Charlotte was awake early the next morning and was somewhat startled to be served her morning chocolate not by Phoebe but by a young girl she had never seen before. She blinked at the handsome country girl, with her rosy cheeks and fine black eyes.
‘I do not think I know you,’ she said as she sat up and took the cup from her.
‘Nell, Miss Grayson,’ the girl said briskly. ‘I got a place wi’ your mama and very glad I am, miss. I worked for Squire Perkins’ wife for three years, but it were dull, Miss Charlotte, them being elderly, like. Your ma says I’m to wait on you and Miss Kitty and I’m pleased about that. I hope as I shall give satisfaction.’
‘I should not think you will find it dull with my mama,’ Charlotte said. ‘She is a positive whirlwind of activity and there is always so much to do when you move to a different house.’
‘Yes, miss, I’ve noticed that; it’s why I’m so pleased to get a place here. And no gentlemen in the house to be a nuisance, either,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘I shall go and get your water now. I were not expectin’ you to be up and ready, see, or I would have done it sooner. Are you wishing to get up now, miss?’
Charlotte decided she liked young Nell and got out of bed straight away. It was a peach of a morning and she determined to go for a walk before breakfast.
Twenty minutes later, dressed in her newest and most becoming blue walking-dress, she crossed what had once been the laundry court in days gone by and walked over the crescent lawn to a little creaking old gate, set snugly in the mellow brick wall, and then she was out in the green lane which led directly to the village. She wondered how Lucy Baker did. She knew Lucy had recently had a new little brother and she’d taken care to put a bright gold sovereign in her reticule for the latest Baker child. Perhaps it was a little early to call at the Bakers’ cottage, but if she saw Lucy playing out on the lane….
Thoughts of Lucy immediately put her in mind of Hugo Westbury. How she detested him, especially when she remembered the arrogant way that he had stepped forward with his handkerchief to stem poor little Lucy’s tears. Still, the child had seemed to trust him and had accepted a ride on his huge black horse without appearing to be nervous—
Her train of thought was cut off abruptly and she gave a start of horror as she neared the Bakers’ cottage. Coming towards her was none other than Hugo Westbury himself and beside him Aurelia Casterton, simpering up at him and then turning to wave with smiling condescension to little Lucy Baker and her beaming mother who both stood at the cottage door. Aurelia’s maid trailed behind them, holding a little bundle of clothes suitable for a new baby. It was too late to turn and go back and so she was forced to greet Aurelia and her companion as calmly as she could.
Hugo Westbury bowed politely and wished her ‘good morning’ but Aurelia, triumphant at managing to gain such a handsome and eligible escort, smiled patronizingly on Charlotte and said with false brightness, ‘Miss Grayson. Good morning. Is it possible that you have the same errand as ourselves? Mama heard about the Bakers’ new baby and discovered that they are tenants on the Westbury estate. She has prevailed on dear Mr Westbury to escort me to the cottage to offer a little christening gift.’
Charlotte noticed that ‘dear Mr Westbury’ was gazing at the Bakers’ yew hedge with studied indifference as though he wished to be elsewhere and she quickly cast about in her mind for some way of escaping from her situation. It was impossible. She couldn’t meet two of her neighbours at the Bakers’ cottage and pretend that she wasn’t visiting the family.
There was a tense silence, which even the gushing Aurelia seemed unable to break. Hugo Westbury now turned his sardonic gaze on Charlotte, fully understanding her discomfiture and waiting to see how she would resolve it. She seemed determined to avoid his company but at the same time to carry on some semblance of politeness and good manners. In spite of his unwillingness to admit it, he found her completely lovely. Her hair, under the brim of her charming little straw hat, curled round her face in a way that made her grey eyes seem softer and more luminous. Her blue walking gown clung enticingly to her slender curves, its rather severe style accentuating rather than hiding her femininity. Compared to the dumpy and girlish Miss Aurelia Casterton, with her round face and rather indefinite features, Charlotte was a coolly beautiful and extremely desirable young woman.
As if sensing his gaze, Charlotte turned to look at him, slight colour staining her cheeks. Her eyes met his as challengingly as usual and a sudden disturbing awareness of desire shot through him. He tore his eyes away from hers with difficulty, wondering what the devil was wrong with him. He broke the uncomfortable silence himself, by saying stiffly, ‘I think we should not impose our company on the family at such a busy time. Miss Casterton and I will not stay longer than five minutes. Should you care to accompany us, Miss Grayson, I am sure Mrs Baker will not think that three is the proverbial crowd.’
Two playful kittens suddenly shot out of the cottage, pretending to fight, and he gave her one of his rare, unexpected smiles. ‘And if you could use your influence as a Sunday school teacher to prevail on little Lucy not to let her cats claw my coat, I would be eternally grateful.’
‘Yes … yes, of course I will.’ Surprisingly, and much against her will, Charlotte found herself smiling back at him. She heard his sharp intake of breath as their eyes met and she forced herself to look away.
The moment was broken by Aurelia who, displeased at being ignored, took the baby clothes from her maid and flounced up the path to Mrs Baker, who welcomed them into the tiny cottage. ‘Ain’t not much room to sit, my lady,’ she said to Aurelia, and she swept a bench by the side of the fire with her hand. ‘But our Lucy’s that glad to see you, Miss Grayson. Come you forward, Lucy, and bid Miss Grayson “good day”, my dear.’
Lucy stepped forward, smiling shyly, and put a finger under her chin as her mother had taught her and bobbed a charming little curtsy.
‘Why, that was very well done, Lucy,’ Charlotte exclaimed and, cupping the little girl’s face in both hands, she kissed her gently on the forehead. The only other chair in the room was dragged forward for Hugo Westbury and in no time at all Charlotte was nursing baby Billy and Lucy had fetched Bruno, her favourite little kitten, to show to Hugo. Aurelia was noticeably quiet and after giving the baby clothes to Mrs Baker, sat and stared at nothing in particular, obviously bored and wishing to be somewhere else. Lucy danced excitedly round Hugo, reminding him of the ride she’d had on Gypsy and obviously longing to repeat it, and he involuntarily glanced at Charlotte. For some reason, the sight of her holding the baby was so extremely tender and beautiful he could hardly bear to look away. But Lucy had by now given him Bruno to hold and as his eyes again met Charlotte’s, he gave her a little comical signal with raised eyebrows and an almost helpless expression. Involuntarily she returned his signal with an understanding grin and a raised eyebrow of her own. It was as though they were communicating in a secret language across the room which only they understood. She knew exactly what he wanted, which was rescue from Lucy’s friendly kitten. Having put Billy tenderly in his cradle, the sovereign tucked under his blanket, she moved over to Hugo and tried carefully to pick up Bruno, who refused to move. Hugo was acutely aware of her and of her soft perfume as she held the kitten in one hand and began to gently disengage its tiny claws from the expensive superfine cloth of his fashionable jacket with the other. Her nearness was so seductive that for a moment he closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her and feeling her gentle fingers fumbling against his chest. He felt the soft flesh of her arm brush against his cheek and opened his eyes again. Amistake. Her lovely peachy face was now so very temptingly near to his own, it would take only a second to move his lips to hers, but beyond her, he could see Miss Casterton, expressing rigid disapproval in every line of her body. He attempted to break the tension by saying, ‘Have I now been finally extricated from Bruno’s wicked claws, Miss Grayson?’
‘Yes, indeed, sir,’ she said. For some reason she felt a trifle breathless. She’d been very conscious of the way her arm had brushed his cheek and of the hardness of his body beneath the smart coat as she’d disengaged the little kitten from him. He had felt in no way tense or aggressive, but utterly relaxed as though he were enjoying it, in spite of not wanting his coat to be ruined.
She gathered herself together with an effort and said coolly, ‘Now come, Lucy dear, and take Bruno to his mama, for we must be going.’
Aurelia sprang up with alacrity, and Mrs Baker ushered them to the door, smiling and waving. Lucy danced down the path ahead of them and looked up at Hugo adoringly. ‘And please, sir, Mr Wessb’ry, sir, can I have another ride on Gypsy?’
‘That depends on whether Miss Grayson is available to accompany us,’ he said gravely.
Charlotte’s eyes flew to meet his, but his face was expressionless and for once, she was unable to think of anything to say.
‘We shall have to see, Lucy dear,’ was all she could come up with.
She noticed Aurelia’s lips tighten angrily and was glad when they reached the turning to Felbrook Manor and she bade them farewell.
When she arrived home, order had succeeded whatever chaos had reigned on the removal day and although it was obvious that her mama was a little weary, she was nevertheless in good spirits. ‘Uncle Bertram is to visit again tomorrow,’ Jane Grayson said. ‘And this morning while you were out, we had an invitation from Mr and Mrs West to the betrothal ball for Ann and Robert Thorpe, a week on Friday. We must think of a gift, girls. I am sure I wish them happy, but I think there are those who feel that dear Ann could have set her sights higher than the son of a country squire.’
‘But if she truly loves him….’ Kitty murmured.
Charlotte looked at her. What did Kitty know of love, she wondered? She’d noticed Andrew Preston’s attempts to gain Kitty’s interest at the picnic, but she couldn’t believe that Kitty had developed a tendre for the gawky curate. Surely not. She had a sudden mental image of Kitty walking in Lavinia’s garden with Matthew, raising her open, young face to look up at him, just like one of his Aunt Lavinia’s sunflowers, she thought, and she wondered fleetingly if in fact Kitty was in love with Matthew.
Miraculously, Felbrook Manor was now almost straight. The kitchen was arranged to Mrs Palmer’s liking with every pan and dish washed and stowed in its rightful place and the two maids, Nell and Phoebe, had unpacked their modest belongings in the attic bedrooms and were already at home in their new situation. Charlotte and Kitty had supervised the disposal of their own clothes and belongings, so that the tireless Jane Grayson could see to the arrangement of the furniture and have a bedroom prepared for Uncle Bertram, who was not expected until the early evening. They were now free to relax in a cosy room on the ground floor which had once been a spacious study. It was a light, airy room with several comfortable chairs and a substantial fireplace and after lunch the three of them gathered there to read and sew.
But they were not relaxed for very long. Robert, acting as butler, came in with a small silver tray on which was a card from Sir Benjamin Westbury, presenting his compliments and begging to be allowed to call on the following day at 11 a.m. Jane Grayson was now all of a twitter to check that the house was truly fit to entertain a visitor of such standing as Sir Benjamin Westbury. Finally, reassured that the drawing-room was pristine, that the decanters were sparkling and that there was a good selection of biscuits and sweetmeats with which to entertain guests, she sank back into her chair and resumed her sewing, until such time as Uncle Bertram would arrive. He was rather a mixed blessing, Jane reflected placidly. Although Bertram was still young and good-looking, she realized he was becoming very pompous and self-opinionated, almost offensive, in fact. And yet … and yet her poor dead husband had loved him dearly. They had been devoted brothers and though the hard-headed and rakish Bertram had often scoffed at Henry’s idea of taking Holy Orders, Jane knew that he was basically a kind man and had been inordinately proud of his brother’s calling. She sighed. Unfortunately the girls were both too young and inexperienced to recognize Bertram’s decent human qualities beneath his bombastic exterior. She wished with all her heart that Bertram could find a suitable young woman and settle down. She was sure he would make a kind and loving husband and father, if he met the right one. It was so unfortunate that Charlotte and Kitty were impatient of their uncle’s unsuitable jokes and patronizing opinions. There was always tension when he came to stay as though they were all just on the verge of a violent argument. She’d just have to do her best to avoid family conflict, she decided, as she cut off her embroidery thread with a decisive snap of the scissors.
Adam Brown arrived at 10.30 the following morning and at precisely 11 a.m. the drawing-room door opened to show Robert bowing lower than usual as he said very respectfully, ‘Sir Benjamin Westbury and Mr Hugo Westbury to see you, madam.’
From earliest childhood, Jane Grayson had known of Sir Benjamin Westbury, who had once lived ‘up at the Hall’ and had heard vague though impressive tales of his wealth and power and the animosity between his two younger brothers, but even her steady grey eyes widened somewhat to behold what had become of this rich nabob, who had built up a second massive fortune in India. The tall, powerful, most revered and respected landowner in the county was now a shambling wreck. The disabilities of his old age were far more pronounced than they’d seemed when he’d entered the village church the other Sunday. His white head was bowed and he leaned far more heavily on his stick than he had done when he’d attended Sunday service. His other hand clasped the arm of the tall, handsome Mr Hugo Westbury.
‘Brown, introduce me to all here, if you please.’
The voice, though soft and almost feeble, was yet so compelling and full of authority that Jane Grayson and her daughters were each unable to take their eyes off him.
‘Sir Benjamin, may I present to you Mrs Jane Grayson, and her daughters, Miss Charlotte Grayson and Miss Kitty Grayson. You may perhaps have some recollection of Mrs Grayson – Saunders, as she then was – who resided here until her marriage?’
‘Hardly, hardly, I am afraid, Brown,’ sighed Sir Benjamin, sinking into the armchair which Adam Brown pulled forward for him. ‘Although, now I come to look at the eldest girl…. Yes … I have a recollection of you, Mrs Grayson … you must have been very like her, my dear.’ He sighed again and surveyed Charlotte carefully from under his bushy white brows. It was a keenly searching glance that lingered over her beautiful, proud young face, passed over her slim body and paused at her dainty satin slippers and then up again to the brilliant grey-green eyes which met his own so fearlessly.
Hugo Westbury had remained standing and, although feigning indifference, was watching Sir Benjamin’s reaction to Charlotte Grayson with interest.
‘Please be seated,’ Jane Grayson said and there was a moment’s activity as her daughters and the visitors disposed themselves about the room.
Adam Brown cleared his throat and said, ‘I have taken the liberty of inviting Mr Harry Bunfield to join us today, ma’am. He is staying at The Brook in the village and I think he will be invaluable in helping us with our enquiries into the sad death of Mr Charles Westbury.’
No one spoke. Sir Benjamin merely nodded, his face expressionless and everyone present appeared to be waiting for some guidance from the lawyer.
Matthew King moved to sit by Charlotte in the window. There was an expectant pause.
At that moment, Robert appeared once more to announce, ‘Mr Harry Bunfield from Bow Street, ma’am,’ before retiring once more.
Bunfield was a powerfully built man in his early forties, a neat and tidy person with crisp white collar and trim blue coat, his boots polished to perfection, and he carried a short staff with a discreet crown at the end, as a symbol of his authority. His eyes, as he surveyed the room, were as bright as the buttons on his red waistcoat and were of a glittering blue.
‘Your servant, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said and gave a bob of his head, halfway between a nod and a bow.
Jane Grayson indicated a seat for him and Adam Brown opened the proceedings with greetings for Bunfield and further introductions. ‘Well now, Mr Bunfield,’ he said. ‘We would very much like to hear your report concerning the recent ghastly discovery at Westbury Hall.’
‘Mr Brown, sir, the Felbrook constable attended the preliminary inquest held at The Swan in King’s Lynn on 18 August when Mr Bates declared a provisional verdict of “Murder by person or persons unknown”. Further evidence will have to be gathered and presented to the examining magistrate if the culprit is ever to be identified.’
He took out a somewhat battered notebook and read from it. ‘“From enquiries already carried out, the body has been identified as that of Mr Charles Westbury, youngest brother to Sir Benjamin and grandfather to Mr Hugo Westbury, who died of a fatal stab wound to his back, delivered with some force, if the coroner’s surgeon is to be believed.”’
‘How shocking,’ Jane Grayson murmured.
‘Shocking indeed, ma’am.’
‘And there is no doubt as to the identity of my grandfather?’ Hugo Westbury spoke very quietly. ‘And yet, we, my parents, that is, were led to believe that my grandfather and his wife had perished on the Golden Maiden in a terrible storm off the coast of Cromer, notorious for the sandbanks which lurk beneath the waters.’
‘There seems no doubt of the identity of the deceased, sir, but I shall be making further enquiries there.’
He turned to Sir Benjamin, whose frail shoulders seemed to be drooping more than ever. ‘They were on their way to Holland, as I understand it, sir?’
‘Yes. The child, Hugo’s father, was left with his nurse, but I know not the purpose of their voyage.’
‘It was to sell some diamonds, Sir Benjamin.’ Harry Bunfield spoke quietly, but took note of Sir Benjamin’s deliberately blank expression. ‘And the contemporary reports of the sinking of the Golden Maiden state that not all the passengers and crew were accounted for. There is no record of Mr Charles Westbury’s body being recovered, so he was lost, presumed drowned, but I expect you knew that, sir?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Sir Benjamin said reluctantly. ‘At the memorial service for my brother and his wife, hers was the only coffin.’
There was a silence, broken again by Harry Bunfield. ‘There were two other known survivors, sir, and they were Mr Tobias Todd, a tutor from Lynn Grammar School, and a young sailor, name of Ted Rudkin, and happen if they’re still alive, I shall definitely pay them a visit, Sir Benjamin.’
Adam Brown passed across to Hugo a small roll of velvet fabric containing the signet ring and the battered silver watch. ‘The coroner has agreed to release the body for burial, sir, and has requested that I give these remaining items to you, as the next of kin.’
Charlotte looked curiously at Hugo Westbury, but apart from a strained whiteness round his mouth, he gave no sign of any of the shock and horror that Mr Bunfield’s investigations had produced.
Sir Benjamin seemed to have shrunk even smaller and his shoulders were more bowed than ever. He sighed as he spoke. ‘Alas, my poor dear brother, Charles. He was the youngest and most handsome of us … the most loved … the most blessed. He shall in due season be honourably interred with his dear wife in the family vault. Hugo will make the funeral arrangements.’
It was at this point that Jane Grayson rang for Phoebe, who brought in wine and refreshments. Jane noticed the way that Charlotte had looked so intently at Hugo Westbury and, without appearing obvious, she positioned herself near to him, offering him a glass of red wine and saying in a voice of utmost concern, ‘I am so sorry that you should have had such a sad shock at your homecoming, sir. Please accept my condolences.’
He gave her a smile of great sweetness. ‘Thank you, ma’am. But these things happen and at least he may be given a Christian burial.’
With her skill as a good listener and receiver of confidences, Jane Grayson remained silent and looked at him so sympathetically that he was moved to add, ‘I have no recollection of my grandparents and my mother and father both died young, so it is not so devastating an experience as it could have been.’
Jane Grayson took the liberty of pressing his hand in silent commiseration and tactfully signalled to Phoebe to refill his glass. What an attractive and sensitive young man. What a pity there seemed to be so much animosity still between himself and dear Charlotte. She looked across at her eldest daughter and could tell by the carefully composed expression of indifference on her face that Charlotte had listened to every word of the conversation and Jane smiled to herself. Perhaps, she thought, Matthew was not, after all, the right one for Charlotte…. She looked speculatively at her beautiful, spirited elder daughter and then back to the darkly handsome Hugo Westbury. What an attractive couple they would make, to be sure.
Hugo, also acutely conscious of the beautiful Miss Charlotte Grayson, looked across at her over the rim of his wine glass. She was listening respectfully to something Sir Benjamin was telling her and her lovely head was bent towards him, so she could catch what his thin old voice was saying. She offered Sir Benjamin a ratafia biscuit and refilled his sherry glass. All this was done with the utmost kindness and solicitude. What a contrast to her usual confrontational attitude, Hugo thought. She looked so beautiful and womanly, he was forced to make a comparison between her and the insipid Aurelia Casterton, who lacked all Charlotte’s address and grace and could only gaze up at a fellow with those limpid, vacant eyes.
To the devil with his decision to stay away from Charlotte. At the next brief lull in the conversation, Hugo turned to her and said quietly, ‘The weather seems set to remain fine, Miss Grayson. Perhaps you could be prevailed upon to grant Lucy Baker’s wish and come for a ride with us on Sunday? If her mama agrees, I thought a short ride on Gypsy, after Sunday school, perhaps?’
He made his request with such polite deference that she looked at him with suspicion. It was true he had acted the perfect gentleman all morning, but speak as you find, she thought grimly. Her memory of the arrogant way he had dealt with the lease of Westbury Hall still rankled.
He was waiting for her answer, politely patient, one black eyebrow raised in amused enquiry, then he said softly, ‘There is no need to look so serious, Miss Grayson. I am merely inviting you on a little outing to please the child, not a public hanging.’
‘Odious man.’ But she was obliged to smile and thought quickly of the little muslin dress she was making for Lucy. If she worked at it, she could have it finished for Sunday and that would be two pleasures for the child.
‘Well?’
‘Well, what?’
‘Well, am I going to have the pleasure of your company, Miss Grayson? If so, I shall approach Lucy’s mama for her approval.’
‘Very well, I thank you, Mr Westbury. I know Lucy has very few treats and I am sure she will enjoy it.’
‘And you, Miss Grayson?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said stiffly.
‘Will you also enjoy it?’
She looked at him in surprise. In spite of herself, she knew she was colouring up. His eyes, incredibly blue in the morning light, were crinkled with amusement. She was surprised at allowing herself to be talked into this proposed treat for little Lucy Baker so easily. But of course, from the first, it had been impossible to deny Hugo Westbury anything that he really wanted. She wondered ruefully if it would always be thus, but she answered coolly enough, ‘I hope to do so, sir. And Lucy’s enjoyment will be most important, of course.’
‘Of course.’ He said it without a trace of irony.
‘Very well, then, we are agreed. Sunday at three outside the church, unless Mrs Baker refuses permission, of course.’ She kept her voice light and smiled, knowing Mrs Baker would be only too pleased for Lucy to have such a treat. Then she excused herself politely to go and chat to Adam Brown, who was standing with Harry Bunfield, still discussing the shipwreck of the Golden Maiden.
Hugo turned towards Kitty and enquired politely how she did, and praised the smooth way that the house move had been effected by the two girls and their mother. Kitty tried valiantly to keep her end up, but was somewhat overawed by him and faltered in her replies, until she was rescued by Sir Benjamin, who, raising himself painfully from his armchair and leaning heavily on his stick, came to say that he and Hugo must be going and to bid farewell to them all.
It seemed almost impossible to settle down to some sewing again, but Charlotte at least had an incentive now and took up the little dress that she was making for Lucy with the intention of finishing it by Sunday. It was a white muslin with a pale blue dot, made from a piece of material in Jane Grayson’s fabric box. She knew it would suit Lucy’s blonde prettiness to perfection and she planned to take it round to the cottage as soon as it was finished so that Lucy might wear it as her Sunday best.
All was peaceful until such time as Uncle Bertram arrived, beautifully dressed as was his wont, and as always more than ready to do justice to the ample dinner served up by Mrs Palmer.
‘Although, as you see, ’tis a bit of a force pot,’ she declared as she set the steaming dishes on the table.
But Uncle Bertram waved her apologies away most affably. Not only was he being treated with the kindness and consideration that was usual from Jane Grayson, but the news of Sir Benjamin’s visit added a decided stimulus to his already inflated feeling of self-importance. Bolstered up by a most substantial meal and several glasses of mellow port wine, he took up his customary stance in front of the drawing-room fire and prepared to hold forth to his captive audience. He was determined to inform Jane and her daughters of the procedures to be followed when an inquest was arranged. Jane’s efforts to avoid this melancholy subject were in vain. Although she tactfully sent Kitty and Charlotte on a couple of tasks to try to get them out of the room, while their uncle proceeded to discourse at length on the unsavoury details of the murder, he refused to take the hint. When the girls returned, he was still in full flow about the inquest.
‘Bates is the county coroner, you know, Jane, and he routinely holds inquests in public houses.’
Jane was silent and Bertram took this as a sign that she was interested in the macabre subject.
‘Good idea, really,’ he continued. ‘There needs to be a room, you see, where the body can be laid out and where it can be viewed by the jurors. I know the landlord at The Swan is always happy to oblige – the jurors always need drinks and refreshments after their unhappy ordeal. I suppose Bates called Dr Armstrong to view the body, but from what you have said, there was no doubt precious little of it left to view and of course Armstrong will have been paid his expenses. A sorry business, my dear, but, still, Bates will have had to assign a cause of death. I wonder when the funeral will be?’
Kitty shuddered and said that she hoped it would not be until after Ann West’s betrothal party. Uncle Bertram said pompously that these important family occasions took some time to organize. There were important people to be contacted. Distant, even far-flung relations who must be given notice and opportunity to attend the ceremony. The family vault would have to be prepared, accommodation made ready at Westbury Hall. A thousand and one things would be required to be organized by Sir Benjamin’s great-nephew in preparation for the obsequies of his grandfather, Charles.
Charlotte remained silent, her head bent over her needlework, wondering if she could find a nice piece of wide ribbon in Mama’s sewing box to make a sash for Lucy’s dress, while her Uncle Bertram continued to pontificate about the funeral. And so the evening passed pleasantly enough, with Jane and her daughters, as if by mutual consent, giving minimum encouragement to Uncle Bertram’s speculations.
Charlotte was not the world’s best needlewoman, being too impatient, untidy and not remotely interested in sewing, but she was determined to make the dress a success.
As it happened, it was finished well in time and she took it round to the Bakers’ cottage before the Sunday school.
‘Oh, look, Ma, at what Miss Grayson’s brought for me!’ Lucy flew across the room to hug Charlotte, watched smilingly by Mrs Baker, and she said excitedly, ‘Oh, thank you, Miss Grayson. And look! Ma’s bought some ribbons from the gypsy woman.’
Charlotte looked at the small, heart-shaped face, the smiling lips and bright eyes. Even the gold curls bobbing about on the smooth, babyish forehead seemed to quiver with the excitement of it all and Charlotte was glad that she’d made the effort to finish the dress.
At three o’clock, Lucy was outside the church, hopping excitedly from one foot to the other when Hugo Westbury arrived. After the formal greetings, the groom held the horse’s head and Hugo lifted Lucy up on to the huge black hunter. Charlotte had decided to have Nell to accompany her, rather than Phoebe, and they set off in silence.
Not so Lucy Baker. She kept up a constant stream of chatter, mainly directed at Hugo. ‘I love this horse, Mr Wessb’ry,’ she said, ‘and I love my new dress what Miss Grayson has made for me.’
‘It is very pretty and smart,’ Hugo Westbury murmured. There was no hint of patronage in his tone.
‘Yes, she’m kind, Miss Grayson is.’
For some reason, Charlotte looked across at him and was disconcerted to find that he was looking at her. His eyes were smiling, full of humour in the brilliant afternoon sunshine, and with the well-remembered fine lines radiating from the corners.
‘I had not thought of Miss Grayson as merely kind,’ he said, still smiling. ‘Difficult, argumentative, impossible, perhaps …’ he said softly, looking at Charlotte all the while, until she blushed and looked away.
But Lucy was now feeling more confident and sat up higher in the saddle to say imperiously, ‘And over yonder is the stream. Gypsy could have a drink and I could get down for a minute, I could.’
Hugo immediately slowed the horse and lifted her down. The groom led Gypsy towards the stream and Lucy began to dance and pirouette in the little grassy clearing. ‘And look at me, Miss Grayson,’ she cried. ‘I can dance in my new dress, I can.’
She danced and skipped and twirled and then at last went to lean against a tree. ‘But I can’t dance like grand ladies do, Miss Grayson. Show me how to do it proper, miss. I want to do the waltz, Miss Grayson.’
Charlotte laughed and, taking both Lucy’s hands in hers, showed her the basic steps and the rhythm, pulling her gently along.
‘Well, it is like this, Lucy. Forward side, together. Forward, side, together. And if you dance with a gentleman, you must go backwards and still keep in step.’
‘Mr Wessb’ry’s a gennelman. Dance with Mr Wessbr’y then. Show me. Show me!’ she cried.
Charlotte stood silent and a little nonplussed, not quite sure how to deal with this request, but Hugo stepped forward and echoed Charlotte’s words smoothly, saying, ‘Well, Lucy, it is like this. The gentleman bows to the lady and says, “May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss Grayson?” and the lady puts her hand on his.’
Charlotte looked up at him, startled, but as if in a dream, she obediently put her hand on his. ‘Then,’ Hugo said, ‘he puts his arm about her waist and when the music starts, they dance, forward, side, together, forward, side, together.’
Still in a dream, Charlotte gathered up the folds of her gown and then looked ruefully down at her feet. She had on her sturdy half boots, just right for a walk in the country. ‘I fear I am not wearing my dancing slippers,’ she said, smiling.
‘Nor I,’ Hugo whispered. ‘I must take care not to step on your toes.’
He continued to murmur, ‘Forward, side, together,’ a few more times and then as they became more confident in each other’s steps, he began to hum a waltz, very softly and in a pleasant baritone voice. Soon, their steps matched perfectly and at the edge of the little clearing, Hugo led her perfectly to execute a graceful turn and, still humming, brought her back to Lucy, who clapped her hands in delight.
‘That were wunnerful, Miss Grayson,’ Lucy squealed excitedly. ‘Oh, do some twirls again, Mr Wessb’ry. Please.’
‘Very well, but only one more,’ he said. ‘Miss Grayson has had enough of dancing for one day.’
But Miss Grayson hadn’t. Her eyes were closed as she listened to his soft humming, allowing him to guide her and, after the final twirl, bring her gently to a full stop. His hand moved from her waist and he held both her hands in his.
They stood facing each other for a long moment, and he didn’t release her hands. Charlotte had opened her eyes, but her head had fallen back and she was looking up at him as though in a trance. He bent his head towards her and for one heart-stopping moment Charlotte thought he was about to kiss her and, rather belatedly, she attempted to break free.
Even Lucy was quiet now and Charlotte became aware of Nell, standing still and silent on the edge of the grassy clearing, and of the groom leading Gypsy from the stream, ready for the journey back. She turned her head and stepped away and, reluctantly, Hugo was obliged to let her go.