Rags-To-Riches Wife. Catherine Tinley
it... The report is well written and yet I cannot be certain—No, not until I see her...’
Robert waited patiently. In recent months his elderly uncle had become increasingly introspective, without losing any of his fire and cantankerousness.
Refocusing, his uncle looked at him directly. ‘Last autumn I hired a Bow Street Runner.’
Robert lifted an astonished eyebrow.
A Runner? What on earth is he up to?
‘I paid him in coin, so you and that officious new steward would not find me out.’ His uncle cackled with glee at his own ingenuity.
‘But, Uncle, you may spend your money on anything you wish. You are master here.’ He forbore to point out that the ‘new’ steward had been there almost ten years.
For this impertinence he received a glare. ‘Your saying so is the surest proof that I am no longer any such thing!’
Robert frowned. ‘Now, that is unfair. I have taken some of the burdens from your shoulders these past years only to assist you, never to undermine you.’
His uncle waved this away. ‘Make no mistake, I would not wish to have them back again. What care I now about the concerns of the steward or the tenants or my fortune? My days are ending and I have other fish to fry.’
‘Nonsense! Why, you will outlive us all—just to spite us!’
This earned a brief guffaw. ‘Nevertheless, there are things I must do.’ His eyes dropped to the papers in his lap, then back to meet Robert’s gaze. ‘I need you to fetch someone. A visitor.’
Robert’s senses were suddenly fully awake. ‘What visitor?’
‘Her name is Miss Bailey—Jane Bailey—and she may be found at or near...’ He consulted the report, ‘Ledbury House, near the village of Netherton in Bedfordshire.’
‘Bedfordshire! Wait—you wish for me to travel all the way to Bedfordshire and back again? Can’t you send a servant?’
He nodded. ‘That’s it. And, no, it must be you.’ A sly look flitted briefly across his face.
‘Who is she?’
‘Good question. In truth, I do not know for certain...the Bow Street Runner has hit upon her as a possibility, but I cannot be sure until I see her, assess her...’
What is he talking about?
‘What can you tell me? Why did you commission a Bow Street Runner?’ Robert was struggling to comprehend the situation.
Has he finally run mad?
The old man pondered for a moment, then nodded to himself. ‘I can tell you I mean her no harm. As for the rest,—it is best if you do not know. You might say something to her that may complicate the situation.’
Unacceptable.
‘Then I cannot go. You are not asking me to travel a few miles, to Knaresborough or Harrogate. You are asking me to go all the way to Bedfordshire and back—four or five days each way. Before I agree to such a thing I need to understand the reasons behind it.’
‘You seek to bargain with me, boy? How dare you!’ His ire raised, the old man’s eyes flashed fire at Robert. ‘You shall do this because I order you to!’
‘Indeed?’ Robert sat back, adopting a languid pose. ‘It seems to me that it will be my decision, not yours.’ Just occasionally, Robert felt the need to stand up to his uncle.
His uncle half rose from his chair, his face mottled with anger. ‘You—’ The papers slid from his lap and dispersed onto the richly coloured carpet. His hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly, the knuckles white. Then he sank down again.
After a brief pause, Robert bent to pick up the papers. Resisting the temptation to read, his eye nevertheless caught sight of a name—Lord Kingswood. As far as he knew, there was no connection between his uncle and Lord Kingswood. His curiosity increased further.
He glanced at his uncle as he handed him back the papers. The old man looked smaller, defeated.
I should not have pushed him so far.
‘Robert.’ A claw-like hand gripped his. ‘This is important to me. I cannot tell you why—not yet, leastways.’ He swallowed. ‘I am making a request. Please grant me this.’
Five days there. Five days back. In winter. Inns and a jolting carriage and endless inconvenience.
‘Very well,’ he heard himself say. ‘I shall fetch her for you.’
Two weeks later, Ledbury House, Netherton, Bedfordshire
The day Jane’s life changed began just like any other. It was one of those early February mornings that could not decide whether to wallow in winter or look forward to spring. The pale blue sky teased with the promise of sunshine, but the blustery wind argued in favour of warm shawls and smoking chimneys.
As personal maid to Marianne Ashington, Lady Kingswood, it was Jane’s responsibility to anticipate her mistress’s needs, and weather predicting was part of it. Miss Marianne might wish to walk in the garden today, or visit friends, or she might be content to read or embroider inside the house. Jane, therefore, needed to prepare both a fine silk day dress and a stouter wool walking gown.
Normally the Countess spent much of her time with her young son, John, and Jane’s life was complicated by the impact of grubby hand marks and food spills on her mistress’s fine gowns. Still, one could forgive little John almost anything, she thought, picturing the child’s angelic smile.
‘Good morning, my lady,’ she said cheerfully, entering the Countess’s room a little after nine, as usual.
She pulled back the heavy curtains, allowing the pale winter sunshine to spill into the chamber. One of the scullery maids came behind her, immediately beginning to clean out the fireplace. Jane eyed her mistress closely. The Countess yawned and stretched, mumbling a sleepy greeting.
‘I hope you have slept well, my lady.’ Jane picked up the chamber pot and passed it to Aggie, the scullery maid, who disappeared with it. Everyone in the household knew their place and their tasks.
‘I slept very well, thank you.’ The Countess eased herself into a sitting position. ‘Even though I had company.’ She indicated the small tousled head beside her.
The Earl was in London, dealing with matters of business, so Master John had, it seemed, undertaken to keep his mama company in his papa’s absence.
Jane smiled. ‘Good morning, Master John.’
The child was awake, eyeing her with solemnity. Within minutes, Jane knew, he would be up and running around like a spinning top. At nearly two years of age he was the undoubted darling of Ledbury House. His parents adored him, as did all the servants, yet he was in no danger of being spoiled. His mama was not over-indulgent, and neither was—
‘There you are, my lambkin!’ Nurse bustled into the room, all starched white cotton and kind efficiency. She scooped little John up into her arms and he nestled into her ample bosom. ‘I shall change those damp linens immediately, my lamb!’
The Countess, smiling indulgently at her offspring as he disappeared, accepted a cup of tea from Jane with a murmur of thanks.
‘Would you like a bath today?’ asked Jane. Miss Marianne had talked of it yesterday.
The Countess shivered. ‘Perhaps later, when the chamber is warm. For now—’ she threw back the covers ‘—I shall get up.’
After her mistress had washed, Jane helped her dress in a clean shift and, following some debate, a stout walking dress