Fenella Miller (22 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Marianne spun round to see a footman, in an ill-fitting livery, dropping the bar across the door. The man, seeing her questioning look, spoke up unasked.

‘You’ll not be going out again today, miss, Mr Ellison says, so might as well do it now, and save me coming back later.’

Jane, about to reprimand the man for insolence, felt Marianne’s warning hand touch hers. She held her peace. They watched the man amble back into the bowels of the building.

‘It is not right, Miss Marianne, to speak so disrespectfully. You would think they had never worked inside before.’

‘I know, Jane. But I am too fatigued to try and put things right tonight. Edward and the boys should be here later; perhaps the staff will be more civil when we have them here.’

The food set out was surprisingly palatable, plain fare, but tasty nonetheless. ‘I had not realized how hungry I was, Jane. That rabbit pasty was delicious and the bread was fresh from the oven.’

‘I’m glad the cook is one member of staff we will not have to replace. I imagine it’s going to be hard to find people willing to work so far out.’

‘Not so far, Jane. I doubt it is more than a two-hour walk to the village, country folk think nothing of such a journey.’

‘That’s as may be…’ Jane cocked her head, listening. ‘That sounds like a carriage arriving. Who could possibly be coming to visit us here?’

‘The sound is getting fainter, Jane, it’s a carriage leaving.’ An awful thought occurred to her and she abandoned her seat at the table and ran to the window from which she could catch a glimpse of the far end of the drive. ‘That’s our carriage and baggage cart, they are going, and the two grooms with them. They were supposed to wait for Edward. There is something odd going on. I shall speak to Ellison.’

She found a bell strap and yanked it hard. The butler appeared almost immediately as though he had been expecting her summons.

‘Ellison, why are my carriage and cart leaving? They were to wait here for Master Edward Grierson.’

‘Begging your pardon, Miss Devenish, but my instructions was to send them straight back to Brook Street. The young gentleman is to wait there, coming down here first will add hours to his return.’

Marianne could see the logic in this but wondered why Mr Sampson had not informed her of the change of plans. ‘Very well, Ellison, thank you. Could you ask the housekeeper to conduct us to our apartments?’

The man shook his head. ‘There’s no housekeeper here, Miss Devenish, but I will send the footman to you right away.’

She waited until he had gone before voicing her concerns. ‘I cannot like this, Jane. An all-male staff? It is hardly suitable. What can Mr Sampson had been thinking of?’

‘I doubt he enquired too closely, Miss Marianne; we had our marching orders and he was desperate to find us somewhere to go.’

‘I shall not be sanguine until John is here with us. But there are three of us; we will just have to ensure we stay together. We shall go up and inspect the rooms as soon as the footman comes.’

The ill clothed footman conducted them upstairs and along a dark, unlit passageway, to the rear of the house. He stopped outside a stout door, nodded, and then ambled back the way he had come, leaving them to open the door for themselves.

Marianne pushed open the door and was unimpressed by her sitting room. ‘There is no furniture in here. Three wooden chairs, a sideboard and a small table do not make a cosy place to sit.’

‘It’s clean at least but it looks bare without window hangings or carpets.’

‘Is there a key? I should feel happier if we could lock the door.’

Jane went to investigate. ‘No, not in the door at any rate.’

Annie, hearing them arrive, came through from the bedchamber. ‘Miss Devenish, I have started to unpack your trunks, there is plenty of closet space and the bed linen is fresh. But when I asked for a bath, that Mr Ellison said there wasn’t one available.’

‘It is a small problem, Annie. I can complete my ablutions with a jug and basin just as well.’

The bedchamber was as sparsely furnished as the parlour. The old-fashioned mahogany bed was large enough to sleep a family and have room to spare, but it stood lonely in the centre of the empty room.

‘I wish you both to remain in here with me. There is ample room in this bed for us all.’

For once neither woman protested that it would be unfitting for Marianne to share her bed. She would be safe with them on either side of her.

Marianne felt uneasy in her surroundings but could not explain what was unsettling her.

‘Annie, Jane, I wish you to repack my trunks, are they still up here?’

‘They are, Miss Devenish. I am only half done.’

‘Excellent. I shall need the barest necessities, my night rail, and walking dress for tomorrow, nothing else. I do not intend to stay here. When John and the boys are here, I shall have a carriage hired and we shall remove to the nearest inn.’

‘I relieved to hear that, Miss Marianne. There’s a bad feeling about Drayton House.’

Refilling the trunks occupied all three for the remainder of the day. No one came to bring them food or lights.

‘It is a good thing we carry a tinderbox and candles, miss. Shall I get some out? It will be dark soon enough.’

‘Annie can do that, Jane. Will you ring down and ask for a tray to be sent up here? I do not wish to go downstairs again today.’

They waited, the late evening sunlight filtering reluctantly into the west facing room. Shuffling footsteps heralded the arrival of someone to answer the summons. The door opened and two young boys staggered in, carrying laden trays. Ellison had anticipated their request.

‘Put the trays on the sideboard, if you will,’ Jane directed. The boys complied, keeping their heads down, not making eye contact. Having deposited their load they scuttled off.

Marianne frowned. Why were the staff afraid to speak to her? Had news of her disgrace reached to deepest, darkest Hertfordshire so soon? Jane, examining the trays, looked cheerful for the first time that day.

‘This is a feast, Miss Marianne, the cook has done us proud. Whatever else is wrong in this place, we’re not going to starve.’

The tureen of aromatic vegetable broth was accompanied by hunks of warm bread and fresh butter. Apple pie and local cheese made up the dessert course. To drink they had a jug of lemonade. There was little left by the time they had eaten. The strange circumstances had lowered the usual barriers between mistress and staff and for Marianne the shared supper was an enjoyable experience in an otherwise bleak day.

There had been several beeswax candles included on the trays and Annie and Jane soon positioned them about the rooms. The flickering yellow light gave the room an aura of comfort and Marianne began to believe her worries were unfounded.

When the trays were placed outside the door she dismissed both Annie and Jane, sending them to sit in the small dressing room. She needed to be alone, to marshal her thoughts and consider her options.

The lack of a carriage meant they were trapped at Drayton House. Then she remembered Sultan was stabled somewhere; things were not so bad. If she needed to she would be able to ride him to the nearest village.

She shivered. What nonsense was she thinking? This was not a gothic romance and she the heroine. She was being ridiculous. But her experiences of the last two days had seemed as unreal as a novel. She wished she had a book to read but had no intention of leaving the room to seek out the library.

Grateful the night was warm she went to sit on the window ledge. She heard the unmistakable sound of nightingales singing in the trees and the call of a nightjar somewhere in a nearby field and her heart lifted with their song. Then she heard something else, not a bird, this was the distinctive sound of a carriage approaching. She craned out of the window and saw the bobbing lights of the vehicle. She stepped away her heart pounding. Whoever was coming, they were expected for she heard, quite clearly, the front door being opened.

She retreated to the bedroom and called quietly for Jane to come. ‘Someone has arrived, they were expected.’

‘I don’t like this, Miss Marianne. No one should have access here. This is supposed to be your property.’

Marianne felt the urgent need to protect both herself and her staff from the night visitor. ‘Can we barricade this room? Put the furniture against the door somehow?’ She looked round the room and with sickening certainty knew why the room had so little in it. It was to prevent her from blocking the entrance. She felt ill, but she had to remain calm. If she showed her fears then both Annie and Jane would be afraid also.

‘Shall we sit down? We can do nothing else. Whatever is planned, it’s out of our hands.’

They each took a chair, bringing them close together in a semicircle facing the door and they waited.

A male voice, deep, well bred, could be heard in the distance, and then heavy, forceful footsteps reverberated down the uncarpeted corridor outside the room. Marianne forced herself to sit upright in her chair and schooled her expression to one of quite disdain. Her hands were trembling so much she was forced to hide them in her lap.

The door opened and a tall, immaculately dressed man, stepped in, the epitome of elegance. His boots so shiny they reflected pinpricks of candlelight.

‘Well, well, Miss Devenish, it appears you are expecting me—how very delightful!’ Sir James Russell bowed politely and his mouth curved into a smile that meant nothing. Marianne stared in fear and loathing, too shocked to answer. ‘Cat got your tongue, my dear? I seem to remember you had plenty to say when you drove out with me in Bath.’

Marianne closed her eyes, hoping this was a nightmare, and when she opened them again the despicable villain would have vanished. She was not to be allowed to sit in silence. With appalling speed Sir James crossed the room and seizing her shoulders dragged her from her chair.

This was too much for Jane. With a scream of rage she threw herself at the man. He released his grip on Marianne’s left shoulder long enough to swing his fist and it connected with Jane’s temple, sending her crashing to the boards, unconscious.

Annie, sobbing wildly, dropped to her knees to cradle Jane’s head. Marianne snatched up one of her own silver candlesticks and, with one swing, attempted to dash his brains out. He saw her blow coming and twisted his head so avoiding its full force. However the edge of the candlestick slashed across his cheek to open it almost to the bone.

With a roar of pain and rage he flung Marianne to the floor, clamping his right hand to his cheek in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. ‘You are going to regret this, all of you. I could have made this easy, but not any more. By Christ you will be sorry girl when I have finished with you.’ He slammed out and she heard the key turn in the lock.

Slowly she picked herself up from the floor, both elbows were bruised, but otherwise she was unhurt. She hurried over to Jane, still unconscious, her face chalk white apart from the growing red stain on her forehead.

‘Annie, help me carry Jane to the bedroom. We must put her on the bed. She is not too heavy, we can manage it easily.’ She spoke quietly, but firmly, hoping her apparent command of the situation would steady the almost hysterical girl.

Annie gulped and nodded. With a deal of effort they accomplished the task and, whilst Annie removed Jane’s outer garments, Marianne hurried into the dressing-room to soak a cloth with cold water from the pitcher there.

‘Here, press this on Jane’s head, where the blow fell, it will help.’ She returned to the dressing-room and poured water into a small china bowl then took it back to the bedchamber. ‘The cloth must be wet, Annie, dip it frequently into the water to keep it so. ‘

Annie nodded and sniffed but made no attempt to speak. Terror had made her mute. Marianne returned to the sitting-room closing the door quietly behind her. She had two options, to remain calm or to succumb to her fear.

She forced herself to walk in measured steps from one end of the room to the other, pausing occasionally by the open window, trying to take deep, cooling drafts of air. Sir James would return as soon as his head was bandaged. His threats had not been idle ones.

She gripped the window sill as terror rocked her. When the monster returned would her life be forfeit? She felt herself falling into a dark spiral and her knees began to crumple. She forced the faintness away. She had to remain conscious, to think—all their lives depended on her ability to think.

She heard him coming back and wanted to scream, to run and hide in her closet like a five-year-old, but she remained rooted, behind the chair, her knuckles white.

He remained, framed in the door, assessing her mood. Suddenly she knew what she would do. She needed to keep him calm, talk to him, convince him she was on his side, enraging him further would not help. John and the boys would come tomorrow; she just had to keep them all safe until then.

She forced her lips to form a smile. ‘I must apologize for injuring you, sir. That was most unladylike behaviour.’

‘Sweet talk will not save you, so do not bother to try it.’ She tossed her head and attempted to look disdainful, not terrified. ‘You are a monster, sir.

You struck down my companion without a qualm. I am as likely to sweet talk you as sprout wings and fly.’

‘Sit down.’ Obediently she walked around the chair and sat neatly, ankles crossed, hands in her lap. She said nothing further, just waited for events to unravel as they would. ‘What, no grovelling? No questions even?’ He spun a chair and straddled it, barely a foot away from her. She could feel his feral breath on her cheeks. She would not react—show how much she hated him being close.

‘Ask how I organized this, Miss Devenish,’ his voice was the hiss of hatred. She was to be forced to play his game. She had no choice.

‘How did you organize this?’ She heard a sharp intake of breath and saw his forearms stiffen; she had to be more conciliatory. ‘It was a complete shock to find you here.’

He relaxed, mollified. ‘It was carefully planned and expertly executed. Did you not wonder how word of your behaviour reached London so quickly?’ She was unsure whether to nod or shake her head, so did a mixture of the two.