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The mill owner scowled at the lieutenant. “Maybe in some places you frequent, but not in Macclesfield. Your kind are not welcome, sir. Be off with you. I shall be having words with your commanding officer.”
Grainger, his face etched with concern, hovered close to Alice. “I waited for you, miss,” he said softly. “Then, I knocked on the door and the master of the house was quite adamant you hadn’t been a calling this evening. I’m sorry, Miss Alice, I will have to speak to your father, he will want to know why you are late returning home.”
Nerves were an excellent cure for drunkenness. Alice swallowed back the waves of nausea, straightened her back and thanked the Huddlestones politely for their intervention. Grainer led her to the awaiting gig, letting her hold his elbow as her wobbly feet negotiated the slippery paving.
“I came looking for you,” said Grainger, helping her up into the seat. “The thought of returning to Dodsworth and telling your father you are missing… it would have been unbearable.”
Alice’s lips trembled. She was in much trouble, far worse than she could have ever imagined. Her father rarely chastised his only child, her mother even less, yet she didn’t think they would ignore her atrocious behaviour. Grainger lay a horse blanket over her legs. Alice shivered, wrapping her arms about her body, hugging herself. It was then she remembered she had left her pelisse in the inn—her name embroidered on the collar.
Chapter Three
Colonel Edmund Seymour dismounted from his horse and took a deep breath. Before him stood a country house blessed with many fine features and well maintained. He ran a finger around his cravat. It felt especially tight about his neck. The morning light reflected off the windows, a good number of windows, none of which had been bricked up, meaning the occupants could afford to pay their taxes. It pleased him to know the family within had fared well over the years since his last visit.
From the back of his horse, he gathered up the item of clothing he had brought to return. The innkeeper had handed it over to the colonel and the garment verified the name of a woman. Her name, given to Edmund by an irate mill owner, who claimed the young lady had been caught in a disgraceful act in the company of one of his junior officers.
The scandalous tale had been told to him at his lodgings shortly after breakfast. He had immediately apologised to the man, an important representative of the town’s factory owners, and he had promised to investigate the matter. His next point of call had been the Dancing Bear Inn. There he had been met by the innkeeper, a man already unhappy at the state of affairs in his establishment. Bills unpaid, rooms left in an atrocious state and much drunkenness.
“My inn is a decent establishment, sir,” the rotund proprietor had said. “This must stop, colonel. As for your lieutenants, they had the company of a young lady last night and she left this behind.” The innkeeper handed Colonel Seymour the pelisse. The name clearly stitched on the inner lapel in white thread. More evidence of the night time travesty.
Following more apologies, the colonel had gone in search of the miscreants. What followed had been heard about the inn. The officers, hung over, dressed in nothing but their breeches, faces white and stomachs gurgling, had received a verbal reprimand they were unlikely to ever forget. Their privileges stripped away, pay docked and extra duties assigned; duties none of them liked to perform.
Now, having ridden over to the home of the Aubrey family, he had yet another apology to impart with regard to the behaviour of his officers. He also wanted an explanation. Why had Alice Aubrey been out unaccompanied in the middle of Macclesfield—a situation Edmund would never have tolerated if she had been his responsibility; he would have taken her over his knee without hesitation for such an act of folly.
* * *
“Ned!” Henry Aubrey greeted Edmund in the library. Bounding over, the older man grasped Edmund’s hand tightly in both of his own.
“Henry,” acknowledged Edmund sombrely. Immediately, he could see the effect of time on Henry’s face. It had been years since his last visit and the aging process had quickly crept over Henry. Edmund saw the extra wrinkles about the eyes, the grey strands in his thinner hair and an expanding belly.
Edmund recognised other less tangible features no doubt caused by the stress of the previous night. The lack of sleep clearly present under his eyes as was the pale pallor of the skin.
Stepping back, Edmund stood up straighter. “I am here to offer my formal apology for the conduct of my officers. Their activities last night were deplorable. They confessed to enticing Alice into drinking beyond acceptable limits. I can ensure you they have been reprimanded and given punishments befitting to their rank.”
Henry nodded and then offered Edmund a seat by the fireplace. “Thank you. I would like to think your admonishment would be sufficient to draw a close to the whole affair. Unfortunately, I fear that Alice’s and our family’s reputation has been ruined. I depend greatly on recommendations for my work. Now…” Henry’s voice trailed away.
“I understand,” said Edmund, saddened by his friend’s distress. “How is Alice today?”
“Confined to her room,” said Henry briskly. “She was quite ill upon her return last night. Between her ramblings and Grainger’s revelations of her compromising encounter with your officer, we deduced she had behaved despicably. My wife is distraught. Neither of us slept a wink.”
“How came she to be in town, alone?”
“Oh, Ned,” groaned Henry, “I am a foolish man. I haven’t been a good father.”
“Surely not, sir,” countered Edmund.
“No, no. The fault is mine. I love my daughter, my only child. I have spoilt her and spared the rod. I travel much and in my absence, she fills her head with nonsense. I should have sent her to school and not had her tutored here. She is quite innocent and at times unruly. She lied, deceived us. Yes, she should be punished, given a whipping, but I am a weak man. I haven’t the heart to be harsh.”
The door opened and in swept Jane Aubrey. Edmund rose
and there were for a few seconds smiled as he greeted her.
“The Huddlestones!” exclaimed Jane taking a seat. “Of all the people to meet in such an appalling circumstance. It will be all about the town, her voracious mouth will not cease in its mission. Any chance of a good match for Alice is ruined.” Jane burst into tears, fumbling for a handkerchief. Her husband offered her his own.
“There, there, my dear.” He patted her lap, but his face to Edmund was far from calm.
“No, don’t smother me with platitudes, Mr Aubrey. We will be cast aside. After all our efforts to rise up the ranks of society, it is heart-breaking.”
Edmund hated to see the couple grieve for their imminent social demise. He watched Henry comfort his wife and recalled what a good, kind man he had been to Edmund throughout his early life. His own father, and Henry’s childhood companion, had been a Major and quite taken to the army life, much preferring it to the sedate one of a gentleman landowner. Upon his death at the hands of the French in the West Indies, Henry had taken on the responsibility for overseeing the orphaned Edmund’s education and when Edmund chose to follow in his father’s footsteps, Henry and Edmund had corresponded, providing Edmund with much needed companionship amongst the carnage of the war with Imperial France.
