His Makeshift Wife. Anne Ashley
that the troubled expression on the hard-working dressmaker’s face still remained, ‘I’m sure Lady Ashworth would have ensured that you can never be turned out of these premises whilst you continue to repay the rent and the loan.’
Clearly comforted by the assurance, Mary invited Briony to step into the back room where they could talk without being disturbed, leaving her young assistant to mind the shop.
‘You’re clearly very busy today, Mary, so I’ll come to the point of my visit,’ and so saying Briony placed a package down on the table. ‘Lady Ashworth purchased this length of material during her last visit to the capital. As you can see, it’s the finest silk, so I should prefer your skilful hands to make it up into an evening gown, rather than my own. I know my own limitations!’
‘Oh, it’s beautiful, miss!’ Mary declared, after unwrapping the package and running expert fingers over the pearl-grey material. ‘And just the thing for when you’re in half-mourning!’
‘Yes, it will serve very well,’ Briony agreed, a moment before she caught sight of a bolt of dark-blue silk, of equally fine quality, appearing almost discarded on a chair in the corner of the room. ‘Oh, and that is quite eye-catching, too! Where on earth did you come by it? Such an unusual shade!’ she added, after going over to take a closer look.
‘Well, I … I … don’t—er—quite remember just where it came from.’
‘Oh, it’s beautiful!’ Briony enthused, having paid little heed to the vague response. ‘Yes, I rather fancy I shall be extravagant and have another gown made up in this colour. Heaven alone knows how many dresses I shall be able to afford in the future! But Lady Ashworth was always most generous with the allowance she made me. I have funds enough at present to afford two, so—’ She broke off as she noted at last the look of concern on the face of, perhaps, her godmother’s most successful protégée.
The daughter of hardworking but impoverished farm-labouring stock, Mary Norman had been little more than a child when both her parents had died. The young girl’s plight had soon come to the attention of Lady Ashworth, who had instantly taken both Mary and her young brother into the household. Mary had been placed under Janet’s care, while her brother Will had been set to work in the stables.
Not many weeks had passed before Lady Ashworth had first begun to appreciate Mary’s innate skill with a needle. She had then nurtured the gift, even going so far as to allow her protégée, young though she had been at the time, to make day dresses for her mistress to wear. When Briony had become a member of the household, and a governess had been engaged, Lady Ashworth had been generous enough to allow Mary to attend certain lessons. Consequently, not only had Mary acquired a well-rounded education, she had had the great good fortune, on attaining her majority, of being set up in business by her generous employer. Furthermore, she and Briony had been close friends for years, close enough for Briony to realise at once that all was not well with her childhood companion. Sensing that more than just the death of her beloved Lady Ashworth lay behind the sombre look, she asked outright what was wrong.
‘Why, nothing!’ The denial was not at all convincing, as Briony’s sceptical expression betrayed, and Mary released her breath in a sigh of resignation. ‘Well, it’s that material, you see. I had every intention of returning it. I don’t think it will sell very well.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Briony countered, still not wholly convinced she was being told the absolute truth. ‘And you’re never likely to find out if you keep it hidden, here, in your back room. Put it on show in the shop, for heaven’s sake!’ When no response was forthcoming, she added, ‘Are you sure there’s nothing else troubling you?’
Another sigh quickly followed. ‘It’s my brother Will,’ Mary at last revealed. ‘He’s gone and got himself in with … with some very bad company, that’s all I can say. Why he ever left Lady Ashworth and went to work for Lord Petersham I’ll never know!’
‘Of course you know why,’ Briony countered, unable to suppress a smile over her friend’s motherly attitude towards a brother who, although a year or so younger, was now inches taller, besides being as strong as an ox. ‘Lord Petersham offered him more money and a chance to better himself. It’s common knowledge the head groom at Petersham House is due for retirement within a few years. Will’s sure to be offered the position.’
‘Yes, if he can keep himself out of trouble in the meantime.’
Briony sensed that there might be some justification for Mary’s concern and that she wasn’t simply behaving like an overly protective mother hen towards her younger sibling. Unfortunately, before she could even attempt to get to the truth of the matter, they were interrupted by the young shop assistant who informed Mary that a customer required to see her personally.
Briony rose at once to her feet. ‘I mustn’t keep you from your work any longer. Besides, I must be on my way too, Mary. I don’t want to keep Mr Pettigrew waiting,’ she announced, leading the way back into the shop. ‘I’ll remind him to get in touch with you just to put your mind at rest, although I expect he’s every intention of doing so. You know my measurements well enough by now to make a start on the dresses. So, I’ll call again in a week or two to see how they’re coming along. Perhaps if you’re not too busy we can talk together again then?’
Even though Mary said she would be delighted, Briony yet again wasn’t altogether convinced of the truthfulness of the response. Clearly Mary was desperately worried about her brother, but just why this should be was destined to remain a mystery, at least for the present.
Thrusting her friend’s concerns to the back of her mind, she set off once again down the thriving little market town’s main street and was soon entering the premises of Mr G. W. Pettigrew, Notary and Commissioner for Oaths. The neat little man of business rose from behind his huge desk the instant she was shown into his private office by a young clerk and requested her to be seated in his faultlessly correct and professional manner.
‘I was so sorry I was unable to speak to you after your godmother’s funeral, Miss Winters, but I’m afraid urgent and unavoidable business obliged me to leave earlier than I would have wished. Lady Ashworth and I had known each other a very long time; I believe she came to look upon me as a trusted friend.’
‘Indeed, she did, sir,’ Briony concurred, seating herself, while at the same time vaguely wondering why a second chair had been placed on her side of the desk. ‘I distinctly recall her mentioning once that it was none other than your good self who found the house she occupied for much of her adult life.’
He nodded. ‘When she became a widow, tragically so soon after her marriage to Lord Ashworth, the family homes, of course, went to Lord Ashworth’s younger brother and heir. Thankfully her late husband left her financially secure, but even so she was never frivolous with money. She could quite easily have afforded to reside all year round in a fashionable house in the capital had she wished to do so. She chose, instead, a charming house close to the Dorsetshire coast. I believe she was always contented at the Manor.’
‘Indeed she was, sir,’ Briony once again concurred, experiencing a pang of regret to think that she would no doubt quite soon be forced to leave the house where she, too, had been so very happy.
But there was little point in trying to pretend that she stood the remotest chance of remaining at the Manor. She was on the point of asking, without preamble, how she was placed financially, when the door behind her unexpectedly opened. Mr Pettigrew rose at once to his feet when a smooth and deeply attractive masculine voice announced, ‘I trust I have kept no one waiting,’ and, naturally curious, Briony slewed round to discover herself the recipient of a faintly ironic grey-eyed gaze.
‘Not at all, sir,’ Mr Pettigrew assured, gesturing to the vacant chair beside Briony’s as he did so. ‘Do make yourself comfortable, Mr Kingsley. You remember Miss Winters, I trust?’
By the new arrival’s wholly impassive countenance Briony wouldn’t have known for sure whether this was true or not. She certainly hadn’t recognised him, however, and it took every ounce of self-control she possessed to stop herself gaping