One Snowy Night (2 page)

However charming those distractions might be.

Thank goodness
! thought Rebecca as her
coach rolled out of the inn yard the following morning. Her journey so far had
been fraught with difficulties and she was relieved to be on her way. Her coach
joined the
London
road and she turned her
attention to the beautiful scene outside the window. Although the weather was
icy the sky was a brilliant blue, and the snow was a lovely sight.

She snuggled
down beneath her travelling rug, settled her booted feet more comfortably on
her stone hot water bottle and gave herself up to an enjoyment of the view.

Towns and
villages passed by, until at last, just before lunch, she entered the capital,
and from there it was but a short journey to her aunt and uncle’s house in
Sloane Street.

As the coach
finally rolled to a halt she gave a smile as she saw how pretty the house
looked under its winter coating. The small-paned windows were covered in frost,
the window sills were piled high with snow, and icicles hung from the portico.

Shaking out
her travelling cloak she climbed out of the carriage and stretched her stiff
legs before going up the stone steps to the front door.

‘Welcome back,
Miss Foster,’ said Canning, the butler, as he opened the door.

‘Thank you,
Canning.’ She smiled, pleased to see his familiar face.

At that moment
her aunt, having heard the coach, hurried into the hall to greet her.

Mrs Hetty
Marsden was an elegant woman of some five-and-thirty years of age. She was
dressed in a fashionable high-waisted gown of dark green silk, with a
Cashmere
shawl thrown over her
shoulders to keep out the winter chill. She greeted Rebecca warmly, taking her
hands and then embracing her.

‘Rebecca! We thought
you would never arrive! But let’s not stand here talking in the hall. You must
be frozen. Come in!’

Rebecca
returned her aunt’s hug, then accompanied her into the drawing-room. She looked
round the familiar room with pleasure. It was elegantly proportioned, and was
furnished with taste and style. Hepplewhite chairs and damasked sofas were
arranged in satisfying groups; small tables inlaid with rosewood and satinwood
were dotted conveniently about; and a collection of paintings depicting
classical scenes adorned the walls. A large marble fireplace dominated the far
end of the room, and a welcome fire burned in the grate.

With stiff
fingers Rebecca removed her bonnet and cloak as her aunt rang for tea.

‘You look
tired,’ said Hetty, having ordered some refreshment. She took in Rebecca with
an affectionate eye.

‘I am,’
Rebecca admitted. ‘The journey was long and difficult. I am pleased to be
finally here.’

‘When you did
not arrive last night I couldn’t help being worried,’ said Hetty. She sat down
beside Rebecca on the gold-damasked sofa. ‘But your Uncle Charles was far more
sensible. He said you must have been delayed by the weather.’

‘The weather
was dreadful,’ agreed Rebecca. ‘The roads were slippery and in several places
the coachmen had to dig a way through the snow. But the worst part was when
Biddy was taken ill. In the end, she was too poorly to continue. I had to leave
her behind, in the care of a local apothecary.’

‘Oh, poor Miss
Biddulph. Still, you did the right thing. The journey would only have made her
worse. A draughty coach is no place for someone who is ill. She is to join us
here when she is better, I hope?’

‘Yes. She will
travel on by the mail.’

‘Quite right,’
said Hetty approvingly. ‘If she is recovering from an ague she will not want to
be too long on the road, and the mail coach is always quick.’

The door
opened and tea was brought in. Revived by a hot drink and a piece of seed cake,
Rebecca told her aunt about the rest of her journey.

‘Where did you
stay last night?’ asked Hetty, pouring Rebecca a second cup of tea. ‘It was a
good hostelry, I hope? The food tolerable, and the sheets properly aired?’

‘I stayed at
The
Queen’s Head
,’ said Rebecca, sipping her tea.

‘
The Queen’s
Head
?’ Her aunt frowned. ‘I don’t know it. How was your room?’

A sudden
memory of her room, complete with partially-dressed gentleman, flashed into
Rebecca’s mind. She almost choked on her tea. Quickly she put down the cup.

‘Unfortunately
the inn was so full I had to spend the night in the attic with Susan.’

She mentioned
nothing of her encounter with the leonine gentleman. She was uncomfortably
aware that she had not behaved in the most ladylike of fashions. She should
have fainted or had a fit of the vapours, or at the very least left the room at
once, instead of bandying words with a partially-clad gentleman. If her aunt
ever heard about it, she would be sure to disapprove.

‘How awful!’
said Hetty. ‘Well, never mind, you are here now, and that is what matters. And
you have still managed to arrive in time for the reading of your grandfather’s
will.’

The reading of
the will was the reason for Rebecca’s journey to
London
. It was to take place that
afternoon.

‘That is why I
pressed on with the journey, instead of staying with Biddy,’ said Rebecca. ‘I
knew it would be difficult and frustrating for Charles to have to rearrange the
reading, and besides, I’m sure you must be wanting to know how things have been
left.’

‘It will
certainly make life easier,’ remarked Hetty. ‘Particularly as the will was
missing for so long. It was only by the greatest good fortune it was ever
found.’

‘It was
typical of Grandfather to keep it himself, instead of entrusting it to his
lawyers,’ said Rebecca. ‘"They’re rogues, Becky," he used to say to
me,’ she remembered with a smile. ‘"Lawyers . . . bankers . . . they’re
all the same. Rogues and rascals, Becky - every man Jack of ‘em". Don’t
have anything to do with ‘em until you must.’

‘Typical
indeed!’ agreed Hetty. ‘And it was just as typical of him not tell anyone where
he had put it, once he had had it drawn up. He did not expect to die so soon.
In fact, I do not think he expected to die at all. He expected to live for
ever.’

Jebadiah
Marsden - Rebecca’s grandfather and her uncle Charles’s father - had died some
time before, but his will had only recently been found, tucked away in a copy
of Shakespeare’s plays.

‘It’s hard to
believe he was the son of a cobbler,’ said Rebecca, looking round the room. She
took in the elegant furnishings, the expensive paintings and the superb marble
fireplace. She thought of her dearly beloved grandfather. He had taken
advantage of the opportunities that had come with the new manufacturing
industries, and he had made a fortune. ‘Our family has come a long way.’

Hetty nodded. ‘Jeb
was an extraordinary man. But now, I mustn’t tire you. You will need all your
energy for this afternoon.’ She stood up. ‘I will show you to your room. I’m
sure you’d like to refresh yourself after your journey.’

Rebecca, too,
stood up and followed Hetty out of the drawing-room.

‘We will be taking
luncheon in an hour,’ said Hetty. She led Rebecca upstairs, to the pretty guest
room that had been made ready for her. ‘And then we will be setting out for the
lawyer’s office.’

‘And now I
will leave you,’ said Hetty. ‘Remember, lunch is in an hour.’

Hetty left the
room and Rebecca went over to the washstand, where a jug of hot water was set
next to a pretty porcelain bowl. As she washed her hands, she laughed to
herself. She already knew some of the terms of her grandfather’s will - “I’m
going to set the cat amongst the pigeons, Becky, lass,” he’d said with a
twinkle in his eye, as he’d told her about them – and she knew what a fuss they
were going to cause!

After partaking of an
excellent luncheon, Rebecca changed out of her carriage dress and into a
rose-coloured kerseymere gown, in preparation for her visit to the lawyer’s
office. The cheerful colour, worn so soon after her grandfather’s death, would
have been shocking to the
ton
, but Rebecca did not care a jot. Her
grandfather had never cared for custom, and he had decreed there should be no
period of mourning for him. "Tomfoolery for jackanapes!" he’d called
it, betraying his lack of Society roots. "I’ve no time for people rigging
themselves out like crows every time someone turns up their toes. You wear
something cheerful, lass, that’s how I like to see you."

She smiled as
she thought of it. She missed him. But consoling herself with the fact that he’d
had a long and happy life, she recalled her thoughts to the present.

Regarding herself
in the cheval glass to check that she was tidy she adjusted the fine woollen
folds of her gown. They draped themselves elegantly around her shoulders before
falling from soft gathers beneath her breast into a long, slender skirt. She
smoothed the long sleeves and tweaked the lace at the bodice and cuffs, and
then sat down in front of the dressing-table so that Susan could arrange her
hair. The maid brushed her ebony locks before pulling them into a neat and
glossy chignon and then teasing out a row of ringlets round her face.

Well, she was
ready.

‘My dear, you
look lovely,’ said Hetty as she reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘Now, we had
better go. We will be meeting Charles at the lawyer’s office. He is longing to
see you again.’

‘As I am
longing to see him.’

The two ladies
fastened their cloaks, settled their bonnets on their heads and pulled on their
gloves.

‘This snow!’
exclaimed Hetty as they went out of the house. ‘It looks lovely, but it does
make things difficult.’ She turned to the coachman, resplendent in his livery,
who was sitting on the box. ‘You will go carefully, won’t you?’ she asked
anxiously. ‘Mr Marsden is very concerned about his horses.’

The coachman
assured her that he would take care and the two ladies stepped into the
carriage.

‘It’s just
such a pity Joshua could not be here,’ said Hetty as the carriage pulled away. ‘Charles
wrote to him as soon as Jebadiah died, but he has had no reply.’

Joshua Kelling
was Jebadiah’s godson. Rebecca had never met him, for they lived in different
parts of the country, but her grandfather had spoken highly of him and she knew
just what he must be like: a bookish, bespectacled man – “a good business head,
he has; clever with figures”, her grandfather had always said. And something of
a dandy - "Fascinated by him, the women are!" Jebadiah had crowed.
“And he’s just as fascinated by them!”

Rebecca smiled
at the thought of this bright, clever man, who was polished in his address,
adept at making himself agreeable, and dressed in the latest style. She would very
much like to meet him! But she would have to wait, because at the moment he was
abroad on business.

She was
brought out of her thoughts by the carriage rolling to a halt.

‘Are we there
already?’ asked Rebecca.

She was
surprised at the shortness of the journey.

‘Yes,’ said
Hetty, climbing out of the carriage. ‘We’re here.’

Rebecca looked
up at the lawyer’s office building. It was decent and respectable; prosperous,
even. Mr Wesley was evidently good at his job.

The two ladies
were admitted to the building by a clerk.

‘If you would
care to follow me?’ he said, with a low bow.

He was really
rather an oily youth, with a manner that was an unpleasant mixture of servility
and arrogance, and Rebecca could see why her grandfather had not liked lawyer’s
offices. But fortunately the lawyer himself was of a different stamp, and with
him was her uncle Charles.

Charles
Marsden was a distinguished-looking gentleman. A light smattering of grey
marked his hair at the temples. His figure was, perhaps, running a little to
fat, but he still cut a fine figure in his tailcoat and breeches.

‘I’m so
pleased you’ve arrived,’ he said. ‘Hetty was worried when you didn’t get here
last night, but I knew you would find the journey difficult in all this snow.’

‘It was,’
Rebecca acknowledged. ‘I will tell you all about it later.’

He nodded. Now
was not the time for conversation. Now was the time for attending to business.

Rebecca turned
her attention to the lawyer. He was a small man with sparse hair and thin
hands. He was dressed conservatively in a dark coat and knee breeches. On the
end of his nose he wore a pair of pince-nez.

‘Now we are
all gathered together, please, take a seat,’ he said.

He spoke in a
dry, desiccated voice that matched his appearance perfectly.

Rebecca
divested herself of her bonnet and cloak, then settled herself on a Hepplewhite
chair. Hetty and Charles, similarly shedding their outdoor clothes, seated
themselves on an ugly but comfortable sofa.

‘Mr Kelling
will be joining us?’ asked Mr Wesley.