Silent on the Moor. Deanna Raybourn

      His smile did not falter. He withdrew his hand and contented himself with a wink. “I will go and make myself presentable then,” he said, casting his glance wider to include my sister. Portia raised her brows at him as he moved to the sink, dropping a kiss upon Mrs. Butters’ cap as he reached for the cake of soap. “Hello, Jetty, my love,” he said to the bashful hired girl. “Have you had a pleasant morning?” To my astonishment, the mockery had dropped from his tone, and there was only gentle affection.

      The little maid flushed with pleasure and smiled, a great wide smile that showed a mouthful of crooked teeth as she giggled.

      Mrs. Butters laughed and scolded him for being in the way, but Lady Allenby was not so forgiving.

      “I do hope you will excuse him, Lady Julia,” she murmured. “We have despaired of teaching him how to conduct himself. I am afraid we are so isolated here, it is difficult to maintain the proper distance. And he is family, I suppose,” she trailed off, and I thought about the tapestry in the great hall. I had not seen his name stitched there, but then I had not looked for it. I made a mental note to investigate after the meal and hurried to reassure Lady Allenby.

      “Think nothing of it, Lady Allenby. I completely understand.”

      Godwin finished washing himself and hurried to take a seat at the table. He had his pick of either the chair by Portia or the one next to me, but he chose to partner Portia, offering her his handshake, which she accepted with lazy grace. He complimented her costume and was just moving on to how well it suited her complexion when Ailith sat between her mother and Portia, leaving two empty chairs for Valerius and the mysterious Hilda.

      As if thinking had conjured him, Valerius entered then, nodding graciously toward Lady Allenby, and casting a hasty glance over the rest of the table.

      “My apologies. Miss Hilda was showing me her chickens,” he explained hastily.

      I stared at him in astonishment. I had not even seen her, but Valerius had already befriended the mysterious Hilda in the poultry yard. I ought not to have been surprised. Val, like all the March men, was singularly personable, with both charm and good looks to recommend him. I longed to ask him how he had met her, but before I had a chance to speak, a young woman hurried in, throwing herself down breathlessly in the remaining empty chair.

      “Sorry, Mama,” she said shortly. The woman, who I took to be Miss Hilda, filled her plate and began to eat with as much vigour as a farmhand.

      “Hilda,” her mother said sharply. “You have not made the acquaintance of Mr. Brisbane’s guests. You will kindly greet Lady Bettiscombe and Lady Julia Grey, and pray they will forgive your churlishness.”

      Hilda laid down her fork and gave two short nods, one in my direction, one in Portia’s, and shot a quick smile at Val, then took up her fork and began to eat again with astonishing rapidity.

      “Lady Bettiscombe, Lady Julia, I hope you will overlook my daughter’s poor manners. I assure you she is more gently bred than she has given you cause to believe.”

      If Hilda was annoyed at her mother’s criticism, she gave no sign of it. She merely continued to eat, working her way rapidly through a second piece of pie before the rest of us had finished the first. She did not look up from her plate, but there was an awareness, an energy that fairly vibrated from her that made me wonder if she were not as curious about us as we were about her.

      I scrutinised her closely as she ate, observing that she was nothing so pretty as her sister. Where in Ailith long limbs and a slender neck had given an appearance of elegance and delicacy, in Hilda they were coltish and awkward. Her elbows flapped as she ate, giving her the demeanour of a restless grasshopper. Her eyes were fixed upon her food, but I had seen a glimpse of their muddy grey hue when she had glanced in my direction, and I did not think I was mistaken in believing I had detected a keen intelligence there. Her clothes were appalling. One might expect that of an impoverished woman, but hers were particularly nasty, of masculine cut and carrying with them the distinct odour of the poultry yard. I thought I saw Val’s nostrils twitch ever so slightly, but he was too well-bred to offer less than perfect courtesy to a lady. He made some low remark to her and she replied with a grunt and a shrug of her shoulders while her mother and sister attempted to make polite conversation.

      Lady Allenby nodded toward the enormous pie. “Have you enough there, Mr. Valerius? There is plenty, and you have only to let Ailith know if you would like something more. I am afraid we must serve ourselves,” she finished. As we had settled into our meal, Mrs. Butters had filled plates for herself and the maids, then retired to her room to entertain them.

      I remarked upon it, and Lady Allenby smiled apologetically. “An unconventional arrangement, but it was the most suitable we could devise under the circumstances. When we dine alone, we do not trouble if Mrs. Butters joins us at table, but of course it would not do to have the maids. One doesn’t like to dine with staff,” she finished on a deliberately cheerful note.

      “No, one doesn’t,” Hilda echoed, throwing a meaningful look at Godwin.

      He put his head back and roared with laughter. “Shall I take my plate and eat in the sheepfold then?”

      Lady Allenby’s face had gone quite white and pinched. “Hilda! Godwin! That is enough. What will our guests think of you—” She broke off then, doubtless remembering that she was no longer mistress of Grimsgrave. I felt a surge of pity for her. The pattern of her life would have been settled and predictable before her family’s fortunes had fallen so dramatically. The question of where to put the servants for meals would never have arisen during the simpler times of her youth.

      I turned to Ailith. “Tell me, Miss Allenby, what do you do for amusement?”

      She patted her lips with a napkin and replied, but I was not listening. For some unaccountable reason I felt a desperate urge to keep the conversation civil, and I asked dozens of questions, most of Ailith and Godwin, determined to keep attention away from the prickly Hilda.

      Ailith Allenby, I noticed, ate little, and what she did eat was consumed in tiny, delicate bites, and chewed very slowly. In contrast, Godwin filled his plate three times, eating heartily and laughing loudly. He was no gentleman, but he was merry and friendly, and if he was overly-familiar, it was an easy fault to forgive. The pale atheling looks that were so striking in the elder Allenby ladies had darkened to a gilded sort of masculinity in him. His hands, broad and thickly callused, were surprisingly graceful, and his features, although not as finely-limned as Ailith’s, were every bit as arresting.

      More than once I found my eyes drifting to his over the meal, and more than once he shot me a mischievous wink when he thought no one else was paying attention. He put me a little in mind of Lucian Snow, the curate at the parish church at my father’s country estate at Bellmont Abbey in Blessingstoke. I could only hope Godwin Allenby made a better end than Mr. Snow, I thought with a shudder.

      After the midday meal, the gentlemen left again—Godwin to attend to his sheep while Valerius struck out to explore the moor. Hilda scurried away as soon as the last spoonful of pudding had been swallowed, and the other Allenby ladies retired to their rooms. “A little repose just after dinner is the best thing for digestion,” Lady Allenby said, although I suspected she needed the rest more for her twisted joints than as an aid to digestion. She had eaten almost as much as Godwin, and I marvelled at her still-slender figure. Perhaps Rosalie’s mint tonic had been just the thing to spur her appetite.