ANNE ASHLEY - A Lady Of Rare Quality

Naturally surprised, but not unduly alarmed, Annis alighted from the carriage the instant the steps had been let down, with the fiercely protective Disher close on her heels.

She had grown accustomed throughout her life to being compared with her father. Not only did she resemble him in looks, but, to a certain extent, in character too. Undeniably she had inherited the late Dr Milbank’s acute powers of observation, which she put to good use as she approached the clearly masculine form lying prostrate in the road, and the handsome chestnut gelding standing a mere few yards away from his evidently injured master.

After casting a cursory glance over her left shoulder at the trees that edged the road, Annis dropped to her knees in order to examine the stranger more closely. The blood oozing from a scorched portion of his jacket sleeve, between shoulder and elbow, told its own tale, as did the slight swelling and gash on his forehead. With her maid’s assistance she managed to turn the stranger over on his back. Unfortunately a brief examination of his various pockets did not reveal his identity, merely the fact that the motive for the attack was unlikely to have been robbery.

‘Begging your pardon, miss,’ the agitated post-boy said as Annis, after a closer inspection of the area surrounding the injured man, rose at last to her feet, ‘but we’d best not linger. No saying as who might still be about, lying in wait,’ he added, before he turned, eager, it seemed, to rejoin his colleague and remount his horse.

‘You are not proposing, I trust, to continue the journey and leave this poor fellow here?’ Annis asked, raising her fine, expressive brows in faint hauteur, a gesture that never failed to put Disher in mind of her young mistress’s aristocratic grandmother, in her time a fearsome matriarch whom one had defied at one’s peril.

The look had the desired effect. The injured man was subsequently deposited in the carriage by the two stocky post-boys, though not without a deal of grumbling, and muttering of colourful oaths. Not disposed to linger herself, Annis did not hesitate to order the resumption of the journey once the stranger’s fine gelding had been secured to the back of the conveyance.

‘Are you hoping someone at Greythorpe Manor might know who he is?’ Disher asked, after watching her mistress’s attempt to make the stranger more comfortable by placing a fur muff beneath his injured head, and covering him with a rug.

‘If he’s from around these parts, and I have every reason to suppose he might well be, then, yes, there’s every chance he’ll be known by someone at the Manor.’ Annis took a moment to study the evident aristocratic lines of a face that, although not handsome, was ruggedly attractive and full of character. ‘His clothes alone suggest a man of some means. His mount too is a fine piece of horseflesh. Moreover, gentlemen with funds aplenty at their disposal usually travel great distances by carriage, not on horseback. That is why I’m inclined to believe he’s local.’

Disher smiled. ‘How you put me in mind of your sainted father at times like these, Miss Annis.’

If she had suspected this praise to be received with any degree of pleasure she was doomed to disappointment. When she attained no response whatsoever, she turned her head, and was surprised to discover deep lines of concern furrowing her young mistress’s intelligent brow. ‘What’s troubling you, miss? Do you suspect the gentleman is badly hurt?’

‘A more thorough examination is needed to be sure, but I wouldn’t have said so, no,’ Annis answered promptly. ‘Clearly he’s been shot, but that I suspect is nought but a scratch. The gash to his head is the more serious injury and, unless I’m very much mistaken, was sustained when he fell from his mount.’ She frowned again, perplexed. ‘What I find hard to understand is the motive for the attack. It certainly wasn’t robbery. You saw yourself the size of the purse I drew from his pocket.’

‘Perhaps we happened along before the robber had time to search for the gentleman’s valuables,’ the maid suggested, ‘and he made a quick getaway before he was seen by the post-boys.’

‘Unlikely, Dish,’ Annis countered. ‘As we didn’t hear the sound of a shot—and neither, I suspect, did the post-boys, otherwise they wouldn’t have been quite so surprised to discover our friend here in the road—it’s reasonable to suppose the incident occurred some little time before we arrived on the scene. This is corroborated by the lack of footprints in the snow. Apart from our own, and the chestnut gelding’s, there were no prints. It began to snow some fifteen minutes ago, no more. So the attack, I imagine, took place shortly before then. Ample time for a would-be robber to rifle through the gentleman’s pockets, I should say.’

As the carriage slowed yet again before passing between the stone pillars of an imposing gateway, Annis’s thoughts turned to more mundane matters. Since their return to the carriage the weather had deteriorated further. It was almost impossible to distinguish between the sweep of the drive and the grass verges, and she couldn’t help feeling a deal of unease about the return journey to town. Time was of the essence. In consequence she didn’t waste a precious second in studying the architectural splendour of the Restoration mansion, when the carriage came to a halt outside the imposing front entrance a few minutes later, but marched resolutely up to the solid oak door.

The footman in smart green livery who came in response to her imperious application of the door-knocker was not slow to divulge his master’s absence from home, or the fact that Viscount Greythorpe rarely saw strangers without an appointment.

Annis, undaunted, merely announced her intention of leaving a letter of introduction, and returning on the morrow, weather permitting, before revealing the more pressing concern of the stranger in her hired conveyance.

Although naturally taken aback, the footman braved the elements and accompanied her back down the steps to the waiting carriage. ‘You evidently recognise the gentleman,’ Annis said when the footman’s jaw dropped perceptively the instant after he had peered into the carriage.

‘Know him, ma’am? I should say so… It’s his lordship!’

A fter silently acknowledging how incredibly stupid she had been not to have considered the very real possibility that the injured gentleman might just turn out to be none other than the very person she had travelled so far to see, Annis took command of the situation by ordering the stupefied young footman to assist one of the post-boys in lifting his lordship from the carriage.

Even though by no stretch of the imagination had things gone according to plan that day, Annis was determined to maintain the dignified calm that she never failed to exhibit in times of stress, and for which she was much admired. Without experiencing the least reluctance to do so, she followed into the spacious hall, where she caught immediate sight of someone crossing the chequered floor, heading purposefully in her direction, whose mien strongly suggested that he might well turn out to be none other than the iron ruler of the household staff.

Surprisingly he exhibited no shock whatsoever at the means by which his master had entered the Manor. Only when he fixed his steely gaze on her did his expression alter to any significant degree, and he betrayed what looked suspiciously like a flicker of distaste, as though he had detected a slightly unpleasant odour.

“Never, ever, betray diffidence when dealing with servants, Annis,” her mother had once counselled her, “most especially high-ranking ones. Good servants are extremely discerning. They rarely fail to recognise persons of quality, and will respond accordingly.”