dining room there might silence her companion a little, since Miss Pringle keenly enjoyed her food. But somehow, Miss Pringle managed to eat a substantial amount and also produce as many words as ever at exactly the same time.
‘Of course,’ Miss Pringle pronounced, ‘Lord Franklin has always honoured my family with his esteem, Elise.’
Elise was Ellie’s French name, the name she’d been christened with. Her French father and English mother had always called her Ellie; but she didn’t trouble to correct those who preferred to call her Elise, since they were strangers, who knew nothing of her life or her past.
‘My dear father,’ Miss Pringle went on through a mouthful of ham and peas, ‘was the vicar of Bircham parish, you know, for many years. And since my papa’s sad death, Lord Franklin—well, no one could have been kinder, or more considerate! It was a great sadness for me to have to leave the Vicarage on Papa’s demise—but Lord Franklin understood perfectly. He said to me, “My dear Cynthia, we cannot have you leaving Bircham, when you have been such a valuable part of its life for so many years.” Those were his exact words! And in the end, Lord Franklin found me a cottage—the very best of cottages, I might add!—in a most superior part of Bircham village. I have really been more than comfortable there, and of course I have had my many charitable works to keep me busy.’
Miss Pringle leaned closer. ‘But when I heard from Lord Franklin that he wanted me to come up to London to accompany you to Bircham Hall itself and to live there as your companion—well, I was so very honoured. To think, Ellie, that he is your long-lost relative! And as you’ll know, he is off travelling again very shortly. Taking advantage of the end of this horrid war with France to go and observe the art and classical buildings of Paris. Lord Franklin is forever travelling and enlarging his wonderful collection of artistic treasures. Which is, of course, how he met you. In Bruges, was it not?’
‘In Brussels,’ Ellie replied tonelessly, pushing aside her plate. ‘If you have no objection, Miss Pringle, I am rather tired and would like to withdraw to my bedchamber now.’
* * *
But the next morning, at breakfast, the inquisition started again.
‘So...’ Miss Pringle began, over her toast and marmalade, ‘Lord Franklin came upon you in Brussels. But to think, that he should turn out to be your mother’s second cousin—you could not have wished for a luckier stroke of fate!’ Suddenly her eyes fixed on Ellie’s shabby travelling cloak and dowdy bonnet and she said, a little more hesitantly, ‘You know, I was led to understand that Lord Franklin generously furnished you with a quantity of new clothes in London.’
‘He did,’ Ellie answered. ‘But I prefer to travel in more practical clothing.’
‘Very wise.’ Miss Pringle nodded. ‘Very wise, since you will find, I think, at Bircham Hall that practicality is of the utmost importance.’
Ellie wanted to ask her what she meant. Was it chilly there? Was it uncomfortable? But it couldn’t, surely, be as frugal or cold as some of the dire places she’d taken shelter in during the last year or more. And then it was time to go out to where the carriage stood in the yard of the inn.
There, the ostlers, under the careful eye of the coachman, were harnessing up four beautiful greys, and Miss Pringle saw Ellie gazing at them. ‘Lord Franklin keeps only the best, of course,’ she declared, ‘at each posting house. This is our next-to-last change, I believe, and by this afternoon we shall be at Bircham Hall. How my heart lifts at the thought! And there you will meet Lady Charlotte, who is sure to give you a wonderful welcome...’
Was it Ellie’s imagination? Or did Miss Pringle’s confident tone falter just a little at the mention of Lord Franklin’s widowed mother?
‘My mother,’ Lord Franklin had told Ellie, ‘used to come to London occasionally, but never does so now. I have sent word to inform her that you will be arriving at Bircham Hall and have asked her to ensure you will be happy there.’
But how will Lady Charlotte really feel? Ellie was wondering rather wildly as the carriage rolled on through the Kent countryside. How can she relish the prospect of having a nineteen-year-old French girl—a penniless orphan—suddenly foisted upon her?
One thing was for sure—Ellie would know soon enough.
* * *
They made slow progress, as slow as the previous day. Miss Pringle talked on as the road led them up and down hills, past farms and the occasional village, past fields of sheep, and dark woodland.
And then, soon after the final change of horses, Ellie could see the sea. The afternoon light was fading, and from the far horizon a low mist was rolling in across the expanse of grey waves; but even so, she pressed her face to the carriage window, realising that between the shore and the road lay a bare expanse of heathland. She glimpsed the sturdy tower of a small and ancient church, and nearby stood a lonely old house with sprawling wings and gables, set on a slight rise and shrouded by stunted sycamores.
She craned her head to gaze at it, but the carriage was entering woodland again and the house had already disappeared from view. A house of secrets, she suddenly thought.
Ellie, her father would have fondly said. You and your imagination.
A sharp pang of renewed loss forced her to close her eyes. By the time she opened them again, the carriage had rounded the next headland and the sea was visible once more. Down below was a cluster of little houses around a harbour, with an inn and a wharf where fishing boats were tied up and men mended their nets.
Miss Pringle was still talking about Lord Franklin. ‘His family—the Grayfields—can, I believe, trace their ancestry back to Tudor times...’
Ellie glanced down at her small black-leather valise on the carriage floor. She wondered what Miss Pringle would do if Ellie were to seize her valise, jump out of the carriage, run down to the harbourside and beg one of those fishermen to take her away from England’s cold and hostile shores. I am homesick, she thought with sudden anguish. Homesick for the Paris of my childhood. For the happy times I spent there with my father and mother. I’m even homesick for Brussels, where I endured those last desperate months with my poor, dying papa.
‘Oh, look at that mist.’ Miss Pringle was shuddering. Ellie realised her companion was looking out of the window also. ‘And soon it will be dark. January. How I hate January. It’s this sort of weather, they say, that brings out the smugglers. Lord Franklin does his very best to stop their obnoxious trade, but they are desperate renegades. It’s even said they’re in league with the French—and after all, on this part of the coast, France is less than twenty miles away.’
The fishing village was no longer in sight. The road was heading inland again to carve its way through thick oak woodland, and Miss Pringle talked on. But suddenly she cried out in alarm.
‘What is this? Gracious me. Why have we stopped?’
Ellie noted the fearful expression on her companion’s features. Highwaymen, that expression said. Robbers. Murderers. ‘Please,’ said Ellie. ‘Calm yourself.’
By then one of the grooms, distinctive in Lord Franklin’s navy-and-gold livery, had appeared at the window of the carriage. ‘Begging your pardon, ladies, but it appears that half the road ahead of us has fallen away, no doubt because of the recent rain.’
Miss Pringle put her hands
