The Officer and the Lady. Dorothy Elbury

no—you do not understand—there is so much that you do not know…’

      His face darkened as he, too, rose to his feet. ‘I do not need your constant reminders of my unfamiliarity with the situation here, Miss Priestley,’ he said coldly. ‘I intend to remedy that deficiency as soon as I may. In the meantime, I would really appreciate it if you would do me the honour of allowing me to go about it in my own way. Let me assure you that I have a great deal of experience in these matters. And now, with your permission?’ He turned from her and started towards the doorway, adding curtly, ‘If you could, perhaps, arrange some refreshment? I was given to understand that that is your province?’

      In a mounting fury, Imogen stared after his departing back. She could hardly believe what had happened. He had treated her like a child—or worse—more like some sort of feather-brained nincompoop! She who, for years, had sat at Chadwick’s right hand, mastering the fascinating intricacies of estate management, even riding with the elderly manager on rent collection days and doling out the servants’ wages while he marked them off in his book. In fact, so adept was her understanding of how the estate functioned that she had gained even the uncompromising Sir Matthew’s grudging respect.

      Her whole body seemed to be trembling uncontrollably and she was forced to sit down rather abruptly. As she subsided on to the sofa, her mind was filled with a whirling mass of conflicting emotions.

      Very gradually, as her anger dissipated, she began to review Beresford’s manner. She could leave the arrogant beast to his own devices and hope that he would discover Wentworth’s scheming for himself—if, indeed, it did transpire that it was Wentworth who was at the bottom of all the inconsistencies, she hastily reminded herself!

      She had wanted desperately to share her suspicions about the man with Matthew Beresford, but had clearly made the mistake of expecting him to listen seriously to what she had to tell him. She had also assumed that the two of them would sit down together and discuss the problem rationally and, hopefully, reach some sort of agreement as to how best to deal with it. She had never at any time considered the man’s contemptuous dismissal, not only of her, admittedly, rather clumsy attempts to furnish him with the truth behind the estate’s unanticipated impoverishment but, seemingly, of herself as well!

      At this point, it seemed to her that she might as well leave Thornfield without further ado, just as she and Widdy had planned to do last year, had not the complications of her uncle’s will prevented their departure.

      As if prompted by Imogen’s thoughts, Jane Widdecombe appeared in the doorway.

      ‘Oh, there you are, my dear,’ she smiled, advancing into the room. ‘Jessica said that I would find you here. But—Mr Beresford? I thought he would still be here with you.’

      A plump, neat dab of a woman, Miss Widdecombe had been the mainstay of the Beresford family since shortly after Imogen’s own arrival at Thornfield. In addition to having guided all three children through their academic studies, she had been, without doubt, the principal shaper of their manners and moral codes, Lady Beresford having involved herself very little in their upbringing.

      Still undecided as to what would be the best course of action for the two of them, Imogen shook her head.

      ‘I believe he went to look for his friend,’ she replied with a dismissive shrug.

      Peering over the top of her glasses at her one-time charge, Miss Widdecombe frowned.

      ‘Is there something wrong, my dear?’ she asked in concern. ‘You seem a little put out.’

      Imogen gritted her teeth. ‘Honestly, Widdy! The man is so dreadfully arrogant! He refused to listen to a single word I said! He dismissed me as though I were not so much as a boot-boy!’

      Miss Widdecombe considered this statement. ‘Perhaps he was tired after his long journey,’ she suggested.

      ‘Long journey!’ scoffed Imogen. ‘They stayed the night down in Kirton Priors—Cook recognised the driver of the chaise they hired from The Wheatsheaf.’

      ‘Well then, my dear, you must try again. He certainly needs to know what has been going on in his absence.’

      Imogen jumped up. ‘Then he must discover it for himself! I have decided that we shall leave for Kendal as soon as possible, Widdy!’ she pronounced.

      ‘But, my dear!’ Miss Widdecombe stared at her in distress. ‘We do not have the wherewithal to travel until the will is settled. I cannot imagine that it will take very long now that Mr Beresford has finally arrived. Surely we should wait until he has had time to familiarise himself with the situation?’

      Apart from the pension Sir Matthew had arranged for the governess to receive at her retirement, there was also the matter of the small personal sum that he had bequeathed to her, which she intended to use to buy her own share in the little school in Westmorland.

      ‘It is but four weeks until the twenty fifth of September,’ declared Imogen stoutly. ‘Then I shall have the whole of my next quarter’s allowance. That will be more than enough for both of us to hire a chaise to Kendal and to purchase our shares. You can reimburse me when you are in funds—it is really of no importance, I promise you.’

      ‘The idea is very tempting,’ admitted Miss Widdecombe. ‘Margery has been waiting for us to join her for almost a year now and, in the normal way, I would be more than happy to acquiesce.’ Pausing, she slowly shook her head. ‘However, Imogen, I am afraid that it will not serve. We cannot leave Lady Beresford to deal with this monster, if he is as overbearing as you say he is. She simply has not the resources to cope, as you are perfectly well aware.’

      Imogen gave a little grimace. ‘I know, Widdy,’ she said. ‘And I did promise her that I would stay until she was settled. But, when I first met Beresford, he did not seem at all like Sir Matthew—although,’ she recollected, ‘it is true that he did fly up in the boughs when I mentioned his mother’s portrait.’

      Miss Widdecombe regarded her with interest. ‘Sir Matthew’s first wife,’ she acknowledged with a sigh. ‘I fear that she has, unwittingly, been the cause of so much grief in this family—your uncle was forever holding her up to Lady Beresford as the paragon of all that was good and clever but, no matter how hard she tried, our poor lady was never going to be able to live up to her dead predecessor’s alleged faultlessness.’

      ‘Presumably because my uncle was still obsessed with her memory,’ suggested Imogen thoughtfully. ‘As a matter of fact, I have often wondered why it is that anyone who has had the misfortune to die before their due time seems to be forever imbued with some sort of unlikely perfection.’

      ‘That does often seem to be the case,’ agreed the governess, ‘although I am inclined to believe that it is often merely because one prefers to dismiss the bad memories and remember only the good. No human being could possibly have been as unflawed as the first Lady Beresford was depicted as having been. I am told that, at one time, your uncle was used to creep into the attics at night and sit staring at her portrait until the early hours!’

      ‘That presumably explains why he was in such a dark mood on so many occasions!’ Imogen remarked drily.

      ‘I dare say,’ nodded the governess. ‘Although, sadly, it seemed that many things in life were wont to irritate him. Jessica was the only one of us who had no difficulty in reviving his spirits.’

      Imogen laughed. ‘I’d like to meet the man who holds himself impervious to that little baggage’s wiles! I really do not know what will become of her!’

      ‘She is a worry,’ Miss Widdecombe acknowledged with a smile. ‘Had her father not died, she might have had her London Season and could well have been safely married off by now.’ Her faded blue eyes suddenly lit up. ‘Do you know, my dear, I believe that I have had the most wonderful idea!’ She tugged at Imogen’s hand and pulled her down on the sofa beside her. ‘Do you suppose that we could persuade Mr Beresford to sponsor his sister’s come-out?’

      ‘I cannot imagine anyone persuading Mr Beresford to do anything he did not want