Reawakening Miss Calverley

‘You have a name. It’s Anne.’

‘Anne,’ she said. ‘It’s a pretty name. But it doesn’t somehow sound quite right…’

‘It will do for the moment,’ James said firmly.

‘There’s something else, Lord Aldhurst…’

‘What is it?’

‘You said…you told that doctor that he might be in danger if he took me in. What did you mean?’

‘I didn’t want an argument about where you should stay, that’s all.’

She shook her head. ‘Please be honest with me! What are these marks on my wrist? I have been tied up, haven’t I?’

‘It looks like it.’

‘So there is danger…I knew it. I have this feeling…of some kind of threat…But I don’t know what it is!’ She held her head in her hands. After a few moments she looked up again. ‘Why can’t I remember?’

James heard the beginning of panic in her voice and said, ‘Stop! It won’t do you any good, Anne. And you can forget about danger. I told you last night—you’re perfectly safe here. Or…do you not trust me?’

‘Of course I trust you. I have to. There’s no one else.’

Reawakening Miss Calverley

Sylvia Andrew

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SYLVIA ANDREW has an Honours Degree in Modern Languages from University College, London, and before ending up as Vice-Principal of a large comprehensive sixth form college taught English for foreigners in Switzerland, Cambridge and in Compton Park, an international finishing school for young ladies, which was housed in a beautiful country mansion leased from the Devonshire family. The house and grounds have provided inspiration for several settings in her novels. She and her husband Simon now live in a small market town in the west of England, which is full of the Georgian architecture they both love. And just a few miles from their home is the marvellous Dorset Jurassic Coast World Heritage Site. In 2000 Sylvia wrote a historical celebration of the town’s splendid fifteenth-century parish church in a millennium son et lumière, which was a great success.

She and Simon belong to the Georgian Group, the National Trust and English Heritage, all of which help them to satisfy their love of historic houses and wonderful landscapes. Simon lectures all over the place on architecture and wild orchids, while Sylvia tries to do nothing, and usually fails, since she is heavily involved in the local museum. She just can’t keep away from old maps, newspapers, photographs and census returns! Her other passion is theatre performances of Shakespeare. She and Simon have one married daughter, whom they visit quite often, and a very precious grandson called Joe.

Novels by Sylvia Andrew:

LORD CALTHORPE’S PROMISE

LORD TRENCHARD’S CHOICE

COLONEL ANCROFT’S LOVE

A VERY UNUSUAL GOVERNESS

THE BRIDEGROOM’S BARGAIN

MISS WINBOLT AND THE FORTUNE HUNTER

And in the Regency series The Steepwood Scandal:

AN UNREASONABLE MATCH

AN INESCAPABLE MATCH

MILLS & BOON

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Chapter One

Asudden gust of wind blew a spatter of rain into James Aldhurst’s face. He pulled up the collar of his greatcoat and rode on, cursing in turn the weather and his own stupidity. If he had had a grain of common sense he would now have been sitting before a roaring fire in Norris’s inn on the Portsmouth Road, a glass of the landlord’s famous punch in his hands, and every prospect of a good dinner for himself and Sam Trott. And a comfortable bed to follow. Instead, for the last hour or more he and Sam had been battling against wind and rain, picking their way through mud and stones loosened by the storm, as they rode along the narrow lane leading to Hatherton. He should have paid more heed to Norris’s warnings. This was no night to be out. Behind him he could hear his groom grumbling under his breath, no doubt saying much the same to himself. Why on earth had he allowed his grandmother to send him here at this time of year? Here he was, riding through probably the worst storm for years, and wishing with all his heart that he had ignored her and waited for better weather.

After a few minutes he noticed with relief that they were passing the crossroads that lay only a mile or so before the entrance to Hatherton. Before long this nightmare journey would be over and he would be enjoying the usual warm welcome from his grandmother’s household, people who had known him all his life. His gloom lifted for a moment as a shaft of moonlight broke through the clouds. It could be a sign that the storm was at last easing. They quickened their pace, and it wasn’t long before they were encouraged by the sight of a familiar drive leading off to the right. ‘Cheer up, Sam!’ James shouted as they turned into it. ‘Another ten minutes and we’ll be home and dry.’

The groom was not mollified. ‘Home, mebbe. It’ll take more ‘n that to get me and the horses dry, Master James. Soaked through we are.’

The clouds were clearing more rapidly as they rode on along the avenue of trees, and the wind and rain eased. Visibility improved, and it was just as well. The horses had to pick their way through a mass of debris brought down by the storm. In places the drive was almost blocked by broken branches. They rode on slowly, concentrating on negotiating their way through, but when they were not more than a few hundred yards from the house James saw an obstruction on the road ahead, which was clearly not a branch. In fact, it looked like nothing so much as a heap of sodden rags. What was it, and what the devil was it doing on the drive? He pulled up his horse, jumped down and walked on a few paces. Sam joined him, and after an amazed glance at each other they bent down to look more closely. It was a body, and though it was lying face down in a bundle of wet clothes, it could be seen that it was the body of a woman.

‘Dead, is she?’ asked Sam.

‘Dead, or unconscious. Let’s see.’

James bent down, gently turned the woman over, and smoothed back the tangled locks of hair covering her face. He caught his breath. In the cold white light of the moon the face could have been carved in marble, its exquisite purity marred by a dark line running down from her temple.

‘I think she’s still alive,’ he said slowly. ‘But it’s too damned dark to be certain. We’ll have to take her up to the house.’

‘She’s had a nasty bang on the head,’ said Sam.

‘Yes, we’ll have to handle her carefully, but we must move her—she can’t stay here. I’ll carry her. You bring the horses.’

Not without difficulty, for her wet clothes were heavy and cumbersome, James took the woman up into his arms and set off for the house, now just a short walk away.

An elderly housekeeper met them at the door. ‘There you are, my lord! I didn’t hardly expect to see you in this weather. Come in, come in. I’ve got a nice fire going in the—’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Gracious me, Master James, who is that? Mercy on us, don’t tell me you’ve had an accident. Whatever has happened?’

‘Never mind that for the moment, Cully! Where did you say the fire was? In here?’ He nodded to Sam, who hurried over to open the door on the right of the hall. A huge fire was burning in the hearth, a large damask-covered sofa on either side. James put his burden down gently on one of them. Mrs Culver gave a cry and bustled forwards, exclaiming, ‘Whatever are you thinking of, sir? That sofa will be ruined! Just look at the mud on the woman’s boots—and her clothes are soaking wet!’

James ignored the comment. He took off his overcoat and handed it to the groom, then brought a lamp over and put it on a table by the sofa. ‘She’s just a girl! Sam, get one of the other grooms to see to the horses. You go to fetch Dr Liston. Mrs Culver, have a fire lit in one of the bedrooms, if you please, and tell the maids to make up the bed. And put out one of Lady Aldhurst’s nightgowns.’

‘But, sir—’

‘Don’t waste time, Cully!’ James said, carefully removing the girl’s heavy boots and rubbing her feet. ‘She needs warmth and attention. Come back here after you’ve told the maids what to do. Bring one of them with you to help. Wait! You’d better bring some blankets with you, too.’

The housekeeper drew a breath, saw further protest was useless, and left the room stiff with disapproval, still shaking her head and grumbling. After she had gone, James fetched a shawl which was draped over the other sofa, put it over the girl and knelt down beside her. She was lying motionless, barely breathing. The sooner she was in a warm bed the better, but he was reluctant to disturb her more than he had to before the surgeon had seen her. Liston lived not far away—he should be here shortly.

He studied the girl’s face, starkly white against the rich fabric of the sofa, her eyelashes a dark fringe against her cheeks. He was concerned to see that the wound on her temple was still oozing blood, and fetched a napkin from the side-table to wipe it carefully away. She groaned and stirred restlessly, and he held his breath. Then her eyes flew open, large eyes, widely spaced, startlingly, vividly blue, twin pools of colour in that white face. She looked at him apprehensively, then, after several attempts to speak, she whispered, ‘Who…who are you?’

His deep voice was calm. ‘My name is James Aldhurst. This is my grandmother’s house. We found you lying unconscious outside in the rain, and I gathered you up and brought you in here.’ She seemed to be looking for reassurance and he added, ‘Don’t worry. You’re quite safe.’

She shut her eyes and said, ‘My head hurts. I think I fell…I was running…I couldn’t get up the bank…’ Her eyes flew open again and this time they were filled with panic. She struggled to move, but gave up with a cry of despair. ‘I can’t…My head! Oh, my head! But I have to…’ Clawing at his arm, she said, ‘Help me! Please help me! Don’t let them catch me! Please!’

The desperation in her voice startled him. He took hold of her hand. ‘I told you. You’re safe here. I shan’t let them find you. Lie still. The surgeon will be here very soon to look at you, and if he says you can be moved we shall make you more comfortable. But you must stay still for the moment.’ The blue eyes stared into his, then she gave a small nod, winced and closed her eyes again. Her hand fell away from his.

James looked at her anxiously. The hand had been icy. Where was Liston? And why was Mrs Culver taking so long? He went to take the girl’s hand again to warm it, but was shocked into an exclamation when he saw a band of rubbed skin, red and sore, encircling the slender wrist. He picked up the other hand and it was the same. He replaced them both carefully under the shawl and frowned. This girl had evidently been tied up till quite recently, and her bonds had been cruelly tight. What had been going on? Who was she? How had she come to be lying in the middle of his grandmother’s drive at eight o’clock on a storm-driven night? He shook his head and got up impatiently. The answers to those questions must wait. What was needed at the moment was help for the poor wretch! Where the devil was Mrs Culver? He went into the hall and shouted.

Mrs Culver came down the stairs followed by a maidservant struggling with a quantity of blankets. Almost in the same moment the house door opened, and Sam appeared, accompanied by Dr Liston.

‘Thank God! Come this way, Liston. We need you too, Mrs Culver. Thank you, Sam. You’d better go and change out of those wet clothes.’

The surgeon followed James into the room and they went over to the sofa. But, after telling the maid to stay with the surgeon while he examined his patient, Mrs Culver drew James to one side and spoke to him firmly in a low voice. ‘Your lordship, I’ve known you since you were a boy and witnessed a good many of your pranks. I’ve even saved you once or twice from their consequences. I’ll be frank with you, sir. Your grandmother trusts me to look after this house when she’s away. I’m not sure she’d approve of what’s going on here tonight. This young woman—who is she?’

‘I don’t know, Cully. Sam and I found her lying on the drive not far from the house. What would you have had me do? Leave her there?’

‘You didn’t need to bring a beggar woman like her into your grandmother’s sitting room! She might even be a gipsy! I don’t like to think what Lady Aldhurst would say. And here you are, ruining her furniture with that girl’s wet clothes and muddy boots, putting her in one of the best bedrooms, giving her your grandmother’s clothes to wear, calling Dr Liston out at this time of night to see to her…What has come over you?’

‘She’s no beggar, Cully. She’s in some kind of trouble, but she’s no beggar. There’s a mystery here and I intend to get to the bottom of it, but before that we must keep her alive. Is the bedroom ready? If Liston gives the word, I’d like to take her upstairs.’ He turned back to the sofa, and Dr Liston straightened up, looking grave.

‘As far as I can tell there’s no serious damage apart from that bang on the head—but it was a hefty one.’ He gave James a strange look. ‘Her wrists…’

‘I’ve seen them.’

The surgeon nodded. ‘Sam tells me you found her lying on the drive, and from the look of her I’d say she had been there for some time.’ He shook his head. ‘I

don’t know, Lord Aldhurst. I don’t know. I can’t do any more for her tonight, but I’ll come back tomorrow morning. For now she needs a warm bed with hot bricks and blankets, and complete rest. It’s quite likely she’ll develop a fever. I’ll send my man over with a paregoric draught, and if she is restless you could try giving her some of that. But my best advice would be to give her water, nothing more. And keep her well wrapped up.’ He shook his head. ‘We shall have to see.’

James nodded. ‘There’s a bed ready for her. Mrs Culver?’

The housekeeper had been looking at the girl, who was now lying white and still, a vivid bruise on her temple. ‘She looks very ill, it’s true, the poor thing. We’ll put her to bed. I’ll have one of the men carry her upstairs.’

‘I’ll carry her up,’ said James. ‘She needs gentle handling.’

Mrs Culver pursed her lips, but said nothing, and, signing to the maidservant to follow her, she set off up the broad staircase. ‘We’ve put your…guest in the green bedroom, my lord,’ she said, at her most formal. Mrs Culver had not yet been won over, and wished him to know it, but she would keep her opinions to herself in front of the younger servants. ‘If your lordship would put her on the bed, Rose and I will see to the rest.’ And, before he could say anything, she went on, ‘We will handle her as gently as we can, my lord, never fear.’ She waited till James had put the girl down, then firmly ushered him out of the room. ‘I shall let you know when we have finished,’ she said as she shut the door.

James went along to his own bedchamber where one of the servants was waiting with dry clothing, but he hardly noticed what the man was doing. His mind was full of the girl he had just rescued. During that brief moment of consciousness she had appealed to him so desperately, had clung to him as if he was her only hope. Why was she so afraid?

He waited impatiently for word from Mrs Culver, and when it came he wasted no time but went along straight away to the green bedroom. They had bathed the girl’s face and hands and put her in one of his grandmother’s lace-trimmed nightgowns. Her wrists were neatly bandaged and lay on top of the covers, which were otherwise pulled up around her. She was quite still, her eyes closed.

‘She shouldn’t be left alone,’ said Mrs Culver. ‘I’ll have one of the maids sit with her tonight.’

‘It’s all right, Cully. I’ll stay.’

‘You can’t do that, my lord! It’s not fitting—’

‘Cully, you might as well save your breath,’ James said impatiently. ‘You’ve known me long enough to know when I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to sit with that girl tonight. She might recover consciousness at any time, and I must be there when she does. Mine is the only face here she might recognise.’

‘How would she do that, my lord?’

‘She was conscious for a moment or two while you were upstairs, and I spoke to her. She was frightened out of her life. She is obviously in some danger—you must have seen her wrists before you bound them up.

Now don’t argue with me. Just inform all the servants that they are not to talk about our visitor to anyone—anyone at all. Until we know more of the circumstances her presence here must be kept secret. Understood?’

When James spoke in that particular tone, Mrs Culver knew better than to argue. ‘Very well, my lord, I’ll make sure they hold their tongues. I’ll send a maid to you in a while to see if there’s anything you need.’ She went out, closing the door softly behind her.

James adjusted the lamp so that its light did not fall on the figure on the bed, and sat for a while, studying the girl’s face in the dim light. Not conventionally pretty. A short, straight nose, a generous mouth, beautifully modelled cheekbones…The chin was a little too determined for prettiness. She lay so still—what would animation do to that face? Would she simper at him as much as most of the girls he met nowadays? He rather thought not. There was intelligence in the brow and firmness in the line of her jaw. If anything, she might be a touch too independent for most men…

He shook his head and got up impatiently. What nonsense! How could he possibly judge any girl’s character, just from the sculpted lines of a face as white and as motionless as the pillow behind? When she recovered she would probably prove to be no different from all the rest…He stood for a moment, looking down at her. The movement of the covers was almost imperceptible, but there was enough to reassure him. She was breathing.

He walked over to the window. The storm was now quite over, and the fields and hedges were silvered with moonlight. Nothing stirred. He wondered what his grandmother would say if she knew he was standing here in the middle of the night keeping watch over a sick girl, a perfect stranger? Something trenchant, no doubt. She had been annoyed enough with him before he left. Those damned newspapers! He stared at the scene outside with unseeing eyes, even forgot the girl in the bed behind him. He was back in London in his grandmother’s room in London. She was sitting as always in her chair by the window looking out over Brook Street…

The Dowager Lady Aldhurst was an upright figure with a silver-topped cane in her right hand. Tiny as she was, she dominated the room. She was wearing black as usual, but her dress was trimmed with a collar of Alençon lace, and a very pretty cap of the same lace covered her beautifully arranged frosted-black hair. A cashmere shawl was draped over her arms. On a small table next to her chair was a glass of Madeira, together with a plate of small biscuits and a pile of papers, on top of which was a copy of the Gazette.

When James came in she greeted him with no particular warmth, but her expression softened as he walked towards her with his characteristic easy stride. Tall, broad shouldered, with dark grey eyes and black hair, he was the image of the man she had loved and married more than fifty years before, and he had always held a special place in her affections. As James bent to kiss her cheek he smiled appreciatively as he caught a delicate trace of perfume.

‘I see you’re wearing the cap I gave you, ma’am,’

he said as he sat down. ‘It suits you. I swear you look younger every day!’

His grandmother was not to be mollified. ‘No thanks to you, sir!’ she snapped.

He smiled ruefully. ‘What have I done this time, Grandmama?’

‘It’s what you haven’t done!’ She picked up the copy of the Gazette. ‘Between the social announcements and the gossip I have never read the Gazette and the rest with so little pleasure. Read that, if you please!’

James took the paper and read, ‘“Lord Paston has announced his daughter’s engagement to the Honourable Christopher Dalloway…”’ He raised an eyebrow and, handing the paper back to her, said with a puzzled frown, ‘I wish the happy couple every joy, but I am not sure what it is supposed to mean to me, nor why it should cause you such displeasure…’

His grandmother glared and took the paper back from him. ‘That isn’t all,’ she said angrily. ‘Read down the page, sir! Look at the other announcements! Sarah Carteret is to marry someone I’ve never heard of—her mother won’t be pleased about that! And next month Mary Abernauld will marry Francis Chantry—’

This time his tone was more cynical. ‘So Mary is to be a Countess? I hope her father knows what he is doing. Chantry gambled away his first wife’s inheritance in pretty much record time—let’s hope he doesn’t lose his new one’s fortune as quickly.’

‘Arthur Abernauld is no fool, James,’ said his grandmother. ‘He’ll have seen to it that he won’t!’ Then she snapped, ‘Don’t try to change the subject! I haven’t asked you in to talk about the Abernaulds!’

‘I’m relieved to hear you say so. They’re a tedious lot. What did you want to see me about—apart, of course, from the pleasure of my company?’

She tapped the paper with her finger. ‘It’s this. Did Barbara Furness tell you she was going to Scotland? According to the Gazette, her parents are taking her for a prolonged stay at Rothmuir Castle. Does this mean she has given up waiting for you to make her an offer and intends to accept the Marquess after all?’

James leaned back in his chair with a lazy smile. ‘That is something you would have to ask the lady.’ When Lady Aldhurst simply held his eye and waited in silence he added, ‘Surely I don’t need to tell you, of all people, that Lady Barbara has never expected an offer from me. What is more, I don’t believe she would have accepted me if I had made one.’

His grandmother looked grave. ‘That’s not the impression you were giving the world, James.’ She poked her stick at the sheets still lying on the table. ‘And it’s not what the scandal sheets are saying, either. According to them, she has left London with a broken heart. Is that true?’

‘Let me see.’ James picked up the offending newspaper, but after a quick glance he murmured, ‘Barbara has been busy! So this to be my punishment!’

‘Is it true?’

James got up and said impatiently, ‘Of course it isn’t! Barbara is simply playing one of her tricks. She was furious when I told her she was behaving badly to a friend of mine, and thinks she can pay me back through this piece of nonsense. Lady Furness insisted on taking her daughter to Scotland, but I’ll be amazed if Barbara isn’t back in London before the month is out, heart whole and perfectly free of any engagement. Why on earth do you read such unedifying rubbish?’ He looked at his grandmother, and said, surprised, ‘You surely don’t believe it?’

‘I no longer know what to believe, James. And you can stop towering over me like that. Sit down, sir! Sit down and look at me!’

His jaw tightened and for a moment it looked as if he would refuse. Then their eyes met and he shrugged his shoulders and sat down. His grandmother thought for a moment and then said slowly, ‘I can see you’re annoyed with me. You think I’m an interfering old woman, and I suppose you’re right. But I care about you, and I care even more for the good name of the Aldhursts. It’s an old name and a highly respected one, and I am not prepared to see it bandied about in newspapers such as these.’