The Highborn Housekeeper

Nancy ignored her. It was snowing again, big, fat flakes that settled on everything. One or two drifted in through the open window, but she refused to close it, peering out into the gloom. As they approached the little wood she leaned out and shouted to William to stop. Even as the carriage slowed to a halt she opened the door and jumped down, ignoring her companion’s horrified grasp.

‘Mercy me, whatever are you about? Miss Nancy. Madam!’

‘Peace, Hester, I will explain everything in a moment.’

With a word to the servants on the box, Nancy stared into the copse. At first it was nothing but black trunks and shadows and for one frightening moment she doubted herself. Perhaps she had dreamt the whole thing. Worse, perhaps the man had wandered off and collapsed somewhere. Then she saw a movement among the trees, a cloaked figure coming slowly out of the wood.

‘There you are!’ She ran up to him. ‘You are limping. I had not thought—are you badly hurt? Here, let me help you.’

She pulled his arm around her shoulders. Only then did she realise how tall he must be, because she did not have to stoop to support him.

He leaned heavily against her.

‘Bruised,’ he muttered, ‘nothing broken.’

‘Tell me where we are to take you.’ She walked with him slowly towards the chaise while the snowflakes, big as goose down, settled on them.

‘Dell House.’ He winced again, and she realised that every step was painful for him. ‘A few miles this side of Darlton.’

‘On the Lincoln Road. I know it.’

They had reached the carriage and she called to Hester to help her get him inside, then she gave hurried directions to her coachman. The men on the box were clearly bursting with curiosity, but Nancy’s tone told them she would brook no objection and they both accepted her instructions with no more than a nod.

It was more difficult to pacify Hester, who had moved to the corner furthest away from the stranger and was staring at him, horrified.

‘Nancy, Nancy, what are you about? You have taken up a drunken stranger. He may be a dangerous villain for all we know.’ She gave a little cry as the carriage lurched forward. ‘Heaven preserve us, have you run quite mad?’

‘Not in the least,’ replied Nancy, sitting beside Gabriel and holding him steady. Snowflakes still clung to her jacket and to the cloak wrapped about him. She brushed them off with her free hand before they could melt into the wool. ‘I am merely being a Good Samaritan. We are going to deliver this poor man to his home.’ He was shivering and she added urgently, ‘Pray, put your hot brick beneath his feet, Hester, and give me your shawl. I shall wrap the other brick for him to hold against his body.’

Hester did as Nancy bade her, muttering all the time.

‘I don’t say I understand any of this. Do you know this man?’

‘Not in the least, but he assures me he is not intoxicated. He told me he had been waylaid.’ A laugh escaped her. ‘Heavens, what an adventure!’

Hester’s snort spoke volumes, but Nancy was more concerned with Gabriel, who had lapsed into unconsciousness. She eased him down until he was lying along the seat, his long legs trailing to the floor. The wound on his skull was no longer bleeding and when she placed her fingers on his neck she thought his pulse was stronger, but perhaps she only wanted that to be so.

‘I have done as much as I can for him,’ she muttered, sinking to her knees on the carriage floor and resting one hand lightly on his coat, reassured by the rise and fall of his chest.

As they rumbled on she remained at his side, holding him securely on the seat. A rueful smile pulled at her mouth. An adventure indeed, to take up a strange man and drive him to safety. Dell House was only a few miles from her old home. The place she had avoided for more than a decade.

The heady excitement within her faded. Nancy glanced out of the window. The snow was falling steadily and thankfully there was little wind to cause drifting, but she knew that could change in a twinkling. She had been foolish in the extreme to leave the main road, to put herself out for a stranger. She remembered their brief conversation, the sudden, glinting smile that had melted her anger. She had not realised it at the time, but that smile had set her pulse racing. Charm, she thought now. The man had an abundance of charm.

She glanced at his unconscious figure. He was bruised, battered and now dangerously chilled. He would need diligent nursing and nourishing food to return him to health. She could do that. It was her strength, it was what she enjoyed, looking after damaged creatures.

Nancy pulled herself up with a jolt. What was she thinking? This man was not her concern. She must not allow her sympathies to run away with her. Heavens, had she learned nothing in the last twelve years? She shivered and moved on to the seat beside Hester, who patted her knee.

‘You’ve got too kind a heart, Miss Nancy, that’s your trouble. We should have told the landlord to fetch the fellow back to the inn. They could have cared for him there.’

‘Perhaps, but he was so adamant I should not tell a soul.’ Nancy sighed. ‘I confess, I shall be glad to leave him with his own people and we can be on our way.’

* * *

However, when at last they reached Dell House, no servants ran out from the house or the outbuildings to greet them. The sky had cleared and Nancy had a good view of the house in its snowy setting. It was a modest gentleman’s residence, sitting four-square in its own grounds, and it was in darkness, save for a glimmer of light from the fanlight above the door. Without waiting for her footman, Robert, to climb down from the box, Nancy alighted and went to the door, where she rapped smartly upon the knocker.

Silence.

Robert joined her, his hat and shoulders white with snow. ‘Don’t seem to be anyone at home, ma’am.’

‘There has to be.’ She beat another tattoo upon the door. ‘Are we sure this is the right house?’

‘Aye, ma’am, Dell House. ’Tis carved on the gateposts, clear as day.’

At that moment there was the sound of bolts being drawn back and Nancy gave a sigh of relief.

‘At last.’ She schooled her face into a look of cheerfulness, but a sudden loud sneeze from behind the door made her step back in surprise.

A man opened the door, a lamp held aloft in one hand. He cut a very sorry figure, standing before them in his stockinged feet and with a blanket hung loosely about his hunched shoulders. His eyes looked heavy, there was the dark shadow of stubble on his face and his hair was tousled, as if he had just risen from his bed.

‘Good evening, I—’

She was interrupted by another loud sneeze. The man buried his face in a large handkerchief.

‘I beg your pardon.’ His voice was muffled by the cloth over his nose but he was clearly mortified. ‘A cold!’ he managed to gasp, before being overcome by another explosive sneeze.

‘Yes, well, we have an injured man in the carriage,’ said Nancy. ‘A Mr Gabriel Shaw.’

‘By baster!’

‘Yes, your master.’ Nancy was relieved to have that point confirmed. ‘We need to get him into a warm bed as soon as possible. Can you—?’ She stopped as the man was seized by a paroxysm of coughing. ‘Is there anyone else in the house who can help?’

‘Do one,’ he managed. ‘Only be and I’m weak as a cat.’

Nancy pursed her lips. ‘Well, we cannot stand here discussing the matter. If you cannot help, then we must see to your master. All you need do is lead the way.’ She looked past him into the darkened hall. ‘Robert, go with him and light some candles in there, for heaven’s sake.’

She turned and marched back to the carriage, where Hester was at the open door.

‘What is it, ma’am? Are we at the right place?’

‘Oh, yes, but the only servant is suffering from a heavy cold. No use to us at all. We shall have to get Mr Shaw into the house ourselves.’

Hester nodded. ‘Between us I am sure we can manage. The sooner he is in his own bed the better.’

They wrapped the cloak more securely around the man and William and Robert carried him up to what was clearly the main bedchamber. Everything was tidy and Nancy noted that the bed was made, but the fire had gone out and the room was distinctly chilly.

‘This will never do,’ she declared as the men laid their burden on the bed. ‘William, you and Robert must go and find kindling and fuel to light the fire. And if there is a fire in the kitchen, then reheat the bricks and bring them back here. This man needs all the warmth we can give him.’ She waved at the servant who had let them into the house. ‘Take him with you, he will show you where to find everything and he is of no use at all here.’ When the men had withdrawn, she turned to her companion. ‘Hester, you must help me get him out of his wet things. Come along now.’

‘This is no job for you, madam! You must leave it to me—’ Hester protested, scandalised, but Nancy cut her short.

‘You will never manage him alone, he is a dead weight.’

She set to work on unbuttoning the filthy shirt. Together they removed his clothing and Nancy used the towel hanging near the washstand to buff some warmth into his cold limbs. He was no weakling, she thought, as she rubbed vigorously at his arms. A smattering of dark hair shadowed his deep chest, tapering downwards until it was hidden by the sheet that Hester had insisted upon pulling up decorously over his lower body.

She tried not to press too hard on the bruises that were beginning to show. No wonder he had struggled to walk. She helped Hester to put him into his nightshirt and covered him with quantities of blankets before she started to clean his face.

She refused Hester’s offer to help. The man was her patient, she felt a certain responsibility for him.

‘Perhaps you could fetch the lavender water from my dressing case,’ she suggested. ‘We can sprinkle a little on his pillow. And if you go to the kitchen perhaps you could bring up the hot bricks, too.’

‘Very well, I will go now. And if the bricks aren’t ready, I might be able to put some hot water into a few wine bottles,’ said Hester, moving towards the door.

‘Yes, yes. Anything to help warm him.’

Left alone with the man, Nancy set to work with a damp cloth, cleaning the wound on his head. Tenderly she smoothed the dark hair from his brow and wiped away the blood, then set to work removing the dirt from the rest of his face.

He stirred, as if awakened by her touch, and opened his eyes. They were a deep blue, she noted. He began to shift restlessly in the bed.

‘Hush now,’ she murmured, perching on the side of the bed and placing one hand on his chest. ‘You are safe.’

He began to mutter, incomprehensible but clearly agitated. She quickly dried his face, crooning as she might to a fractious child. At last he grew calmer; his gaze steadied and became fixed upon Nancy, but he was looking straight through her. Something knotted inside her, constricting her breath. She dearly wanted him to know she was there.

He had freed one hand from the bedcovers and she caught it in her own.

‘Safe,’ she repeated, smiling down at him.

He grew still, the eyes remained glazed, but his long fingers wrapped themselves about hers, their grasp surprisingly strong. He lapsed into unconsciousness, but Nancy did not move. Even when Hester returned and placed the hot bricks wrapped in flannel under the covers, she remained curled up beside her patient.

‘Come away, Miss Nancy, ’tis not seemly for you to be sitting on a man’s bed.’

‘Why? He does not know I am here.’ She saw Hester was looking anxious and smiled. ‘Very well, you may bring over a chair for me. But I must stay close. I think he finds some comfort in holding my hand and it makes me feel as if I am doing something.’

‘You have done too much for the fellow already,’ muttered Hester.

She said no more, for the men had returned and they set to work on the fire, which was soon blazing merrily in the hearth.

‘There,’ said Hester, ‘I think we can safely leave Mr Shaw with his man now, Miss Nancy, and be on our way. Come along.’

But Nancy did not leave her seat. She dragged her gaze from the unconscious man in the bed to the woebegone figure of the servant, leaning against the wall, coughing and wheezing into his handkerchief.

‘Oh, I think not.’ She looked up at Hester, a rueful smile in her eyes. ‘I really do not see how we can leave these two poor men to fend for themselves, do you?’

* * *

Gabriel was surfacing from some deep, black pit. His eyelids fluttered but he did not open them fully, for the light was painful and the slightest movement of his head made it throb. In fact, as consciousness returned, he was aware that his whole body ached like the devil.

He lay still, not struggling to recall what had happened, but allowing memory to return. Still, icy night, the cold bone-deep. The empty lane to Darlton, black shadows and the sudden rush of his attackers. He had thought it was footpads, but those two assailants proved to be no more than a diversion for whoever came from behind and knocked him unconscious. Then he was on the ground, among the trees and being harangued by a female to get up.

Gingerly he opened his eyes. He was in Dell House, in his own bedchamber. Presumably she had brought him here, as she had promised. Another memory stirred. Someone wiping his forehead with a damp cloth, the soothing smell of lavender. The woman’s voice, softer this time, bidding him to be still. Now he did make an effort to remember. He closed his eyes again, concentrating. Yes, he had seen her. She had come towards the bed, into the lamplight. A full, womanly figure, dark-eyed, red-lipped, with an abundance of glossy dark hair. She had leaned over him, her face full of concern. The same woman who had found him in the copse. Or had he dreamt the whole?

He heard the click of the door, soft footsteps and Thoresby appeared beside the bed, carrying a tray. The man was so much more than a servant, Gabriel counted him a loyal friend and he was relieved to see him.

‘John.’

‘Good morning, sir. I am glad to see you awake at last.’

Gabriel frowned. ‘You were laid up in bed. I feared influenza.’

‘Thankfully it was nothing worse than a bad cold, sir, and I am much better now.’ John Thoresby set down the tray on a table that had been pulled close to the bed. With the smallest movement of his head Gabriel could see it held a bowl of something looking suspiciously like porridge. However, that was not his most pressing concern.

‘But you were too ill to get out of your bed.’

‘That was five days ago, sir.’

‘So long!’ He tried to sit up and winced as pain shot through his bruised body.

Thoresby came to help him, gently supporting his shoulders and rearranging the pillows. Gabriel muttered his thanks and leaned back, closing his eyes until the pains in his body settled into no more than a dull ache.

‘There is laudanum, sir, if you wish it.’

‘No. Just a little water, if you please.’

He insisted on holding the glass himself and managed to take a few sips, even though his hands shook. He was glad to relinquish it when he had finished and he leaned back against the pillows, his eyes closed.

‘John, there was a woman.’

‘Ah, yes. Mrs Hopwood.’

The name struck a chord.

‘She brought me here?’

‘Yes, she did. And very relieved I was to see you, even though I could scarce drag myself to the door when she knocked. I knew I shouldn’t have let you go out alone.’

‘Damn it, John, you were too ill to be of use. Feverish, too. That is why I left you sleeping. But never mind that now. The woman. Did she stay here?’

‘Oh, yes, sir, she stayed,’ said Thoresby. ‘She is still here.’

‘What!’

John spread his hands. ‘It was impossible to stop her, sir. She marched in and took over. I was coughing and sneezing, trying to collect my wits, and the next minute she and her servants were putting you to bed. And no sooner had she made you comfortable than she set about preparing rooms for herself and her maid, while her footman and coachman made themselves at home.’ Thoresby paused. ‘I have to admit, sir, that I could not have tended you without her and that’s a fact. She packed me off to my bed and said she would see to everything. Said a good rest was probably all I needed and after a couple of days I’d be up and about again. And before you say I should’ve protested, I did. I tried, sir, I promise you. And all she said was I should stay away from you, in case I was infectious. It went against the grain, I can tell you, but truth to tell, I was too weak to be much use for the first couple of days.’

Gabriel recognised the truth of this and held his peace, but he was far from mollified. He glanced again at the tray.

‘I suppose that is what she considers a fit breakfast for an invalid.’

For the first time Thoresby would not meet his eyes.

‘Yes, sir. Porridge. It’s what we’ve been managing to get down you for the past couple of days. That and a little chicken broth she cooked up.’

Gabriel said drily, ‘Mrs Hopwood appears to be a very resourceful woman.’

Thoresby allowed himself a wry grin. ‘She’s helped us out of a rare scrape, sir, and that’s for sure. If she hadn’t come across you in that wood, you’d have perished by morning. And she and that companion of hers nursed you for the first three days while I was fit for nothing but sleep!’

‘And there’ve been no unwanted visitors, no one skulking about in the night?’

‘No sign that you was followed back here, sir. With the snow it’s been easy to see that the only tracks around the place are those made by myself or Mrs Hopwood’s servants. We’ve had that much snow the past few days that the roads are blocked now, so nothing’s moving by road.’

‘Then we must hope our whereabouts are unknown to my attackers. They may come looking for me, though, if they realise I am alive.’ He lay still for a moment, considering, then said, with sudden decision, ‘It is too dangerous for anyone else save ourselves to be here. You may tell Mrs Hopwood that her help is no longer required.’

‘I can try, sir, but I doubt she’ll go until she sees for yourself that you are recovered. Perhaps if you were to eat a few spoonfuls of the porridge...’

Gabriel cursed him roundly. ‘Take that stuff away and bring me my usual breakfast. Well, what is the matter now?’

‘The ladies have quite taken over the kitchen, sir. They have prepared every meal between them since they arrived. I’m not sure...’ Gabriel’s furious gaze made him say quickly, ‘I will go and see to it immediately, I am sure there will be no difficulty.’

‘There had better not be.’ Gabriel scowled at him. ‘After that you may help me to get up. If you won’t tell the damn woman to leave, then I will!

Chapter Three

Nancy was trimming a piece of beef when Thoresby came in with the tray. She glanced at the untouched breakfast dish.

‘Is your master still sleeping?’

‘No, ma’am, he is very much awake, and insists upon his usual morning meal of eggs and ham.’

He announced this with no little trepidation and such an appearance of one prepared to be executed for being the bearer of bad tidings that Nancy had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. She had some sympathy with Mr Thoresby, for she knew she had been something of a tyrant in the past few days, but kitchens and cooking had been her domain for over a decade and she felt at home here. She had taken control, organising the meals and producing food suitable for the injured man, once he had been able to eat a little. Her friends laughingly called her a mother hen, wanting to look after everyone. A sudden warmth spread through her body. Not that she wished Gabriel Shaw to think her motherly!

She said now, ‘I am glad to hear he is feeling so much better. Would you like to prepare something for him? I am happy to leave this and attend to it, but you will know exactly how he likes his breakfast.’

The man quickly assured her that he was more than happy to prepare his master’s breakfast and set about finding eggs and fetching the large ham that was in the larder.

* * *

Later, when he had taken a fresh tray to his master and then helped him to dress, he returned and issued an invitation to Nancy.

‘My master begs that you will join him for dinner tonight, ma’am. In his room. He deeply regrets that he is not yet well enough to manage the stairs.’ Having performed his duty, John Thoresby unbent a little and added, ‘To tell you the truth, he is weak as a cat and it’s as much as he can do to sit upright in his chair beside the fire. But he hopes you will not object to the informality of dining in his chamber.’

Nancy was not fooled. However politely Mr Thoresby wrapped it up, it was clearly a summons. Not that she was averse to having dinner with Mr Gabriel Shaw. She had a great many questions she wanted to put to him.

* * *

Just before dinner, Nancy went upstairs to wash away the heat and grease of the kitchen, leaving Hester and Thoresby to put the final touches to the meal. There was no time to wash her hair, so she brushed it well and bundled it up on her head before turning her attention to what to wear. Her trunks held an array of colourful, expensive dresses, the jewel box was full of ostentatious pieces, all designed to attract attention, but she had no wish to display her charms tonight. Quite the opposite, she thought, remembering Mr Shaw’s smile and its effect upon her pulse.

She chose the most sober of the evening gowns, a sheath of deep sapphire-blue silk with a high waist and long sleeves that she thought would be a necessity, because the continuing icy weather seemed to permeate the very fabric of the building. She arranged a muslin fichu in the neck of the gown, partly for warmth and partly for decorum. It would also remove the need for jewels. She pushed her feet into the matching kid slippers and took a moment to study herself in the looking glass. She gave a little nod of satisfaction, confident she would pass as a respectable widow, fallen on hard times, which was just how she wanted Gabriel Shaw to see her. Throwing a fine woollen shawl about her shoulders to keep her warm, she set off through the unheated passages.

‘Mrs Hopwood, good evening.’

Gabriel Shaw greeted her politely as she entered his room. She had half expected him to receive her in a garish dressing gown, but he was fully dressed in biscuit-coloured pantaloons and a dark evening coat that fitted without a crease across his broad shoulders. Even in the candlelight she could see it was of impeccable cut. He wore it over a gold silk waistcoat and immaculate white linen, and above the intricately tied cravat his face was unmarked, save for the ugly bruise on one cheek. It had been darkening when she had cleaned his face on the night they had arrived. The night she had perched on the bed, holding his hand. The memory evoked a sudden fluttering in her chest, but she ignored it. She had nursed him as she would have done any injured man.

She glanced at him again. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, but she thought he looked remarkably well. Even the cut on his head was healing and hidden now by the sleek dark hair that was brushed back from his wide brow. No fobs or seals adorned his clothes and his fingers were bare of rings, but she was sure he was no country gentleman. He was as fashionably dressed as any of the men she had seen during her recent sojourn in London. Even more reason to question him.

He was sitting at the little dining table that had been set up before the fireplace and he struggled to get up when she came in. She quickly waved him back to his seat.

‘I pray you will not exert yourself, Mr Shaw. You are not yet fully recovered.’

She remembered the purple-black bruises she had seen on his body. A strong, muscular body, she recalled, and hastily buried the thought, hoping the sudden heat in her cheeks was not noticeable.