Moonlight And Mistletoe

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Hester was still feeling somewhat subdued when luncheon was finished. Although she would have been quite happy to take bread, cheese and ale at the kitchen table, Susan and Maria were both shocked at the thought.

‘Not with outside staff present,’ Miss Prudhome pronounced and Susan sniffed and nodded her agreement.

Hester supposed they were right; it was all part of appearing to be the upright, conventional spinster that she must now portray herself as being. Doubtless news of any unconventional behaviour would be all around the village in no time and would soon reach the ears of Mrs Redland and Mrs Bunting.

So she and Maria sat down in the dining room and partook of exactly the same meal, only off china and glass instead of earthenware and pewter, served by Susan wearing a crisp white apron.

‘That Ben Aston’s fishing to know if anything odd’s been happening,’ she reported as she cleared the plates and brought in a bowl of fruit. ‘I told him that Jethro near breaking his neck was more than enough oddity for us and none of us held with nonsense about ghosts and he didn’t ask any more.’ She glanced towards the door. ‘I reckon the whole village is waiting to find out if the stories about the strange goings-on are true.’

This aspect of village curiosity had not occurred to Hester and she tapped her fruit knife thoughtfully against her plate as she considered it. ‘I don’t think having Aston and the women here will do any harm, providing we are all discreet. Everyone will soon get bored if they don’t hear of any strange happenings, and beside anything else, they will be able to observe that there is no truth in all that nonsense you heard at the Bird in Hand about his lordship.’

‘Not if they know he was here at three in the morning,’ Susan observed pertly, whisking out of the door before Hester could retort.

She finished her apple and got to her feet. ‘Would you care to come into Tring with me, Maria’?’

‘Thank you, but I promised Mrs Bunting I would help her with the church flowers this afternoon.’ She broke off with one of her anxious twittering noises. ‘Oh, but Jethro cannot accompany you-should I send to let Mrs Bunting know I cannot join her after all?’

‘No, there is no need for that. I am sure; this is hardly London, Maria. I am sure a lady can shop in a small market town without any fear of causing comment.’ And it would be pleasant to be alone for a few hours, she mused as she collected the list of things Susan had thought of that could not be purchased at the village shop.

Ben Aston harnessed Hector and she set off in the gig, feeling quite adventurous. She had often driven alone when in Portugal, but never in England, and, although the roads were far superior, the traffic was heavier. For the first time she could not rely on having Jethro to jump down and take Hector’s head, or check for her that she was not too close to the kerb on narrow streets.

Halfway down the length of the Green she came upon Annabelle Redland, strolling along, her bonnet dangling by its strings from one negligent hand, an expression of dissatisfaction on her face.

‘Good afternoon.’ Hester reined in. ‘A pleasant day for a walk, is it not?’

‘I suppose so,’ Annabelle agreed, ‘providing that is what one wishes to do.’

‘And you do not?’

‘No. Mama said we could go for a drive, but now there is the most dreadful row over the downstairs maid who is…’ she lowered her voice, although there was not another person within fifty yards ‘…in an unfortunate condition.’

‘Oh dear,’ Hester said sympathetically. ‘Is the father willing to marry her?’

‘She will not say who it is, that is why there is such a dreadful row,’ confided Miss Redland. ‘Mama is threatening to call in the vicar and I am not supposed to know anything about it so I have to go out for a walk.’

‘Would you care to come into Tring with me?’ Hester offered. ‘I only have a rather tiresome shopping list, but it would be a change of scene.’

‘Yes, please.’ Miss Redland was up on the seat beside Hester without a second’s thought.

‘I will just turn back and ask Ben Aston to take a message to your mother to let her know where you are.’ Hester executed a turn she felt quietly pleased with and urged Hector to trot back.

‘There is a very good drapers in Tring,’ Annabelle confided. ‘And a confectioners where one can get hot chocolate and ices.’

Ben Aston listened to the message arid agreed to call at the Redlands’ house on his way back home. ‘I was just finishing up, Miss Lattimer. I’ve put all the bits and bobs young Ackland thought you’d want to look at back in the first shed, and I’ll have a bonfire of the rest just as soon as the wind’s turned a bit westerly, otherwise all the washing’ll get smudgy.’ He crammed his hat back on his head and strode off.

‘They say he’s a terrible poacher,’ Annabelle confided as they set off down the Green again. ‘But he’s a hard worker, everyone agrees. And very reliable.’ After this observation she fell silent, then enquired artlessly, ‘Have you seen much of Lord Buckland?’

Hester turned on to the turnpike road. ‘One cannot help it as he lives opposite, but socially, no, not since Mrs Bunting’s At Home. He has been very kind in lending us staff since Jethro fell down the stairs.’

‘Oh.’ Annabelle sounded disappointed. ‘I thought perhaps you might be having a dinner party or something soon.’

‘I can hardly do such a thing as a single lady,’ Hester pointed out. ‘Perhaps your mother is planning some entertainment and you will meet him again then.’ Rather mischievously she added, ‘I expect, like all of us, you are interested by the mystery his presence here poses.’

‘I do not care in the slightest why he is here, only that he stays,’ Miss Redland declared frankly. ‘He is so glamorous, do you not think, Miss Lattimer?’

‘Glamorous?’ Hester considered the question, a not unpleasant excuse to think about Guy Westrope. ‘I suppose he is very sophisticated for village society.’

‘And so good looking, and rich and unmarried,’ Annabelle uttered reverently.

‘He may well have an attachment we know nothing of,’ Hester said firmly, as much to herself as to her companion.

‘Oh.’ Annabelle subsided, momentarily deflated, then rallied. ‘Well, if he has not, do not forget that you and I are the only eligible young ladies in the village.’

‘I am certainly not looking for a husband,’ Hester stated flatly. ‘And perhaps your mama would wish you to have done your London Season before you do so.’

‘I am sure I would meet no one so handsome or eligible.’

Hester was inclined to agree, but felt it more than time to change the topic of conversation to something less painful. ‘I understand that Miss Nugent is betrothed. What a pity that her fiancé should be out of the country and not here to support her after the death of her father.’

‘Hmm,’ Miss Redland observed cryptically, then, the urge to gossip overcoming her discretion, added, ‘If he still is her fiancé, of course.’

‘Really?’ If it had been anyone else but Sarah Nugent, Hester would have turned the conversation, but anything about the family was of interest now. ‘I was given to understand by Sir Lewis only recently that she was betrothed.’

‘Well, where is he, then?’ Annabelle demanded rhetorically. ‘In the West Indies on his big plantation, that’s where- and showing no sign of coming back to England to marry her. I heard that she put herself into a position where he compromised her and had to offer for her. But now he’s all that way away, why should he bother?’

Why indeed? Hester knew perfectly well that she should not be having this conversation with another unmarried girl, but the gossip was too intriguing to ignore. ‘Whatever did she do to compromise herself?’ she asked.

‘I overheard Mrs Piper telling Mama. She heard it from her second cousin who was at this ball in London and she said that Sarah was found in the conservatory with this Mr Bedford, in his arms, with her bodice all disarrayed and her hair half down. Mama was very much shocked, but as he promptly proposed, and local society is so restricted, she thought that everyone should just pretend they hadn’t heard the story.’

‘Perhaps it is just a story.’ Hester guided the cob into the crowded High Street. ‘Do you know which is the best inn to leave the gig?’

‘The Rose and Crown is where Mama always stops.’ Annabelle pointed down the road. ‘See, on the left. I don’t believe it is a story, you know, it is just the sort of thing Sarah would do, she was always scheming and plotting to get her own way, even when we were little. I used to try not to have to play with her: she always wanted to win.’

That was an interesting glimpse of Sarah Nugent’s character. Hester stowed it away to tell Guy and concentrated on turning into the inn yard without mishap.

The ladies spent a pleasant afternoon, even though most of Hester’s shopping consisted of such dull items as darning wool, grate cleaner, two mousetraps and a length of white cotton to replace the petticoat she had sacrificed to swab Guy’s scratched face.

Annabelle pressed her nose to the window of the milliner’s in the High Street and was only persuaded away by Hester denying all intention of going in to try on a hat and her own lack of funds. They did, however, both succumb to the lure of a new consignment of lace trimmings in the draper’s while Hester was buying her length of cotton.

‘I will pay you back tomorrow,’ Miss Redland promised as they loaded their parcels into the gig and went off in search of the confectioner’s shop and ices. ‘I did not think when I went out for my walk that I would need any money.’

They had the refreshment area of the emporium almost to themselves; once their chocolate and vanilla ices were served, Hester observed, ‘You know the Nugents very well, then?’

‘Oh, yes, we all grew up together.’

‘And what is Sir Lewis like?’

Annabelle wrinkled her nose. ‘Very good looking, of course, but I do not know… if I am to be sensible he has not the character I would look for in a husband. He was always too much influenced by Sarah, in my opinion, which is odd, because she is younger than he is. Mind you, their father was a horrid old man.’ She broke off, seeing Hester’s raised eyebrows. ‘I am sorry, Miss Lattimer, but he was. Always cross and all starched up. Poor Lewis never could do anything right, and I overheard Mama saying that he is not making much of a fist of it now.’

It occurred to Hester that Miss Redland had rather sharp ears altogether and that she should not encourage her predilection for gossip. ‘I thought the Hall looked somewhat shabby when I called the other day,’ she remarked, ignoring her conscience.

‘Exactly, although that is not Lewis’s fault. Mama says that his paternal grandfather was a wealthy man, but all the money just seemed to vanish and Lewis’s father never recovered either it or his spirits.’

Altogether a full basket of interesting facts to recount to Guy, Hester decided as they drove home. She just hoped he would make more sense of them than she could.

She refused Annabelle’s pressing invitation to come in to take tea, reflecting that Mrs Redland would prefer not to have guests if the drama of the unfortunate maid had not resolved itself, and was just in time to wave to Mrs Dalling as she took herself off, apron bundled into her basket, coal-scuttle bonnet tied firmly on her head.

Her household had little to report. Jethro had sensibly retired to bed for a nap after luncheon; Susan was pleased with Mrs Dalling’s work; Sir Lewis’s estate manager had been down and looked at the damp cupboard, promising to return with a plumber to divert the leaky guttering, which he considered the source of the problem, and Maria had spent a profitable afternoon, helping fill the church vases with evergreens from the garden and listening to parish news.

Hester unloaded her purchases on to the kitchen table, scrubbed white at last as a result of Mrs Dalling’s efforts, and observed, ‘Do you think it is right of us to accept the help of Sir Lewis with our damp problem as we suspect him of being our intruder?’

‘If he is, then he owes you at least that, and if we are wrong, then he will never know we suspected him,’ Susan said comfortably. ‘I like this lace, and the cotton is good quality. That’s a relief, I thought we were going to have to go into Aylesbury for all our shopping.’

Hester decided she was refining too much upon the possibility of misjudging Sir Lewis, firmly told herself that there was no excuse to write Guy a note and ask him to come over and hear what Annabelle Redland had told her and settled instead to cutting out her new petticoat and whipping the seams. It was an occupation that kept her hands busy and allowed her all too much time to think.

It was chastening to realise that being firm with oneself, facing the facts squarely and not deluding oneself had no effect at all upon an unruly imagination. Hester’s hands stilled on the seam and the fabric, which she had tucked under her arm to maintain the tension, sagged unregarded. It was as though she was incapable of thinking about anything but Guy Westrope. She recalled the feel of his body against hers, the pressure of his lips on her mouth, the wicked twinkle in his eyes when they shared a joke. How much longer was he going to stay in Winterbourne and torment her? And would the torment be any less if he were not here?

The notion of life without Guy was not one she had considered before and it was unexpectedly distressing. ‘I am in love with him,’ she murmured to herself. And all that this admission brought her was the same painful choice once more: to try and forget him once he left or, if it was offered, to surrender all her principles and yield to an immoral liaison. Hester was shaken to realise that she could even consider such a choice; it seemed she was less resolute than she had believed.

The next day found her no calmer and eager to bury her disconcerting thoughts in a discussion of clothes with Susan.

‘This walking dress?’ The maid pulled out a rather practical garment and shook the skirts free of wrinkles. ‘It should be fine for climbing up and down from that high-perch seat if his lordship’s using the curricle.’

‘No, not that one. I want to look particularly well dressed this afternoon. I do not want to give the slightest impression that I have been worrying about a mystery or dealing with alarums and excursions.’

‘But his lordship knows you have.’ Susan put back the rejected gown and began to rummage.

‘Not for his lordship, for the Nugents. If they are behind this I do not want to give them the satisfaction of appearing in any way anxious or distracted.’ She began to lift out folded garments. ‘What do you think to the amber walking dress with the frogging’? And the kid half-boots and the deeper brown bonnet with the grosgrain ribbons?’

‘Very smart,’ Susan approved. ‘And his lordship will like it,’ she added as Hester poured hot water into the washbasin.

Hester told herself that she would not dignify this observation by a reply, then, as she was washing her face, admitted to herself that she probably could not muster a convincing one in any case. Susan appeared to be reading her state of mind very clearly which was an uncomfortable thought.

It was an elegantly attired and somewhat sobered lady who stepped out of her front door as the curricle drew up at her gate. Some ruthless self-examination had convinced Hester that whatever the temptation to abandon her principles she would not yield to it. She already knew what the stigma of being labelled as a fallen woman was like-she had no intention of justifying that description. And, in any case, she was probably refining too much upon the possibility that Guy would make her such an offer.

‘Good day, Miss Lattimer.’ Guy helped her up on to the high seat and waited until the groom took himself back to the Old Manor’s stable yard. ‘You look very fine, Hester; not intending to give the Nugents the satisfaction of thinking they have rattled you, I presume?’

‘Precisely.’ Hester settled herself on the seat and looked admiringly at the pair of matched greys that were fretting at their bits. ‘That is a fine team.’

Guy looked at her again, wondering what it was that had changed about her. Or perhaps the change was in him and the way he felt about Hester Lattimer. On an impulse he asked, ‘Would you care to drive them later?’

‘Truly? I have never driven a pair before, I must confess.’ Her eyes sparkled, the intriguing flecks of gold he looked for to gauge her mood showing quite clearly, then they vanished, almost as quickly as they had appeared. Something was oppressing her, he could sense it. Was it simply the mysterious persecution hanging over her household?

‘Yes, truly. They are spirited, but good mannered, and once they have shaken the fidgets out they will give you a good drive. How is everything at the Moon House?’

‘Very well.’ Hester settled down to recount the news of the day before and Guy could tell that, if it were not for the mystery, Hester was more and more at home in the house. He listened with half his mind. Did he really need to buy it, now he knew it was in safe hands, owned by a woman who loved it as much as its first occupant must have done?

But he could not walk away from it without telling her the story of the house, of his involvement-and to do that he would have to ask for Georgiana’s consent for that secret to be revealed. Would his sister agree? Somehow he doubted it.

And could he walk away from Hester Lattimer? That too was something he was beginning to doubt.

‘… Sarah. Guy, are you listening to me?’ she demanded.

‘No,’ he admitted with a smile to deflect her wrath. ‘But I was thinking about you.’ The blush that coloured her cheeks was delicious and renewed his hopes that she was not indifferent to him. Surprised by the pleasure the thought gave him, he pursued it. Just what did he hope for from Hester Lattimer? He was not given to trifling with well-bred virgins-any virgins, come to that-nor had he any plans to settle down, but Miss Lattimer was shaking that certainty.

‘Guy! Now what are you thinking about?’

‘I was still thinking about you, but-’ he threw up one hand as if to ward off a blow ‘-you now have all my attention. Tell me all the gossip about Sarah Nugent.’