Brizecombe Hall Read online

  “But he accompanied them to church today. I cannot remember the last time he did so–”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of the very people they had been discussing, advancing towards them along the moorland track. Mr Brindley walked with Christina and John either side of him, holding the children’s hands.

  “Cold?” said the Reverend, raising his eyebrows in amusement at the approaching spectacle.

  “Reverend Rhys, Miss Ann, we meet again this fine day!” Charles Brindley called.

  The children ran to greet Ann and began telling her about the discoveries they had been making on their walk.

  Reverend Rhys talked to Mr Brindley but noticed that the landowner was not fully attentive in conversation, keeping one eye on his governess. “I trust my daughter is providing a satisfactory service at Brizecombe?” Reverend Rhys enquired.

  “Oh yes. Very much more than satisfactory,” Mr Brindley replied, with a sideways glance towards Ann.

  When the Brindleys had passed, the Reverend resumed his lecture. “It has not escaped my notice that Mr Brindley takes an interest in you, Ann.”

  Ann said nothing.

  “It is not, perhaps, surprising that he should. He is a man in his prime. He will, in the fullness of time, remarry. You are young, not unattractive and pleasant in conversation. It is no wonder he would pay you some attention. But, my dear daughter, do not confuse Mr Brindley’s frivolous interest with a real and binding affection.”

  Ann was disturbed by the terms in which her father spoke.

  “Remember, dear girl, that, above all else, a young woman must value her virtue, her modesty. To speak plainly, dearest Ann, you are attractive but not uncommonly so, you are intelligent but your thoughts are unrefined and, moreover –and as you yourself well know– though you come from a respectable family, you have no fortune. In short, dear Ann, there is nothing about you to recommend you as a wife to Mr Brindley.”

  The Reverend paused and Ann wiped a tear from her eye. They were walking on the heights, into the wind. She couldn’t look at her father. She knew he spoke the truth and it wasn’t his intention to be cruel but these were truths she didn’t want to hear.

  “And if you are not to be Mr Brindley’s wife, then any interest he shows in you beyond that which is appropriate between employer and employee, can only serve to compromise your modesty and jeopardise your virtue. Do you understand me, Ann?”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Therefore, dear daughter, I urge you to avoid the company of your employer until his fondness subsides. In time it surely will; there is nothing in your being that could sustain his interest. But until then you must be on your guard. To speak plainly, dear girl, you must not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with him.”

  Chapter 6

  In the weeks that followed, Ann settled into a routine at Brizecombe Hall. She often saw Mr Brindley in passing but always obeyed her father’s wishes that she avoid contact with her employer. It pained Ann to receive her master’s warm greetings with cool civility but on such occasions the Reverend’s words echoed in her head: ‘A young woman must value, above all else, her virtue.’

  Ann’s task was made easier by Mr Brindley’s frequent periods of absence from the Hall. He was away from home for days at a time, attending to business in town or pleasure in the country residences of his neighbours. At such times Ann found that her hours in the schoolroom dragged unimaginably.

  Such a spell was broken early one morning when Mrs Travers came bursting in to warn John and Christina that they must be on their best behaviour. Their father was bringing friends home to Brizecombe for the weekend. The party was due to arrive that very afternoon.

  “I’m all a fluster, Miss Ann,” Mrs Travers complained out of earshot of the children. “The Master will send word at the last minute, leaving us no time to prepare for our guests. Cassandra Newbold is such a fine young lady, I’m sure our ordinary fare will be beneath her taste.”

  Ann’s interest was stirred by the mention of a young woman. “Is she the wife of an acquaintance of Mr Brindley’s?” she asked.

  “Oh no, Miss. She is the sister of the Master’s good friend, James Newbold.” Mrs Travers hesitated before adding, “It’s not my place to say, Miss Rhys, but rumour has it she will be the future mistress of the Hall.”

  At half-past two in the afternoon, work in the schoolroom came to an abrupt halt with the sound of horses’ hooves approaching along the drive. Christina leapt from her chair and ran to the window. “Miss Newbold!” she announced, with a gasp.

  “Christina, come away from the window at once,” Ann urged.

  “They can’t see us,” Christina insisted.

  Stealthily, Ann crept up beside her pupil and looked out. Mrs Travers was down below, greeting a lady dressed in a sky-blue travelling suit. Her hair, in ringlets, was as blonde as the Master’s was black.

  “She looks like a painting,” observed John, who had joined them.

  The wealthy young woman smiled up at Charles Brindley as he escorted her and her brother into the Hall. James Newbold received little attention from his host; all of Mr Brindley’s interest was in Cassandra. Ann’s heart sank.

  Ann had two further sightings of Cassandra Newbold during the lady’s visit to Brizecombe. The first occurred on the evening of the day of her arrival. Mrs Travers had asked Ann to stay late to supervise Christina and John, as the domestic staff were rushed off their feet. Ann had agreed and Mrs Travers had insisted a man should take her home to the parsonage in a carriage, as it would be dark by the time she left.

  In the early evening, Ann was sitting in the grand entrance lobby, awaiting her carriage, when, looking up the great staircase, she saw Miss Newbold standing at the top of it, wearing a fine, silk, emerald evening dress, cut in a low ‘v’ about her neck. Miss Newbold drew attention to her cleavage with a diamond necklace. Light from the candelabra reflected in the stones of the necklace and in Cassandra’s eyes, as she descended the stairs.

  Ann, uncertain whether she should acknowledge Miss Newbold, kept her head down as Cassandra approached. Etiquette decreed she shouldn’t speak unless the lady first acknowledged her, she recalled. At the bottom of the stairs, Cassandra Newbold breezed past Ann as if she didn’t exist.

  When she’d gone Ann felt a momentary pang of jealousy: all of her day dresses buttoned right up to her neck; she didn’t even possess an evening gown. How could she ever compare with Cassandra? Ann checked her thoughts and reminded herself of her father’s caution regarding her master.

  The second time Ann saw Miss Newbold was on Friday morning, prompted by Christina, who was ever watchful at the window of the schoolroom for a glimpse of the elegant young lady.

  Ann watched, alongside her inquisitive pupil, as Miss Newbold walked on the arm of Christina’s father, along the terrace in front of the house – the exact route he had taken with Ann in her first week at the Hall. Ann couldn’t suppress her envy at the spectacle of Cassandra walking so openly at the Master’s side. It appeared they already had an understanding.

  Chapter 7

  During the weeks that followed, Ann continued to exercise caution where the Master of Brizecombe was concerned. He now seemed, she noticed, to react to her presence with anxiety. Ann felt guilt at avoiding him, but alongside it grew a sense that the Reverend was right; she would indeed be foolish to be flattered by Mr Brindley’s attentions, knowing what she now knew.

  One winter’s morning, Ann left the parsonage, unable to decide whether she ought best walk to Brizecombe via the roads, or risk taking the shorter route over the moors.

  The skies were full of drama. Rain –heavy rain– could come but the winds were so strong that, equally, the dark clouds above could be blown away, revealing clear blue skies beyond.

  Unable to resist the call of the moors, Ann began climbing the rough path that led upwards. She hitched up her skirts and tripped through the muddy stones.

  At Brizecombe, th
e Master surveyed the skies from the window of his study. A manservant stood near. “Send a carriage for Miss Rhys,” Mr Brindley said. “I fear we are due a downpour.”

  The heavens opened when Ann was at the highest, most exposed point on her journey. She had nowhere to shelter and nothing with which to protect herself from the heavy rain that immediately began to drench her. Ann’s energy waning, she could see no alternative but to keep heading on towards the Hall. She tried to run but, with the strong winds against her and her full skirts becoming increasingly heavy, her pace was severely hindered.

  Mr Brindley, concerned at the lack of news, summoned the servant. “The man went to the parsonage, Sir,” the servant explained, “but the Reverend told him Miss Ann had set off half an hour before. He looked out for her again on his way back, but could see no sign of her. We can only think she’s making her way across the moor,” he concluded.

  “Then have them saddle my horse,” Mr Brindley said, decisively. “Tell them to be quick. I must leave immediately!”

  Within minutes, Charles Brindley mounted his black stallion and galloped across the park. The horse leapt over the park boundary into the fields of the estate. A little way further it scaled the field fence and began the ascent up onto the moor.

  Ann’s pace was so slow that she was practically at a standstill. She looked up to the heavens and prayed that the rain would cease. So cold was she now that she could barely feel her hands and feet. The rain fell directly into her upturned face and freezing rivulets ran down her neck and under the collar of her dress, perishing her to the core.

  All at once Ann heard the rhythmic pattern of hooves close by. A black vision approached. A rider in a dark cloak, its collar standing up to shield his face from the driving rain, wearing a tall, black hat and shining black boots, mounted on a horse as black as night, came alongside her and offered her his hand. “Miss Ann,” he said, “climb up,” and, with a mighty heave, he pulled her exhausted frame from the ground.

  Ann’s relief was so great that, once upon the horse, she instinctively clung to its rider.

  “Keep a tight hold,” he instructed, turning his head to be heard through the whistling winds.

  The horse began to move on. Ann rested her head on her master’s back and closed her eyes. Dimly, through her fatigue, thoughts formed in her mind that the figure of the horse and rider had been familiar. She pictured the moors in the moonlight and the ghostly spectre she had perceived from the window of her tiny room. “Sir,” she uttered in her dawning consciousness, “you are very kind.” Her tears mingled with the raindrops that ran down her face.

  Once back at Brizecombe, Mr Brindley ordered a blanket to wrap around Miss Rhys’s shoulders. They stood in the entrance lobby, Ann shivering violently, her dress dripping water onto the polished stone floor. The Master enquired of his servants which fires in the house were lit. They informed him that only the kitchen fire and that of his own room on the upper floor were currently alight.

  “Miss Ann must come to my quarters then,” he said.

  In Mr Brindley’s room a man was charged with tending the fire and a maidservant was sent to fetch towels.

  Mr Brindley dismissed the manservant once the fire was in order. Delicately, he told Ann, “Mrs Travers is away today. I would have asked her for some dry clothes for you but I fear the maid’s clothes would be unsuitable–”

  At that moment the maid returned with towels.

  “Shall you need help, Miss Ann?” Mr Brindley asked.

  “No, Sir,” she replied. “I shall be quite alright now.”

  The maid was dismissed.

  “Might I suggest you remove your wet garments and wear a shirt of mine and my robe until your own clothes can be dried,” Mr Brindley said.

  Ann went behind a screen, over which Mr Brindley had draped the towels, his shirt and his robe for her convenience, in order to remove her clothes.

  Mr Brindley, uneasy at remaining in the room while his governess undressed, enquired, “Shall I fetch some tea? Some food?”

  Wary herself of the Master’s presence, Ann accepted his offer.

  Mr Brindley left the room to convey the order to the servants. Returning, minutes later, he found his governess was still in the process of undressing. Without speaking, he took a seat in front of the fire and gazed into its flames.

  Aware of the Master sitting close by, Ann, having removed her corset and petticoats, proceeded to lift over her head the cotton chemise she wore next to her skin – even this had not escaped the rain. As she did so she heard her heart beating in her ears and felt her whole frame tremble. ‘A young woman must value, above all else, her virtue.’

  Mr Brindley’s attention had been drawn from the flames by the sight of Ann’s arms reaching above the screen. She had now taken the towels but not yet his shirt. He tried to remain entirely still and silent but was aware of his heart pounding. The Master’s eye wandered to the joints of the panels of the screen, but he immediately checked himself and looked back into the flames.

  Moments later Mr Brindley detected from the corner of his eye that his shirt had disappeared. The danger having passed, he ventured to ask, “How are you getting on, Miss Rhys?”

  “Very well, Sir,” Ann replied. “I feel much better now I’m dry.”

  “Good,” Mr Brindley said.

  Ann considered the trouble she had caused her master. “I’m so sorry, Sir,” she began, still speaking from behind the screen, “to have caused you distress today. I ought never to have set out on the moor. It was very foolish of me. I feel wretched–”

  “My dear Miss Ann,” Mr Brindley replied, “any distress has been occasioned only by my fear for your own safety and is outweighed by the relief I now feel at having you back home safely with me.” He addressed the screen’s panels as he spoke. She had taken his robe.

  The terms in which he referred to her did not escape Ann. And his words were beyond charitable. “You are kind, Mr Brindley,” Ann told her master as she stepped out from behind the screen wearing his shirt and robe.

  “Sit and warm yourself in front of the fire,” he said hurriedly. “I will go and see what is become of our tea.”

  Ann did as Mr Brindley instructed, as he left the room.

  The Master of Brizecombe Hall repaired to a guest chamber across the landing. Here he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed. He needed to compose himself. Once inside the room he leant back against the wooden panelling and let out a sigh. He smiled wryly at his folly.

  Back in the Master’s quarters, within moments of his departure, the servant girl brought a tray of tea and toast. She enquired whether Ann needed anything more but Ann said not and dismissed her.

  Feeling she was not at liberty to eat or drink before Mr Brindley’s return, Ann sat looking around the room at his furniture and possessions. Her eye came to rest upon his large, four-poster bed, draped in richly coloured fabrics.

  Minutes later, Charles Brindley re-entered the room, appearing calm, and commenting that he was glad to see Miss Rhys looking well again. He encouraged Ann to eat and drink and watched intently as she did. They were utterly alone.

  “Sir, what has become of my charges on this eventful day?” Ann asked.

  “Do not concern yourself. Christina and John are occupied in their own quarters.”

  “But they will not be studying–”

  “A day off will do them no harm,” he said lightly. “And their loss of your company is my gain.”

  She wasn’t satisfied. “Might they be called to sit and read to me while I recover?”

  “Am I not company enough for you, Miss Ann?” he asked.

  “Sir, you misunderstand me. I feel I am not only failing to fulfil my duties but also distracting you from the important work you should be doing.”

  “Very well, then,” Mr Brindley said, casting a defeated glance at the bed, “I shall have them brought here with books!” and he rose to summon the servant.

  “But you will stay?” Ann asked after him
.

  Christina and John appeared shortly, excited by their disrupted routine and thrilled by the vision of their intrepid governess. Their spirits were immediately subdued, however, upon sight of their father.

  “Children, Miss Rhys has had a nasty shock this morning and is very tired. You are to read to her. You will not trouble her with questions and silliness. Do you understand?”

  Mr Brindley removed himself to an armchair, allowing the children to sit either side of Ann in front of the fire. He watched them sidle up to her. Instinctively, Ann put her arms around them and they rested against her. Christina began reading.

  The Master of Brizecombe stared into the flames of the fire and then turned his head to look again upon his solitary bed.

  Turning back to look at Ann, he saw she’d been watching him. Whilst Christina read and John slumbered, Ann looked steadily upon her master and did not flinch when he returned her gaze.

  Chapter 8

  Barely a week later Mrs Travers once again burst in upon Ann’s lesson all a fluster. Miss Newbold and her brother were to visit for a second time. Mrs Travers was surprised by the occurrence, as the Master had not yet made a return visit to the Newbolds’ estate.

  Having a little more time to make arrangements on this occasion, Mrs Travers was able to permit Ann’s departure at the regular time on Friday afternoon, when the Newbolds were due to arrive. Ann, having no desire to see Cassandra Newbold and experience forbidden jealousies again, was glad to be dismissed.

  She had the misfortune, however, to be descending the grand staircase, coming from the schoolroom on the upper floor, through the house, to leave via the kitchens, just as Miss Newbold entered through the great front door of the Hall, accompanied by Mr Brindley.

  “Miss Rhys,” Mr Brindley called in acknowledgement, taking off his tall hat to his governess.

  Ann barely managed to mumble his name before she fled to the kitchens. Whilst in flight, she heard Miss Newbold laugh and say, “So that’s your governess, Charles. What a little mouse! Still, John and Christina will soon be sent away.”