indeed, we made good speed,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I think some of the country roads were a little rutted, but the highways were well enough.’
The housekeeper nodded, leading the way inside. A young maid was waiting in the hall, and she came to take Mary away and show her where to go. Elizabeth wondered if she might be given a moment to tidy herself before meeting her employer, but instead Mrs Bates led her upstairs to a parlour on the first floor.
‘Her ladyship is expecting you, Miss Travers. If you would care to greet her, your maid may unpack your things for you by the time you go up.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Elizabeth said. She stifled a sigh. She must accept that she was an employee now and not at liberty to do as she pleased. ‘Thank you, Mrs Bates.’
The housekeeper opened the parlour door and announced her. She then stood back for Elizabeth to go past her, which she did with some trepidation. Her heart was beating wildly as she advanced into the room and glanced at the lady lying elegantly on a sofa near the fireplace, where a small fire was glowing despite the spring sunshine. Dressed in an elegant peach silk gown, she looked younger and more stylish than Elizabeth had imagined, and she was glad that she had chosen to wear one of her better gowns. Although grey because of her mourning, it was becoming and of good quality cloth.
‘Ma’am…’ Elizabeth said hesitantly. ‘Lady Isadora…?’
‘Elizabeth, my dear,’ Lady Isadora said and eased herself into a sitting position. ‘How kind of you to come to me so quickly.’ She gave a little cough behind her hand. ‘I have been very poorly, but I must confess I am feeling a little better today. Perhaps it is the prospect of your company that has made me feel more cheerful.’
‘I was pleased to come,’ Elizabeth said, advancing further into the room. She bobbed a slight curtsy and smiled. ‘It was very kind of you to offer me the position as your companion.’
‘Oh, no, I am happy to have your company,’ Lady Isadora said holding out both her hands. ‘My companion of many years has retired to take care of her mother, and my daughter is increasing, which means she cannot travel to see me—though my son has decided to visit me at last.’ Her plaintive tone managed to convey the idea that it was a rare occurrence. ‘He is out seeing to estate matters at the moment, but will be here for dinner, I dare say.’
Elizabeth took her outstretched hands, bending to kiss her cheek since it appeared to be expected. She was kissed warmly in return and then was asked to sit on the chair opposite Lady Isadora’s sofa.
‘You must be happy to have him here, ma’am?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Lady Isadora told her with a sigh. ‘Cavendish is a good enough son to me, but it is not like having the company of a young lady. My youngest daughter would have been eighteen this year had she lived. It has been much on my mind of late. I would have been making plans to bring her out this summer.’
‘Oh, I did not know of your loss,’ Elizabeth sympathised instantly. ‘I am so sorry. You must miss her dreadfully.’
‘Yes, I do, of course,’ Lady Isadora said. ‘My eldest daughter is married, but I see her so infrequently…’ Not quite the truth, for Melanie had spent a month with her earlier in the year.
‘You have friends, ma’am?’
‘Yes.’ Lady Isadora waved her hand languidly. ‘I have not entertained much recently because of my illness…’ She coughed delicately. ‘However, once I am feeling a little stronger—’ She broke off, frowning as she heard footsteps in the hall. She had told Daniel to stay away from the parlour until the evening, but he had either forgotten or ignored her request. ‘It seems we are about to have company…’
‘Mama…’ The earl came into the room and stood looking at his mother for a moment before turning his gaze on Elizabeth. His brows narrowed—she was not quite what he had expected. Not pretty by any means, but certainly not the plain-faced spinster he had been anticipating. He had been right to suspect his mother of some mischief. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Travers. We had not expected you this early.’
‘If I am in the way…’ Elizabeth sensed his reserve and stiffened. She had the feeling that he did not quite approve of her being here. She stood up as if prepared to leave the room.
‘Oh, do not mind Daniel,’ Lady Isadora said. ‘Ring for tea, my love—that little bell on the table beside you. Unless you wish to go up and refresh yourself first?’
‘Thank you, I should like to wash my hands before taking tea,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I shall return in fifteen minutes.’ She lifted her brilliant eyes to meet the earl’s. ‘Will that be sufficient time for you to speak privately with Lady Isadora, sir?’
‘Quite adequate,’ he said and inclined his head, his expression giving little away. ‘Besides, Mama will be impatient for your return. I am sure she wishes to talk to you about so many things…’
There was an odd expression in his eyes, almost as though he suspected her of something. Elizabeth inclined her head to him, smiled at her employer and walked from the room. Her head was up, her back very straight. She hesitated as to whether she should close the door behind her, and, as she lingered for a second, she heard the sound of the earl’s laughter.
‘Well, Mama, what are you up to?’ he said in a mocking tone. ‘Not quite the little country mouse you led me to believe. Not pretty, but not hopeless by any means. I think that perhaps you will have no need of my sacrificial lamb. I dare say you will find what you require without any help from me…’
‘Daniel, do not be so provoking. Tell me, did you not think her a charming gel?’
Elizabeth’s face went bright red as she heard the tinkling laugh from her hostess. She hurried across the hall and up the stairs, not wanting to hear another word of their conversation.
Chapter Two
A helpful footman sent Elizabeth in the right direction at the top of the stairs, and she found a young maid assisting Mary to unpack her things in a large, front-facing bedchamber. The sun was warming the room, giving it a welcoming atmosphere, and the two girls were laughing together, clearly getting on well. However, as Elizabeth entered, the rather pretty maid curtsied to her and smiled, telling her that she was called Amy and that Lady Isadora had asked her to wait on Elizabeth.
‘I am to look after you when Mary goes home,’ Amy said. ‘I thought I would take the opportunity to see how you like things done, Miss Travers.’
‘That is very kind of you,’ Elizabeth said, ‘but my needs are very few. I am used to dressing myself these days.’
Amy’s eyes were approving as she took in the neat bodice and skirt Elizabeth was wearing; its cut was good and it had more style than the gowns Lady Isadora’s former companion had worn, but then Miss Travers was more of a guest than an employee from what Amy had heard below stairs.
‘I shall press your gowns and you might like me to do your hair for you, miss—in the evenings when her ladyship entertains.’
‘Yes, perhaps.’ Elizabeth frowned—she had not expected to be assigned her own maid nor that her employer would give the kind of dinners that required her to need the services of a maid. However, she had brought all her best gowns with her so she would not disgrace her employer. ‘Could you both come back a little later, if you please? I should like to be alone for a moment.’
‘Yes, Miss Travers, of course. Come along, Mary. I will show you where we eat…’
Elizabeth washed her hands and made herself comfortable. She glanced at herself in the pretty dressing mirror, which was in the shape of a shield and in keeping with the rest of the furniture in the room. The furnishings were after the style of Mr Adam, she thought, and had obviously been replaced quite recently. It was an elegant, comfortable room and seemed to be one of the best guest bedchambers. That puzzled her a little, for she had not been sure what to expect.
Her cheeks grew warm again as she recalled the mockery in the Earl of Cavendish’s voice as he had spoken to his mother about her. So they had expected her to be a country mouse, had they? Elizabeth felt a pang of chagrin—she did not take kindly to the idea that she was an object of pity. It was true that her circumstances were altered, but she was still the daughter of a gentleman and she did not need—would not accept—charity. She had thought that Lady Isadora would be a kind employer, but she had expected to earn her keep and the dress allowance her employer had offered.
But what had the earl been hinting at when he spoke of a sacrificial lamb? Perhaps she had misunderstood him? After some thought, she decided that he must surely have been speaking on another matter, which had nothing to do with her at all.
She must not jump to conclusions that might be false, Elizabeth decided as she left the room and went back down the stairs to the parlour on the first floor. She felt a little tentative lest the earl should still be with his mother, but when she tapped at the door and was invited to enter, she soon discovered that Lady Isadora was alone.
‘Ah, there you are, my dear,’ she said, smiling at Elizabeth. ‘You have been very quick. I am sure it would take me much longer.’
‘I did not wish to keep you waiting, Lady Isadora.’
‘No, no, you must not be so formal when we are alone. Please call me by my name, Elizabeth.’
‘That would not be fitting for I hardly know you and must show respect. May I call you ma’am?’
‘Yes, of course, if you wish. But once you are settled here you may feel it easier to call me Isadora or Dora, as my friends do, Elizabeth. I know it must all seem very strange to you at first, but I live very simply here most of the time. Of course, it will be different when we visit Brighton in the summer—and perhaps Bath later in the year, for my health you know. I seldom go up to London—I find it too tiring.’
