Twelfth night came and went and it was time for the guests to take their leave. Robert seemed very aloof and Frederick was engaged in thinking about own his problems, which meant that no one else was being burdened with them at the time. Miss Wilshaw had returned home with fulsome promises to meet up with Robert, and merely a cool inclination of the head to Elizabeth.
Gradually the house became quieter, and Lady Gascoine and Elizabeth prepared to depart for England. They would again be travelling with Lady Gascoine’s abigail, Maria.
‘It will be so delightful to be home again,’ Lady Gascoine said. ‘It is so nice to go away, but so wonderful to be back.’
Elizabeth nodded. She was still totally bemused at the turn events had taken ever since New Year’s Day. At one of Lady Gascoine’s festive luncheons, Edward Mason had taken her on one side and informed her gravely of the death of George Baines. ‘He died peacefully at the end,’ Mr Mason said. ‘He was not alone. One of his stepsons, Tom Molloy, was with him and a village woman who nursed him in his last days. He seemed to want to make his peace with God and asked the priest to listen to his confession, but his speech was garbled and unintelligible, except for one thing. He babbled of the Ridgeway Fair, but none could understand him.’
Once more, the name ‘Ridgeway’ struck a chord in Elizabeth’s mind and she strove yet again to remember why it had such a significance in her memory. She wondered what had prompted Tom Molloy to attend the last hours of George Baines. As far as she could recollect, there had been no closeness between them. George Baines had never been close to anyone, she thought. Except possibly Captain Preston. And wasn’t he abroad with his regiment?
She was keenly aware of the help and support Edward Mason was giving her and smiled at him. ‘I have a feeling of distant recollection in regard to Ridgeway, Mr Mason. Perhaps when we are back in Norfolk, it would be possible to trace my connections with your help and that of Mr Grimshaw, although at the moment I have no clear memories.’
Edward Mason was delighted with the way that this spirited girl responded. He gazed at her delightedly and said, ‘Capital, my dear. Joseph Grimshaw believes that actually you have your origins in the village of Copthorne. If you agree he intends to question various people about the circumstances of George Baines’ sudden departure for Ireland, all those years ago.’
Elizabeth was now becoming reconciled to the idea that her kind friend and benefactress Jane Gibson was to remain in her country house at Roslaine and that in future they would only see her on special family occasions. She was also keen to establish her own identity.
‘I am agreeable to that, Mr Mason. After all, at least then I can meet with dear Miss Jane and Bradbury as my own true self. I do not know Copthorne. I know no one who lives there.’
‘Yes, that is the point,’ said Mr Mason. ‘Joseph Grimshaw believes that Copthorne is your birthplace and there will still be people who remember you. I am inclined to agree with him. I have spoken to Lady Gascoine about this and she is willing to let you go to Copthorne, if you wish it.’
Elizabeth thought rapidly. It would be in her best interests if in fact it were discovered that her father was not in fact George Baines, and that her true parents lived in Copthorne. She returned his smile and said, ‘I quite understand, Mr Mason. I … I … shall be readily available should you wish it.’
Her expression as he bowed and departed was more confident than she felt. As she mechanically supervised the packing up for the return journey to England, her thoughts were quite melancholy, as was her expression. Sir Frederick had already departed, his declared intention to travel to London and meet up with the racing fraternity. Robert Gascoine was seemingly avoiding her since the kiss in the picture gallery, and he was going in a coach organized by the Mason family.
The Wilshaws were already well on their way to their London townhouse but Elizabeth still had ringing in her ears the fulsome invitations from Honoria to attend them at their home in Bath, to join friends who would be staying there from the beginning of February.
She had swallowed painfully and drawn back to the shadows as the Wilshaws had lingered in the hall with last-minute invitations and every encouragement for Robert to visit.
‘And do not forget, dear Lady Gascoine, that we shall lay on some very special social evenings, should you desire to visit us with dear Robert. Honoria has most pleasing and entertaining young friends who attend her in Bath. You would be most welcome to join us.’
Mrs Wilshaw, looking all of her fifty years in a hat which was an unfortunate shade of green, had kissed Lady Gascoine and pressed Robert’s hand as she took her farewells.
Honoria herself had given Robert a brilliant smile and said, ‘It would be truly wonderful if you could visit us in Bath, Mr Gascoine.’
She looked almost mocking as she addressed him so formally, as though there had been such an intimacy between them that she was used to calling him ‘Robert’ and not ‘Mr Gascoine’.
All of them were ignoring Elizabeth and she thought of the happy days at school, when Honoria had been her friend. She had turned away, sick at heart, to take yet another pile of pressed and folded linen to Lady Gascoine’s trunk. She bit her lip at Honoria’s unfriendliness towards her and Robert’s seeming indifference.
But as Holmes would say, ‘Everything passes, nothing is for ever,’ and it seemed no time at all before they were on the boat, and well on their way to Norfolk. Elizabeth wondered once more about her true parentage. She was confident and at the same time nervous about the results of her investigations with Mr Mason and Joseph Grimshaw. Perhaps it would be better to let sleeping dogs lie, she thought. She realized for the first time that Waringham really was ‘home’ to her now. For the first time in her life, she felt that she belonged somewhere and didn’t want to leave. Then she recalled the horrible experiences with the Baines family. It was worth going through all the discomfort and stress of the investigations if she could be assured that they were no kith or kin of hers.
She had plenty to occupy her on the journey and only allowed herself a few fleeting thoughts and memories of Robert Gascoine. When they eventually arrived back at Waringham Hall, she was pleased to be back and able to go thankfully to her room.
It was a few days before the Gascoines were back together as a family and even then it seemed strange to be without Miss Gibson and Bradbury at evening dinner. It was the time of year when country people entertained each other, there being little in the way of outside entertainment in rural Norfolk.
In spite of Sir Frederick’s absence, the plans for his and Isabella’s wedding were well underway and the marriage settlement was due to be signed on 14 February – St Valentine’s day, as Lydia had pointed out to Elizabeth. The wedding day had been set for 31 March. Once Frederick was back at home, they were frequently in the company of Isabella’s family and also, much to Elizabeth’s surprise, the Athertons. In early February, Mrs Atherton had one of her famous soirées and in spite of the fact that Robert was otherwise engaged, visiting the Wilshaws in Bath, the evening was a pleasant one. David Atherton seemed to put himself out to entertain all the Mason girls, but as might be expected Isabella in particular seemed to respond easily to his quiet charm. Elizabeth noticed that Frederick disappeared early to the card room, and when the young people suggested dancing, Isabella seemed not to miss Frederick but danced with David and the other young men with obvious enjoyment.
Elizabeth, too, enjoyed the dancing. In particular, she relished David Atherton’s well-remembered friendly and open manner. ‘Miss Mason is looking particularly well this evening,’ was his opening remark to her, followed quickly by, ‘And you, Miss Baines, seem in radiant good health.’
Elizabeth smiled at this disarming attempt not to overlook her own charms as he spoke of his former sweetheart. ‘Yes, Miss Mason is in fine bloom, sir,’ she agreed. ‘She is obviously enjoying your mama’s entertainment as are her sisters. Being old friends, I expect they are very much at ease with you.’
He looked serious for a moment and then said quietly, ‘That is true. How quickly time passes. Isabella was such a loyal companion and quite a noted tomboy when we were children. I went to Eton and for a time before I went I shared a tutor with Isabella. I can tell you, Miss Baines, we shared some notable adventures. Heigh-ho! I sound like one of Mama’s elderly companions, reminiscing like that, and I’m only three and twenty.’
He pulled a face of mock horror at this thought and Elizabeth was obliged to smile. ‘It is indeed quite difficult to imagine such a time,’ she said. ‘She is now so … so….’
‘Careworn and responsible,’ he supplied sadly. ‘One supposes that the commitments of her betrothal and her preparations for her marriage have given her a seriousness that she never had. I mind when we were but little things and fishing for minnows in Waringham beck, Isabella was always daring and removed her shoes and stockings and tucked up her dress, the better to wade into the middle of the water. Her governess was not best pleased, I can tell you, when her shoes floated downstream and were lost for ever.’ He gave his attractive open grin. ‘But I never let her forget, you know, and even now, if she takes on any missish airs, I can always whisper “fishing in the beck” to make her dissolve into laughter.’
For an instant Elizabeth had a completely new view of the plain Miss Mason. She saw the love and affection that shone in David Atherton’s eyes and thought how much happier Isabella would have been if she had been engaged to him instead of Sir Frederick Gascoine.
When the last dance ended, the young people milled about saying their farewells and waiting for carriages. Sir Frederick appeared and sat beside Isabella for a few moments. Copious glasses of claret had obviously been drunk while he was playing cards but, although his face was flushed, his expression was genial.
‘Jack Richards is a noted driver and he tells me that my new curricle is the best he has ever seen,’ he bragged. ‘And of course, the two bays I bought in Ireland are quite matchless. Even Kelly is impressed. We’re going to meet at Southdown Common on Saturday. Then a few of us will take our curricles down to Brighton. Any of you young blades who care to lay a wager can stand to win a substantial sum by betting on Kelly and myself to be there first.’
He noticed his mama’s frozen face and the anguished eyes of Isabella Mason and continued airily, ‘I shall be back Tuesday, with a purse of guineas in my pocket, no doubt.’
There was an uncomfortable silence after this. Guests still continued to take their leave but Isabella disappeared abruptly so that Frederick had to attend without saying his farewells to his fiancée. Both David Atherton and the Masons looked grim and suddenly the whole evening had a sad and disappointing end.
No one saw Sir Frederick next morning, but Elizabeth was informed by one of the maids that His Lordship breakfasted early and had gone to his mama’s room to bid her farewell. ‘He drove off straight away, miss,’ she said, as she tidied Elizabeth’s room and removed the ewer and basin. ‘And him soon to be a married man,’ the maid sniffed.
Elizabeth said nothing, but continued to dress her hair and prepare to go downstairs.
‘Well, that’s if there’ll be a wedding at all,’ the maid said provocatively. ‘There’s many of us thinks he don’t act like a man about to be wed. And there’s neither sense nor reason in some of the bets he’s makin’…. And that Miss Mason’s so in love with ’im….’ She spoke quickly, determined to say all she’d got to say and finished in a rush.
Elizabeth gave her a quelling glance and dismissed her. It didn’t do to allow servants to pass on gossip. All the same, it didn’t seem like devotion on Frederick’s part. Her eyes were troubled as she glanced in the mirror to check her appearance. Perhaps there would be no wedding, she thought, as she left the room and made her way downstairs.
Lady Gascoine seemed very subdued and conversation was difficult for both of them, but Elizabeth determinedly broached the subject of her visit to Copthorne. ‘I have arranged to use my free time to visit the village where I feel I might have been born,’ she said simply. ‘I hope I have your approval in this, ma’am, and will keep you informed when I return.’
Lady Gascoine graciously gave her permission, provided that Elizabeth took suitable steps, by taking her maid and one of the young footmen with her. But as it happened they were totally unnecessary as she was going with the Masons.
There was absolutely no sign of Robert and it was a relief when, later in the morning, Mr and Mrs Mason were announced. They had come in the carriage to take Elizabeth to Copthorne and as they sat in the south drawing-room with wine and refreshments, the talk naturally turned towards the wedding. They were too well bred to bring up the subject of Frederick’s curricle racing and gambling, but it was clear that Isabella’s parents were anxious about the situation. Try as she might, Lady Gascoine was not able to reassure them convincingly that all was well.
‘I expect dear Frederick to be back safe and sound by Tuesday,’ she said, sounding more confident than she felt. ‘He’ll come about, never fear, and then it will be all plain sailing for his wedding plans.’
‘We must hope so, ma’am,’ Emma Mason said. ‘The arrangements are well in hand now and Isabella is to have a first fitting for her wedding gown on Thursday week.’
After more polite chat, the Masons and Elizabeth headed to Copthorne and the parish church of St Paul, where they met with Joseph Grimshaw.
The old priest who had attended Elizabeth’s grandfather on his deathbed had long since gone and the present incumbent was a recent appointment. He had no knowledge of the former history of the parish and knew very little about his present flock but he was kind and attentive and took them into the vestry to see the parish registers.
‘You see, sir,’ Joseph Grimshaw said by way of explanation, ‘we knows as this ’ere George Baines, who died recently, was one and the same Baines as disappeared all of a sudden, like, fourteen year ago and either by chance or malice aforethought, a little lass name of Elizabeth Winfield disappeared at the same time.’
The name of George Baines made Elizabeth’s heart beat painfully in her chest but the name of Elizabeth Winfield meant nothing and she continued to wait patiently while the Reverend Longwith opened a large leather-bound book and began to look down a list of dates and names.
‘Here is recorded the marriage of Thomas Winfield, of Coppice Farm, with Sarah Ann Martin, spinster of this parish. It’s dated 16 August 1787 and both parties could sign their own names. See.’
Elizabeth experienced a sudden feeling of curiosity and longing as she gazed at the black spidery writing of the register entry. She said nothing for a minute, but her mind was whirling with all sorts of feelings that she was unable to articulate.
The priest allowed her a few minutes to compose herself and then said gently, ‘Here in the register of births is the record of their only daughter Elizabeth Winfield’s baptism. She was born on 1 June 1 1788.’
Elizabeth shivered violently as though someone had walked over her grave. That must be me, she thought. She whispered the name to herself. ‘Elizabeth Winfield.’
Not Lizzie Baines. Not even Miss Baines, companion to Lady Mary Gascoine, but a person in her own right; a person with a true name, a person with a birth mother and a birthday.
It was Joseph Grimshaw who broke the silence. ‘Aye, that makes sense. The aforementioned Elizabeth Winfield were snatched away from her nursemaid when she were four year old. She’d be eighteen now. The nursemaid in question is Susan Harker, as was. Now married these ten year to Jack Benson. She still remembers what happened all those years ago, as if t’were yesterday.’
They thanked the Reverend Longwith and made their way to Jasmine Cottage, where Susan lived with her husband. She had never had any children of her own.
‘The child being took from me like that haunted my thoughts day and night for years,’ she said simply. ‘Maybe it was God’s punishment for my carelessness.’
‘But everyone as I’ve talked to, ma’am, say as how you were never careless,’ Joseph Grimshaw said gently. ‘Quite the opposite. They said as how somebody would have to be very determined indeed to steal young Elizabeth from such a devoted nurse. I’ve spoken to a few at the Red Lion, who remember Baines ranting and raving that he would take the child, bur none believed him, until he did it.’
‘I hope so,’ Susan whispered. ‘I loved her like my own. She were a lovely dainty child, as I recall. It was tragic, her being took like that and her poor parents in their grave afore they was forty.’
‘And do you still remember Mr Thomas Winfield, Mrs Benson?’
‘I do, sir. Handsome he were, his hair black as jet and nary a single touch of grey until his little daughter were took from him.’
‘And what about Mrs Winfield, his lady wife?’
‘Oh, sir, she were beautiful and so kind. Why, I mind the bad winter of 1789, she worked her fingers to the bone, cooking broth and taking bread to the cottagers. A lovely lady, she were.’
‘And her hair,’ persisted Joseph Grimshaw. ‘Her hair was ditto, like?’
‘Oh no, sir. Mrs Winfield were blonde. Hair like spun gold, she had.’
Mr Grimshaw pulled out a bulbous notebook from his pocket and, opening it at a certain page, showed it to Susan Benson. ‘Were these Mr Winfield’s parents, ma’am?’ he asked.
Susan read the words that were carefully printed in Mr Grimshaw’s large firm writing.
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JOSIAH WINFIELD,
WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE 11 SEPTEMBER 1787,
AGE 58 YEARS
AND ALSO HIS WIFE EMILY WHO DIED 7 MARCH 1779
R.I.P.
‘And what of Mrs Winfield’s folk?’
‘I don’t know, sir. I never met them. I believe Mr and Mrs Martin were from Dersingham way, but I don’t ever remember meeting them,’ said Susan.
‘But you remember Elizabeth Winfield clearly?’
‘Oh yes, sir. I can see her as clear as if t’were yesterday. She were such a pretty, happy little thing.’ Her eyes filled with tears.
Edward Mason pulled Elizabeth gently forward and said, ‘Do you see that girl in front of you now, Susan?’
‘I don’t know … I can’t be certain … I….’ She twisted her fingers in her apron nervously. ‘I can’t be sure, sir. She is like my little Elizabeth … but … I don’t know….’
‘Did the little girl have any distinguishing feature, birthmarks and such, apart from her mama’s golden hair, that is?’
Susan thought for a while. ‘She had a mark on the back of her neck. Stork bites they call ’em in these parts. But they generally fade as the child gets older. Hers looked like a little strawberry.’
‘Pardon me, my dear,’ Emma Mason said to Elizabeth and stood on tiptoe to lift up the curls at Elizabeth’s neck. There was the telltale red mark, faded certainly, but still there all the same.
‘That seems pretty conclusive,’ Edward Mason said. ‘Elizabeth, my dear, may I present your old nursemaid, Susan Benson. Mrs Benson, allow me to introduce Miss Elizabeth Winfield.’
There were more tears as Elizabeth embraced her former nursemaid and asked eager questions about her mama and papa.
Then it was time to go. Elizabeth sat in the Masons’ carriage as though she were in a trance. Her thoughts were all about what she had seen and heard this afternoon and she knew her mind would be occupied with her new identity for weeks to come. She looked up to give a grateful smile to the two people who had given her support and helped her with her enquiries and saw that they were looking at her kindly. Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears again.
She thought of Robert Gascoine and wondered what he would say at her newly found identity. Would it have made any difference to their actions when he’d kissed her so seductively and she’d co-operated so eagerly?
She now felt uncomfortable about the whole episode. He would return to the family home eventually. She wondered if he would soon have news of his engagement to Honoria; if so, that shaming episode would still be between them. She felt sure that it would be impossible for her to act naturally with him and difficult to remain friends with Honoria, once they were married.
Meanwhile unknown to Elizabeth, Tom Molloy and his brothers had arrived in Liverpool and had arranged a meeting with James Preston. Tom Molloy, the leader of the gang of boys who had made Elizabeth’s life a misery in the not so far off days when she was in Baines’s house. He was the eldest of the Molloy boys who had been looked after by Mr Baines and their mother, if you could call it that.