Hide in Time (11 page)

He trusted her; how comforting. “Maybe
one day I shall be able to tell you about myself,” Xandra said
wistfully.

~

The following afternoon, Xandra
examined her spruced-up self, watched over by Emmanuel Raffles’s
housekeeper and the twittering Martha.

“Ooh girl, I’d hardly
recognize you.”

“Martha,” said the
housekeeper. “I’ve asked you to hold the looking-glass
and if you want to stay in this household, you will pay heed to your
manners.”

Martha opened her mouth and shut it.

Xandra was about to take her leave of
them both and almost held out her hand when the housekeeper curtseyed
– just a little bob – but clearly an indication that
shaking hands was not the favoured way to say farewell. “I fear
both Martha and I have a lot to learn. We shall view it as an
adventure, shall we not, Martha?”

“Too right you are, Miss. Biggest
adventure…”

“Martha, you will address young
ladies correctly or not at all.”

“I do beg your pardon, Miss
Mulberry. There wasn’t much call for addressing ladies back
home.”

Xandra could not help but smile broadly
– what a treasure the parson had found. “Thank you both
for washing and pressing my dress and for the loan of a bonnet.”

“I’ve sewn up that big hole
in your shawl where you’ve put your head through, Miss
Mulberry,” said the housekeeper with pride, “and I think
you’ll find it will suffice until you find another.” Her
unspoken words ‘more in the current fashion’ hung in the
air.

“Why thank you. It did seem a
little odd to have a large hole there, though I found it most
useful.”

“’tis not the thing to go
visiting with a holey shawl though and I hope you will…”

A chuckle alerted Xandra to her host’s
approach. “Holey shawl! Good Lord in Heaven above! ’tis
the very thing for a young lady accompanying the holy parson!”
Emmanuel Raffles roared laughing at his pun, picked up his black hat
with the large brim and set it jauntily on his head, and strode
towards the huge oak door. Flinging it wide, he said, “Timing.
God’s timing is always perfect. The Leigh-Fox carriage has
arrived.”

Xandra allowed the coachman to assist
her into the leather-upholstered interior. It had clearly seen better
days but it was a considerable improvement on those she’d
travelled in so far.

“How is your soul, Miss
Mulberry?” Parson Raffles, seated opposite, peered over his
spectacles and into her eyes as if to check she had one.

Xandra could not remember if she had
ever considered her soul. Certainly no one else had ever showed
concern for it. She hoped she had found an acceptable answer in, “My
soul is silent.”

“Become acquainted with your
soul, care for it, for it will outlast all you have.”

How profoundly he spoke. How
appropriate for her, mourning her lost memory. It was in such
contrast to… to what? Though she could not grasp any memories,
she was sure they would not match her experiences in the last two
days. She decided to change the subject. “I have butterflies,”
she announced shyly.

“And how might you have those?”
Parson Raffles looked baffled. “Where are you keeping them?”

Now Xandra looked baffled. Was it his
sense of humour? “Tummy butterflies,” she said lightly.

“Did you eat something at the inn
that has disturbed your digestion?”

“Oh no, Mr Raffles. I merely
meant I am a little nervous.”

“I wonder, Miss Mulberry, if you
have been living overseas?”

They both furrowed their brows.

It was a short journey and the carriage
soon pulled up in front of “Foxhills”.

“Now do not let the butterflies
loose, Miss Mulberry. Only Mr Adam is at home. Mr Jack, the elder
brother, is away and he and Mr Leigh-Fox will return later today.
Fewer butterflies this way,” Parson Raffles said with a wink.

A liveried footman ran down the stone
steps from the house to open the door and assist Xandra in alighting.
While the parson squeezed his way out, Xandra glanced at the outside
of the house. It was white, not very old, and Georgian in style. ‘In
style?’ What a strange thought. If it was 1814, then it was
truly Georgian. Or Regency. It could be Regency. She looked again.
No, definitely Georgian; it was pleasingly symmetrical, with large,
sash windows either side of the central door. At the far window on
the left, she was sure she caught sight of a girl’s face. A
young daughter, perhaps?

Inside, another liveried servant
courteously took the parson’s hat and cloak and Mr Raffles
encouraged Xandra to divest herself of what he was now calling the
‘unholey shawl’ and her newly acquired plain bonnet. If
anyone could disperse butterflies, he could. Xandra took a moment to
appreciate the imposing galleried hall which had three white marble
pillars either side and a wide central staircase leading up from the
black and white tiled floor. The visitors were led to the sitting
room and asked to await Mr Adam Leigh-Fox. Xandra was entranced.
Black and white engravings in black, cream and gold frames hung
against the grey-green walls, and the floor to ceiling square-paned
window was hung with cream curtains; there were echoes of the
grey-green walls in the pelmet. In silence, Xandra sat on a cream and
green chintz sofa and looked across to Mr Raffles who appeared to
want to convey something without being overheard.

“It’s Mr Adam who keeps the
whole estate running. Without him…” Interrupted, he rose
as Adam Leigh-Fox entered, bowed, bounded across the room to the
hearth and introduced himself. Parson Raffles rescued the rapt Xandra
who’d expected herself to stand to greet her host but failed to
do more than rise a little and smile even less. “Miss Mulberry
has had a most difficult journey. She has a Letter of Introduction
addressed to you, Adam.”

Adam was standing with his hands behind
his back, legs astride, and his combination of elegance and authority
captivated Xandra. A thousand butterflies were let loose.

Adam smiled at Xandra and inclined his
head.

Xandra’s every bone seemed to be
quaking. It was his smile. A smile line on either side of his mouth
gave him a jaunty, rakish look. He pulled up an armchair alongside
the sofa on which she was sitting and as he relaxed in it she could
see there was a second line on one side caused by a deep cut.

“Raffles explained when he called
here this morning, how he came upon you and the perils you appear to
have endured. You can trust us both, Miss Mulberry.”

Xandra looked from Adam to the
avuncular parson who grinned. He clearly did not mind being called
‘Raffles’.

“You don’t expect me to
call him ‘Emmanuel’ do you, Miss Mulberry? Don’t
you think Raffles is better?”

“I can assure you, I do,”
said Raffles, “Though we observe the proprieties in society, of
course.”

Xandra lifted her heavy bag on to her
lap and carefully opened it. It had not left her sight since…
since when? She had stuffed one more item on top of the letter this
morning, the funny little cap she’d been wearing with the
scarlet ribbon and it had caught in the clasp. It was with some
difficulty that she extracted the crumpled letter addressed to Adam
Leigh-Fox, Esquire, and, lowering her eyes with embarrassment, she
handed it to him.

Adam examined the wax seal. There was
no crest, and he appeared curious about the scent of the wax,
sniffing it, closing his eyes, then sniffing it again, as if it held
some memory. He opened it with care and considered the first
paragraph slowly, then skipped to the last page. He shuffled the
pages before he said, “The last page is missing, Miss Mulberry.
Do you know who has written this?”

Xandra shook her head. Oh how could
this happen? She’d been waiting for this moment in the hope of
finding out to whom she ‘belonged’. Confidence, followed
by the little poise she’d tried to muster, was ebbing away
faster than a Southend tide.

“Don’t trouble yourself,
Miss Mulberry. I recognize the writing, I’m sure I do; though
it is unlikely to be easily verified.”

Xandra wondered if it was impolite to
ask what it said.

“It is clearly from someone who
knows me well and through some oversight the last page has been
omitted.” Xandra wondered if he, like Parson Raffles, always
rescued the drowning.

Adam began to read it aloud. “This
letter is to introduce to you Miss Alexandra Mulberry.”

Raffles could not contain himself. “We
were right! Her family name is tooled on her bag.”

“Miss Mulberry has been most
unfortunate in the loss of her family, and this was followed by the
loss of most of her property and possessions in a devastating fire.”
He paused to glance at Alexandra before continuing. “She is
extraordinarily talented; a silversmith and maker of fine jewellery.”
Adam paused. "Some unusual accomplishments, Miss Mulberry."
He then moved quickly on to the third sheet with a short explanation.
“There’s some rather personal details here which is why I
am led to believe it is from someone who knows me well.” He
looked perturbed, clenched his fist, but continued, “If you can
find it in your heart to give this young lady a home, you will, I am
sure, have not a single regret…” he paused before
continuing quietly, “any more.” Again, Adam looked
puzzled. “Did you have a cousin?”

Xandra shook her head slowly. “I
am not aware of any.”

Adam continued to read aloud. “Miss
Mulberry has been educated to a very high standard and has been
living in a part of the world which might be regarded as foreign. It
may be, therefore,” he waved this last sheet in the air, “We
shall never know what ‘may be’,” he said
resignedly.

“Nevertheless, it does answer a
few questions in my mind,” said Parson Raffles. “Perhaps,
one day, your memory will return, Miss Mulberry.”

Adam, still sitting in the armchair
alongside Xandra, turned to her and said gently, “Has your
memory been prompted at all?”

“I wish I could answer in the
affirmative, Mr Leigh-Fox, I truly do, but I can’t.”

“Fret not, Miss Mulberry,”
Adam replied. “I am coming to the conclusion that a poor memory
is one of the keys to happiness.”

There was a moment’s silence
before Parson Raffles enquired cautiously, “No recollection of
a fire?”

Xandra shook her head again, lowering
it as she did so, then raising it to say, “My name, Alexandra,”
she paused before continuing, “fleetingly I thought I
recognized it. I believe my mind will enjoy playing tricks on me. I
even have a strange feeling I’ve seen you before, Mr Leigh-Fox,
or a portrait perhaps.”

Adam’s eyes widened and for a
moment he looked as if his composure might be at risk but he
recovered well with, “As we feel we may know of each other, I
should be pleased if you would call me Adam. There will then be no
doubt as to your status or of my being confused with Father.”

Alexandra thought she heard him add,
‘Heaven forbid’, and this was reinforced by the slight
pursing of lips and raised eyebrows displayed by Raffles.

Endeavouring to maintain the required
formal civility before allowing the rules to be relaxed, she
reciprocated, “I shall be pleased if you will call me
Alexandra.”

Raffles smacked his lips but had no
chance to voice his thoughts as Adam had already leapt up and pulled
the bell-rope. “Forgive me, I appear to have let my curiosity
over-ride my courtesy. I’ll call for some refreshment.”
He returned to his seat at Alexandra’s side and took a long,
inscrutable look at her.

She was staring at the hearth. “I
seem to have lost not only my memory but everyone and everything I
surely loved.”

Hide in Time ~ Anna Faversham

Alexandra. Alexandra. Alexandra. She
turned the name around in her mind; it felt so good to know her given
name. Alexandra Mulberry. Verifiably from a good family. With an
interest in fine jewellery. Not of the serving classes. Would she
have minded if she were? Probably not. Life was possibly more
interesting… No, what about books? Servants had little time to
read books. In fact they probably couldn’t read. She wondered
if the butler could read. Was there a butler? She’d not
noticed. What was really frightening though was whether the memory of
her own life would ever return. She had felt sure it would; now
doubts were intensifying.

Alexandra stood looking out of the
window of the room that had been declared ‘hers’. It had
been prepared for her so quickly. It was at the top of the stairs,
turn right, then left, and follow the corridor to the one which
overlooked the garden at the back of the house. It might be
embarrassing to accidentally enter another room. She turned to admire
the exquisitely pretty décor again. The walls were cream, blue
and grey, cloud-like in effect. The same palette was applied
throughout the room. She fingered the cream and blue Chinoiserie
curtains with their striking dark blue borders, and wandered across
to the large bed with its crisp, white cotton pillows embroidered
with little blue butterflies. Butterflies – they’d always
remind her of her first meeting with Adam Leigh-Fox. She liked his
name. Looking up she noticed the matching Chinoiserie fabric hanging
in pleats above the headboard. It was all that she might have
designed for herself.

Her bag had been placed on the matching
Ottoman at the end of the bed. As requested, it had not been
unpacked. She could procrastinate no longer. She must find out what
was in that strange, clear, odd-shaped and funny-feeling material
inside her bag. “VacPack,” she said aloud with a feeling
of triumph as if she had just remembered a French verb from
schooldays. “It’s called a VacPack. And my holey shawl is
a poncho and the knee breeches I have been wearing are called
capris.” Alexandra sat down on the bed and said quietly but
triumphantly, “I am not going mad.” It seemed, just as
the letter had said, as if she had arrived from a foreign country.
She vaguely recalled the feeling of visiting France when she was
younger. She had still thought in English most of the time but had to
speak in French and where she couldn’t find the right words
she’d spoken in a combination of the two. “Franglais,”
she announced, immensely reassured; it described her current
situation well.