the abigail’s past.
‘And is there?’ burst out Jamie, without stopping to think.
Smithers looked at her severely, and Jamie could feel the beginnings of a flush of embarrassment. Why could she never think before she spoke?
Smithers forestalled Jamie’s apology by saying, ‘You know you should not have asked such a thing, miss. But it’s understandable, perhaps, with her ladyship’s fine manners as an example to follow.’ By now, Jamie was almost scarlet. ‘Don’t worry, I haven’t taken offence. And, no, there is no murky past. Nor have I betrayed the confidences of this house to my previous employer. Her ladyship has been misinformed.’
‘By that gentleman who just left?’
‘Possibly.’
‘How wicked of him! Why should he do such a thing? It is monstrous!’ Jamie was quite ready to do battle on the abigail’s behalf. For the moment, her own troubles were forgotten in her concern to right this manifest injustice.
Smithers shrugged. ‘It is water under the bridge now, miss. You must get ready to meet your betrothed. And I must go and pack my things. Her ladyship has ordered the gig at first light to take me to the inn for the stage to Bath.’ If she felt bitter, she was managing to conceal it well.
‘What will you do there?’
‘Bath has a number of reputable agencies for the placing of domestic servants, like abigails and governesses. If I am not successful there, I shall try again in London. Now, if you will excuse me, miss, I’ll say goodbye. And good luck.’
Jamie did not hear those final generous words. She was too much struck by what had just been said about agencies for governesses and the possible escape route which they might provide. No such post, she firmly believed, could be worse than her present situation with Lady Calderwood and the prospect of a forced marriage. If she could become a governess, or a companion (under an assumed name, naturally) she could at least choose her own tormentors. But first she would have to get away from Calderwood Hall.
Jamie sat down on the bed, gazing abstractedly into the middle distance. The shawl fell unnoticed from her shoulders. She was no longer conscious of the cold as she concentrated on planning her escape, exploring and then dismissing various options—the prospect of freedom had given her back all her normal courage and resolve.
Then she was summoned to her father’s study.
‘Ah, come in, child, come in.’ His voice was tired, prematurely aged like the rest of him. Though he was not beyond middle age, his hair was thin and white, and his hands shook slightly. In spite of his neglect of her, Jamie found she pitied him, even though she had long ago lost all trace of love for him. He was just a poor old man, broken by a strong-willed second wife and by his own addiction to the gaming tables.
‘Mama has told you about the marriage which has been arranged for you, I understand? Good, good,’ he finished, without giving Jamie time to reply. ‘I hope you realise how lucky you are, my child. It is not every man who would take you, you know, but luckily, Cousin Ralph is rich enough not to object to your lack of dowry.’
Jamie’s blood seemed to stop in her veins. Ralph Graves—a distant relation of Lady Calderwood—was old enough to be her grandfather. She went cold all over at the very thought of him, with his twisted and wizened body, and his tiny black eyes. She remembered how those leering eyes had followed her round the room, how he had sought every opportunity to touch her, how clammy was the feel of his hand. Everything about him had made her flesh crawl.
‘No!’ Her protest burst out before she could think what she was saying.
Her father slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. Under his increasingly stern gaze, she flushed but held her ground. ‘What did you say?’ he asked ominously.
Jamie took a deep breath. ‘I said I will not marry Ralph Graves, Papa.’
Her father ignored her protests. She should have known he would. ‘Your betrothed is due to arrive at any moment. You will receive him graciously and accept his formal proposal when he makes it tomorrow. And then you will be wed as soon as the banns have been read.’
‘No, Papa,’ said Jamie again, in the most reasonable tones she could muster, ‘I will not marry Ralph Graves.’
He looked sharply at her then. ‘You are my daughter and you will obey me. Graves and I have settled on this arrangement, and I will not permit you to undermine my position with him. I say you will marry him.’ She could see that her obstinacy was fuelling his rising anger. His face and neck were turning an alarming shade of purple. ‘No other man would take you, plain and penniless as you are. Take him, or by God, I’ll disown you and cast you out!’ His hands were shaking even more now.
Play for time, said Jamie’s inner voice. Let him calm down a little or he will throw you out this very day.
Jamie forced a tiny smile. ‘Papa, please, do not be angry with me! I do not mean to vex you. I know you mean to do what is best for me and I am grateful, truly I am.’ Behind her back, she crossed her fingers. ‘But Cousin Ralph is so much older than me, besides having buried two wives already. I just…I need a little time to accustom myself to the idea of marriage to him. All I ask is a little time. Please, Papa!’
She could see not the slightest sign of softening in his face. Nothing she could say would ever sway him. He expected her to submit without a murmur—to become Ralph Graves’ property, his dumb, downtrodden chattel. She refused to contemplate being so completely in the power of such a man.
‘You have until this evening,’ her father said flatly, without looking at her. ‘Cousin Ralph is expected for dinner. And you will comport yourself as you have been taught. Or else.’
She was dismissed. There was nothing more to be said. Slowly she climbed the stairs to her freezing refuge. Inside, she leaned thankfully against the door, closing her eyes in an effort to shut out the image of Ralph Graves. It all felt like a wicked joke. Ralph Graves might be rich, but generous he most certainly was not. From what little Jamie knew of him, he was rich because he was a miser, a miser who grudged every penny he spent. If she married him, Jamie would be exchanging one freezing garret for another—and, in addition…
No! She had never allowed herself to dwell on her sufferings. Now was definitely not the time to start.
She found herself wondering why Graves would agree to wed her without a dowry. It hardly seemed in character for such a miserly old man. She could not understand how her father could have persuaded Graves to offer for her without some kind of financial incentive. Yet she was penniless.
Jamie shook her head impatiently. She had picked a strange moment to worry over impossible riddles. She had been prepared to escape before, when she did not know who had been chosen for her.
Now, she had far more reason to flee.
Chapter Four
When Jamie entered the drawing-room, the shrivelled figure of Ralph Graves uncoiled itself from the chair by the blazing fire and came to greet her. Taking both her icy hands in his, he leaned forward to place a kiss on her cheek. Jamie was enveloped in the musty smell of his clothes. Then, at the touch of his wet mouth on her skin, she could no longer stop the nausea from rising in her throat. She closed her eyes and willed herself to conquer it.
‘I knew you should not mind
