A Dangerous Undertaking. Mary Nichols

country breeches and muddied top-boots. He was not smiling.

      ‘Roly, you’re back. Look who’s here. Aren’t you pleased to see her?’

      ‘Very,’ he said laconically, without stepping over the threshold. ‘But I believe Mistress Donnington should be allowed to rest. You can question her all you like after I have spoken to her.’

      Margaret looked up at him, recognising Master Mellison’s companion of the evening before and guessing he was Lord Pargeter. They must have been talking about her or how did he come to know her name? If they had, what had they been saying? And why did Kate say she was expected? The strange conversation she had had with Charles Mellison came to her mind and made her mouth lift in a little quirk.

      ‘I am glad to see you are able to smile,’ his lordship said. ‘Now, please sleep. We will talk as soon as you feel stronger.’

      She wanted to say that they should talk now, that whatever mysteries there were to be solved should be uncovered at once. She felt like a pawn being pushed around on a great chess-board, not in control of the situation at all, and she did not like it. She turned to Kate, who stood up with the empty glass in her hand. Margaret just had time to register that it must have contained a sleeping-draught before her eyes closed.

      The next time she awoke, it was snowing. She could see huge flakes of it sliding down the glass of the window, but the room was warm from a fire which blazed in the grate. Her bag had been unpacked; underclothes, white stockings, a cambric petticoat and a round gown of blue merino wool were laid over a chair near the blaze to warm. She turned her head. A maid was pouring hot water into a bowl which stood on the wash-stand in the corner. It was the sound of that which had disturbed her.

      ‘Oh, did I wake you, mistress?’ the maid said. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘What time is it?’

      ‘Ten, mistress.’

      ‘Ten?’ Margaret sat up. ‘You mean ten in the morning? Have I slept all night?’

      ‘Yes, mistress. I’m Penny; I’m to look after you. His lordship said I was not to rouse you, but as soon as you waked to say he would like you to take breakfast with him in the morning-room.’

      ‘Yes, of course.’ Margaret looked at the window. ‘Has it been snowing long?’

      ‘All night, mistress. I reckon the roads are about impassable. If it freezes harder, we’ll have to get the skates out to go anywhere, but the ice isn’t thick enough yet.’ She turned towards Margaret and smiled. ‘Still, we’re snug enough here. Shall I help you wash and dress?’

      ‘What? Oh, no, I can manage.’

      ‘But your poor hands. Let me help you, mistress. His lordship will be put out if he hears I left you to struggle with them little buttons on your own. And you shouldn’t put those hands in water, not till they’ve healed.’

      Margaret acquiesced, and half an hour later Penny conducted her downstairs and showed her into the morning-room where Lord Pargeter sat alone, eating a late breakfast. He uncurled his great length from his seat and held a chair for her. ‘I trust you slept well, Mistress Donnington?’

      ‘Very well, thank you.’

      ‘Please help yourself to whatever you want.’ He indicated the many chafing-dishes on the table. ‘Or would you prefer me to do it? Your hands must still be painful.’

      ‘Hardly at all, my lord.’ She took a little ham, concentrating on her plate because she knew he was looking at her pensively, as if wondering how to make conversation with her. ‘I am afraid I do not make a very good oarsman.’

      ‘You did very well. Am I to assume you found Sedge House not to your liking?’

      ‘It was not the house,’ she said, ‘though it was in a parlous state.’ She looked round the room as she spoke. It was elegantly furnished in mahogany and walnut, some of it exquisitely inlaid with satinwood. The seat of the chair she sat on, like all the others, was covered in damask. The fireplace was of marble and the plastered ceiling was decorated with gilded scrolls. It exuded wealth and status; there could not have been a greater contrast with Sedge House. ‘My uncle was not expecting me and he had other guests,’ she went on, in a effort to excuse the behaviour of her unsympathetic relative.

      ‘Just so.’ He lifted a pot. ‘Chocolate?’

      ‘Thank you.’

      He poured a cup of the thick dark liquid for her. ‘Your great uncle is a Capitain, just as you are,’ he said, as if that explained everything.

      ‘How do you know so much about me, my lord?’ she asked, though she could guess his information came from Charles Mellison, and that made her feel uncomfortable. She began to wish she had not been so open with the young man.

      ‘Master Mellison told me of his conversation with you,’ he said. ‘He told me you were going to live with your uncle.’

      ‘That does not mean I could condone…’ She paused, not wanting to put a name to what she had seen in her uncle’s house. ‘I never knew I had any relations until my mother was dying. Now I wish I had never come.’

      ‘What would you have done if you had not?’

      ‘I could have found work and lodgings, looked after myself.’

      She could not read his expression. One minute it was solicitous, another almost malevolent. His dark eyes never moved from her face; it was as if he was studying every line of it, committing it to memory. What did he see there? she wondered. Was he trying to read signs of debauchery which would tell him she was like her great-uncle? Was he wondering if he dared keep someone like that under his roof? He broke the silence at last. ‘What kind of work have you done?’

      ‘I am a milliner, my lord.’

      ‘I doubt there is much call for hat-makers in Winterford, Mistress Donnington. We are a very rural community. The village used to be on the edge of the winter inundation; it was the only place where the fen could be safely crossed, which is how it got its name, but a hundred years ago, while Cromwell and the king battled it out for supremacy, the Adventurers fought against nature and won. Now Winterford is simply a slight rise in the surrounding land, all of it very fertile, but a long way from the beau monde of London.’

      ‘I was not thinking of setting up as a milliner here, my lord.’

      ‘What, then?’

      ‘I do not know. I am adaptable, my lord.’

      He smiled and his sombre expression changed; his mouth softened and his eyes twinkled. ‘Just so long as it does not entail keeping house for your uncle, eh?’

      ‘He already has a housekeeper.’

      Her smile dimpled her cheeks very attractively, he decided, though she still looked tense, half afraid. ‘Where would you live?’

      ‘I would have to find lodgings.’

      ‘Live alone? I hardly think that would serve.’ He paused, then asked slowly, ‘Have you thought of marriage?’

      She smiled. ‘Doesn’t every young lady dream of it?’

      ‘Is there no one?’

      ‘No, my lord. I have been too busy…’ She stopped suddenly, remembering her conversation with Charles Mellison.

      Encouraged, he went on, ‘I believe Master Mellison told you a little of my situation.’

      ‘My lord, he would not be so indiscreet.’

      He chuckled suddenly. ‘You obviously know how to be discreet yourself, but you need not worry, I am not asking you to betray him; I know my friend very well and I can guess he told you I was looking for a wife.’

      ‘He did mention it in passing, my lord.’

      ‘Only in passing? I am persuaded he went out of his way to speak to