ANNE ASHLEY - An Ideal Companion

‘Have that one. I can easily make another,’ she obligingly offered, but Hugo shook his head.

‘No, it’s time you were abed.’ He slanted a look that was gently teasing and yet at the same time touchingly earnest. ‘I should feel aggrieved if I’m obliged to set out on the morrow without being granted the opportunity to say a final farewell.’

Had he but realised it, Ruth herself was continuing to experience scant pleasure at the prospect and yet sensibly accepted there was precious little she could do to delay his departure. Moreover, although he lived in an adjoining county, he might just as well have resided on the other side of the world, so slim were their chances of ever meeting again, at least by accident.

Sensible though she might have been to have accepted this already, as she accompanied him up the staircase, she racked her brain for something, anything that might delay him seeking his bed immediately. Sadly, any hope of doing so was thwarted by surprisingly discovering Julia Adams lurking in the passageway at the top of the stairs.

She appeared momentarily startled by their appearance, then seemed to collect herself. ‘Oh, I was hoping you hadn’t retired, Miss Harrington. I was just attempting to locate your room. There must be a split in my valise. I’m afraid everything has become so very damp. Could you possibly oblige me by lending me a nightgown?’

‘Of course,’ Ruth responded before masterfully suppressing a resigned sigh as she turned to the Colonel. ‘Just put the tray down on that table outside Lady Beatrice’s room, sir, and I shall bid you goodnight.’

After taking a minute or so to locate the required garment, Ruth emerged from her bedchamber in the hope of seeing the Colonel still lingering there, only to discover Mrs Adams awaiting her.

After handing over the freshly laundered nightgown, Ruth didn’t delay in whisking herself into Lady Beatrice’s room to find the lady sitting up in bed, supported by a mound of pillows, and not, as expected, appearing in the least fatigued.

‘Was that Colonel Prentiss I heard you conversing with a few moments ago?’

‘Yes, and Mrs Adams. She wished to borrow a nightgown,’ Ruth enlightened her before placing the small tray containing the nightcap within easy reach on the bedside table. ‘If there’s nothing else I can get for you, ma’am, I shall retire myself.’

She was subjected to a piercing stare. ‘Yes, you do look tired. A pity, I was hoping to have a private talk with you. There was something I wished to explain,’ Lady Beatrice revealed, then shrugged. ‘No matter, it can wait until morning. Just lock my door before you leave. I don’t feel safe with so many...strangers in the house. And you would do well to do likewise.’

Although she happily did as bidden, Ruth flatly refused to be influenced by such foolish flights of fancy. Who was likely to visit her at the dead of night, for heaven’s sake? Certainly neither Dr Dent or Mr Blunt, she mused, changing into her nightwear. They were far too strait-laced for such capers; not to mention too sensible to risk their respective livelihoods if rumours of such scandalous goings-on were ever spread abroad. As for Tristram Boothroyd...? Well, he possibly viewed her in the light of some dull maiden aunt, she decided, somewhat dispirited at the thought. And as for the Colonel...?

For a few deliciously frivolous moments she allowed herself to ponder on just such an occurrence, and what her possible reaction might be, before common sense prevailed and she took herself roundly to task for even contemplating such a scandalous situation. The Colonel was a gentleman, kind and considerate, but certainly not interested in conducting a dalliance with her. He’d be the very last person to pay her a midnight visit!

* * *

Yet, later, something did succeed in rousing her briefly from slumber. The fire in the grate had long since ceased to send flickering darts of light about the bedchamber and the room was in total darkness, save for the suggestion of candlelight beneath the communicating door. There was not so much as a sound except that of her own breathing and there was no shadowy movement from any corner. Even so, Ruth couldn’t shake off the eerie feeling that she wasn’t alone, until sleep finally reclaimed her.

Chapter Three

The hand gently shaking her shoulder eventually succeeded in rousing Ruth from slumber; she opened her eyes to discover Agatha surprisingly standing by the bed. Only on those rare occasions when she had been unwell had she received the attentions of Lady Beatrice’s personal maid, so quite naturally Ruth’s first instinct was to suppose something must surely be wrong.

‘The mistress’s door to the passageway be locked,’ Agatha reminded her. ‘And as I was obliged to come this way I thought you might like to know some of the visitors be already enjoying breakfast.’ All at once a glint of mischief was clearly discernible in the maid’s dark eyes. ‘And—er—Colonel Prentiss be among them.’

‘And why, pray, should you suppose I might be interested to discover that?’ Ruth responded, striving for that air of sheer indifference she was definitely not experiencing.

‘Because, when I was about to go up to tend the mistress last night, he came out of the drawing room and asked particular-like if you were still about,’ Agatha revealed, much to Ruth’s surprise, though she was determined not to read too much into the startling disclosure. After all, hadn’t he made a point of saying his original intention had been to have a last word with his servant?

Aware that she was being regarded closely, she again strived for that air of detachment. ‘Colonel Prentiss is a well-mannered gentleman, Aggie. He sought me out to express his thanks, in person, for all the extra work he and his fellow travellers had obliged the servants to do. And so, too, did Mrs Adams, as it happens,’ she added in the hope of vanquishing any foolish notions the maid might be harbouring with regard to her and the Colonel. Because after today, she silently reminded herself, echoing her thoughts of the night before, she would be unlikely ever to see him again.

‘You’d best take that hot chocolate in to your mistress before it gets cold,’ she advised in a valiant attempt to gain a respite from those all-too-perceptive dark eyes.

Mercifully, it worked. Ruth was then able to swing her feet to the floor in order to get herself ready for the day ahead. She had just reached the washstand when the sound of breaking china, accompanied by a half-stifled scream, reached her ears. Naturally curious, she slewed round to discover Agatha already standing in the communicating doorway, her face ashen.

‘Oh, do come quick! It’s the mistress...I can’t wake her...I think she’s...’

Ruth didn’t wait for the explanation Agatha seemed unable to give. Sweeping up her dressing gown, she brushed past the maid to discover Lady Beatrice lying in bed, eyes closed, head lolling on one side. For all the world she appeared sound asleep, yet Ruth sensed something was very wrong. The curtains at the windows had already been thrown back and she could see quite clearly, even before she had reached the bedside, that the occupant looked deathly pale.

A shiver of revulsion trickled through her as she forced herself to reach for one of the hands lying limply on the bedcover. The flesh felt cold, lifeless, as she raised the wrist, then let it fall.

‘Yes, I think she is...dead,’ she managed to utter, before a kind of creeping numbness threatened to overcome her, and it was a moment or two before she was able to combat the shock sufficiently to concentrate her thoughts again. ‘If Dr Dent is not among those at present in the breakfast parlour, then go to his room, and inform him his presence is required here urgently.’