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‘When my lord and I dine alone, or with Mrs Wilkins, we will only require the presence of yourself and one footman.’
‘Certainly, my lady. May I help your ladyship to some salmon?’
‘Thank you, Starling. And, Starling, unless we are entertaining twenty or more, please remove that epergne and three of the leaves from the table.’
The meal wound on its interminable way until Hebe decided enough was enough and rose gracefully from her seat, remembering just in time the length of train on her second-best dinner gown. ‘I will leave you to your port, my lord,’ she said, acknowledging with an inclination of her head Alex rising from his place.
‘Ma’am. I will join you very shortly in the Panelled Room.’
‘Which is the Panelled Room?’ Hebe hissed to Starling as he opened the door for her. ‘And please do not say it is the one with the panelling, they all have that in this part of the house.’
She had surprised the glimmer of a smile from the butler. ‘The door on your right, my lady. It has more panelling than any of the others.’
Hebe had to agree that the room certainly had a superabundance of panelling. She felt confident that she could identify linen-fold style, plain panelling and something which appeared to be Gothic in its inspiration. Alex, arriving half an hour later—more, he ruefully felt, to comply with the expectations of his butler than any desire to linger over his port—found his bride standing on a chair and inspecting the carvings over the fireplace.
‘Looking for dust?’ he enquired casually.
Hebe jumped at the sound of his voice, but said reprovingly, ‘Certainly not. Mrs Fitton is an admirable housekeeper. I am looking for the boss which opens the secret panel, of course.’
‘The what?’ Alex strolled into the room, pleasantly flushed with a good dinner, wine and port and ready to be entertained by the Countess’s explorations.
; ‘The secret panel,’ Hebe repeated, regarding him from her superior height. ‘Please do not tell me there are no secret panels, priest holes, skeletons in cupboards or headless ghouls.’ She had a sneaking suspicion that she had had rather too much wine at dinner, but Alex appeared merely amused, so her light-headedness could not have been apparent.
‘I am very sorry to disappoint you,’ he said, coming to stand by the chair, his head tipped back. ‘This house was never a monastic building—so no headless monks or walled-up nuns, and we have been a Protestant family since the Reformation, so no priests’ holes either.’
‘Oh,’ Hebe said flatly. ‘Never mind. I shall not repine.’ She made to jump down, slipped and found herself being lifted safely down to the floor. For one long moment she was back in a small boat in the Grand Harbour, the sun beating down and the strong arms of this man encircling her waist. Hebe inhaled deeply, filling her nostrils with the scent of citrus and sandalwood, before she was sat neatly on the hard chair with her husband already settling himself in a wing chair by the fire.
She got up and took the chair opposite, still quivering slightly with the memory his touch had evoked.
Alex picked up a newspaper, but left it unfolded in his lap. ‘What would you care to do tomorrow, my dear?’
‘I think I had better spend my time with the female upper servants,’ Hebe decided. ‘If that is agreeable to you.’
‘Certainly. I hope I do not have to say again, Hebe, that whatever changes you wish to make to any aspect of this establishment and its running, you must do. There is no need to refer to me.’
‘Thank you, my lord.’ That sounded uncomfortably like a pleasant rebuke for having taken such a firm line with Starling at dinner.
Alex regarded her with a smile twitching the corner of his lips. ‘Hebe, when you call me “my lord” in that manner, I have the gravest misgivings that you are up to no good.’
Hebe twinkled back, suddenly at ease. ‘Me, my lord? Good Heavens, no. I think, if you do not mind, I will go to bed. I find I am very tired.’
She was surprised that he got to his feet and walked with her to the foot of the stairs. ‘Can you find your way amidst all this panelling?’ Hebe shot him a suspicious look. ‘No, no, Starling did not say anything, but I have uncommonly sharp hearing.’
‘Yes, I can find my way,’ Hebe said. ‘Goodnight.’ The stairs seemed endless, but the corridors were well lit with candles and she found her way easily to her room. Wearily she tugged the bellpull, and when Charity came sat quietly while the maid unpinned her hair and put away her simple jet jewellery.
When she turned from the basin, however, she was taken aback to find the girl had laid out the flimsy night-gown and negligée. It seemed ridiculous to put them on, and she almost said so, then caught herself in the nick of time. On top of everything else, she was going to have to pretend to the servants that she and their master were enjoying a perfectly normal married life.
Finally, clean, powdered, beribboned and dressed in her finery, she dismissed Charity and began to explore her new suite. The bedroom was vast with a half-tester bed and looming furniture. Well, if Alex said she could indulge herself with the house, this was where she was going to start.
Through a jib door hidden in the panelling was her dressing room, with its clothes presses and the luxury of an earth closet behind a further door. Hebe had read about new, water-flushing closets: that too was an indulgence she was ready to try.
The final door, when she twisted the handle, was locked. She looked at it perplexed for a moment, then realised what it was—the door that led through to Alex’s dressing room and bedchamber.
With a soft sigh Hebe discarded the exquisite negligée and went to bed, remembering to crumple the sheets on the far side of the bed and burrow her head into the pillows until it looked as though it had been occupied all night by two people.
She lay for a long time staring sightlessly into the darkness, but she did not hear Alex pass her door or enter his own room, and no key turned in the dressing-room lock that night.
