Marriage Under Siege. Anne O'Brien

basic needs of hospitality to his neighbours. And, more often than not, downright unpleasant. Therefore, given the state of the roads and the possibility of enemy action, even on a small local scale, many had elected to stay at home.

      There was no sign of Viscount Scudamore of Holme Lacy, although it was true to say, even by those who disliked his youthful flippancy and lack of respect for convention, that he would have the furthest to travel. But also absent was any representative of Fitzwilliam Coningsby of Hampton Court near Leominster. Or Henry Lingen. But some had made the effort. Henry Vaughan was present, as well as Sir Richard Hopton. And Mansell was conscious of Sir William Croft’s brooding presence at his shoulder throughout the burial service. There was family connection here, through history and marriage, but the new lord did not relish the forthcoming conversation with his powerful relative. Sir William, major landowner in the county and owner of Croft Castle, had a reputation as a staunch Royalist and had, without doubt, more than a little influence in county politics.

      The family retainers from Brampton Percy were present in force, of course, and some tenants from the village cottages and surrounding farms—but they had braved the weather more to get their first sighting of the new Lord Mansell, he mused cynically, than any desire to pay their last respects to Lord Edward.

      The Reverend Stanley Gower droned on through the service, his nasal intonation increased by a heavy cold, as damp and chill rose from the stone floor and walls and the congregation coughed and shuffled.

      ‘For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother Edward here departed …’

      Mansell sighed silently, doubting that any of those present regarded Lord Edward Mansell in the light of a dear brother. He kept his gaze fixed on the scarred boards of the old box pew before him, effectively masking his own thoughts. Sir Joshua sat at his side, gallantly lending his support—as he had cheerfully explained when he postponed his journey to Ludlow, the prospect of enjoying the explosion of temperament when Croft was made privy to his new neighbour’s political leanings was too good an opportunity to miss. Mansell had expressed himself forcefully and succinctly, threatening to banish Josh from the proceedings and send him on his way if he dared say one word out of place but, indeed, he appreciated the solid presence beside him in the grim atmosphere.

      Alone in the old lord’s pew, the worn outline of the Brampton coat of arms engraved on the door, sat Lady Mansell. It had been her own choice to sit alone. Mansell had every intention of lending his support to the widow, but she had chosen otherwise. She had absented herself from the company until the last moment, deliberately isolating herself in her lord’s pew. He turned his head slightly to assess her state of mind, intrigued by this unlooked-for influence on his inheritance.

      Honoria Brampton remained unaware of his regard. She sat perfectly still, gloved hands folded in her lap, the hood of her cloak pushed back from her neat coils of hair. No shuffling, no fidgeting, she looked straight ahead towards the distant altar. Lord Mansell could detect no trace of tears, no obvious distress on her calm face, her eyes somewhat expressionless and unfocused. He frowned a little, but had to admit that after their single encounter he would have expected no less.

      On the previous night she had arranged for the provision of food and warmth and then simply withdrawn with instructions to the servants to ensure their comfort. She had made no effort to entertain, to explain the death of her husband, to enquire after their journey. All was competently and capably ordered, but Lady Mansell was personally uninvolved. And yet not, it would seem, from overwhelming grief. Mansell shrugged his shoulders in discomfort within his sodden cloak and shuffled his booted feet on the cold flags. It was, of course, difficult to judge on such slight acquaintance and it would be unfair of him to presume.

      The service came to an end, even the Reverend Gower spurred into hurrying his words as the restlessness of the congregation made itself felt and his cold threatened to overwhelm him. The coffin was duly carried to the south aisle and manoeuvred, with some difficulty and muttered imprecations, to be lowered into the vault below the stone flags with the decayed remains of other de Bramptons.

      ‘… dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life …’

      The congregation proceeded in a wave of relief out into the churchyard.

      ‘Well, my lord.’ Croft appeared at Mansell’s side and offered his hand. ‘Unpleasant circumstances, I know, but welcome to the county. I knew your father, of course. I shall be pleased to make your acquaintance, my boy. And introduce you with pleasure to the rest of my family on a more auspicious occasion.’

      I doubt it. Lord Mansell kept his thoughts to himself and returned the clasp with a smile and inclination of his head. ‘Thank you, Sir William. I remember my father speaking often of you and your boyhood activities. He held you in great affection. I trust you will return with me to the castle. Let us get in out of this Godforsaken rain and see if the content of Lord Edward’s cellar can help to thaw us out.’

      ‘I would not gamble a fortune on it!’ Sir William guffawed, raindrops clinging to his bushy eyebrows. ‘But I will willingly help you discover the flaws in your inheritance! I am not sure that you will be successful in finding even a keg of ale, much less anything of a stronger nature—I would definitely not bet my last coin on it. Lord Edward did not spend money willingly. Indeed, he claimed that he never had it to spend—but only because he could never be bothered to collect it efficiently. I fear that your new estates will prove to be a burden, my lord, unless you are willing to take the time and energy to whip them into shape.’

      Mansell turned away with a shrug and a suitable comment—and was immediately conscious of Lady Mansell’s approach to stand beside him on the mired pathway. She had pulled up the hood to hide her hair and most of her face. She looked lost and fragile, alone amidst the groups of mourners. For one moment he thought that she swayed, that she might lose her balance, so he stepped forward and took her arm in a strong clasp.

      ‘My lady,’ he murmured in a low voice, ‘are you well? Do you need help?’

      Her whole body stiffened under his impersonal touch and, although she did not actively pull away, she gave no outward appreciation of his offer of help. There was the merest flicker of her eyelids as she turned her face to his. And a look of shock as if she had been unaware of her surroundings until that moment, as if she were merely going through the motions of what was expected of her. She blinked at Mansell with a frown of recognition—and then shook her head as she pulled her arm from his grip. He could see her visibly withdraw from him, her eyes fall to hide her thoughts.

      ‘Thank you, my lord. I need no help. I have to return to the castle to ensure that the guests have all they require.’

      She turned and walked away from him towards the forbidding gateway.

      A simple repast had been laid out in the Great Hall. Bread, meat, cheese and pasties on large platters. Jugs of wine and larger vessels of beer were available, in spite of Sir William’s fears to the contrary. A vast table had been set up with chairs for those who might be infirm. A fire had been lit in the enormous fireplace. It was too meagre to do more than lift the atmosphere, but it was a gesture, and the few who returned to the castle with Lord Mansell gravitated to its flickering cheerfulness, steam rising from damp velvet and mud-caked leather. The guests expressed their sympathies in suitable if not exactly honest terms to the new lord and to Lady Mansell, the servants efficiently poured beer and mulled wine, and the gathering gradually relaxed into gossip, family matters and local affairs typical of such an event.

      Mansell found Foxton hovering at his elbow, an expression of some concern on his lined face.

      ‘Is everything to your satisfaction, my lord? We did what we could. But you must understand … Forgive me, my lord, but—’

      ‘Yes. Thank you, Foxton. It is better than I could have expected in the circumstances.’ He made no attempt to cloak his knowledge of the state of the once-magnificent castle of Brampton Percy. It was clear for all to see. A run-down estate. No money, no care over past decades, no stores to draw on in any emergency. Where the money from the rents went, Heaven only knew. If, indeed, they had ever been