The Transformation Of Miss Ashworth

‘It is true, then?’ Lady Chalford prompted, after watching closely as Beth, her expression revealing absolutely nothing at all, merely turned her head to stare intently at the logs smouldering nicely in the grate.

‘Oh, yes, it’s true, right enough,’ she admitted at length. ‘Very few people know it, however. I don’t think even Ann was ever officially informed, though she might have guessed, of course.’

Raising one hand, she waved it in a dismissive gesture. ‘Still, we digress. Getting back to dear Ann’s history—her husband was with Wellesley in India, and the, now, Duke of Wellington thought well of him. Needless to say, even though she was my paid companion, she was treated with respect by the vast majority of the more discerning officers. She most always partook of meals with Papa and myself and, in consequence, has rubbed shoulders with a great many younger sons of the aristocracy. Little wonder, then, that she isn’t in the least diffident when in polite company.’

‘Indeed, no,’ Lady Chalford agreed, frowning slightly. ‘But I still think it strange that she agreed to be your paid companion when she might have returned to her house in Hampshire, and lived a genteel existence in her late husband’s home.’

‘You say that because you don’t know Ann very well,’ Beth told her bluntly. ‘Her husband, although a serving officer, was by no means a wealthy man, and did not leave his widow so very comfortably circumstanced. Besides which, the house is leased until the end of the year, and is presently occupied by a practitioner and his family. We’ve never discussed it, but I doubt very much whether Ann would wish to return there. Engaging in some genteel occupation for a few hours each week in order to enjoy a luxury or two wouldn’t suit her at all. She is both energetic and resourceful.’

Raising her head, Beth stared at the wall behind her visitor’s head, her mind’s eye easily conjuring up images from the past, the vast majority of which were not so very pleasant.

‘Having no desire to offend your sensibilities, ma’am, I shall say only this—my friend and I suffered hardship out there in the Peninsula. We witnessed many happenings to which any gently bred female would not normally be subjected. That said, I believe my years with the army were the making of me. Had I remained here in England, I would undoubtedly have eventually been coerced into marriage, more than likely a loveless union, and would by now be heartily bored with my lot.’

Lady Chalford’s expression was all at once one of both shock and disapproval. ‘But, my dear! It’s every young woman’s ambition, surely, to achieve a suitable match, and become a wife and mother?’

‘Not mine, it isn’t!’ Beth returned bluntly. ‘I might have thought differently at one time. Thank the Lord I’ve more sense now!’

Easily recognising the signs of mortification her plain speaking had aroused, Beth changed the subject entirely by asking her visitor if her call was merely social or whether there was a specific reason for the visit.

‘As a matter of fact, I did wish to consult with you on a particular matter,’ Lady Chalford admitted, after once again appearing slightly taken aback by the younger woman’s blunt way of expressing herself. ‘And so pleased to have this opportunity to speak with you in private.’ She shot a quick glance across at the door. ‘Are we likely to be disturbed, do you suppose?’

‘Only by Rudge, if he takes it into his head to bring in more logs. But don’t be alarmed. Despite his blunt manner, he’s remarkably discreet,’ Beth assured her. ‘And Ann isn’t likely to return much before luncheon. It just so happens the vicar’s wife, having somehow discovered Ann was the daughter of a clergyman, approached her on the evening of your dinner party, and asked if she would kindly assist in helping to distribute clothes to the needy in the parish.’ Beth cast a brief look at the plasterwork ceiling above her head. ‘And she agreed, more fool her!’

‘Well, it just so happens that that is what I wish to consult with you about.’

It was Beth’s turn to be slightly startled, and she stared at her visitor in no little amazement over the rim of her glass for a second or two before fortifying herself from its contents. ‘You wish to discuss the vicar’s wife importuning Ann?’

‘Oh, no, no! You misunderstand me, my dear. It was mention of the dinner party that jogged my memory. You see, I wanted to ask you about Philip. I couldn’t help but notice you and he spent some little time together quite privately in the garden during the evening.’

Once again Beth was at a loss to understand what her visitor was attempting to convey. Disapproval, perhaps? ‘What of it?’

‘Well, I was wondering, you see, what you thought of him—his manner towards you, I mean?’

Just a ray of enlightenment at last began to dawn. ‘Damnably insulting, if you must know!’ Beth returned, at her most plainspoken. ‘Had the crass impudence to accuse me of once having behaved like a simpering idiot, would you believe!’ A vindictive glimmer all at once added an extra brilliance to her striking eyes. ‘And I shan’t forget it in a hurry, either, I can tell you!’

Lady Chalford gurgled with mirth. ‘You jest, wicked girl! Philip is ever the gentleman in mixed company.’

‘Ha! Much you know!’ Beth scoffed, but then relented when her visitor appeared slightly put out by the slur on the Baronet’s character. ‘Well, I suppose he’s your brother, so you’re bound to think the best of him.’

‘Oh, I do. I do,’ she was speedily assured. ‘And I’m so very concerned about him too.’ A moment’s pause, then, ‘Do you find him much altered?’

‘Well, naturally I do!’ Beth returned in a trice, thinking the question faintly absurd. ‘We’ve all changed in more than half a decade. The passage of time is kind to so very few.’

‘Quite!’ Lady Chalford acknowledged, frowning. ‘But I was thinking not so much of physical differences as changes in his character, his manner. He has become so withdrawn, so insular since…since poor Eugenie’s demise. Oh, I know he puts a brave face on it when in public, poor boy. But I have seen him, Bethany…have come upon him on several occasions since my arrival at the Court, just sitting there, studying the miniature of his late fiancée, which he keeps in the desk in his library. He always looks so forlorn, so lost, just staring down at the only remembrance he has of that lovely, lovely girl. But whenever I’ve attempted to console him, he sets me at a distance, and is distinctly aloof. I hardly dare mention Eugenie’s name for fear of upsetting him, and on the rare occasion I do he invariably changes the subject.’

‘How odd!’ Beth was genuinely perplexed as she recalled Philip discussing Eugenie quite openly with her on the evening of the dinner party, and surprisingly betraying little emotion whatsoever. Perhaps, though, it wasn’t sympathy he sought. Furthermore, he had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, she reminded herself.

‘Your brother was ever the private man, preferring to keep his own counsel for the most part, at least in his private concerns. He wouldn’t willingly betray his emotions in public, even in front of you, Constance. I do not doubt, though, he has suffered much over the loss of Eugenie.’

‘Oh, he has!’ Lady Chalford wholeheartedly agreed, taking a moment to dab at her eyes with the wisp of fine lawn swiftly extracted from her reticule. ‘He has never so much as looked at another female since the tragedy occurred.’ She coloured slightly. ‘At least, he has taken little notice of any female who would make him a suitable wife…not until, that is, this past Season.’

All at once Lady Chalford brightened, betraying more liveliness of spirit than Beth had ever witnessed in her before. ‘I do not know if you are aware of it, but your cousin Phoebe was brought out in the spring. And although, perhaps, not the instant success her eldest sister once was, she wasn’t without certain admirers. Even Philip paid her no little attention. Hardly surprising, though, really. She bears a striking resemblance to Eugenie.’

‘Really?’ Beth said, mildly interested. ‘The last time I saw Phoebe she didn’t resemble her eldest sister very much at all. Quite the little brown mouse, in fact! But that was some years ago, now I come to think about it.’

‘Then you are in for a surprise, my dear, for she does so now, as you’ll discover for yourself next month. Your aunt and cousin are to attend Philip’s birthday celebration, and are to put up at the Court for a few days. And that is where I am hoping I might count on your support.’

All at once alarm bells began to sound in Beth’s head. ‘How do you mean—count on my support? For what, precisely, may I ask?’

‘In helping Philip see a little more of Phoebe by, perhaps, generously inviting your cousin and aunt to stay here, enabling them to extend their sojourn in the county.’

‘Absolutely not! I shall not be made a convenience of a second time!’ Beth could see at a glance that she had shocked her visitor by the vehemence of her refusal. Nevertheless, she had no intention of changing her mind.

‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s simply out of the question. And you’ll forgive my saying so, but I don’t suppose for a moment Philip would thank you for interfering in his personal concerns. He certainly wouldn’t appreciate me doing so, especially as we no longer share that close bond of friendship we once enjoyed. Furthermore, since I chose the Peninsula in preference to staying with her, the affection in which my aunt once held me has lessened considerably, if the letters I’ve received in recent years are anything to go by. If, however, she is now prepared to let bygones be bygones, and voices a desire to stay with me here at the Grange, then I shall be only too happy to invite her…next year, when I hope to have the entire house in good order.’

And with that Lady Chalford was forced to be satisfied.

Ann, returning in good time for luncheon, discovered her young mistress seated at the escritoire in the parlour precisely where she had left her some two hours earlier. The accounts book was opened at the exact same page, with few entries having been set down. The neatly stacked pile of bills by the slender right hand, did not appear to have decreased by very much, and there was clear evidence of a troubled frown lurking between the striking azure eyes.

‘What is it, Beth dear? Are you feeling slightly put out not having accomplished your accounts this morning? Would you like me to leave you in peace to finish the task?’

So deep in thought had she been that Beth had hardly been aware of the fact that someone had entered the room. As always, though, the soft, understanding tones, successfully breaking through her reverie, had had an immediate calming effect upon her troubled spirits, at least up to a point.

‘It’s true I haven’t done as much as I might have wished, but that’s the fault of my unexpected visitor, Ann,’ she informed her. ‘All the same, I don’t wish to be left alone. Come, let’s sit by the fire for a spell, and you can tell me all about your morning and the interesting snippets you’ve managed to pick up at the vicarage.’

Ann frankly laughed, because she knew well enough that Bethany, being somewhat unorthodox in behaviour, neither indulged in gossip nor paid much heed to it. Notwithstanding, there had been one or two curious pieces of information discovered that morning that Ann thought might be of interest to her unconventional employer. Consequently she had no reluctance in revealing the disturbing fact that instances of robbery in the area had increased dramatically in recent months.

‘Mrs Chadwick also said that even two or three of the larger houses in the village had been broken into in recent weeks. And, by all accounts, it’s much worse in the local town, where men hang about on street corners, behaving in a distinctly offensive manner to those more happily circumstanced.’

Beth wasn’t unduly surprised to learn this. ‘It’s only to be expected. Now the war with France is blessedly over, there are too many looking for too few jobs. The unrest will continue, and get very much worse while men are unable to support themselves, let alone feed their families.’

Ann nodded in agreement before she bethought herself of something else she had discovered that day. ‘Are you by any chance acquainted with someone by the name of Napier? Mrs Chadwick seemed to suppose you were. Seemingly he’s a close friend of their son, and has been a frequent visitor at the vicarage in recent years. Said something about him heralding from Surrey, and living quite close to Lord and Lady Barfield,’ she continued, when Beth had merely frowned.

‘Oh, you must be referring to young Crispin Napier,’ she responded, after giving the matter more thought, and then shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen him since he was a boy. He must be in his early twenties by now.’

‘That’s right,’ Ann readily confirmed. ‘I’ve discovered he and the vicar’s only son were at some school together, and have remained friends ever since. Apparently, Mr Napier is returning here next month for Sir Philip’s birthday celebration. Which I find most strange in the circumstances.’ She shook her head, clearly perplexed. ‘Mrs Chadwick divulged something that gave me every reason to suppose that young Mr Napier, for some reason, isn’t too fond of the Baronet. Apparently Sir Philip organised a shooting party soon after his return from London earlier in the summer, and invited a great many of his neighbours, including the Reverend and Mrs Chadwick’s son and Mr Napier, who happened to be staying at the vicarage at the time. Seemingly Mr Napier wasn’t too eager to join the party, and only did so to bear his friend company. So why do you suppose he was so keen to accept the invitation to attend the birthday celebration if he truly isn’t so very fond of Sir Philip?’

‘Seems odd, certainly, but I suppose young Crispin has his reasons. Furthermore, I expect Lady Chalford was responsible for issuing the invitation, and I cannot imagine he holds a grudge against her,’ Beth responded, before she bethought herself of something else. ‘And talking of Lady Chalford… It was she who paid me a visit this morning, and whilst here gave me every reason to suppose that her brother knew, or at least strongly suspected, that it was indeed my decision to join Papa in the Peninsula, and not he who sent for me.’ Beth paused for a moment to search her friend’s face. ‘It must surely have been you who told him.’

If Ann was startled by the blunt accusation, she betrayed no sign of it. If anything, she appeared slightly bewildered. ‘I might have done so,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I honestly cannot recall.’ All at once her expression betrayed slight concern. ‘Does it matter? Would you have preferred him not to have known?’

‘To be perfectly frank…yes,’ Beth admitted, having quickly decided it would serve no purpose to lie. ‘It doesn’t redound to my credit, you see, the way I behaved back then…the bitter resentment I felt towards him and Eugenie. Naturally, I should prefer that he never discovers anything about my feelings at that time. It’s all water under the bridge now, after all.’

She looked up to discover herself being regarded intently, and felt obliged to force a smile, feigning unconcern. ‘Not that I need trouble myself unduly about it. Philip might be as sharp as a tack, but it’s unlikely I shall find myself in his company so frequently that I might inadvertently relax my guard and reveal my—er—once, less than charitable feelings towards him.’

Two days later, whilst visiting the local market town, Beth was obliged silently to own that she might have been a trifle optimistic in her predictions, when she espied none other than her most influential neighbour sauntering along the main street towards her. In an instant she accepted that it was too late to avoid the chance encounter. Furthermore, she wasn’t so very sure she even wished to try, as he was accompanied by none other than Mr Charles Bathurst, a gentleman who had left a very favourable impression upon a certain discerning female, judging by the number of times his name had been raised in conversation since the evening of the dinner party at Staveley Court.

Beth chanced to glance sideways in time to catch a becoming hue rise in her companion’s cheeks the instance Ann observed precisely who it was approaching.

‘Here to replenish stocks?’ Beth asked, instantly drawing both gentlemen’s attention, thereby allowing her surprisingly flustered companion a little time in which to regain her poise. ‘Or merely enjoying the bustle and atmosphere of a Markham market day?’

‘Both,’ Sir Philip revealed, his gaze fixed on the young lady whom he considered appeared particularly becoming that fine morning in a dashing bonnet trimmed with blue ribbon. ‘Bathurst is here to cast an eye over a few beasts. I’m here, as you so rightly surmised, merely to soak up the atmosphere. I love market days…always have.’

Beth’s smile faded very slightly. ‘Yes, I remember. I frequently accompanied you here.’

It would have been at this juncture that she would have made some excuse to part company with the gentleman, had it not been for the fact that she was certain her dear companion felt no similar desire to go their separate ways. Consequently, Beth disregarded her own feelings, and asked the gentlemen if they would be so obliging as to escort them back to where their carriage awaited them at the town’s most popular inn.

Although she might have preferred it to be quite otherwise, Beth wasn’t unduly surprised to find herself squired by Sir Philip, leaving Mr Bathurst to engage, if her expression was any indication, a highly contented widow in conversation a few feet behind.

‘Without wishing to appear vulgarly curious,’ Philip began, determined, himself, not to walk along in stony silence, ‘might I be permitted to know what has brought you to town today?’

‘A surfeit of nerves, I’m ashamed to say.’

‘Now, that I simply cannot believe!’ he countered, totally unconvinced.

‘Well, let us say a desire to take some necessary precautions prompted the visit,’ Beth confessed. ‘I wanted half a dozen hens. So I thought to get a couple of geese at the same time. I’ve been reliably informed, you see, that there have been one or two burglaries taking place in the village in recent weeks,’ she added, staring across the street at where a small group of men just happened to be loitering by a low wall.

‘Very wise,’ he said, following the direction of her gaze, and frowning slightly as he focused his attention on one lean, unkempt man in particular. ‘But wouldn’t a dog serve the purpose better? You could keep it close by, in the house, if you chose.’

‘True. But I haven’t heard of any new litters being born in the neighbourhood. And I should want a pup,’ Beth answered, glancing up at him and catching his frowning scrutiny. ‘What is it, Philip? Do you recognise one of them?’

‘I’m not sure. But one does seem vaguely familiar, though I cannot for the life of me imagine why he should be. He certainly doesn’t work for me.’

‘Funny you should say that, because I thought I’d seen the short one, with the limp and mousy-coloured hair, somewhere before.’ Frowning, Beth shook her head. ‘If he’s a native of these parts I cannot imagine where I might have come across him. More than likely, though, he’s a survivor of the Peninsular Campaign. Trouble is, I nursed so many out there I have difficulty remembering each individual.’

‘You nursed the wounded? Good gad!’

Philip had been unable to keep both surprise and disapproval from creeping in to his voice, which instantly earned him a flashing look of mingled reproach and anger.

‘What did you suppose I did out there, Philip?’ she demanded to know, the perfect shape of her mouth marred by a contemptuous curl of the upper lip. ‘Did you imagine me just sitting there beneath the shading branches of some exotic tree, fanning myself like a simpering idiot, while ignoring the blood bath that was each and every battle? Do you suppose I remained oblivious to all those whom the surgeons considered too badly injured to warrant attention? Do you suppose I gave a damn about my reputation when a life might be saved…? How little you know me!’

He felt hurt, and not just a little annoyed as well, by the derision so clearly discernible in her voice. Yet before he could formulate a response, Beth’s attention had already been captured by another man, hailing her from the forecourt of the While Hart Inn. He then found himself on the receiving end of a prolonged stare that was no less insultingly assessing, though a deal less sinisterly threatening, than the one he’d received a few minutes earlier from the tallest of the loiterers in the street.

‘Ah, Rudge! Were you successful in your endeavours? Please tell me you were.’

‘Aye, Miss Beth,’ he answered, his expression softening noticeably. ‘Half-a-dozen prime layers, if I’m any judge. The farmer’s going to drop ’em off on ’is way ’ome from market later today, with a couple o’ geese. Not that I don’t think you’d be better off with a cur.’

Blue eyes began to twinkle with an impish gleam of bygone years. ‘It might surprise you to know, Rudge, that you and Sir Philip, here, are as one in that belief.’

‘Well, I never! Who’d ’ave thought I’d ever ’ave something in common with a nob,’ Rudge responded, appearing anything but gratified.

Neither, it had to be said, was Sir Philip, who considered the servant insolent in the extreme, and in urgent need of being reminded of his place. All the same, he was in no danger of losing his temper, and when in the next moment Charles Bathurst captured his attention by inviting him and the ladies to dine at his home the following week, his annoyance was quickly forgotten.

That evening, however, while mulling over what had turned out to be on the whole a most unsatisfactory day, Philip could only wonder at himself for becoming so irritated over such a trivial matter as a servant’s lack of deference. Finally, after quietly considering the matter, he was obliged to acknowledge what had truly annoyed him. It hadn’t been Rudge’s lack of respect so much as his mistress’s behaviour a matter of moments before that had really stirred his ire.

He sought solace in the contents of the glass by his elbow, finishing half of it before forcing himself to acknowledge, too, that Beth’s attitude towards him since her return was increasingly beginning to both hurt and annoy him in equal measures.

Yet how on earth did he expect her to behave? She was no longer the adoring little companion, willing to cling to his every word in the staunch belief that he could say and do no wrong. She was a young woman with a mind of her own. Moreover, unless he was much mistaken, she was a young woman who had witnessed, first hand, the very worst traits of mankind. Little wonder, then, that her time out in the Peninsula had changed her, made her perhaps a deal more cynical in her outlook, he reasoned.

But that still didn’t account for her attitude towards him now. He had already gained the distinct impression that she was determined to keep him at a distance whenever possible. What was worse, he could almost feel a resentment in her towards him that bordered on dislike… But why? What had he ever done to engender these almost hostile emotions in her? And why should he suddenly feel so determined to eradicate those negative feelings completely, and regain that special place he had once held in her affections?

The door opening brought a temporary cessation to his troubled musings, and he raised his eyes to see his sister framed in the doorway. One glance was sufficient to convince him that she was doubtful about entering his private sanctum and disturbing him on an evening when he had not been the best of company, leaving her entirely to her own devices once dinner had ended.

Prompted by a guilty conscience, he bade her enter and join him by the hearth, even though he would have much preferred to be left alone with his troubling thoughts.

‘I’ve been poor company today, neglecting you so. Can I tempt you to join me in a night-cap…? A glass of wine, perhaps?’

‘No, I thank you, Brother,’ she answered, though readily accepting his invitation to seat herself opposite. ‘I merely wished to ask if there’s anyone else you wish to invite to the party? I’ve already sent out most all the invitations, and have received quite a number of replies already. But I was just wondering if there was perhaps someone else you might have forgotten?’