Rags-To-Riches Wife. Catherine Tinley

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       Chapter One

      January 1815, Beechmount Hall, Yorkshire

      Robert strode along the hallway to his uncle’s library. He entered without knocking, his mind still half-lost in the ledgers he had been reviewing with the steward. The estate’s finances were in good shape, so perhaps this would be a good year to build a few new cottages in the lane beside the east field...

      ‘What kept you?’

      His uncle’s barking tone immediately made Robert’s hackles rise. Biting back the retort that came to mind, instead he said simply, ‘I was with the steward.’

      ‘When I send for you I expect you to come immediately!’

      His uncle was sitting ramrod-stiff in his armchair, the fire in his eyes contrasting sharply with the signs of his advanced age. His walking stick rested by the fireplace, just within reach, and his valet had provided plump cushions at his uncle’s back. The old man’s morning brandy rested on the table beside him, along with his hand bell. It was no longer easy for him to walk to the bell-pull, so his valet had come up with this solution. The valet would be working within earshot, ready to attend to his master’s needs instantly.

      Good.

      Robert sat in the facing armchair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘And here I am.’ Robert took a deep breath and reminded himself that nothing was achieved by arguing with his uncle.

      ‘Pah! Do not indulge me! I am no child!’

      Robert ignored this, instead asking mildly, ‘Why did you send for me?’

      ‘I have an errand for you.’ His uncle picked up the sheaf of papers that had been resting in his lap. ‘I have just received an interesting intelligence and I must... But no, it would not do to speak of it... The report is well written and yet I cannot be certain—No, not until I see her...’

      Robert waited patiently. In recent months his elderly uncle had become increasingly introspective, without losing any of his fire and cantankerousness.

      Refocusing, his uncle looked at him directly. ‘Last autumn I hired a Bow Street Runner.’

      Robert lifted an astonished eyebrow.

       A Runner? What on earth is he up to?

      ‘I paid him in coin, so you and that officious new steward would not find me out.’ His uncle cackled with glee at his own ingenuity.

      ‘But, Uncle, you may spend your money on anything you wish. You are master here.’ He forbore to point out that the ‘new’ steward had been there almost ten years.

      For this impertinence he received a glare. ‘Your saying so is the surest proof that I am no longer any such thing!’

      Robert frowned. ‘Now, that is unfair. I have taken some of the burdens from your shoulders these past years only to assist you, never to undermine you.’

      His uncle waved this away. ‘Make no mistake, I would not wish to have them back again. What care I now about the concerns of the steward or the tenants or my fortune? My days are ending and I have other fish to fry.’

      ‘Nonsense! Why, you will outlive us all—just to spite us!’

      This earned a brief guffaw. ‘Nevertheless, there are things I must do.’ His eyes dropped to the papers in his lap, then back to meet Robert’s gaze. ‘I need you to fetch someone. A visitor.’

      Robert’s senses were suddenly fully awake. ‘What visitor?’

      ‘Her name is Miss Bailey—Jane Bailey—and she may be found at or near...’ He consulted the report, ‘Ledbury House, near the village of Netherton in Bedfordshire.’

      ‘Bedfordshire! Wait—you wish for me to travel all the way to Bedfordshire and back again? Can’t you send a servant?’

      He nodded. ‘That’s it. And, no, it must be you.’ A sly look flitted briefly across his face.

      ‘Who is she?’

      ‘Good question. In truth, I do not know for certain...the Bow Street Runner has hit upon her as a possibility, but I cannot be sure until I see her, assess her...’

       What is he talking about?

      ‘What can you tell me? Why did you commission a Bow Street Runner?’ Robert was struggling to comprehend the situation.

       Has he finally run mad?

      The old man pondered for a moment, then nodded to himself. ‘I can tell you I mean her no harm. As for the rest,—it is best if you do not know. You might say something to her that may complicate the situation.’

       Unacceptable.

      ‘Then I cannot go. You are not asking me to travel a few miles, to Knaresborough or Harrogate. You are asking me to go all the way to Bedfordshire and back—four or five days each way. Before I agree to such a thing I need to understand the reasons behind it.’

      ‘You seek to bargain with me, boy? How dare you!’ His ire raised, the old man’s eyes flashed fire at Robert. ‘You shall do this because I order you to!’

      ‘Indeed?’ Robert sat back, adopting a languid pose. ‘It seems to me that it will be my decision, not yours.’ Just occasionally, Robert felt the need to stand up to his uncle.

      His uncle half rose from his chair, his face mottled with anger. ‘You—’ The papers slid from his lap and dispersed onto the richly coloured carpet. His hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly, the knuckles white. Then he sank down again.

      After a brief pause, Robert bent to pick up the papers. Resisting the temptation to read, his eye nevertheless caught sight of a name—Lord Kingswood. As far as he knew, there was no connection between his uncle and Lord Kingswood. His curiosity increased further.

      He glanced at his uncle as he handed him back the papers. The old man looked smaller, defeated.

       I should not have pushed him so far.

      ‘Robert.’ A claw-like hand gripped his. ‘This is important to me. I cannot tell you why—not yet, leastways.’ He swallowed. ‘I am making a request. Please grant me this.’

      Five days there. Five days back. In winter. Inns and a jolting carriage and endless inconvenience.

      ‘Very well,’ he heard himself say. ‘I shall fetch her for you.’

       Two weeks later, Ledbury House, Netherton, Bedfordshire

      The day Jane’s life changed began just like any other. It was one of those early February mornings that could not decide whether to wallow in winter or look forward to spring. The pale blue sky teased with the promise of sunshine, СКАЧАТЬ