Marjorie Farrell (12 page)

Gareth nodded and they turned left before the bridge, off the road. Arden found herself facing a stile, which was nothing but a narrow gap in a stone wall with two steps up and two down on the other side. Gareth squeezed through first and then gave her his hand. She saw that they were going to be walking through the field on a small path that cut diagonally across.

“Is this the only way to the house?” she complained.

“It is twice as long by the road,” answered Gareth, “and we could hardly get muddier than we already are.”

“But those are sheep, aren’t they?” asked Arden in dismay.

“Why, yes,” said Gareth, looking at the six or seven dirty white animals who were sheltering from the rain under a small clump of trees. “But they won’t bother us. You’re not scared of them, are you?”

“No, of course not,” snapped Arden. “It is just… Nothing. Come, let us get there at last,” she said and started off. She couldn’t have explained her reluctance to him without him laughing at her, she was sure. It was just that walking through a sheep pasture was the last straw. Perhaps in good weather she would not have minded. But to be tramping through fields to get to her new home was just too much. Certainly her marriage and wedding trip could not have been called romantic in the least, nor did she consider herself foolish that way, but as they walked she decided that she hated Gareth even more than she thought possible.

There were two more stiles to climb before they reached the end of the fields, and Arden found the old nursery rhyme about the old woman and her pig running through her head. Somehow the absurdity of the old story matched the absurdity of her situation.

“Well, here we are, Richmond House. I wish it were a finer day for your first sight of it.”

Arden was pleasantly surprised. They had seen nothing larger than small farmhouses for the last few days, and she had wondered whether the Richmond farm was only one more poor-looking structure. While her new home was nothing compared to Stalbridge, indeed was smaller than the local squire’s house, at least it was more imposing than anything she had seen so far. There was a circular driveway, with a small garden in the center. The house had two stories and the high first-floor windows on either side of the door made it almost attractive.

“Come, my lady, let us do one thing in the proper manner,” said Gareth, and before she knew what he was about, he had swept her up into his arms.

“Put me down immediately,” she protested.

“You are not exactly a featherweight, my dear, but don’t worry, I won’t drop you,” he replied, and then gave a mock stagger as he carried her up to the door. “Would you use the knocker, please, since I need both hands for you.”

Arden stopped wriggling and rapped several times on the big oak door.

When the door opened, it was not a butler or a footman who faced them, but a small woman dressed in black, like a housekeeper, but covered by a wide white kitchen apron.

Her face lit up when she recognized Gareth. “Captain! Come in, come in. Oh, it is so good to have tha home safe. And this must be thy new wife. And both of you soaked to the skin and quite fragrant too,” she exclaimed in a broad Yorkshire accent.

Gareth set Arden down and was about to envelop the woman in a great bear hug when he remembered how wet and muddy he was.

“Ah, Janie, it is good to be here. And yes, this is my new bride, Lady Arden Huntly that was, and now Mrs. Gareth Richmond.”

Arden was surprised at the tone of his voice. He actually sounded proud to introduce her. While he had always been friendly in his cool way, and never really lost his temper with her, although she provoked him constantly, she had not expected such feeling and was almost touched.

“Arden, this is Janie Pratt, our housekeeper and cook. My mother finds her invaluable, and I’m sure you will too. She’ll help you clean up and find some dry clothes, while I go back to the carriage, won’t you, Janie?”

“Oh, aye, I’ll heat some water for tha in no time, my dear. Lady Elizabeth left a few things behind which will do until your luggage gets here. Did tha break down, then, Gareth?”

“Aye, a few miles outside of town. I’ll take a horse and go back for the groom. Arden, I will return as soon as I can, but I leave you in good hands.”

He was out the door before Arden could open her mouth to say good-bye. Although she had resisted his companionship the whole trip, now she felt deserted. And cold.

“You’ve shivering, poor lass. Come in by the kitchen fire, and I’ll get that water on.”

Sleepy as she was, the smell arising from her drying clothes kept her awake. She huddled by the stove and watched Mrs. Pratt bustling about, drawing and heating the water for her bath. When Janie came in and knelt down to unlace Arden’s half boots, she protested. “Those are too dirty, Mrs. Pratt. You should call the maid to do this.”

Janie laughed. “The maid, is it? There are no maids here, lass, or not anything like tha mean. Lucy Malham comes in for the day, you understand,” she added hurriedly, seeing the shocked look on Arden’s face, “but I am the only other one who works here at Richmond House. And I am not afraid of a bit of cow clart. Come, give me tha foot, lass.”

So Arden let her pull off the boots, and a few minutes later, lead her upstairs to the master bedroom. “For surely, this is where the captain will want to be. It is the only bedroom large enough for a man and a woman, but not too large to lose each other, lass,” said Janie. “Now, then, here we are, and let me just see what Lady Elizabeth left behind. Oh, aye, here is her old wrapper. Tha must strip off your clothes and put it on reet quick.”

Janie was holding up a rather shapeless brown garment, but by this time Arden was so sick of the smell of her dress that she was only too glad to strip and pull the robe around her. She was surprised at how well it fit, coming right to her ankles, instead of stopping mid-calf, as she had expected. “Lady Elizabeth must be as tall as I.”

“Aye, she fair towers over Mr. Richmond.”

“Lady Elizabeth. Yes, I keep forgetting she was one of the Tremaynes.”

“But not a great-lady bone in her body,” said Janie with great approval. “Now, sit thaself down on t’bed and I’ll fetch Jake from the stable to bring the water up.”

Arden sat where Janie left her and gazed about her. The room was large enough not to feel cramped, but small enough to benefit from the crackling fire in the fireplace. The bed was also large enough for some distance, but small enough, unfortunately, to encourage easy intimacy. There were two bed tables on either side with several books and a small lamp on each. Arden tried to picture a tall, aristocratic-looking Lady Elizabeth reading what? Scott’s latest, she decided, and reached for the table nearest her. The book on top was an alarmingly accurate treatise on sheep breeding, complete with drawings, which she set back quickly. Wrong side, she thought to herself, and got up and walked to the other table. The first volume on that side was in what appeared to be Welsh. The second was in English and seemed to be some sort of history of folk customs. There were sketches of corn dollies and morris dancers and medieval carvings. Some of the carvings were of the sort Arden had seen in small churches, the old “Green Man” or mouth-puller figure. But one took her a few minutes to puzzle out, until she realized, dropping the book as though it were a hot pot, that this particular carving from a church in Buckinghamshire was of a grinning woman, pulling apart…well, not her mouth, thought Arden, half-hysterically.

Gareth’s father was a scholar, and she supposed these were his books. Was his trip to Wales for the purpose of finding more of these bizarre carvings? She tried not to think of the illustrations, and walked quickly over to the window and opened it a crack to cool her burning cheeks.

“Now then, lass, move thaself away from that window or tha’ll catch tha death.” Janie was at the door, and coming up the stairs behind her was a young man who carried the steaming water for Arden’s bath. Janie was holding two thick towels, and after sending Jake downstairs, placed them on the bed, and pulling a bar of soap out of her pocket, put it on top of them.

“There, now, I will leave tha to thaself. I am sure tha want a good long soak in private.” Janie was gone before Arden could even say thank you.

She lowered herself into the bath slowly. It was hotter than she was used to, but she didn’t care if she looked and felt like a boiled beet, she wanted to be clean.

All the aches from the last few days fell away as she lay in the water and leaned her head back. She should wash her hair, but had not the energy, and indeed, it usually took two to handle the job. She had about given up on the idea and drifted off when she heard Janie at the door.

“I just wanted to see if tha needed anything, lass.”

“No…well, yes, Mrs. Pratt. Could you help me with my hair?”

Janie came in with a small basin of clean water. “I brought this to rinse tha off, but it will do just as well for your hair,” she said with a smile.

Arden pulled out her hairpins, and Janie scooped up water from the bath.

“You have reet beautiful hair, lass.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pratt.”

“Please call me Janie.”

“All right,” replied Arden, who never had experienced this kind of frankness from a servant, but who could not resist Janie’s openness.

“Now, then,” said the housekeeper, after a few minutes of hard lathering and rinsing, “tha are all clean. Thy towels are there and you will find an old gown in the wardrobe. It may be a bit wide, for her ladyship is a bit stockier than tha, but it will do for dinner.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pratt, I mean, Janie, for taking such good care of me.”

“Come down whenever tha’s ready, dear.”

The towels were thick and rough, but woke her up after the soporific effect of the bath. The gown was indeed a little too big, but would do for tonight. She didn’t care what she looked like, she reminded herself. The less attractive the better. Let Captain Richmond rue the day he had ever wed her. She found an old blue wool shawl, and throwing that around her shoulders, she started out the door, only to realize that she was barefoot. An old sheepskin slipper peeked out from under the bed, and Arden knelt down to find the other one. There was something on it, something heavy, and she shrieked as she jumped back, thinking it was a rat, when out from under the bed stalked the ugliest cat she had ever seen. It was every color, and , therefore, no color, brindled tabby with some patches of white and orange, but in no observable pattern. Most of his head was tabby, but his right eye was ringed in bright orange, which gave the appearance of a monocle held up to his eyes, through which he deigned to observe other creatures. He was big, though not at all fat, and had huge double paws. He stood there, gazing up at Arden as if to say “And who are you to disturb me, young woman?”

“We call him ‘Motley,’ ” said Gareth from the door. “Mott for short.”

“Because of his coat,” said Arden, startled into an obvious statement.

“Of course. We almost called him ‘Fool,’ but it seemed somehow wrong to use the term, even for an animal. And despite his appearance, he is not at all foolish. Always on his dignity, that one,” said Gareth with a grin as Mott slowly sauntered out of the room. “The only one he ever curls up with is my mother. We decided it is because of her title. He seems to have an instinct for nobility. Here, let me get that for you.”

Arden was down on her knees again to retrieve the other slipper, when Gareth dragged it out and shook off the dust.

“There you are. Mother must have left them behind. You don’t really need them, though, now that the trunks are here. Although it will take a few minutes to bring them up and dig for your own slippers.”

“These will do just fine,” replied Arden, reminding herself that she despised her new husband and would not let herself be softened by family stories. She slipped her feet into the slippers which were blessedly warm, albeit a bit large.

“Janie has supper ready downstairs. I’ll be down as soon as I have a quick bathe.” Gareth flicked the water with his finger. “Still warm and not too dirty. Do you want to stay and help me wash?” he added, eyes gleaming wickedly.

“No, thank you,” replied Arden, refusing to be goaded, “I’ll await you downstairs.” She left with as much dignity as the cat, refusing to look back, and Gareth could not help laughing to himself after she closed the door. She was as haughty as Mott, but ill-dressed for it tonight. He wished that one of her victims could see the Insufferable shuffling along in slippers too big for her.

Dinner was very plain: a clear soup, roast lamb and vegetables and an apple cobbler for dessert. Arden had to admit that, although she considered it food fit only for laborers, it was well-cooked and skillfully seasoned. She could not help liking Janie, and so she complimented her on the meal and kept her criticisms to herself.

Gareth and she were equally tired, so dinner was a quiet meal. As Janie waited on them, she looked for signs of affection, but saw none. No private looks or smiles passed between them, no meeting of hands as both reached for the salt, no blushing or lowered eyes from Arden.

After the meal was finished, Arden observed that she understood that there were no live-in maids or other servants at Richmond House.

“Yes, that is correct,” replied Gareth.

Arden’s eyebrow lifted, and Janie, who was just clearing the table, told her husband later that night that she felt as though she were in front of a princess, Lady Arden looked that proud.

“My mother never felt the need for any, and indeed, since our income isn’t large, she prefers anything extra to go back into the sheep.”

“So it is your mother’s book about sheep breeding on the bedside table,” said Arden, and then blushed deeply as she remembered the other books.

“Why, yes, she has turned a small estate into a reputable business. On market days, people come from all over Yorkshire to buy one of her ewes.”

“And your father? I understood he was a scholar, but surely he is in charge of the farm?”

“No, not at all,” said Gareth with a smile. “He is a genius in his own field, but hopeless at dealing with financial and practical details. No, my mother took charge early on and we are lucky she did.”