The next day brought a visit that would change Elizabeth’s life for ever. It all started mundanely enough when she’d woken heavy eyed after a restless night. She had preserved her usual helpful courtesy with her employer, however, when she went to receive her orders for the day. Lady Gascoine was feeling much better and desired Elizabeth to attend her on a visit to Mr and Mrs Atherton. It was a courtesy call, and a small step on the journey to some sort of recovery for Lady Gascoine. Jane Gibson and Bradbury were in attendance and, as they were ushered into Emma Atherton’s drawing-room, Elizabeth noticed with some interest that Isabella Mason was also present.
She was as always dressed with restraint in a dove-grey watered silk dress which had a very modest neckline and long sleeves. But it was Isabella’s general demeanour which Elizabeth found so arresting. Gone was the haunted, sad expression and the drooping shoulders of the profoundly depressed young woman she had seen at the funeral. Instead, Isabella stood as tall as her five foot four allowed. She was not beaming in any unseemly way but was calm and composed and was accompanied by her cousin Georgiana and David Atherton. It seemed to Elizabeth that David Atherton was behaving very circumspectly, attentive to all his mama’s guests and only betraying by the most subtle of signs his special interest in his former childhood companion.
Lady Gascoine was made much of as befitted her station and was very gracious in return to Mr and Mrs Atherton. She made an effort to be affable to Isabella, although Elizabeth was aware what it must cost her to act so calmly towards the young woman who was to have been her daughter-in-law. As for Georgiana, she greeted Lady Gascoine naturally in spite of the other woman’s recent bereavement.
‘How do you do, Lady Gascoine, and how are you bearing up with the weather as cold as it is? Shall we be seeing the spring soon, do you think, or must we shiver until next June?’
Everyone smiled at this and Lady Gascoine, who had been very solemn to start with, responded to the young woman’s charm and began to relax somewhat. Elizabeth noticed the look of relief on Mrs Atherton’s face and the way that David now stepped forward to welcome the visitors, and attend to Lady Gascoine’s comfort.
The talk now became pretty general and they started to discuss the celebrations for Lydia’s sixteenth birthday. ‘It will be a fairly quiet affair,’ Isabella said. ‘I know Mama is hoping you won’t find it unsuitable to attend, dear ma’am.’
Lady Gascoine was admirably well composed and merely said, ‘We shall see, my dear. Life must go on and a birthday is important to a girl of sixteen.’
Everyone smiled politely at this and the conversation turned once more to the unusual inclement spring weather and the effect it might have on crops and cattle. Under cover of the general buzz of conversation, Isabella Mason whispered shyly, ‘Elizabeth, I know you truly wish to be my friend, so I am going to confide my secret in you.’
Elizabeth looked at her questioningly. For the first time since she had met her, she felt Isabella Mason looked young and happy.
‘David … Mr Atherton and I … that is….’
‘Oh, Isabella.’
‘Yes, he has asked Papa if we may become engaged, after we’ve observed six months of mourning for Frederick, of course, and Papa has consented.’
‘Oh, Isabella, I’m so happy for you.’
Elizabeth knew that Isabella would eventually find happiness with David Atherton.
Just as the Gascoine family were about to take their leave, Mr and Mrs Mason were announced. Elizabeth observed the flicker of embarrassment from Lady Gascoine as they entered the room, but this was quickly forgotten as Edward Mason strode up to her and said in a low voice, ‘Elizabeth, my dear, has Joseph Grimshaw been in touch with you yet?’
‘Why, no, sir.’
‘Well, I’m sure he will. There has been a development in the George Baines affair, which you should know about.’
Intriguingly, that was all he would say about the matter. Elizabeth left with Lady Gascoine and Bradbury and the coachman quickly conveyed them home.
Elizabeth was confused by her conflicting emotions. One half of her was still determined to find out more of her true identity. The other half was still consumed with emotion at her last meeting with Robert. What game was he playing? What did he want? He seemed so genuinely attracted to her as she was to him yet…. In any case, she was a fool to think that a man in his position would feel emotional ties to such as herself. He probably considered her only fit for a casual affair, a swift tumble before his real life started as a married man with a suitably well-connected young woman.
But all thoughts of Robert were driven from her mind half an hour later, as she sat sewing with Lady Gascoine in the south drawing-room. Luncheon was over and Jane Gibson and Bradbury had retired to their rooms, leaving the house unnaturally empty. A young footman came in to enquire whether Lady Gascoine would permit him to admit a tradesman of the lower orders, who carried a message for Miss Elizabeth Baines. He coughed and begged pardon.
‘Miss Winfield, ma’am, that is,’ he corrected himself.
Lady Gascoine exchanged glances with Elizabeth. ‘Read your note, Elizabeth and decide for yourself if you wish to see this person,’ she said.
As she took the note from the silver salver, Elizabeth thought of Mr Mason and his rather cryptic message, and was surprised to find she was trembling.
If Miss Elizabeth Winfield, last heard of at Tollyvara in Ireland, would contact Messrs Abbot, Laing and Jordan, Church St Norwich, she will hear something to her advantage.
It was the firm of solicitors who had acted for Sarah Ann Winfield all those years ago. Silently, she passed the note to Lady Gascoine, who read it and nodded to the footman to give permission to show in Joseph Grimshaw.
He was dressed neatly as always though today he was not in uniform, but still carried his stout stick and bowed politely to Her Ladyship and to Elizabeth.
‘As you know, ladies,’ he began very deferentially, ‘I have been making enquiries as to the whereabouts of a certain little child, as disappeared wi’ no trace at the Ridgeway Goose Fair, fourteen years ago to be exac’.’
Elizabeth looked at him more closely. After Susan Benson’s recollections the name ‘Ridgeway’ now meant very much more to her. Elizabeth only had a hazy memory of the fateful visit to the fair with her nursemaid, but suddenly and excitingly she felt this man was going to impart something terribly important to her.
‘I’m looking at your hair, miss.’
‘Yes, the colour, miss. My enquiries showed it to be the self same colour as that of Sarah Ann Martin, as married your pa in 1787. But his hair was the opposite, as you know. Black as coal.’
‘Black as coal?’
‘Yes, miss and so was your Grandpa Martin’s.’
‘Grandpa Martin’s?’ she echoed again.
‘Yes, Miss Winfield. Sarah Ann Martin. Your Mama was not an orphan as most people supposed. She was a respectable, gently born girl who refused to marry the man her parents had chosen for her and she ran away. She ended up as the dressmaker and seamstress in the village of Copthorne. She settled down there and met your pa, Thomas Winfield, and love bloomed as they say.’
‘But … but … George Baines?’
‘He also loved your ma, miss. Disappointed he were when she upped and married your pa. His revenge was to bide his time and then at the right opportunity, kidnap you and spirit you away to Ireland.’
Elizabeth sat motionless, her head bowed. That explained so many things. She had no feelings of self-pity for the abuse which had blighted her childhood, only a tremendous sadness at the loss of her parents. Try as she might, she could remember very little of them, except for that haunting shadowy memory of the sensation of a soft touch and a sense of sweet perfume, wafting fleetingly over her.
‘And this letter?’ she asked quietly. ‘What does it mean?’
‘It means, Miss, as they solicitors, Abbot, Laing and Jordan, have already been in touch with your Grandpa Martin and wish you to pay a visit to their offices in Norwich. It’s about a legacy as I understand it.’
Elizabeth was too bemused to take in what Mr Grimshaw was saying, but Lady Gascoine understood perfectly and suddenly threw off the lethargy which had affected her since Frederick’s death, and became very brisk.
‘This is most fascinating, Elizabeth. Of course you must go and see Abbot, Laing and the other one, my dear. Fortunately, I am not in shock now and I cannot be a weak straw. There is only one person I could trust to see you safely to the lawyers and that is, myself. No,’ she said imperiously, as Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest. ‘No, it is only right and seemly. Robert is very busy today. I have no husband and you have no father or brother. It is my duty to ensure that any legal matters are explained to you and should you have been fortunate enough to have come into a modest legacy, I shall get my own man of business to advise you about putting it in a bank account, against some rainy day in the future.’
She noticed Joseph Grimshaw smiling at her as the other ladies crowded round to add their hearty best wishes to Lady Gascoine’s, as she stood bemused and unbelieving. As if in a dream, she got through the morning and after luncheon she went to her room to prepare herself for the visit.
Lady Gascoine’s abigail was to accompany them and the coach was brought round straight after luncheon. They spoke little on the way to the law firm, but Elizabeth’s thoughts were whirling chaotically round in her head.
‘Would you wish me to accompany you for the interview?’ Lady Gascoine asked, when they arrived at the offices in Church Street. ‘If not, Maria and I will go to the book shop and return for you at about four o’clock.’
‘Thank you, ma’am … I feel I can manage … on my own but I thank you.’
Lady Gascoine nodded approvingly and Elizabeth was set down on the same imposing steps where Thomas Winfield had stood all those years ago.
Old Tobias Cobham was long since deceased but Mr Abbot, now the senior partner with the firm, was all that was affable as he greeted her very courteously and begged her to be seated. He indicated Mr Grimshaw, whom she nodded to.
‘First, my dear young lady,’ he began somewhat pompously, ‘I have in the next room a person who wishes to be reunited with you. None other than….’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘None other than your grandfather, Mr Andrew Martin, who has never seen you.’
Elizabeth stared at him in total bewilderment, but Mr Abbot, like a conjuror producing a rabbit from a top hat, opened the door with a flourish and bade Mr Martin to ‘step in, please’.
The elderly gentleman was tall and distinguished looking. He still had a good head of hair, which had once been black but was now heavily streaked with silver. In his hand he carried a small picture wrapped in oiled cloth. His side whiskers gleamed against the soft pink of his skin and the eyes beneath the craggy silver brows were a bright, almost piercing blue. Elizabeth was not prepared for what was coming next.
For when he came face to face with her, he gave a startled exclamation and stepped back suddenly, grabbing the edge of Mr Abbot’s desk with his free hand to steady himself.
‘Lord have mercy on us,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘She is my Sar’ann to the life.’
While Elizabeth continued to gaze at him he stepped forward again, unwrapped the picture carefully and held it up at the side of Elizabeth’s face. ‘She’s the image of her dear mother, God rest her,’ he exclaimed and his bright blue eyes looked as though they would fill with tears. Silently, he handed her the picture and Elizabeth studied it curiously. It was a likeness of a young woman of roughly the same age, with a fresh open face and bright golden hair. For an instant it almost seemed as if her heart had stopped and she suddenly felt faint. The girl in the picture really was herself. Apart from the clothes, which were somewhat old-fashioned and countrified, this girl really could be Elizabeth Winfield.
‘Sir, I don’t know what to say,’ she faltered.
‘No need to say anything, child. This picture says it all.’ The tears which had threatened earlier now began to appear in earnest. He bowed his head, overcome by strong emotion, and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes.
‘No need to say anything. This is the final proof if proof were needed,’ Joseph Grimshaw said to Mr Abbot. ‘This young woman is Sarah Ann Martin’s only child and the only surviving heir of Sarah and her husband, Thomas, both now deceased.’
‘Please be seated, Miss Winfield, and you, gentlemen,’ Mr Abbot said to the assembled company. ‘This young lady is indeed your long-lost granddaughter, and I’m sure you will want to get more closely acquainted. All in good time. First, I have further news to impart to Miss Winfield.’ He turned to Elizabeth. ‘Shortly after she married your father, Sarah Ann Winfield came into a substantial amount of money from her Great Aunt Elizabeth. During their married life together, Thomas Winfield used the money sensibly. He paid off all his father’s debt to Lord Maversham and worked hard to make the farm prosperous again. When he died he left a fortune of twenty thousand pounds, which has been deposited with this firm since his death. With prudent investments in consols, his original capital, with interest accrued, has grown to thirty-four thousand to be exact.’
He made a castle with his fingers. ‘This will ensure you are very comfortably off, my dear. This should mean an income of at least a thousand a year. Yes, at least a thousand,’ he repeated, and looked at Elizabeth to note her reaction, but she was too numb to take it in.
‘In addition, there is a comfortable and substantial property, which is also bequeathed to you,’ he said. ‘Now, my dear, you will need time to digest these facts and possibly become better acquainted with your grandpapa.’ Mr Abbot smiled approvingly as the silver-haired gentleman rose from his seat and went to give Elizabeth a hug. Both were too emotional for speech, and remained in each other’s arms for several seconds, before Lady Gascoine knocked on the door and came to claim Elizabeth for the journey home.
If Elizabeth had been fairly quiet on the way to Norwich, she was totally silent on the way back to Waringham. There had been more tears when she had parted from Andrew Martin, but he was lodging in Norwich and would be accompanying her to Copthorne, as soon as Lady Gascoine was gracious enough to arrange it. Elizabeth huddled wearily in a corner of the carriage, too overwrought to discuss the sudden change in her fortunes. After a few attempts to get her to talk, and making no headway at all, Her Ladyship laughed and said, ‘Good gracious, Elizabeth, this is as difficult as drawing teeth. Can you really be so blasé as to have no comment to make on the momentous happenings of this afternoon?’
Elizabeth was obliged to smile at this, but it was still hard for her to explain her own confused emotions. The shock and sadness at seeing a picture of her dead mother and the obvious delight and affection of her newly acquired grandfather had literally rendered her speechless and Lady Gascoine had to contain her soul in patience. It was only later, in the comparative calm of the south drawing-room, that with many hesitations and emotional pauses Elizabeth managed to relate all that had happened at her interview with Mr Abbot. Once Her Ladyship knew the whole story, she was at first excited and then thoughtful at Elizabeth’s good fortune.
She said very little except, ‘I realize now that you were too surprised to say very much and, in any case, it wouldn’t do to let Maria or any of the servants know about your private business. We must give some thought to your future, though. The life of a lady’s companion for a young lady of substance is perhaps not very suitable.’ She looked askance at Elizabeth and smiled kindly at her.
‘I … I don’t know, ma’am. That is, I … I’m not sure of what I will do.’
‘Suffice it for now that we will plan to go to Copthorne and take a look at the home you have inherited. If you will allow me, my dear, I should very much like to go with you. You may need a supportive friend and I could do with a little excursion.’
‘How kind you are, ma’am. I didn’t expect … I…. Thank you.’
‘That’s settled then,’ Lady Gascoine said briskly. ‘We’ve been somewhat quiet of late … since Frederick … since the funeral…. It will be good for us to have a diversion. It should be an adventure, in fact.’
That evening, Lady Gascoine was to attend a quiet dinner with the Masons but Elizabeth pleaded a bad headache and begged to be excused. Lady Gascoine was in an exceptionally good mood and laughed, saying, ‘We ladies and our headaches, Elizabeth. Where would we be without such an excuse?’
But it was not merely an excuse. Elizabeth lay on her bed with a real headache, the sort that seemed to thump with the rhythm of her heart, and in spite of the momentous events of the day she found herself in low spirits. The house was unaccountably empty when Lady Gascoine had departed and after she had been served with a light supper and some wine, the servants had disappeared. She sat alone in the small breakfast room, pushing the food around her plate, until it was cold. Then she sipped her claret. Everything outside was still. The garden was dark and there were no natural sounds. Not wanting to disturb the servants, she decided not to ring for a footman to mend the fire but instead crouched down and stirred the coals into a more cheerful blaze.
She was startled by a sound from the hall, and suddenly Robert entered the room.
‘You,’ he said. ‘Where is Mama?’
She curtsyed and said ‘Her Ladyship is dining with Mr and Mrs Mason.’
He looked puzzled and said, ‘You do not attend Mama, then.’
‘No, sir, I have the headache and feel … out of sorts. I shall go to my room directly.’
He looked at her more closely then and bowed. ‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ was all he said and he went to stand by the fire.
He was dressed in the height of fashion this evening, in a blue superfine coat and buff-coloured pantaloons, with ruffled shirt and high collar. His cravat was tied exquisitely and he looked for all the world a complete dandy. Had Elizabeth not known better, she would have thought him a complete fashion plate. The clear grey eyes studying her were, however, too intelligent and observant for a mere fop.
They continued to gaze at each other until Elizabeth began to feel uncomfortable and said, ‘Lady Gascoine was not expecting you to dine at home this evening, sir.’
‘No, but it is of no moment.’
Elizabeth continued to look at him without speaking. His eyes took in the table set with the uneaten supper.
Elizabeth stood up. ‘If you will excuse me, Sir Robert, I shall retire to my room.’
She made for the door, but he caught her arm.
‘Please don’t go yet. I want to talk to you.’
She faced him angrily, the thumping in her head much worse. ‘But I have nothing to say to you, sir.’
‘Then please grant me the opportunity to say something to you,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Please sit down and hear me out.’
She sat down but turned away and stared fixedly at the fire grate, her lips pressed together, her eyes opened as wide as possible to try and stop herself from showing any emotion.
He gazed at her averted profile and said evenly, ‘Please don’t quarrel with me, Elizabeth. When you first came to Hawton House with my Aunt Jane I knew that you were a special type of girl. I tried – clumsily, I admit – to beg you not to be spoilt by the vapid missish airs so common in young ladies who are educated in establishments like that of Miss Hanbury’s. I wanted you to remain the shy girlish beauty with the soft brogue as you had at our first meeting.’ He smiled at her and attempted to take her hand but Elizabeth sprang to her feet and answered angrily.
‘Honoria Wilshaw was educated at Miss Hanbury’s. There is nothing shy about her, and yet … and yet….’ Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill over. She floundered to a halt, silenced by the expression in his eyes.
His hand fell uselessly by his side and he continued more gently. ‘I knew when I fastened that pearl necklace for you that I was in danger of falling in love with you. I, a second son, who needed to fulfil Mama’s ambition for me to make an advantageous match with a wealthy young lady, fell for a poor but adorable lady’s companion. I have tried to follow the path of common sense and fall in with the conventions of society, but I cannot let you go Elizabeth. You are the one I want to be my wife. No one else will do.’
Elizabeth, still smouldering over the affront she had felt at Honoria’s interest in him, burst out, ‘Now you dare speak to me of marriage, but only because of Sir Frederick’s death. You’ve realized you must offer more than a carte blanche in order to have your way with the humble lady’s maid. But you can afford it now, can you not? You can afford to buy anything you want, including “the shy girlish beauty” from the bogs of Ireland. But this is not entirely my background.’ She turned and looked at him fully, the blood pounding through her head. ‘I tell you, sir, I wouldn’t have you for the world. I’d refuse you even if you were the Angel Gabriel himself, so I would.’ Her mounting fury caused Elizabeth to momentarily drop Arabella Hanbury’s elocution rules in favour of Kate Molloy’s mode of speech.
Even though he smiled inwardly at this, Robert was hurt and humiliated by her instant rejection of him.
‘You obviously have no opinion of my love, or of me,’ he said. Wounded pride made his voice austere. The warmth of his proposal was now dissipated and he reverted to the kind of ascetic cold voice that was entirely his own. They were now facing each other, and he said, ‘We have spoken plainly. I will wish you a good evening.’ At the door he turned and said with the ghost of a smile, ‘And I hope your headache is soon better.’
He left the room and Elizabeth went up to bed. She lay unable to sleep. Her head still pounded and throbbed. The events of the day still crowded and jostled together as she tried to empty her mind. First Sir Robert’s proposal. It seemed inadequate and out of character. She thought of other more romantic episodes and sighed.
Nevertheless, she was forced to recognize that it was a proposal. Probably a ploy to get her into bed. No. She was ashamed of this thought. No. She believed that Robert was honourable and a gentleman. How then to explain his dalliance with Honoria?
Hot tears pricked at her eyelids and she closed her eyes tightly, determined to think of something else. But it was no use. Her thoughts kept returning to the spring walk they had taken together, when he had kissed her so passionately. Then she thought of his obvious pain and humiliation when she had so summarily rejected him this evening. Well, at least she could now take herself off and never see him again. She owed sufficient loyalty to Lady Gascoine and Jane Gibson to wait long enough for a replacement companion to be installed, but after that she had the legacy and the house at Copthorne. They would open up a new life of freedom and independence. She choked on a sob as she thought of life without Robert. Did she want independence and freedom if it meant never seeing him again? She was being ridiculous. Why should she fret over a man? After all, she told herself, you may be sure he doesn’t fret over you.
She deliberately willed her thoughts to the journey to Copthorne with Lady Gascoine where she was to meet with her grandpapa again. Her Ladyship said it was bound to be an adventure. How much of one she had no way of telling.