The Collector's Edition Volume 1 (22 page)

‘You have some better idea?’

‘No, but after the stands you and William took tonight, we should pull down the blinds.’

G
EORGE
Fotheringham was exceedingly pleased with himself. It had been his initiative that had inspired Master Harry to go off on such a fortuitous venture. Producing the Black Sheep with the Australian heir had, indeed, been a master card. Although one could not underestimate the drawing power of the accompanying photographs.

George had them on the table in front of him, trophies, one might say, of his astute judgement. Miss Ashley was a fine-looking woman—intelligence in her eyes, character in her face—and her feminine qualities were more than presentable. As a wife for Master Harry, George had no doubt she would do him credit. And the boy was proof that she was fertile. Such a relief to be sure of that. Poor Miss Pen…But thankfully that was in the past now.

Springfield Manor was going to be a happy place again. The whole staff had brightened up with the prospect of Master Harry bringing home a fiancée. And the boy. A child did liven up a home. George nodded approvingly at the photograph of William. He looked a bright young spark. George fancied he discerned a family likeness there, a certain set
about the eyes. Amazing how genes could pop up generations down the line.

Mischief and mayhem.

George frowned. Now why had those words slid into his mind? Master Harry was about to embrace marriage and fatherhood, both of which had a sobering influence on any man. Unseemly antics were definitely at an end. Life at Springfield Manor was about to enter a new, productive cycle.

The telephone rang. George had been waiting for the call. He felt his heart lift in anticipation as he picked up the receiver. It was the expected message.

Cook and Mrs. Fotheringham were conferring in the kitchen, and several maids were standing by for further orders when George emerged from the private sanctum of the butler’s pantry. He clapped his hands to gain the appropriate respectful attention, then made his announcement.

‘Ten minutes, everyone. Spread the word. Ten minutes. And mind that you’re all tidy.’

Ashley thought she was prepared for it. Twenty-six acres of gardens and parkland, Harry had told her. He didn’t know how many rooms there were in Springfield Manor—George or his wife, the housekeeper, could undoubtedly tell her—but only part of it dated back to the thirteenth century. It had been added to by various ancestors. One of its features was a domed tower by Christopher Wren. The whole of the inside had been thoroughly modernised
by Harry’s parents, who had drowned in a ferry disaster in the North Sea.

The manor was set in a wooded valley of the Southern Cotswolds, and there was trout fishing in the river. A heated swimming pool and an all-weather tennis court provided other outdoor leisure activities. Inside, a well-stocked library, a billiards room and a solarium were places of interest to guests. William would like the minstrel gallery, where quite a few ghosts had appeared over the years.

George would be able to tell her how many staff were employed. It was George’s responsibility to see to maintenance and the efficient running of the household. For all practical purposes, George ruled the manor, and he was excessively proud of it.

Ashley took a deep breath as the Rolls turned through a massive stone gateway. This was what Roger and his mother had wanted but didn’t know how to achieve, coming back home to England. She wondered if they somehow knew that William, unbeknownst to him, was achieving their ambition, about to receive all the benefits that had been lost so many generations ago. Although Ashley would make sure it didn’t go to his head!

The two-hour trip from London had flown by, and Springfield Manor now lay straight ahead of them. It was a mind-boggling sight, huge, like three or four mansions joined together. Apart from the domed tower, most of it was two storeys high, plus the attic area under the steep roofs from which rose
a forest of chimneys. The spacious lawns leading up to it were as smooth as bowling greens, and behind it was woodland with immense, majestic trees that must have been growing since King Arthur was a boy.

In front of the manor a long line of people stretched out from what was clearly the main entrance. ‘Uh-oh!’ Harry sighed. ‘George has decided this is an occasion. Consider yourself welcomed and honoured, Ashley. You’re to be greeted by everyone on the staff. At least, all those who are readily available.’

‘I count twenty-seven,’ William said helpfully. He had always been good at numbers.

‘What do I say to them?’ Ashley asked, nervous at the prospect of meeting so many people at once, people who would be eyeing her in the context of future mistress of the manor.

Harry smiled at her. ‘Don’t worry. They’re predisposed to think you’re the best thing that could happen to them. George will lead you down the receiving line and make the introductions. Smile, say hello, repeat their names and answer any remark made with something friendly. You’ve probably done it thousands of times when meeting prospective clients. It isn’t any different.’

His confidence boosted hers. All the same, she was very glad they had stopped over in London for a few days to shop for suitable clothes for the English winter, even more glad that Harry had insisted
on buying them for her, steering her straight into designer outfits.

Her burgundy-coloured overcoat was elegantly tailored, and Ashley adored the matching suede boots and the perky hat with its smartly curved brim. For the hat to sit properly she had to wear her hair down, which Harry preferred anyway. She glanced at the dazzling diamond on the third finger of her left hand and decided to leave both gloves off. The fabulous engagement ring Harry had given her definitely reinforced her position as his future wife.

She gave her son a quick check before the Rolls came to a halt. William looked astonishingly smart in a double-breasted navy overcoat, white shirt and tie and long trousers. It was cold enough for him not to demur at wearing such unaccustomed clothes. Besides, Harry was similarly attired, and Harry could do no wrong in William’s eyes. Not in the present propitious circumstances.

The chauffeur opened the door for Harry, who then helped Ashley out of the car. William followed under his own steam. A buzz of excitement ran down the greeting line at first sight of them.

A most impressive figure of a man stepped forward from the head of it. He was taller than Harry, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, blacksuited and enormously dignified. He looked to be in his fifties, although his benign face was relatively unwrinkled. Beneath the iron-grey eyebrows
that matched his iron-grey hair, a pair of bright brown eyes bestowed approval.

‘Welcome home, Master Harry,’ he intoned, as though it was a highly portentous occasion.

Harry gripped his hand. ‘Well done, George,’ he replied with a tinge of amusement. ‘May I present Ashley Harcourt, my fiancée, and her son, William. Our butler, George Fotheringham.’

‘I’m delighted to meet you, George,’ Ashley said, offering her best smile and her hand, which was quickly and warmly enveloped.

‘Your coming is a pleasure that has been much looked forward to, Miss Ashley. We at Springfield Manor will do all we can to make you feel comfortable and at home.’

‘That’s very kind.’

‘And your son, too, of course. How do you do, young William?’

‘I’m fine, sir,’ William replied, shaking hands without so much as batting an eyelash. Ashley was proud of his good manners until he piped up with, ‘How many ghosts have you seen in the minstrel gallery, Mr. Fotheringham?’

‘Not now, William,’ she reproved.

The butler raised his eyebrows at Harry.

‘Runs in the family, George,’ he answered. ‘It didn’t die out on the other side of the world. No rest for you, I’m afraid.’

‘What didn’t die out?’ Ashley asked, bewildered by the understanding the two men obviously shared.

George looked at her with rueful resignation. ‘Mischief and mayhem, Miss Ashley. It has been the lot of the Fotheringhams down through the centuries, since the Battle of Flodden in 1513, to rescue Master Harry’s family line from the mischief and mayhem they have invariably indulged in and brought upon themselves. If Henry Cliffton hadn’t stirred up the Scottish pikemen with insults about what was under their kilts…’ He sighed. ‘So it has always been, Miss Ashley.’

‘Look at it this way, George,’ Harry blithely invited. ‘It’s another challenge for you. You’ll be in good training by the time Ashley and I produce the patter of little feet.’

‘Master Harry,’ said George very dryly, ‘I cannot recall ever being
out
of training.’ He waved to the waiting line. ‘Shall we proceed, sir?’

Ashley was introduced to George’s wife, Alice, the head housekeeper, who organised and supervised all the cleaning, the meals and whatever services family and guests required. Then came innumerable maids, valets, footmen, the head gardener, the under-gardener and so on. Ashley committed as many names as she could to memory and hoped that the staff’s obvious goodwill towards her would stretch into good-natured patience when she made mistakes.

In the next few hours, Ashley was introduced to the style of life at Springfield Manor. It was luxury to a standard she could not have imagined. Gordon Payne’s appraisal of the private art collection was
probably a modest one, and she had certainly been right about antiques. Everywhere she looked, they graced rooms and hallways alike.

The furnishings were nothing short of fabulous, satins and silks and velvets and brocades. There were huge marble fireplaces, oak panelling, painted ceilings, wonderful Persian carpets. She was dazed by a multitude of splendours.

A maid was assigned to take care of her personal needs. Her luggage was unpacked for her. Lancombe toiletries were provided in an ensuite bathroom that even contained a spa bath.

George presided over the serving of a gourmet lunch and an exquisite afternoon tea. The latter was lingered over in a wonderful sitting room in front of a huge log fire. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over a rose garden hedged by ornamental shrubs. Darkness gradually shrouded the view, the winter night falling quite early.

Ashley went up to her bedroom to have a rest and change before dinner. She stripped off her arrival clothes, enjoyed a long spa bath, then, leaving only a dim table lamp on, she stretched out on the luxurious four-poster bed to relax for a while and adjust herself to becoming used to the riches around her. It seemed incredible that this was going to be her life from now on.

She wondered if William could be dissuaded from staying up all night in the minstrel gallery. It was unlikely, with Harry and George aiding and abetting
him and the whole staff adopting a light-hearted approach to the coming adventure.

A movement caught her eye. She turned her head in time to see a figure materialising through the heavily carved door that led into her bedroom. She blinked in sheer disbelief. But her eyes weren’t playing tricks with her.

The insubstantial figure quickly took on more solid form, a woman, a young woman dressed in a long button-through skirt, blouse and cardigan, all of them oddly colourless. She was painfully thin yet her face, framed by short soft wavy hair, had an ethereal beauty, and her eyes seemed to glow as though lit by some otherworldly vision.

Slowly and warily, Ashley pushed herself into a sitting position, hardly daring to accept that a ghost had appeared in front of her. But what else could the woman be? And Harry had said there were ghosts at Springfield Manor.

The woman smiled at her. And spoke. ‘I’m sorry if I gave you a fright. I should have knocked. But one gets so used to walking through walls and doors. Indeed, I wouldn’t know how to tap on your door even if I wanted to.’

Ashley wished William was here to see this.

‘Your William is in the kitchen,’ the ghost said with a tinkling laugh. ‘I’ve been down there listening to the gossip about you. I wish I could have been at Olivia Stanton’s party. It must have been a wonderful scene.’

‘William’s telling them about that?’

‘He kept Dylan Stanton’s tooth and he produced it with the air of a master magician playing his ultimate trick.’

‘Oh, no! He couldn’t!’

‘Don’t worry. Everyone loved it. I think another legend has been born, with both William and Harry as the heroes.’

She could be right about that, Ashley thought. After all, it couldn’t be much more outrageous than some of the other legends she’d heard about the family.

‘Besides,’ the ghost went on, ‘they’re dying to hear all about your romance with Harry, and William is earning favours with every tale he tells. There’s no harm being done, believe me.’

Ashley released a shaky breath. She didn’t know ghosts could read minds, too. It was disconcerting, to say the least. ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

‘Penelope. Harry told you about me in great detail.’

‘Yes. Yes, he did. I’m so sorry…’

‘It wasn’t to be,’ she said sadly.

‘Have you…’ Ashley swallowed hard. ‘Have you appeared to Harry?’

‘No. That would have made things worse for him. I desperately wanted him to meet someone like you whom he could love as deeply as he’s capable of loving.’

‘You don’t mind?’

‘I’m happy for you both. Very happy. I’ve been waiting all this time for it to happen. It’s a great
relief to me now that it has.’ Her smile was strangely luminous. ‘And the baby makes it perfect.’

‘What baby?’

‘You’re pregnant, Ashley. If you want to check it out, I can recommend a local medical practitioner, Dr. Jekyll. He lives in the village in Mr. Hyde’s cottage. He was so good to me during my illness. He’ll take every care with both of you.’

Ashley shook her head in bemusement. She let the Jekyll-Hyde connection float over her head. Nothing about Springfield Manor and its environs was going to surprise her any more. She honed in on the important point. If she was pregnant, it must have happened when she and Harry had first made love together.

Penelope nodded. ‘Yes. I’ll leave you now. I just wanted to meet you and satisfy my curiosity. And assure you there’s nothing to fear from Harry’s memories of me. They no longer have the power to hurt. Love has no boundaries. Love holds no restrictions, only those self-imposed by people. Harry loves you. Never doubt it, Ashley. He loves you.’