Page 34 of The Cornish Bride

Chapter Fifteen

Faced with the problem of how to escape Martha’s scrutiny yet again, Ysella racked her brain to find some way of getting rid of her that night. She needed the gullible and easily bribed Ellen, who would probably think everything Ysella wanted to do just an exciting adventure. Which it was, or so she kept telling herself. She pushed away the nagging whisper that it might be a hotheaded and irresponsible thing to do that would upset Mama far more than she wanted. No. She determined to see it only as an adventure.

As she changed for dinner that evening, Ysella peeked up at Martha who was arranging her hair with her usual precision into an artless and natural tumble of curls. The new lacy mob cap sat proudly on Martha’s sandy hair. “You’re looking a little tired, Martha, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Ysella patted her own hair and gazed into the mirror.

“Well, I suppose I am a bit, Miss,” Martha, who’d had her customary half day off that day, agreed. “I walked over to my sister’s again, and that’s quite a long way. I found her house was all topsy turvy. Again. I spent most of my time over there cleaning for her while she was laid in bed like a princess telling me her ankles were all swollen so she couldn’t get up. Those boys of hers were running wild.”

Ysella groped for her limited knowledge of pregnancy, as gleaned from Morvoren. “Is she very large and uncomfortable?”

Martha nodded, dusting powder over Ysella’s pale cheeks. “She thinks as it might be another set of twins. And her husband’s no help. If he’s not out in the fields, then he’s in The White Hart till all hours. So she told me, anyway. She’s not best pleased with him, and I don’t blame her. He could keep those boys in line a bit better than he does.”

Perfect.

“You poor thing, having to spend your day off working.” Ysella, who’d never done a day’s work in her life, put up a hand to pat Martha’s. “I tell you what. Why don’t you take the rest of the evening off. You can send that silly girl Ellen up to do my evening toilette. She won’t be as good as you, but I can tolerate her for just the one night, I suppose. And it’s important to me that you get some rest.”

Martha put down the hare’s foot she’d been using for the face powder. “Well, if you’re sure it won’t inconvenience you. Thank you very much for that, Miss Ysella. I have to admit, it’ll be a blessing to get off my feet after all that walking. You’re sure Ellen won’t be a nuisance?”

Ysella wrinkled her nose. Martha mustn’t get the idea that she could be dispensed with and not missed, or she’d never get rid of her. No. What was she thinking? After tonight she wasn’t going to need Martha ever again. Unless, of course, she took her with her to her new home with Oliver. She would be needing a lady’s maid, after all, and better the one she already knew.

“Not at all. Ellen’s not like a proper lady’s maid, like you, of course, but I won’t need much this evening. I’m sure I can take her in hand. You go off and get some rest. Soak your feet in a bowl of hot water.” Papa had been wont to do that after a day’s shooting, in front of the fire in the library, much to Mama’s annoyance.

Martha made her a little, appreciative bob and stepped back. “All done, Miss. You look beautiful, if I might venture to say so.”

Ysella stood up and smiled, nurturing her secret in her heart like the nub of a fire. “Thank you, Martha. Off you go now, and don’t forget to remind Ellen she’ll have to come up later.”

*

After dinner, Ysellahad to accompany Mama and Kit into the drawing room for at least a modicum of time to keep them thinking everything was normal. Dashing off upstairs to her room would look most odd. She took a seat on one of the stiffly upholstered settees and picked up her sewing, just to have something in her hands. If she didn’t, she’d be fidgeting so much one of them would be bound to notice. Kit poured some port and passed a glass to Mama, who was very fond of that particular drink.

The evening crawled. Mama asked her if she’d play the piano, but after a few tentative tunes which she muffed on almost every line, suggested, with a hard stare, that she should desist and come and sit quietly instead.

“I must ask you again, Ysella,” she said, her anxious gaze resting on Ysella’s face in a most disconcerting manner. “Are you ill?”

Ysella’s heart thundered in a manner that might have made Mama think she was indeed sickening for something had she but tried to take Ysella’s pulse. “I’m quite well, thank you, Mama.” Was she giving herself away? She needed to surreptitiously take some steadying breaths and try to act normally or all would be lost. They’d be sending her up to bed and calling Doctor Busick, and then she’d never get away. “I’m really rather tired though,” she ventured. “Perhaps I’ll retire to bed now.”

Mama gave her a hard look, but Kit, his head in a book, didn’t appear to have noticed. That was good, as he was inclined to be more astute than Mama where Ysella was concerned. Although not as astute as Morvoren. Thank goodness she was still confined to bed.

Ysella kissed Mama on the cheek and went and did the same to Kit. He glanced up, his face distracted and returned to his book—some treatise on new farming methods that Sam had given him that must be terribly boring. Whatever did men want to read that sort of thing for when they could have a good novel instead? Preferably a romantic one. “Goodnight, Ysella.”

Goodness, was she glad to be out of that room. She ran up the stairs to the first-floor corridor and sprinted to her bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, her chest rising and falling. This was really happening. She was fleeing with her lover. Put like that it sounded like an excerpt from one of her novels and fired her flagging confidence.

She rang the bell and scurried to the wardrobe where earlier she’d hidden a small valise. She’d already packed a clean nightdress, some underwear, and several gowns that afternoon, and now she added some of her toiletries. What else did you need if you were a girl eloping? She’d never had to do her own packing before. She could wear her spencer and a bonnet and gloves. If she wore her boots, she could put in the slippers she was now wearing. She took them off and added them to the bag.

A slight tap on the door indicated the arrival of Ellen. “Come in,” Ysella called.

Ellen approached the open valise on Ysella’s bed with wide eyes. “You sent for me, Miss?”

Ysella nodded. “I did. I need your help. I’m planning a…” She hesitated. “A nighttime jape. And I need your help.” She moved closer to Ellen and put a hand on the girl’s thin arm. “And just like when we went to Marlborough, you are not to tell anyone about it or it’ll all be spoiled. Do you understand?”

Ellen nodded, wordlessly.

“Good. Then first of all, I need you to finish packing my bag. What else do you think I’m going to need?”

Ellen’s mouth hung open. Whether at the surprise of having her opinion asked, or because her mistress was planning something clandestine at night was not obvious.

“Do close your mouth or you’ll catch a fly,” Ysella said. “Do I have enough drawers do you think? And slips?”

“F-for what, Miss?” Ellen stammered.