A Dangerous Undertaking. Mary Nichols

the reason, it’s done now. If you have any twinges of conscience, just remind yourself of the benefits.’

      ‘To me, but not to Margaret.’

      ‘She will have a year of being Lady Pargeter, a year of plenty that most young ladies would give their teeth for, and what she doesn’t know cannot hurt her, can it?’ He paused to take a mouthful of brandy, smiling over his glass at his friend. ‘Besides, she may survive the year. After all, you do not love her and she does not love you, so it won’t count, will it? Nothing will happen. It will all come right in the end and no harm done to anyone. But you really must look happier at the prospect, my friend, or questions will be asked.’

      ‘I must go to Derbyshire and explain to Susan.’

      ‘No.’ Charles spoke sharply. ‘It will look decidedly odd.’

      ‘It will look even odder if I don’t, particularly to her parents. I am sure they were expecting me to offer for her before I left.’

      ‘Why didn’t you?’

      ‘I don’t know. The time didn’t seem propitious.’

      Charles laughed. ‘You mean you were not sure of your feelings?’

      ‘Of course I am sure.’

      ‘Then wait,’ Charles said implacably. ‘The roads are impassable and, you never know, by the spring…’ He stopped and surveyed his friend. ‘Harden your heart, Roland, harden your heart. Think of your true love, think of the Capitains. Don’t all Capitains deserve your hatred?’

      ‘Yes, by God. If it weren’t for a Capitain, I wouldn’t be in this fix. Here’s a pox to all Capitains.’ He tipped the contents of his glass down his throat and poured himself another and then another, followed by several more until the bottle was empty.

      He did not remember staggering up to bed, but he woke in his own room next morning with a blacksmith’s shop in his head. He groaned and sat up. Johnson had laid out a double-breasted velvet coat and buff breeches and there was hot water in the washing bowl. He ignored the clothes, washed, and went to the wardrobe where he found warm wool breeches and thick stockings. He scrambled into them, put on a huge black overcoat which came almost to his ankles, and went downstairs. He passed the open door of the morning-room, where the table bore witness to the fact that everyone else had already breakfasted, and went out into the snow. Perhaps the biting cold would knock some sense into him.

      The village, with a few large trees surrounding its green, stood on ground a little higher than the surrounding fen, which meant the inhabitants were rarely troubled by flooding except in very severe weather. There had been fresh falls of snow during the night, which might cause problems when a thaw set in. He dug into the snow with his cane to assess its depth and the amount of water they might expect, then looked back at the house, which was two hundred yards from the cut and about ten feet above its present level. Was ten feet enough if the cut became swollen with melting snow from the hills away to the west? And what about the village itself? The men ought to begin building a barrier now, not waiting until disaster struck.

      Putting aside his headache and his impending nuptials, he tramped off over the snow towards the group of clay-lump cottages which stood close to the church.

      Unlike Roland, Margaret could not put the forthcoming wedding from her mind. Kate would not cease chattering about it, laughing and making plans, oblivious to the fact that Margaret was not joining in.

      ‘When is it to be?’ Kate asked as they sat together in one of the smaller sitting-rooms, which was easier to keep warm than the huge drawing-room and had some comfortable upholstered chairs. She had some embroidery in her lap, but she had done no work on it since Margaret had joined her.

      ‘The twenty-first, four days before Christmas. Her ladyship wants no delay and his lor—Roland agrees with her.’

      ‘But that’s less than a week away! How can you possibly be ready by then?’

      ‘It is not difficult. I have no family except Great-Uncle Henry, and there will be no invitations issued, although Roland has said he will invite the villagers to attend the service. They will help to fill the church.’

      ‘Don’t you mind? A wedding should be a grand affair, a cause for celebration. It is almost as if you are ashamed to have it known.’

      ‘No, not at all. You forget, I am in mourning.’

      ‘Oh, yes, I am sorry, Margaret, how thoughtless of me. Does that mean there will be no wedding-trip either?’

      Margaret gave a light laugh and was surprised that it sounded so natural. ‘We’ll go nowhere while this weather holds, but later, perhaps, we may go to London. Roland tells me he has business there.’

      ‘Business!’ Kate gave a grimace of disgust. ‘You know, he really is the dullest man.’

      ‘Not at all,’ Margaret said, and meant it. Whatever she thought of Roland, she did not find him dull. If only he were not so tense, as if he was deliberately holding himself aloof, he would be an entertaining and charming man. She began to wonder if the fault was with her, but if he found her not to his liking, why had he asked her to marry him? ‘We can combine business with pleasure, surely?’

      ‘Yes. There will be routs and balls, and no doubt Roland will present you at court. Have you decided what you are going to wear?’

      ‘To court?’

      ‘No.’ Kate laughed. ‘At your wedding.’

      ‘Roland has insisted on buying me a gown. Is there anyone in Ely who could make me one? Nothing extravagant, of course.’

      ‘There is a dressmaker, but I have rarely been to her.’ Kate sounded doubtful. ‘I usually buy all I need when we are in London.’

      ‘There is no time for that. I am a good needlewoman, so if it isn’t to my liking I can alter it.’

      No wheeled vehicle could use the roads so they went into Ely by sled, drawn by a sturdy little pony, with one of the grooms at its head wearing huge flat snow-shoes and Roland and Charles riding alongside. Wrapped up in fur cloaks and muffs and with several sheepskins around their knees, the two girls enjoyed the ride. The sun sparkled on the snow and icicles hung from the hedges, and for a time Margaret forgot to be sad. It was good to be outside, to breathe the icy air; it made her tingle with new life. She looked up at Roland, riding so easily alongside, his hands loosely on the reins; there was no doubt he was a very handsome man and she had made quite a catch. If only they had met in different circumstances; if only… He glanced towards her, almost as if he had read her thoughts, and their eyes met briefly, reminding her of the kiss that never was, before he turned back to negotiate an ice-covered pot-hole.

      ‘We should be able to skate tomorrow,’ Kate was saying. ‘Not on the river, of course—that’s too dangerous—but on the fen. There is a shallow stretch of water which is flooded every winter and is perfectly safe. Would you like that?’

      Margaret pulled herself together. ‘I would certainly like to try, though whether I can stay upright remains to be seen.’

      Kate laughed. ‘If the ice holds we’ll go tomorrow, and then we shall see.’

      The Isle of Ely was a surprisingly small place, considering the size of the cathedral, and its roads were no more than muddy lanes, made slippery by frozen snow. Set on a small hill which had been an island in the days before the fens were drained, it had the usual quota of basket-makers, candle-makers, butchers, dairies, fish-sellers, blacksmiths, carriage-makers, coopers and the like, besides more than its fair share of inns and taverns. There was, as Kate had said, a dressmaker and, because it was a place of learning, a bookshop, tucked in the ancient walls close to the cathedral.

      Once Margaret and Kate had been delivered at the door of the dressmaker’s tiny establishment, the two men went off on business of their own, promising to return in an hour. The dressmaker, a tiny little woman in a plain grey wool dress which did not fill Kate with confidence, dashed