The Other Countess (31 page)

The earl looked taken aback by her tone but waved his brother to stand aloof. ‘Of course, my lady.’

She waited until James was out of earshot. ‘It has come to my attention during our excursion that we will not suit.’ There, she had said it.

‘What do you mean?’ The earl drew back letting her hand fall.

You are in love with my friend
. No, she couldn’t say that. ‘I wish to be released from this betrothal.’ No explanations – hard and unfeeling, that is what she had to be.

The earl ran his hand through his hair. ‘But the Queen – your father?’

‘You do not want this match, sir, and neither do I.’

He took a step towards her, dropping his voice. ‘Is this about what your brother said? Madam, I assure you that the lady and I have never been … were never …’

She held up a hand to stop him. ‘I have no wish to hear your excuses, sir. I wish to go my own way and leave you to yours.’

She could see that he was drawing the conclusion that she thought ill of both him and Ellie when nothing could be further from the truth – she’d never liked either of them more than at that moment. That was why she had to let him think that.

‘I have severe doubts about your moral character, sir. Your heart plays me false.’ That much was true.

The earl looked lost for words. He was in the position of trying to defend a match he did not want but thought he needed – hard to be sincere when everything was screaming for him to take the escape she offered.

‘I bid you good day. I do not expect to see you again, my lord.’
Take the hint, Dorset
, she silently urged him, holding herself rigid.

‘You mean it?’

‘I am immoveable, sir. Fortunately, the betrothal papers have not yet been signed so it is not too late to refuse your offer.’

If her heart had not been so heavy with dread, she would have been tempted to laugh at the mixture of relief and chagrin on his face. He gave her a formal bow.

‘I must admit to being confused at this sudden reversal, my lady, but I will take my dismissal if that is your wish.’

‘It is.’

He backed away, nearly stumbling over the stone edging to the path. ‘Please forgive any distress I have caused you. I have always treated both you and the Lady Eleanor with the utmost respect and propriety.’

And I am the fourth horseman of the Apocalypse
, mused Jane, not believing for one moment that propriety had anything to do with his relationship with poor Ellie.

Giving her a final puzzled look, he turned and went in search of James.

Jane squeezed her hands together. She’d done the right thing, she was sure of that. Now all that remained was to convince her father.

Old Lord Fortescue ambled by on his equally ancient gelding, attended by a pair of smart grooms. In his seventies, a veteran of four marriages but with no surviving children, he was known to be on the prowl for a fifth wife. He touched his cap with his whip on seeing her standing there alone. She dipped a curtsy and forced a sweet smile. It appeared that her original plan was back on the table.

22

The journey to Snowslip, home of Ellie’s uncle Paul in Gloucestershire, took a week and most of her remaining money as she had to spend it on hired horses and guides to take her through the unfamiliar countryside. The roads were worse than abysmal, passable only because it was summer and relatively dry; at other times of the year, the little village must be cut off from the world. Her journey had led her through Oxford, where she had not even stayed a night as thoughts of her father were too painful, then out into the Vale of Evesham, a pretty spot of fruit trees and woodlands bordered by gentle hills. Now, arriving at the top of the valley in which Snowslip nestled, she was looking down on the roof of her uncle’s manor house, a gentleman farmer’s residence, tiled in local dark-grey slate and surrounded by working buildings, a dovecot, barn and stables. Sheep grazed the tidy fields. In the corner of one pasture bordering a copse, two men were weaving hazel twigs to make a hurdle, their tunics hanging on a low branch of an elm tree as they worked in their shirtsleeves.

‘This is the place?’ she asked her guide, an old man she’d hired in Chipping Norton. Harding had been a good choice, friendly and reliable, but Ellie was well aware she should’ve
at least taken a maid to accompany her. The truth was she had not been able to afford the luxury of respectability.

‘Aye, lady, this is your uncle’s farm. He’ll be about the place – a hard-working man is Master Hutton, if a little narrow.’ The guide gave her a toothy grin, his white eyebrows twitching with a life of their own.

She smiled back. ‘Good. Then I’ll call at the house and ask for him.’ By saying it out loud, Ellie prevented herself from making an ignoble flight. She had come this far; she couldn’t turn back now.

‘This way then, my lady. If you’re sure.’

Sure? Of course she wasn’t sure! ‘Thank you, Harding.’

Harding waited in the stable yard with the horses while Ellie went to the house to enquire if the family were at home. She wished she could stay with him, sitting in a patch of sunshine and chewing on a straw.

The old black oak door looked ancient, studded with nails that formed the letter ‘H’ and a knocker in the shape of a fox. Taking a deep breath, she raised it and thumped twice. After only a moment’s wait, a woman opened it to her – a maid by the look of her sober grey garb and close fitting coif. Ellie brushed her travel-stained gown nervously. Mud flecks showed up against the black cloth of the borrowed finery.

‘Yes, mistress?’ the woman asked quietly, showing neither suspicion or recognition. Had her letter not arrived? Ellie wondered.

‘I’m Eleanor Hutton,’ she blurted out.

The woman stood back. ‘Then you’d better come in.’

‘You were expecting me?’ Ellie stepped into the cool passageway, the flagstones worn with age.

‘We got your letter.’ She gestured to Ellie to proceed into the kitchen. This proved to be a tall, vaulted chamber, a remnant of the medieval great hall, the oldest part of the manor. A vast fireplace took up one wall, but only a small fire glowed at its centre, enough to heat water but not the room. A bowl of summer salad sat on the scrubbed table, a batch of bread cooling under a cloth by the window. Everything was neat and plain.

‘Are you thirsty?’ the woman asked.

‘Yes, yes I am. Oh, and I left my guide in the stable yard.’

‘The boys will see to him.’ The woman poured Ellie a cup of water. ‘From our spring – it’s quite fresh.’

Ellie sipped and watched as the woman placed a plate of bread and salad before her.

‘Eat.’

‘Thank you.’ Ellie picked up her spoon and knife. ‘Is my uncle or my aunt here?’

The woman turned from the fire, which she had been poking with a twig. ‘I’m your aunt, Eleanor. Aunt Hepzibah.’

‘Oh.’ Ellie got to her feet. ‘I apologize.’ She bobbed a curtsy, flustered at her mistake. ‘
Madre de Dios
. I didn’t realize.’

Aunt Hepzibah’s eyes narrowed. ‘What did you say?’

Ellie swallowed. ‘I … I said that I ask your forgiveness for not recognizing you. I … I can’t remember meeting you when I was little and I thought … I don’t know what I thought.’ She stared miserably down at her meal. The little flowers decorating the salad were the only cheerful things in the room.

‘No, that foreign tongue you spoke – what did you say?’

Ellie ran through her words, only then remembering that
she had used one of her mother’s favourite expressions, a habit when she was anxious.

‘I said “
Madre de Dios
”.’

Aunt Hepzibah was ominously silent, obviously expecting more explanation.

‘A Spanish phrase my mother taught me. It means “Mother of God”.’

Her aunt’s eyebrows winged up to disappear under the low edge of her coif. ‘You take the Lord’s name in vain?’

Had she? ‘I pray you forgive me. I had not considered it in that light.’

‘“
Be your word Yea, yea; Nay, nay. For whatsoever is more than that, cometh of evil!
”’ thundered Aunt Hepzibah. She took the plate away from Ellie and switched the cup of water for one of brine out of the pickling barrel. ‘Wash your mouth out and pray to God to have mercy on your wicked tongue.’

Ellie was astounded by the sudden change in this quiet woman, going from hospitable to hostile in a twinkling.

‘I’m truly sorry for any offence I’ve given you.’

‘It’s not a sin against me, girl, but against thy Maker!’ She pushed the cup nearer. ‘Wash out your vile words.’

A little afraid of the woman’s temper, Ellie stood up and went to the basin by the window. Hepzibah watched every move, as if expecting her to sprout horns and a tail at any moment. Realizing she would get no further in her introduction to the family unless she did this, Ellie took a cautious sip. It was beyond foul – the salt burning her tongue and throat. Quickly she spat it out.

‘Again!’

Ellie wanted to ask why, but instead did as she was bidden.

‘I never want to hear such terrible words from you again, niece.’

Ellie looked about her for the cup of water and took a step towards it.

‘No!’ Aunt Hepzibah blocked her path. ‘The lesson lasts as long as the taste, the better to remind you of your sinfulness.’

Ellie sat back down. The woman was quite possibly mad – certainly strict beyond all reason. To punish a stranger within moments of meeting her for an unintentional misjudgement – it was too odd. Ellie could only hope her uncle was more reasonable.

Silence reigned in the kitchen as Hepzibah went about her tasks. Ellie wondered how long it would be until her uncle returned, but dared not ask in case it sparked her aunt’s temper again. The shadows were lengthening by the time she heard footsteps in the passageway – more than one person was approaching. Her aunt stood up straight, her hands folded demurely in front of her, waiting. The door opened and five people came into the room – an older man and four young ones aged somewhere between fifteen and twenty-five, all sharing the dark brown hair and stocky frame of their father. Ellie recognized two of them – tunics now replaced, they had been the labourers making the hurdles. She got to her feet, preparing herself for any manner of reception.

‘This her?’ the older man asked Aunt Hepzibah, nodding to Ellie.

‘Aye, Husband.’ Hepzibah had reverted to her mouse-like ways again.

‘Niece, I dismissed your man. He’s taken the horses back
to Chipping Norton. You had paid for his services already.’ This was a statement, not a question.

‘Yes, sir.’ Ellie wondered at the lack of greeting.

‘Where is your maid?’

‘I don’t have one, sir.’ Was his rudeness intentional? He should at least introduce himself and his boys before beginning his interrogation.

‘You travelled alone – from London?’

Ellie would be damned if she would justify herself to him. ‘As you see, sir.’

The disapproval was almost tangible. She didn’t need to look up to know that she was the focus of six pairs of scandalized eyes.

‘Your father is dead?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Ellie knotted her fingers together, praying that she would not weep in front of them.

‘How?’

Ellie had explained the accident in her letter. Why was he asking her to rehearse it again if not to cause her pain?

‘He died in an explosion while in the Queen’s service.’

‘You’ve buried him already? He’s only been dead these seven days.’

Ellie looked out the window. A dove perched on the tiles of the gatehouse, cooing softly. ‘There was no body – it was lost in the Thames.’

‘So you came here – penniless and in disgrace.’

She flicked her gaze back to him in shock. ‘Disgrace?’

‘You, a young woman of what? Eighteen? Have travelled alone for many days. You have not a shred of reputation left, girl.’

‘I’m sixteen.’

‘What?’

‘I’m sixteen, sir.’

‘Old enough to know what you were doing was wrong. I can see you are as wrongheaded as my benighted brother.’

Ellie had had enough. Whatever she had expected from her blood relations, it had not been this. She headed for the door.

‘Where are you going, Eleanor?’ barked her uncle. ‘I haven’t finished talking to you.’

She walked out into the yard, pushing blindly through the garden gate and kept on going. She had no horse, no money, no plan – nothing but the desire to get away from these people.

Bees buzzed in the lavender spilling over the little path. She stepped over the border and continued on into the orchard. It provided some refuge, the tree canopy hiding the house and giving her somewhere to sit while she let her temper subside. That had been rash – to leave the room like that, no doubt inflaming her uncle’s ire against her. She dropped her head on her knees, knowing that she would have to go back eventually and apologize. Next time she would be stronger; next time she would dig deeper and find that patience that had helped her survive all those years with her father.

Boots thumped on the grass beside her. Four pairs of feet ringed her.

‘Cousin Eleanor?’

Reluctantly, she looked up, shading her eyes against the slanting rays of the sun. One of the boys had spoken to her, the eldest she guessed as he stood in the middle, the natural leader of the quartet.

‘Yes, Cousin?’

‘We’ve been sent to fetch you.’

‘I see.’

She took the offered hand and let him pull her to her feet.

‘I’m Josiah, and this is Aaron, Titus and Zechariah.’

She dipped a shallow curtsy. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

Aaron, the thin faced one with shrewd eyes, examined her impertinently. ‘Are you really a Catholic, Cousin?’

She guessed her aunt had been jumping to conclusions about her. ‘No, but my mother was.’

‘Are you a harlot?’ asked Titus, seeming rather hopeful that she would answer in the affirmative. The question earned him a cuff from his oldest brother.

‘No, I’m not,’ she replied stiffly.

‘Father says you are.’

‘Then he’d be wrong.’

‘He’s never wrong.’

‘Really? Then he must be perfect – and I thought only God was perfect.’