“Lady Farramont, sir,” the housekeeper said.
Marsden dropped his pen, and spun round. “LadyFarramont?Good God, itisyou! By all that is wonderful, what are you doing here?” Then, a faint frown appearing, he went on, “Is Farramont with you?”
“No, although I have a couple of friends with me. How are you, Godfrey?”
He started at the use of his first name. Only once had she addressed him thus, many years ago and she had no right to do so now, but it would, perhaps, help him to understand.
“Well enough,” he said, puzzled. “No better and no worse than when we last met… a month ago, was it? I need not ask if you are well, for you are always in the bloom of health. But what brings you to this part of the world?”
“Oh… I was travelling nearby and thought you might be here. But where are all your servants? There seems to be no one here but the housekeeper and a couple of women.”
“I have no need for more. The place is empty for most of the year.”
“Well, it is very inconvenient, for I do not like staying in a place where my friends have to scramble about making up beds or kneading bread.”
“You are surely not intending to stay?” he said in shocked tones.
“Naturally I am. The post chaise has gone back to Driffield, and you are not going to turn me out to sleep under a hedge, I trust.”
He gave a little laugh, then shook his head. “You always were the most unaccountable girl, Izzy! Always up to some game or other. May I call you Izzy? You have called me Godfrey, after all.”
“Of course. We are old friends, are we not? Do you remember when…”
His face softened at once, and he countered every reminiscence with one of his own from those early days of their acquaintance. The good days, as Izzy had begun to think of them. The days when the world was at her feet and anything was possible. Not like now, when she was nothing… worse than nothing.Illegitimate, and not even a respectable wife.
Ruthlessly she forced the anger down. It never entirely left her, but whenever it blazed up, she could now beat it down to a sullen glow at the back of her mind, so that she appeared calm on the outside.
“Ah, you have not changed a bit, Izzy,” he said eventually, but he sounded sad.
The door opened.
“Here are my friends,” Izzy said. “Do you remember Sophie? She was Miss Bayton before she married Martin Hearle. She is a widow now. And this is her brother, Mr Oliver Bayton, of Bayton House in Northumberland. Sophie, is all well below stairs?”
“The cook is having some kind of minor apoplexy, but we will manage for tonight. I have taken the liberty of ordering tea, and I am optimistic we might get some before dark. Izzy, do you want to see your room now?”
It was not the most appealing room in which Izzy had ever slept. It was dark and dingy, the window panes almost grey from years without a proper clean, and the rug had probably not been beaten that century. But there was a large bed with clean linenand plenty of blankets, and a ewer of warm water on the wash stand.
“Will it do, do you think?” Sophie said anxiously. “It is not what you are used to but—”
“It will do. We shall not be staying here very long, I imagine. Who would have thought so rich a man would be content to live in such squalor?”
“Is he truly rich?” Sophie said. “I know everyone said his income was above twenty thousand a year, but he lived in a couple of rooms in town, you know.”
“But he has a house on Berkeley Street!”
“Yes, but apparently he only lived in part of it, and the rest was leased out.”
“Oh. Well, he was…isa single man, so I suppose he does not need the whole house, but yes, he truly is rich. When he offered for me, my father had the lawyers look into his circumstances, and it was all there. Leasing out part of his own house… that is eccentric, perhaps, but if he does not need it, why not? But this! A property like this to be so neglected? That is not prudent. Only three servants to manage all this? It is monstrous.”
“Did you observe Mrs Carter — the housekeeper?” Sophie said. “A married woman, judging by the ring, but I should very much like to know where Mr Carter is. He was here about four or five months past, I should say.”
“Oh! I did not notice that,” Izzy said. “No wonder she looks tired. I looked positively haggard when I was increasing. But Sophie, four months ago was around Lady Day. Marsden would have been here then.”
The two women looked at each other. “He never had that sort of reputation,” Sophie said dubiously. “In fact, he was never in the petticoat line at all, everyone said, until you came along. You had them all mesmerised, Izzy.”
“We shall see how mesmerised he is now, shall we not?” Izzy said brightly, amused by the flash of bewilderment on Sophie’s face.
Poor Sophie! It was almost a shame not to let her into the secret of the plan, but she was such a strait-laced person that she would likely have been shocked. She would have been sure to point out to Izzy how wrong it was, and that she should dutifully accept her fate, like a good little wife. Perhaps she would have refused to go along on the trip at all, and that would have been a great hindrance.
