The Transformation Of Miss Ashworth

It was Beth’s turn to be slightly startled, and she stared at her visitor in no little amazement over the rim of her glass for a second or two before fortifying herself from its contents. ‘You wish to discuss the vicar’s wife importuning Ann?’

‘Oh, no, no! You misunderstand me, my dear. It was mention of the dinner party that jogged my memory. You see, I wanted to ask you about Philip. I couldn’t help but notice you and he spent some little time together quite privately in the garden during the evening.’

Once again Beth was at a loss to understand what her visitor was attempting to convey. Disapproval, perhaps? ‘What of it?’

‘Well, I was wondering, you see, what you thought of him—his manner towards you, I mean?’

Just a ray of enlightenment at last began to dawn. ‘Damnably insulting, if you must know!’ Beth returned, at her most plainspoken. ‘Had the crass impudence to accuse me of once having behaved like a simpering idiot, would you believe!’ A vindictive glimmer all at once added an extra brilliance to her striking eyes. ‘And I shan’t forget it in a hurry, either, I can tell you!’

Lady Chalford gurgled with mirth. ‘You jest, wicked girl! Philip is ever the gentleman in mixed company.’

‘Ha! Much you know!’ Beth scoffed, but then relented when her visitor appeared slightly put out by the slur on the Baronet’s character. ‘Well, I suppose he’s your brother, so you’re bound to think the best of him.’

‘Oh, I do. I do,’ she was speedily assured. ‘And I’m so very concerned about him too.’ A moment’s pause, then, ‘Do you find him much altered?’

‘Well, naturally I do!’ Beth returned in a trice, thinking the question faintly absurd. ‘We’ve all changed in more than half a decade. The passage of time is kind to so very few.’

‘Quite!’ Lady Chalford acknowledged, frowning. ‘But I was thinking not so much of physical differences as changes in his character, his manner. He has become so withdrawn, so insular since…since poor Eugenie’s demise. Oh, I know he puts a brave face on it when in public, poor boy. But I have seen him, Bethany…have come upon him on several occasions since my arrival at the Court, just sitting there, studying the miniature of his late fiancée, which he keeps in the desk in his library. He always looks so forlorn, so lost, just staring down at the only remembrance he has of that lovely, lovely girl. But whenever I’ve attempted to console him, he sets me at a distance, and is distinctly aloof. I hardly dare mention Eugenie’s name for fear of upsetting him, and on the rare occasion I do he invariably changes the subject.’

‘How odd!’ Beth was genuinely perplexed as she recalled Philip discussing Eugenie quite openly with her on the evening of the dinner party, and surprisingly betraying little emotion whatsoever. Perhaps, though, it wasn’t sympathy he sought. Furthermore, he had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, she reminded herself.

‘Your brother was ever the private man, preferring to keep his own counsel for the most part, at least in his private concerns. He wouldn’t willingly betray his emotions in public, even in front of you, Constance. I do not doubt, though, he has suffered much over the loss of Eugenie.’

‘Oh, he has!’ Lady Chalford wholeheartedly agreed, taking a moment to dab at her eyes with the wisp of fine lawn swiftly extracted from her reticule. ‘He has never so much as looked at another female since the tragedy occurred.’ She coloured slightly. ‘At least, he has taken little notice of any female who would make him a suitable wife…not until, that is, this past Season.’

All at once Lady Chalford brightened, betraying more liveliness of spirit than Beth had ever witnessed in her before. ‘I do not know if you are aware of it, but your cousin Phoebe was brought out in the spring. And although, perhaps, not the instant success her eldest sister once was, she wasn’t without certain admirers. Even Philip paid her no little attention. Hardly surprising, though, really. She bears a striking resemblance to Eugenie.’

‘Really?’ Beth said, mildly interested. ‘The last time I saw Phoebe she didn’t resemble her eldest sister very much at all. Quite the little brown mouse, in fact! But that was some years ago, now I come to think about it.’

‘Then you are in for a surprise, my dear, for she does so now, as you’ll discover for yourself next month. Your aunt and cousin are to attend Philip’s birthday celebration, and are to put up at the Court for a few days. And that is where I am hoping I might count on your support.’

All at once alarm bells began to sound in Beth’s head. ‘How do you mean—count on my support? For what, precisely, may I ask?’

‘In helping Philip see a little more of Phoebe by, perhaps, generously inviting your cousin and aunt to stay here, enabling them to extend their sojourn in the county.’

‘Absolutely not! I shall not be made a convenience of a second time!’ Beth could see at a glance that she had shocked her visitor by the vehemence of her refusal. Nevertheless, she had no intention of changing her mind.

‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s simply out of the question. And you’ll forgive my saying so, but I don’t suppose for a moment Philip would thank you for interfering in his personal concerns. He certainly wouldn’t appreciate me doing so, especially as we no longer share that close bond of friendship we once enjoyed. Furthermore, since I chose the Peninsula in preference to staying with her, the affection in which my aunt once held me has lessened considerably, if the letters I’ve received in recent years are anything to go by. If, however, she is now prepared to let bygones be bygones, and voices a desire to stay with me here at the Grange, then I shall be only too happy to invite her…next year, when I hope to have the entire house in good order.’

And with that Lady Chalford was forced to be satisfied.

Ann, returning in good time for luncheon, discovered her young mistress seated at the escritoire in the parlour precisely where she had left her some two hours earlier. The accounts book was opened at the exact same page, with few entries having been set down. The neatly stacked pile of bills by the slender right hand, did not appear to have decreased by very much, and there was clear evidence of a troubled frown lurking between the striking azure eyes.

‘What is it, Beth dear? Are you feeling slightly put out not having accomplished your accounts this morning? Would you like me to leave you in peace to finish the task?’

So deep in thought had she been that Beth had hardly been aware of the fact that someone had entered the room. As always, though, the soft, understanding tones, successfully breaking through her reverie, had had an immediate calming effect upon her troubled spirits, at least up to a point.

‘It’s true I haven’t done as much as I might have wished, but that’s the fault of my unexpected visitor, Ann,’ she informed her. ‘All the same, I don’t wish to be left alone. Come, let’s sit by the fire for a spell, and you can tell me all about your morning and the interesting snippets you’ve managed to pick up at the vicarage.’

Ann frankly laughed, because she knew well enough that Bethany, being somewhat unorthodox in behaviour, neither indulged in gossip nor paid much heed to it. Notwithstanding, there had been one or two curious pieces of information discovered that morning that Ann thought might be of interest to her unconventional employer. Consequently she had no reluctance in revealing the disturbing fact that instances of robbery in the area had increased dramatically in recent months.

‘Mrs Chadwick also said that even two or three of the larger houses in the village had been broken into in recent weeks. And, by all accounts, it’s much worse in the local town, where men hang about on street corners, behaving in a distinctly offensive manner to those more happily circumstanced.’

Beth wasn’t unduly surprised to learn this. ‘It’s only to be expected. Now the war with France is blessedly over, there are too many looking for too few jobs. The unrest will continue, and get very much worse while men are unable to support themselves, let alone feed their families.’

Ann nodded in agreement before she bethought herself of something else she had discovered that day. ‘Are you by any chance acquainted with someone by the name of Napier? Mrs Chadwick seemed to suppose you were. Seemingly he’s a close friend of their son, and has been a frequent visitor at the vicarage in recent years. Said something about him heralding from Surrey, and living quite close to Lord and Lady Barfield,’ she continued, when Beth had merely frowned.

‘Oh, you must be referring to young Crispin Napier,’ she responded, after giving the matter more thought, and then shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen him since he was a boy. He must be in his early twenties by now.’

‘That’s right,’ Ann readily confirmed. ‘I’ve discovered he and the vicar’s only son were at some school together, and have remained friends ever since. Apparently, Mr Napier is returning here next month for Sir Philip’s birthday celebration. Which I find most strange in the circumstances.’ She shook her head, clearly perplexed. ‘Mrs Chadwick divulged something that gave me every reason to suppose that young Mr Napier, for some reason, isn’t too fond of the Baronet. Apparently Sir Philip organised a shooting party soon after his return from London earlier in the summer, and invited a great many of his neighbours, including the Reverend and Mrs Chadwick’s son and Mr Napier, who happened to be staying at the vicarage at the time. Seemingly Mr Napier wasn’t too eager to join the party, and only did so to bear his friend company. So why do you suppose he was so keen to accept the invitation to attend the birthday celebration if he truly isn’t so very fond of Sir Philip?’

‘Seems odd, certainly, but I suppose young Crispin has his reasons. Furthermore, I expect Lady Chalford was responsible for issuing the invitation, and I cannot imagine he holds a grudge against her,’ Beth responded, before she bethought herself of something else. ‘And talking of Lady Chalford… It was she who paid me a visit this morning, and whilst here gave me every reason to suppose that her brother knew, or at least strongly suspected, that it was indeed my decision to join Papa in the Peninsula, and not he who sent for me.’ Beth paused for a moment to search her friend’s face. ‘It must surely have been you who told him.’

If Ann was startled by the blunt accusation, she betrayed no sign of it. If anything, she appeared slightly bewildered. ‘I might have done so,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I honestly cannot recall.’ All at once her expression betrayed slight concern. ‘Does it matter? Would you have preferred him not to have known?’

‘To be perfectly frank…yes,’ Beth admitted, having quickly decided it would serve no purpose to lie. ‘It doesn’t redound to my credit, you see, the way I behaved back then…the bitter resentment I felt towards him and Eugenie. Naturally, I should prefer that he never discovers anything about my feelings at that time. It’s all water under the bridge now, after all.’

She looked up to discover herself being regarded intently, and felt obliged to force a smile, feigning unconcern. ‘Not that I need trouble myself unduly about it. Philip might be as sharp as a tack, but it’s unlikely I shall find myself in his company so frequently that I might inadvertently relax my guard and reveal my—er—once, less than charitable feelings towards him.’

Two days later, whilst visiting the local market town, Beth was obliged silently to own that she might have been a trifle optimistic in her predictions, when she espied none other than her most influential neighbour sauntering along the main street towards her. In an instant she accepted that it was too late to avoid the chance encounter. Furthermore, she wasn’t so very sure she even wished to try, as he was accompanied by none other than Mr Charles Bathurst, a gentleman who had left a very favourable impression upon a certain discerning female, judging by the number of times his name had been raised in conversation since the evening of the dinner party at Staveley Court.

Beth chanced to glance sideways in time to catch a becoming hue rise in her companion’s cheeks the instance Ann observed precisely who it was approaching.

‘Here to replenish stocks?’ Beth asked, instantly drawing both gentlemen’s attention, thereby allowing her surprisingly flustered companion a little time in which to regain her poise. ‘Or merely enjoying the bustle and atmosphere of a Markham market day?’

‘Both,’ Sir Philip revealed, his gaze fixed on the young lady whom he considered appeared particularly becoming that fine morning in a dashing bonnet trimmed with blue ribbon. ‘Bathurst is here to cast an eye over a few beasts. I’m here, as you so rightly surmised, merely to soak up the atmosphere. I love market days…always have.’

Beth’s smile faded very slightly. ‘Yes, I remember. I frequently accompanied you here.’

It would have been at this juncture that she would have made some excuse to part company with the gentleman, had it not been for the fact that she was certain her dear companion felt no similar desire to go their separate ways. Consequently, Beth disregarded her own feelings, and asked the gentlemen if they would be so obliging as to escort them back to where their carriage awaited them at the town’s most popular inn.

Although she might have preferred it to be quite otherwise, Beth wasn’t unduly surprised to find herself squired by Sir Philip, leaving Mr Bathurst to engage, if her expression was any indication, a highly contented widow in conversation a few feet behind.

‘Without wishing to appear vulgarly curious,’ Philip began, determined, himself, not to walk along in stony silence, ‘might I be permitted to know what has brought you to town today?’

‘A surfeit of nerves, I’m ashamed to say.’

‘Now, that I simply cannot believe!’ he countered, totally unconvinced.

‘Well, let us say a desire to take some necessary precautions prompted the visit,’ Beth confessed. ‘I wanted half a dozen hens. So I thought to get a couple of geese at the same time. I’ve been reliably informed, you see, that there have been one or two burglaries taking place in the village in recent weeks,’ she added, staring across the street at where a small group of men just happened to be loitering by a low wall.

‘Very wise,’ he said, following the direction of her gaze, and frowning slightly as he focused his attention on one lean, unkempt man in particular. ‘But wouldn’t a dog serve the purpose better? You could keep it close by, in the house, if you chose.’

‘True. But I haven’t heard of any new litters being born in the neighbourhood. And I should want a pup,’ Beth answered, glancing up at him and catching his frowning scrutiny. ‘What is it, Philip? Do you recognise one of them?’

‘I’m not sure. But one does seem vaguely familiar, though I cannot for the life of me imagine why he should be. He certainly doesn’t work for me.’

‘Funny you should say that, because I thought I’d seen the short one, with the limp and mousy-coloured hair, somewhere before.’ Frowning, Beth shook her head. ‘If he’s a native of these parts I cannot imagine where I might have come across him. More than likely, though, he’s a survivor of the Peninsular Campaign. Trouble is, I nursed so many out there I have difficulty remembering each individual.’