Page 17 of Visiting Miss Austen (Miss Austen #2)

‘I must have convinced him to change his mind. But who knows what is in his head? It is a dark and dishonourable place. We cannot trust him an inch.’

I was reluctant to tell Jane about Mr Hart’s attempt to kiss me. But if things turned ugly, he might try to twist things and say I had thrown myself at him or some such nonsense. So it was best that she knew everything.

‘Ah, there is one further thing that I need to tell you.’ I steeled myself. ‘Please know that I did nothing to encourage this.’

‘What is it?’ Jane sounded wary, as if she did not want to hear any more bad news. But I had to confess it.

‘Mr Hart tried to kiss me in his study. It was after I turned down his reprehensible suggestion that he become ... intimate with me. I made to leave, and he grabbed me and attempted it. Of course, I struggled to get away and did not submit to his advances.’

Jane took my hand and squeezed it. ‘How awful for you,’ she murmured.

‘It was,’ I agreed, my mind conjuring up the scene with Mr Hart again. I fancied I could still feel his strong arms around me and the heat of his body. ‘Awful a-and mortifying.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I stomped on his foot, and he let me go. That’s why I was so overcome on the stairwell when you found me.’

Jane shook her head, and her lips curled in disgust. ‘He is abhorrent. My opinion of him has been lowered even further, if that is possible. We need to leave immediately.’

‘I agree. We just need to find a working carriage.’ Jane looked at me enquiringly. ‘He said his one is being repaired,’ I explained.

She rolled her eyes. ‘I do not believe that for a second. There must be another way, even if we have to walk to that nearby inn he mentioned ... though I do not know where it is. But we could ask someone.’

‘Maurice said there is a mail coach that passes by the castle to collect the mail in the morning and afternoon, and it then travels onto the inn,’ I said slowly. ‘We could catch it and stay at the inn until we make arrangements to travel to Bath.’

‘Perfect! We’ll leave tomorrow morning then.’

‘Can we not leave today?’ I asked, eager to be on the move now that we had the inklings of a plan.

‘We need time to break the news gently to Lucinda about Mr Hart. I fear once she finds out, she is not going to be in any fit state to think rationally. She may try to attack him.’

Gracious! I thought. That might be quite fun to witness!

‘Or she might be a limp inconsolable wreck,’ continued Jane blithely. ‘We need to choose our moment carefully. I think, in the meanwhile, we should start packing but keep our eyes and ears open for information that may aid our escape. We should act as normal with Mr Hart and Mr Smith-Withers and go on this walk to the stream so they do not suspect anything.’

‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘I will find out from Maurice exactly when the mail coach arrives. And we will reconvene here before dinner for an update on our progress.’

We saluted each other like military generals, grinning as we did so. But there was a lot that could go wrong before we were free of Hartmoor and safely back in Bath. It was imperative that we did not underestimate Mr Hart. He might live in a castle, but he was decidedly the opposite of an chivalrous prince!

By the time we readied ourselves for the walk, however, it was too late. The other three had given up waiting for us and were already gone. I was unnerved at the thought of Lucinda alone with the two men (I refused to call them ‘gentlemen’!). But Jane said it was the perfect chance for me to talk to Maurice about the mail coach without raising suspicion.

Pushing my worry aside, I headed along to the kitchen and discovered a tall middle-aged woman in a grey dress, white apron, and cap dismantling a cold roast chicken at a startling pace. The legs and wings had been removed, and she was slicing into the breast meat with swift strokes of her sharp knife. She was, I assumed, the assistant cook.

Maurice appeared out of the larder, carrying a new loaf of bread.

‘Ah, Mrs Fitzroy! This is Mrs Webber,’ he said, introducing her with a tilt of his head. ‘She will be assisting me in the kitchen until the end of your stay.’

Which will be much sooner than expected , I thought. I greeted her politely, and she stopped slicing and bobbed a curtsy. When she returned to the chicken, I beckoned Maurice aside, and he shuffled over.

‘Was there not supposed to be a maid as well?’

‘There was, but no one replied to the advertisement,’ said Maurice in a low voice. ‘But it is not surprising. The local girls are afraid of the castle and believe it is haunted.’

‘By Royden Hart?’

‘Well, yes. But it is just gossip. I have never seen anything resembling a ghost, and I have worked here for twenty years.’

Hmm, I was beginning to think Royden’s nephew was the real reason that the maids did not want to work here. If Mr Hart was apt to take liberties with me, he would not think twice about accosting a pretty maid—all the more reason to leave as soon as we could and sever our acquaintance with him.

‘Maurice, you mentioned the mail coach stopped by here in the morning and afternoon. Is it usually punctual?’

‘Yes, madam. It arrives promptly at eleven o’clock and three o’clock. I can set my watch by it.’

I told him that I wished to know as I was writing another letter, which was true—I was going to write to Max to tell him that we were going back to Bath early. Maurice did not need to know that I myself would be on the coach clutching said letter! Although I had a good feeling about Maurice, he was still the family’s butler and no doubt had an ingrained loyalty to Mr Hart, being the son of his employer. That being said, I did not want to involve him any more than necessary. But I planned to leave him a note excusing our abrupt departure and thanking him for his hospitality.

There was nothing else to do but return to the parlour and wait anxiously for the others to return for luncheon. I was trying to act outwardly composed, but my imagination was running wild now that I knew what Mr Hart was capable of. I paced, I bit my fingernails, and I looked out the window so many times that Jane said I needed to calm down as I was making her extremely nervous. When I finally heard footsteps in the foyer and Lucinda’s girlish tones exclaiming about something, my relief was palpable.

Mr Hart poked his head around the door, and I stopped midpace and stared at him.

‘Ah, ladies, there you are! Apologies for abandoning you. But please do feel free to take a stroll after luncheon to the stream if you wish. It is not far and a delightful scene at present with numerous wildflowers in bloom.’

But there was no way on earth that I was going to leave Lucinda alone with him and his friend again.

‘That is quite all right. Lucinda mentioned she wanted to go to the library this afternoon, so Jane and I will accompany her.’ And tell her all about you. ‘There is no need to join us. I am sure you wish to spend time with Mr Smith-Withers without female company for once.’

I glanced surreptitiously at Jane, and she looked approving at my sharp-wittedness.

Mr Hart nodded. ‘As you wish. Luncheon will be served shortly.’ His gaze snagged on mine, and he smiled .

‘May I say how becoming you look today, Mrs Fitzroy! Have you done something different with your hair? Or perhaps you are wearing a new dress?’ His impertinent eyes raked me from top to toe, and I was again reminded of the encounter in his study—of my body pressed against his.

‘My hair is as it usually is, and my dress is not new. But I thank you for the compliment,’ I returned stiffly. But my heart rate increased from the way he continued to gaze approvingly at me, and my nerve endings tingled. Smirking at the colour creeping into my cheeks, he withdrew .

Jane giggled when he had gone. ‘I can see what you mean. His attempt at seduction is laughable. How false he is!’

‘Quite,’ I said weakly. ‘Very false indeed.’

I was not looking forward to having luncheon with Mr Hart in attendance, but my stomach had other ideas. Roast chicken, salad, and freshly baked bread were on the menu. So it was rumbling in anticipation. Mr Smith-Withers and Mr Hart were already seated in the dining room, with Lucinda in the middle, when Jane and I came in. We took our usual seats opposite them.

‘Hello, Lucy. Did you have a nice walk to the ...’ I began as I sat down. But as I did so, there was a slight rustling sound, and I realised something was on my chair. Reaching beneath my dress, I drew out a vibrant posy of pink and purple wildflowers tied with a white ribbon.

‘Gracious, this is lovely. Thank you, Lucy,’ I said, twirling the posy so I could view it from all angles. ‘But you should have handed them to me as I was about to squash them flat!’ I laughed and placed the flowers beside my plate and shook out my napkin.

Lucinda looked at the posy, then at me. ‘I did not give you the flowers, Aunty Fliss,’ she said.

‘They are from me, Mrs Fitzroy,’ said Mr Hart after a pause. ‘You did not accompany us to the stream, so I picked them for you.’

‘Oh, er, thank you.’ I assumed he had also created a posy for Jane, but when I glanced at her place setting, she did not have one. How awkward!

The food came out then, with both Maurice and Mrs Webber serving, and I concentrated on filling my plate. But I could see Lucinda was staring at the flowers with a tight expression, and my face grew hot with embarrassment. She had obviously not received a posy from Mr Hart either and was upset about it. I almost thrust it at her and said, ‘Please have it! I do not want it!’ But the posy was not the problem. It was the fact that he had picked the flowers especially for me and had slighted Lucinda deliberately in front of everyone. Oh, I knew what he was doing—he was playing the martyr and showing that he was following my order to leave Lucinda alone. Yet did he have to do it in such a hurtful fashion? I supposed I should not have expected kindness from him!

Indeed, Mr Hart was sucking on chicken bones, stripping them clean, and tossing them onto his plate without a care—no doubt enjoying the emotional havoc he was wreaking at the table. Mr Smith-Withers was just as bad—he rubbed salt in her wound by making a pointed comment on how lucky I was as he had never seen Dory give flowers to anyone.

Lucinda picked at her meal with a disgruntled expression and hardly ate anything. I watched her with concern. This was not good. However, I consoled myself with the fact that we were about to tell her everything in the library, which would explain his behaviour. The information about his true character would cause her even more pain, but at least her anger would not be directed at me!

But the flowers had done more damage than I had perceived. When I asked her at the bottom of the stairs about going to the library, she said she would rather read in her room and ran up before I could say anything. Soon, a door closed along the corridor with a muffled, but resounding bang. I could have cried with frustration .

Jane grasped my arm and said softly, ‘Perhaps leave her to calm down and let us speak in my room.’

There was nothing else for it. Having Jane on my side was such a relief at least. I was glad I had met her on the stairs when I did and told her what was happening. If she had gone off with the others, Mr Hart may have said something to cause her to be hostile with me as well.

I tossed the offending posy on the bed and flopped down next to it with an exclamation of annoyance. Jane took some folded petticoats out of the dresser drawer.

‘Do not let him get under your skin, Flissy,’ she said. ‘He is playing games to get a reaction.’

‘Well, it is working,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘Oh, I could strangle him for giving me these damned flowers! Did you see Lucy’s face? She was crushed.’

‘Yes, she is very sensitive when it comes to him. We will need to tread carefully,’ said Jane sagely, packing the petticoats neatly into her carpet bag. ‘But we shouldn’t leave it too late either.’

‘No, we should not,’ I said soberly. ‘As he could stir her into a jealous rage, and she might try to attack me!’

Unable to bear looking at the flowers a moment longer, I got up, cracked the mullioned window open, and threw the posy out. I felt no guilt about it. No matter how pretty they were, they were not worth holding on to if they caused a rift between Lucinda and myself. Watching the flash of pink and purple tumble into the bushes below, I instantly felt better, as if I was proving to myself that I would not be swayed by him.

I slammed the window shut with a victorious ‘Take that!’

‘Well done!’ Jane crowed. ‘We will fortify our battlements, and he shall not breach our defences!’

I spent the rest of the afternoon in Jane’s room, writing my letter to Max and the note to Maurice, while she worked on her novel. By the way she was writing furiously, I gathered that at least our circumstances were proving favourable for her creative energy!

When we eventually descended for supper, Jane warned me to be on guard against Mr Hart’s emotional tricks and not to let him traverse my moat. She seemed intent on using castle metaphors as if we were in a battle. But I supposed we were, and I should don my armour if I wanted to come out of this unscathed.

Almost at once, I was in the thick of the fray. Mr Hart flirted brazenly during supper in the dining hall, giving me amorous looks and bestowing outrageous compliments that would have made me laugh if Lucinda had not been glowering into her soup. As it was, I had to deflect and ignore his comments until I was exhausted.

Moving to the parlour, I hoped he would leave off, but he had worse stratagems up his sleeve.

‘I thought I might read a passage aloud from a book I am enjoying,’ he announced, standing by the fireplace.

‘Oh yes, do. If it is what I think it is, then it will be very pleasing,’ said Mr Smith-Withers, rubbing his hands together.

I assumed that he was going to read something spooky to scare Lucinda witless, but he remarked, ‘You should also find it very pleasing, Mrs Fitzroy, since I saw you perusing the volume enthusiastically in the library.’ This made me extremely wary. My suspicions were confirmed when he whipped out a book with a black leather cover out of his pocket, and I knew it all too well: Teaching Molly .

Blood throbbed in my temple as he flipped slowly through it, looking for a specific passage, humming and harring to make me squirm. Oh no, please do not let him read the chase scene in Molly’s chamber! I thought, panicking. Anything but that!

Finding the place he wanted, Mr Hart cleared his throat theatrically and read, ‘After several weeks, he became accustomed to Molly’s coy glances when she served him supper. Though no one else at the table noticed anything amiss, it was like a secret game between them. He began to learn too that she gave signals meant only for him. Placing a bread roll on a plate to his left meant that she would be amenable to a visit; to the right meant she was not. As it had been three nights since he had last visited her, he was hoping the bread would be on the left. “Left, left, left,” he prayed as she approached. And under the table, he felt himself growing—’

I leapt up from the sofa and ripped the book out of Mr Hart’s hands. ‘That will be quite enough of that, thank you very much!’

Mr Smith-Withers guffawed, and Mr Hart smirked at me. ‘Oh, come now, Mrs Fitzroy. I was just getting to the good part.’ He stretched out a hand and wiggled his long fingers. ‘Give it back and let me read some more. It is most entertaining.’

‘No, I will not,’ I replied, hiding the book behind me.

‘Why will you not give Mr Hart the book, Aunty Fliss?’ asked Lucinda plaintively from the sofa. ‘I want to hear what happens next ...’

‘It is rather boorish, dearest. Mr Hart has not given any thought to its suitability for his present audience.’

I gave him a chilly smile, and he bowed, his eyes glinting.

‘Oh, well. Then maybe Aunt Jane can read to us from her new novel? Since she has it right there in front of her,’ said Lucy.

‘Miss Austen, writing a novel?’ said Mr Smith-Withers. ‘Well, I never!’

Lucy clapped her hands. ‘Oh yes, she is such a good writer! Mr Smith-Withers, you will find it even more pleasing than Mr Hart’s book.’

‘I very much doubt that,’ I heard him say under his breath, and Mr Hart grinned.

Jane, who had been writing steadily at the table over by the window throughout this exchange, now lifted her head. ‘Pardon?’