The Scarlet Gown. Sarah Mallory

working in oils and watercolours but I do not have Papa’s gift. When I was a child I loved best to curl up in a chair and watch him at work. He had a passion for the picturesque. Vast, dramatic landscapes.’ She thought of the hills and valleys she had seen on her journey. How her father would have loved them. She gave a little shrug. ‘But everyone wanted portraits.’

      ‘From the work of your father’s I have seen he was very good and in demand.’

      ‘You wonder, then, why it is I need to earn a living.’ Lucy bit her lip. She had never spoken of this to anyone, but now felt a need to explain. ‘He drank to excess. And gambled. I only discovered the truth after his death. With his talent, the money he earned might have paid for one or other of those vices and still allowed him to provide for his family, but together...’

      ‘Disastrous,’ he said bluntly. ‘And your mother, did she—was it an arranged marriage?’

      ‘Yes. She had a large dowry. He was a younger son, you see, and needed to marry well. Unfortunately the settlements were badly drawn up and very little was secured upon her. The money was all spent years ago.’

      The room seemed to grow a little darker. The cloud outside the window had thickened and a blustery wind agitated the trees, threatening rain. She turned and came back to the sofa, throwing off her melancholy to say brightly, ‘For all that they were very much in love.’

      So much so that they united to keep me in ignorance of our poverty.

      The swift, unbidden thought twisted like a knife in her ribs.

      * * *

      Ralph saw the sudden crease in her brow and the way she folded her arms across her stomach, as if to defend herself. But from what? Her parents’ happiness? Not all arranged marriages ended in love, as he knew to his cost. Bitterness made him reply more curtly than he intended.

      ‘They were very fortunate, then.’ Her eyes were upon him, questioning, but he did not wish to explain himself. He looked up with relief as the door opened. ‘And here is Ariadne returned. I take it the rooms are in readiness for our guest, Cousin?’ He rose, glad of the opportunity to get away. This young woman unsettled him. ‘If you will excuse me, I have business that requires my attention. Until dinnertime, Miss Halbrook.’

      * * *

      Mrs Dean escorted Lucy to her room, talking all the way. She was very knowledgeable about the house and by the time they reached the upper floor Lucy knew its history, including the improvements made by the fourth baron, Ralph’s father. Lucy let the lady’s chatter flow over her while she tried to take in the stunning beauty of the interior. Baroque carvings and plasterwork vied for her attention with dozens of magnificent paintings.

      ‘And here we are in the Long Gallery,’ said Mrs Dean, puffing slightly from having talked all the way up the stairs. ‘The principal bedchambers lead off the corridor just along here and at the end of the gallery is the passage to the east wing, where all the guests will be accommodated.’

      ‘I have never seen such splendid interiors,’ remarked Lucy. She stopped to watch two servants carefully hanging a large painting upon the far wall, while a third stood back and directed them as to the correct alignment. ‘Has Lord Adversane made a new purchase?’

      ‘No, no, it is not new. I suppose my cousin thought it would look better here.’

      Lucy regarded the painting with some surprise. It was a dark and rather nondescript view of some classical ruins, and looked out of place amongst the portraits of past barons and their wives. Mrs Dean touched her arm.

      ‘Shall we go on?’ She led the way into a dim corridor running parallel to the gallery and threw open a door at one end. ‘The two main bedrooms are here. You will be occupying the mistress’s bedchamber—’

      ‘Oh, but I do not think I should!’

      Lucy stopped in the doorway, but Mrs Dean urged her to enter.

      ‘Lord Adversane thought it necessary,’ she said, closing the door behind them. ‘If my cousin truly intended to make you his wife then this is the apartment he would choose for you.’

      Lucy’s reluctance must have shown clearly on her face, for Mrs Dean smiled and patted her arm.

      ‘You need have no fear of impropriety, my dear. Believe me, Adversane was not at all happy about putting you in his wife’s room, but he knows it must be so, if his family are to believe he is serious about marrying you. There is a dressing room through that door where your maid will sleep—he has appointed one for you, of course. She has already unpacked your trunk, you see, and has probably gone off to fetch your hot water.’

      Lucy made no further protest, and when Mrs Dean left her she wandered around the room, taking in her surroundings. The furniture was dark and heavy, the huge tester bed hung with faded brocade and while the walls were covered in a pretty Chinese wallpaper it was of no very recent date. In fact, there was nothing new in the room at all, and nothing to give any clue to the character of the last occupant. The brushes resting on the dressing table were Lucy’s and the linen press held only the meagre supply of clothes she had brought with her. All the other drawers and cupboards were quite empty. One part of her was relieved, for she would have felt even more of an impostor if the chamber had been redolent of the late Lady Adversane. As it was, there was nothing to say this was not a guest room, albeit a very grand one.

      Knowing it would be sensible to rest before the dinner hour, Lucy stretched herself on the bed, determined to go over all the questions she wished to put to her host when they met again, but within a very few minutes she was sound asleep.

      She awoke when the door to her room opened and a shy, breathless voice said, ‘Ooh, ma’am, I’m didn’t mean to disturb you, but Mrs Green says its time I brought up your hot water and made you ready to go down to dinner—’

      ‘That is quite all right.’ Lucy sat up, stretching. ‘You are to be my maid, I take it?’

      ‘Aye, ma’am—miss.’

      ‘And who is Mrs Green?’

      ‘The housekeeper, miss. She sent me up.’ The young girl put down the heavy jug on the wash stand and bobbed a curtsey. ‘And I am Ruthie, miss, if you please.’

      ‘Well, Ruthie, perhaps you would help me out of this gown.’ Lucy slid off the bed. ‘I am afraid it is sadly crumpled and not a little grubby. I have been travelling in it for days.’

      ‘I know, miss. From London,’ said Ruthie triumphantly as she unfastened Lucy’s travelling dress and laid it over a chair. ‘Everyone’s that pleased to see you. Mrs Green says the house has been too long without a mistress.’

      ‘Oh, but I am not—’

      Lucy’s involuntary exclamation had the effect of making the maid jump back, her hands clasped nervously in front of her.

      ‘Ooh, miss, I’m that sorry, I forgot we wasn’t meant to say anything!’

      Lucy gazed in some dismay at the maid’s woebegone face. So word had spread, just as Adversane had planned. She nodded and said gently, ‘Well, do not mention it again. Now, I think I saw my green gown in the press, perhaps you will lay that out for me.’

      It was her only evening gown, a plain robe of French cambric with puff sleeves and a modest neckline. Lucy thought it would look very dull against the splendid interiors of the house, but it was all she had and it would have to do.

      * * *

      Lucy found her new maid very willing and eager to help. Ruthie carried away Lucy’s travelling gown and half-boots, promising to clean them up as good as new, then came hurrying back, determined to help Lucy to dress for dinner. Her enthusiasm was endearing, but Lucy was a little reluctant to let her do more than brush out her hair.

      ‘Oh, but I can do it, miss,’ said Ruthie, as Lucy sat before the looking glass. ‘Lady Adversane’s maid showed me how to dress hair in several styles. O’course that were a couple of years ago now,