Eppie (70 page)

‘How quaint!’ Hortence said, tittering.

‘Do you journey far?’ Gabriel asked.

‘Until my lawyer, Huber-Percy, finds us more suitable
accommodation we have rented a modest house in Cotterburgh. We are on our way
there now. The place is disagreeably small for our desires. My late husband was
a firm friend of your father’s. If Robert were alive he would have had no
compunction in welcoming us to his home whilst we sought lodgings of superior
worth.’

‘Until you find a residence more suitable to your taste,’
Gabriel offered, sharing Genevieve’s sorrow about the defiling of Lord Wexcombe’s
body, ‘I will be delighted to receive you and your charming daughters into my
home. There are ample rooms.’

Lady Wexcombe appeared genuinely surprised by the generous proposal.
‘That is most mannerly of you, sir. My daughters and I find your proposition
entirely agreeable.’

‘If your driver will follow my curricle. Genevieve, are you
coming?’

‘I’ll saunter back. I’ve things to think on.’

From behind as she traipsed along the lane, came the thud of
hooves. Glancing back, she saw a party of ten or more mounted soldiers
advancing, Colonel Catesby to the fore.  Hoping not to draw attention to
herself she lingered at a field entrance and gazed upon a charm of goldfinches
feasting on purple knapweed.

Catesby swung out of his saddle and approached. Drawing off
his hat, he swept it in an extravagant bow that threatened to tip him over. The
movement startled the goldfinches and they flitted away ‘Your ladyship, it is
unwise to be from home without a protector.’

‘I shall do as I please.’ Deeming it best to finish her walk
as quickly as possible, she set off again. 

‘Ride on,’ Catesby told his men. Leading his horse, he paced
beside her. ‘I warn you only for your safety, your ladyship. Although it is
likely that your cousin has fled abroad there is always the chance that he
remains at liberty in this country.’

She turned into the lane that led to the yard of Tunnygrave
Manor. ‘I am not afraid.’

‘Be that as it may,’ he said, cooled by her frostiness. ‘I would
suggest, however, that you do not go from home unattended.’

The soldiers waited on horseback before the coach-house.

‘My men and I may be in this area for some time, sir,’
Catesby informed Gabriel. ‘We are on the trail of rebellious labourers who are
murdering landowners and setting fire to their hayricks.’

‘If your men need somewhere to erect their tents, feel free
to make use of the parcel of land behind The Fat Duck.’

‘Your offer is much appreciated, sir. Whilst we are in the
vicinity, Mr Jeremiah Grimley requested that we scour the countryside in the
hunt for Miss Scattergood.’ 

‘If you have no objection, I will ride with you, and some of
my men, also.’

‘I’ll come too,’ said Genevieve.

‘We must ride hard and search in treacherous places,’
Catesby answered. ‘It is not seemly for a lady to accompany us.’

From Gabriel’s pained expression she saw his sorrow at her being
ordered to remain behind.

‘Perhaps,’ Gabriel suggested, ‘you might like to amuse Lady Wexcombe
and her daughters whilst I am gone?’

That was the last thing she felt like doing. 

After reading for hours, lounging on a chaise-longue in the
long gallery, she sauntered to the servants’ quarters. ‘Is Gabriel home yet?’ 

‘The master’s been back a while,’ Hannah replied. Busy
slicing smoked ham, she seemed pleased that they had guests. ‘He’s invited Colonel
Catesby and the parson to dinner.’

In the stillroom, Lottie was binding breadcrumbs with honey,
liquorice and spices to make gingerbread. ‘Gabriel looked right depressed. He
said they’d had no whiff of Miss Rowan’s whereabouts.’ 

Mrs Bellows bustled in, the keys on her girdle clinking. She
was astonished to see Genevieve helping Attie, the stillroom maid, pressing out
the cakes ready for drying. ‘Far be it from me to advise your ladyship,’ she
said in a voice icy sharp, ‘but I do not consider below stairs a fit place for
the lady of the house to be seen.’

‘I thought I’d do a bit. It keeps my mind off things.’

‘Well, you can think again.’

Betsy had secreted herself in a commodious armchair in the
dining room. Warmed by the crackling fire, she had drifted into a deep slumber
and was snoring, rather loudly. Martha sat in a padded chair opposite. Her
loving smile, as Genevieve slipped in, was just the tonic she needed to cheer
her. Kneeling with her head on Martha’s lap, she immediately felt soothed and loved.

Martha stroked Genevieve’s hair. ‘Don’t fret. It’s to be
expected that it’ll take time to get used to new ways.’

The servants were about to set salads and side dishes upon
the rosewood table. The damask tablecloth was as stiff as a board, swamped with
flowers and sparkling with silverware.

Mr Solomon, the butler, entered. ‘If you please, your ladyship,
the master says to inform you that he is in the salon and would you make your
way there.  We will be serving in here shortly.’

Martha laid down her sewing. ‘I’ll come and give a hand in
the kitchen.’

Gabriel, Catesby and the parson stood beside the piano
listening in admiration as Hortence played Handel’s
Arrival of the Queen of
Sheba
. Gabriel looked every inch the gentleman in a fine tailcoat and
buckskin breeches, his collar rising to the sides of his mouth. 

Hortence wore a dress of white embroidered muslin. Though
she fleetingly turned her head as Genevieve entered, she completed the tune. 

On the windowsill was a blue-painted wicker cage. In it
perched Hortence’s captive linnet. Stepping towards the bird, Genevieve gazed
at its crown of scarlet, chestnut flushed feathers and forked tail. With brave,
bright eyes, the bird cocked its head and returned her inquisitive look.

‘I don’t know why I keep the ridiculous thing,’ Hortence
said imperiously. ‘She won’t sing.’

‘It’s a male,’ Genevieve said.

‘I shall starve her of seeds. That will make her sing.’

‘You need to give him a varied diet: moths, caterpillars and
other insects.’

‘Me? Spoil my hands with such disgusting items? What is that
strange object hanging around your neck?’

‘Just something from the woods.’ Though Genevieve might now
wear her mother’s cornelians and her amber cross, which Gabriel had hidden from
their father shortly after Lady Constance died, she chose not to. Instead, she lovingly
toyed with the necklace which she had made out of the remaining oak apples from
Dawkin’s basket.

Lady Wexcombe cast Genevieve a critical look as though
assailed by a nasty smell. She had been peering at a wall-tapestry illustrating
aristocrats revelling in the spectacle of hounds savaging a doe. The lady wore
upon her short, curled hair, a black turban of figured gauze, and around her
neck a bandeau of jet, as was expected of stylish ladies in mourning.

Eppie dipped a little in deference to the lady.

‘Catesby has acquainted my daughters and I with the facts of
your upbringing. One cannot imagine for one moment that such a comely gentleman
as Gabriel du Quesne would wish upon himself a pauper relation. For pauper you
are. A name gives you nothing. You have not been genteelly raised. One can only
be grateful that dear Constance is no longer with us. She would have been
mortified to own you.’

At these words a deep emotion stirred within Genevieve for
the loss of her mother. As swiftly as the torment stabbed at her heart it
dissipated, sensing her mother’s otherworldly presence in the room, the
caressing waves of her affection washing over her, calming her mind and body. 

‘I must admit to finding you a quiz,’ Lady Wexcombe said,
‘for surely that is not the
same
dress in which I saw you attired in the
field?’

‘What’s the matter with it?’

‘Amongst the gentry, etiquette decrees a convention that different
clothing is to be worn at different times of the day.”

‘I don’t hold with daffing-n’-doning. It creates too much
washing for the servants.’

‘That is what servants are paid for. Furthermore, I must
counsel you that polite society does not approve of people sulking in their
rooms.’

‘I wasn’t sulking. I was reading.’

Hortence gazed upon Genevieve with the utmost contempt. ‘You
should think yourself extremely fortunate that my sister and I arrived when we
did, otherwise you would have been utterly lost without a woman’s guidance into
the finer nuances of life.’ 

Compared to her sister’s prickly character evident in her
sharp, darting eyes, Permelia seemed of a gentler disposition. Artificial
sprigs of flowers were scattered amongst bows in her hair, ringlets descending
to the tip of her ears. ‘You have much to learn, if my sister and I are not to
think you unrefined and terribly passé.’ There was something feline about Permelia’s
character; she had a habit of extending and retracting her fingers like a cat
sharpening its claws. ‘If you are to respectfully enter society, my sister and
I shall have to employ the services of our mantua-maker. We will have her
create for you pink crepe over white satin. Transparent worn over opaque is the
height of fashion.’

A gong sounded, followed by the butler calling:  ‘Ladies and
gentlemen, dinner is served.’

Though Catesby offered to escort Genevieve, she shrank
back. 

Hortence lingered at a pier-glass to pinch colour into her
cheeks. Smoothing her ruffles, she flounced into the dining room. ‘You keep an
odd household here, sir!’

‘Hmm?  What is it?’ Betsy asked woozily. ‘Oh, Eppie. Do you
want me to shove off?’

Genevieve kissed her. The skin on the old lady’s cheek felt as
thin and fragile as damp silk. ‘Of course not. Go back to sleep.’

Lady Wexcombe descended upon the chair at the head of the
table, settling like a black hen upon a clutch of eggs.

Taking the seat at the opposite end, Gabriel groaned from
the stiffness in his legs and arms. ‘I rather think I overdid my ride today.’

Genevieve shifted uneasily when Martha, wearing a bibbed
apron and cap, entered to help Duncan bring in the first course of fresh salmon
and mashed potatoes in scallop shells. As becoming of a servant, Martha kept
her eyes lowered when in the presence of the gentry. Having laid the food, she
quit the room.

‘You will miss your estate at Helsell?’ the parson asked
Permelia. He motioned for the wine to be served. Duncan presented a glass to
the butler, who poured the wine at the side-table.

‘There is much to lament. My sister and I have known no
other home. When we were children we held tea parties for our friends in the
summerhouse. It was an ornamental cottage, artificially rural with a thatched
roof. Of course, it was equipped with every necessary comfort.’

‘Many a cottager would welcome such a dwelling,’ Genevieve
said.

With much grunting, Betsy rose. ‘More fool me for sitting here.
Though this chair’s softer on me piles, it’s far too low.’

‘Would you feel more comfortable here?’ Genevieve asked,
rising and letting Betsy take her seat beside Lady Wexcombe.

‘Ah, this is better. More like the hard benches at the
poorhouse, though they had no backs.’

Genevieve went to sit beside Permelia, the footman drawing
back the chair for her.

‘Oh my!’ Lady Wexcombe said, fanning her nose against the
odour drifting from Betsy. ‘Have you ever considered sucking lozenges to
freshen your breath?’

‘Can’t say I have. What about you?’ Setting her work out on
the tablecloth, she began cutting throngs from a piece of leather, for use as laces,
Lady Wexcombe looking on in disgust.

‘Never be short of thwang, that’s what I always say. Your
Wakelin was always glad of the ones I made for his boots.’ She chuckled at her
memories. ‘I remember you as a bairn, Eppie. After your ma had her accident we
took a walk to the river, remember?  We saw
her
.’

Genevieve was so astonished that her spine tingled. ‘You saw
her?’ 

‘Saw whom?’ Lady Wexcombe asked.

Betsy pointed into the garden with her clasp knife. ‘A dead
face.’

Genevieve and Gabriel turned to see Talia staring in at the
window, no flicker of emotion showing in her ashen face.

‘Your lordship,’ Lady Wexcombe appealed, ‘I request that you
eject this low woman from the room. Although I do not admit to knowing what she
is, it is quite clear to me that she has a blight of the brain.’

‘You knew didn’t you?’ Genevieve asked Betsy, startled. ‘All
this time?’

‘When Wakelin had his falling-fit by that old granary I
guessed that he’d taken you from the manor house. Martha’s bairn had looked
sickly. I didn’t tell her at the time, but I was worried that the baby might
not make it through the night.’

‘Why did you keep this from me?’

‘I kept quiet because I guessed it would come to this. Her
sort. Her n’ ‘er cacklin’ brood.’

Duncan stood behind the parson, holding his glass for him in
case the contents should spill on the pristine tablecloth.

The parson beckoned the gloved footman to approach so that
he might take a further sip. ‘Hannah is no doubt finding you useful in the
kitchen?’ he asked Betsy.

‘Hogweed.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘That’s what yer eating.’ Dipping into a serving dish, Betsy
fished out a tender shoot and sucked it noisily with her almost toothless gums.
‘First thing this morning I went out gathering.’

‘Most pleasant,’ the parson said, ‘rather like asparagus.’

‘I wun’t know.’  

‘Have you ever visited Bath, Lady Genevieve?’ Permelia
asked. ‘We hope, eventually, to take up residence there.’

‘I can’t say that I have, though I know my mother benefited
from the waters.’

‘Now that Lady Genevieve is to come out in society,’ Permelia
said to her mother, doing her best to ignore Betsy, ‘she must be introduced to
gentlemen of wealth.’