ANNE ASHLEY - Lady Gwendolen Investigates

‘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.’