LilyMilner

The Tallisbrook Emeralds – Chapter One

Sancha stood on the doorstep of Storm Cottage, admiring the view of the valley and the distant hills. It was such a glorious day, and the woodland beckoned. Surely the time was right for gathering forest mushrooms. Cook made wonderful mushroom pies, so why not go in search of some?

‘I should come with you,’ Erin said. ‘You’re inclined to ramble on these forest excursions. You should not go alone.’

‘Oh fiddle, Erin. How long have we lived here at the cottage? I know this land as if it were my own. I cannot possibly come to harm.’

‘Unless you fall down and break a leg.’

‘I’ll take Samson. If anything happens to me he’ll know to come home. At any rate he’ll come home when he’s hungry, so you can then send out a search party.’ Samson was the huge docile mastiff who was supposed to be their protector, but his protection involved nothing more than keeping people at bay with his exuberant welcome.

Erin was easily dissuaded. She was not keen on country rambling, preferring to stay home by the fireside and stitch, or help Molly in the kitchen with cooking. The two women had shared the cottage for three years now and were quite comfortable with each other’s habits.

Storm Cottage, as it was known, had once been the dower house for Tallisbrook Manor, but had been vacant for some years when Sancha moved in. The small legacy left to her by her mother was enough to cover the lease, employ a cook, a groom who also managed the  gardens, and a maid to come in daily from the village. She was able to live fairly comfortably with few other expenses. Although Tallisbrook was nearby with its many chimneys visible in the distance beyond the woods, she had no contact with the family belonging to that grand residence. She was vaguely aware that there had been some connection in the distant past, but whatever it was could not have been important enough to require her presence at the balls or parties that occasionally brought carriages and groups of horsemen trotting along the road past the cottage. They had never once invited her. Sancha paid her rent through the agent in the local village, and was happy enough that it was all that was expected of her from her Tallisbrook landlords.

Now, as she looked over towards the manor, she made up her mind about the mushrooms. With a basket over her arm, an apron over her plain calicot dress, a floppy hat and a pair of old leather gloves, she set out towards the woods. The densest part of the wood was on Tallisbrook land, but it was unlikely anyone would object to her gathering fungus. If left much longer on this bright day they would be quite spoiled and no use to anyone.

Samson ran ahead, snuffling through spinneys and under hedges. The day was glorious, and she enjoyed walking. When she came to the path leading into the forest she was almost inclined to keep on over the next rise to the village, but then she remembered her very plain dress, and would not like to be taken for a servant by any of the more snobbish village women.

The mushrooms were plentiful; so many soft white balls pushing through the leaf litter towards the light. She soon became absorbed in the search, falling to her knees occasionally to move the wet leaves and not minding that her dress was stained and her gloves dirty. When her basket was full she turned back, this time taking the road rather than the path through the woods. It was not long, however, before she heard a horse coming along at a steady pace. It occurred to her that she should step back into the bushes but then she thought better of it. Why hide? She was the tenant of Storm Cottage, and quite entitled to walk along the road.

The horse was not happy when Samson bounded over, barking and dancing in excited circles.  The rider was forced to rein it in hard. He shouted at Samson to ‘drop’ and to Sancha’s amazement the dog immediately lay on its stomach, then lifted its head and regarded the rider with an adoring look. Clearly the man knew how to deal with dogs.

When he noticed Sancha standing by the side of the road he dismounted and looped the reins over his arm. Her first impression was of a man in very stylish riding clothes, expensive boots and a smart hat. He was obviously a gentleman, so he posed no threat. She was about to greet him when she remembered her stained apron and dirty gloves.

As he walked towards her he eyed her speculatively. Was he sizing her up as a servant he might take advantage of?

‘Gathering mushrooms. How charming. Are you from Tallisbrook?’ There was no bow or word of courtesy. Obviously he did take her for a serving maid. Why not have a little joke with him.

‘Yes, m’lud.’ She smiled sweetly, bobbing into a curtsy and lowering her eyes as a servant would. Perhaps that smile might have been a little forward.

‘Ah. Of course. I think I do remember you. But I haven’t seen you recently. Have you been away?’

‘No, m’lud. I’m always downstairs.’

‘That explains it then. You’re a pretty little puss. Might I know your name?’

Here she stopped. She could not give her real name. Quickly she invented something. ‘Katherine,’ she said, ‘but people call me ‘Kitty.’ In fact this had been her mother’s pet name for her when she was a child, and if he thought of her as a pretty little puss she might just as well be a kitten.

The lord, if that was what he was, again seemed to size her up in a way she found almost embarrassing. He moved closer, dropping the reins and leaving his horse free to roam to the green shoots on the verge. Samson had been distracted by a wood pigeon and had no further interest in the horse or its rider. She noticed the gentleman’s eyes – grey eyes almost twinkling with mischief. There was a pleasant scent of leather about him, and something masculine and sharp like cedar wood.

‘Indeed. You do have rather a kittenish air. That cute nose, and you have a decidedly playful way about you.’

Her plain straw hat was loosely tied under her chin with ribbon. He reached forward and pulled the bow undone and removed it. ‘Your hair,’ he said. ‘It is the most extraordinary colour.’ And so it was. All her life she had accepted compliments about her hair. It was the rich colour people called Titian, a startling Renaissance red.

Now, Sancha was not quite so confident of her little game. Did that mischievous look mean he was sizing her up as someone he might take advantage of? If this lord took it into his head to make serious advances what should she do? She stepped back, forgetting the ditch that ran along the edge of the road. Her foot slipped and she had to lurch forward to regain her balance. In a moment he had his arm around her waist, then he pulled her close and was suddenly kissing her quite hard. It was a minute or two before she recovered enough from the surprise to push him away.

‘Sir!’

He looked puzzled, but did not let her go. Perhaps his advances were not quite so quickly resisted by the maids. She knew she should have simpered and giggled, but she was too shocked. She did however manage to look down at the ground with a contrite but submissive smile. ‘I … I am engaged to be married, my lord. My man would know if …’ What the ‘if’ entailed she was not prepared to think about.

‘Oh. Well, that’s a pity. You’re such a pretty kitten.’ He released her and stepped back. He was smiling now as he bent to pick up the reins. ‘My apologies Miss Kitty, but I do think you enjoyed it as much as I did.’ And with that he quickly mounted and left without so much as a backward glance.

Sancha stood watching as his horse trotted away and then broke into a gallop on the more open ground. So that’s the way it was for the serving girls; a kiss taken without so much as a by-your-leave and no doubt worse to follow if she had not stopped him. She blushed when she recalled that she had not wanted to stop him. And could she blame him? She had definitely led him on. Oh well. Put it down to experience. It was not every day she was kissed by a gentleman who mistook her for a serving maid. Smiling, she gathered her basket and gloves and continued on her way. It would be better not to tell Erin, she would not see the funny side of it, and she would definitely insist on accompanying her into the woods in future.

On the way back she thought about what might happen if she should run into the man in the village. She must remember to wear her bonnet firmly tied down at all times. With a smart dress and pelisse he might not recognise her, but her hair always gave her away. Miss Chiswick at the ladies seminary in Bath had insisted that she cover her hair when they walked out. ’With that pale skin and those large brown eyes your distinctly unusual colouring is hard to pass without a second look. You attract far too much attention from gentlemen.’

When she arrived back at the cottage Erin met her at the door in great excitement. ’Sancha, what do you think? A boy came from Tallisbrook with a message for you.’

‘For me? How odd.’ For one moment she thought it must have been from the man who had kissed her in the wood, and her cheeks burned at the memory of it. But that could not be, he would expect to meet her as a downstairs maid at Tallisbrook, not a tenant of  Storm Cottage.

Sancha removed her apron and gloves and carried the letter to the drawing room. The so-called cottage was actually more than that. It was in fact quite a substantial house with many rooms which included a good sized drawing room with mullioned windows looking onto the garden. Sancha took her letter to the window where the light was strongest. She examined it carefully. The note paper was of the very finest quality and the seal was one she recognised – the insignia that sealed the papers she signed for her lease on the cottage.

‘Will you not open it, Sancha? I cannot wait much longer.’

Erin was obviously bursting to know the contents, but Sancha hesitated. Might it be bad news, telling her the cottage was no longer available once the lease had expired? As she recalled there was still another few months to go on the current lease, but surely it was not that. And if it had been so the steward would have said something before a very formal letter would come from Tallisbrook.

‘Yes, of course.’ She removed the seal and opened the letter. Her eyes widened and she felt her face pale as she read it.

‘Well? Good heavens, Sancha. Is it bad news?’

‘I do not know. That is … they want me to go to the manor on Friday at midday for the reading of  a will.’

‘A will? Whose will?’

Sancha dropped the letter into her lap and stared off into the distance.

‘Sancha. Please don’t keep me in suspense.’

‘Lady Esmeralda has died and apparently she has made me a bequest. I must go to Tallisbrook to hear the reading of the will on Friday.’

‘Lady Esmeralda? Is she the one we call ‘the Vulture’?’

‘Yes. Oh dear.’ Sancha had occasionally seen Lady Esmeralda riding in her carriage through Darlington. She always wore black silk and was thin and hunched in her old age, her shoulders bent forward and her head covered with a tight cap, showing no hint of hair underneath. On more than one occasion Sancha had felt herself to be the object of her particular scrutiny. Lady Esmeralda never smiled but she kept her small bright eyes fixed on Sancha until the carriage passed. That peculiarly fierce regard had caused Sancha to think of her as a vulture, waiting for an opportunity to descend on her.

‘Leave me a bequest? Why? I don’t know her.’

‘Are you sure? I do remember you telling me once there was a distant connection.’

Sancha frowned and stared out of the windows to the far away chimneys of Tallisbrook. ‘It means nothing. Everyone has a distant connection to everyone else in our society. Blood ties way back in the past. Truly Erin, if there is a connection strong enough to warrant a bequest I know nothing of it. It must be a mistake. I’ll write and tell them so.’

She immediately began searching inside the small writing desk for paper, but Erin stopped her. ’No, Sancha. You must just accept. If it is a mistake they will surely tell you. If not … well, who knows.’ Erin looked deeply thoughtful. ‘You know almost nothing of your father. Is it possible that this lady we called the Vulture did know something? And perhaps now you will find it out.’

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