Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager(16)

She stifled a yawn. It was thoughts of the viscount that had disturbed her sleep. She had gone to bed after the ball with her head spinning. When she closed her eyes she was once again dancing with Lord Markham, fingers tingling from his touch, heart singing from the caress of his smile. Yet no sooner did she relax in his company than he began to talk of the card parties and she would be on the defensive, suspicious of every remark. She rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled, despite the thick cloak and the warm brick her servants had placed in the carriage for her feet to rest upon. If Lord Markham would only leave Bath then she could be easy again.

But how dull life would be without him.

Susannah gave herself a mental shake. These megrims were unlike her, brought on by lack of sleep and travelling in this gloomy half-light. She pulled at the side of the blind and peeped out. They were well out of Bath now, and she thought she might safely put up the shades. The carriage rattled along through the country lanes, up hill and down dale until at last the carriage slowed and turned off the main road towards the village of Priston. Susannah sat forwards, knowing that very soon now she would have her first, clear view of her destination.

The carriage picked up speed as it followed the road that curled around the side of the valley and there, nestling against the hill on the far side of the valley, was a rambling Jacobean mansion built of the local Ham stone which glowed warmly, even in the pale wintry sunlight. It was not as grand as the other properties she had inherited from her Uncle Middlemass and it was in dire need of repair, as witnessed by the scaffolding surrounding the east wing, but she thought it by far the most charming. She was impatient to reach five-and-twenty, when she would have control of her fortune and would be able to fully renovate the building. Until then she must make do with what little money she could spare from her allowance, and the profits from the weekly card parties.

The carriage slowed again to negotiate the turning and her heart swelled with pride when she saw the newly painted sign fixed to the stone gatepost: Florence House. They bumped along the drive and on to the weed-strewn carriage circle in front of the house. They came to a stand before the canopied front door and Lucas jumped down and ran around to let down the steps.

As she descended, a motherly figure in a black stuff gown came hurrying out to meet her, the white lappets from her lace cap bouncing on her shoulders.

‘Miss Prentess, welcome, my dear. Pray come you in and do not be standing out here in this cold wind.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Gifford.’

The older lady ushered her indoors to a small parlour off the hall, where a welcome fire was burning.

‘Has our builder arrived yet?’

‘Not yet, ma’am, but you have made very good time—I do not expect him for another half-hour yet. You have time for a little refreshment. Jane is bringing a glass of mulled wine for you.’

‘Thank you, that is very welcome.’

Susannah untied the strings of her cloak and looked about her. She had always thought this parlour a very comfortable room. With its low, plastered ceiling and panelled walls it was certainly one of the easiest to keep warm. A door on the far side led to a much larger dining room, but that needed refurbishment and was currently not in use, the occupants of the house finding the smaller apartment sufficient for their needs. A padded armchair and sofa were arranged before the fireplace while under the window a small table and chairs provided a surface for dining or working. At present the table was littered with writing materials and a large ledger, indicating that the housekeeper had been at work on the accounts. Susannah draped her cloak over one of the chairs and went to the fire to warm her hands. She turned as the door opened and a heavily pregnant young woman entered, carrying a tray. She walked slowly, holding the tray well out in front to avoid her extended belly. Susannah straightened immediately.

‘Jane, let me take that, you should not be waiting upon me—’

‘Thank you, but I can manage perfectly well. And it is a pleasure to bring your wine for you.’

Susannah sat down, recognising that to insist upon taking the tray would hurt the girl’s pride. ‘Thank you, Jane, that is very kind of you.’ She watched her place the tray carefully on a side table. ‘When is the baby due?’

‘The midwife thinks it won’t be for a week or two yet.’ Jane smiled and rubbed her hands against her swollen stomach. ‘It cannot come soon enough for me now, Miss Prentess.’

‘Call me Susannah, please. There is small difference in our stations.’

Jane’s smile disappeared.

‘Perhaps there was not, at one time, but now—’ She looked down at her body. ‘I am a fallen woman.’

‘I will not have that term used here,’ Susannah replied fiercely. ‘You have been unfortunate. ’Tis the same for all the ladies we bring in.’

‘And if it was not for your kindness we would be even more unfortunate,’ replied Jane. ‘We would have to go to Walcot Street, and we would not be called ladies

there,’ she added drily.

‘Will you not sit down?’ Susannah indicated a chair, but Jane shook her head.

‘If you will excuse me, I will go back to my room now and rest. The midwife might say this little one isn’t ready to be born, but it seems pretty impatient to me.’

‘She is a dear girl,’ said Mrs Gifford, when Jane had gone. ‘Her stitching is so neat that Odesse says she will be happy to take her on, once the babe is born.’

‘Good.’ Susannah sipped at her wine. ‘Since we have a little time perhaps you would like to give me your report now, rather than wait until after I have spoken to Mr Tyler.’

Mrs Gifford sat down and folded her hands in her lap.

‘I have had to move everything out of the east wing because the chimney is unsafe and we fear it might come crashing through the roof if we have a storm. Then there is the leak on the south gable, which is getting worse. But this section of the house is reasonably sound, and I have been able to find dry bedchambers for each of our guests. Miss Anstruther—Violet—is settling in well, although she is still very despondent and keeps to her room.’

‘That is to be expected, having been cast off by her family,’ replied Susannah. ‘I will go up to her later, if she will see me.’

‘If?’ uttered Mrs Gifford. ‘Of course she will see you. ’Tis you who made it possible for her to be looked after. She has much cause to be grateful to you, as do all the others...’

Susannah shook her head.

‘I will not trade on their gratitude,’ she said quietly. ‘Everyone here is a guest, and I want to treat them with the same respect I would like for myself. But enough of that. Do go on.’

‘We have only three ladies here at present: Lizzie Burns, Jane and Miss Anstruther.’

‘And how is Lizzie? When I was here last she was not well.’

‘I think we have avoided the fever, but the doctor says she should keep to her bed for another week. However, her baby is now three weeks old and doing well.’

‘That is some good news then. And what of you, Mrs Gifford? How is your sister?’

The older lady’s face was grave.

‘Very poorly, I’m afraid.’

‘Then you must go to her as soon as maybe. The woman we interviewed to replace you—Mrs Jennings—how soon can she be here?’

‘She is moving in this afternoon. I hope to get away this evening.’

‘Good. And you have enough money for your journey?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ The old woman blinked rapidly. ‘Bless you, Miss Prentess, you have been very good. I do not expect to be away for long, I fear my sister’s end is very near.’

‘You must take as long as you need,’ Susannah told her softly. ‘We shall manage here. Now—’ she looked towards the window ‘—if I am not mistaken, the builder has arrived, and we will find out just what work is needed.’





Chapter Six

Susannah’s cheerful, business-like manner did not desert her until she was alone in her carriage on the way back to Bath. Mr Tyler was a tradesman she had used before, and she trusted him not to mislead her, but his report on the house was not encouraging. He had already carried out some of the most urgent repairs but needed payment for the materials he had used before he could continue. He had pleaded his case with her. He was a family man, with debts of his own, and if she couldn’t pay him something now he would have to remove his scaffolding and his men, and once he had left the site he would not be able to return until late summer. She had promised to send him something by the morning, but her concern now was where to find the money.

When she had first embarked upon this project she had approached her uncle’s lawyer, now her own man of business. He had politely but firmly rejected her requests for an advance upon her inheritance. She was allowed sufficient funds to run the house in Bath and a sum that her uncle had considered enough for her personal use, but it would not run to the cost of repairing Florence House.