The Honourable Earl. Mary Nichols

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      Janet fetched her cloak for her and she flung it over her shoulders, lifted the hood over her curls and left with the servant from the Hall.

      Mrs Fostyn did not return until nearly dawn the next morning. Lydia, who had been sleeping fitfully, heard her step on the stair and hurried out in her nightgown to meet her. She looked pale and tired and her eyes, though dark-rimmed, were bright with tears. ‘Mama, what has happened? Why have you been so long?’

      ‘He is dead, Lydia,’ she said flatly. ‘The Earl of Blackwater is dead.’

      ‘Oh.’ She could not bring herself to say she was sorry. ‘How did it happen?’

      ‘I will tell you all about it later. I am tired. I must rest.’

      ‘Of course. I’ll wake Janet to help you.’

      ‘No, I can manage. Go back to bed or you will disturb everyone. Later we will talk.’ She turned from Lydia and went into her own room, shutting the door softly behind her, shutting her daughter out. Hurt and feeling somewhat resentful, Lydia returned to her own room.

      It was nearly noon before her mother put in an appearance in the drawing room, but by then she looked more like her normal self. She smiled at the girls who, for want of anything else to do and to keep their fingers busy, were continuing their needlework. ‘Let me see how much you have done,’ she said, taking Lydia’s from her and inspecting the stitches. ‘Very good, very good indeed, though I am not sure we shall be able to go now, what with the Earl—’

      ‘Oh, Mama, surely you will not cancel going because he has died?’ Annabelle wailed. ‘He is not a relative. We do not have to go into mourning for him.’

      ‘No, but the organisers may well decide not to hold the ball in view of the fact that his lordship was one of its main sponsors.’

      ‘Oh, no.’ It seemed to Lydia that every bad thing that had happened to them, every disappointment, could be laid at the door of the Earl.

      In the event the ball was not to be cancelled, simply postponed until after funeral, when his lordship’s heir might decide whether it should take place or not. His heir. Lord Ralph Latimer was new Earl of Blackwater, though it seemed no one knew where he was to be found. ‘I was told by his lordship’s valet that there has been no contact between him and the family since…since it happened,’ their mother told them. ‘I thought they corresponded, that his lordship knew where he was, but if he did, he died without saying. I believe the lawyers are looking into it.’

      ‘How did his lordship die, Mama?’ Lydia asked. ‘You said it was an accident.’

      ‘Yes, he fell down the stairs from the upper floor to the gallery.’ She gulped hard and went on. ‘The doctor said his back was broken.’

      ‘But he was conscious. He asked for you?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Why you? Why not his wife?’

      ‘She was not well… Oh, this is so difficult. His wife has never been the same since Ralph went away. She has not always been in her right mind. Sometimes she raves, sometimes she is quite violent towards him. I believe he went to her room to visit her. She…you must promise not to say a word of this to anyone…’ They nodded and she went on, ‘She attacked him. It is why he fell. They have had to restrain her.’

      ‘You mean she pushed him?’

      ‘I believe so.’

      ‘Poor lady,’ Lydia said, for the first time feeling some sympathy for her.

      ‘Yes. But you see why she would have been no use to his lordship.’

      ‘But you were.’

      ‘Yes. We have…we have a strong bond. We have both lost those nearest to us by a cruel blow…’

      ‘Is that how you see it? How can you be so forgiving? And if Lord Latimer—I mean, the new Earl comes home, how will you greet him? With a curtsy and a smile?’

      ‘I do not know,’ her mother answered. ‘We shall have to wait and see.’

      The funeral could not be delayed when no one knew if the new Earl had even been informed of the tragedy. Some said he had died of a fever in the tropics; some said he had served as a common soldier and died in battle. Others said he was alive, but would never dare show his face. Others, who sympathised, said he would see the Fostyns off his land as soon as he came, which was no more than they deserved.

      The day before the funeral, a second tragedy struck. The Countess escaped those employed to look after her and threw herself from the roof of the Hall. Grief, everyone said, grief and the fact that her husband had turned to Mrs Fostyn when he lay dying and not to his wife. Lydia was furious on her mother’s behalf and was all for making public what her mother told her about the Countess’s state of mind, but Anne refused to countenance such a thing and said the Earl and Countess should be allowed to lie in peace.

      There were two funerals instead of one and still the speculation went on about the new Earl and what was to happen to the Hall if he could not be found. And no one speculated more than the Fostyn family. They lived in the dower house only by courtesy of the dead man. Where would they go if they were turned out? How would they live?

      ‘We must hold our heads up, pretend nothing is wrong,’ their mother said, though Lydia was not sure how much of the gossip she had heard. ‘We will finish these gowns. If there is no Victory Ball, there will be others.’

      Which was how Lydia and Anne came to be in Chelmsford a month after the funeral, searching for pink velvet ribbon for Annabelle’s gown and braid to match the brocade of Lydia’s. Anne wanted to visit an old friend and Lydia suspected she needed someone to confide in, someone to whom she could tell her troubles; talking to her daughters was not the same thing at all.

      ‘You look for the ribbon, Lydia, and meet me in the lending library.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I do not know how long I shall be but, if you are surrounded by books, you will not mind waiting.’

      They parted in the street. Lydia watched her mother go with an ache in her heart, wishing she would confide in her more than she had. But when she had spoken of her problems, the day before the Earl’s death, Lydia admitted she had not taken her as seriously as she should have done. And now her mother had shut her out, taken control of herself, and was determined to look after her brood no matter what. Lydia sighed. She had to do something to help and the only thing she could do was to consider marriage.

      She pulled herself together and went into a tiny haberdashery shop where she found the pink ribbon, but there was no match for the braid. She tried other establishments to no avail and was just leaving the last shop when it started to rain heavily. She stood in the doorway, waiting for it to ease, when she was joined by a young man with an umbrella. The doorway was narrow and the rain was pouring off the overhanging roof on to her shoulders.

      ‘Allow me,’ he said, holding the umbrella over her. ‘It is big enough for both of us if we stand closer.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she said primly, but declined to move nearer to him. He was already too close for her peace of mind.

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