The Rescue (3 page)

“Mr Weston?” Anne tried a little way down the road. “I wish to stop now.”

Anne felt some alarm when he didn’t even look at her, but compassion overtook her and she let him have his peace. She wondered how many miles she would have to walk to get back to town tonight. Not until she’d thought this through did she look up and notice they were almost to Brown Manor. Word of Alice Dixon’s death had reached the village several weeks back, but Brown Manor had been empty for more than a year, and folks thought little of it.

She had just learned that the man beside her was Mr Weston, and for a moment Anne racked her brain to remember how he might be related to Mrs Dixon.

“Well, here we are.” Weston said his first words in many minutes, and Anne watched as he climbed down, came around to her side, and, with an impatient hand, helped her to the ground. He took her swiftly inside one of the grandest homes she’d ever seen, but there was no time to admire. Once in the entryway, a man met them, and Mr Weston proceeded to speak more words than Anne had yet heard from him.

“It’s taken me nearly the entire ride to figure you out,” he said coldly, his eyes equally so before they turned away from her.

“Mansfield, this is my
wife,
” he went on in a tone that kept Anne frozen in place. “Have you hired someone to clean?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Good.”

Weston turned back now, his eyes fierce with betrayal.

“How many times have you and your father gotten away with this? How many times has he posed as a mad officer and used his daughter for financial gain? Well, it’s not going to work this time. You want to be my wife? Fine! You can clean my home from top to bottom.”

With one last blistering look, Weston turned back to Mansfield.

“As you can see, I’ve managed to gain a
scullery maid
for a wife.” He gritted the words out. “Please see to it that she works hard. I’ll return in less than a fortnight.”

Not another word was spoken as Weston turned on his heel and strode back out the door. For a full 30 seconds the two stood and stared at the door that had closed in his wake. Anne was the first to look away, and she naturally looked to the manservant. He turned and spoke the moment he felt her eyes on him.

“Should I show you around, Mrs Weston?”

“It’s Miss,” Anne informed him quietly. “Miss Gardiner.”

Mansfield’s eyes were sharp and his hearing was excellent. There was no missing the tone of her voice or her ladylike stance and gestures.

“You are not a scullery maid, Miss Gardiner.”

“No, I am not, but I do not blame Mr Weston for seeing me as such.” Anne gestured rather helplessly. “He’s upset.”

Seeing she was going to give no thought to herself, Mansfield said, “I believe I should first show you to a guest room, Miss Gardiner, but I fear that you won’t find it very clean.”

“Well, maybe that’s where I should start to work then.”

The servant looked as though he would protest, but Anne held her hand up.

“It’s the least I can do, Mansfield. Mr Weston has been very put upon, and I wish to make amends.”

The tall servant disapproved with every line of his body but kept silent. Leading the way through the entryway and down the long hallways, he took the stairs that led to the bedrooms.

“Will this be comfortable for you?” Mansfield asked, opening a door that led to a spacious but sparsely furnished room.

“This will be fine, Mansfield, thank you. Now if you’ll show me where I can gain cleaning supplies, I’ll get to work.”

“Miss Gardiner, if I may suggest—”

“Thank you, Mansfield, but I think this is best.”

The servant gave up. He led the way to the stairs that went down to the lower levels and servants’ quarters, the kitchen and spacious storerooms. Not ten minutes passed before Anne was armed with cleaning supplies and headed to work. She wished she would have been given a chance to explain and persuade Mr Weston to leave her close to the Crofts’, but it was not to be. Accustomed to hard work, she knew right now she would have to make the best of things.

“I half expected Anne to be sipping tea in our kitchen by now,” Mrs Croft said to her husband that afternoon when she found him reading in the den.

“Did she never check back with you?” Croft asked.

“No. Do you think there’s cause for alarm?”

“I don’t think so. We certainly don’t know this Weston chap, but Anne is resourceful. She’s probably gotten a ride to the manse on her own. Weston might have taken her himself.”

“I hope so. Are you certain she’ll go to Pastor Hurst?”

“Nearly certain. He always steers her the right way.”

Mrs Croft worried her handkerchief for a moment.

“I had hoped after the last time that this would never happen again.”

“Anne did the right thing. The Colonel is not to be trusted. He was very upset when he realized he cut that last chap, but he doesn’t feel that way until after the damage is done.”

“But that last young man had a connection to the area,” Mrs Croft argued. “This young man might be cut from a different cloth, and who could blame him if he wishes to press charges?”

Croft set his paper aside and looked to his wife.

“It might be the best thing that could happen. The village has put up with the Colonel’s antics for years, and Anne wears herself out trying to keep up with him. Word of the last incident never got out, but one of these days he might seriously injure someone. We’ll let this run its course.”

That said, the man put his nose back into the newspaper. Mrs Croft thought he might be right, but that didn’t stop her heart from wondering just exactly what had become of Anne Gardiner.

Brown Manor

Daylight was fading and rain had begun when Anne made her way down to the kitchen. She had cleaned several rooms from top to bottom, and she was tired to the bone. If she didn’t find something to eat soon, however, she was not going to have the strength to even climb into bed.

She was still approaching the room when the smell of food assailed her senses. Her mouth began to water so profusely that she was forced to swallow several times. She stepped into the room to find Mansfield, apron in place, working over a large pot.

“Miss Gardiner,” he began at once, reaching to remove his apron. “I was going to bring you a tray.”

The proof of this statement was on the table. A tray was fully laid: bread, butter, jam, tea and service, plus a large soup bowl, presumably to hold some of the contents of the pot still cooking on the stove.

“Thank you, but I believe I will sit right here and eat whatever you have to offer.”

“I would be happy to deliver this above stairs,” Mansfield insisted.

Anne did not answer. She sat down, bowed her head to say a brief prayer, looked up again, and reached for the bread and butter.

Mansfield could see that she was not to be swayed. He served her a hot bowl of thick beef soup just moments later.

“I’m sorry I do not have more courses to offer you.”

“There is no need,” she assured him, taking a spoonful of soup into her mouth and looking up in surprise.

“A manservant who cooks. Does Mr Weston know what he has in you?”

Mansfield nodded ever so slightly at the compliment. He looked pleased without smiling.

They didn’t converse past this point. Weary as she was, Anne certainly had questions but knew that it was not her business how Mr Weston came to be in this home and why Mansfield was here alone. She realized she didn’t want to stay for two weeks, but the house did need cleaning, and she still believed it was the least she could do under the circumstances. If she finished cleaning everything ahead of time, she thought she might ask Mansfield to take her into town. Indeed, that was preferable to meeting the irate Mr Weston again.

Mansfield, for his part, was doing his best to be invisible, knowing he could eat when the lady was finished. Something was not right. His master was not a mean-spirited or spiteful man. That he would leave this lady to clean his home meant he had truly taken her for some type of unscrupulous pretender. Mansfield believed that if Mr Weston had taken the time to get to know her at all, he would have seen otherwise. As it was, all of the answers to Mansfield’s questions would have to wait.

“Thank you.” Anne spoke quietly into his busy thoughts, and he turned to her.

“It was my pleasure. May I do something to make you more comfortable tonight? More tea perhaps?”

“Thank you, but I will be retiring. I would make one request of you in the morning. Should it be impossible for me to complete the house in the days before Mr Weston returns, perhaps you would be so kind as to give some direction. If it would be helpful for me to do some rooms ahead of others, I would like to know.”

Mansfield only nodded to this request, his very being radiating with rebellion at the thought.

Anne took little notice. She was too tired to think about his feelings and wanted only her bed. Retiring to the room she’d been given, Anne looked at the dress she’d just removed, knowing that even with its dark color, it wasn’t going to last through two weeks of the work she was doing. She washed out her undergarments, swathed herself in a spare sheet, and climbed into bed. She was tired and a bit achy but had a sense of having worked hard and done well.

She prayed for Mr Weston, wherever he might be, and for a chance to explain to him that she and her father were not ruthless charlatans. It occurred to her that he might have gone to the authorities, but she knew many people who would vouch for her father’s mental condition. It was only to be hoped that when she explained, he would understand.

Still praying, she dropped off to sleep, never dreaming that her father would wake in the morning and do something he’d never done before.

As soon as it was light, the Colonel headed into town. He told each one he passed that his Anne had been married the day before. He couldn’t remember the man’s name, but married she was, and wasn’t that a delight?

When asked where Anne was at the moment, his answer was simple: “With her husband on their honeymoon.”

Chapter Two

Tipton

“How are you?” Marianne Jennings asked of her sister-in-law, Lydia Palmer, as she joined her in the large salon.

Lydia, very expectant with her fifth child and taking her ease, answered after Marianne leaned to hug and kiss her.

“I’m very well. Palmer wants me to go easy these days, so I can’t even claim to be tired.”

“So there’s been no more sneaking around when he’s not looking?”

Lydia laughed over this because she had done that very thing one day last week, been caught, and now knew the story had leaked out.

“How did you hear?”

“Palmer told Jennings,” Marianne said with a smile, her own five-month pregnancy not very obvious at this point.

“And what did my brother have to say?”

“He thought you mad and would have scolded you had you been present.”

Lydia smiled. “I’m glad I missed it.”

“I assume that Palmer took it in stride?”

“He laughed, but I told him I wouldn’t do it again.”