Page 30 of The Cornish Bride

Chapter Thirteen

With part of her plan already in motion, all Ysella had to do now was get rid of that tattletale Martha, who, if they met up with Oliver in Marlborough, would undoubtedly report back to Mama and Kit.

“Tell me, Martha, how is your sister?” Ysella asked on Wednesday morning, when Martha brought in her breakfast tray, knowing full well that Martha’s sister was in the same condition Morvoren had so recently been in, but in nowhere near such favorable circumstances.

Martha set the tray, containing toast and hot chocolate, Ysella’s favorites, on her mistress’s knee. “Finding it hard, Miss Ysella. What with the twins under her feet all the time and Joe out all day in the fields.” Martha’s sister, who’d once worked in the Abbey as a maid, was married to a tenant farmer and lived out beyond the village at the far end of the estate.

“Do you think she might like a basket of food from our kitchens?” Ysella asked, pretending an interest in her toast. “Something to make her feel a little pampered. A few special delicacies. And perhaps we could make a parcel of some of Kit’s old clothes for the twins. They’re out of petticoats now, aren’t they?”

Martha nodded. “She would be that pleased, Miss Ysella. And the clothes’d come in right handy, seeing as how hard it is to keep those boys neat and tidy.”

Ysella smiled inwardly while outwardly keeping an expression of earnest commiseration. “Then let’s go along to the schoolroom after breakfast and have a look in those chests of old clothes. I’m certain there will be plenty to choose from. Some of my brother’s childhood boots as well. And then, if you like, you can walk over there today with the clothes and food, and visit your sister. I’m sure she’d be very pleased to see you.” She paused, pleased with her subterfuge. “Some flowers from the Orangery as well, I think, and we can ask one of the gardeners what fruit is ripe for the picking. No need for you to hurry back. Spend some time with her while you can. Don’t worry about me. I can get Ellen to come and serve as my maid today.”

Martha beamed at her. “Ooh, thank you kindly, Miss Ysella. I’ll be sure and tell my sister ’twas you that sent everything over for her. She’ll be that happy to have shoes for the twins. She says they wear them out something rotten now they’re running about outside all the time.”

Sorted. Ysella congratulated herself on her own perspicacity.

She and Martha spent the next half hour, after Ysella had dressed, rummaging through the contents of the chests in the schoolroom and finding the smallest of Kit’s old clothes. There were indeed several useful pairs of his old boots and shoes, still with quite a lot of wear in them. Some boot blacking would soon have them looking as good as new. A grateful Martha, who was fond of her sister, parceled these up, along with the tiny breeches, shirts, stockings and jackets, in brown paper tied with string.

Once this was dealt with, Ysella accompanied Martha to the kitchens and organized the filling of a wicker basket with fruit, a large ham, jars of jams and jellies, a tub of thick cream and anything else she could think of until the basket was so full Martha was going to have a job carrying it all that way. The kitchen boy returned from the Orangery with a suitably colorful and flamboyant bouquet, and Ysella waved Martha on her way with a feeling of deep satisfaction and no guilt whatsoever. Then, with Ellen, one of the younger housemaids, in tow, she returned to her bedroom.

Once inside, she closed the door. “Now, Ellen,” she said to the overawed girl whom she’d specially picked for her mousey countenance and matching biddable nature. “I am going into Marlborough to the dressmakers today, and I want you to come with me as I’ve given Martha the day off. But…” she fixed the timid Ellen, who was only about fifteen, with a hard stare. “I need you to be the soul of discretion. Can you be?”

Ellen’s pale brow furrowed in confusion. “You want me to be what, Miss?”

Ysella sighed. “I mean I don’t want you to tell anyone about today.” She leaned closer. “Not even if they interrogate you.”

“Interrogate me?”

“Demand you answer their questions. Shout at you. That sort of thing.”

Ellen’s brown eyes opened wide as saucers and she nodded, but with a definite hint of fear on her face. Hopefully, she was more afraid of Ysella’s displeasure than she was of the threat of being interrogated, which probably wouldn’t happen anyway. What a good idea it had been to dispose of Martha and replace her with a more biddable servant. Much as Ysella was fond of Martha, who’d been with her for a number of years now, she did have an annoying habit of behaving like Mama.

“The first thing we have to do,” Ysella announced, going to the wardrobe, “is find me a much more suitable gown. Which one do you think will be most becoming?” She flicked a white gown embroidered with small yellow daisies out of the wardrobe and held it up to her body, glancing from her reflection in the cheval mirror to Ellen’s nervous face. “This one or the one with roses on it?” She raised her eyebrows at Ellen. “Well?”

“They’re both lovely, Miss Ysella,” Ellen muttered.

Ysella flung the daisy dress down on her bed and whipped out the one with roses on it. Both gowns were not quite suitable for a morning trip to town, being practically sleeveless and very low cut. But as she was going to be disguising what she wore under a spencer, that wouldn’t matter. And she wanted to be wearing a pretty gown to meet Oliver. “I’ll wear the one with the roses,” she declared. “With the red spencer. Put the daisy one away again and help me out of this boring old dress.”

Ellen, whom Ysella had recruited twice in the past to stand in for Martha when she’d been ill, at least knew what to do for a lady. Unlike the first time when she’d had to be taught every little thing. She soon had Ysella out of her plain day dress and was helping her into the much prettier rose embroidered dress, a little hampered by Ysella repeatedly wanting to admire herself in the cheval glass. But it was done at last, and Ysella stood regarding her reflection with satisfaction. Let Oliver see her in this, and he would be hers. He’d want to make an offer for her straightaway. Surely Kit couldn’t turn him away if he came cap in hand and humble? He was an officer, after all, and being the son of a bishop made him quite acceptable in society. Better than Meliora’s stuffy old solicitor husband, for certain.

Martha had done Ysella’s hair for her that morning, so all that now remained was to don her spencer and bonnet, pull on her gloves and descend the stairs to the front hall. And hopefully not encounter the prying eyes of either Mama or Oliver, who might notice the skirts of her dress below her spencer and comment on her choice being an odd one for a visit to Marlborough.

For once, Ysella was in luck. With Ellen trailing behind her, she negotiated the stairs and hallway without incident, and Albert the footman opened the front door to let them out. The barouche was waiting in the drive, with James on the driver’s seat and another groom waiting to fold up the steps after she got in. Resisting the urge to hurry, she stepped with dainty decorum into the carriage and settled her skirts around her under the raised hood.

Ellen, who must never have ridden in the barouche before, got in with a lot more diffidence and perched her bottom on the seat opposite Ysella. Her eyes, if it were possible, went wider than before, reminding Ysella of Dash and Duster when they were begging for tidbits. If it rained, which Ysella hoped it would not, she’d have to let Ellen come and sit beside her under the hood.

The groom jumped up on the back step, James flicked his whip and clicked his tongue, and the barouche moved off.

For the first ten minutes, until they reached the gatehouse onto the road that marked the edge of the Ormonde estate, Ysella contented herself with sitting in silence, considering how she was to effect time on her own with Oliver.

Ellen, on the other hand, stared about herself in such amazement Ysella began to wonder if the poor girl had ever been outside the estate boundary. But Ellen’s education in the wider world was not important. Ysella had other things to consider.

Part of Ysella’s hastily hatched plan involved Ellen’s complicity, so as they left Ormonde behind and headed for the Old Bath Road, she patted the seat beside her, inviting Ellen to sit in the capacious shelter of the hood.

Ellen settled beside her with some diffidence, and as soon as she’d done so, Ysella reached out and took her thin hand in hers. “Now, Ellen,” she said, plastering on her most winning smile. “I am going to need your help.”

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