Having the most beautiful sapphire and diamond ring slipped with loving care onto one’s finger does tend to dominate one’s mind.

Consequently, it wasn’t until after she and Joss had enjoyed the intimate little dinner for two, and had returned to the comfort of the front parlor, that Gwen’s thoughts returned to recent events, both happy and sad, and the promise she had made to Annie the previous day.

“Have you someone in mind to replace Mrs. Brice?”

Only for an instant did Joss’s gaze stray from the chessboard, set on the table between them, to cast his worthy opponent a quizzical look. “Hardly my province any longer, my sweet. Domestic arrangements are your concern.”

“Oh, heavens!” Gwen hadn’t for a moment considered this. “Yes, I suppose they are. Or very soon will be, at any rate.”

Lady Gwendolen Investigates

Harlequin®Historical

ANNE ASHLEY

was born and educated in Leicester. She lived for a long time in Scotland, but now lives in the West Country with two cats, her two sons and her husband, who has a wonderful and very necessary sense of humor. When not pounding away at the keys of her word processor, she likes to relax in her garden, which she has opened to the public on more than one occasion in aid of the village church funds.

LADYGWENDOLENInvestigates
ANNE ASHLEY

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One

Were the inns in England always this busy nowadays? Gwendolen wondered, while neatly avoiding a harassed-looking ostler leading a pair of steaming horses across the crowded forecourt.

It was only to be expected, she supposed, that five years spent abroad might result in her forgetting certain aspects of life back here in the land of her birth. Not that she had ever had much experience of travel, of course…of life, even, before her marriage to Sir Percival Warrender.

Pausing in her musings, she stepped to one side, thereby allowing the stagecoach passengers to traipse unhindered from the inn and return to their conveyance. None of them seemed to notice the bitterly cold gusts of wind sweeping across the forecourt at frequent intervals. Gwen, on the other hand, had been very much aware of the unpleasantly low temperature from the moment she had alighted from her hired carriage, and drew her fur-lined cloak more tightly about her. Having lived in a much warmer climate for very many months, she had forgotten, too, just how chilly it could be in England even in March, when travel became more widespread.

The frequently inclement weather was something else she would need to accustom herself to again, she mused, as she took the added precaution of raising her hood against further cold blasts, the result of which severely restricted her field of vision. One moment she was enjoying the protection the busy posting-house’s pleasantly warm interior offered the instant she had stepped over the threshold; the next, she felt as if she had just walked into a stone-hard wall.

Almost at once a strong-fingered hand fastened itself about her left arm, just above the elbow, instantly steadying her. Some few moments later a deeply attractive and clearly refined voice eventually enquired into her well-being, but not before she had detected the muttered oath, only partially smothered, preceding the belated query. Hence, she wasn’t unduly surprised to discover, upon finally raising her head, that the face peering down at her betrayed a deal more impatience than concern.

She took a step away, the better to focus on a pair of dark eyes set in a ruggedly masculine countenance that wasn’t even remotely handsome. ‘I do beg your pardon, sir. Entirely my own fault,’ she declared, generously accepting all blame.

As she removed her cowl with a casual flick of one hand, there was, just for an instant, a marked softening about the set of thin lips, while brown eyes considered the burnished-copper highlights streaking through chestnut locks.

‘Very true, ma’am, it was,’ he agreed in the very next breath, the softer expression having disappeared so completely that Gwen wasn’t at all sure she hadn’t imagined it in the first place. ‘May I suggest, therefore, you attempt to take more care in future. Journeying about the country, even at this time of year, can prove a hazardous undertaking, without having to contend with acts of downright stupidity perpetrated by fellow travellers.’

‘Well, really!’ Gwen muttered, after he had doffed his hat in what she considered a most condescending manner and had begun to stride away in the direction of the main entrance.

Having to deal with abrasive fellows such as that was possibly something else she would need to grow accustomed to, she supposed, as she continued to watch her tormentor’s progress across the room until he had disappeared from view.

Undeniably she had had little experience of such unpleasant fellows. Her formative years, spent in a quiet country parsonage, and her marriage to a very considerate and protective husband, had certainly proved to be a shield against the more unpleasant aspects of life. All the same, she wasn’t completely unworldly. Furthermore, she had no intention of withering, like some delicate bloom touched by an icy wind, merely as a result of a little unpleasantness.

Besides which, she was not entirely alone and defenceless, she reminded herself. Even though she had no immediate family now living, and had been widowed for several months, she could always rely on dear Gillie’s loving protection and unfailing support.

Her blue eyes scanned the coffee room, seeking and quickly locating the plump figure of her lifelong companion-cum-maid. At that moment, the devoted servant just happened to be locked in conversation with a harassed-looking individual, whom Gwen could only assume must surely be the landlord. From the slight look of disappointment so easily discernible when the maid turned in her direction, Gwen guessed there was no private parlour available. Which, considering the number of patrons bustling about the inn, was in no way surprising, she decided, gesturing towards a row of settles set at frequent intervals along one of the walls.

Because the seat nearest the substantial fire was already occupied by a fashionably attired gentleman, Gwen was obliged to slip into a settle sited a little further away from the source of heat. As the seats were placed back to back, she had little difficulty hearing the gentleman talking softly to the inn’s cat, which she had noticed had been curled up beside him and, typically feline, closest to the fire.

She had absolutely no difficulty either, just a few moments later, in recognising the cultured voice that announced authoritatively, ‘My groom will have the carriage round at the door in five minutes.’

‘It’s dashed good of you, Pont, to put yourself out this way,’ the well-dressed gentleman responded, while Gwen herself took the added precaution of slipping further down the high-backed settle so as to avoid detection by the new arrival. ‘It’s a deal more comfortable travelling in a private carriage than going on the mail-coach.’

‘I’ve already told you, Merry, I’m not putting myself out,’ his companion responded, proving instantly that he wasn’t always downright rude and could evidently be quite obliging when so inclined. ‘I’ve managed to conduct my business here in Bristol speedily, as you know. And I did intend to pay a brief visit to the capital within the next couple of weeks. As well go now as later. So long as you don’t object to making that slight detour to Bath first?’

‘Not at all, old chap,’ the abrasive gentleman was speedily assured. ‘Haven’t set foot in the place since great-aunt Beatrice passed away, ten years or more ago.’ There followed a significant pause, then, ‘How have the girls settled in at the seminary?’

‘It’s still early days. Nonetheless, according to the headmistress’s letter, very well indeed…considering.’ The deep and prolonged sigh was clearly audible to Gwen who continued, unashamedly, to eavesdrop. ‘All the same, I’ll not be completely easy in my mind until I’ve seen for myself, and spoken to my wards.’

‘It was a bad business…a very bad business, Pont, especially as both girls had grown so fond of that poor governess. She was quite alone in the world, I seem to remember you saying, no immediate family.’

‘Not as far as I’m aware. I recall her mentioning she’d lost both parents when she was quite young. I do happen to know for a fact she corresponded with someone residing in the capital—a friend, I can only suppose. Naturally, I should have taken the trouble to apprise this person of what had occurred. Unfortunately no letters were found among her belongings offering a clue to the person’s identity. Which was most odd, because I know for a fact she both wrote and received a number of missives during those many months she was in my employ.’

There was no mistaking the thread of sadness in the abrupt gentleman’s voice, proving yet again that he wasn’t wholly devoid of compassion. Although a moment later Gwen wondered if she had credited him with more feelings than he possessed when he added, ‘Oddly enough, I had come to look upon her as one of those rare members of her sex—a refreshingly sensible young woman. Then she ups and does something utterly birdwitted. Takes herself into Marsden Wood, a place she well knew had earned itself something of an unsavoury reputation in recent years. Furthermore, she does so in January, for heaven’s sake! Now, I ask you, Merry, what in the world can have possessed any level-headed creature to go exploring a wood on a dismally damp winter’s afternoon? And what’s more…alone!’

Although, in part, to pass the time while awaiting her servant’s arrival, she had, still without suffering the least pang of conscience, continued to listen to the conversation, Gwen had no very clear idea of precisely what was being discussed. That some misfortune had befallen a woman while out exploring some wood or other was evident. What became obvious too in the next moment was that the gentleman known as Merry was as much at a loss to understand the unfortunate female’s actions as was her abrasive employer.

‘It would take a greater brain than I possess to attempt to explain what motivates many females to act as they do. But that particular woman’s actions on that day were sheer folly, especially after you’d made it clear from the first that to venture alone near the wood might prove unwise.’

The unexpected rumble of laughter that followed the pronouncement suggested that Master Merry had perhaps been well named. ‘And a die-hard misogynist like yourself, Pont, could never hope to unravel the mysteries of the female mind.’

A further pause, then,

‘Why, my dear friend, you above anyone should suppose I dislike all women, I cannot imagine. On the contrary, over the years I have thought well of several. Like yourself, I’ve never been tempted into parson’s mousetrap. But that, let me assure you, is simply a matter of choice. I’ve yet to meet a female with whom I could happily share my life.’

‘Nor are you ever likely to do so while you continue to remain so fastidious, Pont, for ever searching for the slightest flaw in either looks or character.’

‘My dear Merry, you delude yourself,’ was the immediate, drawled response. ‘I should never waste time or energy attempting to seek the perfect woman, simply because such a creature does not exist. Nor do I actively seek imperfections in the opposite sex, either. There’s absolutely no need for me to do so, of course, when they surface within minutes of my making any female’s acquaintance.’

A bark of decidedly mocking laughter quickly followed. ‘Now, you take that idiotic creature I encountered a mere few minutes ago,’ Gwen’s ridiculer continued, evidently having warmed to the subject. ‘No need for me even to attempt to strike up a conversation to know she was utterly birdwitted. Walks into a crowded posting-house with a cowl pulled low over her face. Couldn’t possibly have seen where she was going, and looks startled when she cannons into me…I ask you!’

‘Ahh, but was she pretty?’ the other enquired, after an appreciative chuckle at the derision that had simply oozed from his friend’s every word. ‘I bet you didn’t even notice, Pont.’

‘Truth to tell…no, can’t say as I did,’ he admitted. ‘Noticed her hair, though. Dashed pretty colour! Streaked with copper, it was, and curled quite prettily. Never seen anything quite like it before, though whether the hue was Mother Nature’s gift, I couldn’t say. So many of ’em, as you well know, resort to artifice in order to attract.’

‘What a nerve!’ Gwen exclaimed before she could stop herself. Fortunately, though, neither gentleman seemed to have heard, as the rude individual at precisely the same moment had expressed a desire not to leave his horses standing too long in the cold wind.

Gwen waited a second or two before peering round the end of the settle in time to catch a last glimpse of the close friends as they strode side by side across the coffee room. Aggrieved, justifiably so in her opinion, she was experiencing far too much resentment towards the taller man to appreciate that for a large gentleman he carried himself with a dignified air, his gait both smoothly effortless and remarkably graceful. Instead she favoured his retreating form with a basilisk-glance.

‘Odious, odious creature!’ she muttered, turning back in her seat.

It wasn’t his low opinion of her sex that annoyed her. Innate honesty prompted her silently to acknowledge that she herself had come into contact with numerous woolly-minded females during the quarter of a century she had been on God’s good earth. It wasn’t even his condemnation of her actions a short time earlier, either, that rankled. Indeed, it hadn’t been the most sensible thing to walk into a crowded inn with one’s vision severely restricted. No, what she found unpardonable was his suggestion that her hair was possibly not wholly natural. Evidently he was accustomed to associating with females who would resort to any means in order to attain their ends. She was not so naïve as to suppose such women did not exist here in England. Her eyes suddenly twinkled with a very satisfied glint. But at least no female, virtuous or quite otherwise, had been foolish enough to tie herself irrevocably to such a self-opinionated bore as that person appeared to be!

‘Why, Miss Gwennie! I’ve never seen such a mutinous look on your face, not since that time your sainted mother—God rest her soul!—refused to allow you to play in the garden with Miss Jane until you’d finished your lessons.’

Memories of her long-suffering mother’s attempts to instil in her, her only child, at least a basic education swiftly erased the lines of annoyance from Gwen’s brow. ‘Ah, yes, dear Jane was so much cleverer than I. Just as well I didn’t attempt to follow her example by earning a living. I was always slower to learn.’

‘Only because you wouldn’t apply yourself. Leastways, that’s what I recall your mama always said. When something interested you, it was always you took the lead.’

The maid slipped into the settle opposite, apologising as she did so for being away for so long. ‘But you really oughtn’t to walk into inns by yourself,’ she went on, adopting the scolding tone she had used throughout Gwen’s childhood. ‘You ought to have remained in the carriage as arranged. You never know what nasty folk you might bump into.’

‘True! How very true!’ Gwen agreed, tongue-in-cheek, before deciding finally to thrust the unfortunate encounter with the abrasive gentleman from her mind completely. ‘I assume you were not successful in securing a private parlour?’

‘No, Miss Gwen. Seemingly there’s only two, and both in use at the present time, though the landlord did offer to put himself out and serve us in one of the unoccupied bedchambers, if we were—er—willing to pay the price.’

‘Needless to say you declined,’ Gwen responded, smiling to herself. One could always rely on dear old Martha Gillingham to know how to deal with any presumptuous fellow. She might have been in service throughout most of her life, and her education limited, but she was quite a remarkable judge of character, and was never slow to recognise when someone was attempting to take advantage.

‘I said as how my mistress didn’t intend to break the journey for long, and that we’d be comfortable enough eating our broth in the coffee room.’

‘Which is no less than the truth,’ Gwen quickly avowed. ‘According to the post-boys, we should reach our journey’s end, barring any mishap, before evening.’

‘And as long as the old master’s housekeeper has received your letter, everything should be in readiness for our arrival.’ The maid beamed across the table, her small, round eyes positively aglow with excitement. ‘You must be longing to see your new home, Miss Gwennie. I know I am.’

‘I’m longing to see Jane again far more.’ Gwen released her breath in a sigh. ‘She must have changed a good deal in the years since I’ve seen her. I know I have.’

Martha’s smile faded. Her plump features clearly betrayed a moment or two’s thoughtful contemplation before being replaced by a look of gentle affection. ‘Not that much, miss, you haven’t,’ she eventually countered. ‘You still get that same wicked glint in your eye you had as a child when you’re amused by something, or annoyed. And you’re still not afraid to speak your mind on occasions neither, though thankfully you’re a deal less headstrong than of yore.’

Gwen didn’t waste her breath in fruitless argument, simply because there was a deal of truth in her loyal maid’s utterances, and merely said, ‘Well, let us hope dear Jane hasn’t retained that stubbornly independent streak of hers. She may have been overjoyed to obtain that position as governess to those two orphaned girls, granting her the God-given opportunity to remove to the West Country. And so conveniently close to dear Percival’s house, too! But it doesn’t automatically follow that she’ll be any more willing to come and live with me now that I’m taking up permanent residence in my late husband’s home.’

A shadow of mingled resentment and regret flickered across Gwen’s delicately featured face. ‘I haven’t forgotten she refused to oblige me six years ago.’

A completely trouble-free last stage of the long journey resulted in the post-boys’ prediction of a late afternoon arrival proving accurate. Consequently, Gwen was privileged to enjoy the first glimpse of her new home bathed in flattering pale-golden sunlight glinting welcomingly on mullioned windows. An untidy and overgrown garden detracted somewhat from what might otherwise have been a very pleasing setting for the Restoration building, as did the profusion of choking ivy clinging to the front wall.

If the truth were known, though, Gwen wasn’t so much concerned about the architectural merit of the house that was shortly to become her permanent place of residence, at least for the foreseeable future, as she was about the atmosphere prevailing within. Much, she strongly suspected, would depend on the character of the female her late husband had employed almost twenty years before to maintain the smooth running of his household.

Gwen knew next to nothing about Mrs Travis, save that she was a female now well into middle age, and that Sir Percival had considered her to be a first-rate cook-housekeeper, completely trustworthy and conscientious. So unless she discovered the woman to be quite otherwise, Gwen was prepared to allow things to remain as they were. More importantly, her own dear Gillie had promised not to interfere in the running of the house, and to continue with her duties as personal maid-cum-companion. So one might be inclined to take an optimistic view, expecting everything to run smoothly, and everyone to rub along together remarkably well. Except that Gwen, now, was nothing if not a realist, and was well aware that things frequently didn’t work out as one might have wished. Furthermore, love her though she did, she wasn’t blind to her dear Gillie’s faults.

Martha Gillingham had assisted in bringing Gwen into the world, and had always been treated as a member of the family, rather than a servant. Consequently Martha had never had too many restrictions imposed upon her.

The maid had never been afraid to speak her mind, airing her views whether called upon to do so or not. So, should it be discovered that the house wasn’t being maintained to the high standards to which she herself had always adhered, when she had held the position of cook-housekeeper in the late Reverend and Mrs Playfair’s home for all those years, she wouldn’t be reticent to point out any deficiencies on Mrs Travis’s part.

Gwen quickly discovered there was thankfully no possibility of an early confrontation between the two women, when she was admitted by a housemaid who wasn’t slow to impart the unfortunate tidings that Mrs Travis had taken to her bed.

‘Terrible poorly she be, ma’am. Took bad a few days back, but would drag herself about, as she knew you’d be arriving some time this week, and now the chill’s settled on her chest, so it ’as.’

‘Has a doctor been summoned?’

The housemaid appeared astonished, as though it were unheard of for a practitioner to administer to a servant. ‘No, ma’am…I mean, Lady Warrender.’

‘I should prefer you address me as Mrs Warrender,’ Gwen said, never having grown accustomed to the courtesy title bestowed upon her, simply because her late husband had received a knighthood in recognition of his unblemished record and acts of heroism whilst serving in His Majesty’s Army during the previous century. ‘And your name is?’

‘Annie, ma’am…Annie Small.’

Gwen was unable to suppress a slight smile as the name was somewhat incongruous. The rosy-cheeked Annie was definitely on the buxom side. ‘A doctor must be summoned at once,’ she ordered, her mind swiftly returning to the matter in hand. ‘I understand from Sir Percival’s man of business in London that a male servant is also employed here?’

Annie rolled her eyes, a clear indication that she didn’t wholly approve of the male employee. ‘Yes, ma’am, Manders. He be outside somewhere. Don’t come into the ’ouse much, on account of ’im being a lazy good-for-nothing and not seeing eye to eye with Mrs Travis, as you might say. Made ’imself a snug little place above the stable, so ’ee ’as. You can usually find ’im skulking up there.’

Although she was aware that prejudice often clouded judgement, Gwen strongly suspected that much of what Annie had related had not been too far removed from the truth.

From what she had seen thus far, the garden, although adequate in size, was by no means totally unmanageable for an employee willing to pull his weight. Anyone working outside, even in the remotest corner, would have little difficulty hearing the sounds of an arrival. Yet no one had appeared when the carriage had pulled up at the door in order to assist the post-boys and Gillie in bringing the baggage into the hall.

‘In that case, Annie, it shouldn’t be too difficult a task for you to locate his whereabouts, and dispatch him for the local doctor. But first I’d like you to take me to see Mrs Travis.’

The cook-housekeeper occupied a small apartment, consisting of two rooms, directly off the kitchen. Gwen’s first and very favourable impression was one of combined cleanliness and order. This was quickly overshadowed by a rush of concern, as she set foot inside the bedchamber, to find a thin, angular woman doing her level best to rise from the bed.

Mrs Travis’s assurances that she was now feeling a good deal better after her day’s inactivity, and was more than capable of creating a wholesome evening meal for her new mistress fell on deaf ears, as both Gwen and the loyal Martha headed across the room with purposeful strides. Severely weakened by the infection, Mrs Travis was no match for one, let alone them both, and returned to the warm comfort of her bed without attempting an undignified struggle, though clearly betraying signs of distress at being denied at least an attempt to fulfil her duties.

‘No one, I’m certain, supposes you contracted the malady on purpose,’ Gwen declared, after listening to the tearful apology. ‘Martha, here, is more than capable of catering for my needs, until such time as you are able to resume your duties. Which I sincerely trust will not be long delayed.’

At this assurance that her position as housekeeper was in no way in jeopardy, Mrs Travis began to appear a good deal easier, with the lines of concern that had been steadily increasing beginning to fade from above the lacklustre eyes. The further assurance that she was considered worthy enough to receive a visit from the local practitioner seemed to deprive her of the power of speech, and it wasn’t until Gwen alluded to the maidservant, Annie, that she was able to regain command of her voice.

‘But Annie hasn’t a permanent position here, madam,’ she revealed. ‘When the master’s man of business, Mr Claypole, wrote and told me a few weeks ago of your arrival back in England, he said as how I might employ extra staff in order to prepare the house for your arrival. He knew well enough there was only me and Manders here, on account of his visiting once a year to check for himself how things stood in the poor old master’s absence. He took his duties seriously. Never once forgot to pay our wages come quarter-day, and insisted I write to him, no matter how trivial the matter, if I was concerned about anything.’

As she too had been favourably impressed by Mr Claypole’s conscientious attitude, Gwen experienced no qualms whatsoever over retaining his services when she had called to see him shortly after her arrival in the capital at the beginning of the year. Her concerns now, however, were not about her business affairs, which she felt sure were in trustworthy hands. Her late husband had not left her a pauper. In fact, the opposite was true. He had ensured that she could live in comfort, and although she had no intention of wasting money on frivolous luxuries, she fully intended to concentrate her efforts on turning her late husband’s house into a home in which she might happily dwell.

Consequently, early in the evening, after the doctor’s prompt visit, and a swift exploration of each and every room in her new home, Gwen made a start on her objective. Taking herself up to the best bedchamber, which boasted a commanding view of the sadly neglected front garden, she began to unpack her belongings, some of which had been acquired during her recent sojourn in London.

In the process of hanging yet another new gown in the wardrobe, Gwen paused for a moment to cast a thoughtful glance across at the young maidservant who was proving to be both an obliging and cheerful soul, only too happy to remain later than usual in order to lend a helping hand.

‘I understand, Annie, that you’re not a permanent member of the household here?’

‘No, ma’am. Mrs Travis ’eard I were back at the cottage, taking care of me ma and the young ’uns, and so sent a message over asking if, mayhap, I’d like work for a week or two. Weren’t going to turn it down, not with ’ow things are at present. But I’ll need to find m’ self something more settled again afore too long, now Ma’s on the mend.’

After unravelling the salient points of this response, and asking a few more pertinent questions, Gwen discovered that Annie was currently seeking new employment owing to the fact that her last mistress had chosen to leave the area and reside permanently in Bath. Although having become extremely attached to the elderly lady for whom she had worked from an early age, Annie retained strong family ties, and had chosen not to accompany her mistress, but to return temporarily to the family home in order to care for her younger siblings, while her mother recovered from a severe bout of influenza.

‘Mortal bad she’s been, ma’am. Surprised she weren’t took, after the ’ard life she’s ’ad,’ Annie went on to reveal so matter-of-factly that Gwen was hard pressed not to laugh.

It wasn’t that she didn’t feel a deal of sympathy. It was merely that, having been the daughter of a clergyman, she had frequently come into contact with those much less fortunate than herself, and knew from experience that Mrs Small’s circumstances were sadly the norm for those less privileged members of the human race. Worn out by years of childbearing, hard work and a meagre diet, Annie’s mother was yet another victim of her class, growing old before her time. The wonder of it was that the poor woman had managed to reach middle age, something which her spouse, seemingly, had failed to achieve, having lost his life in an accident involving an unruly piece of horseflesh belonging to his employer, the Earl of Cranborne.

‘And was it because his employer felt in some way responsible for your father’s demise that he permitted your mother to remain in one of the estate cottages?’

‘Don’t expect so, ma’am. Much more likely it’s on account of our Jem working up at the stables as well. Our Betsy’s employed by his lordship too. She’s a chambermaid up at the Hall. But she stays up at the big ’ouse now. Just as well, ’cause it’s been mortal crowded in the cottage—what with Ma and the three young ’uns, not to mention Jem ’imself.’ Annie raised one plump shoulder. ‘I’ve got used to better, I suppose—a room to m’self. So the sooner I finds another situation, the better.’

‘And couldn’t you find work at Cranborne Hall? It would offer you the opportunity to remain close to your family.’

‘Not ’eard there’s anything going there.’ Annie shrugged again. ’Wouldn’t make no neverminds even if there were. I don’t want to work up there.’

Gwen was intrigued to discover this. ‘Why is that? Is the Earl not well liked in these parts, Annie?’

‘Oh, it ain’t that, ma’am. I don’t want to stay a parlourmaid all me life. Wants to better m’self, become housekeeper or some such. Not much chance of that ’appening if I went to the Hall.’

‘And are there no other large households hereabouts, or well-to-do families that might offer employment?’ Gwen wasn’t in the least reticent to make use of this golden opportunity to discover more about her friend Jane’s employer who, she was very well aware, was rumoured to be one of the wealthiest landowners in Somerset. Although she had never heard a word to his discredit, her late husband having enjoyed more than just a casual acquaintance with the gentleman in question, and his father before him, she thought it would be no bad thing to, perhaps, attain an unbiased view from another source before she paid a visit herself.

‘I recall my husband mentioning a Mr Northbridge, a close neighbour of his, I believe.’ She chose not to reveal at this juncture that she had a very dear friend employed as governess in the household. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of Jane’s status. Nothing could have been further from the truth. No, it was merely that she thought she would receive a more candid opinion of the aforementioned gentleman if she kept certain facts to herself.

‘Lord bless you, ma’am! I’d never get a job there!’ Annie exclaimed, much to Gwen’s intense surprise.

She then began to experience slight feelings of unease. ‘Why is that, Annie? Is he not—perhaps—a well-liked person?’

‘Oh, no, ma’am, it ain’t that. It’s t’ other way, if anything. I’m not saying he’s liked by everyone, but he is by most. And that’s a fact! He can be sharp, mind,’ she went on to divulge, after a moment’s thought. ‘Ain’t afraid to say what he thinks, Mr Northbridge ain’t. But ’ee’s fair. My big brother, Ben, him that toils down at the smithy in the village ’ere, would work for ’im tomorrow, iffen there were a situation going. Trouble is, nobody ever leaves Mr Northbridge. Not unless they’re taken away from the place in a box, that is!’

Gwen stared across at the parlourmaid for a moment in stunned disbelief. ‘What in the world do you mean by that, Annie?’

‘Well, ’tis this way, ma’am. Like anyone else, Mr Northbridge’s got ’is faults. All the same, there’s no denying folk lucky enough to get taken on at Bridge House stay there, and only leave when the Almighty decides it’s time for ’em to move on. Mr Northbridge knows fine our Ben would be ’appy to run the stables for ’im, and he’s promised Ben he’ll be given a job soon as there be one. But m’brother’s not daft, ma’am. He knows ’ee might be working at the smithy a good while yet.’

Gwen listened to these disclosures with decidedly mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was comforting to know that her dearest Jane had found herself a position where the head of the family was held in such esteem; on the other hand, though, it might prove no easy task to achieve her objective—namely to prise her dearest friend, the female whom she had always looked upon as a sister, away from this pillar of the community and persuade her to come and live with her now.

There was no denying that Jane had grown into a fiercely independent young woman. The only child of well-respected, if not affluent, parents, she had been both proud and determined to make her own way in the world. Gwen was equally aware that there would have been a greater chance of attaining her dearest wish if this unknown Mr Northbridge had proved not to be such a paragon. Undoubtedly she would discover precisely what manner of man he was for herself in due course.

In the meantime, though, there were other matters requiring her attention, she decided, quickly returning to the unpacking of the various trunks cluttering the bedchamber. Her first visit to Bridge House would need to be postponed for a while, at least until her own home had been restored to full working order.

In point of fact, it was over a week later before Gwen began to think seriously about making that short two-mile journey to Bridge House to see Jane Robbins. She had had much to occupy her since her arrival, not least of which had been engaging the services of Annie on a permanent basis, and hiring one of Annie’s young brothers, Joe, to help bring some much-needed order to the neglected garden.

Although the steadily recovering Mrs Travis had been very well pleased by Annie’s appointment, declaring that she was an excellent maid, one who could be relied upon to work without supervision, and not cut corners, Manders had betrayed no similar delight when informed that there would shortly be an extra pair of hands not only to help about the garden, but also to assist with all the other outside tasks.

His decided lack of enthusiasm hadn’t altogether surprised Gwen, for as the days had passed she had become increasingly convinced that Annie’s low opinion of Manders was fully justified. The resentment she had easily perceived in his expression, when she had informed him of the changes she intended to make, she strongly suspected, didn’t stem from the fact that he believed she thought him no longer capable of doing his work. Oh, no, it was much more likely to have been because, having someone else working alongside him every single day, he would no longer be able to idle so much time away in some out-of-the-way corner, feet up, pulling on his pipe. Already there had been noticeable improvements in several areas of the garden, and it was no longer a rare sight to see Manders himself pushing a wheelbarrow along one of the overgrown paths.

Her housemaid’s sudden appearance in the cosy back parlour, which Gwen had quickly selected for her private domain, drew her attention away from the activity taking place in the garden. For a short while she absently watched as Annie made up the fire, before enquiring into how her two newest employees were settling in.

If Annie felt surprised by this show of interest in her welfare, and that of her much younger brother, she certainly betrayed no sign of it. ‘Champion, ma’am,’ she declared, rosy face beaming. ‘My room in the attic’s nice and cosy. And I knew right enough I’d be happy working under Mrs Travis.’

‘And what about your brother? How’s he settling in?’

‘Well enough, Mrs Warrender. He’s finding no trouble with the work, young though he is. But ’aving a room all to ’imself is summat strange for ’im. Used to sharing with Ma and the little ’uns, you see?’

It said much about the conditions endured by the majority of those less fortunate members of the human race that sleeping alone in a room measuring little more than six feet by eight was considered the height of luxury.

‘Yes, I’m sure Joe must find it odd. But I’d rather he stay where he is for the present, where you can continue to keep an eye on him.’ Gwen turned once again to stare out at where the thirteen-year-old Joe was hard at work doing battle with a bramble patch. ‘The day might dawn when he’d prefer to share those quarters above the outhouses, and I shan’t object if he chooses so to do. As I saw for myself, only the other day, there’s ample room up there for three people. But for the time being I think it best he remains close enough for you to keep an eye on him. He’s still a child, after all.’

Gwen knew she didn’t need to say anything further. Annie was no fool, and although the maid herself was more than capable of holding her own against a taciturn individual like Manders, it didn’t automatically follow that her sibling might quickly learn to do the same. So, for the time being at least, it was worth keeping a watchful eye on proceedings, if only to be certain that young Joe wasn’t being put upon by his co-worker.

Gwen’s thoughts then turned to other events that had occupied her during her first week in her new home. She certainly hadn’t found time hanging heavily on her hands, even though she hadn’t received a single visit from a neighbour. In view of the fact that both Annie and the local practitioner, Dr Bartlet, had mentioned that what had seemed half the county, at some time or other, had fallen victim to the particular malady that had struck down poor Mrs Travis, the lack of callers in no way surprised her. All the same, she did think it rather strange that she had received no word from Jane, not even the briefest of notes awaiting her, especially as she herself had made a point, the instant she had arrived back in the country, of apprising her dearest friend of precisely when she expected to be taking up residence in her late husband’s home.

As was her wont, Gwen wasn’t slow to act once she had come to a decision, and asked Annie to send Martha Gillingham to her immediately and then instruct Manders to have the one and only horse-drawn vehicle the late Sir Percival Warrender had ever possessed brought round to the door.

The journey to Bridge House was blessedly of short duration. None the less, it was with a feeling of intense relief that Gwen alighted from the antiquated conveyance that afforded no more comfort than a farm cart, vowing as she did so to decrease her bank balance in order to acquire a new carriage at the earliest opportunity.

She then turned her full attention on the early Georgian dwelling before her. Set in a garden that was both extensive and well maintained, Bridge House was, as Jane had once described in one of her letters, a very handsome building indeed. Clearly it was a residence belonging to a gentleman of substantial means. Furthermore, if the property was a reflection of his character, he was a person of elegance and good taste.

Apart from one or two details she had discovered from both her late husband and Jane, and those few interesting snippets she had gleaned from Annie in recent days, Gwen knew next to nothing about the owner of the delightful property, save that he was closely connected to several aristocratic families, he could also boast a fine residence in the capital, and he remained a bachelor.

‘Which in one way is a great pity, Gillie,’ she declared, after mulling over the few facts she did know about him. ‘Had he been married, it would have spared you suffering this atrocious journey. I could then have asked to see Mrs Northbridge. As things stand, I have no choice but to drag you along. I might be a respectable widow, but I still cannot go calling on single gentlemen without giving rise to a deal of gossip.’

‘That you can’t, Miss Gwennie,’ Martha agreed. ‘Might be different if you had a few more years in your dish and a face like a horse’s rear. But the fact is you haven’t.’

‘No, and I suppose I should consider myself most fortunate for that, too,’ Gwen responded a little unsteadily, as she reached the impressive colonnaded front entrance. ‘Let’s hope Lady Luck continues to favour me and we should discover Mr Northbridge away from home. I can then ask to see Jane without fear of causing offence.’

‘You could have written again during the past days, telling Miss Jane of your safe arrival down here,’ Martha pointed out, reaching for the highly polished door-knocker before her young mistress could do so.

‘Yes, I know I could have done,’ Gwen agreed. ‘But until I know for certain that Jane’s willing to share my home, I don’t want to make things awkward for her. I know her too well. At the very least she’ll insist on working her notice, or remaining until Mr Northbridge has managed to engage another governess. Furthermore, letters have a habit of going astray or falling into the wrong hands. I had no intention of advertising my close association with Jane, at least not until I’ve discussed things with her first.’ Gwen lowered her eyes, thereby concealing the look of bitter regret. ‘I was once guilty of assuming too much where she is concerned. I have no intention of repeating that gross error of judgement.’

The summons was answered promptly by an elderly male servant who, on discovering her identity, betrayed no reluctance whatsoever in admitting Gwen, or revealing that his master was in residence.

‘If you’d care to wait in here, madam,’ he said, leading the way into a most charmingly decorated and comfortable front parlour, ‘I shall enquire if the master is able to see you.’

Given that her late husband had always maintained he had remained upon the best of terms with this particular neighbour, Gwen didn’t suppose for a moment that Mr Northbridge would refuse to see her, unless of course other matters required his urgent attention. What she didn’t expect, a moment after she had detected the click of the door, was the clearly astonished voice declaring,

‘Good gad! I’d heard Warrender, the old rogue, had married someone years his junior, but I never supposed for a moment she’d turn out to be a chit not long out of the schoolroom!’

Chapter Two

It was more the oddly familiar rich tone than the blunt exclamation of surprise that induced Gwen to abandon her contemplation of the neat flower-bed just beyond the window and to swing round to face the new arrival squarely. Then it was as much as she could do not to reciprocate with an expression of shocked dismay of her own.

If nothing else, a quarter of a century of life had taught her never to be complacent, or take things for granted. Although considering herself more favourably circumstanced than most, she had not hitherto lived a completely cocooned existence, protected from every cruel knock. She knew well enough that life was littered with pitfalls, ready to entrap the unwary. But never until that moment had she supposed that fickle Fate could be quite so mischievously vindictive.

Briefly she raised her eyes heavenwards, as though hoping to prompt some divine intervention, or at the very least discover the answer to that one burning question torturing her mind—why, oh, why must Jocelyn Northbridge, a gentleman whom she couldn’t possibly hope to avoid in the future, if she wished to resume her former very close friendship with Jane Robbins without delay, turn out to be none other than the thoroughly obnoxious individual she had encountered, albeit briefly, in that Bristol posting-house a mere ten days or so ago?

Gwen suppressed the shout of hysterical laughter rising in her throat as effectively as she controlled the sudden desire to flee from his presence like an overwhelmed child. She then quickly took heart from the fact his expression betrayed no sign of recognition whatsoever, and in those moments that followed, while he continued to study her with a look that could best be described as amused disbelief, a germ of steely determination that never again would she allow him to dismiss her as yet another light-minded female, not worthy of at least token civility, seeded itself deep within.

A close association over a period of very many months with certain members of a noble Italian family proved invaluable. Gwen raised her pointed little chin in faint hauteur, in much the same way as she had witnessed her good friend the Contessa di Canolini doing on numerous occasions when dealing with any bumptious fellow.

‘You appear somewhat stunned, sir,’ she said, aping, too, the darling Contessa’s bored tone to a nicety. ‘If your failure to observe the social niceties in asking me to sit down stems from the fact that I’ve called at an inconvenient time, I can only apologise and assure you that you’ll not be importuned for longer than necessary. If, however, you doubt my authenticity, I’m in a position to prove I am indeed the widow of Sir Percival Warrender.’

Had it ever been Gwen’s overriding ambition to set him at a disadvantage, her satisfaction would have been short-lived indeed. Only for the briefest of moments did he betray a flicker of something that could well have been attributed to mild discomfiture at being reminded of basic civilities. Then he merely strolled forward in that infuriatingly relaxed way of his that she well remembered, and stared down at her, unblinking, from his superior height, while gesturing towards one of the chairs placed before the welcoming hearth.

‘I require no proof of your identity, Lady Warrender. I shall unmask you soon enough, should you prove to be an impostor,’ he told her, sounding infuriatingly confident. ‘And as for my reaction—I’m sure you must be well used to it by now. If the truth be known, I expect you were taken, more often than not, for old Warrender’s daughter, not his wife.’

Gwen didn’t attempt to deny it. ‘There was a vast disparity in our ages, it is true,’ she agreed, before a certain twinkle, which Martha Gillingham would have recognised in a trice, began to flicker in her eyes a moment before she added, ‘And I suppose I must be generous and make allowances. Anyone having attained middle age might consider someone in her mid-twenties a mere child.’

The unkind and altogether inaccurate barb undoubtedly hit its mark. Consequently she experienced a degree of satisfaction to see those dark eyes narrowing perceptively a second before he swung round, and headed across the room in the direction of the decanters. All the same, she had no intention of engaging in open hostilities or attempting to attain the upper hand on the few occasions she was likely to find herself in his company. She was neither vindictive by nature, nor was she one to harbour a grudge. She was quite prepared, henceforward, to award him the same civility as she would any other casual acquaintance, providing he, in turn, reciprocated, and didn’t attempt to treat her as though she were a mere featherbrain.

‘No, I thank you, sir,’ she said, belatedly taking a seat by the hearth, while declining the offer of refreshment. ‘I never imbibe in the forenoon as a rule, but do not demur if others choose to do so.’

She didn’t suppose for a moment he’d care a whit if she objected or not, for already she had gained the distinct impression he was a gentleman of strong character who, more often than not, would follow his own inclinations, no matter the opposition. Yet she knew it would be grossly unfair of her to assume on so short an acquaintance that he went out of his way to be hostile or even contentious. She was inclined to believe that what she had gleaned from her housemaid was not far removed from the truth. She gained the distinct impression too that, being a blunt, no-nonsense kind of fellow, he would possibly appreciate plain speaking in others, and so decided to adopt just such a policy in any dealings they might have in the future.

Only before she could commence to explain the reason for her visit, Mr Northbridge, who had been staring at her rather intently since settling himself in the chair opposite, confirmed the conclusions she had thus far drawn by declaring, ‘Ma’am, I cannot help thinking we’ve met somewhere before. Yet for the life of me I cannot imagine why I should suspect as much, since I’m positive we’ve never been formally introduced, owing to the fact that your husband never returned to his home after your marriage.’

For a moment or two Gwen remained in two minds, not knowing whether to admit to the brief and unfortunate first encounter, or allow him to remain in ignorance. Then a sudden well of pride decided the matter. She had no intention of alluding to an insignificant incident that would set her at a distinct disadvantage. After all, hadn’t he little enough respect for her sex, without her fuelling his biased inclinations?

‘It is absolutely true, sir, I never visited this county before I recently took up residence in my late husband’s house.’ Evasiveness on a grand scale it might have been, but at least she had refrained from telling an outright lie. ‘I was born and bred in the north of Hampshire, and never once stirred from the county until after my marriage. Perhaps you were a frequent visitor to that part of the country and our paths crossed there.’

For a second or two his regard remained uncomfortably penetrating, then he shrugged, evidently having decided to dismiss it from his mind, and merely offered a token apology for not having called upon her. ‘The truth of the matter is, ma’am, I’ve been away from home, and only arrived back here late yesterday evening.’

‘I never made the least attempt to discover whether or not you were in residence,’ Gwen wasn’t slow to confess, having experienced no second thoughts about maintaining a policy of plain speaking where the gentleman seated opposite was concerned. ‘The truth of the matter is, sir, it is the female you employ as governess that I particularly wish to see.’

Study him though she did, Gwen found it impossible to assess what was passing through his mind during those following moments. He certainly didn’t appear taken aback, or even offended by the admission, for that matter. No, if anything, she thought she detected what might well have been a guarded expression, before dark brows rose in exaggerated surprise, and he regarded her much as he had done when he had first entered the room.

‘You must allow me to felicitate you, ma’am. I had no notion Sir Percival retained such—er—reserves of stamina in his latter years.’ He paused for a moment to observe the bewilderment, which his visitor did absolutely nothing to disguise, widening vivid blue eyes. ‘All the same, in this particular instance I fear I cannot oblige you. Besides which, you should find it no difficult matter to engage a suitable female yourself to educate your offspring.’

A full half-minute passed before Gwen had comprehended fully. ‘But—but I bore Sir Percival no children,’ she eventually managed to reveal, her voice betraying such mortification that it was clear she was experiencing the utmost difficulty understanding why he should have harboured such an absurd notion in the first place. ‘There was never any question of children,’ she added, not realising precisely what she was revealing to her interested listener, who turned away briefly, thereby concealing a flickering, enigmatic smile.

‘Forgive the assumption, ma’am,’ he responded, with just a trace of unsteadiness in his voice. ‘However, in my defence I must say it was an understandable mistake to make. Furthermore, if you have no children in your care, I fail to understand why you should require the services of a governess.’

‘I do not wish to employ a governess, sir…any governess,’ Gwen swiftly assured him, after having silently acknowledged there was some justification for his jumping to the totally wrong conclusion, ludicrous though it had undoubtedly been. ‘I merely wish to attain your permission to exchange a brief word with your governess, Miss Jane Robbins.’

All lingering traces of amusement vanished in an instant from Jocelyn Northbridge’s ruggedly masculine features. ‘I regret to say I am unable to acquiesce to your request, Lady Warrender. Miss Robbins, sadly, is no longer in my employ.’

Gwen made not the least attempt to hide her astonishment, though after a moment’s reflection she began to appreciate that it was perhaps understandable why, given her employer’s caustic temperament, Jane had eventually sought another post. What wasn’t so clear was why Jane had failed to furnish her with a forwarding address. After all, she had been well aware that her childhood friend would shortly move into the locale. Why on earth hadn’t she left a note in Mrs Travis’s care, or sent one to London for Mr Claypole to pass on at Gwen’s arrival in the capital?

She began to experience a definite feeling of unease. ‘Do you happen to know where Miss Robbins presently resides, sir? Could you possibly furnish me with her direction?’

For a moment Gwen feared he might, for reasons best known to himself, withhold the information, but then he informed her, without betraying the least emotion, ‘Yes, I am in a position to do that, ma’am. She has taken up permanent residency beneath the shading branches of a large yew tree in St Matthew’s churchyard.’

Jocelyn Northbridge could never have been accused of harbouring much sympathy towards females who suffered the vapours. In fact, his tolerance hovered only just above zero. Yet in those moments that followed his blunt disclosure, when he watched what he had already decided was a very sweet countenance lose every vestige of healthy bloom, the chivalrous streak in his nature welled as never before, and an unexpected desire to protect almost overwhelmed him.

Within seconds he had poured out a generous measure of brandy and was forcing the glass into a finely boned hand. ‘Drink!’ he ordered at his most dictatorial, a command seemingly that she could not or did not choose to disobey. Then he was able to observe, with a degree of satisfaction, the subsequent shudder and coughing fit restore a semblance of colour to delicate cheeks.

For a few moments he continued to watch her closely, all the time cursing himself under his breath for a boorish, unfeeling fool. Even a simpleton might have guessed that Warrender’s widow and Miss Robbins were likely to have enjoyed more than just a casual acquaintance, he told himself. Yet his voice when he offered an apology for breaking the news in such a callously abrupt manner remained quite impersonal, betraying none of the annoyance at himself or regret he was experiencing.

‘Evidently you and Miss Robbins were well acquainted, ma’am?’

‘As she was sadly orphaned at an early age, we grew up together, sir.’ Her voice, though soft, was blessedly level and free from any threat of tears. ‘She was my mother’s goddaughter. I looked upon her as a sister.’

As Joss turned at that moment and headed towards the bell-pull sited on the far wall, Gwen failed to see the self-deprecating expression flickering across his features. ‘You must allow me to summon your maid, ma’am. You have suffered a grievous shock.’

‘Indeed, I have,’ Gwen acknowledged with quiet dignity, while maintaining such remarkable control over her emotions that the gentleman who turned once again to study her could not help but admire her self-restraint. ‘And you need not summon my maid, sir. I assure you I’ve no intention of causing you or myself embarrassment by falling into a swoon. I should much prefer that you return to your seat and explain to me what happened to Jane. Was she yet a further casualty of the influenza epidemic that has been sweeping through the county in recent weeks? I have learned from the doctor that half his patients have fallen victim at some time or other, and sadly not all have survived.’

Instead of resuming the chair opposite, Joss took up a stance before the hearth. ‘Believe me, Lady Warrender, I wish I could confirm that it was so.’ There could be no mistaking the deep regret in his voice now. ‘Miss Robbins’s death could not be attributed to natural causes.’

He paused to reach down for the glass of burgundy he had placed on the table by his chair, and tossed it down in one fortifying swallow, before adding, ‘She met her end whilst out walking in Marsden Wood.’

For several long moments it was as much as Gwen could do to stare up at him, as she at last began to recall with frightening clarity elements of that conversation she had overheard between this gentleman and his friend in a certain posting-house in Bristol. Then, maintaining that admirable control, she asked bluntly, ‘Are you trying to tell me, sir, Jane Robbins was murdered?’

Almost a week passed before Gwen could even attempt to bring herself to come to terms with the fact that her surrogate sister had died in such horrible circumstances; and in the days that followed she discovered a deal more about Jane’s demise than Jocelyn Northbridge had seen fit to impart.

It was from her newly appointed housemaid, a mine of local opinions and gossip, salacious or quite otherwise, that Gwen learned that Jane had by no means been the only female in recent years to meet her end in Marsden Wood. Although a little reticent at first, the good doctor too had been persuaded to reveal certain other salient facts surrounding the deaths, and Jane’s in particular. From the local vicar, Mr Harmond, one of the few people whom she had agreed to see during this time of deep depression and sorrow, Gwen had discovered the identity of the person who had ensured that Jane had at least received a decent burial and had not been placed in a pauper’s grave.

‘What a complex gentleman Mr Northbridge is, Gillie,’ she remarked, as she led the way out of the churchyard, having at last brought herself to visit the grave. ‘A mass of contradictions! He even went to the expense of buying a decent headstone.’

Unbeknownst to Gwen, Martha Gillingham had thoroughly approved of Mr Northbridge from the moment he had insisted they make the return journey in his own carriage, after that one and only visit to his home.

‘A very solid, dependable sort, I should say, Miss Gwennie.’

‘Yes, and beneath that brusque exterior, he’s surprisingly kind and considerate too.’ She managed a weak smile, the first to curl her lips in days, as memory stirred. ‘One might not suppose just how kind he can be on first making his acquaintance.’

‘I think he’s what’s termed a man’s man, Miss Gwennie. He doesn’t look the type to stand any nonsense.’

Gwen readily agreed with this viewpoint, even though she knew it could be a big mistake to make snap judgements about people. After all, hadn’t she been guilty of doing precisely that, after their unfortunate encounter in a certain crowded posting-house? Whether or not she could ever bring herself to really like him, perhaps only time would tell. But at least she experienced no lingering animosity towards him whatsoever. How could she after the respect he had shown towards her dearest Jane?

‘I must write, thanking him for his kindness, and offering to reimburse him for the expense he has incurred paying for Jane’s funeral. I don’t suppose for a moment he’ll accept any money from me. But the least I can do is offer.’

‘Well, it looks as if you’ll be able to do so in person,’ Martha announced, as they turned into the driveway. ‘Because, unless I’m much mistaken, that’s his carriage standing there at the front door.’

As she had instantly recognised the comfortable equipage too, Gwen didn’t delay, once she had dispensed with her outdoor garments, in joining her unexpected visitor in the front parlour.

Standing over six feet in his stockinged feet, Jocelyn Northbridge was an impressive figure by any standard, and in the confines of a parlour that was only moderately proportioned he seemed more imposing than ever. Yet, strangely enough, as she moved towards him, hand automatically outstretched in welcome, Gwen felt not one iota intimidated by his superior height and breadth. In fact, the opposite was true—she felt oddly reassured to see him standing there before her hearth.

‘Do make yourself comfortable, Mr Northbridge,’ she cordially invited, once he had released her hand, after the briefest of clasps, so that she could indicate the most robustly made chair, the one that was sure to withstand his weight. ‘May I offer you some refreshment? I came across numerous bottles of a very fine burgundy whilst I was inspecting the cellar shortly after my arrival here.’

She was well aware he was studying her every move during the time it took to dispense two glasses and rejoin him at the hearth. Fortunately the short walk from the local church had done something to restore her healthy bloom, even if it could not disguise the fact that a total lack of appetite in recent days had resulted in weight loss, a circumstance that wouldn’t escape his notice, as very little did, she strongly suspected.

This was borne out by the exaggerated upward movement of one dark brow when she placed the two crystal vessels down on the table between their respective chairs. ‘Breaking with tradition on this occasion, Lady Warrender, and imbibing in the forenoon, I see,’ he quipped. ‘I’m relieved to discover you’re prepared to make adjustments from time to time to suit various occasions, and are not bound by monotonous convention or routine. Such persons swiftly become bores.’

Gwen came to the conclusion in that moment that if one wished to rub along with Mr Jocelyn Northbridge even just tolerably well, one must swiftly make allowances for his somewhat acerbic manner and forthright opinions. In view of the fact that she was very much beholden to him at the present time, it wasn’t too difficult a decision to reach to do precisely that.

Which was perhaps just as well, for when, a second or two later, she attempted to thank him for the consideration he had shown in dealing with Jane’s funeral, he interrupted with an expletive of impatience, dismissing her offer to reimburse him with a wave of one large, yet surprisingly shapely hand.

‘Kindness doesn’t enter into the matter, ma’am,’ he continued in the same blunt manner. ‘I had been assured by Miss Robbins herself, when she applied for the post, that she had no close relatives living. Consequently, when the tragedy occurred, I felt duty bound, as she was in my employ at the time, to deal with the matter personally.’ He paused to sample the dark liquid in his glass, favouring the remaining contents a moment later with a look of decided approval. ‘Needless to say I was oblivious to your close association, otherwise I would have taken the trouble to write apprising you of the tragedy. I happen to know she corresponded on a reasonably regular basis with someone residing in the capital, but could find no clue as to this unknown’s direction among her effects.’

‘That would undoubtedly have been Mr Claypole of Messrs Claypole, Claypole and Featherstone. Many of the letters Jane and I wrote to each other during my first years away from this country went astray. But when Percival and I visited Italy in more recent times, Mr Claypole the younger was kind enough to undertake the task of forwarding the letters, which resulted in many more eventually reaching their respective destinations.’

‘I found no letters among her belongings, ma’am. Which, incidentally, I’ve brought with me today. I thought you might like them.’

Gwen felt moved by the gesture. ‘That was kind of you, sir. I thank you.’

He didn’t attempt to throw her gratitude back in her face this time. He merely watched as she sampled the fine wine with what appeared to be a deal less appreciation than he himself had done.

Acutely conscious of this continued close scrutiny, Gwen turned her head slightly to stare down at the burning logs in the hearth, thereby offering him a prime view of a small, tip-tilted nose and slightly protruding upper lip.

‘Since learning of Jane’s tragic demise, I’ve discovered she was by no means the only female to have met her end in this Marsden Wood.’

No comment was forthcoming. Undeterred, Gwen added, ‘The daughter of a wealthy farmer is believed to have been yet another casualty. She, so I have been led to believe, was murdered some few years ago. There has been a further body unearthed, so I understand. Apparently it was too decomposed for any definite identification to be made. Although, because of a bracelet found close to the body, and remnants of clothing, it is strongly supposed she was none other than a local corn merchant’s daughter who disappeared last summer. Whether she suffered the same fate as Jane was, I’m reliably informed, impossible to ascertain. But it is strongly suspected that she too was violated…a fact you chose to withhold from me, Mr Northbridge.’

He didn’t attempt to deny it. Instead he cursed, long and fluently under his breath, before demanding in the blunt, dictatorial manner to which she was becoming increasingly less resentful, ‘Who have you been talking to…? The local sawbones, I’ll be bound!’

Without experiencing the least need to resort to profanity, Gwen returned the compliment by not attempting to prevaricate, either. ‘Dr Bartlet was, eventually, a deal more forthcoming than you were, sir, certainly. As was my new maid, Annie, a veritable fount of local knowledge. And no mean judge of public opinion, I might add.’

‘Is she, by gad!’ He was decidedly unimpressed, as his next words proved beyond doubt. ‘And what good has it done you to discover all the unsavoury facts surrounding the death? It was enough for you to learn you had lost a good friend in such a fashion without learning every last sordid detail.’

Gwen favoured him with a searching stare, and easily detected a look of concern lurking behind the sparkle of annoyance in those dark eyes. ‘I believe you were trying to be kind in sparing me the unsavoury facts, sir. But let me assure you, I’m no child. My husband always did his utmost to protect me, but he never once attempted to prevent me from increasing my knowledge of the world. I’m fully aware of what Jane must have endured before she was strangled.’

One expressive brow rose at this, betraying his scepticism, but he refrained from comment, leaving Gwen to rise to her feet and go over to the window, whilst the silence lengthened between them.

‘What’s of most concern to me now is what’s being done to bring the murderer to book.’ She swung round, catching a guarded look, not untouched by guilt, flickering over his strong and decidedly aristocratic features. ‘From what I’ve discovered thus far, no one has been charged with the crimes, though several likely suspects have been named.’

‘Sheer gossip, more often than not stemming from some personal dislike or grievance,’ he returned, totally dismissive, before running impatient fingers through his thick, slightly waving dark hair. ‘Of course enquiries were made about Miss Robbins. And the other women, too. But nothing ever came to light. No one ever came forward admitting to having witnessed the tragic incidents. In point of fact, no one has ever come forward with any relevant information at all, as far as I’m aware. And as far as Miss Robbins is concerned—no one, myself included, even saw her leave Bridge House. Her absence wasn’t discovered until the evening, when she failed to go down to the kitchen for her dinner, and so a maid took a tray up to her room.’

The lines across his forehead grew more pronounced, making him appear more forbidding than ever. ‘Naturally I instigated a thorough search of both house and grounds. But it was dark by that time, so there was no possibility of widening the search. Her body was discovered two days later by a man called Furslow, Lord Cranborne’s gamekeeper.’

Gwen found these disclosures both interesting and puzzling at one and the same time. ‘Was Jane in the habit of wandering about the countryside when the mood took her?’ she asked, thinking him a very generous master in allowing his employees so much free time.

He wasn’t slow to set her straight on the matter. ‘Of course not! Not unless she undertook to take her charges out for some fresh air,’ he answered snappishly. ‘If her intention was to walk any distance, she was, at my insistence, always accompanied by a male servant, footman or groom.’ His expression relaxed markedly and his voice became noticeably less caustic, too, as he added, ‘Miss Robbins was extremely conscientious. She more than met my expectations. My wards improved in every respect under her charge.’

Although he continued to stare directly across the room in her general direction, Gwen gained the distinct impression he was seeing quite a different aspect. ‘It just so happened that my wards were among the first to succumb to the recent, widespread influenza outbreak. I took what precautions I could to ensure my entire household wasn’t afflicted by giving instructions that my old nursemaid was the only one to attend the sickroom until the girls were over the worst of it. Miss Robbins undertook to help me catalogue the books in my library during that period. But even so she was left with plenty of free time on her hands. Unfortunately, the weather naturally being so inclement at that season of the year, she rarely left the house.’

The cleft between his dark brows deepened once again. ‘If my memory serves me correctly the girls were well on the way to a complete recovery, and Miss Robbins had decided to recommence lessons, at least in part, the very next day. Maybe she decided to take full advantage of the last of her free time by taking a walk, and went further than intended.’

As she had done little travelling about since her arrival in Somerset, Gwen was unfamiliar with the area, and frowned as she attempted to recall the countryside she had passed through on that one and only visit made to Bridge House. ‘Is this Marsden Wood situated close to your home, sir?’

‘It’s about a mile and a half or so away, and lies to the south-east of my property.’

Gwen took a moment to consider what he had disclosed thus far. Jane, she clearly recalled, had been an avid walker years ago, and the mile-and-a-half hike would have meant nothing to her, a mere stretch of the legs, as it were. Even so, choosing to explore a wood in the middle of January did seem rather odd behaviour for someone of Jane’s sensible inclinations. Surely she would have been more likely to have explored the shelves in her master’s library for a suitable read than have run the risk of returning to Bridge House with skirts and boots caked in mud, after an exploratory stroll in a wood? And what was so interesting to view there at that season of the year? Furthermore, would she deliberately have gone against her employer’s express wishes and gone there alone? The answer came hard on the heels of the question—no, she would not, unless she had a very good reason for doing so. Odd…yes, it all seemed decidedly odd!

Suddenly aware that she was being, yet again, avidly studied by her forthright visitor, and that she was in the gravest danger of being accused of the sin of neglect, she apologised. ‘My only excuse, sir, is that I’m finding it immensely difficult to come to terms with my dearest friend’s demise, and my thoughts remain in turmoil. All the same, I must detain you no further, and must thank you again most sincerely for your help in the matter and for ensuring I received those personal effects.’

‘Wrong on all counts, ma’am,’ he returned, once more catching her completely offguard and surprising her by his response. ‘I’ve been of no help to you whatsoever. Yet, I expect that’ll change. And quite swiftly now you’ve set up home here.’ He took a moment to stare about at what for him had once been very familiar surroundings. ‘Warrender would have expected no less from a close neighbour and friend, even though we saw nothing of each other in recent years. And rid your mind of the nonsensical notion you’re importuning me. I’ve never permitted anyone to do that since leaving Oxford. But what you have singularly failed to do, ma’am, is refill my glass. It’s stood empty for the past five minutes, and I’m far too much of a gentleman to help myself.’

‘Now that I simply can’t believe!’ Gwen retorted before she could stop herself. The resulting bark of masculine laughter instantly vanquished her slight feeling of pique at what she had deemed unnecessary strictures on her skills as a hostess, and she found herself willingly complying with his request.

‘Without wishing to appear rude, why do you suppose you could be of service to me, sir?’ she asked, having decided to maintain this mode of plain speaking, at least when solely in his company, which she didn’t envisage would be so often that her powers of restraint would suffer as a result.

‘Well, for a start, ma’am, I can assist you in acquiring a half-decent carriage,’ he answered, after taking a moment to sample the contents of the refilled glass. ‘If you’re to continue residing here, and I assume that’s your intention, you can’t carry on making use of that antiquated bone-shaker of a vehicle. Old Percival used to ride most everywhere. Much preferred the open air. So that vehicle served his needs on the few occasions he was obliged to use it. But it won’t serve yours, most especially if you’re to put off your blacks in the near future. Which I assume you intend to do, as you’ve been widowed nine months now, by my reckoning. No one would expect you to mourn for ever, no matter how fond of old Percival you were. It’s high time you thought of resuming a normal life, enjoying yourself a little and making and receiving visits.’

It was on the tip of Gwen’s tongue to tell him to mind his own business, that she was more than capable of organising her own life, but checked at the last moment.

If the truth were known, it had indeed been her intention to go into half-mourning. Learning of Jane’s tragic demise had persuaded her to remain in her blacks. Yet now, quite suddenly, she began to experience a change of heart once again. After all, what benefit would come of just mourning Jane? Her time and energy would be put to better use in attempting to discover who was responsible for the loss of her dearest friend, because it seemed that no one else had troubled unduly to do so.

The smile she bestowed upon her visitor induced him to blink several times before finishing off his wine in one fortifying swallow. ‘I should consider it a very great favour, sir, if you would assist me in finding a suitable equipage. It is indeed my intention to go out and about a good deal more from now on.’

Evidently having decided to bring his visit to an end now, he rose to his feet. Gwen did likewise, forestalling him as he made to cross to the door by asking the identity of the local Justice of the Peace.

‘Lord Cranborne,’ he enlightened, before favouring her with a decidedly suspicious look. ‘What makes you ask?’

Seeing no earthly reason why she should keep her intentions secret, she said, ‘Because I assume he is the very person to consult if one wishes to discover precisely what is the current situation with regard to uncovering the identity of the Marsden Wood Murderer!’

Chapter Three

Jocelyn Northbridge numbered among the select few who were never denied admittance to Cranborne Hall, the principal seat of the Earls of Cranborne for centuries past. Nevertheless, the butler, highly trained and a stickler for adhering to accepted codes of conduct, requested the visitor wait in a small room off the main hall as a matter of course, before showing him into his master’s favourite retreat on the floor above a few minutes later.

The Earl, not attempting to hide his delight at this unexpected visit by one of his most well-respected and, in his considered opinion, sagacious of neighbours, rose immediately from behind his desk. More than happy to set aside estate matters for the time being, he drew the gentleman, whose reputation for selecting fine wines was second to none, across to the hearth and awaited judgement on what he himself considered a superior claret.

‘Well?’ he prompted when his welcome visitor, after sampling the liquid, merely held up his glass to the light, the better to study its contents’ deep rich colour. ‘Come, a little honesty, my friend. Isn’t it one of the finest you’ve ever tasted?’

Joss, never one to be pressed on matters of real importance, considered for a moment longer before nodding approval, and then immediately afterwards destroying his host’s understandable satisfaction by adding, ‘But certainly not the best tipple I’ve sampled this day.’

‘What?’ His lordship regarded the younger man as though his neighbour had taken leave of his senses. ‘You’re bamming me!’

‘Not at all, sir,’ Joss assured him, setting the glass to one side. ‘And that, in part, is why I’m here.’

‘Aha!’ His lordship was all avid attention. ‘Got yourself a new vintner, have you, and are willing to share the rogue’s fine stocks with an old friend?’

Joss wasn’t slow to set his lordship straight on the matter. ‘Not quite, no. What I have acquired is a new neighbour. And one who’s shown remarkable judgement in selecting wine. A very fine palate, I should say…for a woman, that is.’ He paused for a moment to stare blindly up at the portrait of the decidedly ill-favoured, though much missed, late Countess taking pride of place above the hearth. ‘Possibly the result of that time spent in Italy, I should imagine.’

‘And the name of the rare specimen?’ his lordship prompted, amused by the dry tone, and not just a little intrigued as well.

‘Old Warrender’s widow.’

In all probability it would have been at this juncture that his lordship’s interest in the unknown female would have swiftly begun to wane, had it not been for the odd flicker he detected, just for an instant, in his visitor’s eyes. He didn’t waste time in attempting to speculate on what the look might have denoted. If, however, it was a silent admission to a definite interest in the woman, then it would have been the first Northbridge had ever betrayed, at least in his lordship’s presence, for it was a well-known fact that his highly respected neighbour held all too few of the fair sex in high esteem.

One of the rare exceptions was, in fact, none other than his lordship’s favourite niece. A handsome young woman, with a fine figure and a quick mind, Anthea Kershaw appeared to be, on the surface at least, the ideal partner for a gentleman of Jocelyn Northbridge’s stamp. His lordship was very well aware that his youngest sister, Lady Florence Kershaw, had, for several years, nurtured the fondest hope of just such an alliance. Indeed, he himself wouldn’t have been averse to such a match, for he was as fond of this particular niece as he was his own sons, if not a deal fonder in many respects. Notwithstanding, he was not altogether sure that Anthea would make the ideal wife for his estimable neighbour. If the girl had one failing, it was a tendency to be a trifle too refined, a little too conciliating, and therefore would do almost anything to avoid confrontation. She would undoubtedly allow Northbridge his way in more things than would be good for him, with possible disastrous consequences.

His lordship regarded his companion steadily, as Joss, clearly in a world of his own that day, continued absently to contemplate the portrait of the late Countess.

‘Well, come on, Northbridge,’ he urged, after a further moment’s silence. ‘What’s the widow like? I seem to remember hearing someone mentioning once that she was young enough to be Warrender’s daughter.’

‘Ha! Granddaughter, more like!’ Joss returned with brutal frankness.

‘Good gad, the old dog! And is she pleasing on the eye?’

Surprising his lordship somewhat, Joss took a long moment to consider. ‘Not a beauty, no, at least not in my humble opinion,’ he revealed at last. ‘But well enough. Got what I’d call a sweet face. Damned disarming little thing, though,’ he went on, his heavy frown descending. ‘Turns out she was well acquainted with that governess I employed. She’s not at all happy nothing’s being done to track down the killer.’

‘You know we did all we could,’ his lordship returned, far from annoyed, though slightly nettled by the accusation. ‘Spoke again to all the usual suspects, but no fresh evidence came to light. No one heard anything; no one saw anything. Even had an extra word with my gamekeeper. I know Furslow’s not liked by most hereabouts. He’s been a prime suspect in many people’s minds from the start, especially as the first girl was discovered only a matter of weeks after he came to work for me. What is more, there’s no denying he has something of a reputation where women are concerned. But there’s absolutely nothing to link him with these murders. In fact, the opposite’s true. Several people have come forward to swear he was elsewhere, attending a prize fight or cockfight, when at least two of the women were first reported missing.’

‘True enough,’ Joss was forced to agree, his heavy frown still very much in evidence. ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact that more could have been done…should have been done to find the person responsible.’

His lordship watched, appalled, as his guest, quite without warning, tossed the remainder of his wine down his throat and rose abruptly to his feet. ‘Good gad, Northbridge! That’s no way to treat a wine of that quality!’

Ignoring the stricture, Joss began to pace up and down, resorting for the second time that morning to running impatient fingers through his hair as he did so. ‘That damnable female’s got under my skin, so she has!’ he at last admitted, coming to a halt in the middle of the room. ‘Just as I was on the point of departure, she came straight out and said that had any one of the victims been some highborn lady, no effort would have been spared. And damn it, Cranborne, you can’t deny the chit’s right! Then, when I attempted to persuade her not to interfere, she totally floored me with the response. Asked if I’d just sit back and do nothing if a friend of mine had been murdered. And the truth of the matter is I’d move heaven and earth in an attempt to uncover the killer.’

‘So, what are you asking me to do?’ his lordship prompted, when once again his visitor relapsed into a brooding silence. ‘If you’re asking me to start fresh enquiries, I don’t honestly believe it would do much good.’

‘No, I was thinking more on the lines of bringing in someone from the outside, an ex-Runner who has for some years now undertaken private commissions. I happen to know he successfully aided a very close friend of mine in locating the whereabouts of his errant wife. Seemingly he’s extremely discreet. Furthermore, he has the knack of blending in, of going about a community without arousing suspicion, inducing people to reveal more than they might otherwise have done to someone they knew to be in authority. I could send an express to London, requesting my good friend Merriot Markham engages this person on my behalf—if you’ve no objection, that is?’

‘Not in the least, dear boy,’ the Earl agreed, urbanity itself, ‘providing you don’t keep me in the dark if any information is uncovered.’

‘Understood,’ Joss responded.

Deciding it was time to bring the visit to an end, he made his way across the room. As he reached the door, he bethought himself of something else, however. ‘You don’t happen to know if young Gilmorton’s still contemplating disposing of that new carriage and pair in order to pay those gaming debts?’

‘Can’t see him managing to do so otherwise, as his father steadfastly refuses to come to his aid this time. Why? Surely you’re not thinking of making him an offer?’

‘Not for myself, no. But I promised Warrender’s widow I’d look out for a decent carriage and pair for her. And I’ll do it too!’ A look of rock-hard determination momentarily gripped Northbridge’s features. ‘But that’s all I intend to do for the confounded woman!’ he declared vehemently. ‘

His lordship smiled to himself as the door was closed none too gently by the departing visitor. ‘I wonder now,’ he murmured, taking his time to savour the remaining contents of his glass, ‘how long it will be before our friend finds himself breaking that vow?’

Three days later Gwen had once again taken up the day-to-day running of her household. It wasn’t that she had recovered swiftly from the loss of her friend. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Jane was never absent long from her thoughts, and she once again returned to the forefront of Gwen’s mind the instant she had finished discussing the dinner menus for the following week with her now, thankfully, fully recovered housekeeper.

‘Before you go, Mrs Travis,’ she said, forestalling the servant’s immediate departure, ‘are you by any chance acquainted with the housekeeper at Bridge House?’

‘Why, yes, ma’am! Known Mrs Brice for a number of years. We both took up our posts at about the same time, though she’s a good deal older than me. Always exchange a word or two after the Sunday service, we do, and if we happen to bump into each other in town when doing the marketing.’

‘Sounds a pleasant, friendly sort of woman, Travis. Is that so?’

‘Indeed, yes, ma’am,’ she readily agreed. ‘Not a gossip, you understand,’ she added. ‘And very loyal to her master, she be. Mind you, not much goes on at Bridge House she doesn’t know about.’

Precisely what I was hoping to discover! Gwen thought, before her acute hearing picked up the sounds of an arrival, even though she was in her favourite retreat, the snug little parlour tucked away at the back of the house.

She watched Mrs Travis hurry out, and was astonished when the housekeeper returned a few minutes later to inform her that Lady Florence Kershaw and her daughter were now awaiting her in the much larger front parlour.

‘Ordinarily, ma’am, I should have shown such visitors into the drawing room, it being the best room in the house. Except, as you know, you gave strict instructions no fire be lit in there until the chimney’s been swept, and I thought it would be a mite on the chilly side, even though it’s almost April.’

‘You did quite right, Mrs Travis,’ Gwen assured the slightly flustered housekeeper.

Clearly she was unused to inviting such high-ranking persons to cross the threshold, and Gwen couldn’t in all honesty say she was in the least surprised. The late Sir Percival Warrender, having enjoyed a distinguished military career, had undeniably been well respected. His standing in the area would undoubtedly have been reasonably high. All the same, he had been no aristocrat, merely the son of an affluent gentleman. So why had his insignificant little widow been so singularly honoured?

Amazed though she was, Gwen didn’t feel in the least overawed, simply because she had benefited from that recent, close association with one of the most endearing and unorthodox high-born ladies who had, over the years, rubbed shoulders with several crowned heads of Europe.

Consequently Gwen was able to greet her unexpected visitors with all the quiet dignity expected of a young widow, but without experiencing the least trepidation, while at the same time successfully concealing her natural curiosity.

On entering the comfortable, though undeniably faded, front parlour, Gwen experienced on odd mixture of surprise and slight disappointment. She didn’t quite know what she had been expecting to find awaiting her, but she supposed she would have imagined two members of the most influential family in the county to make rather more of an impressive spectacle.

Lady Florence was undeniably dressed in the height of fashion. Sadly the prevailing mode ill suited her thickening figure. The colour puce made her appear slightly liverish, and the ugly turban-styled bonnet did absolutely nothing to improve the strong-featured, aristocratic lines of a face that had long since lost any slight claim to beauty.

Her daughter, on the other hand, neither favoured her mother in looks, nor in stature. Taller than average height, and slender, Anthea Kershaw had been blessed with a good complexion; and although her features were regular, one would have considered her handsome rather than pretty. There was no denying either that her plain, unadorned gown suited her very well, and was undoubtedly of good quality. Nevertheless it was clearly the achievement of some competent seamstress and not the creation of a top London modiste, of which Gwen had seen numerous examples during her sojourn in the capital earlier in the year.

She was instantly drawn to the younger woman as much by the warmth of a full-lipped smile as the completely unaffected manner. As things turned out, it was none other than Miss Kershaw herself who gave the first inclination as to why Gwen had been honoured by the visit, once initial pleasantries had been exchanged:

‘I understand from my uncle that you were well acquainted with the latest unfortunate female to meet her end in Marsden Wood?’

‘That is true,’ Gwen confirmed, realising in an instant from whom Lord Cranborne must have attained this information, while in the next moment wondering just when Mr Northbridge had paid a visit to his illustrious neighbour and, more importantly, why.

It might have been purely and simply a social call, during which he had just happened to mention there was someone in the neighbourhood who wasn’t prepared to sit back and allow matters to rest. But even if this was so, his lordship, surely, would hardly feel so discomposed as to deem it necessary to send two close female relations to pay a visit on the person who just might stir up something of a hornet’s nest?

Thrusting the various puzzling possibilities to the back of her mind to mull over later, Gwen went on to explain the close bond she had enjoyed with Jane Robbins. Although both visitors expressed sympathy, Lady Florence wasn’t slow to change the subject in an attempt to discover more about Gwen’s life, her parentage and family history.

She betrayed a degree of surprise, not untouched by approval, when she learned that Gwen’s father had been a member of the old and very distinguished Playfair family heralding from Derbyshire; and that her mother had borne the name of one of the most influential families in the county of Shropshire before her marriage.

‘So your mother and one of my dearest friends, Constance Blanchard, that was, must have been related in some way. First or second cousins, perhaps?’ Lady Florence suggested, after taking a few moments to work out the possible relationship. ‘An excellent old family, the Blanchards. No title, of course, but worthy, all the same.’

Gwen was just silently debating whether or not to reduce drastically her standing in this aristocratic visitor’s eyes by revealing that her mother had not, in fact, come from the wealthy branch of the Blanchard family that owned a good portion of land in the county of Shropshire, when she was forestalled by Miss Kershaw, who took advantage of the temporary lull in the conversation by returning to the subject of the recent murders.

‘I mentioned to Uncle Charles only the other week that it’s getting to the stage where it’s unsafe for a female to walk anywhere unaccompanied.’

‘And I sincerely trust, Anthea, you would never consider doing such an outrageous thing!’ Lady Florence exclaimed, looking appalled at the mere thought. ‘Nor Lady Warrender, for that matter,’ she added, seemingly having already judged that there was, surprisingly, little difference in age between the young women. ‘A female must always adhere to accepted rules of behaviour, no matter how respectable her status.’

‘Very true, my lady,’ Gwen readily agreed, not knowing whether to feel amused or nettled by this quite unnecessary reminder of good conduct. ‘But you must remember that the majority of women in the land are not nearly so fortunate as we three. They cannot afford the luxury of maidservants or companions to bear them company whenever they choose to venture forth. Indeed, most are obliged to do so in order to survive.’

‘And they should be able to do so without fear of being attacked,’ Anthea Kershaw put in without hesitation, her views on the subject seemingly in complete accord with Gwen’s. ‘Furthermore, Mama, I have no intention of dragging along a reluctant maidservant whenever I wish to take a breath of air in the park. I would far rather have Felix to bear me company. And one could hardly consider him an ideal companion. Why, on every occasion we’ve ventured into the wood, he’s relapsed into a world of his own, quite oblivious to my presence. And do remember a goodly portion of the wood forms part of the Cranborne estate. Up until now all incidents have taken place in that far area, where people may roam quite freely. But there’s no saying, if there should be more attacks, in what area they might take place.’

‘Oh, Anthea, dear, pray do not!’ her mother implored, appearing genuinely distressed. ‘I do not know from where you get these callous notions and dark thoughts.’

The smile that pulled at one corner of Miss Kershaw’s mouth for once was not pleasant, and a decidedly uneasy, almost troubled, look appeared momentarily in her eyes as she said, ‘It’s undoubtedly inherited, Mama. A family trait, wouldn’t you say?’

The speed with which Lady Florence changed the subject took Gwen so completely by surprise that it was a few moments before she was able to respond to the question directed at her.

‘No, ma’am, I have no plans to spend any time in the capital this spring.’ She chose not to add that, although it wasn’t beyond her means now to do so, she had no intention of needlessly wasting money by enjoying the unlimited pleasures the capital had to offer in an attempt to alter her widowed state. ‘I fully intend to go into half-mourning and socialise a little from now on. But I’ve more than enough to occupy me here for the present,’ she added, glancing about her. ‘The house is sadly in need of refurbishing, and bringing up to date. I sometimes think I’ve been swept back into the past century when I walk through these rooms. Most all the furnishings, as you’ve possibly observed, are quite antiquated.’

‘If that is your objective, then, yes, you will have much to occupy you for the foreseeable future,’ Lady Florence agreed, rising to her feet, a clear indication that she had every intention of bringing the visit to an end. ‘Nevertheless, I sincerely trust you are not so busy that you cannot dine with us, before we make our yearly trip to the capital next month. I shall ensure you receive a formal invitation, Lady Warrender. If nothing else, it will offer you the ideal opportunity to recommence your socialising by meeting a few of your neighbours.’

It will offer me a great deal more than that, Gwen silently acknowledged, well pleased by the unexpected visit and the chance it would soon present to become acquainted with the local Justice of the Peace.

It wasn’t so much the formal, gilt-edged invitation card, which was delivered by hand the following day, that brought Gwen such gratification as the totally unexpected appearance on her driveway of a bang-up-to-date lightweight carriage, pulled by a superb pair of matched greys. Most surprising of all was that the carriage was being tooled by none other than Annie’s eldest brother, Ben, a circumstance of which Annie herself demanded an immediate explanation the instant she had accompanied her mistress outside.

‘Don’t work for the blacksmith n’more, Annie. Works for Mr Northbridge now,’ he revealed, looking well pleased with the change of situation. ‘Leastways, I reckon I do,’ he amended, ‘if Lady Warrender, ’ere, ain’t too keen to take me on.’

Gwen wasn’t quite sure what to make of this, and didn’t attempt to hide her puzzlement. ‘I’m sorry. Ben, I’m not altogether certain I know precisely what you mean.’

‘It’s this way, ma’am. Mr Northbridge seemed to s’pose you’d be in need of a groom, ’im not ’aving a good word to say about the man you’ve got now. Said as ’ow ’ee weren’t up to tooling a donkey, let alone a decent pair of ’orses. Besides, ’im being a lazy b—’

His sister’s warning cry was sufficient to remind Ben to mind his language. Gwen had, however, already grasped the general drift, and couldn’t say she was unduly surprised by her affluent neighbour resorting to colourful language. Nonetheless she felt the situation needed some clarification, so didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the big brother’s presence for the time being at least.

Delaying only for as long as it took to collect a cloak, put on a bonnet and secure Gillie’s services, Gwen then set out on what she considered was the most comfortable carriage ride she had experienced in her entire life. Cushioned by thick and luxurious velvet upholstery, she felt not the slightest rut, and arrived at Bridge House in a surprisingly short space of time feeling hugely satisfied with her latest acquisition, completely uncaring as to the amount of money that would be required to reimburse Mr Northbridge, and more than ready to forgive and forget any past grievances she might still have retained with the man himself.

Unfortunately she was denied the opportunity to offer her personal thanks, but wasn’t unduly dejected to discover the master of the house away from home, for the information was relayed by none other than the housekeeper, who showed no unwillingness in allowing the visitor to step over the threshold in order to write a note.

Gwen soon found herself in what was surely Mr Northbridge’s private sanctum. Smelling faintly of leather, cigars and fine old brandy, the room was a representation of its owner’s personality—solid, reliable and wholly masculine.

Settling herself behind the desk, she easily arrested the housekeeper’s immediate departure by saying, ‘Please don’t rush away. It won’t take many moments just to scribble a few lines…It’s Mrs Brice, isn’t it?’

‘Why, yes, ma’am!’ she responded, appearing surprised.

‘I wish to thank you for ensuring that Jane Robbins’s belongings were safely packed away until such time as your master was able to dispose of them. Did you know I was a particular friend of hers?’

‘The master did mention it, ma’am, when he gave orders for the box to be brought down from the attic.’ She was quiet for a moment, then, evidently feeling she ought to say something further, added, ‘All very sorry we were, ma’am. Miss Robbins was a real nice young woman. There wasn’t a servant here who didn’t think well of her.’

Even though Gwen was much moved by the tribute, simply because she believed it had been totally sincere, not uttered merely as a formality, her mind was working rapidly in order to turn the conversation to her advantage, and maybe uncover something, anything, that might offer a clue as to why Jane had lost her life on that particular day in January. Was it simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or had she, perhaps, arranged to meet someone in secret, which would necessitate in her having to venture forth alone?

The latter was unlikely, and yet anything was possible, Gwen decided, striving to keep an open mind as she said, ‘Yes, dear Jane always attempted to get along with people, no matter their station in life. I cannot recall anyone who didn’t like her. She was both trustworthy and hardworking. And so sensible too! That’s why I cannot understand what could have possessed her to go out walking on what I’m reliably informed was such a damp and dismal day, by herself and in such a lonely spot.’

Mrs Brice wasn’t slow to agree. ‘Truth to tell, ma’am, it surprised us too. Never mentioned to anyone she meant to go out. Which was most odd, not like her at all. She’d always let one of the staff know, even if she was just going for a walk in the garden. And she was never late for meals. Always so considerate to Cook, she was.’

‘Perhaps something had upset her, and it slipped her mind,’ Gwen suggested, and watched a slightly troubled expression flit over the housekeeper’s face.

‘Now, it’s strange you should say that, ma’am. Because, unless I’m much mistaken, it were on that very day the young parlourmaid happened to catch sight of Miss Robbins coming along the passageway from the nursery. Said as how she looked upset, red eyed and sniffing, and whisked herself into her room without speaking. But I don’t see as how she could have been upset, because she was fine earlier when I spoke to her, and I know for a fact she was looking forward to beginning lessons with the girls again the following morning.

‘She’d done wonders with those girls, ma’am,’ she went on to reveal, her mind seemingly locked in the past, ‘especially Miss Amy, who can be something of a handful at times. Both Miss Mary and Miss Amy had grown right fond of her, so they had. So I can’t see as how a visit to the nursery to see them would have upset her. No, I think it’s much more likely she’d picked up a touch of the influenza herself, and maybe thought to walk it off that afternoon.’

‘Or maybe she’d agreed to meet someone, and chose Marsden Wood so that the assignation wouldn’t be witnessed,’ Gwen suggested, and then watched as Mrs Brice’s expression of gentle concern changed at once into a decidedly guarded look.

She easily guessed the reason for the slight withdrawal. ‘I’m not suggesting for a moment that Miss Robbins’s behaviour was in any way improper,’ she assured the servant. ‘I suppose I’m just trying to think of some reason why she should have taken it into her head to visit such a place alone, when she knew of its unfortunate reputation.’

The explanation evidently satisfied Mrs Brice, because she visibly thawed. ‘That I couldn’t say, ma’am. But what I can tell you is Miss Robbins never had any callers…followers, as you might say. And never received any letters, at least none that weren’t picked up in a proper manner from the receiving office, with the master’s own. And she received a few of those during the many months she were here.’

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