The Major and the Country Miss

Stephanie giggled deliciously. ‘I doubt if anyone can remember the steps,’ she said. ‘The waltz is all the rage nowadays. How odd to think that only two years ago it was considered shocking and young ladies were forbidden to dance it in public!’

‘You will allow, then, that the war was of some benefit to society?’ said Catford, his lips twitching in amusement. ‘At least our success in importing the German dance seems to have won your approval. Sadly, I fear that it will be too strenuous for me at present, but I look forward in great anticipation to seeing the pair of you twirling about the room.’

‘A full-dress ball, at long last!’ breathed Stephanie rapturously. ‘I had almost given up hope of ever attending a real one! I am so grateful that you managed to persuade Grandmama to allow me to stay at the Hall for the month, Georgie—the thought of yet another season in Harrogate was beginning to drive me quite insane!’

‘It is Aunt Letty who really deserves your thanks,’ demurred Georgianne. ‘She was the one who eventually convinced Lady Highsmith that she would benefit much more from her visit to her sister in Yorkshire if she did not have to concern herself with having to see that you were sufficiently entertained.’

‘I have been forced to endure Harrogate’s so-called “entertainments” ever since I was sixteen years of age,’ grimaced Stephanie. ‘They consist of morning promenades to the pump-room, afternoon visits to Grandmama’s dreary old acquaintances and long, tedious evenings at the card tables.’

‘But you did get to attend the assemblies last year,’ her friend reminded her, with a smile. ‘I seem to recall you mentioning that a rather dashing young lieutenant paid you a great deal of attention!’

‘Richard Loxley,’ Stephanie nodded glumly, ‘He was quite sweet but, as usual, Grandmama did her utmost to discourage him—it sometimes seems as if she cannot bear to see me enjoying myself!’

‘Oh, come now, Stephanie!’ protested Catford, who had been following the girl’s conversation with polite interest. ‘You are being a little hard on Lady Highsmith, surely! Whilst it is certainly true that your grandmother takes her role as your guardian rather more seriously than would some, you cannot fault her for her generosity. Only five minutes ago you were describing to me the “simply gorgeous” ballgown that Madame Henri—whose creations, I might add, are hardly cheap—has produced for you. If her ladyship discouraged one of your suitors, you may be sure that she had very good reason for doing so.’

‘Yes, but she always discourages all of them,’ pouted Stephanie. ‘That is why I was so astonished when she actually agreed to let me stay with you this year. She normally never lets me out of her sight for more than five minutes at a time!’

‘Her ladyship is merely concerned for your welfare,’ put in Catford gently, as he reached across to press her hand. ‘Having devoted the best part of her life to caring for young ladies whose lives have been less fortunate that your own, she is probably more aware than most of the dangers that might easily befall one who is as lovely as you are, my dear.’

Although she was not remiss in offering the viscount a tremulous smile in recognition of his compliment, Stephanie could not forbear from thinking that it was all very well for those whose lives were as free as a bird’s to chastise her for grumbling about her own rather more restricted one. After all, she reasoned to herself, none of the viscount’s family had been obliged to suffer her grandmother’s long-term dedication to her Refuge for Genteel Ladies in Distress—or Home for Unmarried Mothers, as some of the less enlightened members of the local populace tended to refer to Highsmith House. Highly commendable though Lady Highsmith’s commitment to her project might be, it did seem to carry with it the unfortunate side effect of causing the home’s founder to be uncommonly strict as regarded her granddaughter’s upbringing. And, even though she had taken extreme measures to ensure that the girl was shielded from the more unsavoury aspects involved in overseeing the welfare of the continual stream of those young ladies who were housed in the west wing of the building—referring to them only as “our guests”—it would have been difficult, if not downright impossible, for an inquisitive child, such as Stephanie had always been, not to have learned the real truth of the situation.

Owing to the fact that Georgianne’s aunt, Lady Letitia Gresham, served on Lady Highsmith’s board of trustees, the two girls had been acquainted since early childhood. Having both been orphaned at birth, it was hardly surprising that they should have forged the bonds of friendship, even though their temperaments could hardly have been more different.

Not long after the two girls were out of leading-strings, it had been arranged between their guardians that Stephanie would take her lessons with Georgianne, in the schoolroom at Gresham Hall, and this she had done until both girls had turned eighteen. Georgianne’s subsequent departure to London to make her formal début into the high society to which her family belonged, had filled her lifelong friend with both envy and rage, since Lady Highsmith had flatly refused to countenance the countess’s very generous offer to bring the two girls out together.

Her grandmother’s inexplicable refusal to allow her to accompany the Greshams to London had come as a bitter blow to Stephanie for, as with a certain amount of resentment, she had quickly pointed out to her friend, it was not as though the old lady was short of funds. ‘It is all part and parcel of her refusal to admit that I have a good deal more common sense than any of those pathetic creatures to whom she devotes so much of her time!’ she had complained at the time.

‘I hardly think that sense has had a lot to do with any of your grandmama’s ladies’ falls from grace,’ Georgianne had mused. ‘I am rather inclined to the belief that they simply allowed their hearts to overrule their heads.’

‘Allowed themselves to be totally taken in by some mendacious philanderer, you mean!’ Stephanie had retorted scornfully, ignoring her friend’s pained expression. ‘Well, I for one, find it extremely galling to discover that my own grandmother appears to labour under the misconception that I am going to throw myself into the arms of the first man who crosses my path!’

‘Stranger things have happened,’ Georgianne had pointed out, with a smile and a shake of the head. ‘Especially if you were to fall in love.’

‘Fall in love!’ her friend had scoffed. ‘You do talk such nonsense at times, Georgianne! I have no intention of ever indulging in such a feeble-minded activity! Why limit one’s favours to just the one gentleman when there is so much more satisfaction to be gained from having several of them at a time vying for one’s attention?’

‘Well, if the various routs and assemblies we have attended this past year have been anything to go by,’ the laughing Georgianne had then replied, ‘there have certainly been more than enough of them queuing up to vie for yours!’

‘Local squires’ sons and impoverished preachers!’ Stephanie had sniffed disparagingly. ‘Just think how many earls and viscounts I might have added to the list had not Grandmama been so adamant in her refusal.’ Then, having extracted herself from her friend’s sudden but heartfelt hug of sympathy, she had added, somewhat despondently, ‘By the time this Season is over, Georgianne, I predict that you will have netted a peer of your own and will be all set for your big society wedding, while it seems more than likely that I shall be stuck in this boring backwater for the rest of my days. Life is so unfair!’

Three years had passed since she had made that prediction, however, and, as the Gresham carriage rolled up the winding drive towards the Hall’s front door, Stephanie found herself recalling how very astonished she had been when Georgianne had, in fact, returned from her sojourn in town not only quite unattached but, as it happened, several weeks earlier than had been anticipated. Short of a rather brief and terse account of her presentation at Clarence House, and, despite Stephanie’s eager questioning, Georgianne had proved strangely unwilling to satisfy her friend’s curiosity as to the success or otherwise of her London début. In addition to which, there had been no further talk of any future Seasons for Lady Letitia’s niece.

Stephanie had been forced to deduce that some distressing event must have occurred to change the formerly positive and fully self-confident Georgianne from the girl that she had once been to the much quieter and far more reserved female that she was today. Whilst it was true that rare glimpses of her friend’s once quite infectious sense of humour might still be occasionally observed, it saddened Stephanie to think that the girl whom she had always regarded as her soulmate no longer chose to confide in her.

Later that same evening, as she sat on Georgianne’s bed, watching her friend brushing back her soft brown waves into the rather severe chignon that she favoured nowadays, a small frown marred Stephanie’s smooth brow, as she pondered over the fact that Georgianne had surely had more than enough time to get over the unexplained mystery surrounding her London début.

‘How is it that you never let your maid see to your hair, Georgianne?’ she asked, fingering her own bright locks. ‘Emily always thinks up such clever arrangements.’

‘Too true,’ nodded Georgianne, as she jabbed another hairpin into place. ‘The trouble is that she chooses to ignore my specific requests and will insist upon arguing for “just the odd little tendril here” or for “softening the line just there”—to use her expressions—while I myself prefer this much less troublesome and, to my mind, far neater style.’

‘I recall a time when your ringlets were even longer than my own,’ Stephanie reminded her. ‘We used to measure each other’s every month, to see whose had grown the most, do you remember?’

‘Yours always seemed to grow far more quickly during the summer months, as I recall,’ said Georgianne, a little smile playing about her lips. ‘My own hair, for some obscure reason, appears to favour the springtime.’

‘Am I right in thinking that it was after you came back from London that you decided upon this particular style?’ asked Stephanie, adopting a deliberately casual tone whilst, at the same time, appearing to give her full attention to a minor adjustment to the low-cut bodice of her dinner gown.

A slight frown flitted across Georgianne’s brow and a wary expression crept into her eyes. ‘You probably are,’ she murmured, as she reached for her gloves and rose from her seat. ‘I really cannot recall the exact occasion.’

‘Well, I can, Georgianne!’ retorted Stephanie crossly, as she leapt to her feet and planted herself squarely in front of her friend. ‘It’s been over three years now—surely we have been friends long enough for you to trust me with whatever happened then to change you so!’

Georgianne let out a deep sigh. ‘Honestly, Steffi,’ she protested, ‘I swear you are like a dog with a bone over this matter. No sooner do I think that I have cast it all out of my mind than you insist upon bringing up the whole beastly affair once again.’ Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she gave a resigned shrug, lowered herself down on to her bed and motioned to her friend to join her. ‘What happened was really nothing so very dreadful,’ she began tentatively. ‘I fancied myself in love and so was over the moon when he—the gentleman concerned—petitioned my uncle for my hand in marriage. But then, on the very day that our engagement was due to be announced in the Post, my suitor begged to be excused!’

‘Oh, how truly ghastly for you!’ cried Stephanie, instantly reaching out to clasp her friend’s hand in sympathy. ‘But, did the dastardly creature give you no reason for his craven withdrawal?’

‘He wasn’t such a dastardly creature really,’ said Georgianne, with a wan smile. ‘In fact, I would have been prepared to swear that his intentions were totally sincere. Sadly, however, it transpired that my—er, lineage—was not up to the standard that the gentleman required in a wife and he therefore felt himself obliged to withdraw his suit.’

‘But, that is ridiculous!’ exclaimed her friend, her eyebrows raised in astonishment. ‘Your lineage, as you call it, must be second to none! The Venables family history goes back hundreds of years—even the royals themselves could not claim a more distinguished pedigree!’ She paused, frowning in contemplation, then, drawing in a deep breath, she asked excitedly, ‘Was that it, Georgianne? Was your reluctant suitor a member of the royal family?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Georgianne hastened to assure her. Then, rising to her feet once more, she added, ‘It really would be better if you forgot everything that I have told you this evening, Steffi. Since the gentleman in question swore never to disparage my name, I feel that he too is entitled to assume that his identity will remain my secret.’

‘Hardly a gentleman, in my opinion!’ sniffed Stephanie. ‘Especially since you seem to have been carrying a torch for him all this time—’

‘Oh, no, Steffi!’ Georgianne interrupted hurriedly. ‘You may relieve yourself upon that score, at least! I ceased to think of his—him—in that particular way some time ago. Further to which, I understand that the gentleman has since found himself a wife who would appear to have all the necessary qualifications.’

But then, as she fixed a stern eye upon her friend, she added quietly, ‘Now that I have done my best to satisfy your curiosity, you must give me your promise that you will never refer the matter again.’

‘But, of course you have my promise,’ returned Stephanie, somewhat affronted that her friend should even consider otherwise. ‘Although, I must confess that I still find it hard to understand why the matter should have wrought such a change in you.’

‘I am bound to admit that the whole unfortunate business did have rather a sobering effect on me,’ returned Georgianne, with a shrug, as the two friends made their way down the magnificent oak staircase to join the rest of the countess’s guests. ‘Which was due, most probably, to my self-esteem having suffered rather a setback!’ At the foot of the staircase, she paused momentarily then, with a slightly rueful smile, added, ‘It certainly taught me that it does not do to take anything for granted.’

Just as I had always done until that time, she recollected, with an inward shudder, as they walked across the marble-tiled floor towards the drawing-room.

Whilst it was true that Lord Tatler’s retraction of his offer of marriage had affected her greatly, her initial distress had been as nothing compared to the painful humiliation that she had felt on being made aware of the real reason that lay behind her suitor’s reluctant withdrawal. Her uncle’s somewhat embarrassed explanation that she had, in fact, been born before her parents had exchanged any marriage vows had delivered a devastating blow to her self-confidence, and was certainly not something that she would ever be prepared to share with Stephanie, no matter how much her friend might tease and cajole her!

As a result of her uncle’s disclosures and despite her aunt’s protests to the contrary, Georgianne had, forthwith, resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood. Having already known the pain of rejection, she had done her best to protect her heart from any further such damage. While she had always been perfectly charming and agreeably polite to every one of the several prospective suitors who had attempted to win her hand during the past three years, she had been equally dogged in her determination that the unfortunate facts of her birth should not become common currency and had, thus far, refused to allow her heart to be swayed by any of those young men’s eager blandishments.

Nevertheless, as she found herself wistfully recalling, for perhaps the third or fourth time that evening, the rapt look that had appeared on Will Maitland’s countenance, as he had sat drinking in Stephanie’s loveliness, it was with considerable difficulty that she managed to control the sudden longing that welled up inside her, its very presence threatening to destroy her hard-won equanimity.

Chapter Four

Leaping from his mount, Maitland passed the reins to a waiting ostler and was just about to make his way into the Dun Cow when he heard a voice from the far side of the stableyard calling out his name. Turning swiftly, he beheld a very familiar face from his not-so-distant past.

‘Sergeant Andrews!’ he grinned, reaching forwards to grasp the other man’s outstretched hand. ‘What in the name of fortune are you doing here? I was under the impression that you hailed from Essex!’

Pete Andrews, an ex-sergeant from Maitland’s own Light Cavalry regiment, was a tall, lanky individual whose once-handsome features had been severely marred by the vicious sabre slash that he had received while on the field at Waterloo.

‘Didn’t fancy goin’ back home with this ’ere, guv,’ he grunted, ruefully fingering the puckered scar that ran diagonally across his face. ‘Frighten my poor Rosie to death, so it would!’

‘You would rather that your wife believed you dead?’ exclaimed the astonished Maitland. ‘But what about your children—you have two young sons, I believe?’

‘Aye, that I have.’ Andrews nodded, his bright blue eyes clouding over. ‘Tommy and Billy—ain’t set eyes on the pair of ’em for nigh on four years now—but I do my best to send ’em all bits of cash whenever I gets the chance, guv!’

‘Very commendable, Andrews,’ returned his former major, raising an eyebrow. ‘However, I would be prepared to gamble that your good lady would as lief have your presence, rather than your pennies!’

‘Not possible at the moment, guv,’ shrugged Andrews. ‘Us old soldiers ’ave got to go where we can find the work—two of my old muckers are up ’ere, too, as it ’appens. I dare say you’ll, no doubt, recall Privates Skinner and Todd?’

‘Only too well, Andrews!’ replied Maitland, with a reminiscent grin, as he brought to mind the pair of rather shady individuals to whom his ex-sergeant had referred. Although they had always been up to some devilry or other, their ingenuity at ferreting out provisions for the communal pot had been second to none. Had it not been for the pair’s amazing scavenging abilities, there had been more than a few occasions when he and his men might well have been forced to face the enemy with empty stomachs.

‘So, what brought you to this part of the country?’ he enquired.

‘Matty Skinner used to work ’ere when ’e were a lad,’ explained Andrews. ‘Put in a word for us, so ’e did—seems coachin’ inns can always find work for them as knows their way round ’orses.’

‘Well, your employers will surely not be able to fault you on that score, Sergeant,’ nodded Maitland, as he turned to go. ‘I just wish you would give some more thought to returning to your family.’ Then, after a thoughtful pause, he added, ‘I dare say I could find you a place in my own stables—probably run to a cottage, too, if needed. What do you say?’

At first, the man’s eyes appeared to light up in eager interest but then, after a brief hesitation, he gave a careless shrug, saying, ‘Thanks for the offer, Guv; I’ll certainly bear it in mind!’

Later that same evening, Maitland, comfortably ensconced in the small parlour that had been set aside for his private use, swirled the remnants of the brandy in his glass and, gazing down into the amber liquid, spent some little while ruminating over the day’s happenings. That his ex-sergeant had not immediately jumped at his offer of employment had surprised him somewhat, since it would seem that the man, if his almost skeletal frame and shabby appearance were anything to go by, could hardly be earning enough to support himself, let alone contribute to his deserted family’s welfare. Sipping thoughtfully at his drink, Maitland could only suppose that, in order to send them any meaningful amount, Andrews must be reduced to sleeping above the stables and taking what he could get, in the way of sustenance, from the inn’s kitchens. Shaking his head at the man’s baffling obstinacy, Maitland then turned his mind to the far more pleasurable subject of the deliciously lovely Miss Highsmith and wondered whether the following afternoon would be considered too early to pay the promised visit to Gresham Hall.

As luck would have it, however, shortly before noon on the following day, the Honourable Jeremy, complete with valet, arrived, along with one very large trunk and several bulging valises strapped to the rear of his smart chaise. This quickly put an end to Maitland’s plans to ride over to Gresham Hall and so, leaving Pringle to organise his master’s belongings, Maitland invited his cousin to accompany him down to the parlour, called for two bumpers of ale and proceeded to share with him the meagre bits of information that he had already manage to obtain from his previous day’s enquiries.

‘Sounds as if this Barkworth fellow could be worth a visit.’ mused Fenton, as soon as Maitland had concluded his short report. ‘Sure to be able to tell us where we might find nuns, at any rate.’ And, tossing back the remains of his drink, he got to his feet, saying, ‘Let’s get on with it, then—nothing like striking while the iron’s hot, as the saying goes!’

Accordingly, the cousins presented themselves at Reginald Barkworth’s little cottage, which was situated close to the parish church at which he had once been incumbent, and were ushered into the cramped and dusty room that the elderly cleric had designated as his office. Hurriedly removing the untidy piles of papers and books from the decidedly rickety-looking chairs upon which they had been perched, he invited the two men to make themselves comfortable.

‘Sit down, sit down, please, gentlemen,’ he exhorted them, taking his own seat behind a desk that was covered in such an assortment of miscellaneous clutter that Maitland, who was a great believer in orderly arrangement, began to doubt whether this shaggy-haired venerable could possibly have anything to impart to them that might help them in their quest.

* * *

Half an hour later, however, he realised that his doubts were unfounded for Barkworth proved to be, as Catford had informed him, an inexhaustible fount of local history and folklore. However, since the elderly curate was only too eager to impart to his listeners far more on the subject than they might have wished to learn and was, clearly, not to be hurried, Maitland resigned himself to listening patiently to his host’s apparently inexhaustible supply of local anecdotes.

The Honourable Jeremy, however, was in no mood to prolong what seemed to him to be an extremely dull and tedious waste of time. ‘Yes, yes, most interesting,’ he muttered, fastidiously brushing away the particles of dust that settled upon his new yellow pantaloons every time Barkworth moved a book or lifted a map to point out yet another fascinating detail in relation to one of his stories. ‘But it’s churchyards we came to see you about—gravestones and suchlike—it’s nuns we’re looking for, ain’t it, Maitland?’

As Maitland shot his cousin a disapproving glance, the old curate pursed his lips and regarded Fenton with a frown.

‘If it’s nuns you’re after, my boy,’ he said scathingly, ‘I doubt that you’ll find any hereabouts. All the local priories and convents were disbanded a good many years ago, even though several of the villages, such as Priors Kirkby and Monkswell, still carry their original names. Even the old Mercy Houses, which the Poor Clares ran, gradually fell out of use well before the turn of this century.’

‘Poor Clares?’ Maitland asked with interest, while Fenton heaved another sigh and gazed dispiritedly out of the begrimed window beside which he was seated.

The cleric nodded and a wide smile lit up his cragged face.

‘Aye, that’s what they called them,’ he said reminiscently. ‘The Ladies of St Clare, to give them their proper title—part of what was left of the Franciscan order, I understand. Lived in small groups, helping the needy and tending the sick—usual kind of thing, but they wouldn’t accept payment, hence the name.’