They took dinner with the locals at the tavern in order to dispel any suspicions about their situation, and Andrew good-naturedly explained in detail how they had strayed from their destination (a village four miles away) due to the treacherous dusk. His tale of running from an infuriated bull in a field and losing his wife's belongings in such haste, not to mention the facer a branch landed on him on the way, made for much hilarity and tap-room bonhomie.
Rachel, meanwhile, was busy in writing letters in the dark little room set aside as a parlour. After finishing an epistle detailing her safe arrival at London to Diana, she sent off one to her sister Lucy Moreland in London telling her about the sudden trip of the family to Derbyshire for Master Brian's health. Illness stood her in good stead with both letters - while Brian Herringford's 'mumps' must of necessity keep her busy and restrict contact with her family, a story spun about an outbreak of scarlet fever at the Morelands' residence and subsequent quarantine would serve as ample reason for pausing correspondence between Carillon Hall and Cresswell Street. Rachel just hoped and prayed that no one would notice the unexpected postmark of The Happy Brothers Inn of Marsham-in-the-Vale on the missives. Hopefully, she could spare her family and friends any heartache; not to mention the easing of umpteen questions which she would have had to answer on her return otherwise.
Mrs. Phipps was a kind lady. She met Rachel just after the girl had finished sealing her letters, and immediately frowned upon her muddied apparel. "Ye can't expect to sleep in that, dearie!" she exclaimed. "What about yer night things?" On hearing about the regrettable loss of the couple's hand luggage in their rush from the villainous bull, she took it upon herself to outfit this unfortunate gal in decent garb till she reached her destination and had better things to wear. With this mission on hand, Mrs. Phipps rooted around in a moth-eaten hope chest for countless minutes and finally presented Rachel with a frayed but respectable nightgown. It was voluminous and shapeless, and was the closest thing to a sack the girl had ever seen; but it admirably removed all her inhibitions of appearing in night clothes before her 'husband'.
Finally, Rachel and Andrew were provided with a candle and a large tattered blanket and ushered into the cramped little room by a curious little girl, who wanted to know everything about the latest novelty in their hamlet but was too shy to ask. She kept on touching a couple of stray locks that had escaped Rachel's hasty bun and were bouncing on her back, and peeked bashfully at Andrew when she thought that he could not see. It took the two of them all their ingenuity to dismiss her from their room while keeping their amiable images intact.
Considering their eagerness to be rid of the girl, it was almost humorous how strained the atmosphere became once Rachel and Andrew were left alone and the candle lighted up the bed in the centre of the room. Both became extremely interested in their surroundings and, while Rachel kept on contemplating the weave of the bedraggled blanket, Andrew started investigating the sparse furnishings of the attic. Finally, Rachel looked at him from under her eyelashes and, catching his eye at the same time, smiled diffidently.
"Why we are feeling so awkward right now, I really cannot imagine," she confessed with characteristic forthrightness. "It is as if all the hours we have spent together today have been wiped out of a sudden - and that is utterly silly. Let us use this privacy intelligently; you know how eager I have been all day for the details behind our kidnapping and escape. Please tell me the full story of you and your cousin," she finished eagerly.
Andrew grinned in return, grateful for her sensible suggestion. "You are right. We ought to be putting our moments of rest to good use. So I shall tell you everything now, keeping nothing back." He took a deep breath before proceeding. "To begin with, I am not a coachman or groom by birth, nor by actual profession. I am Colonel Andrew Fairfax from the Duke of Alvingstall's Cavalry Regiment, second son of Sir Richard Fairfax of Silvermead Hall near Langton."
Rachel's eyes flickered involuntarily. His noble mien and decisive bearing was explained satisfactorily now. Goodness, a week ago she was trying to convince herself that as a coachman he was below her in social standing; how the tables were turned on her indeed! Far from being her social inferior, he was the son of a knight and a Colonel in His Majesty's Army. Rachel diverted her attention back to Andrew, who was reciting one of the most fantastic tales she had ever heard in her life.
"I am also a first cousin of the infamous heiress Miss Miranda de Manley on my mother's side. You must have heard about her unusual disappearance two months ago. Mira and I had been close ever since I can remember - allies against the world from childhood, and our friendship never flagged even when we grew up. Of course I had to help her when she told me that someone was attempting to take her life.
"In order to explain to you the peculiar conditions which led to Mira's present situation, I will have to give you a brief summing up of her financial expectations. Miranda's mother Lady Gloria was the sole living child of the extremely rich Earl of Astonby, and Miranda herself is Lady Gloria's only issue. Not unnaturally, she was the apple of his eyes and, when she was eight years old, her grandfather willed a large estate in Kent and forty thousand pounds in her name. It was allotted to her in a codicil to the Earl's original will on his deathbed. He stipulated that the bequest should be kept in trust for her until Mira attained the age of twenty-one years, when she would come into the inheritance. He had left a lot of money to Lady Gloria as well which would revert to her husband and any other children on her death, but he wanted to make his beloved Mira a rich woman in her own right rather than dependent upon her parents. Of course, if she were to die before attaining legal adulthood the money was to be divided among any other siblings Miranda might be having, failing which it would revert to the estate.
"Lady Gloria was Alistair de Manley's second wife. He already had two grown up sons by his first wife, and Desmond and James de Manley always showered their little half-sister with love and possessiveness. In fact, once in my childhood I had overheard my aunt telling Uncle Alistair how lucky she was that her step sons did not bear any rancor towards her and Miranda. Rancor…it does not always leave visible traces behind, Miss Warren. This duplicity made their betrayal so very devastating when it occurred."
"Lady Gloria died of a miscarriage when Mira was ten, and Uncle Alistair followed her five years later. His sons started showing their true colours around that time. They left their sister behind in Dartmoor and shifted their base to London, becoming frequenters of London's gaming hells with a vengeance. The de Manley fortune started declining rapidly due to their uninhibited extravagance. They went thorough Aunt Gloria's money as well, and by the time Mira was introduced into London society they were left on the brink of bankruptcy. The only source of money that they could hope of appropriating any more was Miranda's under her grandfather's will, but it was tied up for her alone and was out of their reach. They decided to go for the main chance, and appropriate all the wealth for themselves - by getting their little sister out of the way."
Andrew's voice became bitter and he stared into the guttering flame of the tallow candle while speaking, his fingers clenching at his sides occasionally. "Desperate people can find loopholes in the best laid plans. Unfortunately, the codicil was written in a hurry on the Earl's deathbed without a lawyer present, and only specified that Mira's inheritance would go to 'any living siblings' on her death. As you can guess, the word 'siblings' is defined as two or more people sharing one or more parents; therefore, half-brothers can also claim to be siblings. On realizing this, the fiends lost all brotherly sentiments and started plotting to get rid of her and take over her fortune. Their problem was that she would be attaining the age of twenty-one within a few months, and they could not afford to be in the vicinity when she…met her end…otherwise suspicion would instantly fall on them and they would be disbarred from inheriting in her place. Therefore, they decided to do nothing till they had migrated innocently to France, where they could remain secure with a cast-iron alibi while Mira was dying at the hands of their hired hoodlums."
He must have spied disbelief on Rachel's face, because he barked out a short laugh and said, "All this is not conjecture but the truth, Miss Warren. Trust me, they are my own cousins as well, and I had a much harder time believing this than you. Their plans were overheard by a very reliable audience. Mira had come up to London for the Little Season, and one night her faithful maid Rosie was going towards the library to put back a book when she found out their nefarious plans. They were actually sitting in the study of de Manley House discussing different ways in which Mira could be accidentally yet fatally injured - with her sleeping above their heads at that very moment! Aghast at the conversation she had unwittingly witnessed, Rosie dashed to Mira (for whom she has a deep regard since childhood) and told her everything."
"My poor cousin did not believe Rosie until she herself crept downstairs and caught the tail-end of their strategies. She was almost out of her wits at this revelation of supreme treachery; it was Rosie who kept her head and, in the wee hours of the night, devised their escape from the house. They both stole away into the night on foot with some money and Rosie's clothes, and left London in blessed anonymity. They journeyed on and on, either walking or taking lifts from farm wagons, until they reached a distant shire where neither of them was known.
"There they lived in the local inn as sisters for three days, while the entire Ton was heaving and falling about the abrupt disappearance of a Diamond from her home by night. The furor only grew when it was ascertained that she had not eloped with a swain as is sometimes done in our circles, but seemed to have vanished without a trace. All this while, the women were rendered incapable of communicating with anyone by the simple fact that they didn't know whom they could trust. Spies seemed to be everywhere, and the de Manley brothers were leaving no stone unturned to flush her out of her hiding."
He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "People thought it was a wonderful gesture of familial affection."
"I can't even start to comprehend what terror Miss de Manley must be feeling at that time," whispered Rachel, rapt in the story. Her respect for Rosie increased manifold. No wonder Andrew was so friendly with her and so protective of her well-being! Her loyalty and sharp wits were the reason his dear cousin was safe today.
Andrew nodded in grim affirmation. He no longer resembled the cheerful man she was used to, and she was starting to see the tortured person who lived under the facade of normalcy. Rachel suddenly had an insane desire to take his face in her hands and smooth away the lines of sorrow etched there - by force if necessary. She shook herself mentally, and concentrated on what he was saying.
"Indeed, it always makes me shiver when I reflect on the damage wrought on Mira's personality by her step-brothers' treachery that night. When I finally met her, she had changed from the happy trusting girl I had known into a haunted creature, wary of sudden movements and questioning the motives of everyone around her.
"She finally decided to contact our family through letter for help, since we would not inherit her money under any circumstances and therefore, ought to be safe from the temptation to…'hasten her end', as she put it." His lips twisted in wry humour. "Even then, she used the added precaution of designating a millinery shop in the nearby village as a neutral meeting place, and had the place staked out an hour before the time of our assignation so as to be sure of our sympathies. It was a wise measure, though it still breaks my heart that she had to resort to such tactics by her circumstances.
"I was home on leave when the missive arrived. I can still recall the incredulous fear of the eight days when all we knew was that Mira had disappeared suddenly without a trace; the mingled look of horror and relief which appeared on my mother's face on reading the precious letter, and the baffled fury which I and my brother experienced on learning about the situation. My father has been an invalid these two years, and Stephen's wife was expecting her first child any day when we received word from Mira. There was no question of his leaving her at that moment on such a dangerous quest and, after an hour's battle as hard as any I have ever fought, I managed to convince him to lie low and let me take care of our Miranda.
"Thus within a day of getting the letter, I found myself waiting at the designated shop with hope and fear warring in my breast until she came to me. I had a hard time recognizing my fashionable cousin in that rough peasant's dress and haggard expression. Sweet, joyful Mira was lost in the self-effacing woman standing in front of me." He choked up momentarily before continuing, "After assuring ourselves about the other's health, we adjourned to the room where she was living with Rosie to chart out a plan which would ensure her safety.
"First of all, we decided that staying on at the inn for a long time was not a viable idea. It only required someone to become curious about them, or someone recognizing Mira as an absconding heiress, for her step-brothers to smoke out her hiding place. We cannot bring any action against her step-brothers since officially they have not made any move on her life yet, and even when they do so they are bound to be cautious enough to do it through minions who cannot implicate them. Their crime would not be traced to them and, even if it were, it would be too late for Mira. All that we could do was ensure that she could remain safe till she attained the age of maturity and could claim her rightful inheritance. Therefore, we came up with the plan to disguise Mira and hide her where the scoundrels could never reach.
"An inquisitive nature and years spent in close association with Rosie and her mother (who was the de Manleys' housekeeper) ensured that Mira had gotten to know the mannerisms and work expected of a domestic servant quite well. The only child in a house situated in the lonely wilderness of Snowdown in Dartmoor, she had few friends while growing up and it was one of her favourite games as a child to borrow Rosie's apparel and try to mingle with the staff as one of them. It gave her the idea now to live as a maid in the country, since no one would ever dream that the Miss de Manley would even know how many servants she employed, let alone how to act as one; and she would not be recognized by anyone of prominence if she remained below stairs.
"I tried hard to dissuade her from such madness and offered to take her to Headley Down where I believed that she could be safe, but she remained adamant about staying near London so as to be on the spot if her brothers tried anything else to deprive her of her money. I had no alternative but to give in to her demand, with the one condition that I stay nearby so that I could help her if the need ever arose. Thus it came about that Rosie went to live at Silvermead Hall, and Mira and I were appointed as parlor-maid and coachman respectively at Carillon Hall."
Rachel felt like her breath was coming in gasps. "So this - this means…that our Rosie…"
Andrew nodded in affirmation. "…is Miss Miranda de Manley, scion of the Astonby family."
Rachel took a moment to assimilate the piece of news. Strangely enough, it was much easier to accept Andrew the coachman as Colonel Andrew Fairfax, a respectable member of the gentry - but then, she had always suspected him of being more than he showed to the world. Rosie being someone else had never entered her mind at any moment. But reflection reminded her that Rosie had always been genteel for a maid, quieter and more self-possessed than any of the maids she had ever known. Her efficiency at her job and natural reticence had simply clouded Rachel's perception of such factors.
That poor, poor girl! No wonder she was always so glad to talk with Rachel about everyday things, but could never be forthcoming about her own background!
Andrew was still talking. "While thinking of an identity for her, we decided to stick as close to the truth as possible so as to minimize any mistakes she might otherwise make, and therefore she took over the identity of a real person who had been with her for over fourteen years and whom she knew intimately. Even if someone became suspicious about her association with Miss de Manley, investigation will only turn up that the lady actually had a personal maid called Rosie - who would naturally have to search for work now that her mistress had disappeared.
"As for me, my knowledge of horses in His Majesty's Cavalry helped me to gain a post as a groom, and I soon found myself with the post of a coachman as well. It helped me to keep an eye on everyone who came to the house, since I would be the one conveying them around or tending to their mounts. Mira disguised herself by changing her noticeable hair colour with a lead comb and hiding her eyes under hideous spectacles. Thus we continued to live on in relative anonymity; until the day you arrived."
Rachel looked up at him in confusion. "Me? What do I have to do with all this?" Indeed, that was the question to answer which this entire story was being told to her now.
He smiled gently at her, and answered her unspoken comment. "You have so much to do with our story that you are currently sitting in this dark little room with me after escaping from goons hired by Desmond and James de Manley. You see, these ruffians have been searching for people answering to Mira's description across England, and reached Denbries soon enough to amass information about its inhabitants.
"You arrived just a week after we did. You took up a position much more compatible with what Miss Miranda might be comfortable with. You are about her height and age; you are as vivacious as she was reputed to be. Most damning of all, the hair which Mira hid by darkening it is reddish-brown in colour. The eyes, which required spectacles to screen them from detection, are green like mine. You, my dear Rachel Warren, answer perfectly to a description of Miranda de Manley."
The rest of the night seemed to pass off in a dream for Rachel. After getting over the shock of Andrew's latest revelation, she spent some more time learning of her supposed double. It turned out that they were actually quite different in actual features and mannerisms, and Miranda's eyes were very different in shade from Rachel's own aquamarine ones; they would never be mistaken for each other by someone who had seen her in actuality. But as far as a word-of-mouth description went, she resembled the lady sufficiently to 'merit' a closer look by someone in the know, before any further actions could be taken for her removal.
Rachel frowned in condemnation of such rashness. "But wouldn't it have been more sensible for my kidnappers to have waited till a person recognizing Miss de Manley came and spied on me at Carillon, and take steps only after receiving an affirmation? I mean, I am glad for her sake that it did not happen that way since she might have been recognized through sheer bad luck; but I confess I find my capture to have been rather crudely conducted."
Andrew could not stifle a hearty chuckle at her childish pout of vexation.
"Oh Miss Warren, if only everyone were as sensible as you! But you must understand that we are talking about mostly-uneducated underlings here, who wanted to get the reward money for finding Mira out before anyone else could muscle in on their turf. When you made plans to go away, they must have panicked about losing their prize and moved swiftly."
"And do not forget that it may not matter so much to them if they made a mistake. I greatly fear that since the de Manley brothers want to keep their plots against Miranda a secret, they will not take the risk of you spreading tales about your kidnapping in case some canny person puts the pieces together. I do not think you were ever intended to return to safety even if you were not the woman they sought; disposing of a mere governess would not be difficult for seasoned criminals like these."
He had lost all traces of mirth by the end of his reluctant summation. Rachel shivered in spite of herself. She had known the desperate nature of her circumstances, but it struck her afresh how certain her end would have been if Andrew had not rescued her in time.
She looked at him now - honey hair falling over one eye in spite of the finger-combing it had received earlier, stubbled jaw set in severe lines due to the melancholy nature of their discussion, exhaustion and care visible on his fine features in the candle-light. A large bruise had formed over one cheekbone and his lower lip had been inflamed earlier, though now the swelling had reduced considerably. He had been beaten into unconsciousness only yesterday; yet, he single-handedly orchestrated their escape from a hopeless situation before travelling over rough countryside for hours with her without slackening his pace. He could have lain low and returned to safeguard his cousin if he had kept his silence, instead of which he had cheerfully become a marked man doing all he could to protect her. Now he was planning to lie under some bush in this foggy weather for the night - and tomorrow they would once again be on the move all day in an ill-sprung stagecoach. He would be wracked with pain all over, but of course he would neither complain nor ask her for assistance.
Not if she could help it.
"What are you saying, Miss Warren?" Andrew looked flabbergasted. "I would never impose on your amiability like that. It is out of the question; no gentleman would agree to such a proposal. Do not worry about my well-being; I assure you I will be perfectly fine outside."
"But I do worry about your well-being, Colonel," Rachel said tartly, "and I would never make such a suggestion to someone who was not a gentleman, I assure you." She giggled in amusement at the look in Andrew's face, before sobering up for a moment.
"I trust you completely, Sir. You have proved your honour time and again to me in the past two days, not that I ever doubted your intentions for a moment. Your getting a good night's sleep is extremely important in light of your recent injuries and our forthcoming travel. I would offer to sleep on the floor to maintain propriety, but," she held up a hand to stifle the objections forming on Andrew's tongue, "I am too tired and selfish to do so. Therefore, I believe that we can both share the bed tonight with the sheet tied up like a curtain between us. We can be as secluded as if we were in different rooms, but both can savor the enjoyments of a real bed for the duration of the night."
"But your reputation, Miss Warren!" Andrew was almost stammering in his agitation. "How can we share a bed like that? It will ruin your name if this matter ever became known!"
Rachel smiled sadly at the ignorant man in front of her. Didn't he realize that her reputation would be in shreds anyway if word of their escapade ever reached anyone's ears? No decent lady even walked with a man unrelated to her without a chaperone; and here she was, travelling umpteen miles with this young and unmarried man out of sight of anyone, and even posing as his wife before an entire village.
For a moment, she wondered if he understood that a single slip might result in him having to marry her to keep her fragile reputation intact in the eyes of society, at least once everything was over. She immediately hushed that small yearning voice. She would never force him into an unwanted marriage. Risking his life to save hers was more than enough - he would not risk his freedom to save her name as well! She would run away to some remote place and remain an unknown governess forever rather than get married to a man who would consider her a necessary burden all his life, unaware of her desperate love for him...
Love? She started, darting a look at the man sitting before her. Did she actually love Andrew Fairfax? When did this happen? She had always known that she was attracted to him from the start, and enjoyed his company above anyone else's. She trusted him more than any man outside her family. But when had he become so important to her that she was attuned to every fibre of his being? When had he stopped being the most interesting man of her acquaintance, and morphed into the only man in her universe?
And why did she have to realize this just before they were to share a bed?
After arguing for ten more heated minutes, Andrew finally grudgingly accepted that since the people of Marsham-in-the-Vale already believed them to be sharing a room, it would achieve precious little to indispose himself to stop non-existent tongues from wagging. As Rachel pointed out, he would be compromising her more if he was caught sleeping in the undergrowth, since that would be indisputable proof that they were not actually husband and wife after all. She ended her case by saying with a perfectly straight face that as long as they maintained a low profile, no one should even remember the young couple who had asked for shelter one night, or connect them later with "the dashing Colonel and the cousin he rescued from her dire fate - in an entirely circumspect manner, of course".
Andrew could no longer control his laughter and retired gracefully from the battle, only shaking his head and mumbling about "the obstinacy of women" when he thought that the one at his side could not hear him. But he won the argument about the blanket, and a pouting Rachel was 'forced' to keep it in order to maintain peace in the room. They hung up the sheet in the centre of the bed with perfect cordiality, and the blushes which bloomed on both of their faces when their hands accidentally touched during the process were not explained at all by mutual consent.
Needless to say, it was a long night for at least one person in the room notwithstanding the comfortable sleeping arrangements.
As promised to the redoubtable Mr. Phipps, the young fugitives were soon on their way the next morning and were able to catch a coach for hire on the road with reasonable ease. The distance to Brighton was not a lot from Marsham-in-the-Vale, and they reached the portside town well before dusk without enduring any impediments other than the excessive humidity and a slight awkwardness on Rachel's part. Try as she might, she could no longer look at her travelling companion with the same eyes as a few days before. Her late night epiphany had thrown her out of spirits, and she had to give the excuse of a headache before an anxious Andrew would leave her to sort out her emotions in peace.
Every new sign of his regard was like a jab at her already sore heart, since his gentle manners only made the realization of her own inadequacy as a prospective life partner for a man like him even more glaring. She had nothing to offer him except for a respectable background and her own self, and she was under no misconception that either was a desirable match for a person as eligible and well-connected as Colonel Andrew Fairfax. Her feelings would only serve to torture her needlessly, and Rachel set herself the unenviable task of forgetting her first love within hours of its being acknowledged. She succeeded in at least pushing it away into the recesses of her wounded heart by the end of the morning, and was able to project a passably cheerful demeanor for the benefit of the worried man at her side by luncheon hour.
The arrival at Brighton was something of an anticlimax to their journey towards it. Andrew went quietly to a boarding house which was genteel in appearance and quickly negotiated for a couple of rooms, to be held by them for an undisclosed number of days. The landlady was habituated to people always coming for trips to the health resort on short notice and therefore, raised no suspicions about the two new lodgers. A quiet dinner afterwards, 'Miss de Manley' and Colonel Fairfax parted ways to regain their energy in sleep. Rachel was drained by her emotional upheavals of the day and fell asleep as soon as her head touched her pillow, innocently unaware of the ceaseless patrol which Andrew maintained outside her door the entire night. He was unsure if they had been followed on the way, and would not allow any mishap to occur during the night due to a drop in vigilance on his part.
At no cost would she suffer for our sakes any more, he determined to himself.
They got a chance to inspect their plans for the city of Brighton more thoroughly the next morning after breakfast. They had to make their pursuers believe that Miranda expected to escape quietly without anyone the wiser, but circumstances forced her out in the open. To that end, it was decided that Andrew would have to circulate among the society gathered here since he wanted to prove his identity without a doubt. She, on the other hand, should remain out of sight for most of the time so as to simulate a skittish woman on the run for her life; but he would arrange for some 'accidental' sighting so that the news of Miss de Manley's presence could be spread in the easiest manner.
Since there was no proof connecting the de Manley men with Miranda's predicament, Rachel argued that they should try to explain the young woman's disappearance as prosaically as possible rather than letting any mystery hover around. This would dispel any misgivings on the rogues' part and they would not perceive the runaways as an immediate threat or take desperate measures to secure their silence. Andrew was of the same mind and the most appropriate tale was harmoniously fixed upon.
It goes against the grain to show Mira up as a brainless person who cares not for the alarm she caused others with her escapade, though, he thought sadly to himself. And yet, their mental powers were being sorely taxed as it were, what with providing innocent reasons behind each and every facet of the extraordinary circumstances. Rather Mira be painted as a twit than be...not existing.
They were not so cordial over the question of Rachel's role in Brighton, but Andrew was firm on this point. She could not move around freely in the city, and must not even venture out of the house without his chaperonage. She was not to go anywhere alone. Rachel did not like this stipulation as it would make her a virtual prisoner over the three days they planned to stay, but she had to reluctantly accept Andrew's superiority in the art of drawing up strategies. Much as losing her independence irked her, she could not deny the real nature of the threat to her life.
But oh, how I long to explore the famed beaches of Brighton like any ordinary visitor, she thought wistfully. She had never been away from her small village before, unless her trips to London could be counted; and certainly she had never been to a holiday resort in her life. The salty tang in the clean atmosphere was titillating her senses, and her fevered ears were already confusing the distant rumble of coaches with the sound of the sea. She felt like whooping with joy and crying her heart out at the same time.
Andrew pitied her, but was firm. He understood that it must feel like incarceration to a lively girl like Miss Warren, and promised to keep her company as often as possible during their stay here - but she should not expect anything on their journey other than ceaseless vigilance. His company, meager as it was, would have to suffice her for entertainment - and even that will not be available to her till tomorrow. Today was going to be utilized in looking up old friends on his part, and complete relaxation on hers.
Seldom had a day passed so slowly for Rachel. She had nothing to do except moon around her room, attempting to distract herself with the paltry decorations provided by the landlady. Their boarding house was not near the roads or the shore, so she didn't have any decent view to fall back upon. There were no books to read, no sleep to be had and no instrument to play music on. She could not talk much with the maids, the landlady or the other guests so as to not blow her cover.
Finally, she had the good fortune to get hold of some needle and thread, and spent the rest of the afternoon repairing the damages wrought on her gown by her misadventures. Though she despaired of ever being able to wear it in gentle company again (indeed, she wondered what Andrew had planned for them to don during her debut as Miss de Manley), it was at least still serviceable and would stand some more rough usage. The worst part of their journey was not over yet, and she was afraid of living in one dress all the time amidst constant walking and rationing of clean water. "God help me, a small thing like hygiene seems to be more difficult to give up than my own identity," Rachel fumed. The smirking voice in her head added, especially with the man you love at your side to see you constantly at a disadvantage.
Andrew was also aware of the role respectable clothes played in their game-plan. Even people who knew him well would demur to accept the suave officer in the bedraggled person now striding along the Brighton promenade and, as he chuckled to himself, "not in a hundred years would Miss Warren be mistaken for a fashionable lady in her present outfit." Therefore, his round of visits started with one paid to a very good friend of his, a Major Coleslaw who currently resided in Brighton for his health. He and Andrew had fought together against the French a few years back, and Andrew knew that he could trust the taciturn soldier implicitly. He was heartily received at Blackwell House by Major and Mrs. Coleslaw who listened sympathetically to his story of having been robbed on the road by highwaymen in the dark of the night, and left to travel to Brighton in only the clothes he and his cousin were standing in.
"But this is preposterous!" exclaimed Major Coleslaw hotly, though a twinkle entered his eyes. "You were bested by highwaymen, Fairfax? I can't believe it!" Andrew smiled ruefully. Given his famed ability with a sword, he could well believe his audience's skepticism. "I did not have my service pistol on me my friend, and firearms are far superior to swords when distance is of value. The bandits had them - in multiple numbers. Not to mention the young lady travelling with me, whose safety I could not jeopardize over mere bravado."
The Major was instantly sobered. "True, Fairfax, very true. Pardon me for my momentary and ill-placed humour. Can't these blackguards be brought to justice?" He was slightly mollified on being assured that the Colonel had already set the official wheels in motion, and his wife gasped on hearing about the straits of the poor Miss de Manley who did not have any decent clothes to appear in society - and no time to get them made anew in Brighton either. The amiable couple instantly offered Andrew the choice of their own wardrobe to outfit him and Miranda as well as other essential things like a hair-brush for her and a razor for him; not to mention money to tide them over these trying times.
When quizzed about Miss de Manley's disappearance, Andrew gave an amused chuckle. "The disappearance had been grossly exaggerated Madam," he explained. "Miranda has always been very impetuous. The night of her disappearance she intercepted her maid while the wench was crying. She had just received a late-night messenger bearing news of her mother who had contracted a severe case of tuberculosis, and her presence was urgently required. Now, the maid's mother had been Miss de Manley's beloved old housekeeper, and she immediately decided to accompany her maid to Dorset and make sure that the old lady was getting the best care possible. They had forgotten to leave a message, and had been in Dorset all these weeks looking after the sick woman."
The Coleslaws showed their delight that matters were not as serious as they had been rumoured to be. Colonel Fairfax nodded and smiled agreeably. "Indeed, I was the one who managed to ultimately track down my foolish coz. When I saw how run-down she had become while nursing, I suggested that she should come with me to Brighton for a short holiday to recover her spirits before returning to London. And see how well that turned out; we get robbed by those masked wretches miles from civilization. They informed us that we should be grateful that they spared our lives." He gave a credible performance of bitterness at the state of affairs and his hosts immediately set about to put him at ease, desisting from further questioning their visibly distraught guest. It was not a perfect explanation and would not have borne scrutiny from the sharp dowagers and matrons of London; but it sufficed to silence the curiosity of the gentle Coleslaws.
Andrew clamped down his guilt at deceiving such good people. He thought severely, "You cannot back out now, Andrew Reginald Fairfax. Too many people's lives are at stake for you to care about such niceties, and your little white lie will not harm your friends in any way." With fervent thanks for their generosity, he took the proffered necessities (not to mention money for appearances' sake) with gratefulness and a promise to reimburse everything as soon as he was able to do so. He left their house with warring feelings of shame, gratitude and happiness at the way matters had proceeded.
Needless to say, Rachel was astonished that night on perceiving the bounties he had managed to procure. Andrew had bought flannel and soap for her in town, and her hands started twitching in their eagerness to use the hairbrush on her sad tangled mass as soon as possible. Andrew had even managed to get some sturdy shoes to replace their rapidly disintegrating ones. Her pleasure was sealed on beholding the clothes and discovering that Mrs. Coleslaw was much of her own size; she could easily trim the two gowns to fit properly. They were of sensible materials and in much better condition than her own poor governess' dress (now of an uncertain color and ragged to bits), and would be invaluable on their Hampshire-bound pilgrimage. In her gratitude, Rachel insisted on altering the gentleman's clothes he brought from Coleslaw to fit him properly as well.
Thanks to his charitable friends, they could hold their heads high in the coming days.
Discreet queries about distinguished arrivals in the town ascertained that no one who knew Miranda personally was presently vacationing in Brighton, and there was no danger of Rachel being found out. The plan was to let some people see her in the distance for a short while to bear out Andrew's tale of travelling with his cousin adequately, though not enough to let anyone become suspicious. Andrew decided to utilize Mrs. Coleslaw in this venture. He had adroitly avoided her desire to visit Miss de Manley at her boarding-house with vague excuses of Miranda being extremely tired out with her experiences, and now planned to encounter her 'inadvertently' somewhere. He would trail that estimable lady for some time to get an idea of her whereabouts and plans and, once they were ascertained, they could contrive to meet her without seeming to desire it.
Their plans solidified when Andrew got the information that Mrs. Coleslaw was going with a party to an inn near the beach the next day for lunch. It would be the easiest thing in the world for them to be taking their victuals at the same place, coincidentally of course…and he would be bound to introduce Miss de Manley to the woman who had helped them so much. Rachel was transported on hearing this, since it meant that she would get to see the much-lauded sea after all, even though she could not actually feel the sand under her feet or the water lapping at her feet as she wanted. And Andrew was gratified with the large group around Mrs. Coleslaw, since it meant that her recognition of Colonel Fairfax and his famous relative would be noticed and discussed by many. The news would have spread satisfactorily thorough the gossip channels within hours.
The much-anticipated morning arrived with a gauzy mist which thankfully dispersed within a few hours. Annette Coleslaw was gratified, since she had been looking forward to a spot of sea bathing for ages. Today she was going to the beach with her sisters and a few friends of her elder sister Martha, and they would stop to have lunch at the Poseidon Café before visiting the Pump House. She had always liked their little cream pies. Humming to herself, she started the arduous process of dressing fittingly for a day of pleasure.
At the end of four hours, she found herself agreeably tired out and ready to sink into the comfortable chairs of the little inn while her friends chattered on indefatigably about the latest on-dits in Town. Emptying her mind of their gossip, she allowed her eyes to linger across the room while waiting for her cup of tea and slice of pie. Suddenly she sat up straight and focused on a couple sitting a few tables away in the furthest corner of the café.
"Surely that is Colonel Fairfax?" she mumbled to herself, desperately trying to get around her shortsightedness and confirm her suspicions. The next moment the gentleman turned his head slightly and his visage came into focus, sweeping away all her doubts. "It is he!" she exclaimed pleasurably, her interest spiking at the sight of the young girl seated beside him. "So this must be Miss Miranda de Manley…"
And voila, she had the full attention of her companions.
Rachel had never felt so awkward before, not even when she was eleven years old and had to petition the cantankerous old care-taker of the manor at Little Hanstead to allow her into the hallowed library. Her innate honesty had made it difficult to lie convincingly all her life. In spite of being coached by Andrew about Miss de Manley's lifestyle and having her story by heart, she suddenly felt like an imposter and unconsciously pressed closer to him for support. He squeezed her hand comfortingly and looked up at the approaching Mrs. Coleslaw, with her party following at a safe distance.
And then started Rachel's charade, as she tried to deal with everyone like a gracious lady born to wealth and refinement. While Annette instantly felt like a long-lost friend, the same could not be said for the rest of her party who were simply, unpretentiously and insatiably curious about the previously missing heiress. Drawn in by the fascinating talk going on at their table, several strangers also used the pretext of dubious acquaintance and hovered around to hear the reason behind the heavily-publicized midnight escapade.
There were moments when Rachel's mind went blank and she felt like swooning as she looked at the crowd gathering around her. Andrew was there to offer support and remedy any mistake she might make, but she knew perfectly well that the onus was on her. It was her performance as the heiress that would seal the fate of Miss de Manley in the end; performance in front of all these faces now focused on her. Fawning faces, inquisitive faces, censorious faces, calculating faces… You must pull yourself together, my girl! Chin up, eyes clear, voice steady, posture straight - make your family proud, even if they should never know of your bravery! Hurrah, her reproving inner voice was back at last.
The notion that there will be no repeat performance the next day helped Rachel to smile and nod constantly, explaining over and over again about how her impulsive nature had created such a laughable comedy of errors; how much she loved her old housekeeper, how the lady under question was improving admirably, how she had laughed on hearing about the uproar over her disappearance in London, how exhausted she had become with her nursing activities, how nice it was of Andy to escort her for a short seaside trip. Her experiences on the journey to Brighton acquired equal attention from her listeners, and the conversationalist in her wove a spell around her listeners as she detailed how scared she had been when the bandits had held up their carriage, how inhuman they had seemed, the exhausting walk towards civilization verily in the middle of the night, the nerve-wracking effects of the experience and so on. Since it was a genteel crowd and not everyone present was out for sensationalism, Rachel even had to contend with the sticklers for small talk who occasionally reduced her to discussing how charming Brighton was today and how she had always loved to bathe in the sea.
Finding the notorious Miss de Manley in Brighton and hearing her story was such an unexpected bonus to the pleasure-seekers that afternoon that they were reluctant to relinquish her company. The conversations continued outside the café while promenading along the sea shore and stretched on for over two hours. Empty conversations, probing conversations, impertinent conversations; conversations about people Rachel had never heard of, about places she had only dreamt of. She had to speak about everything as if it was second nature to her, instead of an unknown world beyond her means. Finally Andrew and Rachel left their admirers pleading tiredness on the lady's part, and were pressed to attend multiple functions and gatherings - none of which they had the slightest intention of appearing at, obviously.
The moment they were back at the guest house, Rachel all but collapsed. Andrew could barely keep his grin under control. The young woman who escaped from the clutches of blood-thirsty kidnappers, and travelled over eight miles with a dizzy head without breaking down, had found her doom in an afternoon spent talking! But he lost all mirth on reflecting for a moment how frightening it must be to pretend to be someone else like that, in front of a crowd so different from what she had always been used to. Therefore he just guided her to an over-stuffed couch, handed her a glass of water and kept on murmuring soothing words to her till she regained some colour in her cheeks.
She laughed shakily before babbling out of nervousness. "Oh dear, I really made a fool of myself now, didn't I? Who would have thought that a piercing glare from a lorgnette wielded by an expert could be so intimidating? I do hope that I haven't blown our cover today. The story seemed to go quite well; do you think anyone suspected?"
"No Miss Warren, I do not think you need to worry on that account. Mira's recklessness is well-known, and the jaunt we described just now is almost in character. I studied everyone's expressions intently all the time and I believe no one suspected anything, at least to the extent of spreading rumours about an important personage such as you." He smiled soothingly down at the disturbed face before him. "But now that the news of your arrival at Brighton has been established, I believe that it is time for you to become indisposed due to your recent ordeals and not show your face to the eager people anymore."
Rachel mock- pouted, but soon started laughing merrily at the idea of inflicting another such hour on herself out of her own free will. Why, even confinement in her boring room was preferable to that horrible scenario!
The next two days went off even more slowly than the previous one for Rachel, since she no longer had even the one public meeting to look forward to - and dread. By the time the third evening had come about she had started seriously doubting her previous conviction about preferring solitude to impersonation, and was eager to stretch her legs in some way or the other. Andrew was at the dockyard at the moment, purchasing tickets for them on the France-bound liner La Celesté to act as a convenient decoy for trackers; they would be leaving in a couple of days. Several visitors had tried to meet Rachel after the encounter at the café, but she had pleaded ill health to one and all and managed to evade them.
Now she was in a rare mood of irritation with the world, wishing to just do something and yet, was cruelly deprived of every means of entertainment. Rachel had well worked herself into an indignant huff by the time sunset was tinting the road beyond her windows with scarlet fire. Oh, it is fine enough for Andrew, gallivanting all over the place, flocking to his friends, strolling on the golden sands, planning our escape route…I only have the recourse of a threadbare collection of ponderous sermons scrounged from the landlady. Till His Highness deigns to honour me with his presence I would have to continue to stew in this room. Lord, I am almost contemplating mutiny and going out in spite of Andrew's warnings!
Andrew's business at the dockyards had been successful, and La Celesté was set to sail two afternoons hence with berths reserved for Miranda and him. He was returning to the boarding house with a jaunty smile on his lips when he espied some movement in the long shadows spilling around the house. Urchins loitering around in hopes to pick a few pockets were common enough in this town, but he had lodged Rachel in a particularly respectable part and miscreants were not often to be encountered here. His senses going into overdrive, Andrew crouched into a defensive posture in his corner and concentrated on this individual.
The man was languidly leaning against the wall of the building with an unlit cigarillo clamped between his teeth, looking like he had all the time in the world and not a care to burden it with. Though dressed like a tramp, the man seemed to be harmless enough. After watching him for fifteen minutes as he slouched dreamily in the same position, Andrew was ready to laugh at his over-wrought state of mind. "This task is getting to me - now I have spies on my mind," he thought and shook his head ruefully at himself. Calming down, he was about to approach the house when he saw the silhouette of Rachel fall on the blinds of the living room. She was now pacing around the room in agitation, and occasionally wringing her hands (she does that whenever she is unsure about her actions, Andrew thought absently). The slouching man seemed to come to life at the sight of her. He straightened up in an instant and even his shadow seemed to tense with suppressed excitement.
To Andrew's horror, he saw Rachel step out on the porch. She was holding her bonnet in her hands and seemed to be debating the wisdom of taking a walk. In front of his fascinated eyes, an ugly revolver appeared in the hands of the man, who was staring intently at the unaware girl about to step outside. He was already cocking it as a prelude to taking aim.
"NO!" Andrew screamed in his mind. He knew that once Rachel stepped out of the house, she would become a target for the marksman in an instant. He himself was too far off to engage the shooter in a fight - the moment he stepped out of the shadows, the man would fire his weapon and all will be lost. He would never get to her before the bullet found its mark. He could only plead in his mind,
"Go back, please, return this instant! Oh saints in Heaven, make her go back!"
Rachel was moving under the exhilarating effects of finally giving in to the mutiny festering in her heart and before she knew it, she was poised on the threshold of her dreary little sanctuary with her bonnet in hand, ready to take flight. It was so easy…no one questioned her decision and the landlady cheerfully suggested a short-cut to a nearby park. It would only be for a short time. She wouldn't even go to the park, though the idea was vastly tempting. Just a small stroll around the block to feel the fresh air on her face, to stretch her legs a bit. Andrew wouldn't even know; she would be back long before he reappeared. He himself had reported that there had been no signs of danger anywhere.
And if he had not been so tardy in looking after me, she whined inwardly, I would not have been forced to take matters into my own hands! He didn't keep his promise to take me around even once.
But reason returned at last to her fevered brain, as did her sense of humor regarding the situation. Her hands stilled in the process of tying on her bonnet. Just what were you thinking of, my fine woman? her conscience chided. In her mind's eye, Rachel could almost see it putting imaginary hands on its hips and tapping an insubstantial foot. So now you are prepared to throw away everything to achieve a few moments of 'stolen pleasure'? And yes, you got that right my prudish miss, as your secret inner voice I have the right to occasionally use puns you may not approve of in yourself. Be that as it may…Get back in your room this instant! And stay there till HE tells you to come out!
Lord, who would have thought that one's conscience could be so nagging and superior? Yes Teacher - see, here I retreat back in all my shamed glory.
And thus, Rachel backed away into the house at the last minute.
She had been lying on her bed for half an hour in an attempt to pass the time daydreaming when her bedroom door was jolted open without warning. Andrew stood there in her room, breathing hard and apparently in the grips of a wild frenzy.
Her face became suffused with blushes of outraged modesty. What did he mean by entering her bedroom like this, for goodness' sake? God help her, was he drunk? But before she could open her mouth to voice any of her thoughts, Andrew had walked over to her side and hauled her out of the bed without any ceremony, grabbing her arms hard and drawing her close to his body. She had never seen him like this - he seemed to be on the verge of shaking her till her teeth rattled. And doing something else too, perhaps…
The shocked look on her face brought him to his senses. He struggled with himself for a second before visibly reining in his temper. His arms fell to his side as he retreated to the end of the room, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking several deep breaths. The atmosphere was so charged that Rachel could not utter a word even when she finally had the chance; the silence between them seemed to stretch on indefinitely while he mastered his emotions. Finally, his voice came out in a strained whisper.
"Just what do you think you were doing forty minutes ago, when you stood on the front step with your bonnet in hand? You were planning to go out, weren't you, despite all I had told you about the dangers concerned."
The blood drained from Rachel's face, only to return with a vengeance in shame at her almost-truancy being caught out. Averting her face, she stuttered, "So you saw me? I'm sorry about that Mr. Fairfax, it was temporary insanity - if I can put it that way. I swear I did not go out after all; I recalled your words and stayed back."
He closed his eyes and spoke conversationally, "It almost was too late, though. There was a man staking the front door, for who knows how long, in expectation of taking your life with a brute of a gun. Your preparations to go out gave the poor man hope and he had got it all cocked and ready when you finally turned around and retreated. Letting me breathe again after what felt like an eternity, may I add."
Rachel's hand flew to her mouth as she grasped the enormity of the situation. Momentarily speechless, she could only stare at Andrew as his words sunk in. She had been that close to disaster…
"Ah, I see you understand now," he continued in the same politely detached tone, which frightened her more than his shouts might have done. It signified how tightly his rage was leashed, as if it would break out of his control if he gave it the slightest freedom. "Somehow the news of our current position has reached the De Manleys earlier than expected. Well, the menace is temporarily at bay. While he was standing there cursing heartily, no doubt at your lack of feminine sympathy with his impatience, I accosted a patrolling policeman and directed his attention towards the suspicious character who had been loitering near respectable residences - no doubt with the idea of mischief. He is trying to explain his way out in the police station as we speak. Now, if you would be kind enough, you should pack. We are leaving this instant."
Rachel felt bewildered. Was he feeling so betrayed by her fleeting insubordination, then, that he was punishing her by being distant? And yet, this wasn't supposed to happen, Andrew had said that Miss de Manley's life was not threatened at present! Were they not trying to just capture her? "But why was he trying to kill me so openly?" she wondered aloud. "Wasn't Miss de Manley's death supposed to look like an accident…?"
"I don't know!" he roared, finally losing his tenuous control over anger. "Maybe it is because they have given up hope of doing it inconspicuously. Maybe they hope that this would be considered to be a common mugging incident. I don't know. All that I do know is that the danger has increased tenfold if they are ready to finish you off. Now, will you commence your packing, or do you wish to tarry some more?"
Rachel looked at him with distress. This was a stranger with unsuspected depths of passion and capable of great destruction; this was the soldier behind the gentleman. It did not lessen her love for Andrew; it was almost a comfort to know that he was capable of losing control and thus, human. But that was not important. What did matter was the burning question - would he never forgive her for her mistake? How will they continue to travel together if he acted so distant and…disappointed in her…all the time…
She resolutely shook off such thoughts and blinked back the tears starting to gather on her lashes. There would be time enough to go into them at leisure. For now, she was sensible enough not to question him further and started gathering up her meager belongings without a word. The sight of her silent consent calmed him down somewhat and drawing a sharp breath, he spun away on his heel to buy some food from the landlady and to pay for the rooms. He never got to hear the whispered "I am so sorry" that was left to float disconsolately in the room behind him.
They were out of the boarding-house within twenty minutes, alone with each other in a stagecoach hired up till the neighboring town Portslade prior to starting their long trek in the wilderness. And before anything could be achieved, the mammoth in the coach had to be addressed and laid to rest; otherwise it was going to be one long journey.
The quiet between them persisted for an intolerably long period, each wrapped up in their own misery. Rachel had indeed tried many times to apologize properly for her impetuosity, but each time she would lose courage at the sight of the unyielding profile of the man beside her, and shut her mouth again. Finally it was Andrew who ended the unbearable silence. He had sneaked a glance at Rachel when she was peering out at the nightscape, and her forlorn face broke through his barriers.
"I am sorry for my anger at you back there, Miss Warren," he said gently. Her head whipped around and the mixed look of penitence and joy reflected in her expressive eyes smote him for his hard-heartedness. It also reminded him of the ungentlemanly way he had behaved in her room, and covered him with shame. Devil take it, this was a delicately nurtured young lady unrelated to him, and he had behaved thus…it was disgraceful. Taking her hand gingerly in his, he continued,
"I have no excuse for my unpardonable actions and words. Though you did commit a mistake that could easily have been fatal, the disaster was averted and that is what ultimately matters. I can simply plead the excuse of the severe suspense I had been under and my own feelings of inadequacy as I saw him aiming at you, to ask for your forgiveness…"
"You show more generosity than I deserve, sir," Rachel interposed. "Both of us know that the mistake was mine; I had ample knowledge about the real threat to my life, and chose to over-rule security out of mere peevishness and boredom. It was my great good luck that I changed my mind in time, but I can't let you blame yourself for your anger towards me. What did you do or say that I did not earn with my foolhardiness?"
Andrew was staring at her by now, his features a swirl of emotions she did not feel capable of deciphering. Rachel almost faltered in her speech, but continued with it nevertheless. "I believe I must th…thank you Sir, for taking such good care of me," she smiled apologetically. "Once again, you have rescued me from certain death. I wonder how I would have fared without your presence."
Andrew's mouth twisted into a bitter smile and his next words showed his self-disgust. "Without me and mine, madam, you would not have been involved in any kind of unpleasantness at all."
"Yes indeed," Rachel threw back spiritedly, though with a blush mantling her cheeks, "none except for the trifling case of Lord Edgerton and the possibility of a jobless future. My stars do not seem to be particularly good right now in any case."
Sudden warmth coursed in her veins as she realized that her hand was still captive between his long fingers. Before she could lose her courage, she blurted out, "I can just thank God for a companion like you at this phase of my life. I don't think I could have survived long on my own."
Andrew's jaw clenched at the mention of Lord Edgerton. He had almost forgotten the mental turmoil which she had been going through at the time of her capture. That sorry excuse of a man! If only I could get my hands on him right now…oh Hell, this pent-up frustration is killing me.
But of course, he did not mention any of this to her. He only released her hand and replied stiffly to her last sentence, "I believe that you would have managed perfectly under any circumstance, Miss Warren. You are one of the natural survivors in our world."
By now the ice between them was broken effectively. Each forgave the other unreservedly, and even themselves to some extent. The talk eased up and went on to planning the next leg of their journey. And the coach clattered on into the dark unknown.
The moment they stepped down from the carriage and it had lumbered away, Andrew propped Rachel into the shrubbery beside the road to hide from probing eyes. They chose to come to Portslade first to further confuse the trail for any spies, and now the hardest part was about to commence. Among other things, Andrew had acquired some maps detailing the terrain they will be traversing; and they were going to prove some of their most valuable possessions now. After charting out the direction required for their walk by the faint light of the stars, he shouldered the single valise containing all their belongings, handed the food basket to Rachel and set off through the undergrowth into the field adjoining it without a second doubt. In spite of its being three hours past midnight. On a new moon night.
Of course, mused Rachel as she unsuccessfully tried to walk without tripping over hidden roots and ruts in the ground. No one would expect us to travel at this time. It's the perfect camouflage.
And thus began their run from detection across country. Later in life Rachel was unable to recall it in detail; it seemed to be a stretch of never-ending tiredness and monotonous action. They had to duck away every time they heard anyone approach, and this rather lessened the choice of routes on which they could travel. By the end of the first two days, they had traversed a portion of the chalky South Downs into the next county. In the following days they climbed numerous hills, crossed countless muddy fields, followed more cart tracks than Rachel could keep track of, and hid in more ditches than she cared to remember. Those crumpled maps had become the Star of Bethlehem for them - constantly reminding them of, as well as directing them towards, their eventual haven.
The nights were not much better since their choices were necessarily limited to modest taverns and inns, where simply getting a bed to sleep, water to wash in and being able to depart without getting robbed were reasons enough to rejoice - the question of comfort did not arise. Indeed, the fourth night was a repeat of the one spent in Marsham-in-the-Vale since the Grass and Cowbells Inn could only spare one room; the couple had to again stretch the bed-sheet across the lumpy bed and attempt to rest, the knowledge of the other person making for uneasy sleep on both sides.
They travelled in this furtive manner for seven days. Conversation was not as flowing as usual since most of their energies were conserved for the journey, but they still managed to talk about sundry topics during meals and while taking breaks from walking. Andrew kept Rachel amused for hours on end with amusing anecdotes from his military life, making it sound like an extremely interesting vocation with camaraderie and fellowship flowing freely among the soldiers and officers. His depictions of some of his friends' actions and characteristics were particularly hilarious, and kept his companion in stitches. But she also noticed when he would pause and skirt over certain topics, especially about seeing action on the battlefield. His silences about such issues became as eloquent as his speeches after some time, showing Rachel the pain that his career occasionally gave him and which he attempted to valiantly hide from the world.
He told her a lot about the Misses Trevelyan, with whom she would be living in a few days. He described his old nurse Miss Maud Trevelyan and her two elder sisters at length, talking about how they had always welcomed him and his siblings over to their house over the years for short holidays even when Miss Maud had retired from her profession. He also talked enthusiastically for several minutes about the ancient village of Headley Down, describing some of its prominent landmarks and personages for Rachel's benefit. Thus he managed to skillfully remove most of Rachel's inhibitions about living in a new place with people who were virtually strangers to her, without once referring to her fears directly. Such delicacy could only endear him more to one clever enough to realize it.
There was another memorable conversation which occurred during a particularly rainy morning when they were stuck indoors in the private parlor of the Green Horse (courtesy a local cock fight which had drawn several visitors to the little hamlet, seriously threatening their attempts at anonymity) without any prospects of resuming their hike in the near future. Rachel taxed Andrew with having something weighing on his mind other than their present predicament. She had noticed his occasional melancholy for a long time and finally screwed up her courage to inquire into his distress, praying that she would not be told off for presuming too much on their forced intimacy.
"Mr. Fairfax, I have noticed since the past few days that you seem to be distracted at times; if it would not be too presumptuous in me to ask, what bothers you?"
"You are more astute than I expected, Miss Warren," Andrew sighed. He looked away and stared for a minute into the rain beating relentlessly at the shuttered window across him, before resuming speech. "The de Manley brothers are not invincible from the hand of Law, you know. Even though now it is imperative to keep a low profile and hide Mira from them, once she comes in possession of her inheritance there can be no obstruction to setting the wheels of justice in motion. I may not be too knowledgeable about legal matters, but I know that if a person hires someone to do his dirty work it necessarily renders him liable to exposure though these mercenaries. Certainly a Bow Street Runner can find out their complicity in this elaborate plan, and they can get their just deserts.
"But…" he gritted his teeth in frustration. "It is Mira. She would not hear about persecuting them. Despite all they have done to her, she cites her lifelong love for them as an obstruction to any thoughts of revenge as might arise in her heart. I … do not agree with her, but have no recourse till she changes her mind."
Rachel pondered over what he said, and then whispered, "I can understand her sentiments, I suppose. They were her only family after her parents died, and her secluded upbringing must have made her emotionally dependent upon them as parental figures. I do not know if I can hand over any of my family members to the authorities either, even if they tried to harm me in some way. I could never hurt someone I loved like that, and I guess Miss de Manley feels even more strongly about the subject due to her solitary life in Dartmoor."
He shook his head sadly. "I consider that sentiments and relationships are symbiotic, and each begets the other. If the men do not think of her as their sister, why should she treat them as brothers? She had always been too soft for her own good."
They did not debate this subject further, each allowing the other to hold on to his or her belief. Miss de Manley became a common subject soon, largely due to her present importance in their lives. Andrew's face would light up while speaking about Mira, and it was evident that he thought the world of her. Hours would be spent recalling anecdotes which defined her daring and compassionate nature, and in describing their childhood adventures in the primitive moors surrounding Mira's home in Snowdown. He forgot their present hardships on such occasions, lost in the memories of a more innocent time where punishment for mischief was all they had ever feared.
Rachel found herself falling more and more deeply in love with Andrew, regardless of all rationality which mercilessly pointed out his evident concern for his beautiful and intelligent cousin. She could only tell her poor heart to enjoy today without caring for what tomorrow might hold. Such familiarity with her love made even the hardships of this rigorous journey pleasant for her, and the approach of their destination was a source of thankfulness mixed liberally with regret.
Daybreak on the eighth day found their last rooms vacated, and two people gamely striding on in the pearly light of morning with the valise of clothes and the shabby old basket sold to them by the landlady from Brighton. Though having the misfortune of being gnawed by mice in the distant past it was large and still functional, and had proved itself indispensible in their trek across the barren landscape more than once. Right now it contained enough food and drink to allow them to travel at a stretch without stopping at any farms on the way.
The day continued most auspiciously. They had been lucky enough to get a bath and laundering materials in their last inn, and both Rachel and Andrew were feeling thoroughly clean after a long time. They had lost a couple of days on the way due to persistent rain, but the clouds retreated now to present a lovely day to the couple for the last leg of their journey. The landscape was changing slowly but surely around them, and the distinctive smell of the sea had long retreated from the air. Lush greenery was prominent in fields and on hills, and skylarks were swooping overhead with trills of melody. The sky had acquired a jewel-like blue colour, and Rachel couldn't stop herself from bursting into short snatches of song along the way.
Andrew smiled and shook his head fondly as his walking companion surged on ahead, humming lightly and twirling the basket on her arm in a dance-like gesture. Over the last few days, he had become more intimately acquainted with her little habits than anyone outside her family, and this spontaneous singing session bespoke of jubilant spirits. They had not found any signs of being followed at any point of their cross-county walk and finally he could allow his companion to vent her gaiety on her surroundings instead of advocating caution all the time.
It seems like the plan has worked perfectly - our entry into East Hampshire had gone unnoticed. Thank you Lord for Your mercies. He himself was also feeling particularly hopeful today. Soon enough they would reach Headley Downs and Rachel would be safely ensconced with Miss Trevelyan and her sisters. They would take more care of her than her own family could under the present circumstances, since they were the very souls of discretion and he planned to tell them the entire story to ensure their co-operation - something that would not be possible with Rachel's family in the best interests of her reputation. Then he could go back to Denbries and make sure that Mira was still protected.
Before the day was over, the trickiest part of their voyage could be considered to be complete.
Andrew and Rachel entered the nondescript village of Headley Down just as the setting sun was drenching the countryside in molten gold. They could see silver flashes being reflected off the surface of some water body in the distance, and the meditative clucking of hens in some nearby enclosure provided a most tranquil touch to the scene unfolding around them. A cowherd was calling his tardy bovine troop home with the aid of a homemade flute somewhere near the water body, and the notes trembled tentatively on the gentle breeze. It must have rained some minutes earlier, since the heady scent of wet earth was rising from their feet, sending their olfactory senses into overdrive.
The magical moment and the approaching separation wiped away conversation from the fugitives' lips; they simply moved on with a thousand words unspoken between them. Andrew seemed to be too preoccupied for speech as he looked around for the tracks to his old nurse's house. Since he wanted to minimize his connection with the Trevelyans, he could not ask for directions from the villagers and had to rely on his own distant memories. As for Rachel, she was fighting her desire to simply hold on to Andrew's coat lapels, sob out her love for him and never let go.
"You had always known this day would come sooner or later," Rachel's reason whispered sadly to her heart. "The past few days were stolen moments from a life not your own, and the good as well as the bad have to merge with reality one day; your reality, which is that of a governess, Miss Rachel Olivia Warren, not of an adventuress travelling with the man of her dreams to protect a rich young girl from her cruel family. It was an enchanted experience while it lasted, and will most probably suffice for the rest of your life. You do not belong with the Miss De Manleys and the Colonel Fairfaxes of the world, and the sooner you accept it the easier for you."
Ah, if only it were that easy to accept ones own good counsel! Rationality could not prevent Rachel's throat from clogging with unshed tears, nor could it prevent her from stealing longing glances at Andrew' feet as they continued to tread remorselessly at her side towards the strangers with whom he would leave her, perhaps never to meet again. His sensitive hands were thrust into his breeches' pockets, but she could drink her fill of his long legs as they kept rhythm with her own smaller steps; higher than them she dared not to go for fear of breaking down on encountering his immeasurably dear face.
This distraction was the cause of Rachel's downfall. Lost in her own deep thoughts, Rachel forgot to remember that even innocent nature was ridden with pitfalls - literally. One moment she was trying to memorize Andrew's little habit of stroking his chin while thinking; in the next, her shoe had caught in a partially-hidden rabbit-hole and she had sprawled headlong on the ground. She - who had been walking in woods from the age of six, and had spent a major portion of the past week on her feet while traversing harsh country - had committed one of the most basic mistakes a traveler can make. She did not look where she was going. Mortifying? Absolutely. Accursed sentimentality…
Andrew rushed towards her and tried to support her while Rachel blinked away her tears. Bad, bad, bad…at the very last stretch too…can't be incapacitated now…her brain kept on chanting in an attempt to block out the throbbing waves of pain. It was of no use.
"Rachel? Ra…Miss Warren, Do you hear me? Where does it hurt? Do not worry. You are a brave girl, aren't you now? Just tell me where you are injured, and maybe I can help it. Come on now, speak to me." Andrew was prattling soothing nonsense all the while and gently probing her foot to verify the damage, but speech was beyond Rachel's powers at the moment. The blood had drained from her face, and it was all she could do to keep from fainting. When Andrew got to her ankle, the cry which escaped her at his light touch confirmed his fears; it was a bad sprain, and might get aggravated if she walked any further on that foot.
She moaned again involuntarily, and slumped a little in his arms from exhaustion. That decided him. Bending down to her level, he whispered softly in her ear.
"Listen to me Miss Warren. You have sprained your ankle quite badly. We are not far from my nurse's house, but you are in no condition for walking. Therefore, I pray you not to think that I am taking a liberty when I do…this." And before Rachel's bemused wits could make any sense out of his words Andrew had gently put his arms under her, straightened up and was carrying her effortlessly in front of him. They were once more on their way, just like that.
The feeling of being cradled in a man's arms was incredible. Or could it just be that this man was having such a strong effect on her? Rachel had seldom felt so secure yet lightheaded in her life. Time seemed to slow down around her as Andrew's clean-cut profile filled her horizon. The throb in her ankle was immediately forgotten and was replaced with a searing awareness of his hands under her knees and behind her back, his warm body pressed to her side and her own arms embracing his neck. Her fingers just brushed the golden hairs at the nape of his neck, and she could feel the muscles above his cravat tensing momentarily before he became comfortable under her touch.
If this was a dream, then do not wake me ever again, she prayed to her immortal soul. If this were retribution for my foolishness, then farewell, Rationality - I need thee not. If this were heaven, then life was never as pleasant as death… methinks my fall affected my head, to make me spout Shakespearean rubbish thus…
Andrew plodded on his quest, never imagining how his proximity was addling his fair burden's brain cells. If he were similarly affected, he did not give any indication.
They reached Thrush Cottage within seventeen minutes - seventeen minutes which, naturally, felt like a lifetime as well as a fraction of a nanosecond to Miss Warren. Andrew gently lowered Rachel to the ground and moved away before ringing the doorbell, leaving behind emptiness so acute that she had to hug herself to hold her scattered emotions together. She had thought that leaving him after their previous closeness would be difficult - but the past seventeen minutes had well nigh shattered her from inside, showing her what she could never have and how deep was her need for a future with him in it. She missed the moment when the door was opened by a sprightly old woman, she missed the woman's pleased recognition of Andrew, and she missed his tender replies. She almost missed Andrew's introduction of herself as well, and was only recalled to her surroundings when Andrew placed a light hand on her shoulder while talking about her recent injury. Pathetic, indeed, that the slightest touch from him could help her world right itself once again.
They were immediately ushered into the house amid concerned clucking from kindly Miss Trevelyan, and Rachel was deposited on a plush settee with a footstool cushioning her injured ankle while her hostess scurried to get some refreshments for the visitors. Two old ladies came out of another room and were introduced as the Misses Millicent and Agnes Trevelyan, Miss Trevelyan's spinster sisters. Miss Maud Trevelyan herself bustled about and soon had a dish of willow-bark tea ready for Rachel, made from her own herb collection.
"Drink this up my dear, and try to overlook the bitter taste. It will relieve the pain in your ankle to a considerable extent."
Ah, but what can relieve the pain in my heart? Now I indeed sound like a lovesick heroine from some novel. I never thought that such drivel had any grain of truth earlier…
"Thank you Madam, it really is a wonderful decoction," Rachel smiled civilly at her, though her mind's eye was always focused on Andrew's conversation with the other two ladies about their journey hence. These women were the only people who got the complete truth about the couple's voyage across counties, since they were acquainted enough with Andrew to believe in his tale and honor wholeheartedly without judging anyone involved. They instantly consented to hide Rachel in their house for at least a month, at the end of which time Miss de Manley could present herself in court as an adult and gain control of her fortune.
The question of Rachel's identity arose. She was supposed to disappear from the sight of the world so as to foster the illusion of Miranda's immigration; but was she safe as Rachel Warren out here? Miss Millicent Trevelyan thought not.
"You see, my dear," the plump lady explained, astute blue eyes looking at Rachel seriously, "Our small locality is a most insular one. And yet, what with modern amenities and the restlessness of youth, some families out here are pretty well connected with the outside world as well. If the people after you suspect Rachel Warren to be Miranda de Manley, even the whisper of your real name can bring them here. Therefore, I think it would make you doubly safe if you could stay here under a pseudonym. What do you think, Andy my boy?"
Andrew was in accord with the idea, but he did not believe that Rachel's first name needed to be altered. It would make everything simpler if there were not too many things to slip up on and, after all, it was not that uncommon a name; there were too many Rachels in the world to merit observation. Rachel mostly stayed in the background during this discussion and the others left her in peace to enable her to calm down, only asking her opinions occasionally and deferring to her for the final decision. After a bit of debate it was decided that she would be presented to the people of Headley Down as a distant cousin of the Trevelyan sisters, named Rachel Moreland. As her sister Lucy's married name was Moreland, she believed it to be easy enough to remember. The solemnity of the gathering was then consciously dispelled by a happy game of ascertaining who could come up with the most outlandish name for a disguised heroine in distress, in Mrs. Radcliffe's best Gothic style.
Before she was ready for it, Colonel Fairfax got up to go. He desired to take advantage of the night, he explained, and there was a moon bright enough to lead him till he reached the adjoining parish where he will seek shelter - he didn't want to risk anyone recognizing him in Headley Down. His parting from the older ladies was short, affectionate and cheerful, laced with promises to come again soon to stay with them instead of "rushing off in an hour with no warning whatsoever".
His parting from Rachel could not be so easy. The bond between them had grown to palpable levels over the past weeks; a word or two could not suffice. Therefore, he requested the Trevelyans to give them privacy for a few minutes. After their retreat to the next room, he came over to Rachel and sat down beside her. She refused to look at his face, no longer caring about what her agitation might appear like. Fortunately for her, Andrew did not think it unseemly or inexplicable. He also was laboring under a great weight, and found speech to be quite difficult. They both sat like that, side by side, without exchanging a single word. Finally he delicately tilted her face towards his with a finger, but even then Rachel's eyes slid away, refusing to meet his gaze.
"Do not hide away from me, Miss Warren. Though the time has come to part, I cannot go in peace knowing that you refused to meet my eyes at the last moment. I thought we were friends?"
Rachel looked up at him at last, letting him see her eyes swimming in tears she had been too proud to shed until then. "Gaining your friendship has been one of the best things in my life, Colonel Fairfax. But possessing something so good only hurts all the more when it is taken away from you."
Andrew opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again on realizing that there was really no honest reply to her simple assertion. He would be a charlatan if he tried to soothe her sorrow with empty platitudes. He knew - perhaps better than her - that the fight was not yet over for him; it will not end until he and Mira remained in hiding. Hang it, I cannot even promise to write and keep in touch, since I'll be striving for anonymity in Denbries and cannot afford to run to the post. Miss Warren's safety depended on her distance from him. Therefore, he did not address her last sentence. Instead, he looked intently at her.
"You had told me once that you thanked God for a companion like me during this grueling period. I, on the other hand, have never expressed my feelings about the person I decided to protect with my life the day we were abducted. I will simply say that…" he paused for a minute while trying to get rid of an annoying lump in his throat, "I had been the fortunate one Miss Warren, that I had your company on this hazardous journey. I cannot think of another woman who could have shown your fortitude, kindness and understanding, and who would have been so willing to even court death for the sake of another human being. I am proud to call myself your friend, Rachel Olivia Warren."
His words unknowingly gave Rachel the strength to retain the last vestiges of her dignity. If he persisted in seeing her as a mere friend even after she all but declared herself to him, she will not degrade herself any longer by blubbering like an infatuated damsel languishing in his absence. She blinked away the remaining tears and unconsciously straightened her back before gracing him with a small smile.
"So am I, Colonel; so am I. These days will remain with me for the rest of my life as a memory of a wonderful friend rather than the time I almost lost my life over and over again." She even managed a little laugh this time. "But you must be on your way now - it is getting late. Take care of yourself…I won't be there to detract your attention from your own welfare any longer, after all. I hope you find success in every endeavor."
Andrew reluctantly released her face and got up from the settee, but not before taking her hand and dropping a kiss, soft as a whisper, on her glove-less knuckles. His movement alerted the elderly ladies about his imminent departure, and they all went to see him to the door. Rachel, of course, had to stay put on the settee due to her swollen ankle. She could do nothing but watch him as he moved away from her. Suddenly he stopped by the door and turned towards her. His eyes held a glint that she knew instinctively was intended for her and her alone.
"Fare thee well, Miss Warren; until we meet again."
Rachel could control herself no longer. She drew herself up imperiously despite her sitting position. "Just one more thing, Colonel. Promise me on our friendship; promise me that you will be safe - that we will meet again."
And he did so.
She had to be content with that.
The Trevelyan sisters were extremely kind to Rachel in the following weeks. The first day was spent in trying to acclimatize to the house and its inhabitants, and the situation was novel enough to keep her attention. Though she was unstintingly polite and interested in everything around her, Rachel felt the loss of Andrew very keenly and it showed in her open face. Her immobility also restricted her from working round the clock which, as everyone knows, is the best antidote for the pangs of love. Her hostesses could sense the despondency which enveloped Miss Warren and, while it was perfectly understandable after all that the child had suffered, it could not be allowed to continue beyond some time. The three women were dissimilar in looks, attitudes and demeanor; and yet, they tried to protect and cheer up their young guest in their own ways.
Miss Maud Trevelyan had been Andrew's nurse, and the youngest of the sisters. Though well over sixty years, she still was a trim lady with her faculties as undiminished as her sharp eyesight. She was the most loving of the three women and mothered Rachel throughout her stay, cajoling her to drink numerous herbal drinks for her ankle and keeping her company through her enforced immobilization. She regaled Rachel with tale after tale of the children she had looked after; and even to a prejudiced listener like Rachel, it was clear that her favorite charges had been the Fairfax children. From her, Rachel got to know Andrew's four siblings intimately - his elder brother Stephen who was now master of Silvermead Hall with a babe of his own, his two sisters Cecily and Clara who were 'such delightful damsels', and his youngest brother Gavin who had been Miss Maud's last charge - now at Harrow and a 'scallywag of the first order'. She heard about old Sir Richard who was such a good landlord and how he became partly paralyzed after a fall from his horse while riding, and about Lady Fairfax's dreamy nature and obsession with her multiple rose gardens. She was even given broad hints about a certain local landowner who was a family friend and 'well on the way to being engaged to Miss Cecily'. The two women spent several hours happily swapping stories about families, students, the countryside, culinary recipes, Andrew…in short, everything under their sun.
Millicent Trevelyan, the eldest sister, was a soft butterball of a woman with a beautiful cooing voice, even though she was approaching seventy years of age. She was something of a leader in the village, and people often came to her for advice about sundry aspects of their lives. Miss Trevelyan also mediated between feuding families, bickering couples and so on. She was the shrewdest of the Trevelyan family and best stocked in common-sense - an ironical fact, since she was the one sister who had not stepped out of their village her entire life. While Miss Maud had spent twenty-nine years as a children's nurse in different parts of England and Miss Agnes had been housekeeper for the London house of a grand Duke for twenty-two years, Miss Trevelyan stayed back in their small cottage to keep house for their old father till he passed on. As she reminisced to Rachel one morning while crocheting,
"He was the local blacksmith of Headley Down, and 'twas one of his biggest regrets that he had no son to carry on his profession after him. Rightly so - though we would have done anything to continue our father's legacy, working the smithy was of course out of the question. He had hoped for one of us to wed his successor, but the man who followed Pa was married. We were the most educated ladies of our village thanks to our Ma's insistence on studies, but it never varied his opinions on our usefulness a jot. I took care of Pa unstintingly till the end; perhaps, I was determined to make him admit the benefits of having a daughter." She chuckled, but it sounded hollow to Rachel's ears.
"It was as if the day my father was placed in his coffin, I woke up from a deep sleep and realized that in my desire to please him, I was left a forty-six year old woman without accomplishments of any kind, and with no chances of marriage. I had the house; that was one blessing. My sisters were both established in their own paths of life by then, and I certainly did not grudge them their independence; but truly my dear," she finished with a small smile, "I was most relieved when first Agnes and then Maud came to live with me after retiring. Life became much more…fulfilling, I should say. Family always makes such a difference, don't you agree?"
Patting Rachel's cheek, she softly added, "And now it is more exciting than ever! Thank you for bringing purpose back to the mundane lives of us old women. You are like a breath of fresh air that has stirred our stale existence, Rachel."
The middle sister Agnes was a handsome and most active woman, who well understood Rachel's irritation at being confined to the living room settee while the sun was shining tantalizingly outside the window. After all, her love for the environs of Headley Down was what took her away prematurely from her lucrative job in smoke-ridden London. She seldom had time for heartfelt talks with Rachel like her other sisters; and yet, it was Agnes who ordered a regular supply of books from the little parish library for the invalid's pleasure, and faithfully brought back daffodils from her country rambles for Rachel as a taste of the outdoors. Once the young woman got well enough to move about on her own Agnes took her along on her walks, introduced her to the neighbours and involved her in sundry parish activities, overlooking all her sisters' protests about the need for secrecy and caution.
"Oh stop being so short-sighted all the time, Maud," she finally snapped in exasperation. "Think about it rationally. The news has already been spread across the village that we have the daughter of our third cousin Amelia visiting us for a spell. Some of them have already been to the house and seen her, rosy with health and laid up with a paltry sprain. They will wait for her to recover, but only for a while. What will everyone think if Miss Warren hides in the house indefinitely like an invalid or leper? Their curiosity will only be whetted and the villagers will become suspicious of her. But if she interacts with everyone normally, no one will pay her any mind and her novelty will wear off."
None could oppose the sound common-sense of this speech, and so Rachel was unleashed on to Headley Down society as soon as she was able to hobble around safely. Agnes even coaxed the girl into teaching at the Sunday school. She knew that with her gregarious nature, Rachel was certain to interact with the children in depth and as a result, mix with the locals and garner their sympathies. And things worked out exactly as she had expected; Rachel Moreland made an instant hit with their acquaintances, young and old alike. She made sure that Rachel was so tired out by night-time that she had no strength left to brood over anything - other than her bed, that is.
A mental breakdown had occurred on the second day of Rachel's stay. Her tension had not found a release till then as she always had to keep control over her emotions on the run, deferring her fears and pains for 'later' to be scrutinized in detail after everything was 'over'. The peaceful atmosphere of Thrush Cottage, and more importantly Andrew's absence, signified the end of her incredible adventure and finally allowed her emotions to surface. Rachel cried in her bed the whole day, and kept on crying till all the stress, fright and unrequited love had run themselves out of her system.
She could not correspond with her family or anyone at Denbries even now, though she had sent a couple of letters to her mother earlier from small hostelries when she was supposedly on the road with the girls and Brian for his health. She forbade her family from writing to her since her address was not fixed, and her last letter stipulated that she would not be communicating with them for a long time as she was too busy in nursing Brian to health to write. But the long nights painted vivid scenarios in her head about all the loopholes which remained in this story. Her family would surely try to track her down, and may even communicate with the Hall to get her present address some day. And, oh dear, Alicia and Diana might write to her at Lucy's address after some weeks, thinking that the quarantine would have been lifted! Then of course, the fat will be in the fire! Each side would know that she was not with the other. Her house of cards based on lies would fall down at the first breath of investigation.
Lies…how had she become such a liar? Her father had taught her that lying was to be shunned in decent souls. Now she was a bundle of lies, deceiving everyone close to her. She must be ready for intense consternation and interrogation on returning to the fold, at both ends. Then she would have to spew yet more lies to her family. What if someone called in the authorities over her disappearance? Her job might already be kissed goodbye if it all came out, and her family would be hard-pressed to trust in her after this mad and hoydenish act. That is, if they believe such a tall story in the first place…
And Andrew…always Andrew…
Rachel tormented herself thus for hours until her body could take such abuse no more and demanded rest. The old ladies were sensible enough to let her cleanse it all out of her body rather than entreat her to forbearance. Rachel fell into a refreshing slumber after her emotional upheaval; and when she woke up, her companions were there with a cup of chamomile tea and light gossip about the tussles between the new organist and the churchwarden. No more tears were shed on Rachel Warren's pillow in Thrush Cottage again.
As the days passed by, she was able to push morbid thoughts away with a return of her old optimism - let me look after today, and let tomorrow look after itself. No one in Headley Down suspected Rachel Moreland to be anything other than what she and the Trevelyan sisters professed. She soon settled into a routine of helping around the house and parish, just like she used to do in Little Hanstead. The soothing sameness assisted her to forget the experiences of the previous weeks and calmed her soul down to its regular equanimity, and soon Rachel Moreland was as approved in Headley Down as Rachel Warren had been elsewhere.
While her flight with Andrew had been one whirl of color and events, the month spent in Thrush Cottage passed away in a gentle haze.
Complete lack of communication with the outside world had lulled Rachel to such an extent that she had almost forgotten her life outside Headley Down with its duck pond, Norman church, petty politics and simple pleasures. Her nerves no longer went taut at an unexpected situation in anticipation of danger. She had even stopped searching for Andrew Fairfax in every tall blond man she met on the road. Therefore she was completely taken aback one day when, on entering the living room with a basketful of pears from Mrs. Benson's garden, she was greeted by Miss Maud and Miss Trevelyan's excited faces. And an envelope, that Miss Maud was waving in her face.
"Look what the postman has brought, my dear! It is a letter from for you; and best of all, it is posted from London! Perhaps it contains news about Andy and Miss de Manley!"
Rachel all but snatched the letter from her hands. Was it from Andrew, or did her family track her down in some way? Her own fingers trembling with emotion, she broke open the unknown seal. A few pieces of paper drifted down from the letter, and Rachel grasped at them on the way. It was money, and quite a lot at that! Who would be sending money to her like this? She picked up the letter and inspected the signature elegantly inscribed at the end. It was from Miss Miranda de Manley. Now, that was a surprise! She sat down to read it there itself while the tactful ladies retreated into their kitchen, attempting to work till Rachel was ready to report the contents out to them in her own time.
"Dear Miss Warren, (she read)I hope that this letter finds you in the best of health. I really do not know how to begin writing. I believe that though we have never been formally introduced, you have been one of my few real friends in the past months. You befriended me when I was a poor housemaid; and when my very life was at stake you agreed to transfer my danger to yourself, giving me a chance to survive. At a time when my brothers betrayed me, you, Rosie and Andy stepped in to provide protection and hope. Andy is family - but you are my angel.
"I doubt that I would be able to stop soon if I continue in this vein; hence, I will curtail my gratitude till I can express it to you personally. The purpose of this letter is to inform you that the clouds of darkness have finally parted; the menace is over. I turned twenty-one two days ago, went to the London offices of my grandfather's legal firm and claimed my inheritance. It was not easy since James and Desmond had set some unsavory characters in wait for us near the lawyers' chambers, but I had Andy with me and he managed to smuggle me into the auspices with the help of another friend of ours, Lord Allencourt. He had always been one of our greatest friends and had even warned me on occasion about Desmond's profligate activities, but I had never heeded him in my blind faith. Alas, I could have gone to him for assistance during my panic-stricken flight from de Manley House, but he had been out of the country for months. To our great good luck, he returned to London a few days ago and thus, was on hand to help us in this particular venture.
"We went to
RogerAllencourt's home and there I was disguised in his sister's clothes. Carrying Lady Gertrude's parasol and chattering merrily with Allencourt about a family outing, I flitted calmly by the men on the office doorstep and they didn't even give me a second glance! It was most thrilling, actually - I had thought that my previous experiences would have doused any desires for thrills in my heart, but apparently the human mind is quite resilient! As it were, the meeting took place without a hitch and the ownership of my estate and fortune was passed on to me by the afternoon. As of yesterday we are all free to get back our lives in peace and, thanks to your and Andrew's diligence, no one need ever know about the whole distasteful affair - especially about your involvement in it."Andrew has regaled me with so many yarns about your time together that I feel like I already know you intimately. I think that your greatest worry at this time must be about Carillon Hall and if any suspicions were ever raised about your absence. Therefore, let me assure you that no one got any scent of your adventures out here, i.e., there (considering that I am now in London). Lord Edgerton stayed on for a week after you left. From what I could make out, he must have tried to corner Sally towards the end, but because I had passed on your warning to the ungrateful girl (even though she had not credited it much at that time) she had been on her guard and did not come to any harm. I can confidently state that it was a relief to more than one person when he left. You can guess my trepidations around that time, I think. When Hargrove returned with the gig and claimed that Andrew had tied him up and escaped, and a search of the house showed that a lot of silver that Andrew had polished the day before were missing, I felt like I was about to faint. Andy had warned me about that fellow, and seeing him return alone confirmed my fears that my sweet coz had been got out of the way, and now it was my turn. I had never thought of connecting your departure with Andy's absence, you see. How I spent those days and nights… I believe I will carry that terror with me to my grave.
"I believe the happiest day of my life was when I met Andy again. I was woken up from my nightly slumbers by someone whistling my favourite tune from childhood outside the window. I verily believed I was still in dreamland! It was he, alternating between the shadows and moonlight on the ground. How fast I pulled on my coat and slipped outside, you can well imagine. He took me into the woods where he told me the entire saga of the past fortnight. I had to keep on pinching myself at odd moments to confirm that I was not dreaming…it seemed so unbelievable. He had had an uneventful journey towards Denbries, and was living in a tumbledown cottage in the heart of the woods surrounding Carillon since that evening. There he stayed for over two weeks while I counted down the days to my birthday. I have never been so eager for October 26th to come in my entire life! Every day was spent in dread, only marginally lessened by Andy's presence in the vicinity though he was no longer in the same house.
"Your students missed you a lot, and I have overheard them on several occasions bemoaning the quarantine that had cut off all communication with you. The dear girls were afraid that you had also contracted scarlet fever and were keeping the information from them. Even Mrs. Hutchens and Mrs. Talcott sporadically mentioned how quiet the house seemed without your 'dear face lighting it up' (Mrs. Talcott's words, not mine - though I concur wholeheartedly). The Herringfords have not appointed any new governess for the girls yet, though Mrs. Herringford seemed to be getting quite impatient with the delay in your return towards the end. (I believe she was more concerned about her 'darling' Brian being without a nurse than about her daughters' education.) In fact, this letter's purpose is to not only inform you about all that had happened in the past few days, but also as a warning to return as soon as you can if you want to avoid their writing to your sister's London address again.
"Yes, Mrs. Herringford had written there once, and by great good luck I had managed to intercept the letter before it could go into the mail bag in the hall. Being the maid had some advantages, after all! I also took the liberty of writing to them asserting to be your sister Lucinda and saying that you had indeed caught an infection, but would be returning to your post within a week or so. I professed going to London on my day off and visiting Cresswell Street to check on you, where Mrs. Moreland handed me the letter (I had to come up with some reason for the missing postmark, you see!). Andy had explained to me that your people are unaware of your recent activities, and that you may prefer to keep it that way, so I did my best. I assure you that no contact had been established between the two houses till three days ago (i.e., October 25th), but there is no guarantee that fate may not decree otherwise one of these days.
"I met with some of my friends in town yesterday, and have forwarded the story created in Brighton about the illness of Mrs. Webb, i.e. Rosie's mother. I also spread it around that I had been on that France-bound ship for a short holiday in Cannes with Andy, thus accounting for our second disappearing act from society. 'Of course, I had to return in time to claim my money and estate!' Andrew is an expert on covering tracks, isn't he? A cloak of lies seems to have shrouded this deplorable business quite well, and hopefully nothing can be discovered about it. I don't want it to haunt our future. The past has had more than its share of upheavals and the future ought not to be greedy for any more, do you not agree?
"Andrew will be rejoining his company tomorrow. The poor man almost jeopardized his army career in looking after my affairs, and it was a stroke of luck that he had not been summoned to service earlier. As it was, the increasing unrest in our Eastern colonies had resulted in a recalling of most of the regiments, and Andy's papers were waiting for him at Fairfax House after the drama was resolved. He is packing as I write, hoping to stave off his superior officer's anger by reporting as soon as possible. Needless to say, I am extremely scared for him. He is my dearest relation now, he might be in trouble for helping me and he will be gone for who knows how long. His line of work will always create unease in the bosoms of his well-wishers and family, but right now I feel quite desolate at the idea of leaving him to a capricious Fate.
"I am staying at the Fairfaxs' town house while I look around for a house of my own. That will be the first stage in my gaining control over my life and getting rid of my morbid fear of everyone around me. If you ever write to me at this address, it will be forwarded on if I have shifted house in the meantime. I do hope that you would not object to my overtures of friendship, Miss Warren. It is rare to find a person as sterling as you in my usual circles, and I would like our bond to grow beyond its original disguised roots into an association for life.
"Eagerly awaiting your response,
I remain,
Miranda De Manley
(Or Rosie, however you may want to remember me)"P.s: I have included some bills with this letter since Andy had told me that you had no money on you, and you will need to travel quite a distance to reach Carillon Hall. Please do not even think of refusing or returning the money; you are our responsibility until you reach the safety of your usual surroundings.
May God bless you, and keep you happy at all times.
-MdM-
Rachel drew a deep breath on coming to the end of this extraordinary epistle. Her first thought was, Andrew is gone! He…he has left England! But thank Goodness, at least he is unharmed - till now. And of course, Mira…Miss de Manley is safe too! She breathed a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening for sparing the ill-fated cousins any more trouble in the inheritance matter. It took her some time to move beyond this and realize that even she was out of harm's way now. There was no need to worry any more. Like Miranda had written, the unpleasant situation was over, and she can return to her old life. There was nothing else to look forward to here either, considering that the Colonel must have left England by now and did not even think of sending a single word to her through Miss de Manley's letter. It was better that he broke off their relationship in such a clean way; her hopes would not be raised any more by his ambiguous actions and words.
But then, why this wretchedness, this throb of betrayal in her heart?
"No, I will not think about that. My job might still be available," she told herself, resolutely trying to find silver linings in the situation, "and now there is nothing to stop me from going back. I must pack up and set out for Denbries this very instant - it is only the 4th of November, but I cannot afford to waste a single day more since a few more might necessarily be lost on the road." She need not trespass on the kind Misses Trevelyans' hospitality any more and could concentrate on being ordinary Rachel Warren again, after what felt like a lifetime.
Please help me Lord, she entreated fervently in her mind, even as she informed her kind hostesses about the good news which the letter carried. You have helped me this far, please help me to keep anyone from discovering the truth at this point. Allow me to return back to my old life with equanimity. I do not know if I can bear any more slings of Fate.
She would, of course, write to the address provided as soon as possible. Rosie…no, Miranda's letter somehow made her much more real to her as a person than she had ever been through the descriptions of Andrew. Her natural ebullience, kindness (since she paid attention to all the topics that Rachel might be impatient to hear about) and lack of airs were evident throughout the letter. The inclusion of the cab fare and the sweet way in which she removed all Rachel's inhibitions about accepting it showed a perceptive and worldly-wise temperament. She combined high spirits with a serious maturity, as could be deciphered from the fluctuating temper of the epistle. She's a charming person, Rachel thought reluctantly. She was honest enough to admit that Andrew could scarcely avoid falling in love with a fascinating person like this, and it was not Miranda's fault that she held the heart of a wonderful man. She was too rare a friend to be lost by Rachel over something that was a pipe dream in any case.
But I wish he had not forgotten me so quickly. He had promised me that we were friends - and yet, not a word from him in all this time to check on me. Nothing included in Miss de Manley's letter to show me that his regard has not diminished with distance and time, that I meant something to him beyond a duty. That his professions of esteem were true.
Ah, I wish…
Rachel went around the parish and said her farewells to everyone there, as they had become a constant part of her life in Headley Downs thanks to the efforts of Miss Agnes. Little Emily clung to her hand and refused to let 'Mith Mowan' go until Rachel had diverted her attention with the shiny new berries that had come out on the church hedges. The elderly vicar of the mossy old Norman church saw them together and, on hearing about the lively young woman's imminent departure, blessed her in the name of God with a happy and industrious life ahead. Miss Moreland's six-to-ten years old Sunday school learners got together and performed an impromptu and rather shaky rendition of 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas' for her as a farewell gift, bringing sudden tears to her eyes at the innocence of the gesture.
Rachel simply told everyone that she had received an urgent summons from home and did not elaborate on the reasons, having become tired of lying all the time. This left the field open to pleasurable conjecture. Mrs. Benson thought this sudden call from the girl's home was sure to be the herald of bad news which she was stoically hiding and, when her prying produced no results, she satisfied her conscience by giving Rachel a pound of her famous cherries to eat on the way. 't will console the child during the lonely ride, I daresay, she told herself mournfully, and relished the feelings of being an upright Christian woman.
Some others were perceptive enough to mark the joy and trepidation occasionally flooding Miss Moreland's countenance, and were more cheerful about the mysterious news. "I think she's won a lottery!" Sam, the boy of all work in Thrush Cottage, whispered gleefully to Old Ben at the pub. "She looks just like my Pa did when 'e won the parish sweepstakes, an' tried to hide the money from Ma!"
"Her young man has proposed, I tell 'ee," said old Mrs. Hayter in the house across the lane to her companion Miss Trimble, a veneer of satisfaction causing her to almost crow in contentment. "Now she will settle down and be married like a sensible young 'un. I tell an' tell that silly grand-daughter of mine that youngsters should marry 'afore it's too late." And her meek companion's mumbled "I doubt that she had a young man, Madam," brought forth a sharp "Nonsense! The girl was clearly pining for someone durin' her stay here."
The Misses Trevelyan were most reluctant to relinquish their guest on such short notice. Rachel was like a fount of youth for them, and in the past month they had become used to her pretty face and unflagging enthusiasms to enliven their days. But they were as realistic as Rachel herself, and had known in their hearts that this liveliness was temporary; the girl was here to escape, and would return when she needed to hide no longer. They acted cheerfully and packed a nice luncheon basket for the road, admonished Rachel to look after herself properly and to write to them often, and gave her a vial of Millicent's own lilac water as a memento; "something to remember us by, child," in the words of Miss Maud. And if more than one pair of eyes became bedewed in the hour of parting, well, no one mentioned anything by tacit understanding.
After Rachel had left, Miss Maud tremulously addressed the room at large. "Do you think we will ever see the dear girl again?"
Miss Agnes said stiffly, "We did issue her an open invitation, you know. Why shouldn't she ever come by? Of course she will…maybe not very quickly, but she will certainly visit again," she ended almost fiercely.
Miss Maud shook her head sadly. "Remember my times being a nurse, Agnes. Why, remember your own period of service. She is a governess. When will she get a long enough break to come to us?" She shook her head sadly. "I will miss her."
Miss Trevelyan, on the other hand, smiled indulgently at her youngest and most sentimental sister. "Oh, don't you worry, Maudie," she consoled her. "I don't believe that she will remain a mere governess for long. I fully expect to see her again within a couple of years." And no amount of "Please Millicent, explain!" from her disgruntled sisters could drag another word from her lips.
Rachel had written to Miss de Manley before setting out on her way, thanking the heiress for her sundry kindnesses and to assure the lady of her own eagerness in continuing a correspondence between them. She had wavered about including a hope that the Colonel's profession was secure and that he had had a safe journey, and finally decided that it was quite acceptable since Miranda herself had mentioned the subject in question. Besides, it would only be polite to inquire after a man who had been her constant companion for so long. Other than that, the composition flowed quite easily from her pen - writing to Miss de Manley was surprisingly effortless, considering that Rachel had never really seen her in her element.
She had one particular request to make of her new friend; that she write to Mrs. Herringford once again purporting to be Mrs. Moreland, informing her of Miss Warren's imminent arrival. Mrs. Herringford would not suspect anything on receiving a letter from London, even if Miranda's place of inhabitation was a world away from Cresswell Street; but she was sharp enough to catch on if Rachel were to write to her from her travel route. Though there was no time for her to receive an answer before reaching Carillon, Rachel hoped that Miranda would have taken care of everything as it should have been. The letter was vital for preserving an appearance of normalcy, after all. With matters in her new friend's hands, she could travel in peace - or at least an approximation of it.
Miss de Manley's generosity provided her with the luxury of hiring a carriage all to herself, and she did not have to suffer the indignity of crowded spaces and inopportune stops along the way. It was a great relief that she and Andrew had travelled by circuitous routes and lived in anonymous hostelries; she did not encounter any inn or guest house that she had lived in before as Andrew's sister/wife all those weeks ago. She could finally be Miss Rachel Warren once again, an ordinary governess returning from her annual break, without fear. At times she had feared that her own simple identity might become erased within all the layers of subterfuge they had created and it was a relief to return to her roots again, plain as they were. Whether I get to have Andrew in my future or not, I am what I am and no one can take it away from me any more, she vowed.
In spite of her inclination towards haste, she sensibly paused at respectable lodgings on the way at night. She took care to act with all decorum and propriety, always keeping in mind the fact that she was travelling without any male protection and hence, open to conjecture. The Misses Trevelyan did not have a manservant they could spare for so many days, and Rachel had put her foot down about depriving the old ladies of young Sam's help around the house for the time required. She could have hired a man, of course; but Hargrove had soured her taste for his ilk for quite some time to come. Besides, she needed Sam to be at the house as well; she had some work for him.
Her mind flew back to the little talk which she had had with Sam and the carpenter Mr. Symonds, and she smiled conspiratorially at her foggy reflection in the carriage window at the memory. Before leaving Thrush Cottage for the last time, she had put some of Miss de Manley's money to good use - even better than the private coach she was travelling in now. She had commissioned Mr. Symonds to build a new armoire for the drawing-room of the Cottage in secret. It was Sam's job to take the requisite measurements and tell the carpenter in privacy so that the armoire could be made without the ladies' knowledge and would be a nice surprise once it was ready to be installed. The Misses Trevelyan had a lot of little trinkets collected over the years, but since they had nothing to keep them in, they had always been crowded onto two small tables in the room. They were not only decorative items like porcelain ornaments and flower vases, but also included things such as their mother's pair of spectacles and her one silk fan, their father's treasured china pocket-watch, mementoes of children Miss Maud had taught in her life, the last horse-shoe which old Mr. Trevelyan had made in his smithy, and so on - a motley collection which truly depicted their lives across the years. Rachel had heard both Miss Trevelyan and Miss Maud bemoan the fact that they had to be treated so ignominiously, and she thought that it would be a nice thing to gift them something that will not only house all their memories appropriately, but would also be a memory of Miss Rachel Warren herself, and the time she had spent in their house.
It had always bothered her secretly that Andrew had taken their selfless kindness for granted in such a blithe manner, fostering an unknown young girl on them for an unspecified but long period of time and knowing all the while that their financial situation was not very enviable. Really - though I love that man dearly, he can be pretty short-sighted at times! She had been drawn into the lives of the Trevelyan sisters and longed to help them, but their pride and her own paucity of funds had crippled her from bringing them anything beyond an agreeable temper, a patient ear and willing hands. Now that she had some means, she was not going to stand on ceremony; though she could not offer money for her stay as it would hurt their sensibilities, she wanted to leave behind something that would have utilitarian as well as decorative value. The armoire was a costly venture and used up a large portion of her ready money, leaving her with enough to just hire a steady vehicle; her money for boarding and lodging expenses was now extremely low and she would have to take smaller rooms and cheaper meals. Hiring footmen for safety and propriety were out of the question.
And she had seldom been happier with a decision.
As it was, it did not matter greatly since she did not encounter problems worse than inferior food, poor ventilation and lumpy mattresses on the way. "And I have had far worse than this during our little jaunt," Rachel thought a trifle smugly to herself. Indeed, the worst part of the four-day journey was definitely the cooped feeling which is natural during long carriage rides. Miss Agnes had borne the Brighton episode in mind and had gifted Rachel with a small collection of books for entertainment, but the latter was soon too besieged by apprehensions about her immediate future to concentrate properly on the dancing words before her eyes.
"Will I be able to carry everything off without a hitch? It all seems straightforward enough, of course - I go up to Carillon Hall, greet everyone normally, speak about my illness and apologize properly for my late return. Thank God I have had scarlet fever in childhood and am cognizant of its symptoms. I know nothing about the missing coachman and maid, and will be properly horrified when any details are offered about their disappearance. I might be saddened, but I will not defend them at any point. What are they to me? They could have dropped off the face of the earth for all I care…
"Will Mr. Hargrove be there? His presence might or might not destroy all my chances at the Hall, depending on whether he chooses to remain quiet about everything. After all, if he raises any finger on my character, I can expose his role in my abduction. I just hope that he doesn't perceive me as a threat and try to …shut my mouth up…for good." She shuddered for a while before stiffening up. "Well, unnecessary worrying has never got me anywhere. If he is still around at the Hall, I must take care to inform him as soon as possible that I would prefer to forget all. In the worst case, I must take care to stay away from him. After all, forewarned is forearmed," she ended sanguinely.
"I must write to Mother soon, detailing the pleasant stay we had at Brighton and how nicely Brian seems to have mended. I will have to use my imagination while describing the feel of sand beneath my fingers, the sea waves and the taste of spray on my lips. In ay case, I can talk about the warm breezes, the humid atmosphere and our guest house there with authority…and a governess nursing an ailing child need not know anything more than that." Hah! Indeed, the wondrous clime of Brighton - how I remember thee…or whatever I got to see of thee, at least.
"Let me cover all my bases properly one last time, and I can finally leave this minefield of lies behind," she reassured herself. Then a worrisome reflection sneaked in between her soothing litany - I am even thinking in military phrases borrowed from him now…
Snap out of it!
Suffice it to say that her thoughts were not always cheerful ones.
Her breathing escalated as the carriage lumbered nearer and nearer to Carillon Hall. Her discomfiture in the vehicle and uneasiness about the forthcoming moments notwithstanding, a morbid fear had also been produced in Rachel's heart about this route between Carillon and the coaching inn, since this was where her abduction had taken place, and she trembled with the effort to hold in her frightened whimpers. And this time, there was no one to hold her in his arms and help her out of this reaction.
Luckily enough for her, she managed to compose herself by the time the carriage rolled up to the Hall's main entrance. She forced herself to calm down, to stop crying, and to stop thinking about what the last two months had done to her. Putting on a cheerful smile, she got down and pulled the doorbell before paying off the coachman.
"And who might it be, but Miss Warren!" came a welcoming call from behind her. Swiveling around she beheld the face of kind Mr. Garner who, all butlerine dignity forgotten for the nonce, was beaming at her as benignly as Mrs. Talcott might have been wont to do. His voice was already bringing the maid Sally peeking around the corner, and Mrs. Hutchens bustled up at that instant from some interior room inquiring in a muted voice, "Did I hear you right Mr. Garner? Our Miss Warren has returned?"
In her weakened emotional state, it was all Rachel could do to stop herself from sobbing once again at such honest marks of esteem.
The next few moments seemed to pass in a haze. She must have acted quite credibly, since no one seemed to suspect that anything was amiss. Mr. Garner and Mrs. Hutchens fussed over her like she was still suffering from some dreadful ailment and brought her into Mrs. Hutchens' own parlor, while Sally quietly ran around procuring tea and some biscuits for the weary traveler. Her attitude towards 'the upstart governess' had undergone a complete revolution, and Rachel guessed that Sally's friendliness was probably the result of their shared experiences at the hands of Lord Edgerton. She did not have much time to ponder over the fact, however. Mrs. Talcott heard about her arrival and swept in with the little kitchen-maid Violet, complete with laments about the lack of letters during the months she had been gone. Rachel had to placate the impromptu gathering about her silence and reassure them about her well-being multiple times before she could be deemed ready to meet the Master and the Mistress and resume her duties.
She was taken immediately to Mrs. Herringford who was sitting in the drawing room. Mr. Garner preceded her and she could hear him murmuring deferentially at the door, "Miss Warren has returned from London, Madam. She is presently waiting outside hoping to gain an interview with you. What answer should I convey to her?"
Mrs. Herringford's cool voice wafted from the room, audible to Rachel's nervous ears. "So she has come back. Finally. Send her in, Garner."
Mr. Garner stepped aside for Rachel, showing his solidarity with a sympathetic twitch of his left eyebrow before retreating from the room altogether. She was alone with the apparently irritated mistress of the house. Whatever will the lady say?
Mrs. Herringford laid down her embroidery on perceiving the entrance of the governess. She did not invite her to sit down. "Welcome back, Miss Warren. I hope that you are completely recovered now from your malady?" On receiving a demure reply in the affirmative, she elegantly shrugged her shoulders and picked up her work once again. "Very well, you might resume your duties on the morrow. There is no fear of infection any more, I hope… though as the good God knows, you certainly took your time in getting rid of it. Whatever possessed you to go to a house of illness?" Rachel had almost opened her mouth to answer what she would have supposed to be a question, but closed it again on perceiving that it was completely rhetorical and the lady was continuing her discourse without any input required from her whatsoever. "You are lucky that I did not get any other woman to take your place - the other servants have been replaced by now. At one point I thought that we were in the midst of some covert mutiny of the domestics. Good night, Miss Warren. Shut the door on your way out - there is a draught coming in."
Rachel curtsied in a hurry and was in the process of closing the door when Mrs. Herringford added languidly, "Do not expect any leniency on account of your recent …tribulations, Miss Warren. Your classes will start tomorrow morning as usual, and you will be taking dear Brian to the park in the evening for an hour or so. It is time you started to earn your upkeep once again."
Rachel escaped with an inaudible murmur which will hopefully be taken as an assent. That woman is a real personality, she thought bemusedly. I stay in that room for less than five minutes, and I feel as chastised as a child being rebuked for an hour. And that was a mild interview by her standards! But all's well that ends well, right Shakespeare? The biggest hurdle has been crossed without my saying a false word!
It was only as she made her way back to the kitchen to talk further with the staff that she found the thorn on her rose. "Oh dear," Rachel bemoaned to herself, "my first day back, and I will have to deal with 'Dear Brian' for an hour in the park!"
Her reprieve was short lived, of course - lies had to be spun once again as soon as she had returned to the kitchen to partake of dinner with the domestic staff. She had barely managed to give an abbreviated account of her interview before the latest tidbits of gossip were spread out for her delectation.
The favourite topic of scandal among the company below stairs was understandably that about their erstwhile colleagues, since Rachel had supposedly left before anything of interest had happened. The topic was introduced by James, who seemed to almost jump out of his skin in the excitement of being the first to convey the news. "So did you hear, Miss?" was his not-so subtle opening. "About that fraud Fairfax?" Rachel was obliged to act surprised. "I cannot say that I have, Mr. Singer. Why, what has happened to him?" "Oh Miss," he said gleefully, "He was a thief all the while! I told ev'ryone he was too good to be true, but none did heed me, no Sir! 'You are just jealous James; you are too lazy to like a good worker!' I knew that he was a bad 'un from the first!"
"Poor James!" Rachel thought to herself even as she dragged up an expression of intrigued surprise. "He had always ruled the roost at Carillon before Andrew came along, and having to meet the standards of work set by an army man must have galled him to no end. He must indeed be feeling vindicated by Andrew's so-called feet of clay." She turned towards Mrs. Hutchens with a mutely inquiring face. That good lady averted her eyes; she had always been one of Fairfax's staunchest supporters and his thievery had shaken her faith in her own knowledge of people.
"It is true what James says, Miss Warren. Mr. Fairfax …was not as we thought him to be. He decamped with all the silver in the house the very day you went to your sister's place. In fact, he never returned from leaving you at the coaching inn."
"What? I don't believe it! You mean that he had the stolen things with him all the while he was transporting me?" Rachel paused, and then managed to squeeze out of her protesting throat, "I would have never suspected him of being such a cad!" "Indeed, 'tis true Miss Warren," multiple voices were quick to assure her. Ned Bartel piped up, "Mr. Hargrove came back all knocked about an' said that the rascal had hit 'im on the head 'afore making off, gig and all. Mr. Hargrove searched an' searched, 'afore finally finding the gig upturned in a ditch and making it back to the Hall. The Master an' Mistress thanked him handsomely, and yet he was so cut up about it, he was allus looking around corners suspiciously as if expecting someone to come and bonk him agin! I say 'tis because of that he left his job; he was ne'er the same agin," he finished knowingly.
"Mr. Hargrove left as well?" Rachel asked with curiosity. The fear of meeting that man had always been there in the back of her head, and it was with a great deal of pleasure that she had noted his absence around the dinner table. Now life here at Carillon will be completely safe and secure! She rapidly hushed the tiny voice which had added sneakily, or perhaps you should say, completely dreary and static?
You have had enough taste of adventure to last you a lifetime Miss, she rebuked that voice sternly.
"Oh yes Miss," Ned was speaking in the meanwhile. "He had been with us the night before as natural as you please, and yet the next morn he was gone with nary a trail of smoke left behind. I believe 'e lost his mind at last," he concluded with ghoulish cheerfulness.
"Oh no he didn't my lad," Mr. Garner admonished him lightly with a superior air (he often lost his imposing attitude during meal-times and occasionally descended into slang like everyone else). "He was clearly riled up about something; remember how jumpy he was being at dinner? Mrs. Hutchens had to repeat her instructions to him thrice before it entered his head. He seemed most crestfallen on occasion."
Rachel pieced together from the random conversation that Hargrove disappeared two days after Miranda must have claimed her money. She deduced that he must have been recalled since there was no further requirement of his presence in Carillon Hall now that the game was over, and wondered idly if he would have been punished by the de Manley brothers for letting Rosie get away from beneath his nose. That was, if they ever found out where and how Miranda had hidden herself.
The disappearance of Rosie a week or so ago did not cause as much of a stir as the fact that she did not steal anything as well. It had been the general consensus that since she had definitely been Fairfax's 'sweetheart' and possibly an accomplice in the bargain, she should have run off with him then. Indeed, they had all viewed her suspiciously around the time Andrew's perfidy became known. But she had seemed so shocked and dismayed by his desertion that their suspicion was removed. They were not sure if Rosie had ran away to be with Fairfax, or if she had ended her life in despair; but it was clear that she had been as untraceable as the villainous coachman and the people at Carillon preferred to assuage their consciences with the former option. "We treated her better than ever out of respect for her distress," averred Mrs. Talcott sadly. "We even felt that she improved after pining for a fortnight or so. And what does the child do? Run away without a word to anyone, out of the blue! She never said no word to us, or we might have helped her some. I hope she hasn't harmed herself."
Mrs. Hutchens was less forgiving. "She had no business running off like that, without so much as informing me or the mistress. Girls today have no sense of responsibility, and only sentimental ideas cram their empty heads. Domestics running off all the time; what a sad thing for this household! Never in my life have I seen such a day when four people - I mean three people, of course - leave their posts with no notice whatsoever. Oh, not you, Miss Warren - you were detained by illness, and then you returned as soon as possible like the honest worker you are. But the other ones…three employees vanishing into thin air within a month of each other, so to say. What is the world coming to?"
Rachel was informed at length by Mr. Garner about the troubles he and the 'Mistress' had been facing in replacing the severely depleted staff. A daily woman from the village had been appointed to supplement Sally's efforts till another maid could be found, and the gardener's grand-nephew was currently being trained by James as an under-footman. The only post to have been promptly and satisfactorily filled was that of coachman since it was the most urgent requirement of the family, and Rachel was introduced to the newcomer Dan Coleman. The position of groom was more unlucky; several men had come but could not give satisfaction in the job, leaving it still open and putting a lot of pressure on the poor stable-boy Larry. A new man would be coming tomorrow to try for the post, and all hoped that the search would end soon. She also got to hear why Mrs. Herringford had waited so long to replace her - her daughters put their feet down about anyone substituting their dear Miss Warren, and Mr. Herringford had supported them.
"He said, 'Me daughters have ne'er been so keen on studies since that Miss Warren came by,' he did," James declared proudly. He was the one who had overheard the particular conversation and never tired of repeating it to an audience. "Just like that he stood up to her, he did. 'Mrs. Herringford', he said, 'You'll wait for that poor girl. Such bad luck to get sick while nursin' her old Ma, and you wantin' to take away her job on top of that! This is my house, and I say that she'll be the only governess to darken its doorsteps now and in the future!'" he finished triumphantly. Rachel took this in the proper manner - expressing her awe and gratification while feeling amused inside at the exaggerations James was always wont to indulge in. Despite her adventures and experiences she had missed this household, and even a little thing like James' mannerisms seemed painfully sweet now after the interval of separation. She could almost sense her body readjusting to its old life of comfortable familiarity. If not for the glaring absences of Andrew and Rosie, she could have almost coaxed herself into believing that the past two months had never happened in the first place.
The extremely long evening finally dissolved into night and Rachel made her way into her little bedroom. She carefully fixed her candle in the same candle-stick that she had used for the past five years, and looked around her by its wavering light. Everything was the same here as well, from the ink etchings on the blue walls to the olive green rug on the floor. She sighed once, before shrugging and taking out a night-dress from her clothes-trunk. One missed the strangest of things - there were nights when she had simply longed for her rough cotton shift to sleep in, as she had done every day of her life since she had attained fifteen years of age. Rachel hugged her dress for a moment, inhaling the familiar scent of camphor which the cloth always imbibed if kept in the trunk for too long.
This is me. Finally, she thought.
And then the tears found their way out again. They were mostly tears of liberation, flowing at the idea of being almost done with falsehoods and starting life once again from the same place it had been left. Her old existence had waited for her while she had been living a dream, and she was grateful for that. It could have been so much worse.
She did not cry merely out of relief, though; some of the tears were for the changed woman who was spilling them. She could no longer go back to her innocent outlook on life, for love had touched her and changed her from the inside. Unrequited or not, the emotion had swept her along with its tide and Rachel knew that she could never really be the same woman that had left this house earlier. Thus, standing in the middle of her candle-lit room, holding a night-shift as a clock struck eleven in some room nearby, Rachel also wept silently for those magical days that had elevated her life beyond its mundane existence, shown her a glimpse of love, and tortured her with forbidden fruit. As her sobs subsided and she lay down on her bed preparing for sleep, she realized that she had actually cried for a Carillon Hall with no Andrew Fairfax in it - for a life which stretched out without him.
The next morning, Rachel was woken up by the pleasing trill of birds from the garden and the sound of curtains being drawn back, letting soft sunlight pouring on her face. Her sleepy murmur of protest was cut short at the sight of someone standing in a dark corner. Jolted out of sleep in a trice by an involuntary rush of adrenalin, it took Rachel a second to realize with relief that it was only Sally, a pitcher of hot water in her hands and nervousness on her face.
"Oh, good morning!" she smiled at the uneasy girl as she lay back on the bed to surreptitiously catch her breath. Sally had never come to her room earlier, preferring to let Rosie wait on Rachel as she tended to the Herringford family. Now, of course, she was the only maid inside the house and had to perform all early-morning tasks by herself until a new maid came to work with her. Rachel's tender heart went out to her. She understood that Andrew had no choice in his disappearance, and escaping without notice was essential on Rosie's part to divert Hargrove's attentions - he might have suspected her if she had tried to leave around the time Miranda de Manley became of age. But she still wished that things could have been made easier for the poor servants like Sally and Larry who were suffering needlessly for Andrew and Rosie's desertions. Her generous heart had never berated the cousins for dragging her so deep into their intrigue, but the thought of the maid and stable-boy's hardships hurt her sensibilities.
"Good mornin'," Sally returned tentatively. She quickly deposited the pitcher on the chest. "I…I have brought your washin'-up water, Miss," as if it were not completely obvious. Realizing the foolishness of her statement the moment it was uttered, she flushed and turned around to leave. Rachel could not let embarrassment spoil the chances of a budding understanding between them and immediately interposed,
"Thank you, Sally. It must be hard to do so much work by yourself, and I'm most grateful to you."
Sally stared at her for a moment from the doorway, before entering the room once again and wringing her hands. Finally, words gushed from her mouth as from a fountain. "'tis I who am grateful, Miss Warren. I'll be thankful to you and Rosie for life. In fact, I don't have any ill will towards her in the least for all this extra work; Lord knows that I'm ready to work all life by myself, long as I've my dignity to go with it. If you had not told Rosie to warn me about that …Lord…Edgerton, I could never have gotten away with my virtue intact." She wiped off a tear from the corner of one eye and sniffed.
"I am simply glad that you and Rosie are safe, you know," Rachel interposed gently. "I could never let you young girls stay in the house with a man like him without trying to warn you of his nature. My main fear was that you may not accept my story as true."
Sally lowered her eyes in shame. "Oh, I didn't believe in the tale when Rosie told me, sure, but 'twas always there in the back of my mind. I've made my own way in life and know when to heed warning signals. When he started lookin' at me too much in corridors and acting all…slimy…I took to being around other people at all times without fail.
"He tried to waylay me more than once, and finally buttonholed me in the garden one evening when I was takin' the air. No one would have heard my screams there, and I was completely helpless…or so he had thought." A satisfied smirk crept up on her face as she relived the moment. "He had reckoned without my guard. I hadn't been alone; I'm not that dumb. I was walkin' with James and he had gone to fetch me a wrap from the house, and just as his Lordship was starting to get fresh the footman turns up as an unwanted spectator. And so it happened all the time he tried something with me or Rosie, until he left the house."
She shook her head. "If not for your warning, I would have been carrying his water every morning in as usual, same as I do for everyone, and then he would've had me at his mercy indeed. As it was, I told James everything early on and he took that task over from me. I'm engaged to his brother Edward Miss, the one that works in Mr. Brummings' shop in Denbries. I love him; it would have killed me if his Lordship had…done something and…my Eddie rejected me as…as defiled..." By this point the distraught girl was sobbing freely and Rachel was holding her hand in silent commiseration.
Sally's head bowed even lower before she resumed speaking in a plaintive voice, "You suffered the same as me, Miss, and more. I was forewarned, and yet I thought all that was a lie on your part to get some attention! He never touched me thanks to your warning, and I can only be ashamed of my own behavior towards you in earlier days. I was jealous of you and your well-bred airs, your pretty face and how ev'ryone was hanging' on your words. I was no longer in the spotlight, and it galled me. I've been proud of me looks and education all my life, since I believed them to make me a cut above my people. All foolish jealousy and pride would have been ground in the dust if…if I'd been branded as a fallen woman." And she burst into tears once again.
Rachel knew that there was nothing much that she could say in this situation, so she wisely kept quiet and let the sobbing girl expel all pent-up anguish from her system. Sometime all that is needed to soothe the soul is a sympathetic listener.
When Sally finally left Rachel's room, they had parted on the most amicable of terms.
A morning that starts so dramatically usually leads to an anticlimactic day, but that was not exactly true in this case. No sooner had she stepped foot in the schoolroom that Rachel was swamped with her students' excited chatter, breathing welcome in every word. "You are back again, Miss Warren, it felt like ages of separation!" exclaimed Diana, getting somewhat flighty in her choice of words out of excitement. Alicia was more sedate. "We are very pleased to see you again Miss, especially so well recovered. It has not been the same without you."
Rachel laughed. "Well, I'm flattered ladies," she teased lightly, though her eyes misted over. "And I missed you both prodigiously too." She caressed Alicia's cheek lightly before taking Diana's hand. "What have you two been up to in my absence? I could not wait to return to you again." And it was true in a way; despite her myriad emotions and upheavals, despite Andrew and Headley Downs and everything in between, she had really wondered at length about her students several times. They had snuggled their way into her heart permanently. She mused more to herself than to her audience, "Who would believe that we had not known of each others' existence some months' ago?"
Alicia got busy in bringing Rachel up-to-date with their activities. "Our studies have been largely waiting for your instructions Miss Warren, but we have done some work on our own as well during your absence. We have finished reading the book we were working on, and debated the merits and demerits of the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and Queen Anne as we had planned before your departure. And see, we have learnt this exquisite piece of music…"
Diana was more insightful. While Alicia prattled on in this vein, she turned towards their teacher and innocently answered her last rhetorical statement. "Who, indeed? But I do not think that this situation is all that strange or novel. After all it is a strange world, ours, that can bring strangers as close as lifelong friends within a few months; nay, sometimes even an hour is enough to forge a friendship designed to last for a lifetime. And that is completely true in our case Miss Warren. Life here lost its color in your absence."
Rachel's heart skipped a beat as she thought about the truth of Alicia's words in regard to her and Andrew, before recognizing the full compliment which these dear girls were paying her. They had carried on with their own studies all these days out of their sheer desire to learn and yet did not let their parents hire another governess for them. She mattered more to them than their education - she as a human being, rather than as a mere governess whose only function was to impart knowledge.
Rachel suddenly had an epiphany. They had waited for her faithfully. What was this, if not love? She had almost forgotten that love need not occur only between a man and a woman, or even between people bound by family - love exists between people willing to trust each other implicitly, and in the realization that none other can replace the one they love. Her students loved her; the domestics at Carillon, the innocent children of Headley Down and the Trevelyan sisters also loved her to some extent or the other. This was untainted, unbiased love for her as a person, the purest kind that there was. Why should it matter if one single man did not return her love? She, Rachel Warren, was blessed indeed, and never again would she reproach her fate for giving Andrew to Miranda.
She showed her pleasure appropriately (if somewhat less sentimentally than she wanted), and the students had a wonderful morning with their teacher, back at last from 'London'.
She saw Mr. Herringford that evening while helping Sally dust the pictures in the living room. He stood in the doorway for a moment and admired the willing nature of the girl who went out of her way to assist an overworked maid, before making his presence known to them.
"Good even to you, Miss Warren," he said warmly, taking her hand in an affectionate gesture. "It is most nice to see you again, and I officially welcome you back to Carillon Hall." She smiled up at him as he added in a lowered voice, "And glad I am to see that your helpful habits have been untarnished by illness."
He was just like her brothers-in-law Paul and Harvey - caring, gentlemanly and extremely easy to talk with. Before she had even realized it, she was chatting readily with him about her family's quarantine, and how she had caught the infection while nursing her mother. He was extremely shrewd, though, and Rachel teetered on the brink of exposure once or twice due to her uncorked conversation. She was brought up short once when he inquired about the physician who had imposed the quarantine since scarlet fever did not usually require such a long period of waiting, and again when he asked politely if her brother-in-law Paul had also been barred from going to the university because of the quarantine (what was the procedure in such institutions?). Rachel would have almost believed that he suspected something amiss in her story, had not all his questions been asked with an ingenuous sort of carelessness; as it were, she managed to dodge them with an easy smile and vague answers about being too sick herself to notice anything particularly. Would that be enough?
Her fears were quietened when he never raised the subject again, and finally Rachel was able to console herself with the idea that maybe he was simply one of those people who had the uncomfortable knack of asking unwelcome questions at the wrong times.
Now that the first flush of meeting everyone was over, Rachel fit in the household as seamlessly as she had always done. The days started rolling away as her life resumed its usual sedate pace. She picked up the thread of education from the point it had been left, gossiped with Mrs. Hutchens and Mrs. Talcott as heartily as ever, taught her students new songs and took them to museums and art galleries on occasion, talked amicably with her employer and stayed out of Mrs. Herringford's way as much as possible.
She was saddled with the child Brian whenever he was between nurses (which happened quite often considering that he usually got them dismissed within a day), and managed to get through those days by gritting her teeth and maintaining the strictest of scrutiny on him at all times so as to at least be aware of any mayhem he might be contemplating. Sheer vigilance enabled her to avert a fire in the stables on one occasion, and being left behind in the unknown town of Ashford on another. Long stories, and it is unnecessary to relate them here; they could be expressed in one simple word - Brian. If nothing else, Brian Herringford helped her to appreciate Diana and Alicia even more, develop intense awareness of her surroundings and to come a bit closer to gaining that halo of sainthood.
The staff was also seeing better days now. The man who had come for the post of groom the day after Rachel's arrival, Mr. Saunders, proved to be good enough with the horses to be kept on; Larry was most relieved. The gardener's grandnephew Albert was eager to learn and steady of hand, already taking on most of James' duties. Coleman was a quiet man who kept to himself and seldom came up to the main house to eat and mingle like Fairfax had done, but he was competent in his job and that was the most important thing. A new maid called Bertha was finally appointed some days after Rachel's return and the domestic staff of the house was complete. It was soon like Andrew, Rosie and Hargrove had never been in the house in the first place. Time is a most resilient thing, indeed.
Master Ashley Herringford came back from Eton for a short holiday. He was a shy young man - more interested in his chess set, coin collection and textbooks than in his family - and usually kept to his room during his sporadic returns to the Hall. There was a difference this time. He took quite a shine to Miss Warren by the second day of his stay on accidentally discovering her propensity for chess, and soon Rachel was ruing the day she had bested the scion of the Herringford family at his own game. His shining eyes and persistent attentions made her seriously perturbed about any ideas which the susceptible teenager might be having - after all, she was three years older than him and a governess, not to mention that her heart was securely engaged elsewhere.
For a few nightmarish days it seemed as if Master Ashley was only looking for a suitable moment to declare himself to the object of his affections, and Mrs. Herringford was more than aware of the direction of his thoughts as could be evidenced in her glacial attitude towards the hapless governess. Rachel could not afford to jeopardize her position due to a schoolboy's lovelorn notions, and yet she did not want to reject him outright since it would break the bashful boy's confidence in himself. Oh, what a situation!
She finally applied Sally's methods, and contrived to be surrounded by people at all times to avoid any chance of private effusions. The plan was as effective for her as for the maid. Thankfully for everyone concerned, his break was soon over and he had to return to school without speaking his mind. Mrs. Herringford forgot her annoyance with Rachel over time, and life returned to its normal pace.
The saddest repercussion of Rachel's time as Miranda de Manley was that she could not go to visit her family for a long time. After all, she had apparently spent over a month with them recently; how could she ask for permission to go to London again? It did not help that Neil, Stan, Minnie, Lucy and even Paul had been clamoring to see her for a long time. Her protracted silences during that eventful month ultimately made her mother express a timid wish to meet her daughter again in the flesh - surely her employers would not grudge her a weekend off when they had kept her busy for so long with their child? Rachel found it hardest to refuse her mother; she knew how much it must have mattered to that proud lady to make her invite someone else to Lucy and Paul's house. She tried bringing up the matter of a short Sunday trip to Creswell Street before Mrs. Herringford, but that conversation went exactly as she had guessed all the while.
"Miss Warren," the lady enunciated freezingly, "I know that I had mentioned at the time of your arrival that you can take an occasional weekend off to meet your family. However, that was before I knew that you were about to take such a long leave that you spent with them, after teaching my children for just a month or so. Now, I believe you will agree with me when I say that though your Sundays are your own, I cannot afford to lose any more Mondays or Saturdays because you want to visit your family."
Rachel had no alternative but to acquiesce. Thus it was that many an afternoon were spent by her trying to stave off persistent invitations to London with evasions having some modicum of plausibility, wiping off her own silent tears in the process. It was another month before she could get to visit her family for a too-short weekend, pleading her twin brothers' birthday as a reason to the disapproving mistress of Carillon Hall.
She also continued a regular correspondence with Miranda. The heiress was leading a most interesting life at the moment, and she unreservedly shared every detail with Rachel. Her letters were usually racy and made for a most interesting read. She was living with a distant older cousin as chaperone, and her complaints about this apparent 'Terror of the Dartmoor Wilderness' made Rachel laugh till the tears came into her eyes. Miranda had moved into a big house of her own on Grosvenor Street by mid November, and spent three weeks in decorating it according to her tastes. She was one of the few people who could talk about wainscoting, plumbing, curtains and bed-sheets and still made it sound like fun. She got her new house ready for occupancy and entertaining guests, but by then harsh winter had arrived and she took off to her estate in Kent for 'hibernation'. Presently Miranda was making Richmond Acres into her dream home, and was quite in raptures about the gracious proportions of the house, the arable land surrounding it and the peaceful environment.
"Oh Rachel, (she wrote) I had never dreamed of owning anything as lovely as this. The place is neither too big nor too small, it is old enough to have atmosphere but is not behind the times, there are ever so many trees all around, a lusty stream gushes through a meadow that will be filled with daffodils in the spring, and there is a hill on the property from which I can see the sunset… I cannot express my joy with this region! Even winter is mild out here. After the crags and isolation of Dartmoor, it is so fresh and welcoming.
My darling grey mare Twilight was transported from Snowdown the day after I arrived, and I have taken more pleasure in exploring my territory than anything I can remember. It is mine, all mine to cherish and look after. I have never owned anything of my own before, so you can envision what that feels like! I am always poring over accounts in the evening by a roaring fire, and I find that I do have reason to bless my enforced stewardship of our sprawling property in Dartmoor for all those years of solitude. It is much easier to manage this place since Richmond already has a competent steward at work, and is of much more manageable proportions, besides being friendlier. And dear Mrs. Webb has come out of retirement to become my housekeeper and 'take care that none take advantage of you wee lamb', in her words. Do not laugh at me dear Rachel when I say that I always felt like an outsider in my own home, but this place accepted me from the moment I crossed its threshold. I feel like it has been waiting for me all these years. I am so looking forward to celebrating Christmas here. I might be lonely, but at least I belong now."
Miranda's letters always fluctuated between serious and lighthearted topics in this manner. In one extra-introspective letter she discussed her feelings towards her brothers who, incidentally, had never attempted anything underhanded again; they instead fled the country fearing retribution from their little sister. They did not know her well enough to realize that she would never take legal action against them. She wrote to Rachel,
"Andy told me that you understood my reluctance to bring any action against my brothers, and I cannot express my gratitude to you for being so sympathetic. Even Andy calls my decision soft-heartedness and disagrees with it, though he knows me so well. How to explain the complexity of my bond with them? They may have lost all love for me lured by wealth, but I cannot forget my entire life in such a hurry - a life spent in adoration of my dear Desmond and James. They were not all bad, you know…but I now realize that gambling is like a drug for them. Their softer feelings could not stop them from doing anything to gain money, to the extent of destroying me in the process. I don't want to be dragged to their level. I made my will the day I attained my inheritance in which I left nothing to my brothers, and sent a note to de Manley House to that effect, besides stating that I am officially never returning there or to Dartmoor since I am a woman of independent means.
"I may have cut off all ties with James and Desmond, but I just cannot undergo the sordid publicity and trauma if I start a case on them. I cannot drag the proud name of de Manley into dirt like this, letting us all become grist for rumour mills to be dissected at the pleasure of the Ton tabbies. Neither James nor Desmond will bother me or my friends any more once it is clear that they can no longer profit from my death; and that is all I care about."
Through her Rachel got to hear snippets about Andrew as well. He seemed to be leading his men well and often attained victory in any skirmishes which took place, but military rules did not allow him to be anything but vague about the details. Every night Rachel used to breathe a little prayer for his safety in unknown lands, and for his return home.
The winter months approached before anyone was ready for them, and severely curtailed the freedom of the house's younger inhabitants. As the bitter winds swept across Denbries and covered it with relentless layers of snow, the Herringford girls stayed more and more inside the Hall with Miss Warren who had to devise imaginative ways of keeping them involved and in good temper. They acted out parts from their favourite plays, wrote imaginative tales to be shared around the evening fire, debated about sundry topics, and practiced music until Mr. Herringford pleaded successfully on behalf of his shattered nerves and got the practice time limited. Mrs. Talcott and Violet were kept perpetually busy churning out hot savouries and nourishing soups for the Hall and its tenants, an activity in which Rachel and her students joined in occasionally as well.
Brian became a veritable monster at the name of whom the household quailed in terror, until he pushed his luck and capabilities too far. He climbed a tall tree in order to capture a poor squirrel cowering on its topmost branch to conduct unmentionable 'experiments' upon, and forgot to account for the ice coating the tree's trunk and boughs. He was laid up with a broken leg and everyone (perhaps excepting his doting mother; on second thoughts, perhaps not) secretly heaved a sigh of relief. Though a horrible patient, he was out of action for two blessed months.
That was almost a bigger reason to celebrate than the approaching Christmas and the New Year.
For the first time Rachel spent Christmas away from home, and her sensitive students did their best to make it up to her by keeping her involved in all their entertainments. They went shopping together to the little village of Denbries for gifts for the tenants and domestic staff, and got the carriage to take them to Ashford for family presents (not the occasion when Brian hoped to desert Miss Warren behind; this time he was confined to his bed and entertaining himself by throwing food across the room at a terrified Bertha). The girls got together with Miss Warren to cut out ornaments for the house and the tree standing in the dining hall, and Christmas Eve was a lovely day spent in sipping hot chocolate and putting up the decorations among renditions of cheerful carols. Once out of the eyes of the adults, the three teenagers (yes, even Alicia had finally attained the coveted title during Rachel's 'illness') also indulged in impromptu games of tag befitting someone much younger in age.
Christmas was a serene and uneventful day, dawning crisp with frost and with the robin redbreast trilling bravely in the hedges. Everyone (but Brian, of course - poor baby) trudged through the light dusting of snow to attend church, and Rachel was suddenly assailed with memories of her father's sermons on the Coming of the Savior and other such themes, causing her eyes to mist over in remembrance. On their return home the surviving family sat down with mugs of frothing eggnog and opened their gifts piled under the Christmas tree. Diana and Alicia insisted that the governess also joined the family this year instead of adjourning to the kitchen with the rest of the staff, and Miss Warren was well aware of the unprecedented honour bestowed upon her. She was presented with a sweet bonnet by her students; it was in deepening shades of cream with little bluebells painstakingly embroidered by both Diana and Alicia. She had made the former a crochet reticule and the latter a set of red satin roses to adorn her best pair of shoes, both of which gifts were great hits with their recipients. The Herringford couple gave her a pretty muslin scarf in amethyst hues, and she offered them sets of handkerchiefs embroidered with their initials. The rest of the staff also gave her little tokens of affection which she reciprocated with similar mementoes. None of them had much money to spare and in the end, the thought mattered more than cost.
For Brian she simply baked a cake as a peace offering, which the child inspected angelically before lobbing at her head with an almost-accurate aim. Well, that went off well, she thought drily as she cleaned the mess up and took it to the garbage. Mrs. Talcott saw her and shook her head. "'tis praiseworthy that you tried Miss Warren, but I could've told you mesself how that would have gone. Nothing has ever given that rapscallion more happiness than spoilin' the joys of others." To this sage comment, Rachel only smiled a little. "I couldn't not make a gesture of some kind; after all, it is Christmas and he is my charge also; sort of, at any rate. At least it is not something I spent too much time or money on. Another good thing is that it was an un-iced cake rather than something squishy like pie or custard. That would have been really hard to get off the poor maltreated walls!"
Thus the matter dissolved in laughter once again in keeping with the season. Christmas signifies forgiveness and love after all.
© 2011 Copyright held by the author.