An Improper Companion (3 page)

I smiled and answered truthfully, “It would please me to have a task.”

She hesitated. “Child, are you certain you wish to be this companion? I could perhaps find work for you here.”

It was meant kindly, but pride made me stand straight and calmly reply, “It is what I wish.”

She sighed. “I felt you would speak so. But, if later ... come here and I will help you.”

I thanked her stiffly and followed her to the workroom where she gave me the primrose dress to hem. I hoped that Mademoiselle understood. It was not that I disliked sewing; indeed, often when I wished to relax at school I turned to my needle. Nor did I feel it would be beneath me to be a seamstress. Had I been unable to find other work, I would have joined the profession cheerfully. Rather, it was a need to prove myself. What value in finding a position only to throw it over for another before the first is even begun? Mr. Thornsby would have rightly felt me to be a gadfly. And yet I will not say that as I worked among the laughing seamstresses, I felt no call to linger here. I liked the women I had met at Mademoiselle Suzette’s establishment. Of Sir Leslie I knew nothing save that he lived in a castle and had need of a companion for some woman of his family. Yes, I felt an urge to stay, but I will not deceive myself: it was no premonition. I felt far removed from the schoolroom as I fell asleep that night.

Chapter 2

We were at the posting house, Mr. Thornsby and I, with the trunk which now contained my new clothes and the bag I had brought with me from the school. It was a sunny morning with a slight breeze that sang through the city. Even dour tradesmen seemed to smile more than was their wont. I felt competent and sure of myself and was conscious that now I had a sense of purpose. Mr. Thornsby, however, did not share the mood of the city. He seemed, to my surprise, sharp-set. As we waited he repeated his instructions for the eighth time. “You are to give the letter of introduction to Sir Leslie’s housekeeper and she will be sure he receives it. You have the letter? Are you certain? Let me see. Good. Now then, you will arrive too late for an interview with Sir Leslie this evening, but you are expected. Tomorrow, no doubt, Sir Leslie will explain all your duties to you. I trust you will try to provide satisfaction. I wish I could be sure ... but you will remember that you wanted this position badly, regardless of how unusual it might be?”

I assured Mr. Thornsby that he should hear no complaints from me and none from Sir Leslie if it were in my power to prevent it. The next moment the mail coach arrived, and Mr. Thornsby had no opportunity to plague me further with instructions or questions. The last vision I have of the courtyard is Mr. Thornsby’s anxious face. I wondered if he were so fatherly with all the young women who passed through his agency.

My only regret, that morning, was that travel was by mail and not chaise and four. (I had had little experience with either save rare occasions when a school friend had taken me home with her for a visit to the country. But the jolting of carriages I recalled could have been no worse than this.) I was soon feeling too uncomfortable to interest myself with the scenery. Particularly as one of the women in the coach was finding it impossible to soothe her infant. I do not know how many miles we travelled, but it was well past nightfall when my stop was announced. With a sense of relief, I stepped onto the ground. The evening was pleasantly cool and my earlier mood returned. I felt almost gay as I asked the hostler how I might reach Sir Leslie Kinwell’s castle. His reply surprised me. “Why the divil do ye want to go there?” he demanded.

Though startled, I retained my composure. “I am to be a companion at the castle.”

His eyes swept over me, the disbelief evident. “Ye don’t look like a companion.”

Pride rescued me. Frostily I said, “That’s as may be. Nevertheless, there are those who do not question my qualifications.”

He eyed me almost sadly, or so it seemed. “Well, lass, if ye’re determined, I’ll take ye up there meself. Where’s yer cloak? ’Twill be a chilly ride.”

This last remark came as the innkeeper put my trunk in his wagon. I flushed and was grateful for the night that masked my colour. “I-I have none,” I stammered “and it’s not so cold, I think.”

He shook his head but said nothing more about it. As we rode he returned to the question of my position, “How did Sir Leslie convince ye to come to his castle?”

“Oh, I’ve not seen Sir Leslie,” I explained. “Mr. Thornsby sent me.”

“Mr. Thornsby?”

“He has a domestic agency in London,” I said.

The hostler was quiet for a moment. “Domestic agency, ye say,” he murmured. “As with maids and governesses?”

“Yes, of course, and companions.”

“Lass,” he blurted, “I’m thinking ye do not realise exactly the sort of work ye’ll be expected to do.”

Haughtily I interrupted him. “Mr. Thornsby explained it was a somewhat unusual position. That does not disturb me. And Mr. Thornsby seemed certain that Sir Leslie would be satisfied.”

I had reduced the gentle old man to silence. And in silence we travelled the remainder of the short journey. I regretted this for there were many questions. I would have asked had he been less disapproving. But I was determined to give him no further opportunity to cast me down. The castle was dark when we approached, and I could not truly judge its size that first night. My first thought was that Sir Leslie might be elsewhere and the castle shut. I must have spoken aloud for my companion growled, “Ye’ll not be so lucky.” He turned to me, “Lass, if ye find the job not to yer liking, come to me, Mike, at the Three Ducks and my wife and I will help ye.”

I thanked him, but could not help feeling impatient with all the people who doubted I would be happy in my new position. I waited as he brought my trunk to the door. How good a bed would feel!

The door opened suddenly and a sharp voice demanded, “Well, what do ye want?”

Mike answered for me, “I’ve brought Miss—”

“Heather Wade,” I said.

“She’s to be-the new
companion
,” he continued. “A
Mr. Thornsby
sent her, Mrs. Morgan.”

Apparently Mrs. Morgan knew Mike well, for she answered curtly, “That will do, thank ye. Good-bye.” Grumbling, he turned and walked away. I called after him, ‘
^!
Thank you, Mike, for bringing me.”

I could not hear his reply and I turned to greet Mrs. Morgan. “Good evening,” I said, “I’ve a letter from Mr. Thornsby.”

She took the letter and placed it in her pocket. “Come in, Miss Wade. John!” she yelled. Then to me, “He’ll bring yer things. There’s a chamber ready, of course, though Mr. Thornsby might have warned me earlier. Well, come, come. I suppose ye’ll be wanting tea?”

I signified I would. Mrs. Morgan seemed to wish to intimidate me and I would not have it. So, with a mutual sense of dislike, we proceeded to my chamber with John close behind. My first impression of the room was that someone had made a mistake, that this room could not possibly be meant for me. The chamber was large with a fireplace and sitting room at one end, the bedroom at the other. Several carpets were placed about and the
bed curtains
were velvet. I turned and faced Mrs. Morgan. “Thank you. Tea will be very welcome.”

Without a word, she withdrew. John still carried my trunk. “Set it down there, please,” I said, pointing to the floor beside one of the wardrobes.

As soon as he had left, I carefully surveyed my chamber again. Well, I told myself, Sir Leslie must be very wealthy if a mere companion is assigned a room such as this. Or perhaps the position is so difficult he feels the companion must be cosseted.

In one corner, behind a screen, was a stand with pitcher and basin and other necessities. Near the bed was a dressing table with a large mirror, and along one wall there was a small bookcase. This surprised and pleased me. I enjoyed novels and would not scorn these. And surely Sir Leslie had a library I might have access to if my duties left time for reading. I was thus musing when a young woman appeared with tea and a light supper. She stared at me, forgetting to set the tray on the table. “Come in,” I said, “and do set that down. What is your name?”

“Margaret, ma’am,” she half curtsied.

I was surprised at this deference, for I knew companions are considered scarcely above servants themselves. To hide my confusion I spoke quickly, “Yes, well I am Miss Heather Wade.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She bobbed. “Is that all?”

“Yes, Margaret. Thank you.”

She fairly fled the room, hurrying to the servants’ hall to tattle about me, no doubt. Well, a lady always ignores gossip, Mrs. Gilwen had taught us. As I sipped the welcome tea I began to relax. I was finally here! And Mrs. Morgan would not overset me. But I was tired and admit I was relieved I need not face Sir Leslie before morning. By the time Margaret returned to clear away the dishes, I was ready to sleep. When she left the room, I opened my trunk and carefully hung the dresses. I continued to unpack, though tired, for I knew it must be done. When I pulled forth my new nightdress, however, I could not contain my dismay. It was of such fine lawn as to be transparent! I should feel naked wearing it, I thought. No doubt Mademoiselle Suzette had giver, me the only one available. I laid it on the bed. It was pretty, I admitted to myself, if only it were not so sheer. But a pauper has no choice, and I could not say I had been dealt with unkindly.

Though tired, I also put away the garments I had worn that day. I did not wish the servants to gossip that I was careless with my things. As I moved about the room, blowing out candles, I wondered at the extravagance of a household that would use so many to light one room. Mr. Thornsby had I called Sir Leslie eccentric, but why did his wife not restrain his wastefulness? Were they so beforehand with the world that they need never count cost? Or was Lady Kinwell an invalid, too weak to watch over her household or restrain Sir Leslie’s impulsiveness? It would explain much. Perhaps it was Lady Kinwell, then, to whom I would be a companion. I cannot remember my other thoughts for I fell asleep soon after. But I was conscious of the comfort and size of the bed.

I woke sometime later. Someone was in my room. Frightened, I tried to call out “Who is it?” but the words were scarcely a whisper. I became aware that the candle beside my bed had been lit and now flickered, doing little to dispel the dark. I clutched at the
bed sheets
, listening to the sound of heavy breathing nearby. I was conscious of my hair loose about my shoulders, for I had been too weary to plait it. And above all, I was aware of the inadequacy of my nightdress as a cover. Then I saw him—a vague shadow beside the curtains on the far side of my bed. I must have gasped, for he moved forward quickly and pulled the sheets from me. I could not see him clearly and only had time to note that he was tall with dark hair. For in the next moment he lay in the bed beside me, unclothed. And I fought. First to push him away, then to escape from the bed myself. He laughed and I could smell strong fumes on his breath. I fought, truly I did, as well as I was able. But I could not stop him. And in the next few moments my dress was above my waist and he was upon me. More I will not say, save that soon, with a sharp, stabbing pain, I mercifully lost consciousness.

When I woke again, later, I was alone in the bed. The candle had almost spent itself. The bedclothes were in disarray and a small pool of blood stained the sheet. I began to weep and could not stop myself nor the shudders that swept over me. Soon, like a child, I had cried myself to sleep, though in my shock I wished it were something more permanent.

I woke for the third time. It was morning. The room, which had so pleased me the night before, now frightened me. I must speak to Sir Leslie, I thought. He must find the man who did this to me and send him away. I must have a lock on my door!

I dressed feverishly, though remembering to wear the new morning dress. My hair I savagely pulled off my face and forced it into a knot at the top of my head. I would be certain not to entice any man. John. It must have been John. He knew I was here. No, that was foolish. Every servant must have known and had a description of me as soon as Margaret had returned to the servants’ hall after bringing me tea. I began to pace. I had to see Sir Leslie at once. But I confess I was afraid to wander the castle halls alone. Then I remembered the servant’s bell. I strode quickly to it and tugged on the tassled rope. A few minutes later, Margaret knocked at my door. “Come in,” I called nervously.

She entered and curtsied, staring at me. “Yes, ma’am?” “I wish to speak with Sir Leslie. Immediately,” I snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.” She bobbed again. “Please come with me.”

It was too late to change my mind and I followed her. Several times, she glanced over her shoulder at me. I wondered what disturbed her. Was Sir Leslie an ogre? To my surprise, Margaret led me to the dining hall. He sat alone, Sir Leslie, at a long table, with a servant behind his chair to supply his plate. His dark head came up as I entered and he stared at me for a long time out of dark questioning eyes. Finally, nervously I spoke, “Sir Leslie?” He nodded and I gained courage, “I would like to register a complaint, Sir Leslie. Last night—”

He interrupted me, “Who the devil are you?”

“The new companion, sir. Mr. Thornsby sent me.”

His next few words astounded me. “Let down your hair.”

“I would rather not, sir,” I replied, struggling to retain my composure.

“Let down your hair,” he repeated.

Nervously, I complied. He stared at me, almost hungrily it seemed. “Mr. Thornsby gave me a letter of introduction,” I said. “Sir Leslie, I must tell you. Something terrible happened to me last night. I—” I hesitated. He continued to stare and I thrust forward my chin, determined not to be a watering-pot. “I was ravished, sir!”

“Ravished!” he exclaimed. Then sarcastically, “I suppose next you will tell me you are a virgin.”

“I was, sir, until last night,” I replied, the tears harder to hold back. “The blood on my sheets will prove that. And I fought, sir. Truly I did.”

Still he stared at me. “Mr. Thornsby sent you? Jeffries, the letter. It must be on the sideboard,” Sir Leslie snapped.

The servant bowed, carefully averting his eyes from me. He found the letter and returned to his place. Sir Leslie tore open the cover and read it rapidly, glancing at me from time to time. When he had finished, he swore vehemently. “Jeffries, I shall need my phaeton. I must go to London at once. Have it ready in the hour.”

“Very good, sir.” Jeffries bowed and retired.

Hastily, I said, “Sir, about last night. You must do something.”

He turned to me and spoke deliberately. “You need not worry, Miss”—he glanced at the letter—“Wade. You will be perfectly safe. I was the man who ravished you and I will not be here.”

My head reeled, and had less been at stake I might have fainted. Instead, I carefully pulled my hair back into its topknot as I said coldly, “I wish to return to London at once, sir.”

He laughed harshly. “But not with me, surely?”

“No, not with you,” I agreed. “Nevertheless, I wish to return to London.”

The sneer left Sir Leslie’s face and he spoke gently. “That is impossible for the moment. With or without me. I am afraid you must wait here until my return. Don’t worry, you will be perfectly safe. Neither I nor anyone else will touch you. But you must stay until I return in a sennight or less.”

I could not speak, but Sir Leslie must have guessed how I felt, for he added. “I intend to speak to Mr. Thornsby. You may be sure he will send no more virgins to be
companions
anywhere. At least, no
unwilling
virgins.”