A Penniless Prospect

Just as Jamie made to rise, her stepmother’s abigail appeared in the hall and went into the crimson saloon. No doubt she must be delivering some message from Lady Calderwood. But as the minutes passed and Smithers did not reappear, Jamie began to wonder what on earth the visitor and a mere servant could be talking about for so long. It was very strange. Jamie resolved to stay where she was.

The sound of Lady Calderwood’s door opening made Jamie shrink down behind the polished balusters. But her precautions were unnecessary. Her ladyship strode downstairs without a sideways glance, reaching the hall just as her abigail came out of the saloon.

From her vantage point above, Jamie could hear every venomous word. ‘And just what, pray, have you been discussing with his lordship all this time?’

The abigail blushed. ‘Why, nothing, my lady. His lordship was merely asking how I did and…and telling me about the Countess.’

Lady Calderwood’s eyebrows rose. ‘Was he, indeed? How very…how very kind of him, to be sure.’ She turned away and put her hand on the doorknob. ‘Wait for me in my dressing-room.’

Jamie recognised that voice. Lady Calderwood always used it when she planned to inflict some kind of punishment on her underlings. And, judging by the way the abigail hurried off, she knew it too. Poor woman.

Barely five minutes later, her stepmother reemerged and marched up the stairs towards her dressing-room. She looked even angrier than before. And the deep frown and tight lips suggested that she might have been bested in her discussion with her visitor. Heaven help them all if that were so.

Jamie was freezing now—and so stiff that she could hardly move. She needed to return to her room before someone noticed her. But in spite of the risk, she found she could not resist waiting for one last look at what might have been—even if only in her imaginings. It would give her something to dream about, something to cling on to, when she was faced with the reality of the man her parents had chosen.

The butler had returned as soon as Lady Calderwood was out of sight, but it was nearly fifteen minutes before the visitor was back in the hall, preparing to don his travelling coat. His lordship stood frowning into the middle distance, apparently oblivious of the service being rendered by the butler. But then he turned to smile his thanks, and Jamie saw that his face was transformed. The butler was flattered by the attention. Jamie was thunderstruck.

Then the door closed on the visitor with an ominous thud, bringing Jamie back to earth and to the reality of her situation. The dream was over. Her true betrothed might arrive at any moment. Faced with the prospect of her parents’ choice, she now found she wanted to postpone any sight of him for as long as possible. She rose, shivering, to return to her room.

‘Why, Miss Jessamyne, you have dirt on the hem of your gown.’

‘What? Oh, Smithers, I did not see you. What did you…? Oh, dear. Mama will be furious.’ Although such fury would be nothing new, Jamie felt a moment of hopelessness. Who would help her now?

‘Let me help you, miss,’ said Smithers briskly, taking Jamie’s arm and guiding her up the stairs and into her room. Smithers surveyed the extent of the damage, then whisked the dress over Jamie’s head. ‘You had best put something round you, miss, while I sponge this, or you’ll be half-frozen before I’ve done.’

Huddled in her shawl, Jamie sat silently on the edge of her bed, watching Smithers’ expert hands at work on the soiled dress. In next to no time, the marks had disappeared.

As she helped Jamie into the gown once more, Smithers commented, ‘Have you a coloured sash, or shawl, or perhaps some flowers to wear with this, miss? Unrelieved white is very difficult to bring off, especially for someone so fair-skinned.’

Jamie grimaced. ‘I have nothing of that kind, I’m afraid. Mama might be able to lend me something, since she has so many. But I don’t think she would be likely to agree if I were to ask her myself. I don’t suppose… Could you perhaps ask her?’

Smithers’ face became suddenly hard, her expression set. ‘I am sorry, I am unable to help you there, miss,’ she began tightly. ‘Lady Calderwood has turned me off.’ Jamie gasped. ‘I leave in the morning.’

‘Oh, Smithers, how dreadful for you. Why has she done it? Will she give you a character?’ Jamie’s concern was real. She knew her own position was desperate, but, whatever happened, she would not starve. A lady’s maid dismissed without a reference might never find employment again.

Smiling weakly, Smithers explained that the situation, though difficult, was not quite as catastrophic as that. Lady Calderwood would give her a character, of sorts, since she had no direct evidence of wrong-doing. Her ladyship had, however, made it clear that, should any potential employer apply to her for additional information, she would feel obliged to hint at something unsavoury in the abigail’s past.

‘And is there?’ burst out Jamie, without stopping to think.

Smithers looked at her severely, and Jamie could feel the beginnings of a flush of embarrassment. Why could she never think before she spoke?

Smithers forestalled Jamie’s apology by saying, ‘You know you should not have asked such a thing, miss. But it’s understandable, perhaps, with her ladyship’s fine manners as an example to follow.’ By now, Jamie was almost scarlet. ‘Don’t worry, I haven’t taken offence. And, no, there is no murky past. Nor have I betrayed the confidences of this house to my previous employer. Her ladyship has been misinformed.’

‘By that gentleman who just left?’

‘Possibly.’

‘How wicked of him! Why should he do such a thing? It is monstrous!’ Jamie was quite ready to do battle on the abigail’s behalf. For the moment, her own troubles were forgotten in her concern to right this manifest injustice.

Smithers shrugged. ‘It is water under the bridge now, miss. You must get ready to meet your betrothed. And I must go and pack my things. Her ladyship has ordered the gig at first light to take me to the inn for the stage to Bath.’ If she felt bitter, she was managing to conceal it well.

‘What will you do there?’

‘Bath has a number of reputable agencies for the placing of domestic servants, like abigails and governesses. If I am not successful there, I shall try again in London. Now, if you will excuse me, miss, I’ll say goodbye. And good luck.’

Jamie did not hear those final generous words. She was too much struck by what had just been said about agencies for governesses and the possible escape route which they might provide. No such post, she firmly believed, could be worse than her present situation with Lady Calderwood and the prospect of a forced marriage. If she could become a governess, or a companion (under an assumed name, naturally) she could at least choose her own tormentors. But first she would have to get away from Calderwood Hall.

Jamie sat down on the bed, gazing abstractedly into the middle distance. The shawl fell unnoticed from her shoulders. She was no longer conscious of the cold as she concentrated on planning her escape, exploring and then dismissing various options—the prospect of freedom had given her back all her normal courage and resolve.

Then she was summoned to her father’s study.

‘Ah, come in, child, come in.’ His voice was tired, prematurely aged like the rest of him. Though he was not beyond middle age, his hair was thin and white, and his hands shook slightly. In spite of his neglect of her, Jamie found she pitied him, even though she had long ago lost all trace of love for him. He was just a poor old man, broken by a strong-willed second wife and by his own addiction to the gaming tables.

‘Mama has told you about the marriage which has been arranged for you, I understand? Good, good,’ he finished, without giving Jamie time to reply. ‘I hope you realise how lucky you are, my child. It is not every man who would take you, you know, but luckily, Cousin Ralph is rich enough not to object to your lack of dowry.’

Jamie’s blood seemed to stop in her veins. Ralph Graves—a distant relation of Lady Calderwood—was old enough to be her grandfather. She went cold all over at the very thought of him, with his twisted and wizened body, and his tiny black eyes. She remembered how those leering eyes had followed her round the room, how he had sought every opportunity to touch her, how clammy was the feel of his hand. Everything about him had made her flesh crawl.

‘No!’ Her protest burst out before she could think what she was saying.

Her father slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. Under his increasingly stern gaze, she flushed but held her ground. ‘What did you say?’ he asked ominously.

Jamie took a deep breath. ‘I said I will not marry Ralph Graves, Papa.’

Her father ignored her protests. She should have known he would. ‘Your betrothed is due to arrive at any moment. You will receive him graciously and accept his formal proposal when he makes it tomorrow. And then you will be wed as soon as the banns have been read.’

‘No, Papa,’ said Jamie again, in the most reasonable tones she could muster, ‘I will not marry Ralph Graves.’

He looked sharply at her then. ‘You are my daughter and you will obey me. Graves and I have settled on this arrangement, and I will not permit you to undermine my position with him. I say you will marry him.’ She could see that her obstinacy was fuelling his rising anger. His face and neck were turning an alarming shade of purple. ‘No other man would take you, plain and penniless as you are. Take him, or by God, I’ll disown you and cast you out!’ His hands were shaking even more now.

Play for time, said Jamie’s inner voice. Let him calm down a little or he will throw you out this very day.

Jamie forced a tiny smile. ‘Papa, please, do not be angry with me! I do not mean to vex you. I know you mean to do what is best for me and I am grateful, truly I am.’ Behind her back, she crossed her fingers. ‘But Cousin Ralph is so much older than me, besides having buried two wives already. I just…I need a little time to accustom myself to the idea of marriage to him. All I ask is a little time. Please, Papa!’

She could see not the slightest sign of softening in his face. Nothing she could say would ever sway him. He expected her to submit without a murmur—to become Ralph Graves’ property, his dumb, downtrodden chattel. She refused to contemplate being so completely in the power of such a man.

‘You have until this evening,’ her father said flatly, without looking at her. ‘Cousin Ralph is expected for dinner. And you will comport yourself as you have been taught. Or else.’

She was dismissed. There was nothing more to be said. Slowly she climbed the stairs to her freezing refuge. Inside, she leaned thankfully against the door, closing her eyes in an effort to shut out the image of Ralph Graves. It all felt like a wicked joke. Ralph Graves might be rich, but generous he most certainly was not. From what little Jamie knew of him, he was rich because he was a miser, a miser who grudged every penny he spent. If she married him, Jamie would be exchanging one freezing garret for another—and, in addition…

No! She had never allowed herself to dwell on her sufferings. Now was definitely not the time to start.

She found herself wondering why Graves would agree to wed her without a dowry. It hardly seemed in character for such a miserly old man. She could not understand how her father could have persuaded Graves to offer for her without some kind of financial incentive. Yet she was penniless.

Jamie shook her head impatiently. She had picked a strange moment to worry over impossible riddles. She had been prepared to escape before, when she did not know who had been chosen for her.

Now, she had far more reason to flee.

Chapter Four

When Jamie entered the drawing-room, the shrivelled figure of Ralph Graves uncoiled itself from the chair by the blazing fire and came to greet her. Taking both her icy hands in his, he leaned forward to place a kiss on her cheek. Jamie was enveloped in the musty smell of his clothes. Then, at the touch of his wet mouth on her skin, she could no longer stop the nausea from rising in her throat. She closed her eyes and willed herself to conquer it.

‘I knew you should not mind a betrothal kiss, my dear,’ he said in a rather high-pitched voice which cracked occasionally in the most disconcerting way. He turned her to face him so that he could view her properly.

He needs to examine the goods, Jamie concluded, conscious of his bright little eyes and his damp hand on hers. And he thinks he owns me already. She bore his scrutiny with dignity for a moment, then said, ‘Ah, but you are a little previous, Cousin Ralph, I believe.’ She forced herself to smile flirtatiously at him, subduing the temptation to pull her hand away and rub it clean on the muslin dress. ‘Papa told me that we should meet this evening and I might then expect your formal proposal tomorrow. Do you tell me you do not intend to make one?’ she teased, trying to hide her disgust behind a mask of archness.

It worked. Cousin Ralph laughed, an odd croaking sound. ‘By Gad, she has grown up, as you said, Sir John. I think I may yet have the best of our bargain.’ He turned back to Jamie. ‘Very well. Tomorrow it shall be.’

With as genuine a smile as she could manage, Jamie enquired about their guest’s journey. She was rewarded with a detailed recital of the horrors between Bathinghurst and Calderwood, where the roads alternated between slush and sticky mud.

Cousin Ralph had, he affirmed, put up with the cold and discomfort quite willingly. The warm welcome which awaited him at Calderwood—and here he paused to look meaningfully at Jamie and to pat her trapped hand again—was compensation for any hardships.

Jamie suddenly knew she had conquered all her fears—for she wanted to laugh. If Cousin Ralph had been plagued by cold and draughts, he ought to spend more of his hidden wealth on improving the comfort of his carriage. He probably even begrudged the cost of a hot brick for his feet! No real gentleman would travel in such a way. The gentleman who had called earlier, for example…

Jamie was nodding absently, apparently in agreement with what Graves was saying, and he beamed at her. But her thoughts were dangerously far away, with an elegant gentleman dressed in black. If only—

Jamie was saved by the announcement of dinner.

Graves naturally offered his arm to escort Lady Calderwood to the dining-room, where he took his seat in the place of honour on her immediate right. Jamie breathed a sigh of relief to find that she had been placed on her father’s right, at the opposite end of the long mahogany dining table.

The dinner which her ladyship had ordered, though not lavish by the standards of the ton, was much more extravagant than the normal fare at Calderwood Hall. As the dishes of the first course were being served, Lady Calderwood turned brightly to her guest. ‘Do have a little of this buttered crab, cousin. It is difficult to come by crab at this season, of course, but I recalled that it was a favourite with you.’

Graves helped himself liberally. There would be little or none left for the host or his daughter, but Jamie had been denied food for so long that she did not care. Indeed, if she partook of too many unaccustomed dishes, her stomach might rebel at the un-wonted richness. She must guard against that at all costs. So, she ate a little soup and some plainly cooked fish and vegetables, refusing the beef. If Cousin Ralph noted how abstemious she was, he would be congratulating himself. His wife-to-be would not cost much to feed.

During the first course, Sir John addressed barely a word to his daughter. He preferred to address himself to his wine, consuming copious amounts with every dish. The second course included several delicacies, together with a Rhenish cream, another of Cousin Ralph’s favourites. But Jamie’s eyes were fixed on a dish of gleaming oranges, piled high on a nest of green leaves. It was many years since she had been permitted to taste one, and her mouth watered at the thought of their delicious juices.

As the butler moved to offer the dish to Jamie, Lady Calderwood intervened. ‘Leave them here, if you please,’ she said sharply, adding, as the butler replaced the dish in front of her, ‘Sir John never touches oranges at dinner, cousin. He maintains that they spoil the wine.’

Graves cast a shrewd glance at his host who was now well into his third bottle. ‘There may be something in that, cousin, indeed. I do not grow oranges myself. A very ordinary fruit, in my opinion, given the shocking cost of maintaining an orangery. Do you not find it so?’

Lady Calderwood tittered. ‘Oh, these were not grown here, cousin, certainly not. The expense, as you say, is not to be thought of. No, these were procured from town for your visit. I should not have done it else, I do assure you.’

Graves smiled smugly and helped himself to the finest specimen on the plate.

The knot of tension in Jamie’s stomach grew tighter once more as she looked down the table at the odious cousins. She tried to concentrate on her apple but could not. Eyes fixed on her plate, she heard her father signal to the butler to refill his glass yet again. Sir John was, as usual, becoming very much the worse for his wine. By the time Lady Calderwood rose to signal the ladies’ departure, her husband’s occasional words had become noticeably slurred.

As soon as the gentlemen rejoined them, Lady Calderwood moved rapidly to the bell-pull by the fireplace to order the tea tray. A great wave of relief flowed over Jamie as the butler received his instructions. Not long now, surely? She bent almost eagerly to her stitchery, trying to shut out the sound of Cousin Ralph’s voice.

‘Jessamyne.’ Jamie raised her head at the sharp voice. ‘What are you about? Come and help me to serve tea to our guest.’

Jamie rose obediently from her place. She took the teacup to Graves, who was sitting in the best chair by the fire. ‘Cream and sugar, cousin?’ she asked politely, trying to avoid his sharp little eyes.

He took the cup awkwardly from her, trying to touch her fingers as he did so, but only succeeding in spilling the tea into the saucer.

Jamie’s sharp intake of breath was drowned by a gasp of outrage from her stepmother. ‘Jessamyne! How can you be so clumsy? Fetch a clean cup for Cousin Ralph. At once!’ she commanded sharply.

Holding grimly to the thought that this ordeal must soon be over, Jamie did as she was bid without uttering a single word and then retreated to her dark corner once more.

Some fifteen minutes later, Lady Calderwood rose, glancing anxiously at her husband, who seemed to be half-asleep in his chair. ‘If you will forgive us, cousin, I think we shall retire now. I am sure you agree that it is wise to keep early hours, especially in winter. The cost of candles is quite outrageous these days.’

Cousin Ralph rose to take his hostess’s hand. ‘You are only too right, dear lady. A very wise proceeding, which I also adhere to in my own establishments, particularly in the servants’ hall. They are quite profligate with candles if one does not supervise them most strictly. As I am sure you do, cousin,’ he added, relinquishing her hand and turning to Jamie.

He took Jamie’s hand in both of his, pressing it with his clammy fingers. ‘Good night, my dear Jessamyne. Sleep well. I shall see you tomorrow, as we agreed. After breakfast, do you not think?’ He raised her hand to his lips.

She managed to overcome the urge to pull away from him, but she could not suppress a shiver of loathing as his lips touched her skin once more. He looked up sharply into her face.

Jamie’s mind was racing. She must find a way of reassuring him. Oh, why did her body insist on betraying her so? She forced a rather wobbly smile. Maidenly modesty, she prayed, would be blamed for a little quiver of excitement at the thought of his proposal on the morrow.

‘Until tomorrow, then, my dear,’ he said again, letting go of her hand at last.

Jamie succeeded in waiting until she was back in her own chamber before rubbing the offended hand vigorously on the white muslin gown. She did not stop to wash. She had far more important things to do.

Jamie’s preparations were swift and methodical. First, she collected together her pitifully small store of money and a bare minimum of clothes and other necessities, which she stowed under her bed. Next, she removed the awful muslin dress and her petticoats, replacing them with her nightgown over her underthings. Finally, she lay down on her bed, extinguished her candle and drew the bedclothes up to her chin.

Then, in the darkness, she waited.

She had known that waiting would be the worst part. It seemed the threat was all around her, hovering in the gloom like an evil spirit. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus on practical, positive things. In her mind’s eye, she began to design a wondrous garden…

It seemed to take hours before the house was finally quiet. Lying on her bed, Jamie watched the moon flood the landscape with ethereal light. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks to some ancient virgin goddess for the help it would provide. Surely this was a sign that her plan would succeed?

Cautiously she slipped out of bed and across to the door. She listened carefully—there was no sound of life in the house. A quick peep into the corridor confirmed that everyone must be in bed, for no lights were to be seen.

Without lighting her candle, Jamie crept downstairs to her half-brother’s room.

Less than ten minutes later she was back with her booty, completing her preparations. The bundle was retrieved from under the bed and tied up for travelling. Her nightgown was cast aside and replaced by outdoor clothes. Wrapping Edmund’s worn cloak over the whole, she made her way down the back stairs and out, by the garden door, to the stables.

Her mare greeted her with a soft whinny and allowed herself to be led quietly out of the yard with only a rope halter.

‘Bless you, Cara,’ whispered Jamie, stroking the velvet muzzle as they reached the shadow of the outside wall. ‘I hope we can both remember the way of this. It’s been a very long time.’ Without further ado, Jamie jumped up on to a convenient outcrop and mounted, tying her bundle into the small of her back with the strings which bound it. Edmund’s old cloak covered her almost to her feet, hiding both the bundle and the fact that she rode bareback.

Holding lightly to Cara’s black mane, Jamie walked her quietly away from Calderwood Hall.

Jamie was in no hurry, since she had all the hours of night to complete less than five miles. Besides, she would not for all the world have risked her beloved old mare by travelling too fast at night.

They made good speed until they came to the edge of the wood and the end of Calderwood land. Now Jamie was grateful for the moonlight, since she had to follow less familiar paths and bridleways, some of them perilously ill-kept. ‘Only another mile down the lane, my Cara,’ she whispered. ‘Not long now.’ The mare’s ears twitched at the sound of her mistress’s voice, but she did not pause in her gentle walk.

When Jamie reached her destination, she slid down from the bay’s back and led her through the hedge and into the shelter of a belt of trees. ‘Oh, I shall miss you so much, Cara,’ she whispered, wrapping her arms round the mare’s neck. Cara whickered softly in response, nuzzling Jamie’s shoulder, then stood calmly watching her mistress as she made her final preparations.

Jamie extracted a small spade from her bundle and dug a hole under a leafless beech tree. Then she used a pair of shears to hack off much of her curly titian hair, cursing softly when she realised she had forgotten to bring anything to serve as a mirror. The hanks of hair went into the hole, followed by the shears and the spade.

As she was tying back her shoulder-length hair with a piece of black ribbon from her pack, she was surprised into a giggle by the look of interest on her mare’s face. ‘Well, Cara, what do you think of your new master?’ Cara blinked slowly. ‘Not very complimentary, are you? I admit I’ve probably made a poor fist of the haircut, but I can tidy it up later, if I can find a mirror and some scissors.’ She patted her hair self-consciously. ‘But, at least, Edmund’s clothes are a reasonable fit. Don’t you think I make a fine boy?’ She twirled. Cara edged uneasily as the cloak billowed.