Regency Christmas Vows. Anne Herries

      ‘Very difficult for him, I am sure, madam.’ Mr Churchward still looked disapproving. ‘He wished to do the right thing by the child without knowing what that would be.’

      Sarah wrinkled up her nose. ‘I fear I am becoming confused, Mr Churchward. May we go over this once again? I shall call for more coffee and tea.’

      The pot was replenished, Sarah’s cup refilled, then the maid withdrew once again.

      ‘Now,’ Sarah said, in her most businesslike voice, ‘let us recapitulate. My late brother left a letter with you to be despatched to me in the event of a plea for help from his natural daughter, Miss Meredith. Frank was, I suppose, trying to guard against my niece being left friendless in the event of his death.’

      ‘I assume that to be correct, madam.’

      ‘And there has never been any request for help until three days ago, when you received this letter from Miss Meredith?’

      Mr Churchward inclined his head. ‘All contact with Dr Meredith and his family ceased on your father’s death, ma’am. I believe that Lord Sheridan left them a sum of money—’ Mr Churchward’s lips primmed as he remembered that it was a not-inconsiderable sum of money ‘—in order that the child should want for nothing in the future. Why she has seen fit to contact us now…’

      ‘The help Miss Meredith needs may not be of a financial nature,’ Sarah observed quietly, ‘and she is still my niece, Mr Churchward, despite the circumstances of her birth.’

      ‘Very true, madam.’ Mr Churchward sighed, feeling reproved. ‘This is all most irregular and I am not at all happy about it. For you to have to return to Blanchland is the most unfortunate thing imaginable!’

      Once again, the lawyer thought that he detected a twinkle in Miss Sheridan’s eye. ‘Certainly, Frank asks a great deal, Mr Churchward.’

      ‘He does indeed, ma’am,’ Mr Churchward said fervently. He shuddered, thinking of Sir Ralph Covell, the late Lord Sheridan’s cousin, who had inherited Blanchland Court upon Frank’s death. In the following three years Covell had turned the place into a notorious den of iniquity. Gambling, drunken revels, licentious orgies…The tales had been wilder each year. It seemed impossible to believe that Miss Sarah Sheridan, respectable spinster and pillar of Bath society, would ever set foot in the place.

      ‘Your cousin, Sir Ralph Covell, is still in residence at Blanchland, Miss Sheridan?’ Mr Churchward asked, fearing that he already knew the answer.

      ‘I believe so.’ The warmth had gone from Sarah’s voice. ‘It grieves me to hear the tales of depravity at Blanchland, Mr Churchward. It is such a gracious house to be despoiled by such evil.’

      Churchward cleared his throat. ‘For that reason, Miss Sheridan, it would be most inappropriate for you to return there. If your brother had known what Covell would do to your home, he would never have suggested it. Besides…’ Churchward brightened ‘…he has not actually asked you to go to see Miss Meredith yourself! You may advise her through an agent, perhaps—’

      Churchward broke off as Sarah rose to her feet and crossed to the window. She gazed into the distance. The bare trees that lined the Circus were casting shifting shadows onto the pavements. A carriage rattled past.

      ‘Perhaps someone could represent your interests at Blanchland,’ Churchward repeated, when Sarah did not speak. He was desperately hoping that she would not ask him to be that person. His wife would never stand for it. But Sarah was shaking her head.

      ‘No, Mr Churchward. I fear that Frank has laid this charge on me alone and I must honour it. I shall, of course, gratefully accept your advice when I have ascertained the nature of Miss Meredith’s problem. I imagine that it should be easy enough to find the girl and see how I may help her.’

      Mr Churchward was ashamed at the relief that flooded through him. There was an air of decision about Miss Sheridan that made it difficult to argue with her, despite her relative youth, but he still felt absurdly guilty. He made a business of shuffling his papers together and as he did so he remembered the piece of news that he had still to impart. His face fell still further.

      ‘I should tell you, ma’am, that I took the liberty of sending a message to Miss Meredith to reassure her that I had received her letter. By chance I passed my messenger on the road as I made my way here. He had been to Blanchland and was on his way back to London.’

      There was a pause. Sarah raised her eyebrows. ‘And?’

      Mr Churchward looked unhappy. ‘I fear that he was unable to find Miss Meredith, ma’am. The young lady was last seen approaching the front door of Blanchland Court two days ago. She has not been seen since. Miss Meredith has disappeared.’

      Later, as he was driving back to London, Mr Churchward remembered that he had forgotten to tell Miss Sheridan about the third letter, the one that Francis Sheridan had requested be despatched to the Earl of Woodallan. His spirits, which had been depressingly low since leaving Bath, revived a little. Woodallan was Sarah’s godfather and a man of sound sense into the bargain. It was a pity that Mr Sheridan had ever thought to involve his sister in such an undignified situation, but at least he appeared to have had the sense to apply to a man of Woodallan’s stature to support her. Mr Churchward sat forward for a moment, debating whether to ask the driver to turn back to Bath, then he caught sight of a signpost for Maidenhead and sat back against the cushions with a sigh. He was tired and nearing home, and, after all, Miss Sheridan would learn of Lord Woodallan’s involvement soon enough.

      Lady Amelia had already left for her morning engagements by the time Mr Churchward departed for London, so Sarah had no chance to confide in her cousin. She thought that this was probably a good thing, for her natural inclination had been to rush and tell Amelia all, when perhaps it would be better to think a little. Frank had not laid any strictures of secrecy on her, but Amelia was the least discreet of people and no doubt the tale of Sarah’s niece would be all over Bath in a morning were Amelia to be made party to the story.

      Sarah sat on the edge of her bed and thought of Frank and of her father, paying for his granddaughter’s upkeep, and of neither of them breathing a word to her. She suspected that neither of them had ever intended that she should know. But perhaps Frank had had some premonition of his own end when he was about to set sail for India that last time. At least it would have been some comfort to him to think, as he lay racked by fever so far from home, that he had made some provision, hasty and thoughtless as it was, for Olivia’s future…

      Sarah stirred herself. She could sit here thinking of it all day, but she had errands of her own to attend to—some ribbons to match at the haberdasher’s and bouquets to collect from the florist for the ball Amelia was holding the following night. Sarah replaced her lace cap with a plain bonnet, donned a sensible dark pelisse, and hurried down the stairs.

      Mrs Anderson, Lady Amelia’s housekeeper, was lurking in the stairwell, a look of slightly anxious eagerness on her homely face. She started forward as Sarah reached the bottom step.

      ‘Was there…did the gentleman bring any good news, Miss Sarah?’

      Sarah, adjusting her bonnet slightly before the pier glass, smiled slightly. News travelled quickly and a visit from the family lawyer was bound to cause speculation.

      ‘No one has left me a fortune I fear, Annie!’ she said cheerfully. ‘Mr Churchward came only to tell me of a request my brother Frank made a few years ago. Nothing exciting, I am sorry to say!’

      Mrs Anderson’s face fell. In common with all the other servants in the house, she thought it a crying shame that Miss Sheridan should be the poor relation, and her a real lady, so pretty-behaved and well bred. Not that Lady Amelia ever treated her cousin as though she was a charity case, but it was Miss Sarah herself who insisted on running errands and doing work that was beneath her. She was doing it now.

      ‘Would you like me to collect the vegetables whilst I am out?’ Sarah was saying. ‘It is only a step from the florists to the greengrocer’s—’