Without another word, Dorcas stormed up the stairs, her starched petticoats rustling, and threw her husband’s door open – she had insisted on separate bedrooms since the birth of Abigail. The bed was neatly made and she frowned before crossing to the wardrobe in his dressing room. Flinging the door open she glanced at the neat row of clothes hanging there, seeing at a glance that a few items were missing. It was then that her eyes came to rest on an envelope with her name on it propped up against his cologne on the dressing table, and a feeling of dread flooded through her as she lifted it with suddenly shaking fingers.
She slit the envelope with her thumb, a habit that she normally hated, and began to read.
Dear Dorcas,
I can only apologise for the financial mess I am leaving you in. I have been trying to tell you for some time that the business is in trouble but I could never bring myself to admit it and always felt a failure if I couldn’t meet your demands. I am placing no blame for the situation I find myself in on you. I should have been strong enough to be completely honest with you long before now. I am hoping that Bernard will be able to help you out of this whole sorry mess – he does have shares in the business after all, so it will be in his interest to do so. Perhaps your parents were right, and I was not good enough for you. But have no fear, you will not see me again. I have known for a while that your feelings for me have died but I pray that you and our daughters will have a happy life.
Forgive me,
Your husband,
Gerald.
With a cry of rage, Dorcas screwed the letter up and flung it across the room. What did he mean, she would not see him again? And did hereallythink that she would swallow her pride and approach her brother Bernard, for help? But then she remembered the pile of unpaid bills she had left with Mr Lansdown, the solicitor, and the enormous figure on the slip of paper that Mr Pembroke had handed her and she lifted the crumpled letter and smoothed it out. For now, all she could do was wait for the solicitor to call on her, hopefully with a solution to their problems. If he couldn’t help, she really didn’t know what she would do. Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to wait long. Mr Lansdown had promised that he would give the matter his urgent attention and would call to see her later that afternoon, and suddenly she knew that waiting for him to arrive would seem endless.
‘Mama is in a bad mood today, isn’t she?’ Abigail remarked to Emmy as she leafed through a magazine containing all the latest London fashions. She prided herself on being one of the best-dressed girls at the private school she attended. ‘I only said hello to her when she got home earlier from wherever she had been, and she almost snapped my head off.’ She pouted. She was good at doing that if something upset her or she didn’t get her own way.
Emmy smiled. ‘Everyone is entitled to their off days. I think I’ll go for another walk. It’s too nice to stay indoors. Would you like to come?’
‘Not likely!’ Abigail shook her head. Walking was too much like hard work to her mind. And so Emmy put on her warm coat and bonnet and set off.
Astley House, their home, was situated on the outskirts of Nuneaton between the small hamlet of Astley and Galley Common, and Emmy loved living there. She knew the area like the back of her hand. The house was a large, rambling gentleman’s residence that her mother had completely redesigned and refurbished over the years, surrounded by three acres of immaculately landscaped gardens. The gardener had been out and scythed the lawn that day and it stretched ahead of her as smooth as a bowling green. Primroses, daffodils and crocuses were peeping tentatively through the earth amongst the hedgerows that surrounded the property, and on the trees that lined the long drive, soft green leaves were beginning to unfurl after the long, hard winter.
She was fascinated with the history of the place and as a child had loved it when her father told her stories of their village. Once upon a time the village had been a Saxon settlement surrounded by dense woodland but most of that had been cut down and was now farmland where sheep and cattle grazed. The village also boasted a castle – once the home of Lady Jane Grey’s mother – close to St Mary the Virgin Church, which the family attended every Sunday. Even now she was older, Emmy still liked to try to picture the village as it would have been back in Lady Jane’s day. She often wondered if the unfortunate girl had ever trod the very same paths that she did. How different things must have been back then.
She was soon glad of her warm coat for it was a typical March day, windy and a little cold and she had been walking for no more than a few minutes when it started to drizzle. Without thinking, her footsteps turned in the direction of Astley Castle and soon she entered the beautiful little church that stood next to it where she could shelter from the rain and sit quietly and think. She always felt a sense of peace in there and after settling into one of the pews, she sat for a while admiring the stained-glass windows.
I wonder what put Mama in a bad mood?she pondered. Had her father upset her by refusing to pay for yet more wallpaper for the drawing room? She sighed. She knew all too well that her mother could be very challenging, and she had noticed for some time that her father hadn’t seemed himself. His usual cheery disposition was absent and only the night before she had also noticed that he had lost weight.Perhaps I should try and talk to him to find out what’s wrong?she thought. Rising from her seat, she curtsied towards the brass crucifix on the altar and headed for the door. The rain was drumming on the roof and coming down in torrents and she realised that for now at least she would have to abandon her walk. So she pulled the hood of her cloak up, lowered her head and hurried for home, splashing through the puddles and soaking the bottom of her gown and her little black buttoned boots in her haste.
The second she entered the house she sensed that something was wrong and her feeling was proved to be right when Abigail appeared from the door of the day room wringing her hands, as nervous as a kitten.
‘Come in here,’ she whispered, grabbing Emmy’s hand and dragging her into the room.
Emmy was very aware that her clothes were dripping all over her mother’s highly prized Turkish carpets and she shook Abigail’s hand off. ‘Whatever it is, can’t it wait?’ she asked irritably. ‘Can’t you see I’m soaked through? I’ll go and get changed and then you can tell me what’s wrong.’
But Abigail shook her head and grasped her arm again. ‘It’s Papa,’ she said as tears began to slide down her cheeks. ‘Mama says some of his clothes have gone from his room and no one has seen him today. He’s taken Major from the stables and just gone off by the look of things. What do you think might have happened?’
Emmy’s mouth dropped open in shock. ‘But why ever would he do that?’
Abigail shook her head. ‘I have no idea, but Mama is in a terrible state and has locked herself in her room. She won’t talk to anyone and I think she’s been crying. She said Mr Lansdown, Papa’s solicitor, would be coming to see her later this afternoon and she would speak to us then.’
‘I see.’ Emmy chewed on her lip for a moment before turning to the door again. ‘Then all we can do is wait to see what’s going on,’ she answered calmly, although her heart was pounding with fear, and with that she hurried away to get out of her wet clothes, a feeling of dread hanging over her.
The light was fading when Mr Lansdown’s carriage clattered down the drive late that afternoon. After finally leaving the bedroom, Dorcas had shut herself in the drawing room all afternoon and anxiety had her pacing up and down like a caged animal. She knew that she would have to talk to the girls soon and give them the awful news, but she needed to hear the full extent of their problems from Lansdown first.
‘Ah, Mr Lansdown.’ Dorcas crossed the room and shook his hand when Hetty showed him in. ‘Do take a seat. Hetty, could you bring some tea in?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Hetty bobbed her knee and shot off as Mr Lansdown came to stand in front of the fire.
‘You and I have known each other for a long time, Dorcas,’ he said quietly. ‘And because there is no easy way to tell you this I’m just going to come out with it. I’m afraid you are almost penniless.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘Even if Gerald had drained what money we had in the bank I still have the house and it’s worth a great deal of money. I shall mortgage it and pay off his debts and his loans if need be then we can keep the business running.’
He shook his head, his face grave, and his next words made her hand fly to her throat. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. You see, Gerald has already remortgaged the house.’
Her head wagged from side to side in denial as she tried to take in what he was saying. ‘Then what am I to do?’ Her voice came out as a squeak and she had to blink furiously to stop her tears from falling.
Mr Lansdown sighed. There had been a time many years ago when he had had a soft spot for Dorcas himself, but then she had met Gerald and they had fallen in love. At the time he had been heartbroken, but after seeing the life she had led Gerald into, he had realised over the years that in fact he’d had a lucky escape, but that didn’t stop him from feeling sorry for her now.
