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“Well, Phoebe, what do you have to say for yourself?” He put his head on one side. “Perhaps the truth would be a good start.”
Phoebe clasped her hands together and leaned across the table. “I…it’s true I—”
“Yes, that you and Lady Cavanaugh fled the scene of the crime together. But what became of her between the time you left Blinley Manor and when I intercepted you? That’s what we’d all like to know, and it’s what I should have had you tell Mr Roderick for yourself. Well, you will in due course, but I want to know now.”
“Ye…want ter know what ‘appened ter Lady Cavanaugh? Ye want ter know where I put ‘er out of the coach so I could continue drivin’ an’ so draw attention away from ’er?”
Mr Redding nodded.
Phoebe couldn’t believe her reprieve. She thought quickly before lying—for lying seemed the only way to keep herself safe—“The stage ter Bath were passin’. She leaped aboard at the last minute an’ I carried on.”
He seemed to accept this, completely.
“You’ll have to tell Mr Roderick everything, you do realize.”
Phoebe put up her hands in entreaty. “Mr Roderick is not ter be trusted. I’ll not reveal ter ‘im Lady Cavanaugh’s whereabouts. ‘E tried ter push ‘imself on me mistress. ‘E’s a terrible man!” She worried her lip even more. “An’ ‘e’s tellin’ lies ‘bout me mistress bein’ responsible fer Sir Ulrick’s death. She didn’t kill ’im, I told ye that. Mr Wentworth did. ‘E forced me mistress’s ‘ands around the knife an’ with ‘is own strength behind, drove in the blade.”
Phoebe stared down at her skirts as if expecting to see them suddenly crimson with blood. She knew there was a limit to how much Mr Redding would believe, and how long he’d shelter her if she either refused to tell her account to the magistrate or proved of no use in bringing Wentworth to account.
He frowned. “I say, that’s a rather different slant on your story of last night. Nevertheless, the truth will be for the magistrate to decide—once they’ve heard the witnesses. And one of those ought to be you.”
She closed her eyes. This was terrifying. “Mr Wentworth is after me blood, sir,” she whispered. “If ‘e learns where I am I won’t live ter testify.”
Mr Redding sighed. “So he knows how loyal you are to your mistress, and he’s afraid of what you saw. Is that it?”
Phoebe thought quickly. She dare not be recognized by anyone. If Mr Redding thought to introduce her to someone in the locality as Lady Cavanaugh’s maid, she’d be revealed in an instant.
“The truth is, I’m as afraid of Sir Roderick as Mr Wentworth,” she murmured. “‘E tried ter force ‘imself on me an’ when I kicked ‘im where it ‘urt, ‘e said I’d live ter regret it.” It was the truth and surely he’d not force her. “Sir Roderick is jest like Mr Wentworth. They’d fondle the rumps of any servin’ girl an’ I were no exception. I can’t tell Sir Roderick me story. Surely there’s some other way I can ‘elp yer get ter Mr Wentworth?” She rose and went around the table to put her hand on his shoulder. Dangerous and familiar, but it was the only way she knew how to beseech him. “Ye ‘ave yer own argument with Mr Wentworth, an’ I ‘ave mine. I’ll ‘elp ye all I can, fer I am familiar with ‘is ’abits, bein’ as ‘ow me lady talked often ‘bout ’im. An’ not in any flatterin’ way, I can tell ye.” She swallowed with difficulty, then added. “’T’was ‘is plan ‘atched with Lord Ulrick that meant me lady was forced to enjoy the…attentions of Lord Cavanaugh’s cousin ‘cause me lady’s ‘usband were so desperate fer an ’eir.”
Mr Redding made a choking noise. “Lord, Phoebe, you can’t run around spreading rumors like that if you claim on the other hand that your mistress is as pure as the driven snow.”
“Well, mayhaps not the driven snow, but she’s a good an’ virtuous lady an’ she ‘ad no wish ter do the things ‘is lordship commanded ‘er ter do an’ yet she’s painted as…immoral. She was actin’ on ‘er ‘usband’s orders.”
Another waft of some delicious cooking aroma made Mr Redding turn with an appreciative sniff as Mrs Withins entered the room with more bacon.
“Did you really organize this by yourself, Phoebe?” He looked impressed. “I confess to being somewhat distracted by matters other than my stomach, and am the first to own I am not terribly efficient at organizing the servants. I caught them playing at cribbage last night when I went in search of food.” He loaded up his plate once mor
e, adding when the door had closed behind Mrs Withins, “But let us turn back to the topic at hand, Phoebe, now that we are alone.” He chewed on the crispy meat then smacked his lips. “I daresay I’ll have to concede your victory in this instance. You’ll need a new dress if you’re to sit at table with me like a real lady, for that’s what you’re intending, isn’t it?”
Phoebe was both jubilant and full of ire as she watched him devour his plate of food. She hated being treated like a servant, but she had to get a new dress if she had any chance of getting out of the area without coming face to face with Sir Roderick.
And as Hugh helped himself to yet more bacon and eggs, he thought how pleasant it was to enjoy the niceties of life without having to be responsible for organizing them. The household was a woman’s domain, and Hugh had not the energy or inclination to get the servants to do what they’d done under Phoebe’s direction. Clearly, young Phoebe the lady’s maid was adept at more than just arranging her mistress’s hair. If she contributed to the comforts of the next few weeks he had the lease of the cottage, then she’d want and need to be more ornamental than she was in the bulky homespun of the miller’s wife’s clothes. Yes, a new dress would be fair recompense.
“Is there something you require, Phoebe?” Her breakfast finished, she’d risen but was now standing in the doorway.
“Jest an assurance that ye’ll not let Mr Wentworth get away with the wrong ‘e’s done ye. I want atonement fer me mistress.” Her shoulders slumped. “I worry fer ‘er an’ ‘ope she ‘as found sanctuary. She ‘ad few friends in the area.”
“I’m sure she’s quite safe. It certainly sounds as if she knows how to look after herself. And let me assure you that Mr Wentworth’s day of reckoning is almost upon him.” Hugh felt the warmth of his mission feed through his veins as he sat back in his chair, gazing upon the lovely face before him.
Dressed like a lady, he thought, and with her ability to ape her betters, coupled with a sharp intellect, he might really find young Phoebe an asset in a multiple of ways. It was quite clear she felt an attraction for him. He shifted in his seat. He’d imagined a lonely, solitary time out here in the wilderness, but suddenly he felt quite fired up. He’d rescued Phoebe, and while he had no intention of taking advantage of her, the looks she slanted at him suggested she’d not be averse to his overtures.
“Well, Phoebe, if you’re so inclined, you can ask Mrs Withins about the local dressmakers. Perhaps we can set you up so you don’t look quite like a stout burgher’s wife. I’d certainly like that.”
7
A new dress was essential. After a wander about the gardens, keeping out of sight, Phoebe had nothing else upon which to concentrate her mind than the ugly, ostentatious, and overlarge gown she wore. Her agitated pacing from one boundary to the other had strengthened her determination that one day she’d assume her rightful status. Of course, her new gown could not be of the style she might have chosen had she been Lady Cavanaugh. That was too dangerous. A spasm of utter wretchedness gripped her. When might she ever resume her rightful status? When would she be a free woman again? Would she ever be free again?
At least she felt safe in Mr Redding’s house. She’d never felt safe in her own.
