Nell by Elizabeth Bailey Read Free Book Online Page B

own.’
     
    Contrary to Nell’s expectation, she woke in the morning feeling considerably refreshed. It had been long before she had slept, the events of the few hours she had spent in Castle Jarrow travelling round and round in her brain. On the other hand, she had gone to bed exceptionally early, driven thence by the constraint that had reigned throughout the remainder of dinner.
    Even Mr Beresford’s determined gaiety had worn thin at last. After the second course had made its appearance, beyond a few jovial remarks upon its content, he had lapsed for the most part into silence. He had stigmatised as meagre a spread of tarts, coddled apples and a selection of fresh fruits augmented by a syllabub, commenting that Mrs Whyte must have swiftly whipped up the syllabub in Nell’s honour.
    Unwilling to cause further dissension, Nell had dutifully laughed, feeling all the hollowness of putting on a false front. Lord Jarrow had made no attempt to engage in any further conversation. Instead, he had sat in a brown study, eating nothing more, and staring in a vague way at the fruit bowl.
    Nell had forced down most of the syllabub and toyed with a slice of tart. Prudence had soon dictated a swift retreat. When she had risen to leave, his lordship’s gaze had jerked up abruptly.
    ‘Where are you going?’
    ‘To bed, sir, with your permission. I am very tired.’
    Mr Beresford had reached for the decanter, raising a last grin. ‘Should think you would be. Don’t forget to lock your door!’
    Nell had frowned. ‘For what reason, pray?’
    Lord Jarrow, who had risen politely, had intervened, impatience in his voice. ‘No reason at all. No one will disturb you. But by all means lock it if you choose.’
    To her annoyance, Nell had been rendered apprehensive by the exchange. She had said a brief goodnight and made for the door. Her employer had stepped out to detain her. Taking up the larger of the two candelabra, he had held it out.
    ‘Take this. Tomorrow Mrs Whyte will give you a supply of candles and some holders.’ He had hesitated, the brown gaze searching her face. ‘Shall I escort you?’
    Nell had shaken her head. ‘I will be obliged to find my own way about, sir. I may as well begin now.’
    In truth, the eerie darkness of the passages had done little for her peace of mind. She’d been glad of the five candles that spilled light in all directions about her. But there had been no difficulty in finding her way. She had indeed felt excessively tired by the time she had dropped into bed, but her ruminations had kept sleep at bay.
    Strangely enough, they had been less concerned with the fate of her prospective charge than with the distresses of the child’s father—despite the misgivings engendered by Mr Beresford’s mention of his using force to quiet his daughter. If his lordship’s suspicions of his daughter’s state of mind had any foundation, his lot was indeed tragic, and coming after the loss of his wife, which, if the intriguing words of Mr Beresford were anything to go by, had been a disaster of no common order.
    But let her not begin mulling through all that again! Flinging back the bedcurtains, she thrust herself out of the stifling interior and went to pull back the shutters. Relief flooded her along with the sun. It looked to be a glorious day. Her spirits rose and she pulled out the basinand ewer. She could have done with some warm water, but no matter.
    Upon the thought came a knock at the door. Nell caught up her robe and shrugged it on. Outside the door she found a harassed-looking woman of middle years, bearing a large jug and dressed in bombazine covered by an apron, a mob cap framing plump features. Its frills rippled as she nodded, smiling.
    ‘I’ve brought you some hot water, my dear.’
    ‘How very kind!’ Nell said warmly. ‘You must be Mrs Whyte. Do come in.’
    Taking the jug from the older woman, she went to place it on the dressing table. Turning, she saw that the housekeeper had