Dorothy Elbury - The Major and the Country Miss

Just as I had always done until that time , she recollected, with an inward shudder, as they walked across the marble-tiled floor towards the drawing-room.

Whilst it was true that Lord Tatler’s retraction of his offer of marriage had affected her greatly, her initial distress had been as nothing compared to the painful humiliation that she had felt on being made aware of the real reason that lay behind her suitor’s reluctant withdrawal. Her uncle’s somewhat embarrassed explanation that she had, in fact, been born before her parents had exchanged any marriage vows had delivered a devastating blow to her self-confidence, and was certainly not something that she would ever be prepared to share with Stephanie, no matter how much her friend might tease and cajole her!

As a result of her uncle’s disclosures and despite her aunt’s protests to the contrary, Georgianne had, forthwith, resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood. Having already known the pain of rejection, she had done her best to protect her heart from any further such damage. While she had always been perfectly charming and agreeably polite to every one of the several prospective suitors who had attempted to win her hand during the past three years, she had been equally dogged in her determination that the unfortunate facts of her birth should not become common currency and had, thus far, refused to allow her heart to be swayed by any of those young men’s eager blandishments.

Nevertheless, as she found herself wistfully recalling, for perhaps the third or fourth time that evening, the rapt look that had appeared on Will Maitland’s countenance, as he had sat drinking in Stephanie’s loveliness, it was with considerable difficulty that she managed to control the sudden longing that welled up inside her, its very presence threatening to destroy her hard-won equanimity.

Chapter Four

Leaping from his mount, Maitland passed the reins to a waiting ostler and was just about to make his way into the Dun Cow when he heard a voice from the far side of the stableyard calling out his name. Turning swiftly, he beheld a very familiar face from his not-so-distant past.

‘Sergeant Andrews!’ he grinned, reaching forwards to grasp the other man’s outstretched hand. ‘What in the name of fortune are you doing here? I was under the impression that you hailed from Essex!’

Pete Andrews, an ex-sergeant from Maitland’s own Light Cavalry regiment, was a tall, lanky individual whose once-handsome features had been severely marred by the vicious sabre slash that he had received while on the field at Waterloo.

‘Didn’t fancy goin’ back home with this ’ere, guv,’ he grunted, ruefully fingering the puckered scar that ran diagonally across his face. ‘Frighten my poor Rosie to death, so it would!’

‘You would rather that your wife believed you dead?’ exclaimed the astonished Maitland. ‘But what about your children—you have two young sons, I believe?’

‘Aye, that I have.’ Andrews nodded, his bright blue eyes clouding over. ‘Tommy and Billy—ain’t set eyes on the pair of ’em for nigh on four years now—but I do my best to send ’em all bits of cash whenever I gets the chance, guv!’

‘Very commendable, Andrews,’ returned his former major, raising an eyebrow. ‘However, I would be prepared to gamble that your good lady would as lief have your presence, rather than your pennies!’

‘Not possible at the moment, guv,’ shrugged Andrews. ‘Us old soldiers ’ave got to go where we can find the work—two of my old muckers are up ’ere, too, as it ’appens. I dare say you’ll, no doubt, recall Privates Skinner and Todd?’

‘Only too well, Andrews!’ replied Maitland, with a reminiscent grin, as he brought to mind the pair of rather shady individuals to whom his ex-sergeant had referred. Although they had always been up to some devilry or other, their ingenuity at ferreting out provisions for the communal pot had been second to none. Had it not been for the pair’s amazing scavenging abilities, there had been more than a few occasions when he and his men might well have been forced to face the enemy with empty stomachs.

‘So, what brought you to this part of the country?’ he enquired.

‘Matty Skinner used to work ’ere when ’e were a lad,’ explained Andrews. ‘Put in a word for us, so ’e did—seems coachin’ inns can always find work for them as knows their way round ’orses.’

‘Well, your employers will surely not be able to fault you on that score, Sergeant,’ nodded Maitland, as he turned to go. ‘I just wish you would give some more thought to returning to your family.’ Then, after a thoughtful pause, he added, ‘I dare say I could find you a place in my own stables—probably run to a cottage, too, if needed. What do you say?’

At first, the man’s eyes appeared to light up in eager interest but then, after a brief hesitation, he gave a careless shrug, saying, ‘Thanks for the offer, Guv; I’ll certainly bear it in mind!’

Later that same evening, Maitland, comfortably ensconced in the small parlour that had been set aside for his private use, swirled the remnants of the brandy in his glass and, gazing down into the amber liquid, spent some little while ruminating over the day’s happenings. That his ex-sergeant had not immediately jumped at his offer of employment had surprised him somewhat, since it would seem that the man, if his almost skeletal frame and shabby appearance were anything to go by, could hardly be earning enough to support himself, let alone contribute to his deserted family’s welfare. Sipping thoughtfully at his drink, Maitland could only suppose that, in order to send them any meaningful amount, Andrews must be reduced to sleeping above the stables and taking what he could get, in the way of sustenance, from the inn’s kitchens. Shaking his head at the man’s baffling obstinacy, Maitland then turned his mind to the far more pleasurable subject of the deliciously lovely Miss Highsmith and wondered whether the following afternoon would be considered too early to pay the promised visit to Gresham Hall.

As luck would have it, however, shortly before noon on the following day, the Honourable Jeremy, complete with valet, arrived, along with one very large trunk and several bulging valises strapped to the rear of his smart chaise. This quickly put an end to Maitland’s plans to ride over to Gresham Hall and so, leaving Pringle to organise his master’s belongings, Maitland invited his cousin to accompany him down to the parlour, called for two bumpers of ale and proceeded to share with him the meagre bits of information that he had already manage to obtain from his previous day’s enquiries.

‘Sounds as if this Barkworth fellow could be worth a visit.’ mused Fenton, as soon as Maitland had concluded his short report. ‘Sure to be able to tell us where we might find nuns, at any rate.’ And, tossing back the remains of his drink, he got to his feet, saying, ‘Let’s get on with it, then—nothing like striking while the iron’s hot, as the saying goes!’

Accordingly, the cousins presented themselves at Reginald Barkworth’s little cottage, which was situated close to the parish church at which he had once been incumbent, and were ushered into the cramped and dusty room that the elderly cleric had designated as his office. Hurriedly removing the untidy piles of papers and books from the decidedly rickety-looking chairs upon which they had been perched, he invited the two men to make themselves comfortable.

‘Sit down, sit down, please, gentlemen,’ he exhorted them, taking his own seat behind a desk that was covered in such an assortment of miscellaneous clutter that Maitland, who was a great believer in orderly arrangement, began to doubt whether this shaggy-haired venerable could possibly have anything to impart to them that might help them in their quest.