Regency Surrender: Infamous Reputations. Sarah Mallory

with cream muslin and new rugs covered the floor. Phyllida dusted her hands and smiled, pleased with the results of her handiwork.

      It was just such a room as she would have liked when she had been on the verge of her come-out, and she hoped it would appeal in the same way to her stepdaughter. Ellen was even now on her way from the exclusive seminary in Kent to live in Bath with Phyllida. Doubts on the wisdom of this arrangement had been expressed by relatives on both sides of the family. Phyllida’s sister had merely mentioned her concern in a letter, questioning if Phyllida had considered fully the work involved in being chaperon to a lively girl only seven years her junior. Her late husband’s brother, Walter, was much more forthright and had even posted to Bath to remonstrate with Phyllida.

      ‘My dear sister, you have no idea what you are taking on,’ he had told her in his pompous way. ‘My niece has always been flighty, but now at seventeen she is far too hot at hand. The tales Bridget and I have heard of her behaviour at the seminary are quite shocking!’

      ‘She is spirited, certainly—’

      ‘Spirited!’ he interrupted her, his thin face almost contorting with disapproval. ‘She even ran away!’

      ‘No, no, you have been misinformed,’ she corrected him soothingly. ‘Ellen and her friends slipped off to see the May fair and they were back before midnight.’

      ‘But it is well known who instigated the adventure! Surely you do not condone her gallivanting around town in the middle of the night?’

      ‘Not at all, but thankfully she came to no harm, as Mrs Ackroyd was quick to point out.’

      ‘She was also quick to inform you that she could no longer allow Ellen to remain in her establishment.’

      ‘Only because the squire had developed an...an unquenchable passion for Ellen and had taken to calling at the most unreasonable hours.’

      ‘And Ellen encouraged him!’

      ‘No, she wrote to assure me she had done no more than allow him to escort her back from church.’

      ‘From Evensong. At dusk, without even a servant in attendance.’

      Phyllida frowned. ‘How on earth can you know all this? Ah, of course,’ she said, her brow clearing. ‘Bridget’s bosom bow, Lady Lingford, has a daughter at Mrs Ackroyd’s Academy, does she not? Bernice.’ She nodded. ‘I recall Ellen telling me about her when she came home to Tatham Park for Christmas. An odious tale-bearer, she called her.’

      ‘How I came by the information is neither here nor there,’ replied Walter stiffly. ‘The truth is that if Mrs Ackroyd, an experienced schoolmistress, cannot keep the girl safely contained then what chance do you have? I am sorry to speak bluntly, my dear sister, but my brother kept you too protected from the real world. You are far too innocent and naïve to be my niece’s guardian.’

      ‘I am very sorry you think that, Walter, but Sir Evelyn left Ellen in my sole charge and I am going to have her live with me until next year, when she will make her come-out under my sister’s aegis. You need not worry, I am quite capable of looking after her.’

      When she had spoken those words to her brother-in-law Phyllida had felt quite confident but now, with Ellen’s arrival so imminent, she felt a moment’s doubt. Had she been foolish in bringing Ellen to live with her? Since Sir Evelyn’s death a year ago Phyllida had been very lonely, living retired and out of the way with only an aged relative for company. More than that, she had been bored. She had not realised how much she would miss the life she had enjoyed as the wife of Sir Evelyn Tatham. She had entered the marriage with some trepidation and few expectations, but Sir Evelyn had shown her a kindness and consideration she had never known at home. She had enjoyed running his household and there was even some comfort to be found in his bed, although there was never the heart-searing elation she had read about in novels or poetry. That, she knew, needed love and she had come to think that such love, the sort that sent one into ecstasy or deep despair, must be very rare indeed. But it did not matter, she filled her days with her new family and friends. It had been enough, and she had felt its lack during those twelve long months of mourning. She also knew from her stepdaughter’s letters that Ellen was growing increasingly frustrated at her school. She wanted to be out in the world, to try her wings. When Mrs Ackroyd had written, saying that it was with the utmost reluctance she must request Lady Phyllida to remove her stepdaughter from her establishment, hiring a house in Bath for herself and Ellen had seemed the perfect solution.

      The sounds of a carriage below the window recalled her wandering attention. She looked out to see her own elegant travelling chaise at the door and her smile widened. She said to the empty room, ‘She’s here!’

      Phyllida hurried down the stairs, removing her linen apron as she went. By the time she reached the hall it was bustling with activity as the footmen carried in trunks and portmanteaux under the direction of a stern-faced woman in an iron-grey pelisse and matching bonnet. Her appearance was in stark contrast to the other female in the hall, a lively young lady of seventeen with an excellent figure displayed to advantage by a walking dress of the palest-blue velvet and with a frivolous cap upon her fair head. Phyllida’s heart swelled with pride and affection as she regarded her pretty stepdaughter. Ellen was chatting merrily to Hirst, the elderly butler whom Phyllida had brought with her to Bath, but when she saw Phyllida she broke off and rushed across to throw herself into her stepmother’s open arms.

      ‘Philly! At last.’ Ellen hugged her ruthlessly. ‘I am so pleased to be with you!’

      ‘And I am pleased to have you here, my love. Goodness, how you have grown, I would hardly have recognised you,’ declared Phyllida, laughing as she returned the girl’s eager embrace. ‘Was it a horrid journey?’

      ‘Not at all, your carriage is so comfortable and everyone we met on the journey was very kind. When we stopped for the night at the Stag we thought we should have to eat in the coffee room because a large party had taken over most of the inn, but when they heard of our predicament they were generous enough to vacate one of their parlours for us, and then last night, at the Red Lion, a very kind gentleman gave up his room to us, because ours overlooked the main highway and was terribly noisy.’

      ‘Thank goodness you were only two nights on the road, then, or heaven knows what might have happened next,’ exclaimed Phyllida. ‘Perhaps I should have come to fetch you, only I wanted to make sure the house was ready.’

      ‘And you knew I would be perfectly safe with dear Matty to look after me.’

      Hearing her name, the woman in the grey pelisse looked up.

      ‘Aye, but who has looked after my lady while I’ve been away?’ she demanded.

      ‘The new girl we hired, Jane, has done very well,’ responded Phyllida calmly. ‘I think she will suit me perfectly.’

      ‘Do you mean Matty will no longer be your maid?’ asked Ellen, wide-eyed.

      ‘No, love, Miss Matlock would much prefer to look after you. After all, she was your nurse until you went off to school.’

      ‘What my lady means is that I am aware of all your hoydenish tricks, Miss Ellen,’ put in Matlock, not mincing matters.

      ‘I have no hoydenish tricks,’ exclaimed Ellen indignantly.

      ‘No of course not,’ Phyllida replied, hiding a smile and recognising a little of the old Ellen beneath that new and stylish exterior. ‘Now let us leave Matlock to see to all your bags and we will go into the morning room. I have lemonade and cakes waiting for you.’

      Thus distracted, Ellen followed Phyllida across the hall.

      ‘Oh, it is so good to be with you again, Philly,’ she said as soon as they were alone. ‘Apart from those two weeks at Christmas I have not seen you for a whole year.’

      ‘You know we agreed it was important that you finish your schooling, and you would have found it very dull at Tatham Park this past twelve months.’

      ‘I suppose you are right.