‘What a nerve!’ Gwen exclaimed before she could stop herself. Fortunately, though, neither gentleman seemed to have heard, as the rude individual at precisely the same moment had expressed a desire not to leave his horses standing too long in the cold wind.
Gwen waited a second or two before peering round the end of the settle in time to catch a last glimpse of the close friends as they strode side by side across the coffee room. Aggrieved, justifiably so in her opinion, she was experiencing far too much resentment towards the taller man to appreciate that for a large gentleman he carried himself with a dignified air, his gait both smoothly effortless and remarkably graceful. Instead she favoured his retreating form with a basilisk-glance.
‘Odious, odious creature!’ she muttered, turning back in her seat.
It wasn’t his low opinion of her sex that annoyed her. Innate honesty prompted her silently to acknowledge that she herself had come into contact with numerous woolly-minded females during the quarter of a century she had been on God’s good earth. It wasn’t even his condemnation of her actions a short time earlier, either, that rankled. Indeed, it hadn’t been the most sensible thing to walk into a crowded inn with one’s vision severely restricted. No, what she found unpardonable was his suggestion that her hair was possibly not wholly natural. Evidently he was accustomed to associating with females who would resort to any means in order to attain their ends. She was not so naïve as to suppose such women did not exist here in England. Her eyes suddenly twinkled with a very satisfied glint. But at least no female, virtuous or quite otherwise, had been foolish enough to tie herself irrevocably to such a self-opinionated bore as that person appeared to be!
‘Why, Miss Gwennie! I’ve never seen such a mutinous look on your face, not since that time your sainted mother—God rest her soul!—refused to allow you to play in the garden with Miss Jane until you’d finished your lessons.’
Memories of her long-suffering mother’s attempts to instil in her, her only child, at least a basic education swiftly erased the lines of annoyance from Gwen’s brow. ‘Ah, yes, dear Jane was so much cleverer than I. Just as well I didn’t attempt to follow her example by earning a living. I was always slower to learn.’
‘Only because you wouldn’t apply yourself. Leastways, that’s what I recall your mama always said. When something interested you, it was always you took the lead.’
The maid slipped into the settle opposite, apologising as she did so for being away for so long. ‘But you really oughtn’t to walk into inns by yourself,’ she went on, adopting the scolding tone she had used throughout Gwen’s childhood. ‘You ought to have remained in the carriage as arranged. You never know what nasty folk you might bump into.’
‘True! How very true!’ Gwen agreed, tongue-in-cheek, before deciding finally to thrust the unfortunate encounter with the abrasive gentleman from her mind completely. ‘I assume you were not successful in securing a private parlour?’
‘No, Miss Gwen. Seemingly there’s only two, and both in use at the present time, though the landlord did offer to put himself out and serve us in one of the unoccupied bedchambers, if we were—er—willing to pay the price.’
‘Needless to say you declined,’ Gwen responded, smiling to herself. One could always rely on dear old Martha Gillingham to know how to deal with any presumptuous fellow. She might have been in service throughout most of her life, and her education limited, but she was quite a remarkable judge of character, and was never slow to recognise when someone was attempting to take advantage.
‘I said as how my mistress didn’t intend to break the journey for long, and that we’d be comfortable enough eating our broth in the coffee room.’
‘Which is no less than the truth,’ Gwen quickly avowed. ‘According to the post-boys, we should reach our journey’s end, barring any mishap, before evening.’
‘And as long as the old master’s housekeeper has received your letter, everything should be in readiness for our arrival.’ The maid beamed across the table, her small, round eyes positively aglow with excitement. ‘You must be longing to see your new home, Miss Gwennie. I know I am.’
‘I’m longing to see Jane again far more.’ Gwen released her breath in a sigh. ‘She must have changed a good deal in the years since I’ve seen her. I know I have.’
Martha’s smile faded. Her plump features clearly betrayed a moment or two’s thoughtful contemplation before being replaced by a look of gentle affection. ‘Not that much, miss, you haven’t,’ she eventually countered. ‘You still get that same wicked glint in your eye you had as a child when you’re amused by something, or annoyed. And you’re still not afraid to speak your mind on occasions neither, though thankfully you’re a deal less headstrong than of yore.’
Gwen didn’t waste her breath in fruitless argument, simply because there was a deal of truth in her loyal maid’s utterances, and merely said, ‘Well, let us hope dear Jane hasn’t retained that stubbornly independent streak of hers. She may have been overjoyed to obtain that position as governess to those two orphaned girls, granting her the God-given opportunity to remove to the West Country. And so conveniently close to dear Percival’s house, too! But it doesn’t automatically follow that she’ll be any more willing to come and live with me now that I’m taking up permanent residence in my late husband’s home.’
A shadow of mingled resentment and regret flickered across Gwen’s delicately featured face. ‘I haven’t forgotten she refused to oblige me six years ago.’
A completely trouble-free last stage of the long journey resulted in the post-boys’ prediction of a late afternoon arrival proving accurate. Consequently, Gwen was privileged to enjoy the first glimpse of her new home bathed in flattering pale-golden sunlight glinting welcomingly on mullioned windows. An untidy and overgrown garden detracted somewhat from what might otherwise have been a very pleasing setting for the Restoration building, as did the profusion of choking ivy clinging to the front wall.
If the truth were known, though, Gwen wasn’t so much concerned about the architectural merit of the house that was shortly to become her permanent place of residence, at least for the foreseeable future, as she was about the atmosphere prevailing within. Much, she strongly suspected, would depend on the character of the female her late husband had employed almost twenty years before to maintain the smooth running of his household.
Gwen knew next to nothing about Mrs Travis, save that she was a female now well into middle age, and that Sir Percival had considered her to be a first-rate cook-housekeeper, completely trustworthy and conscientious. So unless she discovered the woman to be quite otherwise, Gwen was prepared to allow things to remain as they were. More importantly, her own dear Gillie had promised not to interfere in the running of the house, and to continue with her duties as personal maid-cum-companion. So one might be inclined to take an optimistic view, expecting everything to run smoothly, and everyone to rub along together remarkably well. Except that Gwen, now, was nothing if not a realist, and was well aware that things frequently didn’t work out as one might have wished. Furthermore, love her though she did, she wasn’t blind to her dear Gillie’s faults.
Martha Gillingham had assisted in bringing Gwen into the world, and had always been treated as a member of the family, rather than a servant. Consequently Martha had never had too many restrictions imposed upon her.
The maid had never been afraid to speak her mind, airing her views whether called upon to do so or not. So, should it be discovered that the house wasn’t being maintained to the high standards to which she herself had always adhered, when she had held the position of cook-housekeeper in the late Reverend and Mrs Playfair’s home for all those years, she wouldn’t be reticent to point out any deficiencies on Mrs Travis’s part.
Gwen quickly discovered there was thankfully no possibility