Rags-To-Riches Wife. Catherine Tinley

      The Countess’s voice rang out in response to Mrs Bailey’s gentle scratching on the door. Jane was conscious that her heart was beating rather quickly. Despite all her years of service to Miss Marianne, and knowing of her kindness and her loyalty, a servant’s greatest worry was always that of being dismissed.

      Lady Kingswood was seated in her favourite armchair, looking pensive.

      Jane glanced automatically towards the carpet, instantly spotting various crumbs and tiny shards of china—clear evidence of the recent mishap.

      ‘Oh, my lady, I apologise! I do not know what came over me, for I am not normally so clumsy.’

      Miss Marianne snorted. ‘Well, if you do not know, Jane, I most certainly do. Lord, when he said the name of the woman he was seeking I almost collapsed in shock. If I had been holding a tray I have no doubt I, too, would have dropped it. No—’ she waved a hand ‘—I do not wish to hear any further apologies. It is forgotten!’

      Jane smiled weakly.

      See? You need not have worried, the rational part of her brain offered complacently.

      Her still racing heart and moist palms could not agree.

      Mrs Bailey was frowning. ‘Might I ask, my lady, who is this gentleman? And what is his interest in my daughter?’

      ‘I confess I do not fully understand it myself.’ She picked up a card. ‘His name is Mr Robert Kendal and, in essence, he says he has been sent here by an elderly relative of his to fetch Jane to visit the old man in Yorkshire before he dies. Although his death is not imminent. The old man’s, I mean.’

      She was looking closely at Mama, as if waiting for her to say something.

      Mama remained silent.

      ‘But why?’ Jane was mystified. ‘I know no Mr Kendal, nor anyone with the name Kendal, and I have never seen this gentleman before.’

       That I am sure of, for I would not have forgotten a gentleman so handsome!

      ‘Mr Kendal himself seems not to know why you are sought, Jane. In fact, he hoped I could enlighten him.’ Lady Kingswood’s eyes danced. ‘I suspect he thinks you may be the result of a youthful adventure on his relative’s part. He pictures you as middle-aged.’

      ‘Youthful adventure? What—? Oh!’ Jane gaped.

      Mrs Bailey was bristling with indignation. ‘Well, I shall tell him straight! My Jane is no man’s by-blow, for me and my Ned were married fair and square! And my own parents were as respectable as they come! Youthful adventure, indeed!’

      ‘Of course, Mrs Bailey!’ Lady Kingswood’s tone was soothing. ‘I suspect Mr Kendal knows very little about either of you, and so he has reached his own conclusions.’

      ‘Well, if he thinks I shall allow my Jane to go off with him to visit some unknown elderly gentleman—’ Mama broke off, as if an idea had just come to her. ‘Did you say Yorkshire?’

      ‘I did. Does that mean something to you?’

      ‘Did Mr Kendal specify which part of Yorkshire?’

      ‘Er—the West Riding. A place called Ardendale or something.’

      Mrs Bailey gasped. ‘Ardendale...or Arkendale, perhaps?’

      ‘Yes—Arkendale!’

      ‘And his relative’s name?’

      ‘Mullinthorpe? Melkinthorpe?’ Lady Kingswood was frowning with the effort of trying to remember.

      ‘Millthorpe?’

      ‘That’s it! Millthorpe!’

      Mrs Bailey put a hand to her chest. ‘Mr Millthorpe! Never again did I think to hear that name!’

      Jane rose, touching her mother’s arm. ‘Who is he, Mama?’

      ‘If it is him, and not some other relative—’ she looked directly at Jane ‘—he is Ned’s father. Your grandfather!’

      ‘My grandfather?’ Jane almost squeaked in shock. ‘But why is his name not Bailey? And I thought he would have nothing to do with Papa—with any of us—after Papa married you?’

      ‘So Ned always said. As a servant, I was not good enough for the Millthorpe name, apparently. Ned defied him by changing his name to Bailey—which was from his mother’s side.’

      Jane’s mind was reeling. ‘Then—my grandfather may be still alive and wishing to meet me?’

      ‘So it would seem.’

      Jane’s knees felt strangely soft, as if the bones were melting. She had not thought of Papa’s family in years.

       My grandfather! What is he like? Do I look like him? Has he, perhaps, forgiven Papa?

      An image of a tender deathbed reunion filled her mind. She shook it away—there was nothing to suggest what Mr Millthorpe’s motives might be in trying to find her.

      ‘And who, then, is this Mr Kendal? A servant?’ Mama’s tone was sharp.

      ‘No, definitely a gentleman.’ The Countess tilted her head on one side, remembering. ‘He referred to Mr Millthorpe as “Uncle”, yet clarified that he is not truly his uncle but a distant relative. I did wonder if there was some connection with your husband’s family...’

      ‘Hmph! The whole thing smacks of Mr Millthorpe’s desire to manage everyone around him. That was Ned’s abiding memory of his father. Even now, with my poor Ned long gone, his domineering father seeks to control him through my Jane!’ Mama wiped a tear away with the corner of her apron.

      ‘Mama!’ Jane touched her arm. ‘Of course I shall not go, if you do not wish it.’

      Mama never cried. After that day—the day of Papa’s death—Mama had been careful to keep her grief to herself. Jane had come upon her suddenly on a couple of occasions, and seen her mother wipe away tears, but never had she allowed herself to cry in front of Jane. For her to do so today was shocking, and Jane felt the force of it.

      Mama continued, her voice tight with pain and anger. ‘Mr Millthorpe was cold and cruel. He pushed away his only child—and why? Because Ned had the misfortune to fall in love with me: a servant. I have never met the man, but my impression is that he thinks of me—of all servants—as vermin, to be used and discarded. He has no heart, no conscience. He must have known Ned would struggle, yet he never made any attempt to reconcile with him.’

      Jane, her mind too disordered to operate clearly, nevertheless felt the force of Mama’s pain. And Papa’s.

      Lady Kingswood’s brow creased. ‘How awful! I remember, of course, that your husband had died not long before you came to us, and that he was a gentleman, but I do not recall hearing any more about his family.’

      ‘I did not speak much of it.’ Mama pressed her lips together. ‘Again, I should like to know, who is Mr Kendal and what is his role in all of this?’ She eyed her mistress. ‘What have you told him about Jane?’

      ‘Not a word,’ Lady Kingswood assured her. ‘He knows I am acquainted with Jane, but has no notion that he himself has already met her!’

      Jane, still in something like shock, voiced her bemusement. ‘My grandfather is alive! Why would he wish to see me? What if he is still angry with Papa, and wishes to punish him—or me...?’ She shuddered. ‘I cannot put myself in any man’s power.’ Cold fear trickled through her belly as Master Henry threatened to resurface in her memory. ‘What is to happen next?’

      ‘Well,’ said Lady Kingswood diffidently, ‘I thought you both might like to meet him yourself before he knows who Jane Bailey is.’

      ‘Thank you, Miss Marianne. I declare that is sensible.’ Mama was