Chapter 9
For as long as Lucy Elliot could remember, Elsworth Manor had been empty.
Not abandoned, for there was a groundsman in residence and a couple lived there as caretakers – the Marbrooks.
Mrs Marbrook had formerly been a nurse to the Elliot sisters, and Lucy had twice visited, so the grounds were not wholly mysterious to her.
The main manor itself had seen only brief spells of residence in the past few decades, visited infrequently by Lord Harrow, an elderly gentlemen who came to the country for his health, but did little other than sit and read in the conservatory.
A new resident in the area was always a point of interest to the neighbourhood, and the addition of Elsworth Manor to the equation had heightened conjecture.
The society of the district liked nothing so much as novelty, so long as it was safe, local and familiar.
With the opportunity to see and explore the manor for the first time in decades, the ball invitation made for a high level of excitement throughout the district, accompanied by an equal escalation of gossip.
Lucy Elliot was a firm believer in entering any given situation with the maximum possible information at the ready.
In short order she found herself with the knowledge of those expected to attend, the dresses they were likely to wear, and the coaches they would travel in.
The order of dance she’d failed to secure, but the quartet that had been employed was one she was familiar with and she was confident she would not be surprised.
The one point of consternation for her – a single but important consternation – was the dearth of any information regarding their host-to-be.
‘Captain James Dashwood,’ her father said when the topic was broached. ‘An army man. He has been overseas in Africa, but his father has fallen ill and he’s come to assess some of his holdings. It seems he shall be staying for a while and wants to acquaint himself with local people.’
Lucy nodded politely. ‘I know all this, Father. Everyone knows this. It has been about the district for a week. But what do we know of him? Of his character? Of his circumstances? I feel as if the gentleman is deliberately keeping himself a mystery.’
‘And yet he invites us all to a ball at his residence. A mysterious man indeed.’
‘It’s true that does conflict somewhat with any such suspicions.’
‘I believe that was one of Father’s annual attempts at sarcasm, Lucy,’ her sister added.
Margaret had been sitting quietly, working on the dress she intended to wear for the ball.
While the town dressmaker did much-appreciated work for the eldest Elliot sister, at times she felt the need to add additional safeguards.
Mrs Calloway’s needlework could not be faulted in her accommodation of Margaret’s frame, but she retained a blind spot about the forces held therein.
‘I know one thing about him,’ Margaret noted as she finished a stitch. ‘He rides very well.’
‘And how do you know that?’ Lucy asked.
‘I saw him in Halstead this morning when I was buying thread. A gentleman rode past, tipping his hat to the grocer as he went.’
‘What manner of man was he?’
‘I could make out little of him from where I stood. He wore a blue coat. Not a military uniform, though in an odd way he seemed to wear it like one.’
‘And you noted how he rode?’
‘Yes. Well.’
‘That is frustratingly vague, Margaret. Many people ride well. I ride well.’
‘You ride tolerably, Lucy,’ her sister replied.
‘I ride well,’ she insisted. Lucy had always taken her riding lessons to heart, learning the right way to sit, to act, to react, to mount and dismount. She was studious and precise in her equestrian activities. If only the horses were as observant of the rules, she should have no trouble at all.
‘I meant,’ Margaret went on, ‘that he seemed exceptionally at ease in the saddle. There was something about his air of confidence that struck me. As if the saddle fitted him better than the coat. In any case, I asked the grocer who he was and I was informed that he was Captain Dashwood, arranging food for the ball.’
‘In person?’ their father interjected in surprise.
‘So it would seem.’
Lucy added this to the list of character traits she was compiling on the newcomer.
Some of this intelligence had been provided through Sarah Mayhew of Luxton House, which was near Elsworth.
Dashwood had brought with him a footman, a maid and a cook, but no other staff.
Sarah speculated (speculation was of less value to Lucy, but not without some merit) that this meant he was only planning on a short stay, while Lucy’s mother believed more staff would arrive later.
Lucy, with an absence of further information, wondered if they might both be wrong, and whether Captain Dashwood approached life in an unorthodox fashion.
‘Unorthodox’ was a word that gave Lucy cause to shudder. There was a right way and a wrong way of doing things, she firmly believed. The possibility that there might be other ways was something she didn’t like to consider.
‘It seems to me he is trying to make a good impression.’ Andrew Elliot diverted Lucy from her unpleasant line of thought. ‘And that he wants everything to be in order for the ball.’
‘Perhaps he has heard of the fiasco of the Mayhew assembly,’ Lucy mused. ‘That was certainly something to avoid.’ She glanced across the room to see Margaret blush before she was able to turn back to her dress. ‘My apologies, Margaret. I did not intend to bring up embarrassing memories.’
Margaret did not reply, but instead buried herself in her work.
Among the various disasters of the Mayhews’ first and last assembly, the most personal had been an incident during the first dance of the night in which Margaret’s shoulders had been overtly hostile to her dress seams, forcing her to keep her arms close to her sides for the remainder of the evening, unable to dance or play pianoforte, both of which she had been most looking forward to.
‘Well, so long as he doesn’t have dogs …’ their father noted.
The sisters chuckled lightly. Margaret’s awkward accident had been overshadowed by other events, chiefly the pursuit of one of Lady Ambrose’s dogs by one of the Mayhews’ hounds, an aggressive chase that ended with the smaller animal plunging into a tureen of pumpkin soup.
The dog was salvageable, whereas the soup (and half the supper) was not.
That the attendees were subjected to an unseasonable hailstorm as they awaited the coaches meant they returned home cold, wet and hungry, but with Margaret’s unfortunate apparel accident largely forgotten.
Lucy dearly hoped this ball would have no such disasters. But in the back of her mind she felt an almost alien feeling, which most would call instinct, but which she preferred to dismiss as foolishness.
Though she had never seen the man, there was something off about Captain James Dashwood. As her personality dictated, Lucy was determined to find out what.