would take it very personally, knowing that the lawyer he had recommended had failed her. But Peter had only done what he thought best.
With a wave, Faye set off back the way she had come. As she passed the dusty curricle the smartly uniformed tiger gave her a polite nod. Faye ran her eyes over the fine horseflesh, then speeded up her pace towards home. For some reason she didn’t want to see Mr Kavanagh and his concubine again. She felt a little frisson pass over her. She regretted having humoured the man by staring at him in such a vulgar fashion.
Once out of sight of townsfolk, Faye grabbed her skirts and began to trot along the meadow path, feeling quite joyous as she concentrated on the treat of an afternoon spent at the fair on such a glorious afternoon. The ground beneath her flying feet had been worn in places to bare soil where the locals took short cuts to and from their cottages on the outskirts of Wilverton.
Having spied Mulberry House rising on the horizon, Faye slowed down to appreciate her pretty home and relieve the stitch in her side. It was a whitewashed building topped with russet-coloured clay tiles and the sturdy iron porch was smothered with scarlet roses that had climbed as far as the eaves. Cecil Shawcross had always loved his abundantly planted garden and the scented blooms that rambled on the front of the house and spilled over the trellises to the rear of the property had been his pride and joy.
Her eyes prickled with tears as she thought about him. Her half-siblings missed their father, too, but being younger had not had the benefit of his company for as long as she had when he passed away. Her father could be a difficult man; without a doubt he would be angry that part of his bequest had disappeared in a poor investment. But it would be towards Peter Collins that he’d unleash his temper. Peter had proposed to her when she was twenty-one, but another two years had passed before her father eventually agreed to the match. It had been a sadness to her that her father and her fiancé had never really got on.
Drawing in a deep breath, she set off again, trotting towards the side gate that led through the kitchen garden and into the house.
‘Ah, so you’re back at last.’ Mrs Gideon frowned as her rosy-cheeked mistress entered the kitchen. She put down on the floury table the pastry cutter she’d been using. ‘I can see you’ve been dashing about again.’ She poured a glass of lemonade from a metal jug. ‘That’ll help cool you off.’
Gratefully Faye took the tumbler, closing her eyes while relishing the refreshing brew. ‘I have been running, and indeed it wasn’t wise. It is very sultry today...perhaps a storm is on its way.’ Faye brushed a hand beneath the damp blonde curls clinging to her nape.
‘There’s some warm water in the kettle for a wash.’ Mrs Gideon filled a copper pitcher, then found a muslin cloth in a drawer. ‘Your sister is still unpicking her stitching, so I reckon you’ve time enough to take a bath waiting for her to be satisfied with prettifying that hat.’ The woman tutted. ‘Miss Claire’s had that piece of blue ribbon on and off the straw at least thrice.’
Faye took another sip of lemonade, intending to take the drink upstairs with her and finish it while she changed her clothes.
‘Did anybody upset you while you were in town, miss?’
Faye turned back to see Mrs Gideon looking quite severe while forcefully rolling out pastry.
‘Everybody was very polite, Mrs Gideon.’ Faye gave a faint smile. ‘Not a word spoken out of place by the shopkeepers, but I saw Anne Holly and she was kind enough to be blunt and tell me people know what has happened.’ Untying her bonnet, she let it hang on its ribbons, then forked her fingers through her thick blonde tresses. So far Mr and Mrs Gideon had kept their own counsel on the business with Westwood; Faye feared they were too kind and loyal to openly say what they must privately be thinking: that her father would be spinning in his grave at her ineptitude with his money. If the couple were concerned over their employment at Mulberry House since she’d made losses, they’d not brought it up.
‘I meant to say, Mrs Gideon, that I haven’t come to such a sorry pass that I cannot afford to keep you on.’
‘Oh, I know, Miss Shawcross.’ The housekeeper’s eyes held a sheen of tears. ‘And much as I want to say I’d keep coming every day if you paid me or not, I won’t upset you by doing it.’ Nelly Gideon wiped her eyes on her rolled-up sleeve. ‘Neither will Mr Gideon, but we wanted to let you know that we won’t hear a word against you or the children.’
‘I know I can rely on you both,’ Faye said huskily.
Mrs Gideon nodded vigorously and set about cutting pastry cases.
Faye suddenly remembered something that might lighten the atmosphere; Mrs Gideon was frowning fiercely while running the rolling pin this way and that.
‘Anne Holly told me that Valeside Manor has acquired a new owner.’
‘Him!’ The housekeeper gave a loud tut. ‘A vicar’s wife had no right bringing that fellow into a decent conversation.’
‘You knew about Mr Kavanagh and his lady friend being at Valeside Manor?’ Faye sounded surprised.
‘Indeed, I did! I hope he’ll soon take himself off to London where the likes of him and her are sure to be better received.’ Mrs Gideon returned her attention to the tartlets she was filling with blackcurrants. ‘What with those Romanies turning up as well we’ve got more than our fair share of rogues in the neighbourhood lately.’
Faye remained quiet for a moment. From her housekeeper’s strong reaction she took it that her friend Anne had not overstated Mr Kavanagh’s ill repute.
‘Apparently he is very affluent. Local people might benefit from his patronage.’ Faye felt an odd compulsion to find something good to say about the new master of Valeside. ‘The manor has been empty for quite some time, it’s sure to need repairs and additional staff. Mr Kavanagh might call on villagers to fill vacancies.’
‘No decent woman would enter that house no matter what pay he offered. The only females likely to benefit from his patronage are those working in the room above the Dog and Duck.’ The housekeeper turned florid, regretting having let her tongue run away with her.
Faye picked up her lemonade and took a gulp. She knew that a couple of harlots entertained clients above the taproom in the Dog and Duck. The hostelry was situated on the outskirts of Wilverton and was shunned by decent folk who supped in the White Hart tavern on the green instead.
Still, Faye felt an odd inclination to give the benefit of the doubt to Mr Kavanagh. ‘He had a very well-behaved team of horses and his servant was nicely turned out, and polite, too. The boy made a point of raising his hat to me as I passed by.’
‘You managed to get quite a good long look at Mr Kavanagh, did you, miss?’ Nelly Gideon asked. ‘Did you see the scar on his face?’
‘He was too far away for me to see more than that he is a tall gentleman with very dark hair. I was talking to Anne across the road and he’d disappeared inside the drapery with his companion by the time I passed his curricle.’
Nelly put down a spoon stained with blackcurrant juice. ‘Got a scar from here to here, he has...’ She striped one side of her face from cheekbone to lip with a forefinger. ‘Duelling over a woman, so I heard. Killed a man.’ She shook her head. ‘It makes me wonder what else might
