Anna Jacobs (8 page)

As soon as she’d finished, she rang the bell again and it was answered more promptly this time. “Where can I find some paper and pen? I need to write a letter.”

Merry led her into what she called the library. “This is where the old master used to write all his letters. He could write fine as King George himself, Mr Jannvier could. There’s paper, quills and such-like, and I saw Mr Matthew mixing up some ink only the other day.” She peered into the inkwell. “Yes, see, it’s not dried up yet. Eeh, the poor master won’t be needing these things again, will he?”

“No.” Deborah looked round. The room was chill and damp, for although it was late June the weather had turned grey and rainy. “I think we might light the fire in here as well as in the parlour, don’t you?”

Merry looked embarrassed. “I’ll have to ask Mrs Simley, I’m afraid. I should have asked her before I brought you in here, really. I daresay she won’t mind, though.”

“Very well. I’ll wait here while you do that.”

Deborah looked round, liking the room in spite of its chill. It wasn’t large and had only one bookcase, for all its grand title of “library”, but it had a cosy feel to it as if people had been happy here. Through the leaded window there was a delightful outlook over the rather bare garden and rising beyond it the moors. She would have loved to explore the whole house and grounds, for she still couldn’t believe they were hers, but knew she mustn’t betray that yet. Besides, she needed to write the letter to her mother as quickly as possible. Who knew what further cruelties her uncle Lawrence would be inflicting on his sister?

She was just picking up a quill to check its point when there was a knock on the half-open door and Mr Simley came in without waiting to be asked. She rested the hand wearing the wedding ring in her lap and covered it with her right hand.

He spoke with a touch of scorn. “If you wish for a fire, miss, may I suggest you sit in the breakfast parlour, which has already got one?”

“I think we need one in here as well, Simley,” she said calmly, “because people will be visiting the house, no doubt, to offer their condolences. Also I need to write a letter.”

“I don’t think Mr Jannvier’s papers should be disturbed until Mr Elkin has seen them.”

“My writing a letter will not disturbing anything. Are you refusing to light a fire for me in here?”

“I am merely trying to do my duty by my late master and by my new one, too,” he said stiffly, but his expression was far less polite than his words.

By now it had become a point of honour with her not to give in to this bullying. Bessie had often scolded Deborah for that stubborn streak, but she didn’t to allow the two Simleys to treat her in this cavalier manner. “Kindly do as I ask and send the maid in to light the fire.”

His breathed in deeply, then let his breath out again slowly. For a moment all hung in the balance, then he inclined his head and left.

However, when Merry returned she had lost her smile, had a red mark on her cheek and was looking distinctly tearful.

“Is something wrong?”

She sniffed. “They’re angry with me for showing you in here. And—and I've just been given my notice, miss. To leave after the funeral. If I do as they say till then, I'll get references, otherwise I won't.”

“Who told you that?”

“Mr Simley.”

“He has no authority to do that.”

Merry goggled at her. “Well, it’s him an’ Mrs Simley what run the house and gardens, have done for years, an’ they’re the ones as allus hire the servants.”

Deborah chose her words carefully. “That doesn’t mean they can dismiss you. It’ll be for the new owner to do that.”

Merry let out a snort of disgust. “Mr Elkin? Him an’ Mr Simley are as thick as thieves these days. Nor I’m not sure I’d want to work for him anyway. They say no woman’s safe with him.” She gasped, realising she’d said too much, and turned her attention back to the fire. “There, that'll soon be blazing up.”

Once she had gone, Deborah finished writing the letter, rang the bell and found herself faced with Simley not Merry. Before she could ask to speak to Jem, there was the sound of horses and a carriage drawing up outside, followed shortly afterwards by a thunderous knocking on the front door.

“If you will excuse me for a moment, miss?”

Simley hurried out of the room and she heard voices in the hallway but was unable to make out what they were saying. She folded up the letter quickly and slipped it through the placket in the side of her skirt into the capacious pocket hanging there. The voices continued. Who could it be? she wondered. Matthew hadn’t expected Elkin to arrive until the afternoon.

There was the sound of footsteps and Simley reappeared, looking smugly triumphant. “’Tis Mr Anthony Elkin, ma’am, the new master, come to look after things as I told you he would.”

She was unsure what to do, could only hope Jem had heard Elkin arrive and was waking Matthew. Again she concealed her wedding ring, this time in the folds of her skirt.

A gentleman came in to join them. He was tall and thin, several years older than herself, as she judged, with deep crease lines down his cheeks and thin, bloodless lips. There was an underlying sourness in the set of his mouth and a dissolute look in his eyes, which were even now raking down her body in an offensive way. She wouldn’t have ridden through the night with this man, felt uneasy at being alone with him, even.

“May I ask who you are, my good woman?” he asked, looking sharply at her as if assessing her clothes and status and finding them both lacking.

She spoke crisply, refusing to be intimidated. “You may ask, sir, but it’s really none of your business. I’m here at the invitation of the late Mr Jannvier and Mr Pascoe.”

“I think it is my business now.”

He moved forward to stand over her in a way that made her feel threatened and she took an involuntary step backwards.

“I’ll ask you again who you are and I’ll thank you for a prompt answer this time,” he snapped.

A voice from the door made him swing round sharply. “The lady is my wife, Elkin, and I’ll thank you to mind your manners when you speak to her.” Matthew stood there, his hair still rumpled, his expression stolid, betraying nothing of his feelings.

Deborah felt relief course through her.

“Wife! You’re not married. She’s your doxy, more like.”

Matthew moved to stand by Deborah’s side. “You’re wrong, Elkin, but I’m sure Mrs Pascoe will accept your apologies for that insult. And this time, at least, I shall overlook it.”

Elkin ignored Deborah, hostility in every line of his body. “It doesn’t actually make much difference who she is. I’m here because we Elkins are the only relatives old Ralph had left and I’m his heir.”

“But you’re not his only relatives,” was the gentle answer and now Matthew put his arm round Deborah’s shoulders. “My wife can claim an even closer relationship than you, for she’s Ralph Jannvier’s great-niece. Her name was, before our recent marriage, the same as his.”

Simley let out an audible gasp.

Elkin went red and fury built up swiftly in his face. “I don’t believe you!” he growled. “This is just a trick to try to get hold of the estate. Ralph has never mentioned her existence to me, not in all the years I've known him! What proof do you have of her identity?”

“Ralph has known of her existence ever since her birth.”

Elkin glared from him to Deborah. “I don’t believe you.”

“You can always check with Mr Downie. He too has been aware of her existence for a long time.”

“I shall do more than ask for his opinion—I shall demand proof of her identity.”

“Do that!” Matthew snapped. “In the meantime, Mr Downie has put me in charge at Marymoor until after the will is read and my wife and I are not receiving visitors.” He moved towards the door as if to show Elkin out.

Deborah felt as if it would take only the smallest thing to set the men at each other’s throats. She saw Simley look at Elkin questioningly and decided that if it came to a fight and the servant tried to join in, two to one against Matthew, she would snatch up the nearest vase and hit him over the head with it.

However, Elkin shook his head as if to tell his henchman to hold back and turned to her instead, forcing a sour smile which faded almost immediately.

“My apologies for the misunderstanding, Mrs Pascoe.”

She inclined her head slightly but cared little whether he apologised or not.

Elkin turned back to Matthew. “My mother is outside in the coach, expecting to stay here for the funeral. Do you indeed intend to turn us away?”

Deborah watched her husband closely, seeing his hesitation. She knew it would look very strange if they turned Ralph Jannvier’s only other relatives away, though she didn’t look forward to having a man like this staying in the house.

After a moment Matthew said in a toneless voice, “Pray ask your mother to come inside. No doubt we can find rooms for you both until after the funeral, but you will understand that we haven’t many servants, so cannot guarantee you much attention, either in the house or the stables.”

“I’ve brought my own man and my mother’s maid, so I daresay we can manage.” Elkin moved towards the door. “I’ll fetch my mother in. She’s not in the best of health and the journey has tired her.”

When she and her husband were alone Deborah pulled her letter out of her pocket and held it out to Matthew. “I’ve written to ask my mother to join us.” She gave him a wry smile. “We shall be an interesting group of people.”

He took it from her and slid it inside his coat. “‘Interesting’ is not the word I’d have chosen to describe Elkin. ‘Dangerous’ might be more appropriate. Best not mention this to him.”

“I can see now why you don’t trust him. He makes me feel—uncomfortable. I wish he didn’t have to stay here.”

“Unfortunately he’s right: the local gentry would be scandalised if we turned him away. For your sake I don’t want that.”

She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice still further. “What do you think he’ll do when he finds out about the new will?”

“That remains to be seen. For a man who stole some of the silver last time, Elkin has come here in style today. A carriage, no less, though it’s a shabby one with only two horses. Did he think Ralph a rich man and borrowed on the expectations? If so, he’ll be disappointed. When I came here, the estate and farm were run down and there’s still a lot to do to the house. Ralph was rather old-fashioned in his farming methods. As for Elkin—he wouldn’t know how to manage the place and I doubt he’d even try. He just wants to milk it of its supposed wealth.”

She was quite sure Matthew didn’t intend to do that. She could hear the love in his voice whenever he spoke of Marymoor, and indeed, she’d taken a liking to the house herself. It would make a wonderful home if it were properly run, without surly servants who neglected the housework, a perfect place to bring up children and . . . She didn’t let herself finish that thought. This was no time for dreams. Those would have to wait until after Elkin had left.

There was the noise of footsteps in the hallway and they turned as one to face their visitors. Deborah found the nearness of Matthew comforting and tried to match his inscrutable expression as she stepped forward to greet a stooped, elderly lady who was weeping softly into a handkerchief.

But Elkin continued to look at her and Matthew as if they were interlopers and to act as if he were the owner. He was going to cause trouble when he found out the truth. Deborah was quite sure of that, even though she’d only just met him.

 * * * *

They kept country hours, with dinner at two o’clock and supper in the evening. Dinner was a very stiff affair, the atmosphere every bit as bad as Deborah had expected and the food poorly prepared. This didn’t stop her husband from making a hearty meal, but drew complaints from Elkin and a declaration that he would change such things for the better when he was master here. He was allowed to speak unchecked, because Matthew addressed his food and Deborah followed her usual practice in new situations of watching more than speaking.

Mrs Elkin ate very little and still looked pale. She was, she confided to Deborah as Merry cleared the table, “a poor traveller” and would be glad to seek her bed, if her hostess would excuse her. Which she did almost immediately.

After the meal, Matthew took Deborah for a stroll round the gardens near the house, then showed her the stables. At one point they saw Elkin coming towards the stable block and Matthew quickly pulled her round a corner. “I think the less we see of that so-called gentleman the better.”

Mrs Elkin didn’t come down to supper and the others didn’t linger over the meal, which was very simple and again, not skilfully prepared.

After the meal, Deborah stood up. “I’ll say goodnight now. I’m rather tired.”

“I’ll join you shortly.” Matthew watched Elkin pour himself yet another glass of port, but shook his head when the decanter was offered to him.

Deborah made haste to get undressed before her husband came upstairs, wishing she had a nightgown to wear instead of just her shift, which revealed rather too much of her body. Her legs and thighs were still sore and stiff and she groaned as she slid into the bed, closing her eyes and sighing in relief as she snuggled into the welcome softness of the feather bed.

She woke with a start as the door opened.

“It’s only me.” Matthew set a candle down on a chest of drawers and began to take his clothes off.

“What time is it?” Deborah felt heavy-headed with sleep.

“Midnight. Elkin tried to persuade me to drink with him.” Matthew let out a soft snort of disgust. “I know better than to let myself get fuddled when I have an estate to run and so I told him, but I thought it better to keep an eye on him.” He smiled at her in the flickering light of the candle. “I’m looking forward to seeing his face the day after tomorrow when the will’s read.”

“Wouldn’t it have been better to have given him a hint?” she wondered. “He’s going to be very angry.”

“Let him get angry. He’ll not be staying in this house after the funeral is over and he’ll definitely not be visiting us again. The Simleys can leave with him, since they’ve tied their flag to his pole, or if he doesn’t want them, they’ll have to find themselves other work. I’m not employing them.”