After listening intently to everything her young mistress had said, Bessie nodded her head in agreement. ‘But do you know, Miss Isabel, long afore you found your father’s papers about the happenings on that terrible night, I never for a moment thought young Master Sebastian had gone and done that wicked deed. And I weren’t the only one who disbelieved it, neither. Now, I ain’t saying he were a saint, ‘cause he weren’t. For a start, he were a devil for the ladies, young as he was. Not that I ever heard tell he got any round these parts into trouble—think he preferred painted doxies, or maybe those nearer his own class.
‘Oh, but he were right handsome, so he were.’ Bessie continued reminiscing, her plump cheeks suddenly aglow at some private thought. ‘I can see him now—so tall, so proud, riding by on that fine horse of his. Why, he used to send my heart all of a-flutter, to be sure!’
‘Get a hold of yourself, woman!’ Isabel admonished lovingly. ‘I remember him too. And I’ll tell you plainly we’re far beneath his touch. Why, he’d never give the likes of you and me a second glance!’
‘Not me he wouldn’t, that’s for sure,’ Bessie acknowledged a moment before a surge of loyalty, borne of an ever-increasing loving respect, prompted her to add, ‘But you’re quite another matter. Well, you would be, if you’d trouble yourself about your appearance once in a while,’ she amended, frowning at her mistress’s shabby, worn attire, and windswept chestnut locks, numerous strands of which had escaped the confining pins.
Isabel responded with a dismissive wave of one hand. ‘I’ve better things to do than sit before a mirror for hours on end preening myself. I might have been born the daughter of a gentleman, and raised to be a lady, at least when dear Mama was alive, and had a hand in my upbringing, but even so I never was the sort to attract the attentions of any aristocratic gentleman, least of all one so high on the social ladder as the son of a viscount. And I’ve always had sense enough to realise it! I’m far too managing for a start. Besides …’ she shrugged ‘… I’m not altogether sure I really wish to marry. I’m happy enough as I am, and I enjoy my independence. No, if and when Lord Blackwood does return to take his father’s place up at the Manor, my only interest in him will be to see how long it takes him to improve the drainage on his land, and to improve, too, the lot of those unfortunate wretches who rely upon the estate for a living, not least of which, as you very well know, is poor old Bunting.’
At this Isabel became the recipient of a hard, determined look. ‘Now, miss, the old butler up at the Manor be none of your concern. I know ‘tis a sinful shame he weren’t pensioned off years ago, and given one of the estate cottages promised to him by the old Lord Blackwood. I think it’s wicked, too, that a man of his years should be alone up there in that great house, hardly seeing a soul. Why, if it hadn’t been for you and the young curate visiting him so regular last winter, I swear the influenza would have taken him off.’
‘You did your share of nursing too,’ Isabel reminded her.
Bessie, however, steadfastly refused this time to be won over by the warmth of her mistress’s lovely smile. ‘I know I did. But that don’t change matters. You simply can’t afford to take on any more waifs and strays. You’ve too many folk depending on you as it is.
‘And it’s no earthly good you looking at me like that!’ Bessie exclaimed, totally impervious to the reproachful glance cast in her direction. ‘I know you feel grateful to Troake for all the care he took over your father during those last years. And there’s no denying he worked well enough when the old master were alive. But even you can’t deny he’s become dreadful slow of late, not to mention a bad-tempered old demon. And then there’s young Toby. Now I ain’t saying the lad ain’t worth his weight in gold,’ Bessie went on, thereby successfully cutting off the protest her mistress had been about to utter. ‘The boy’s nothing less than a godsend, so he is, the way he repaired the barn roof last winter. But the wages you pay him could be put to better use.’
Bessie’s brown eyes slid past her mistress to the large shaggy dog lying sprawled on the floor, close to the range. Before she could voice any condemnation of the hound, which had been saved from a watery grave in the millpond, and which had become totally devoted to the mistress of the house, his rescuer forestalled any criticism by announcing,
‘Don’t you dare say a word against him! I won’t deny there is some justification in what you’ve said about both Troake and Toby Marsh. But I would never be without my darling Beau! Why, if it hadn’t been for him the house would have been broken into on at least three occasions that we know of these past months. Furthermore, but for him, we wouldn’t be having rabbit stew for supper. He managed to root out half a dozen in the top meadow.’
Bessie, ever sharp, wasn’t slow to pounce upon this interesting snippet. ‘In that case, where be the other two?’
Isabel had the grace to look a little shamefaced in view of what had been mentioned already. ‘I let Toby take them home to his mother.’
Bessie cast a despairing glance up at the ceiling. ‘Now, why doesn’t that surprise me none, I wonder! I don’t suppose you took a moment to consider we’ve an extra mouth to feed, now that young cousin of yours has taken refuge in the house. Now, I ain’t saying you shouldn’t have taken her in the way you did, she being the only child of your papa’s dear sister, and the only close kin you’ve left in the world that’s ever had any dealings with you. And there’s no denying she, too, be worth her weight in gold,’ she hurriedly conceded. ‘I do declare the house has never looked so clean and tidy for many a long year. I defy anyone to find a speck of dust about the place! And sew …? I’ve never known anyone set a neater stitch than Miss Clara, not even your sainted mother. It’s a pleasure to show folk into the front parlour nowadays, what with the new curtains, and all.’
It was clear that Bessie was at least a staunch supporter of the young woman who had surprisingly turned up on the doorstep late one evening a month before, almost begging sanctuary. Isabel hadn’t recognised the beautiful stranger as the young cousin she had seen only a few times in her life, and then many years ago, when her aunt and cousin had paid the occasional visit to London. None the less, she hadn’t doubted her authenticity. Nor did she regret for a moment the decision she had made to help her hapless relation, who had been fleeing from a forced union with a man old enough to be her father. All the same, she couldn’t help feeling that her act of kindness might bring trouble in the future.
She tried not to dwell on this uncomfortable possibility as she enquired into the whereabouts of her relative, and by so doing gave rise to a look of comical dismay in her ever-faithful companion.
‘The young curate were round here again, bright and early this morning, with a few more newspapers from up at the vicarage. It’s good of him, I suppose. But it do put queer notions into your cousin’s head. Now, I ain’t saying Miss Clara ain’t in the right of it not wishing to be a burden on you,’ Bessie went on, somehow managing to preserve a serious countenance. ‘But what wife and mother in her right mind would ever employ such a beautiful girl as a governess? She seems to suppose someone will, though, and begged a lift with the local carrier into Merryfield so that she might visit the sorting office with her reply to an advertisement she spotted in one of them there journals.’
Smiling wryly, Isabel shook her head. ‘Yes, you’re right. Clara has the sweetest of dispositions. She’s hard-working, can set a stitch better than most, and she is far from dull-witted. Sadly, though, she isn’t very worldly.’
She was suddenly thoughtful. ‘I just hope she doesn’t come to regret this determination of hers to find employment. I cannot help but feel that the fewer people who know her present whereabouts the safer it will be for her. Should her stepmother discover where she is, I’m not altogether sure I could prevent her from removing Clara from under this roof.’
The application of the front-door knocker successfully brought an end to the conversation. The housekeeper made to rise from the table, but Isabel forestalled her by saying she herself would go. Although mistress of the house, she had never been too proud to answer her own front door, should the need arise.
Consequently,