Page 4 of A Lady’s Fortune

‘I hope Nanny P will also be there.’ Charlotte was handing Leonora the best pieces of trailing ivy to finish off the arrangement.

Leonora was firm in her response. ‘She’s the closest I have to a mama, and I don’t care a jot if Mr Lockwood objects to sitting down with my old nurse.’

Charlotte recalled what she had wished to tell her friend. With an animated voice she said, ‘Oh, the latest gossip! Everything comes to the Vicarage you know. The Earl of Rokeby has been seen in his black chaise. Well, they think it’s him. The blind is always down but he has this great black-eyed dog which sticks its head out to survey the world and frighten the children.’

Leonora had begun to put the flowers into the vases when she looked up. ‘Oh, I’ve actually spoken to him.’

‘What? You should have told me! What’s he like?’

‘Well, he looks as if he’s been very damaged by the war. He has an eye patch.’

‘No! Did he say anything to you?’ Charlotte was immediately intrigued.

‘His coach was going so fast in Orchard Lane it splattered me with more mud than even the young pigs manage when they escape to the orchard. He didn’t seem in the least concerned.’

‘How inconsiderate! Surely he apologised?’

‘He was more concerned to ask me if I knew of a piano-forte tuner.’

‘You didn’t offer to tune his, did you?’ Charlotte’s eyes were round with astonishment.

‘Actually, I did. But don’t trouble yourself, Lottie. I’ll take Nanny P as a chaperone. Anyway, the Earl will still be away.’

‘But it’s complicated to do. I’ve watched you with yours. It’ll take you all day.’

‘I so like piano-fortes. They have different characters and I’m happy to get to know a new one.’

The evening did not get off to a good start. The Reverend and Mrs Mildmay arrived early, hurried there by Charlotte who wanted to help her friend. She was sensitive to the fact that Leonora, without the benefit of parent, spouse or sibling, was due to entertain the assembled guests and this unknown interloper who would claim her home and everything she had known. Curate Fopling was delayed, having been sent by the Reverend to administer spiritual comfort to a parishioner crushed by a cow. The hostess too was late and still dressing so Mrs Priddy, in her best navy brocade gown, showed them into the drawing room with the windows facing the garden, and offered refreshments. Mr Lockwood, the unknown heir, had been due in the afternoon but was yet to arrive.

Leonora hurried into her best gown of cornflower-blue silk, embellished by herself with tiny cream silk roses round the neck and hem. Milly was the general housemaid but could come to her aid as a lady’s maid when needed, to lace or button clothes and lend a hand with Leonora’s luxuriant hair. In the country, Leonora felt she did not have to concern herself with high sartorial standards, fortunate indeed given her natural character and lack of sophisticated help to call on.

She dashed down the stairs just as Richard Fopling was being shown into the house. He was a tall man like his father, but where Sir Roderick was broad, red-faced and blustery, his curate son was willowy and pale; where the father had a booming voice full of opinion, his son was soft-spoken and poetic in his sensibilities. He looked up, surprised, as Leonora, a vision in blue, welcomed him, a trifle breathless in her haste.

‘Mr Fopling, I’m glad you have managed to join us.’

‘So am I, Miss Appleby. My apologies for my lateness.’ They walked into the drawing room where the Reverend and Mrs Mildmay stood looking out on the garden and Charlotte tinkled on the piano-forte in the middle of the room.

‘I do apologise for not being here to welcome you.’ Leonora took Sarah Mildmay’s hand. The Mildmays were in their middle years, both shorter and plainer than Charlotte, the beauty who now towered over them with her own slender grace. Mrs Mildmay liked to say it was as if a pair of mallards had raised a swan and as she spoke, her genial face twinkled with gratitude – as if she still did not believe her good fortune.

Charlotte stood up and walked across from the piano-forte. ‘Oh, Leonora, you look very well!’ she said, beaming with admiration. Leonora Appleby was striking with her large expressive eyes, flecked it seemed with gold, and her lively face, full of intelligence and humour. ‘Your hair looks different. How have you arranged it?’

Leonora laughed and then dropped her voice. ‘Oh, it’s probably still stiffened with pondweed from our swim.’

They both looked across at Mr Fopling in conversation with Nanny P who had poured him some whisky to fortify him. Mrs Priddy knew everyone in the village, was called Nanny P or Mrs P by most, and was indulgent of them all. The bad boys were merely expressing their animal spirits and needed some useful employment; she was not shy of asking them to clean the village pond of blanket weed, or collect the windfalls from the orchard and offer them to the elderly. Sulky girls she took under her wing and taught to quilt or collect wildflowers from the verges to press and set in sketchbooks. The adults whom she had known as children accepted that her opinion carried authority. In her small world, she reigned supreme.

With the continued absence of the heir, Leonora visited the kitchen to soothe Cook who was growing concerned for her pièce de résistance, a roast crown of beef. This she withdrew from the enormous oven and wrapped in cloths to keep warm. The fish soup would not spoil, pulled to one side on the range, and the celery, cauliflower and spinach from the walled garden were all washed and chopped and in their pots, ready to be boiled when Cook was alerted that the last guest had arrived.

As she dashed back up the kitchen stairs, Leonora heard the crunch of wheels on the cobbled drive and walked quickly into the hall to open the door herself. A vision of fashionable tailoring emerged from the smart blue coach, but as George Lockwood straightened up, she was amazed to see just how tall and broad he was. His large face and rosy cheeks would have looked more at home above a good, worsted jacket and buckskin breeches, but he was dressed in a close-fitting coat of finest inky-blue broadcloth and dark pantaloons with mirror-bright hessian boots. His expression was guarded as he walked into the porch.

Leonora was disconcerted by Mr Lockwood’s dandy dress, in incongruous contrast with his broad bluff face and ox-like physique. Such finely accoutred metropolitan men were rare and intriguing sights in the vicinity of Hasterleigh. She came forward to greet him. ‘Mr Lockwood, welcome to the Manor. I am Leonora Appleby.’

It was her visitor’s turn to look disconcerted. ‘Why, Miss Appleby! We are distantly related, are we not?’ He took her hand and bowed. ‘My apologies for being later than I hoped.’

She smiled. ‘I’ll ask Milly to show you to your room. Your valet can fit in with my servants.’ A young man had struggled in with a smart leather trunk and Leonora called for Jack Clegg to help him transport it up the stairs. Milly led the way to the main guest bedroom at the back of the house.

When Leonora finally re-entered the drawing room, everyone turned curious faces to meet hers. Charlotte’s question was on everyone’s mind. ‘Well, what’s Mr Lockwood like?’

‘He’s very well-dressed.’ Then with a mischievous laugh, she added, ‘And he’s enormous! The tallest, broadest man I’ve ever seen.’