Chapter 2

2

MISS BLYTHE'S WORLD SHIFTS ON ITS AXIS

As Leonora ran into the Manor, she heard the church clock strike once and immediately went in search of Mrs Priddy. The older woman was busy pickling walnuts in the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her apron and looked up with a lively eye. ‘Nora dearest, I do wish you would change your gown and wear something more charming. I don't like to see you hiding your light under such dowdy apparel.'

‘Oh Nanny P, it's not a social call; the only person we will see is Stowe. I'm there to tune the piano-forte, that's all.' Leonora went to collect her case of tuning instruments, changed her shoes, and found a capacious apron to protect her dress from the dust from the internal stringing of such an instrument. She threw her old green pelisse over the offending plain blue dimity and with Mrs Priddy beside her, walked round to the stables. ‘I thought it easier if we went in the gig. It's a bit far for you to walk, Nanny P,' she said, looking down fondly at the small bustling figure by her side.

Martin, the groom, was busy brushing mud from the fetlock of her grey mare when Leonora asked him to harness up Clover, their hack. She handed her elderly nanny onto the seat who then patted the wood beside her. ‘Lucky it's not far. For someone as slender as you, my love, this is a hard seat to sit on for long. Luckily, I have natural cushioning.'

Leonora climbed into the gig, picked up the reins and they trotted out of the stable yard and onto the lane that led to Rokeby Abbey. She had only ever trespassed in the grounds and glimpsed the buildings through the encroaching woods, but had never actually approached the house from the main entrance. The drive passed through an avenue of overgrown chestnut trees, their lower branches bending to the ground and making it difficult to navigate. As they followed the sweeping bend, the mansion was slowly revealed to them. Leonora could not suppress a gasp. The ancient Abbey ruins loomed over the house, roofless, its great gothic windows empty of glass, ivy falling in curtains down its walls. The desolate atmosphere was intensified by a roost of ravens which had exploded into the sky, screaming their warning to a magnificent osprey circling in the warm air currents overhead.

Mrs Priddy felt Leonora flinch and put a hand on her knee. ‘It's always had a rather forbidding aspect, but it's looking more derelict than I recall.'

Leonora drove the horse past the ruins to draw up outside the great house, built against the west wall of the old Abbey. The main wing was Elizabethan with three enormous windows adding elegance to the central section, the many panes of glass glittering like marcasite in the late summer sun. Ancient stone cloisters united the ruined Abbey with its tower at the farther end, and the stone portico round the front door to the house was distinguished by an old yew tree.

Leonora jumped down and walked around to help Mrs Priddy to the ground. Clover stood patiently while her mistress looped the reins over a rusty hook in the wall. ‘I'll ask if the Rokeby groom can take her to the stables, as we'll be some time. You have your knitting, haven't you?' She pealed the doorbell and both women listened while it echoed through the house.

Eventually they heard footsteps and the locks drawn on the great oak door. It swung open slowly and an elderly man, his face the colour of parchment, stood uncertainly on the threshold. Mrs Priddy walked forward with a friendly greeting, ‘Sam! You remember me? Peg Priddy.'

‘Of course I do, Mrs P. I remember you coming here when the Countess was alive. In better days.' His face dropped further.

Leonora gave him a friendly smile. ‘Good afternoon, Stowe. I'm Leonora Appleby. The Earl asked me to tune the piano-forte.'

The old man nodded and turned to lead them towards the back of the house, complaining to Nanny P about the state of the property, too long empty. Leonora, following in their wake and full of curiosity, was free to look around. The hallway was dark and cheerless, the ancient oak staircase rising in stately flights to the even dimmer recesses of the upper floors. Dried leaves had blown in and collected in small dusty piles.

All doors to other rooms were closed, which added to the sense of gloom and decay. How she longed to see what lay beyond those mahogany defences. Rokeby Abbey was so much grander than the Manor but lacked the colour, light and life of her own childhood home. And yet Leonora sensed this was a house just waiting to have windows and doors flung open, to be loved again.

She hurried to catch up with Stowe and Nanny P, just in time to see the farthest door opened into a drawing room filled with light. It ran along the back of the house and despite its vast size, seemed a more welcoming space. Five tall windows drew the eye to the overgrown garden with the distant glitter of the lake. Her lake. There were sofas on either side of a great ecclesiastical stone fireplace and the piano-forte stood at the far side in an alcove in the window.

Stowe walked with them towards it and lifted the lid, securing it open with its rosewood prop. A fire burned in the fireplace, which Nanny P eyed with gratitude.

‘Thank you, Stowe,' Leonora said, placing her case of tuning instruments on the piano stool.

‘May you take some tea?' His old eyes were looking distinctly more cheerful at the advent of these two ladies in his care.

Leonora answered, ‘Thank you. I'm afraid tuning is a time-consuming business; we'll be here for some time.'

‘You take as long as you need, Miss Appleby. It's good to have some life in the house.'

Leonora was inspecting the instrument when the retainer returned. He placed a silver tray with teapot, bowls and some small pastries on the table by Nanny P then caught Leonora's eye. ‘His lordship was always keen on playing music. While he was a prisoner in France he found an old instrument there; kept 'im sane, he says.' As he turned away, he muttered, ‘Don't know 'bout that – he's not what he was.'

With that enigmatic statement, he left the room, pulling the door to, but not quite catching it on the latch. Leonora wondered if he hoped to hear some of the music she would play, for nothing brought a house to life more quickly than the sound of a piano-forte echoing through empty rooms. Perhaps the silence, like the sombre light, lay as heavily on the servants as on visitors?

Mrs Priddy poured out the tea. ‘Come, my dear, have some refreshment before you begin.' She nibbled on one of the pastries and wrinkled her nose. ‘This is at least three days old. It's more like a rock cake,' she grumbled, but continued to eat.

‘What did Stowe mean? The new Earl is not as he was?'

‘Well, I haven't seen him since he's returned from the war but when I knew the Rokeby boys, they were thick as thieves, though so different in character. Perhaps his brother's death and the horrors of war have altered him.' Nanny P picked up another pastry and was lost in her own memories.

Leonora put on her apron. The inside of the instrument was filled with dead insects and wood dust, and Leonora picked up her small brush and whisked the debris from the strings, then sat down to play to see just how out of tune it had become. By the dereliction in the main house, she suspected it had not been played for many years.

She began Clementi's Sonatina in C major and winced as certain notes were so out of key that the jarring sound was almost painful. Even Nanny P looked up, an expression on her face like she had chewed on a piece of sourest lemon. ‘My dear! What a jingling jangle. I hope it won't prove too difficult to put right.' She had settled deep into the sofa with her knitting in her lap. Leonora had asked what she was making but had only received the answer, ‘a christening shawl'. Nanny P was using the finest gossamer thread and it seemed such a labour of love that any child would be full-grown by the time it was finished.

Starting on the central octave, Leonora picked up her rubber wedge and slipped it under the second string of middle C to damp off its sound while she worked on tuning the first. Her tuning wrench fitted over the wrest pin and as she struck the tuning fork, the thin sound filled the room. Playing the ivory key with her left hand, she turned the wrench with care until the two sounds aligned. In this way she worked from middle C to lower C and began to move down into the bass notes.

The occasional comments from Nanny P had ceased and Leonora glanced across to see her asleep in the glow of the firelight. Stowe brought in a candelabra ready for Leonora to light with a taper from the fire as the day began to fade, and put another couple of logs in the grate to keep the flames high.

Leonora was tired and hungry and thinking she might leave the last two higher octaves until another day. She played the Clementi through one last time, pleased that the necessary notes were those she had managed to retune. The music swelled forth and she imagined it echoing through the dusty house beyond. Making music was central to her life, it banished loneliness and filled the spaces in her heart with love. Leonora felt a quickening of excitement as she moved into the lyrical Andante section when a shaggy dog's head was laid lightly on her knee. She was so engrossed in the music that this unexpected interloper barely broke her concentration.

Little did she know that a man stood in the shadows by the door, watching. Lost to the music, Leonora played on for a minute or so until the natural break at the end of the Andante . From the doorway, her face could only be seen in profile, her skin luminous in the candlelight, her expression rapt as she listened closely for any anomalies in the notes. There was a smudge of dust on her cheek and her homely dress was covered by a plain calico apron. Her chestnut brown hair was piled in an untidy bun on her head, tendrils already escaping, which she brushed impatiently off her brow. The air still seemed to vibrate as the last notes died away.

Leonora paused, about to start the final Vivace section, and in that moment of quiet, noticed the dog. She looked up and turned towards the door with a gasp as she saw the Earl standing in the encroaching dusk.

‘I'm sorry to have startled you, Miss Appleby.' His voice was quiet and amused. He did not sound in the least sorry as he walked towards her with a marked limp. ‘You have wrought some sort of magic on that poor instrument of mine. Thank you. Even Achille seems soothed by the music.' In the flickering light of the candelabra, his face looked leaner, his scar more prominent, his eye patch, sinister. The great wolfhound padded to his side. The Earl's eye glittered as he watched Leonora's almost imperceptible recoil as she saw him fully for the first time. A grim smile twisted his mouth.

‘I'm afraid I still have two of the upper octaves to tune, sir, but it's late and I must take Mrs Priddy home.' She nodded towards the sofa and Alistair Rokeby noticed for the first time the elderly figure asleep in the corner, her cap slightly askew.

His expression instantly lightened. ‘Oh, how good to see Nanny Priddy again. She was but young when my distracted mother called her in for advice on my brother and me.' He walked towards the fire but seemed reluctant to wake her. Turning back to Leonora, he said, ‘But we have all aged. And some have not survived the cruel exigencies of this world.'

Leonora was taken aback at his bleak tone. She sought to reassure him in a small way, saying, ‘Mrs Priddy is remarkably well, you will be pleased to know.' She glanced back to meet his gaze. The severity had returned to his face.

He watched her ruffling the fur behind his hound's ears. ‘You were playing the Clementi. Before you go, Miss Appleby, could you just let me hear the last section, the Vivace, I believe. Music so consoles the spirit, don't you think?'

Leonora was struck by the emotion in his voice. She was about to sit down on the stool again when she was arrested by a thought. ‘My lord, I'd like it if you would play it. You can then tell me if you approve of my tuning.'

She moved away from the instrument as he looked at her, a question on his face. Then he smiled and took her place at the keyboard and began to play. Leonora watched his face transform, seeming to lose its years of suffering. As his fingers picked out the cascade of notes, his head moved with the music, his eyes closed, his mouth smiling with some fond memory. Abruptly, he stopped in the middle of a cadenza and looked up at her, the spell broken. ‘I've forgotten what comes next.'

Leonora moved to stand behind him and leant over to play the next phrase. She was thinking only of the music but being so close to him, could not ignore the fiery energy radiating out to meet hers. She stepped back. Immediately, Lord Rokeby picked the tune up again and his hands continued the sparkling melody to the end. It was then Leonora noticed his damaged right hand and the rough stub where his middle finger should have been. It was shocking to see, and yet it did not impair his ability to play the notes with fluency.

Alistair Rokeby's voice was quiet. ‘Thank you, Miss Appleby. The tone is as good as I remember it before I went to war.'

‘There are still two more octaves to tune, if you'd like me to complete the task.'

He had sprung to his feet, his gruff, supercilious manner returned. ‘I don't wish to trouble you further.' His dog stood tall by his side, its relaxed windswept look a foil to his master's tense demeanour.

‘It is no trouble. It's a fine instrument and I enjoy its resonance. It's mellower than mine.' Leonora was not going to be cowed by his off-putting humour. ‘I could come for a few hours tomorrow afternoon.'

Mrs Priddy stirred from her sleep and looked up. ‘Nora my dear, are you finished?' She then noticed the brooding figure beside her mistress and struggled to her feet, straightening her cap. ‘Master Alistair! How you've grown!' She saw his scarred face and for a moment her expression registered shock. Then, walking towards him, she apologised for her presumption of address. ‘I mean, of course, Lord Rokeby.' And she dropped a quick curtsey.

His face lit up with a smile as he took her hand. ‘You'll always be Nanny Priddy to me, and no doubt I'll always be Master Alistair to you, the wild, harum-scarum boy, despair of his family!'

Peg Priddy twinkled up into his face. She'd always had a soft spot for bad boys and this bad boy just looked all the more disreputable, having returned so altered by the war. With an indulgent chuckle, she said, ‘You were just full of energy in need of occupation.'

‘I wish you'd persuaded our tutor and Papa of your view. Both thought it wickedness which only the birch could purge.' His face became thunderous again at the memory. ‘Not even my brother could save me.' He turned to bid farewell to Leonora. ‘Miss Appleby, I am indeed grateful for your skill today. If I can presume on your time further, I'd be pleased if you could finish the task.'

He put out his right hand to her, with a challenging look in his eye. Without hesitation, Leonora placed her own in his mutilated one and he bowed. ‘I'm afraid war makes brutes of men,' he murmured. She was disconcerted to see a spasm of pain cross his face. Turning to Mrs Priddy once more, Lord Rokeby offered his arm and led them out of the drawing room, limping slightly and carrying the candelabra to lighten the gloom of the hall. His loping hound followed in his wake.

Stowe appeared at the front door. ‘I have asked the groom to bring your visitors' conveyance round from the stables, my lord.'

Lord Rokeby led the two women to the gig. The last rays of the setting sun would allow them just enough light to see their way home. The Earl helped Mrs Priddy up and then offered his hand to Leonora. ‘I am in your debt, Miss Appleby. You will let me know a way to recompense you for your time?' He bowed and calling softly for his dog, turned back towards the house. It struck Leonora that Lord Rokeby was tense with the effort of minimising his limp as he strode away.

As she drove the gig towards the drive, she thought of the only thing the Earl could give her of value: permission to swim in his lake again.

Mrs Priddy had been thoughtful during the short journey home but as they turned into the stable yard at the Manor she said, ‘Do you know, my love, something terrible has happened to that boy.'

‘'Tis cruel indeed the injuries he's suffered.'

‘No, I'm not talking about the physical scars; there's something heavy and dark in his spirit. He was such a mischievous and naughty boy, so full of life and laughter. That has gone.'

‘He said to me that war makes brutes of men. Is that perhaps what you mean?'

‘We cannot imagine what happens to our brave men sent to the Peninsula. So many injured, too many killed. So young, too. And his brother dying in his arms.' Nanny P's voice was quiet with emotion. Leonora knew she was thinking of her own father, killed when she was eighteen, fighting in the American Revolutionary War and left to die on the battlefield at Lexington.

She leant across and squeezed her old nanny's hand. ‘I know these experiences are beyond us. But Lord Rokeby has such a forbidding look and manner, he holds himself apart.'

‘It was his brother Charles who held himself apart. Very honourable but conscious of his place in the world. I like to remember Master Alistair as the sparky boy he once was. Those boys had a cruel, unforgiving father and their mother, ailing and dying young. It was life's harsh schooling.' Mrs Priddy regained her brusque demeanour and stood up, bringing the bleak conversation to an end. Leonora picked up her skirts, sprang down from the gig and quickly walked round to help her down.

‘Could you chaperone me again, tomorrow afternoon? Just for the few hours it'll take me to finish the tuning.'

Mrs Priddy smiled. ‘Of course. I can get on with my knitting.'

They entered the Manor just as George Lockwood came stamping through the back door from the stables. He had been in the saddle all afternoon surveying his inheritance, and was dusty and dishevelled. Leonora noticed how comfortable he seemed, his face flushed from exposure to the weather. He came towards her, smiling. ‘Miss Appleby, I have had such a capital time. I do commend you for the fine estate. I've so many ideas to improve it.' He called for his valet to remove his boots and turned to her. ‘I've asked Miss Blythe to join us for dinner. I hope that is to your liking?'

‘It's your house now, Mr Lockwood. You can ask whomsoever you will.' In fact she was always pleased to see Charlotte, but the realities of the passing of ownership to this new heir would continue to jar. She dashed upstairs to change, aware that her clothes appeared old-fashioned and dowdy next to George Lockwood's fine tailoring. Leonora's spirit, usually so optimistic, was unsettled by the sense of some momentous shift in the tectonic structure of her life since she had made the acquaintance of these two previously unknown men.

Charlotte Blythe arrived for dinner in an excited mood. Her youthful imagination was energised by the possibilities of change. She had enjoyed being the one to introduce George Lockwood to Sir Roderick Fopling, and her love of horses meant she helped too with the selection of a large hunter for him to borrow. Riding her own mare and accompanied by her groom, she had even joined the new heir on his initial exploration of the Manor lands and had been interested in his evolving plans. The thought of her dearest Leonora having to move down the lane to the Lodge seemed less tragic if such an amenable person was to take her place at the Manor. Change was not always to be so deplored, she assured herself.

Charlotte's most consequential news, though, she could not keep to herself for long. As she and Leonora, Mrs Priddy and Mr Lockwood gathered in the drawing room before dinner, she took her friend aside and in a low voice confided, ‘Mama and Reverend Mildmay have had a note delivered from Rokeby Abbey. The new Earl has summoned them to an audience the day after tomorrow. Probably just to make their acquaintance, but poor Mama is in a fuss about what she should wear. She doesn't feel up to snuff at all.'

Leonora laughed and patted Charlotte's arm. ‘Tell Mrs Mildmay not to trouble herself. From what I've seen, the Abbey is full of spiders, vermin too, no doubt; it's a sorry, neglected sight and Lord Rokeby is almost as unkempt. He's certainly no fashion plate like our own Mr Lockwood.' She gave the younger woman a conspiratorial smile.

Leonora asked George Lockwood to carve the roast chicken while she passed the dishes of braised cabbage, carrots and a plate of pickled cucumbers around the table. The Manor servants were minimal; Jack Clegg was willing to do most things, from opening the front door to visitors to waiting at the table, but it was all effected in an informal way which was considered totally lacking in appropriate style and deference by servants used to working in the great houses of Mayfair. Similarly, while Milly was a general housemaid who helped Leonora dress when necessary, she was not skilled in arranging her hair or embellishing gowns and bonnets. These were skills Leonora had been taught by Nanny P; she was wearing her favourite old yellow muslin with the silk primroses round the neckline and ribbons binding the bottom of the puff sleeves, appliqued by herself during the long winter evenings.

Leonora looked across the table at Charlotte who was attentive to Mrs Priddy, her pretty face inclined towards her as the elderly lady regaled her with tales of her mercy dash to the Abbey when the Rokeby boys were young. Charlotte's family relied on even fewer servants at the Vicarage, and Leonora recognised her blue muslin gown as one they had worked on together in the spring, plaiting cream silk ribbons then sewing them round the neck and hem to provide extra definition to its modest simplicity.

George Lockwood was less immaculate than when he had first arrived and the disarray of his hair and the outdoor colour on his skin suited him. He turned to Leonora and said in a cheerful way, ‘I have had such an interesting day. I'm sorry I have to return to Town before the week is out. Wintering at my Oxfordshire estate, you know. All kinds of sporting weekends are booked with my friends.' He put a piece of chicken breast on her plate. ‘I intend to move here more permanently after the London Season is over.'

Leonora smiled. ‘I thought you were only released from the purgatory of London life once you'd found yourself a suitable wife?'

He let out a bark of laughter. ‘That's the plan, or rather my stepfather's plan. Frankly, I don't think I could face a further Season. I'd rather spend my time working out a system of land management at Hasterleigh, new wife or not, than hang about any more London drawing rooms!'

Charlotte Blythe had overheard the end of the conversation. ‘You have ideas for a new irrigation system too, using water from the river.' Her face was bright as she looked at him. Then turning to Leonora, she said, ‘I suggested Mr Lockwood dam a part of the river to make a swimming lake.'

Leonora frowned at her. She did not care to have her love of swimming bruited to all.

Charlotte realised her unguarded tongue had displeased her friend and coloured, then with deftness, changed the subject. ‘When we called on Sir Roderick to borrow a hunter, he was in the most irascible tweak. Poachers had been spotted with their dogs. He was foaming at the mouth, wasn't he, Mr Lockwood?'

‘I don't think it was quite that theatrical, but he wasn't in a very welcoming mood, 'tis true.'

‘He was yelling for his gamekeeper to dust off and grease the extra snares and mantraps! It's so wrong; people only seek to feed their families.' Charlotte's face was full of outraged feeling.

Leonora turned to George Lockwood. ‘It's been a tradition since my grandfather's day that villagers can hunt rabbits for the pot for one day a month in winter on the estate. That way we find they respect the land the rest of the time.'

Her guest had a mouth full of chicken and could merely nod. After a while he said, ‘I'm not going to be in a hurry to change any of your family's long-established habits, I assure you.'

The following afternoon, Leonora set off in the gig again with Mrs Priddy beside her. They left the Manor and turned towards the Abbey. Nanny P looked sideways at her and said in her knowing way, ‘Nora my dear, how nice to see you spruced up a little. That blue chambray really suits you, makes your eyes look almost green.'

Leonora bridled. ‘I haven't gone to any extra trouble. It's only an old day dress.' She encouraged Clover into a fast trot as they bowled along the lane, then into the overgrown drive of Rokeby Abbey. As they rounded the bend, the sprawling building before them looked as forbidding as ever, its north face in shadow, the ruined Abbey looming over the later mansion built beside it. Stowe greeted them at the door and let them through to the drawing room where the piano-forte awaited. Achille trotted towards Leonora to nuzzle her hand, but there was no sight or sound of his master. The dog walked over to Mrs Priddy and flopped down on the sheepskin laid on the Persian carpet in front of the fire, his great head resting on a footstool which seemed to be placed conveniently for this purpose.

Hound and elderly woman fell asleep and Leonora laboured on, tinkling at the higher notes, tightening the strings gradually to bring them into tune with each other and with the other notes in the octaves. Dressed in her calico apron and with her wrench in her hand ready to work on the last two strings, she was bending over the instrument when Achille got to his feet, yawned, stretched, and made his elegant way out of the room. The peaceful atmosphere was disturbed by a distant call and footsteps which echoed in the hall but did not approach. Leonora was disconcerted by the tremor of excitement and then disappointment she felt.

It was mid-afternoon by the time she had completed the tuning and as Mrs Priddy awoke, Leonora decided to play the Adagio from Pleyel's Sonata in B major, known for using most of the keyboard. She played it with greater gusto than usual, still hoping the Earl might appear to thank her, but only Stowe entered the room as she came to a flourishing end.

Leonora looked up. ‘Oh Stowe, I've finished. Mrs Priddy and I will soon be on our way.'

He bowed. ‘Miss Appleby, it's a pleasure indeed to have music filling the house once more.' As Leonora stood up, removed her apron and collected her tools, she glanced out of the window and in the distance saw a man on a magnificent black horse cantering in the parkland that led to the lake, Achille running by his side. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the green sward and she watched for a moment as man, horse and dog moved from light to dark then light again, as if in a dream.

Nanny P had joined her in the window and realised what had held her attention. Carrying her knitting bag, she tucked her hand in Leonora's arm. In a quiet amused voice she said, ‘He's a law unto himself, you know. Always has been.'

Leonora looked down sharply at her old nanny. Why did she say that, she wondered? She had no interest in the Earl beyond extracting permission to swim in his lake and not risk being shot by the irascible Mr Shrubb.

Leonora told Stowe they would walk round to the stables and collect Clover and the gig themselves. She was curious about the rest of the rambling place and thought it might be interesting to approach the stable yard through the ruined Abbey. The massive stone arches towered above their heads. It had been without a roof for more than two centuries and the great stone-flagged floor, once polished and waxed by its devout community, now had a carpet of moss and leaves and occasional saplings that had eluded the scythe. The atmosphere of peace and welcome belied its forbidding demeanour and the two women gazed about them with some wonder. ‘Isn't this lovely?' Leonora turned to Nanny P.

‘I don't think I've ever seen it from inside before. What a miscreant king, old Henry was! All that despoiling of the monasteries. And yet he was father to our great queen.'

Leonora laughed. ‘Does that mean you will forgive the tyrant anything for the fact he begat Elizabeth?' Mrs Priddy responded with a chuckle as they turned into the stable yard. Leonora's eyes widened further. If the house appeared unloved and half-forgotten, the stables were smart and clean and bustling with activity. Boys were busy shovelling the dirty straw into wheelbarrows while the grooms were brushing and fussing over teams of magnificent horses: four matched bays, another set of black horses as glossy as glass. And a grey hunter with a ghostly tail and mane that floated like a cloud around his handsome head. Leonora gasped. ‘Well, the Earl certainly loves his bloodstock.'

Compared with the magnificence on show, the little hack pony, Clover, and the gig parked in the shade of a spreading beech tree at the entrance to the yard, were like country dowds out of place at a grand society ball.

A groom approached and Leonora explained she had come to collect her carriage. He bowed. ‘I'm Roddy, his lordship's chief groom,' and he handed both women into their gig. As Leonora drove Clover down the drive, she looked back at Rokeby Abbey and considered its austere fa?ade, now less dark and sinister, and more enticing every time she saw it.

Just as Leonora arrived back at the Manor, Charlotte Blythe appeared through the garden gate, as if she had been waiting for a sign that her friend had returned. ‘It's so dull at the Vicarage, do you mind if I read my book here with you?' she asked with a winning smile.

‘Of course not. I've just got to do some mending. I've torn my favourite blue muslin on that thorny rose by the front of the house.'

‘I thought Nanny P was expert at any needlework.'

‘Oh, she is!' Leonora smiled. ‘She's expert at everything but I want to show her I can manage without her, sometimes!'

Charlotte settled into the sofa and opened the book she held in her hands.

Leonora looked across, her needle poised. ‘What are you reading?'

Charlotte waved it in the air. ‘ Belinda ! It's so charming, I'm reluctant to put it down.'

‘Has Mrs Mildmay read it?' Leonora was aware how carefully Charlotte had been brought up, and restricting her reading matter was part of her foster parents' protective cloak.

Charlotte giggled. ‘Actually no. But the bishop's wife recommended it to her maid and this Mama Mildmay took as proof of it being morally impeccable. No woman in her right mind, she declared, would allow her maid to be corrupted by unsuitable literature!'

‘And have you yet found anything unsuitable in those pages?'

‘Not yet, but I'm ever hopeful.' Both young women giggled.

Leonora stitched on while her young guest read a few more pages of her novel. She lifted her fair head and asked in an innocent voice, ‘Is Mr Lockwood still out riding?'

‘I presume so.' Leonora gave her friend a quizzical look.

‘He's less stuffy than he appears. In fact, he's rather charming in his straightforward way.'

‘He's quite a catch, you know.' Leonora met Charlotte's startled brown eyes.

‘But not for me, Leonora. I thought it would be better if you married him, then you wouldn't have to leave your childhood home.'

Leonora put down her needle and thread and said with a smirk, ‘Miss Charlotte, you're reading too many romance novels. I've told you, I'm past marrying, and I'm quite reconciled to leaving my home.' She paused, then decided to confide her thoughts. ‘But it would warm my heart if you were to live here instead. Then I could visit all the time. As you do now!'

Charlotte gasped and a blush suffused her neck and cheeks. ‘You can't mean that. Like you, I'd rather not think of marriage at all, but just go on as we do.'

The light was beginning to fade when there was a commotion at the back door and the sound of men's boots and the shuffling patter of animal paws. Leonora sprang to her feet and dashed into the corridor to see Achille disappearing into the kitchen and George Lockwood standing in his stockinged feet, having just removed his muddy boots.

There was a scream from Cook. ‘Get this great clumsy cur from my kitchen!' And she ran into the utility room carrying a leg of lamb above her head.

‘He followed me back. I think he'd been hunting on our land.' Mr Lockwood looked apologetic as he tried to grab the hound by his collar.

Charlotte had also joined them. ‘He's huge,' she said, her eyes wide.

Leonora called, ‘Achille, come!' and the dog trotted out of the kitchen to her side. ‘This is Lord Rokeby's dog. Was Ned Fleming with you while you explored the estate?' She looked at George Lockwood. ‘I'll ask him to take him back to the Abbey.'

‘I'm sure he'll find his own way home.' George Lockwood looked at Achille speculatively.

‘No!' Charlotte's voice was urgent. ‘The Fopling gamekeeper shoots any dog he finds on their land, and they abut the Manor estate. You can't risk it.'

‘I left Ned investigating a broken fence in the lower field.' Mr Lockwood's face assumed an amused, put-upon expression. ‘I suppose I'll have to take this preposterous animal home.' Achille stood patiently by Leonora's side, looking from one face to the other. George Lockwood struggled back into his boots and called the dog's name and together they stepped into the twilight.

Cook resumed her preparations for the evening meal and the young women returned to the drawing room where Leonora's piano-forte stood expectantly in the far window. ‘You have your lesson tomorrow. I hope you've been practising that variation on Logie O'Buchan .' Leonora looked at her young pupil who nodded, an uncertain smile on her lips. They sat on the piano stool side by side. Leonora said with a twinkle, ‘I thought it may be a good idea to give a small concert here to entertain our friends in the winter months. I've found a composition by Mr Field arranged as a duet for four hands and it would be amusing for us to play together, don't you think?'

‘Oh no, I don't think I'm skilled enough.' Charlotte flushed at the thought.

‘You will be. And everyone will be delighted. There's so little to divert our neighbours in the dark months. It also gives us something to work towards in our lessons.'

‘Will it be the last winter you will enjoy at the Manor?' Charlotte looked at her friend, her face full of sympathy mixed with her own sorrow.

‘It will. And I'd like to mark the end of this stage of my life and the beginning of another.' Leonora could not hide the emotion she felt. She was alarmed by how featureless the future seemed, but knew she had yet to discover what awaited in that hazy void.

Charlotte fixed her mischievous gaze on her friend's face. ‘If we do have a concert, will you ask the Earl?'

‘I very much doubt he will come. Even his staff say he eschews company. Though music seems to be important in his life…' Her voice faded as she remembered the fleeting sight of him riding away on his horse.

Charlotte sat on the sofa and opened her book, and Leonora returned to her sewing. When Charlotte finished her chapter, she looked up. ‘Perhaps I'd better get practising.' With her book in her hand, she headed in the direction of the garden door. Again, the usual quiet of the Manor was shaken by the banging of the back door and both women turned to see George Lockwood enter the stone-flagged corridor a second time, stamping the mud from his boots.

‘He's insufferably rude!' he expostulated. It was surprising to see such a usually phlegmatic man so discomposed. ‘You'd think that doing a neighbour a good turn might have elicited some gratitude. But no! Lord Rokeby almost accused me of stealing his dog!'

Leonora started forward. ‘Did he know that you're the new owner of the Manor?'

‘He didn't give me a chance to introduce myself. Just took the hound, gave me back the bridle rope I'd fashioned into a lead, and stalked off.'

‘I'm sorry I suggested it, Mr Lockwood. Apparently, Lord Rokeby's not the same after his experiences in the war. We had all heard he'd been so badly injured he had died at Corunna along with his brother. Then he suddenly arrived home, scarred as you see.'

‘From his behaviour, the worst scars are not what we see,' Mr Lockwood muttered, still put out by the high-handed treatment he had just endured. He then caught sight of Charlotte on her way out. ‘Miss Blythe, while I'm still in my boots, may I escort you home?'

Charlotte coloured slightly at this unexpected offer. ‘I go via the garden. There's a convenient clicket gate Leonora and I use, so we don't need to use the lane. So I thank you, Mr Lockwood, but it's quite unnecessary.'

He bowed and Charlotte Blythe curtsied quickly and left.

Excited by the idea of creating a winter concert for their neighbours, Leonora opened the piano-forte and began to play the various compositions she thought may prove entertaining. Her mind ranged over who might be prepared to sing a few country songs, accompanied by her if necessary. Just as the new heir was about to disappear up the stairs, she called to him, ‘Mr Lockwood, do you sing?'

He paused by the drawing room door. ‘I can do. Why?' He looked wary.

‘I'm thinking of organising a concert at the Manor and I wondered if you would attend. Better still, take part?'

He walked into the room and said in a ruminative voice, ‘Well, I'm not averse to singing. But I'd have to come across from my estate in Oxfordshire. When would this be?'

‘Perhaps in the New Year before you head back to London for the Season?'

‘That's a possibility. A little brightness before the dark.' He grimaced. ‘I could come to your soirée on my way to London, although it's a bit of a detour. Are you or Miss Blythe going to London for the Season?'

‘Goodness, no! But that does not mean we need to be dull in the country.' Leonora smiled at him.

‘Not dull at all,' he said as he turned to continue his way upstairs.

Leonora went back to the demanding arpeggio of a Pleyel sonata.

The following morning, Leonora woke early. She was restless; her usual equanimity of heart had been disturbed for days with thoughts of loss and the instability of change. Overall was the sadness that William Worth lay in a foreign land, his resting place unmarked, never to grow to maturity with her as they had dreamed. Lord Rokeby's return had reminded her again of the suffering of war. Now the night was passed, she decided to head towards the garden to restore her spirits with the promise of a new day.

She was too early for the pitcher of steaming water brought up each morning by Milly, so instead scrambled unwashed into her morning dress of grey checked cotton and dragged a comb through her thick wavy hair. Barely pausing to glance in the looking glass, Leonora pinned up her chestnut curls and, slipping a shawl over her shoulders, ran down the stairs, through the drawing room and out into the waiting garden. Within moments, the heavy dew drenched her pumps and the hem of her gown, but the sounds and scents drew her on towards the river that meandered through the low mist at the end of the lawn.

The flowers were dressed in nothing but the light, and the scent of late roses was sweet on the air as they pressed through the white Michaelmas daisies and the flowering mint tangled in their beds. There too were her mother's precious dahlias; they bloomed with all the exuberance of their nature and lifted her spirits as she thought of her gentle mother, never quite robust enough for the world.

As she approached the river, the susurration of the water rippling over stones added to the rich layers that filled her senses; how these interleaving scents and sounds reminded her of music. Leonora felt herself and the morning brimming with life.

As she bent her head to sniff the palest pink damask roses growing in profusion by the riverbank, she heard the creak of the garden gate. Who was up so early? she wondered. Who but the inhabitants of the Vicarage ever used this private access to the Manor?

In the misty sun, the tall, fair-haired figure of Richard Fopling appeared almost ghostly in the milky light. He was wearing his curate's surplice, ready for the morning service, and this added to his otherworldliness. He started when he saw her. ‘Oh, Miss Appleby, my apologies for intruding. I was just delivering a note to the house before beginning the morning's devotions.'

In his hand was a folded sheet of white paper sealed with a dab of red wax. She walked towards him smiling and took the note. ‘I was so lost in my thoughts you startled me. I didn't think anyone else would be abroad so early.'

His pale blue eyes were on her face, then he glanced around the bounty of the late summer garden and said, ‘This is like a prayer.' Leonora was surprised by his fervour. Mr Fopling continued in his quiet reverential voice, ‘God is made visible in the beauty of His creation, the reaching heavenwards of all living things.' He paused, then continued, ‘For me, everything is intentional, even that drifting cloud.' He pointed towards the brightening horizon where a single cloud appeared as ragged as a shred of sheep's wool suspended in the sky. He bowed his head, preparing to take his leave.

‘Before you go, Mr Fopling, I'm thinking of having a small concert here in the winter months and hope you'd attend?'

‘It will depend on a number of things.' His eyes searched hers again before he saluted her. ‘Good day, Miss Appleby.' He turned on his heel to walk back into the Vicarage garden. Puzzled, Leonora opened the note in her hands. There in neat black ink were the words:

Dear Miss Appleby,

Would you be so kind as to grant me an audience at The Manor, tomorrow at three?

Richard Fopling

Leonora suspected this was a portent and her heart sank. She stuffed the note into her pocket and began cutting with increased vigour the dead flowers from the roses, her fragile equilibrium once more unsettled.

After breakfast, she returned to her piano-forte; Charlotte was expected later for her lesson and she wanted to begin practising the melody part of the John Field duet she hoped they could play together.

It was mid-afternoon when the door to the garden was flung open and Charlotte dashed into the Manor, a wild look in her eyes. ‘Come quickly! Mama Mildmay and the Reverend are just back from Rokeby Abbey and they're in such dismay! Please come and help calm them. They fear they're going to lose me.'

‘What on earth do you mean, Lottie? How could they ever lose you?'

‘Come. Tell them that. They won't listen to me.' The girl grabbed Leonora's arm and hurried her into the garden and through the gate.

The Vicarage was a serene and symmetrical stone house but, on this afternoon, it housed a maelstrom of emotion. Mrs Mildmay, always the most reasonable of women, greeted Leonora, her eyes streaming with tears and her nose red with blowing. Reverend Mildmay was pacing in the drawing room, attempting to remonstrate with his wife to cease her crying. Leonora ran to her side and put her arms around the distraught woman. ‘Mrs Mildmay, my dear, what can be the matter?'

Between hiccuping sobs, the story tumbled out. ‘It's Lord Rokeby. He asked us to come and see him. He told us our beautiful child, the baby we found on our doorstep whom we thought had been sent by the Lord for us to care for and love, actually belongs to the Rokeby family.'

Leonora was astounded. She looked from her to Charlotte, who also had tears in her eyes. ‘What can he mean?'

Charlotte then spoke to save her mother further pain. ‘Lord Rokeby told them that his brother, the Earl, charged him in his dying breath to put right a wrong. He had fathered a child with a maid. That baby was me, left on the doorstep of the Vicarage in the hopes that I would be cared for, and the young Earl was immediately sent to war by his father. He had organised financial support and always intended to tell me the truth when I was eighteen. But he never came home again.'

Mrs Mildmay had collapsed onto the sofa and looked up at Leonora with a tragic expression. ‘Of course the Rokeby family will claim Lottie. We have no rights, you see. We always knew she was too good for us. A beautiful spirit come to live with two country clods as we are. Even our own child could never have compared with the angel we had been sent. We always feared this day would come.'

‘No! No, Mama. No one can ever claim my heart when you have given me all the love a mother could.' Charlotte threw herself onto the sofa beside Mrs Mildmay and buried her head in her bosom.

Reverend Mildmay paused his pacing to add, ‘The new Earl wished that it would be us who broke the news to Charlotte. He wants to see her in two days' time to explain his brother's wishes to her directly. Mrs Mildmay is unwilling to go through any more upset and we hoped you would accompany her, Miss Leonora, as her chaperone?' His anguished eyes were on her face and she could only nod.

This news was astounding to her too. It changed everything. Leonora looked across at her friend whose face was pale with shock, her eyes pricked with sympathetic tears as her foster mother silently wept beside her on the sofa.

Leonora sat on Mrs Mildmay's other side and placed a hand on her arm. ‘I will be happy to act as Charlotte's chaperone. Although I know nothing of what is in the Earl's mind, I can be certain that you will never lose the love of a daughter who has known only you as her mother. She has been lucky enough to be the focus of all your goodness.'

Charlotte took her other hand and kissed her wet cheek. ‘Mama, no one could have loved me better or given me a greater sense of happiness and safety than you and the Reverend.'

Reverend Mildmay, unable to deal with the turbulent emotions that had taken over his sitting room and his own heart, escaped to the calm of the kitchen where he asked Cook for a pot of tea and some of the newly baked almond cake to be sent through to the mistress and her guest. He then walked into his library and closed the door.