Stranger at the Manor by Mary Kingswood

4: Bonnets And Cards

One day Mr Winslade was bound for Shrewsbury and Market Clunbury to talk to bankers and attorneys, so Phyllida found herself with a free day. Since Viola had stopped calling for her after breakfast, she decided to visit Miss Cokely and help her with her bonnets.

Lucy Cokely, the daughter of a previous parson at St Ann’s, was another of the village spinsters, much of an age with Viola Gage and Phyllida. There should have been a close friendship between the three, but somehow their differing ranks always got in the way. Viola was the highest, for the Gages were one of the principal families of the parish, ceding superiority only to Lord Saxby’s family and the squire. Originally, Lucy Cokely had been regarded as gentry, as the parson’s daughter, and Phyllida was the poor relation as companion to her elderly Aunt Margery, and therefore a person of no consequence. But then Mr Cokely had died and Lucy had slithered down the social scale, and Aunt Margery had died and left Whitfield Villa to Phyllida’s brother, moving her smartly up the rank ladder.

For Viola, that had mattered, but Phyllida had no time for such subtleties. She liked Lucy Cokely, and now that her mother had died and left her dependent on what she could earn from making bonnets, she felt very sorry for her and wished to do everything she could to help. So she took her work bag and walked the short distance to Bramble Cottage, where Lucy lived.

Lucy, as always, welcomed her with pleasure. Phyllida found she was not the only helper today, for Miss Charu Gage was already busy with her needle.

“Miss Beasley! How lovely!” Charu said, looking up from the bonnet she was trimming. “You have brought your work bag with you, just as I have.”

Charu was a young cousin of the Gage family, although via a somewhat less than respectable branch of it. Her father was illegitimate, and had been in and out of prison until he had been bundled off to India to be out of the family’s way. There he had married a local girl and Charu was the fruit of that union, who had only recently discovered her Shropshire relations. She had been baptised as Cornelia Gage, but she preferred her mother’s Hindi name for her. Phyllida rather liked it, feeling it suited her beautiful Indian colouring.

“What would you like me to do today, Lucy?” Phyllida said.

“How kind of you, and so timely when I have so many orders just now. Let me see… could you stitch the ribbon onto this one? Just around the top… like so… and then round the back. Make the stitches as tiny as you can, Phyllida.”

Phyllida drew a chair forward to the work table, and settled down to ply her needle, happy to listen to Charu’s chatter. At first, it was all of the new Lord Saxby and what he might be like, but there was so little known about the man that this subject soon trickled into nothing. Then it was Susannah Winslade’s forthcoming marriage, and Phyllida said all that was proper on the subject. Indeed, she had no hesitation in saying that she was very pleased about the marriage and would be delighted to house the happy couple under her roof, for it was no less than the truth. She liked Dr Broughton, and had always liked Susannah, and sincerely wished them well.

“You do not feel it is rather sudden?” Charu said. “Cousin Viola feels it is a very abrupt arrangement, and also rushing forward with the match when the late Mrs Winslade is so recently deceased, but I do not know myself. I cannot say what proprieties pertain in such circumstances. What do you think, Miss Cokely, Miss Beasley?”

“I see no harm in it,” Lucy said. “They were betrothed already, and it is not as if there were any reason to delay. They are of an age to know their own minds, and I do not suppose the settlements will be complicated.”

“That is true,” Charu said. “Besides, Miss Winslade will not want to linger once the squire marries again.”

Lucy gave a squeak.

“Oh, you did not know?” Charu said. “I do beg your pardon, I thought everyone knew, for Cousin Viola had it from Lady Jennett who had it from the squire himself. He offered for a young lady in Shrewsbury but she would not have him, and now he has gone off to Bath to find someone.”

“So that is why he has rushed off to Bath,” Lucy said, laughing. “Well, I wish him success with all my heart, although I do not know how successful he will be at his age.”

“A man may always aspire to marry, at any age,” Phyllida said.

“Not so a woman,” Lucy said with a sigh. “I should love a rich husband to come along and sweep me off my feet, so that I need never worry about the price of tea and coal ever again, but I shall be forty-five next birthday.” She sighed again. “No one will want me now.”

“But you are a successful milliner!” Charu cried. “The Shrewsbury milliners are buying from you now, and you must have sold ever so many bonnets to them.”

“Oh yes, but they want to buy them at half a crown or five shillings from me, so they can sell them at a guinea a time in their shops, and sometimes they want extra flowers or ribbons on them. I am lucky to make sixpence on each one, for a whole day’s work. But no matter, for Dr Broughton had an excellent idea. He suggested I take in a lodger, a respectable lady, for I have a room to spare now that Mama is no longer here. He has placed a notice in the newspapers for me, and is to take in the responses himself so that I am not troubled by anyone arriving on the doorstep. Of course, the room will need brightening up a little.”

Charu clapped her hands in delight. “Lovely! That will be the very thing, and perhaps you might permit me to help you prepare the room? There are some old curtains at the Grove that could easily be reworked, if Cousin Louisa does not object, and I have a length of cotton that would do for bed hangings, and perhaps a cushion or two. I should so enjoy helping you to make everything ready.”

“How very kind you are,” Lucy said. “Would you like to look at the room?”

“Lovely!”

As they went off together, Phyllida was left smiling at Charu’s enthusiasm. She was such a pleasant person, not at all ashamed of her humble beginnings. Even though she was accepted as a cousin to the Gages now, she made herself useful to them as an unofficial upper servant, and moved effortlessly between the family and the servants, liked and respected by both. It gave her a rather enviable freedom.

~~~~~

Peter felt guilty about borrowing a horse when he could just as easily have taken the stage coach to Shrewsbury, but then the Manor stables were full of idle mounts restless from lack of exercise, and it saved his own pennies. His frame of mind was rather mellow as he set off, for the horse was a fine, spirited beast, far superior to any he had ever owned, the weather was gentle, neither too hot nor too wet, and there was a pleasure in the soft greens of Shropshire. The summer was all but over, tingeing the dusty trees with the first hints of brown, and the hedgerows were full of the promise of berries and nuts to come. In the fields, the harvesters were hard at work, glad to stretch aching backs and limbs to pause and wave as he trotted by.

He found Rudd’s bank without difficulty, and informed a junior manager that Mr Winslade wished to speak to Mr Rudd. This produced a surprising effect, for the manager’s eyebrows rose alarmingly and he bowed quickly and raced off, returning almost immediately with a man whose superior dress suggested this might be Mr Rudd himself. Somewhat older than Peter, his round figure straining against the buttons of his waistcoat was evidence of a certain enjoyment of the dinner table.

“Mr Winslade— oh!”

“You were expecting my cousin, perhaps,” Peter said amiably. “My apologies for not sending in a card, but they are out of date. Mr Peter Winslade.”

“Oh, a cousin. I see. Oh, but… Mr Peter Winslade? Of the Franklin House Bank in Leeds? My dear sir, what a catastrophe! You have my utmost sympathy.”

“You know of my misfortune, then?”

“Of course. Word has been passed from one bank to another, for it is every banker’s nightmare, is it not? That one loan that seems so sound, and a peer of the realm, too. There but for the grace of God might we all go, if the truth be told. Do come into my office and have a glass of something. We can have a comfortable coze together.”

Mr Rudd led Peter into an office of such tidiness, that Peter might almost have fancied himself in his own office in Leeds, and said so. Mr Rudd beamed in delight, and explained his filing system in some detail and at great length.

“But I beg your pardon, sir. This is not why you came to see me today.”

“No, but it is all fascinating,” Peter said with sincerity. “Your method of marking outstanding debts is far superior to my own.”

“How very kind of you to say so, sir, and to take an interest in such matters, for there are few who do. If I may be permitted to make an observation, you are not at all like your cousin. When I heard the name just now, I thought you were he, returned to pay court to my daughter again. That would never have done, you see, for she is on the point of a betrothal… well, we are optimistic… a fine young man from a very good family. As yours is, too,” he added hastily.

“John has gone off to try for better fortune in Bath,” Peter said.

“Ah,” the banker said. “An excellent decision, for although I could not refuse him permission to pay his addresses, I did think… the disparity of age, you see, sir. And Alicia would not countenance the idea, so that was an end to it. Yes, Bath will answer very well… a widow, perhaps, as well-preserved as Squire John is himself. That would be the very thing! But how may I help you today, sir?”

Peter produced his scrap of a letter of authority, and enquired in some trepidation as to the state of his cousin’s accounts. His expectations were not high, but matters were in worse case than he had supposed. The squire was in debit to the tune of almost three thousand pounds, although the banker said cheerfully that the Michaelmas rents would refill the coffers somewhat.

“Not sufficiently,” Peter said, rather shocked at such insouciance towards a very large debt.

“No, but he is the squire, you know. The bank will never press him, and will advance him whatever he needs.”

Peter was horrified at such bad management, but could hardly protest at it when it kept his cousin afloat.

That evening, with some nervousness, he took up Dr Beasley’s offer to attend his card party. He would not have gone at all, for Susannah was to stay at home, but Miss Beasley had been so insistent, and Susannah assured him that she would not object to an evening alone.

“Little Edward is a trifle wheezy, so I shall be able to look in on him frequently. Do go and enjoy yourself. What time would you like the carriage — at half past seven o’clock?”

“No, no. I can walk. It will be a fine evening, and I should enjoy a stroll in the fresh air after being cooped up in the book room all day.”

“But you cannot walk home in the dark, so I shall send Holliday to collect you at half past eleven. The Beasleys like to be finished before midnight.”

Peter was glad he had decided to go, for he was rewarded with the sight of Miss Beasley in evening dress. Her gown was neither fashionable nor particularly flattering, being of a dull material and so dark a blue it was almost black, but it was still a great improvement on the nondescript browns she assumed for day wear. He had an irrational urge to see her in bright silks — jewel colours, to set off her lustrous dark hair and huge eyes, with diamonds at her throat instead of the simple gold chain. But her welcoming smile needed no enhancement.

She began introducing people, but the greetings were cut short by the arrival of Lady Saxby and her four daughters. Peter had not seen the family for years, and the younger daughters not at all, apart from glimpses at church, so there were more introductions to be made. Lady Saxby clearly did not recall him, but he remembered her ethereal beauty well. She had been a strikingly dainty fairy beside the large frame of her husband, and even in her widow’s weeds she was remarkable. Two of the younger daughters had inherited her looks, but the elder two took after their father, to their misfortune. There was a son from Lady Saxby’s first marriage, too, a pleasantly featured young man who strutted around the room and had little to say for himself.

The second daughter — Agnes, was it? — was bursting with news. “We have had a letter… from him!”

“From Lord Saxby,” Miss Saxby said.

Her mother shuddered. “Do not use that name in my presence, Cassandra, if you have any consideration for my feelings. But it is true. The bank clerk has written.”

“He has a sister and a cousin, but they will not be here until October at the earliest,” Agnes said. “He has to go to London first to claim his title and so forth. And he wants us to stay on. Is that not generous of him? He actually hopes we will stay to help him settle, which is excellent news because Mama had planned to lease the Grange and now Lady Jennett has got it so she cannot, and we cannot afford Wellwood Park, because Cass’s trustees—”

Lady Saxby winced and Miss Saxby laid one hand on her sister’s arm. “I am sure no one wishes to hear that, Agnes. It was a very well-composed letter, I thought. He expressed himself with eloquence.”

“No doubt he had help from some educated person,” Lady Saxby said. “Shall we take our seats? Dr Beasley, you may partner me tonight. Shall we take our usual table? You there, footman, bring me another cushion. Viola, Jeffrey, will you join us?”

Gradually, the guests took their places for whatever game appealed to them. There were three whist tables, one pair playing piquet and a large, rowdy table playing Speculation. Peter was scooped up by Mr Gage and two gentlemen he had met for the first time that evening. Mr Willerton-Forbes was a lawyer from London and Captain Edgerton was formerly of the East India Army Company, and wore sword-loops, although thankfully he had left off the sword. As they settled to the first game, the conversation was light and easy, but when Peter took five tricks in succession, a more serious atmosphere fell upon them.

At the end of the first game, Mr Gage, who was Peter’s partner, laughed. “Well, gentlemen, how pleasant it is to see you bested at last. I should perhaps tell you, Winslade, that these two rascals have taken enough coins from my pockets to near beggar me, but I believe the tables will be turned tonight.”

“A fortunate start,” Captain Edgerton said, “but we shall come about, I am sure of it.”

Mr Willerton-Forbes smiled benignly. “Perhaps, Michael, but Mr Winslade is a banker, you see. He has a very good head for numbers. Is it not so, Mr Winslade?”

“Ah, you are counting the cards?” Edgerton said at once.

“Not exactly,” Peter said nervously. “Not intentionally, anyway. I just have a facility for remembering them, that is all. It is not cheating.”

“No, indeed,” Mr Willerton-Forbes said. “Have you ever met Lord Humphrey Marford?”

Peter’s eyebrows rose. “I am not often in the company of the sons of dukes, sir.”

“The son of a marquess, merely, but an excellent card player, just as you are yourself, Mr Winslade. He remembers the cards, too. He has a gaming establishment in York, which you should certainly visit if ever you are there. You would enjoy the play. And if you want a duke, I know one in Hampshire who would give you a very good game of piquet.”

Peter could only shake his head in bemusement. “You are very well connected, sir. I wonder what brings you to this quiet part of Shropshire instead of rubbing shoulders with the great ones at court.”

“Murder and mayhem, Mr Winslade,” the lawyer said, his eyes twinkling. “A body, a disappearance, a kidnapping, midnight thievery, unexplained deaths. We have been kept busy since we arrived in March.”

“Gracious me! And I thought nothing ever happened here.”

“Nothing ever did until these two arrived,” Mr Gage said. “Fortunately, all that is now in the past, yet here they are still. They cannot tear themselves away from our sleepy little village.”

“There is still much with which to occupy ourselves,” Captain Edgerton said. “We have been engaged by the Saxby family lawyers to facilitate the new Lord Saxby’s transition from bank clerk to baron, and also in a private matter, of which I am not at liberty to speak. However, we are perfectly willing to offer our services to investigate the next incidence of murder or mayhem that occurs.”

They all laughed heartily. Peter laughed too, but somewhat apprehensively, and hoped there would be no further murder or mayhem. He liked adventure as much as the next man, but one could perhaps have too much of a good thing.

He was rather enjoying his retired existence sorting papers and ledgers — no, in truth, he was in heaven. He had found a great pile of ledgers in a cupboard, neatly inscribed with the household accounts, every item recorded and with totals by the week, quarter and year. He had lists of servants from the butler and housekeeper, of rents from the land agent and of tradesmen from Susannah. He was busily compiling his own lists distilled from all of these. And then, not the least of his delights, he had the agreeable sight each day of Miss Beasley sitting opposite him at the vast oak desk, systematically looking through the mountain of papers in the box and filing them appropriately. And she hummed as she worked. Sometimes as she happened to look up and catch his eye, the shy smile she gave him warmed him to his heart. It was glorious. He wished it might never end.

For the first time in a great many years he wondered what it would be like to be married, and to have those luminous dark eyes gazing at him over the breakfast table every day. And the answer was not hard to find — it would be very pleasant, he decided, very pleasant indeed. It was not, of course, an outcome remotely in the realm of possibility, for he had barely two farthings to his name, and could not even support himself as a gentleman should, let alone a wife and children. Would there be children? Perhaps, although Miss Beasley must be reaching an age when that would not be likely.

The day after the card party, Susannah came bustling into the book room waving an opened letter. “I have had a reply from Papa. I wrote to him about the jewel box, asking why it was not in the strong box, and he says he has not been able to open it for some time — a problem with the locks. He says he cannot precisely remember the jewel box, but he would have put it in the attic.”

“The attic!” Peter cried, astonished. “Where anyone may find it?”

“He always swore it was the safest place in the house, for no one could ever find anything there, and it is quite true. The house is so oddly designed that there are a great many attics, all separate, so one never knows quite where to look, but in this case it will be easy. It will be the southwestern tower attic. Papa’s bedroom is above this room and the attic above that. The stair leads directly from Papa’s dressing room.”

“Then, if you will describe the jewel box to me, I shall go and look at once,” Peter said. “I shall not be happy until it is safely stowed in the strong box once more.”

After some spirited discussion, during which Peter, Susannah and Miss Beasley competed for the right to scrabble about in the attic, becoming encrusted with cobwebs and thoroughly filthy, it was agreed that Susannah’s gown was too fine for such work, and in any event, she was needed by the servants and children. With the minimum of polite resistance, therefore, Peter and Miss Beasley armed themselves with lanterns and set off into the darkness.

The southwestern tower attic was much as expected — crammed with boxes and old furniture and the usual assortment of things that someone generations ago thought might one day be useful again. There were various scuttlings amongst the heaps, but when Peter tentatively suggested that Miss Beasley might prefer not to encounter any wildlife, she merely laughed.

“You should have seen Whitfield Villa when Aunt Margery had the place,” she said cheerfully. “Rats in the cellar and mice in the pantry. One had to keep covers over everything. As soon as she died, I got a cat in.”

Under Peter’s direction, they worked systematically from one end of the attic to the other, but although they found several boxes of the right size and shape, they all proved to be empty, and were in any case so encrusted with dirt as to suggest they had not been placed there at any point in the squire’s lifetime.

They had almost reached the gable end when Miss Beasley called out, “There! Over there — just beside that folded screen. That is the right size.”

Eagerly she stepped forward, but then, abruptly, she stopped, swaying, with an “Oh!” of surprise.

Peter had just time to realise that the floor was bending beneath her… just time to take three steps towards her… just time to reach out a hand to grasp her and pull her to safety…

The boards beneath them gave way in a great groaning, crashing, splintering cacophony of breakage, and they were hurtled into darkness.