The Major's Guarded Heart. Isabelle GoddardЧитать онлайн книгу.
would it not? Lucien was a splendid soldier himself until he was persuaded by that woman to sell out. Harangued into submission, more like.’
The old lady seemed to realise that for once she had said too much and finished brusquely, ‘I have no doubt that his son will make certain to avoid the same fate.’
The wind by now was even fiercer, blowing directly from the sea and howling so loudly that it was impossible to speak more. Lizzie’s bonnet was almost torn from her head and she quickly untied its ribbons and held it tightly to her chest. She had been entranced in her first few days in Rye to be living so close to water, but after several days of inclement weather, she had begun to wish that Mrs Croft’s house was situated in the small town’s medieval centre. The remnants of Rye’s fortifications protected the Citadel’s narrow, winding streets against all but the worst weather, but Brede House was open to a battering from every direction. To the south, the English Channel roared its might and to the north lay marshland and an even harsher landscape.
Today the path home seemed longer than usual and she had several times had to support her companion as they battled to stay upright. Below them the river stretched like an ocean of restless grey, every inch rucked by the fearsome gale into ridges of cold, foaming white. It was as though the sea had lost its way and come calling. Wave after wave of water hit the shingled mud with a fierce power, then retreated with a roar, sucking and dragging to itself everything in its path. Above them gulls competed with the cacophony, dipping and calling in tempestuous flight, unsure it seemed whether to rejoice in the wild beauty encircling them or to take shelter from its dangers.
They had gone some half a mile along the coastal path when they heard a faint noise coming to them on the wind. Both ladies turned towards it, clutching their skirts and bonnets against the oncoming blast. A coach had stopped on the Rye road, running parallel to the path, and a figure was striding towards them.
‘Mrs Croft, please forgive me.’ Justin Delacourt arrived, only slightly out of breath from having battled the wind at a running pace.
She blinked at him, surprised by his sudden appearance when she had thought him on his way back to Chelwood.
‘Please forgive me,’ he repeated, ‘You should not be out in such weather. I have been most remiss in allowing you to slip away in that fashion.’ He kept his gaze fixed on the old lady’s face and Lizzie prickled with annoyance. She appreciated his concern for her employer, but not that he was again choosing to ignore her.
He affected not to notice her baleful stare and went on with his apologies. ‘I fear that I was so taken up with talking to the Armitages, that I did not ask you to drive with me. I am a little tardy but please allow me to offer you a seat.’
‘How kind of you,’ Mrs Croft murmured. ‘But there is really no need. We have only a short way to go.’
‘You have at least another fifteen minutes to walk and, in this weather, that is far too long. Allow me to escort you to my carriage.’
‘My companion...’ Mrs Croft began. ‘You are in your curricle, I believe.’
He shot Lizzie a swift glance. He had finally been forced to acknowledge her presence, she thought. She had been right about his snobbishness—in his eyes she was a servant and could happily be discounted. But it was Mrs Croft she must think of and she softly nudged the older lady towards the arm he was extending.
Seeing that lady’s hesitation, he said in an even tone, ‘I am sure Miss Ingram is hale enough to finish the walk on her own. If not, of course, my groom can dismount.’
‘Surely not—a groom to relinquish his seat!’ Lizzie was unable to bite back the words. ‘That would never do!’
Henrietta Croft looked uncomfortably from one to the other, bewildered by the animosity slicing through the air.
‘Naturally you are welcome to travel with us, Miss Ingram. Perkins will not mind walking the short way to Brede House.’
‘And nor will I! As you say, I am hale enough.’ She turned to her employer. ‘Go in the carriage, Mrs Croft,’ she said warmly. ‘You are finding this weather very trying and should reach home as soon as possible.’
Justin gave the old lady an encouraging smile, but she was shaking her head. ‘I think it best that I continue my walk with Elizabeth. She will take good care of me, you can be sure.’
But still he lingered and Mrs Croft was forced to renew her persuasions. ‘You will have many calls on your time, Justin, and I’m sure you must wish to return to Chelwood as soon as you are able.’
He was dismissed and turned back to the road and the waiting Perkins, but as he walked away Lizzie’s voice carried tauntingly on the wind. ‘It must be so arduous, do you not think, Mrs Croft, being a soldier and a landowner?’
* * *
Within a short while they were turning into the drive of Brede House and its avenue of trees, where the wind blew much less strongly. The respite allowed them both to regain their breath and Lizzie to regain her temper. She began to feel ashamed of her rudeness and wished she could forget the wretched man, but annoyingly he was filling her mind to the exclusion of all else.
‘Do you know which regiment of Dragoons the Major serves in, Mrs Croft?’
‘You ask a vast amount of questions, young lady.’ Henrietta had not appreciated the little drama they had just played out and wanted to speak no more of Sir Justin. ‘What possible interest can Major Delacourt’s regiment have for you?’
‘My father is also a military man,’ Lizzie responded, a hot flush staining her cheek. Any mention of Colonel Ingram always raised this peculiar mix of pride and resentment in her. ‘He is even now in the Peninsula and has been for very many years.’
‘I had no idea, Elizabeth.’ Mrs Croft spoke more kindly as they reached the house and a maidservant struggled to open the door to them. A final gust of wind found its way between the trees and literally blew them into the entrance hall. ‘You must take tea with me, my dear. It is the very thing to warm us and prevent our taking a chill.’
Henrietta divested herself of coat and hat, located the missing umbrella still in the hat stand, tutted a little and then led the way to her private parlour. Lizzie was soon perched on the edge of the satinwood sofa, but unable to relax. It was not her first invitation to the sanctum, but she always felt awkward. It wasn’t just that the parlour lacked air and was stifling in its warmth or that the furnishings were depressing—Mrs Croft refurbished frequently, but always in brown. It was the fact that she was never quite sure as a companion where she belonged. Governesses suffered the same problem, she imagined—you were an educated gentlewoman forced to live within the restrictions of polite society, yet you were also at the beck and call of an employer. One day you could be greeted as a friend by those who came to the house, while on another you might be ignored. It made life difficult, for in truth you belonged nowhere.
‘And where is your father at this moment, my dear?’
‘To be honest, I have no idea. The last news we received at the Seminary was months ago just after the battle of Vitoria. He sent a message to Bath to say he was still alive and well.’
A two-line message, she thought unhappily. That was all she warranted, it seemed. Now if she had been a boy... How many times had she dreamed of being able to follow the drum along with her father instead of this tedious life she was forced to lead.
‘I am sure that very soon there will be more news,’ her employer said comfortably. ‘While you are with me, you can be certain that Clementine will send on any messages she receives at the school.’
‘I’m sure she will,’ Lizzie said dully. It was lucky, of course, that Clementine Bates had a weakness for military men, for Lizzie knew for a fact that Hector had not paid her school fees for many a long year and it was from charity that Clementine had allowed her to remain at school as a pupil teacher. His charm seemed to suffice for whatever was owing, but it left his daughter having to live her life at Clementine’s behest. And