When she surfaced they were travelling along a quiet country road with skeletal trees on one side and an old lichencovered wall on the other.
Stifling a yawn, she sat up straighter and looked around her just as they reached a stone-built gatehouse with tall, barley-sugar chimneys and mullioned windows.
As they turned towards the entrance, a pair of black ornamental gates slid aside at their approach and closed behind them.
Rolling parkland stretched away on either side as they followed a serpentine drive that ran between high, mossy banks.
Hethersage Hall, hidden from sight until they had rounded the final bend, was wrapped snugly in a fold in the hills. It was a homely, rambling place, not at all stiff and starchy as its name suggested.
The walls were mellow stone, the roofs a natural slate. Half a dozen gables peaked and sloped at various odd angles, yet the whole thing had a charming symmetry. There were diamond-leaded windows and an oak front door that was metal-studded and silvery with age.
When the car drew to a halt on the cobbled apron and the chauffeur helped Madeleine out, the door was opened wide and a small, plump woman with curly grey hair appeared, smiling a greeting.
‘Miss Knight…I’m Mary Boyce, the housekeeper…Do come in out of the cold…’
Returning her smile, Madeleine followed her into a large wood-panelled hall with polished oak floorboards and dark antique furniture that glowed with the patina of age.
The huge fireplace was full of pine logs, and above the stone mantel there were green spruce boughs and spectacular swags of ivy and scarlet-berried holly. A bunch of mistletoe hung from a fine old chandelier, and a tall, beautifully decorated Christmas tree filled one corner.
Cheerful and garrulous, Mrs Boyce went on, ‘You must be weary. Goodness knows jet lag’s bad enough, but when there’s a long delay on top of that…!
‘Mr and Mrs Rampling send their sincere apologies that they weren’t able to greet you in person. They’ve gone to Scotland to spend the holiday with their son and daughter and their family.’
‘Yes, Mrs Rampling did explain.’
‘Well, now, if you’d like to come through to the living room…’
The living room was white-walled and spacious, with oak beams and casement windows that looked over a pleasant garden.
It was furnished with an eclectic mix of old and new—some beautiful antiques, a modern suite upholstered in soft natural leather, an Oriental carpet that made Madeleine catch her breath, and several paintings by Jonathan Cass. The sight of which gave her a pang. Rafe had owned several of Cass’s snow scenes.
When she was ensconced in a deep armchair in front of a blazing log fire, Mrs Boyce said, ‘I’ll get you something to eat while Jack takes your luggage up.’
Feeling too tired to eat, Madeleine said, ‘Thanks, but I’m not at all hungry. Though a cup of tea would be lovely.’
‘Then a cup of tea it is.’
By the time she came back with a tray of tea and homemade cake, made even more soporific by the warmth of the fire, Madeleine was having a serious struggle to stay awake.
Watching her stifle a yawn, Mrs Boyce put the tray down on a small oval table and, proceeding to pour the tea, said sympathetically, ‘You must be more than ready to get some sleep.’
‘I am tired,’ Madeleine admitted.
‘Well, as soon as you’ve finished your tea you can get your head down.’ Adding, ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes to show you round the flat,’ the housekeeper bustled away.
Madeleine was just finishing her second cup of tea when Mrs Boyce returned and queried, ‘If you’re ready?’ Then, in concern, ‘I’m not rushing you, am I?’
‘No, not at all, I’m quite ready.’
As she followed the housekeeper across the hall and up a graceful curving staircase with a griffin head as its newel post, she looked around her.
It was a beautiful old house, she thought, utterly charming and unpretentious, with its simple white walls and black beams, its polished oak floorboards and linenfold panelling.
At the top of the stairs Mrs Boyce turned left down a short, wide corridor, and opened a door at the end.
‘Here we are.’
The living room was warm and cosy with an old, gently faded rose-pink carpet, matching curtains and a comfortablelooking suite. On the mantel was a small chiming clock.
Though there was discreet central heating, a log fire burnt in a delightful little fireplace with a tiled surround and an elaborately carved fender. To one side, a basket was filled with pine logs and cones that gave off an aromatic scent.
‘What a lovely room!’ Madeleine exclaimed.
Mrs Boyce looked worried. ‘There’s just one thing; I discovered earlier that the phone up here isn’t working. I really don’t know what’s wrong with it.
‘Of course, you could always use one of the downstairs phones.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Madeleine assured her. ‘I have a mobile.’
Looking pleased that the problem had been solved so easily, the housekeeper led the way into a pretty, feminine bedroom with an en suite bathroom.
Having turned back the duvet on the double bed, she indicated the cases which had been placed on an oak linen chest next to a cheval-glass. ‘If you want any help with your unpacking, I’m sure Annie will give you a hand…
‘And this is the kitchen…’
Madeleine glanced around the well-equipped kitchen, which was bright and airy, with a natural pine table and chairs, primrose tiles and muslin curtains at the casement windows.
‘I hope it meets with your approval?’
‘It certainly does,’ Madeleine assured her. ‘The whole flat is really lovely.’
The housekeeper beamed. ‘Mrs Rampling will be pleased. She was anxious that you should like it.
‘Now, you’ll find plenty of food in the fridge and cupboards,’ she opened the relevant doors to prove it, ‘but if there’s anything else you want, Annie will no doubt be shopping in the morning. She’s taking over the household duties until after the Christmas holiday.
‘There, now,’ she said as, the short tour over, they went back to the living room, ‘I’ll leave you to get some sleep.’
At the door she turned. ‘Oh, I almost forgot; as it’s your first night here, the master is hoping you’ll join him for an evening meal…’
There had been no mention made of either a wife or a family, Madeleine realised, though presumably there was a Mrs Rampling junior.
She was just about to ask, when the housekeeper added, ‘Pre-dinner drinks are served at seven in the study, which is directly across the hall from the bottom of the stairs.’
A second later she had closed the door behind her and departed.
Though the invitation to dinner had been carefully phrased, it held an underlying hint of command that for some reason Madeleine found vaguely disturbing.
She was a free agent, Mrs Rampling had made that clear, and if ‘the master’ had any ideas to the contrary…Well, he wasn’t employing her, she reminded herself, and, if the worst came to the worst, she could always leave.
Irritated with herself, she sighed. She’d only just got here. Why was she thinking of leaving before she’d even met