Chapter 4

4

PERILS OF THE COUNTRY AND ATTRACTIONS OF TOWN

The journey back to the Manor was silent for different reasons from those on the way out. Both Leonora and Charlotte were not quite sure what had transpired but were aware their worlds had tilted on their axes. Charlotte stole a glance at Leonora. ‘I'm sorry to have blurted out that I hoped you'd come with me to London. I should have asked you first.'

Leonora still had her eyes on the road, manoeuvring Clover past a cart overfilled with hay. ‘I quite understand that you were as much taken by surprise as I was.' Only when they had returned to Hasterleigh Manor and Martin had taken Clover back to the stables were the young women able to talk properly about the afternoon's revelations.

They settled in the snug sitting room by the kitchen and Cook brought in a pot of tea and some ginger biscuits, still warm from the stove. Both looked a little pale and sipped some tea before Leonora said, ‘Well! What a change of course in your life.'

Charlotte's words tumbled out in a rush. ‘I'm gratified indeed to know who my father is. I'd always wondered about who I was and where I came from; children in the village claimed I'd been delivered by the stork which made me feel somehow strange. Now I know half my real story, it gives me the foundation I have always longed for.' She was quiet for a minute. ‘But I wish he weren't of such noble birth, with all the extra complications. And I wish he were still alive and I could know him.' She paused to take a bite of her biscuit. ‘And I really wonder now about my mother. How I would love to know her and hope she has been happy.'

‘Well, you can get to know your father's brother and grandmother, so that will give you more of a connection with the Rokeby side of the family.'

‘Lord Rokeby is so forbidding and severe. So injured too. And how fearsome his grandmother sounds; even Lord Rokeby says it, and he's been to war!'

Leonora pointed out reasonably, ‘Perhaps you'll discover the Rokebys are more fearsome in reputation and demeanour than in deed.'

‘Perhaps, but even my father's portrait shows him accoutred for war and unapproachable. A hero figure, which excites me, but how could someone like me be interesting to someone like him?'

‘Come now, Lottie. You have this chance for a life different from anything you may have dreamed. You are young and beautiful and will now be an excellent marriage prospect!'

‘Oh dear!' Her head drooped.

‘Why "oh dear"? It will be good for you to be courted. To be married with your own household and family would be a fine thing.'

‘Why not for you too then?'

‘You know that had Captain Worth lived, I would be married, likely with my own family. But it was not to be.' She poured out another cup of tea and changed the subject with a brusque tone in her voice. ‘You have a London Season to prepare for. We have to be practical. First, we must sort out your wardrobe. See what dresses we can refurbish and trim with braid, lace and ribbons, new buttons, tassels and every kind of frill and furbelow. I've heard dresses are getting flouncier.'

‘Ah, but you'll have to do the same with your wardrobe! You'll be attending all the balls and parties too.' Charlotte's expression had recovered its mischief.

‘Thank you, Lottie, for ejecting me from my comfortable life in the country!'

‘Well, a part of me too would rather stay here, where I'm happy and known.'

‘That is no longer your choice it seems. We'll have to go to Windsor soon to order some new fashionable clothes.' Leonora ticked off on her fingers until she ran out of digits: ‘Morning and afternoon gowns, walking dresses, riding habits, ball gowns, every kind of tippet, pelisse, spencer, cloak and shawl. Not to mention your stays, petticoats, nightwear and bonnets and caps. Oh and I forgot, footwear for every occasion.'

‘My heart fails me!' Charlotte groaned as her head fell to her hand.

‘You wouldn't be a proper heroine of one of those novels you enjoy so much if your heart didn't quicken at the thought. Come now, make a list of what you have already which we can alter and trim, with Nanny P's help.'

Mrs Priddy came into the room carrying her needlework. ‘Do I hear my name promised for some enterprise?' Her blue eyes looked from one young face to the other.

‘As you're the finest needlewoman either of us know, I hope you'll be able to help us make more fashionable and freshen some of our old gowns. Charlotte is going to London!'

‘Oh la! I expected as much,' she said with some satisfaction at her powers of deduction.

‘Well, did you also expect me to have to accompany her?' Leonora's eyes were fixed on her old nanny's face with a challenging gleam. Mrs Priddy nodded with a smug look. ‘And did you also foresee that you were coming with us?'

Peg Priddy put down the linen she was embroidering. ‘What makes you think I will? I was last in London when I was a girl and did not care for it. So clamorous, noisome and dirty, and the behaviour of the populace was not much better!'

‘I know you'll come, because you're the most important person in my life, and both of us depend on your good counsel.'

Mrs Priddy batted this compliment away just as there was a knock at the door and Jack Clegg peered into the room. ‘Miss Leonora, Ned Fleming wishes to see you.'

Leonora got up in a hurry; her bailiff was the most competent of men and rarely bothered her outside the hours allotted for their weekly meetings. She followed Jack Clegg to the back door where Ned Fleming stood, his weather-beaten face looking more anxious than usual. ‘Pardon my interrupting you at this time but I am concerned.'

‘Come in, Mr Fleming.' Leonora led him into the office by the pantry. ‘What has happened?'

‘I'm afraid Silas Sproat, the son of your tenant who farms the acres which lie alongside Fopling land, has been shot for poaching.'

Leonora's heart plummeted with shock. The Sproats were a good hard-working family and Silas was their eldest, a fine strapping boy of about sixteen. ‘Oh no! Is he still alive?'

‘It's a flesh wound in his forearm, but the Fopling gamekeeper killed his dog.'

‘Not Molly!'

‘I'm afraid so. She just managed to escape with Silas but collapsed from blood loss when they got home and died on the kitchen floor.'

‘This is terrible. Has Silas had any medical assistance?'

‘No. His family don't want Sir Roderick to be able to track him down. You know what a ferocious Justice of the Peace he is.'

‘What can we do? Do they have any medicine that might stop the wound festering?'

‘Mrs Sproat's so successful healing with herbs that people think her a witch. She has immediately strapped up her boy with a honey bandage and given him clove water and wild marjoram. But she has nothing to heal a broken heart. Molly was his pride and joy.'

Leonora felt a spasm of sympathetic grief for Silas. ‘She was the best of dogs. But why did he risk poaching on Fopling land? He knows we allow the villagers to hunt for rabbits for the pot. The family could always come to us if they were in need.'

‘He's a rumbustious boy and I think was poaching for the fun of it, Miss Leonora.'

‘At least he wasn't caught in one of those fiendish mantraps Fopling employs in his woods. I can hardly believe they are still allowed. So destructive of man and beast!'

‘Your grandfather banned them from ever being used on Hasterleigh land.' Ned Fleming turned to go. ‘I'll get back to the fencing I'm repairing along our southern boundary.'

‘If you see the Sproats, tell them I'll visit tomorrow with a basket of food.'

‘Don't draw any special attention to them for a few days, ma'am. Fopling's man will be looking for clues.'

‘I'm surprised Silas's red hair wasn't enough to identify him.'

Leonora returned to see Charlotte in conversation with Mrs Priddy who was sewing a hem on some linen cloth. She said in distress, ‘I'm afraid Silas Sproat has been wounded poaching on Sir Roderick's land. And Molly's been killed.'

Both women looked at her, horrified. Molly was loved in the village for her sweet nature and beauty. Her speckled coat of blue and white splotches stood out as she pranced beside Silas down the village street. Silas too was a fine, high-spirited young man, and no one liked to think of him in pain and danger. ‘I'll take some food over to the family tomorrow, but we are to be careful not to draw attention to their cottage; the Fopling gamekeeper is on the rampage and they intend to prosecute.'

Charlotte's face grew pale. ‘He doesn't risk deportation or—' she paused with a bleak expression ‘—or death?'

Mrs Priddy put a hand on her arm. ‘More likely it'll be imprisonment these days. The law is not as draconian as in my youth.'

Leonora was less sanguine. ‘But with Sir Roderick Fopling in charge of the local courts, don't expect moderation or mercy. He'll likely call for the death sentence for the stealing of a rabbit.'

Dusk was already falling, and Charlotte decided it was time to go home to explain the latest plans to Mama Mildmay and the Reverend. ‘I'll go the garden way,' she said as she embraced Leonora and squeezed Mrs Priddy's hand.

Leonora was just about to go upstairs when there was a knock on the front door. Jack Clegg opened it to the young curate standing on the doorstep, his clerical hat in his hand. She hailed him. ‘Come in, Mr Fopling.' Aware of propriety's demands, she led him through to the small sitting room where Nanny P was still busy with her sewing.

‘Good evening, Mrs Priddy.' He nodded his greeting and took Leonora's hand in his. ‘I have just seen Mrs Sproat and Silas on my weekly visit to my parishioners. I know Jack Fleming will have told you about Silas and Molly. I wanted you to know what I told them, that I may be Sir Roderick's son, but I do not share his vengeful spirit. Their secret is safe with me.'

Leonora felt a swell of affection for this mild-mannered, gentle man. ‘Thank you for letting me know.' He seemed reconciled to the fact that Leonora would not be his wife and their main concern now was with the Sproats. ‘How are they?'

‘Silas asked me to pray for Molly. He wanted to know if she was in Heaven.'

‘Could you say anything to console him?'

‘Only what I believe. That all living creatures have their own souls.' He paused as Mrs Priddy looked up with a smile in her eyes. ‘Molly is not gone from us forever, but is part of that other world that is everywhere.'

All were silent for a moment, then Leonora asked, ‘Is Silas going to bury her in the woods she loved so?'

‘Yes, deep enough to outfox the foxes.'

‘I will go and see the family tomorrow, but I realise we need to be discreet.'

‘It may be a hopeful sign that my father and his man do not seem to know that they wounded someone and killed his dog. As long as Silas lies low until he can use his arm and pull his sleeve over his wound.'

‘Well, I thank you for your care of the family.' Leonora met his eyes.

‘We are all equal before God,' he said, turning to her with a pale smile. ‘From the Sproats to the mighty Earl of Rokeby.'

Leonora smiled and led him to the door. They stood listening to the birds in the beech tree opposite and Richard Fopling murmured, ‘We find the truth of that equality in the blackbird's song and the sighing of the wind.' With that quiet riposte, he stepped lightly back into the lane.

After another restless night, Leonora awoke to a clear fresh morning. The breeze was building into a gale that animated the branches of the gnarled old rose growing up the back wall of the Manor. It tapped against her window an insistent rhythm that seemed to her sleep-starved brain to be a message from the natural world. What was the rose trying to tell her? she wondered in her drowsy state. She dragged herself from bed, determined to take her grey mare, Dione, out for a canter in the parkland that led to the river. Dressing in her favourite riding habit, she was aware how tired it looked now that she knew she would have to take it to Town for the Season, and made a mental note to replace the military frogging and braid. The shape was still very becoming and the fine blue broadcloth, smart and crisp. She decided against wearing a hat as nobody would see her and she would soon be home.

Having eaten a quick breakfast, Leonora headed for the stables where Martin was already saddling her mare. Dione was excited, sidling and stamping and sniffing the air. Martin tossed Leonora up into the side-saddle and before she had even properly arranged her skirts Dione was off, straining to leave the stable yard and head for the park. Leonora loved her horse as a friend. She had been bought for her by her father as a twenty-first birthday present and her loneliness as William Worth went to war was assuaged. Dione was the most responsive of animals; her lustrous dark eyes with their white lashes had gazed deeply into Leonora's anguished face when the news of William's death reached her. The mare understood Leonora's heart and this morning, was agitated and excited. Clouds were racing across the sky and the wind was whisking up Dione's tail and making her long mane ripple like water.

Given her head, the horse took off towards the river, kicking up her heels and soon breaking into a fluid gallop. Leonora was a good horsewoman but had never jumped fences as some of the bolder women did when out with the Fopling pack of hounds. Galloping on Dione's back was the limit of her equestrian bravery and she held tight to the pommel, feeling her horse's exhilaration through the reins and the beating of her own heart. As they approached the river, Leonora wheeled Dione towards the woods that marked the boundary between Rokeby and Manor lands. She was windswept and her cheeks were pink as she urged her horse towards home. But a cry made her turn. There was a distant figure of a man on a big black horse emerging from the woods, cantering towards her; tall in the saddle, his hair unruly and coat tails flying, the unmistakeable figure of Lord Rokeby. As he came closer, Leonora realised she was so used to his scarred face she barely noticed the damage; instead, it was the man and his emotions that she saw. As he brought Jupiter to ride beside her, she was struck by how distraught he seemed. Barely pausing to greet her, he blurted out, ‘I heard a dog was shot last night.'

‘Yes. One of our tenants'. Molly, a sweet hound.' She saw relief flood the Earl's face then realised that Achille, his constant companion, was not with him, and her heart turned over with foreboding.

‘Have you seen Achille? Hasn't been home since he set off on the scent of something, heading this way. He was with me on my ride yesterday, after you and Miss Blythe had left.'

‘That's very concerning. Has he ever gone missing before?'

‘No, never. He's a lazy vagabond who likes home comforts.'

A cold trickle of fear caught Leonora unawares. ‘Sir Roderick Fopling's land abuts ours. He's on a one-man mission to destroy all poachers and has had his gamekeeper set mantraps throughout his woods.'

‘The Devil take him!'

‘I'm afraid the law's on his side and in these parts, he is the law!' The agitation was back in Lord Rokeby's face, and Leonora leant across to touch his arm in consolation. ‘Let's find my bailiff who's mending the fences in the next field along. He knows most of what happens hereabouts.' She trotted towards the field gate and they passed through to find Ned Fleming working on the far boundary. Cantering towards him, their horses side by side, they thundered down through the lush grass.

‘Ned, have you seen Lord Rokeby's dog? A wolfhound, grey and white marled coat.' Leonora was breathless.

‘He's been missing since yesterday evening.' Lord Rokeby's voice was harsh with emotion.

Ned Fleming put down his mallet, a gloomy look on his face. ‘That's a worry, my lord.' He rubbed his chin. ‘'Fraid we're close here to the Fopling estate, a veritable circle of hell for dogs; none escape with their lives.'

‘Oh Ned, hush your doom-mongering!'

‘No, Miss Appleby. I fear your man may be right. That dog has never left my side since I rescued him from the battlefield.'

‘I did hear an animal cry last night; I thought it might have been a fox. But it is lethal to enter those woods in the dark. There are steel traps everywhere. The Justice is at war and doesn't mind who he hurts.'

Lord Rokeby had sprung down from his horse. ‘Then I'm going to have to go in there.'

Leonora cried out, ‘No! You'll end up with your leg mangled in one of those fearsome things.'

‘My body is already mangled, one more injury barely matters.' He glanced at her, a mordant smile on his lips. ‘How can I leave Achille to die? He would never have abandoned me.'

‘I'll come with you, sir. I know where some of the worst are hidden.' Ned Fleming took his fence-cutting hatchet and fashioned two staves from his stash of wood. ‘We'll take a big stick each to spring the traps before we step on them.'

Leonora interrupted their preparations. ‘Just a moment, my lord. Would it not be more polite and indeed sensible if you went to Sir Roderick Fopling first and asked permission to search for your dog? I'm sure his gamekeeper would know exactly where he had placed the traps?'

‘You will come to realise, Miss Appleby, that I am neither polite nor sensible. Time is of the essence and I consider this a necessary reconnaissance.' Lord Rokeby walked round to help Leonora dismount. His humour had revived now there was a plan of action.

He raised his arms to catch her as she unhooked her leg from the pommel and slid down Dione's side. Leonora felt his hands grip her waist to place her feet on the ground and she looked into his face. She had never been this close to him before and was surprised how much taller he was than she. His undamaged eye was as dark and deep as Dione's and seemed to sparkle with a mysterious light as he met her upturned gaze. She recalled Nanny P's words – he is a law unto himself – and she shivered at the thought of how far that lawlessness might go.

His gaze was unwavering. ‘Can you manage both horses, Miss Appleby, while Mr Fleming and I take a cursory look? I think Achille may be reassured if he can hear my voice.' Both Jupiter and Dione started cropping the grass and Leonora stood with their reins loose in her hand, feeling increasingly anxious for the fate of Achille and, to her surprise, his master too. She strained to listen as the men proceeded carefully into the wood, Lord Rokeby calling Achille's name, then silence. She heard sticks breaking under foot, then the chilling distant clang as a trap was sprung, she hoped by the judicious use of one of Ned's staves.

Leonora was growing cold and began to stamp her feet to keep the blood circulating to her toes. Suddenly she heard a faint yelp and the sound of a man's shout. It seemed an age but was only a matter of minutes before Lord Rokeby and Ned Fleming emerged carrying a prone Achille between them. The Earl had stripped off his jacket and riding coat to cover his hound's body.

Leonora left the horses and ran forward, stumbling over the tussocks. ‘Is he alive?' she called out, breathless with tension.

Lord Rokeby's face was grim. ‘Just about. He was caught by the leg, and I don't know yet the full damage. But he's frozen through. I must get him home.'

Her father's illness and death had made Leonora capable and decisive in a crisis. ‘Don't lay him down in the wet field; I'll fetch the farm cart. Martin can saddle Clover up in moments.' She led Dione to a fallen stump to use as a mounting block and lacking all ladylike decorum, scrambled into the saddle to set off at a fast trot up the field.

Within five minutes, she and the cart had returned. With great care, the men laid Achille on the bed of straw on the back. It was the first time Leonora had seen the dog properly and he looked in a fearful state. His eyes were closed, and his back leg had the skin torn so badly that the bone and tendons were exposed in a bloody mess. She shuddered.

Lord Rokeby turned to Ned Fleming. ‘Could you take Jupiter up to the Manor stables?' He looked questioningly at Leonora. ‘I presume, Miss Appleby, that is acceptable? Then I'll walk round later to pick him up.'

The bailiff said, ‘I'll happily ride him back to the Abbey for you, my lord.'

A grim smile lifted the corners of Lord Rokeby's mouth. ‘That's very kind, Mr Fleming, but I'm afraid Jupiter is a spirited ride, and he would not be as sanguine as you about the matter. It's better if I return later, if your mistress concurs with that plan?'

‘Of course.' Leonora was still on the seat of the cart and watched Lord Rokeby climb in beside his dog. He was in such a state of dishevelment with his hair whipped by the wind which had made an equal mess of hers, she felt sure. His cravat was askew and his fine white linen shirt besmirched with mud, snagged by the undergrowth they had pressed through, and smeared with blood.

The Earl turned back to Ned Fleming who was holding Jupiter by the reins. ‘Thank you for all your help this morning. If I didn't need to get Achille home, I'd drive right round to Sir Roderick Fopling and demand he banish all traps from his land.' Leonora saw his rage gush up from some deep well then recede as fast as it had come. He turned to her, his cheeks still flushed with feeling, but said in a controlled voice, ‘Thank you, Miss Appleby. We should get Achille back to Rokeby Abbey.'

As Leonora stopped the cart in front of the great door of the Abbey, she was aware for the first time what a country wench she must appear to any casual onlooker. She was hatless, virtually in déshabillé, her hair blown loose by the wind that was still tempestuous and threatening rain; her riding habit, never overly smart, was made all the more disreputable by the gobbets of mud and grass stains where she had run through the park to reach the two men bringing Achille out of the woods. In a hurried movement, she tried to stick the pins back in her hair but was soon surrounded by Stowe and assorted grooms come to carry the dog into the house. No one was concerned with how she looked and she quickly abandoned any such concern herself.

The hound was laid on his favourite sheepskin rug by the fire in the drawing room, hurriedly banked up to provide more warmth. Rokeby's cook brought up warm salted water to bathe the gash, and his valet collected the bag of bandages, herbal tinctures and pastes that every soldier knew how to use to treat wounds on the battlefield.

Leonora felt superfluous and exposed, unchaperoned as she was and as untidy as a washerwoman, and was about to make her farewells, when the Earl looked up from his ministrations and smiled. ‘Thank you for everything, Miss Appleby. Achille's limb is not broken and I know how to treat such lacerations, so given some luck, he will live.'

She met his relieved gaze. ‘That is the best of news.'

‘I am grateful for all your help today. One further imposition, Miss Appleby: will you keep Jupiter in your stables until tomorrow? It'll be dark before I've finished here.'

Leonora nodded. ‘Of course, whatever I can do to help.' Her emotions felt shredded and raw. Lord Rokeby got to his feet to take Leonora's hand in a brief salute before accompanying her through to the stables. The wind had dropped and the dying sun had stained the clouds a fiery pink. Horses were settling for the night and Clover waited patiently. The Earl seemed distracted as he helped her up into the cart seat, untied Clover's reins and handed them to her. ‘Goodnight, Miss Appleby. I won't bother you in the morning when I collect my horse. You've been troubled enough by me and my concerns.'

As she turned Clover to trot towards the drive, the Earl put out a hand. ‘I forget my manners. Apologies. I owe you so many favours, Miss Appleby. Please tell me what I can do to make amends.'

Leonora was unprepared for the question and paused. Then she recalled the joy of swimming in the Rokeby lake. ‘Oh! Yes, there is something, Lord Rokeby. I would be happy to have your permission to swim in your lake.'

He looked shocked. ‘You swim?' She nodded. He continued, ‘Real swimming, not just paddling in the shallows as ladies do at Brighton?'

‘I surprised myself with how much I love to swim. I learnt in your lake.'

‘So you've been there before?'

Leonora felt her cheeks colour. ‘I'm afraid I have. We used to trespass when we thought the house uninhabited.'

‘We? Who else?' His face had become increasingly amused as the conversation continued.

‘Miss Blythe, although she is not such a keen swimmer.'

He surprised Leonora with a bark of laughter, his teeth gleaming. ‘Ah, so I've had two trespassing Nereids! May I ask what stopped you?'

‘Your gamekeeper threatened to shoot us!' Leonora could not prevent a note of outrage entering her voice.

‘What! Diggory Shrubb? No! He looks fearsome, 'tis true, but he'd never harm a woman – even less so a water nymph!'

‘That may be so, but he did discharge his rifle over our heads. And tell us you were back and did not care for company.'

‘Well, he's right enough there. But surely it's too late in the year for you to swim?'

She did not want to be deflected from her mission and asked again, ‘When it's warmer again I would be gratified if you could give your permission?'

Lord Rokeby looked at Leonora with a speculative expression. ‘I too like to swim, but in the afternoon. You have my permission to go to the lake in the morning before I've risen from my bed.'

‘Thank you, my lord.' She felt a bubble of joy expand at the thought she could once again strike out in that cold clear water.

His brisk voice broke into her reverie. ‘But you must never go to the lake alone. There are all kinds of hidden dangers. When the valley was flooded in my great-grandfather's day, a section of woodland was drowned and the trees remain, petrified just under the surface on the eastern side.'

Leonora nodded. ‘I will always have someone with me.'

‘Fare thee well, Miss Appleby.' Lord Rokeby stepped away to let her go, turning back to the house, his anxieties about Achille uppermost in his mind once more.

The next morning Leonora was up early, determined to visit the Sproats without risking the attention of Sir Roderick Fopling and his men. She donned her cloak and bonnet and slung a basket on her arm with food from the kitchen. Mrs Priddy had taught Silas his letters when he was younger and so she joined Leonora's mission of mercy.

Silas was much more concerned about the death of Molly than about his own wound which was healing well. He seethed with resentment and Leonora was anxious the young hotspur might do something stupid. ‘Silas, you know it's dangerous to trespass on Sir Roderick's land. You can always ask us for a rabbit for the family.'

‘That's what I told 'im, Miss Appleby!' Mrs Sproat was exasperated and banged the birch besom against the wall as she swept the floor with vigour.

‘They didn't have to shoot Molly!' Silas's red hair was sticking up like a flame around his freckled face, which was flushed with feeling. ‘She was the best hound in the world. There'll never be a better.' Tears sprang into his eyes.

Mrs Priddy bustled forward and asked to see his arm. Examining the scabbed wound which had no tell-tale signs of inflammation, she nodded and caught his mother's eye. ‘That's looking good. Mrs Sproat, your potions seem to have done the trick.'

Mrs Sproat put down her broom and crossed her arms, looking pleased. ‘My medicine is the wisdom of the country folk. Yet to let me down.'

Leonora had unpacked the contents of the basket and turned to Silas. ‘Did you know that the Vazeys' dog has just had puppies?'

‘Yes, but she's nothing like as prime a dog as Molly.' He was sulky.

‘I know. No one could be. But they're good-looking puppies and I'm sure you'd train one up to be almost as good as Molly.' She knew not to press the point but to leave it, hopefully to tantalise Silas enough that he would go and see them. No one could resist a puppy, she thought with a smile.

‘Please, no more trespassing on Fopling land. You've escaped this time, but it's too dangerous if you're caught. Silas, come to us if your family needs anything,' Leonora added as she turned to go.

Mrs Sproat came forward, a smile lifting her careworn features. ‘Always grand to see you Mistress Priddy. And thank you, Miss Appleby. These victuals and your care are much appreciated. I'll make sure the lad stays within bounds.'

The two women were almost at the Manor when Curate Fopling emerged from the alley to the almshouses, walking fast. He nearly bumped into them and tipped his hat. ‘Apologies, ladies.' His pale kindly eyes glanced at Leonora, then quickly flickered away. The morning sun was bright on the bare branches of trees that had given up their last leaves to the wind. ‘Yesterday's storm has purged the air to bring us such clarity of light.' He met her eyes again. ‘Such certainty is rare, wouldn't you agree, Miss Appleby?' Then he tipped his hat again and walked off towards the church.

‘I can't make that young man out,' Mrs Priddy tutted as they entered the house. ‘He will obscure everything in poetic observation.' They removed their cloaks and bonnets to be greeted by Charlotte's hallo from the small sitting room. Turning, they saw their visitor looking charming in a morning dress of palest blue cotton, her fair hair more carefully confected into curls than usual, a handwritten list in her hand.

‘Lottie! You're early. Have you breakfasted?' Leonora went forward to embrace her.

‘Yes, I've been up hours, making lists of my clothes so we can decide what we can improve and what we need to order from Windsor.'

‘Aha! Well, we'll need Nanny P's excellent needlework skills.' Leonora turned to the elderly woman who was about to head for the kitchens in search of Cook.

Mrs Priddy laughed. ‘I'll do what I can, but I also have my dear Nora to think about. She will need some new gowns too.'

‘Oh no! This is Miss Charlotte's Season, I'll just be acting as her unremarkable chaperone.'

Charlotte grasped her friend's arm and said, ‘It's imperative that you come as my sister, dressed to the same height of fashion.'

They went through to the room and sat together on the sofa. ‘That's very kind of you Lottie, but I am twenty-seven, no longer an attractive marriage partner, and you are eighteen and at your prime. You are also the daughter of a nobleman and a hero of the Peninsular War. We are going to have to dress you appropriately.'

‘But I'm not the Earl's legitimate child.' Charlotte's voice was quiet.

Leonora took her hand. ‘You are going to behave as if you were, with all the pride in your blood. Do not give others reason to pity or shame you. Now let me see your list.'

‘I have only listed the clothes that are in good enough condition, or appealing enough, to merit embellishment.' Charlotte had carefully noted every morning gown, walking dress, riding habit, evening gown and even one ball gown, together with matching pelisses, spencers, tippets, muffs and a single fur-edged velvet cloak and redingote for when the weather was grim.

‘This is so helpful. I had no idea you had so many clothes, and a ball dress too!'

‘Yes, Mama Mildmay has admitted she had an annual allowance from my mystery father to spend on clothes and she wanted me to be prepared for anything. I wish she had confided in me. It would have meant much to know my father cared enough to stay in contact, even if just through the bank.'

‘How goes it with you, now you've discovered something about him?'

‘I don't really know. I'm afraid of the person he wished me to become and the life I'm to inhabit. I've had no training to enter Society and feel such a country mouse.'

‘Most young women who come up to Town for their first Season have lived secluded country lives. Your kind nature and talents will charm everyone, from your great-grandmother to the exacting Society Dames, to every young man about Town.'

Charlotte threw her arms around Leonora and said, ‘I'm grateful you and Nanny P will be there too. Mama Mildmay says she cannot leave the Reverend and the parish responsibilities, but truly she is overwhelmed by this change in my affairs.'

‘Well, we have to be practical now. I think we must travel to Windsor as soon as we can and order some new clothes. Have you thought about Mrs Marmery, your grandmother's modiste?'

‘I've already written to her. Her shop's in Peascod Street just down from the Castle and I've asked for an appointment next week.'

‘Good. Now we need to have some idea of what we'd like to ask her to make.'

‘I have the latest La Belle Assemblée for that purpose. Mama Mildmay borrowed it from the Dean's wife and it's full of beautiful gowns.' Charlotte gestured to a magazine beside her, filled with fine coloured prints of engravings of fashionable women in elaborate dresses and accessories.

As Leonora talked clothes and commented on Charlotte's choices, poring with her over the exquisite pages of the magazine, she realised she was on tenterhooks listening out for the sound of horses' hooves from the stable yard. She reasoned it was only because she was anxious to hear about Achille, but really she knew it was the Earl she hoped to see again.

Charlotte's voice recalled her to the subject of their wardrobes. ‘Do you think my blue sarsenet would do if I lowered the neckline and added a ribbon trim?'

‘I think it's most becoming as it is.'

‘Ah, but look here.' She tapped a page with an engraving of A Gauze Evening Gown from Paris . ‘See how the neckline is much lower and wider and as I don't have a beautiful necklace, I think it needs more embellishment.'

‘Excuse me, Lottie, I must check something.' Leonora picked up her skirts and hurried down the stone-flagged corridor to the kitchens to open the back door to the stable yard. She heard the clatter of hooves on the cobbles and turned to see a large black horse mounted by a tall man dressed in black riding away towards the drive. Lord Rokeby had come for Jupiter and was disappearing into the hazy morning sun. She had missed him.

Cross with herself for feeling so dejected, Leonora returned to Charlotte and the discussion of the competing merits of cambric muslin, jaconet and silk, and whether there was anything finer than gauze and satin ribbons with which to confect a ball dress. With some reluctance, she also realised she must address her own deficient wardrobe and work out with Nanny P what she could modify to make it fashionable and acceptable for Town. She knew she would need to order a couple of special garments from Mrs Marmery for herself and was grateful for the small legacy her mother had left her.

The day for the journey to Windsor began clear and crisp. Martin was excited by the trip; it was not often that he had to dust down the Hasterleigh coach and harness up the carriage bays. It was ten miles away and the horses would be able to do both journeys in a leisurely fashion, allowing the young ladies enough time with the modiste and still managing to return before nightfall.

Leonora and Charlotte climbed into the coach, dressed for the cold in walking dress, spencer, pelisse and cloak. Their best winter bonnets trimmed with velvet were on their heads and each carried large rabbit-fur muffs. There was an old fur blanket on the floor and Mrs Priddy had heated up two bricks in the oven to be placed by Martin to warm their feet. For the young women, this was an exciting expedition, for they did not often go much farther than the local market town and had never been as close to London before. The Dean's wife had told Mrs Mildmay with some trepidation that this week, the Prince Regent was expected to be in residence at the Castle, which added an extra zest to their visit. Where the Prince Regent roamed, his wild set followed.

Charlotte and Leonora gazed out at the countryside as they passed through rolling rural landscapes with villages, coaching inns and scattered farms the only habitation. In the distance to the north was the blue blur of the Chiltern Hills, undulating and mottled with woodland. They had set out early and the sun was still low and pallid, casting faint shadows across the carriage as the horses trotted on. Soon they were travelling along the Bath Road through the Thames valley heading for London, and the traffic of horsemen, private vehicles and stagecoaches had increased. Ox carts laden with late-harvested hay or scavenged firewood trundled in front of them and it was difficult sometimes to pass as there were mail coaches and private vehicles rattling towards them, heading in the opposite direction.

As they approached the Windsor Road, Leonora was surprised to see so many smart curricles driven by fashionable young men. They were passed by one, the magnificent matched greys straining forward, their necks outstretched, nostrils flaring, and Leonora was struck with unexpected excitement. There was a young man driving, his long whip in hand and his passenger beside him. They were wearing their driving coats against the cold, the capes rippling in the wind, their curly-brimmed beavers pulled low, and their faces muffled to the eyes with long woollen scarves. Behind the driver perched his tiger with the horn used to summon the turnpike keepers to let them through without delay.

Charlotte had noticed these sporting drivers and was intrigued. ‘Do you think those are the kind of young men we will meet during the Season?' The excitement in her voice made Leonora smile, relieved that her young friend's spirit of adventure was beginning to overcome her natural fear of the social ordeal ahead.

Leonora too was strangely thrilled by the sight. This world of the rich and noble male was alien to her but seductive in its freedoms and swagger. True, she had now met the Earl of Rokeby who had the same advantages of nobility and wealth but had chosen to go to war, and perhaps that entitled swagger was gone. During his army leave he would have lived the indulgent life of a buck about Town, gaming, racing and drinking, but Leonora mused at how he seemed to have missed out on learning the elaborate courtesies of his class; he was brusque and not practised in sly charm and flowery talk. As Nanny P always insisted with some admiration, he marched to a different drum.

‘No doubt there will be many dashing young men who drive their curricles too fast,' Leonora laughed. ‘But there'll be others who are more dangerous to young women of fortune.'

Charlotte turned back from the window, a look of surprise on her face. ‘Surely I am not one of those?'

‘If the Earl intends to settle a substantial marriage portion on you then you will indeed be one of those heiresses.'

‘Despite my irregular birth?'

‘I think the nobility of your father's line will matter more, and the Countess of Bucklebury's patronage tells the world she accepts you as part of her family. A great-granddaughter in fact!' The carriage had turned off the Bath Road and they were now travelling towards Windsor on a track that made the old springs creak as the wheels juddered in and out of the large ruts and ridges left by recent rains.

‘Look, I think we can just see the Castle.' Leonora pointed across the low-lying green of the valley. The ancient grey crenellations, misty in the distance, contrasted with the pastoral vision before them: hazel, oak and apple trees clumped on the perimeter of a smallholding where a couple of pigs wallowed in mud.

The novelty of the journey was wearing thin and both young women longed to see Windsor for themselves, this growing town enriched by its royal connections. Soon the horses pulled up in Peascod Street, outside a pretty bow-windowed shop, its display dominated by an aquamarine pelisse edged in ermine.

Martin opened the door to hand the two young women out. Leonora had never seen such a fascinating mix of people promenading up the road towards the Castle. There were officers in their red jackets, women dressed in the height of fashion with their showy bonnets with plumes of bright feathers and pelisses of satin and velvet. They passed in a gust of chatter and laughter.

Martin did not seem amused. He tipped his hat. ‘Miss Leonora, Mr Fleming asked me to warn you that there is a barracks in Windsor which attracts a certain type of disreputable woman and some bawdy behaviour from the soldiers.' His face was suffused with embarrassment at bringing up such an indelicate subject but the Manor bailiff, Ned Fleming, had known Leonora since she was a baby and felt a certain fatherly responsibility towards her.

‘Thank you, Martin, for your and Mr Fleming's concern. I think Miss Blythe and I have so much business to conduct with the modiste we'll barely have time to see any of the passing show.'

‘I'll water and feed the horses at the Star and Garter tavern just down the street.' He pointed to a large building three doors down. ‘We need to leave after three hours in order to get home by dusk.'

A bell tinkled as Leonora and Charlotte entered the shop and an elderly bird-like woman emerged through a curtain at the back. Mrs Marmery had intelligent eyes in a sharp lined face. Wearing a pea-green satin turban with a purple cockade, her thin body was not flattered by the fashions of the time and so she had chosen a beautifully tailored spencer of violet silk, fastened to the throat by silver braid sewn to make it look like a hussar's. Her eyes flickered from Leonora to Charlotte, whom she approached, then dropped a quick curtsey. ‘I presume you are Miss Charlotte Blythe. I remember your grandmother well. You have a look of the Countess.' Charlotte coloured and dropped her eyes while Mrs Marmery summoned a young assistant. ‘Would you like some tea after your journey?'

Leonora was feeling in great need of refreshment and inclined her head in acquiescence. ‘My name is Miss Appleby; I will be accompanying Miss Blythe to London. And thank you, Mrs Marmery, tea would be most welcome.'

The modiste motioned them to the sofa and said in a business-like way, ‘We don't have much time to create your wardrobe, so I suggest we discuss the most important aspects of your apparel first. How many ball dresses and evening gowns would you like me to make?'

Charlotte removed her list from her reticule and handed it over. Mrs Marmery looked up with a speculative eye. ‘I've just had a bolt of gold silk gauze delivered from Paris. With your colouring, I think a ball dress in that would be most becoming.' She clapped her hands and a young seamstress emerged blinking into the showroom. ‘Delia, please bring us the new gold gauze.' This sparkling airy cloth was unrolled and whisked under Charlotte's chin; it did indeed somehow intensify her dark eyes and the lustrous contrast of her fair hair.

Then followed a dizzying parade of fabrics of every weight and colour: Venetian crape, cambric, sarsenet, silky China crape, chambray, airy tiffany, jaconet, muslin, worked point gauzes and a variety of pretty workaday sprigged cottons. Luckily, Mrs Marmery was decisive and seemed to have an unerring eye for what most flattered her young client. The fabric chosen and detail of the pattern was noted down carefully in a book by Delia. Measurements were taken and accessories discussed.

Charlotte was beginning to tire of the rich cornucopia of fabrics, patterns and details, all of which needed rapid decisions. She turned to Leonora and said, ‘You too will need some special dresses.'

Mrs Marmery's eyes sparkled. ‘I've just been looking at your colouring, Miss Appleby, and I have the perfect evening gown for you. It's already made up for a client who then eloped before she could do the Season, so her heartbroken mama cancelled the order.' She turned to the diligent young seamstress who had just finished sketching the detail agreed for the last gown for Charlotte and clapped her hands. ‘Delia, fetch the silver gown. I'd like to see if it fits Miss Appleby.'

The dress was carried into the room and both young women gasped. In Delia's arms it looked like she had caught a wave of silver foam. Charlotte said in excitement, ‘It looks beautiful! Please try it on.' Leonora was led behind a screen and the young woman helped her unlace her dress and slip into this new one. Leonora had never had much opportunity for fashionable dressing or even thinking about clothes. Now, as she stepped into the matching silk chemise and then slipped on the gauze overdress, she felt entirely different and straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

If Shakespeare was right that apparel oft proclaims the man, then she felt shaken enough by this new feeling to declare that clothing maketh the woman. She gazed at herself in the looking glass and barely recognised the image reflected back. The bodice fitted as if it had been made for her, lowcut and wide which flattered her breasts and neck and the creamy colour of her skin. The puff sleeves were ribbed with tiny tucks and the hem was lightly wired so it stood out from her ankles. She could not believe this vision in silvery gauze was herself.

Leonora, with a sudden shyness, slipped out from behind the screen to see Charlotte's eyes fly open as she clapped her hands in pleasure. ‘You look ravissante, Leonora! You must have that lovely dress.'

Mrs Marmery's face also lit up. She was a master of her craft and the pleasure of sending young women into Society looking as beautifully dressed as possible affirmed her pre-eminent place amongst the most skilled modistes. ‘Miss Appleby, it could not suit you better,' she declared.

Leonora twirled and then stopped, embarrassed, shocked that her love for this garment and pleasure in her appearance displayed the very girlish sensibility she had so disdained. Mrs Marmery stepped forward and took Leonora's hand. ‘Trust me, Miss Appleby, that design is most flattering. The bodice is the perfect proportion for your height and the low, wide neckline shows off your shapely bosom in a suitably modest but revealing way. No one could accuse you of looking vulgar, my dear.'

Leonora stole another look at herself in the glass and was astounded by how a fine gown could transform a woman's idea of herself and her place in the world. For the first time she felt beautiful, even noble. She met Mrs Marmery's amused eyes and said, ‘I'd be very pleased if I can purchase this gown. And could you make me two more to the same design; one in that cornflower-blue silk crape you showed us and a second in the pale rose-pink tiffany. I like the lightness of the fabric.'

Just as both young women were fading after the excitement of the day, they heard the blessed sound of wheels clanking on the cobbles and the clopping of horses' hooves as Martin drew their coach to a halt outside the window.

Charlotte grasped Mrs Marmery's hand. ‘Thank you, Madame, for helping me with my clothes for the Season. I no longer feel quite so unprepared.'

‘You will both be as well-dressed as anyone.'

‘Thank you for your help, Mrs Marmery, and Delia.' Leonora saluted them from the door. They scrambled into the carriage with their gayly striped boxes complete with one dress each that was ready-made, together with a whole gallimaufry of ribbons, beads and braids, feathers, flounces and fur, with which to refurbish their old wardrobe of garments and bonnets.

As they headed back through the green valley of the Thames again, Charlotte leant back against the squab cushions and sighed. ‘I hadn't realised what a difference lovely clothes make. I am no longer afraid of going to London; in fact, I'm quite excited, as long as I have you and Mrs Priddy – and Mrs Marmery's creations as my shield.'

‘It's quite a revelation. Even I felt positively beautiful. It's rather shaming, don't you think, when one has prided oneself on not caring about such things? How do we stop ourselves becoming the simpering Society ninnies we deplore?' They laughed.

Charlotte was pensive for a while then said with some wonder, ‘Knowing who my father was and the family that I belong to has given me a centre I've never had before.' She held her head up with pride.

‘Could it be that at last you have that sense of belonging you've sought all your life?'

‘I know now where I've come from and although I can't ever know my father, I know what has made him, and made me too. But I must find my mother. Perhaps she will explain another side of me.' They both laid their heads back on the cushions as the coach rattled home.