‘You have a name. It’s Anne.’
‘Anne,’ she said. ‘It’s a pretty name. But it doesn’t somehow sound quite right…’
‘It will do for the moment,’ James said firmly.
‘There’s something else, Lord Aldhurst…’
‘What is it?’
‘You said…you told that doctor that he might be in danger if he took me in. What did you mean?’
‘I didn’t want an argument about where you should stay, that’s all.’
She shook her head. ‘Please be honest with me! What are these marks on my wrist? I have been tied up, haven’t I?’
‘It looks like it.’
‘So there is danger…I knew it. I have this feeling…of some kind of threat…But I don’t know what it is!’ She held her head in her hands. After a few moments she looked up again. ‘Why can’t I remember?’
James heard the beginning of panic in her voice and said, ‘Stop! It won’t do you any good, Anne. And you can forget about danger. I told you last night—you’re perfectly safe here. Or…do you not trust me?’
‘Of course I trust you. I have to. There’s no one else.’
Reawakening Miss Calverley
Sylvia Andrew
SYLVIA ANDREW has an Honours Degree in Modern Languages from University College, London, and before ending up as Vice-Principal of a large comprehensive sixth form college taught English for foreigners in Switzerland, Cambridge and in Compton Park, an international finishing school for young ladies, which was housed in a beautiful country mansion leased from the Devonshire family. The house and grounds have provided inspiration for several settings in her novels. She and her husband Simon now live in a small market town in the west of England, which is full of the Georgian architecture they both love. And just a few miles from their home is the marvellous Dorset Jurassic Coast World Heritage Site. In 2000 Sylvia wrote a historical celebration of the town’s splendid fifteenth-century parish church in a millennium son et lumière, which was a great success.
She and Simon belong to the Georgian Group, the National Trust and English Heritage, all of which help them to satisfy their love of historic houses and wonderful landscapes. Simon lectures all over the place on architecture and wild orchids, while Sylvia tries to do nothing, and usually fails, since she is heavily involved in the local museum. She just can’t keep away from old maps, newspapers, photographs and census returns! Her other passion is theatre performances of Shakespeare. She and Simon have one married daughter, whom they visit quite often, and a very precious grandson called Joe.
Novels by Sylvia Andrew:
LORD CALTHORPE’S PROMISE
LORD TRENCHARD’S CHOICE
COLONEL ANCROFT’S LOVE
A VERY UNUSUAL GOVERNESS
THE BRIDEGROOM’S BARGAIN
MISS WINBOLT AND THE FORTUNE HUNTER
And in the Regency series The Steepwood Scandal:
AN UNREASONABLE MATCH
AN INESCAPABLE MATCH
Chapter One
Asudden gust of wind blew a spatter of rain into James Aldhurst’s face. He pulled up the collar of his greatcoat and rode on, cursing in turn the weather and his own stupidity. If he had had a grain of common sense he would now have been sitting before a roaring fire in Norris’s inn on the Portsmouth Road, a glass of the landlord’s famous punch in his hands, and every prospect of a good dinner for himself and Sam Trott. And a comfortable bed to follow. Instead, for the last hour or more he and Sam had been battling against wind and rain, picking their way through mud and stones loosened by the storm, as they rode along the narrow lane leading to Hatherton. He should have paid more heed to Norris’s warnings. This was no night to be out. Behind him he could hear his groom grumbling under his breath, no doubt saying much the same to himself. Why on earth had he allowed his grandmother to send him here at this time of year? Here he was, riding through probably the worst storm for years, and wishing with all his heart that he had ignored her and waited for better weather.
After a few minutes he noticed with relief that they were passing the crossroads that lay only a mile or so before the entrance to Hatherton. Before long this nightmare journey would be over and he would be enjoying the usual warm welcome from his grandmother’s household, people who had known him all his life. His gloom lifted for a moment as a shaft of moonlight broke through the clouds. It could be a sign that the storm was at last easing. They quickened their pace, and it wasn’t long before they were encouraged by the sight of a familiar drive leading off to the right. ‘Cheer up, Sam!’ James shouted as they turned into it. ‘Another ten minutes and we’ll be home and dry.’
The groom was not mollified. ‘Home, mebbe. It’ll take more ‘n that to get me and the horses dry, Master James. Soaked through we are.’
The clouds were clearing more rapidly as they rode on along the avenue of trees, and the wind and rain eased. Visibility improved, and it was just as well. The horses had to pick their way through a mass of debris brought down by the storm. In places the drive was almost blocked by broken branches. They rode on slowly, concentrating on negotiating their way through, but when they were not more than a few hundred yards from the house James saw an obstruction on the road ahead, which was clearly not a branch. In fact, it looked like nothing so much as a heap of sodden rags. What was it, and what the devil was it doing on the drive? He pulled up his horse, jumped down and walked on a few paces. Sam joined him, and after an amazed glance at each other they bent down to look more closely. It was a body, and though it was lying face down in a bundle of wet clothes, it could be seen that it was the body of a woman.
‘Dead, is she?’ asked Sam.
‘Dead, or unconscious. Let’s see.’
James bent down, gently turned the woman over, and smoothed back the tangled locks of hair covering her face. He caught his breath. In the cold white light of the moon the face could have been carved in marble, its exquisite purity marred by a dark line running down from her temple.
‘I think she’s still alive,’ he said slowly. ‘But it’s too damned dark to be certain. We’ll have to take her up to the house.’
‘She’s had a nasty bang on the head,’ said Sam.
‘Yes, we’ll have to handle her carefully, but we must move her—she can’t stay here. I’ll carry her. You bring the horses.’
Not without difficulty, for her wet clothes were heavy and cumbersome, James took the woman up into his arms and set off for the house, now just a short walk away.
An elderly housekeeper met them at the door. ‘There you are, my lord! I didn’t hardly expect to see you in this weather. Come in, come in. I’ve got a nice fire going in the—’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Gracious me, Master James, who is that? Mercy on us, don’t tell me you’ve had an accident. Whatever has happened?’
‘Never