Page 4 of Trouble

This man did, at least, seem to be trying to touch her as little as possible.

They cantered along the lane and down the gentle slope that had indeed hidden the house from view; once she saw it, it was impossible for Emily to look at anything else, mostly because there was nothing else to look at. The landscape was nigh on featureless in all directions: just a few trees and then fields, fields and more fields, ending abruptly in cliffs to her left.

The house was very rectangular and symmetrical, made of red brick that was noticeably faded on the side that faced the sea, the windows and doors framed in pale, neoclassical trim. It looked quite silly in the middle of all this waterlogged land, as if it had been picked up from somewhere more sensible and dropped here by accident. The late summer sun was still an hour or two from setting, but the thick cloud cast such a blanket of gloom over everything that candles had already been lit in the downstairs rooms; the little squares of light seemed rather pathetic, unable to keep all that dreary, sea-swept isolation at bay. The grounds looked surprisingly ill-kept, the hedges running wild, a large tree at the end of the drive glumly cradling a broken limb.

Although it was somewhat diminished by the landscape, the house was actually very large. Large enough to house hundreds of people, probably. Far too vast for just one family and their servants. Emily thought of the bed she shared with her sister and felt momentarily overcome with murderous intent.

There were a few outbuildings clustered to the right of the house as they approached, and the groom pulled the horse to a dramatic stop and then dismounted, offering her his hand in a perfunctory manner and removing it immediately once she was on solid ground.

He looked slightly alarmed when he realised she was staring at him, awaiting further instruction.

‘One of the horses is unwell,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ said Emily.

‘So I’ll .?.?.’ He nodded towards the stables, taking the horse by the reins to lead it away.

‘What’s it like here?’ she blurted out, putting off the moment she had to enter the house for just a little longer. ‘Are they dreadful? I suppose they must be, with a house like this.’

He stopped and looked back at her, impassive, and she realised with a sinking feeling that he was one ofthosesorts of employees: ones who refused to hear a word against their masters, as if they owed them real loyalty because they provided meagre pay and a lightly chewed attic room to sleep in.

‘You don’t have to pretend for my sake,’ Emily tried again. ‘I’ve encountered naval officers before. I know them to be deeply self-important. Is Captain Edwards a classic of the genre?’

Another of those minute, inscrutable expressions passed over his face. Emily couldn’t place it. Surprise? Amusement? Barely repressed horror?

‘Yes,’ he said neutrally, after a beat. ‘I suppose he is.’

‘Damn,’ said Emily. ‘I mean .?.?. Ah, well. That’s a shame.’

He stared at her for a moment longer, but didn’t say anything further, and then he abruptly turned and walked away with the horse, leaving her standing there, wet and apprehensive.

‘Ugh,’ she said to nobody, wrapping her clammy arms around her to keep the cold at bay. She briefly entertained the idea of trying to find a servants’ entrance, but if the entire point of involving the horse had been to get her inside and dry as quickly as possible, it made far more sense to trail mud through the front door instead.

She rang the bell as she entered, but found nobody rushing to greet her in the very white entrance hall. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture, but what there was looked expensive enough: a mahogany and satinwood inlaid table, a single cream and cobalt vase, a dramatic family portrait framed in intricate loops of gold on the far wall. She took a few steps forward, then glanced behind and discovered that she was leaving brazenly dark smears all over the black and white diamond-patterned tiles. She supposed she couldn’t keep walking through the house, ruining everything she touched. It would not make a particularly good first impression.

She found herself stuck.

Five minutes passed, during which her only entertainment was listening to drops of muddy water fall from various corners of her person as they hit the floor.

Somebody burst through a door on her left, startling her, and then strode across the hallway and disappeared through the door opposite without seeming to see her. Emily waited, frozen, and a few seconds later a man with floppy hair roughly the colour of a lacklustre walnut retraced his steps and stared at her.

‘Ah. You’re .?.?. Miss Laurel?’

‘Miss Laurence.’

He nodded thoughtfully. He was wearing a very nice coat in myrtle green, and boots that had been recently buffed and polished. He was also very handsome, in the way that an optimistic illustration of a fairytale prince might be handsome.

‘Damn, everything’s a bit .?.?. and I’m in the most frightful rush. I’m not sure where Meera is, she’s the one who—’

‘My carriage broke down,’ said Emily. ‘Some of the staff went to help.’

‘Of course they did,’ said the man. ‘Gluttons for punishment. Well, I’m sorry not to be of more assistance, Miss Laurence, but I have a prior engagement and I’m already running forty-five minutes behind schedule .?.?.’ He was already on his way out again.

Emily tried to remember herself. What would Amy do?

‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Captain Edwards,’ she said, smiling and going for a very belated curtsey.

The man reappeared.