The Companion (Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 3) Read online

  THE COMPANION

  Sisters of Woodside Mysteries Book 3

  A Regency Romance

  by Mary Kingswood

  Published by Sutors Publishing

  Copyright © 2018 Mary Kingswood

  Cover design by: Shayne Rutherford of Darkmoon Graphics

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction.

  Author’s note:

  This book is written using historic British terminology, so saloon instead of salon, chaperon instead of chaperone and so on. I follow Jane Austen’s example and refer to a group of sisters as the Miss Wintertons.

  About the book: A traditional Regency romance, drawing room rather than bedroom.

  Margaret is the quiet one of the Winterton family, happy only in her own home with her sisters protectively gathered around her. But her father’s death and mountain of debts tear the sisters apart and uproot them from Woodside. As a poor relation, Margaret must become a lowly paid companion to two elderly aunts she has never met. There is no welcome for Margaret at their gloomy house, Pendarreth, but the surrounding woods bring her solace - and unexpected danger.

  Mel Haymer is a simple country curate by profession, but his past holds a dark secret. He is quite content to leave the past undisturbed, but then he meets Margaret Winterton, a young lady unlike any other he’s ever known. He can’t deny his feelings for her, but if he surrenders to love, he will bring disaster to his family. Margaret’s coming cracks the fragile shell hiding family tragedies. Can Mel and Margaret find the strength to uncover the truth and turn Pendarreth into a happy home?

  Book 3 of the 5-book Sisters of Woodside Mysteries series, each a complete story with a HEA, but read all of them to find out all the secrets of the Winterton family!

  About the series: When Mr Edmund Winterton of Woodside dies, his daughters find themselves penniless and homeless. What can they do? Unless they wish to live on charity, they will have to find genteel employment for themselves. This book is set in England during the Regency period of the early nineteenth century. Book 0 takes place 5 years before books 1-4, and book 5 ten years later.

  Book 0: The Betrothed (Rosamund) (a short novel, free to mailing list subscribers)

  Book 1: The Governess (Annabelle)

  Book 2: The Chaperon (Lucy)

  Book 3: The Companion (Margaret)

  Book 4: The Seamstress (Fanny)

  Book 5: Woodside

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  Table of contents

  The Winterton family

  The Dalton family

  The Tilford and Haymer families

  1: The Road To Pendarreth (January)

  2: A Visit From The Curate

  3: A Visit From The Viscount (February)

  4: Lemon Cakes In The Library

  5: Inheritance And Wills (March)

  6: The Schoolroom

  7: The Tree House (April)

  8: Sunday At Dunton Cross

  9: Visiting (May)

  10: Agreements (June)

  11: A Long-Expected Death

  12: The Reading Of The Will

  13: A Change In Circumstances

  14: Mistress Of Pendarreth

  15: Of Letters (July-August)

  16: Invitations (August)

  17: Dinner At Pendarreth (September)

  18: An Evening Party

  19: Suitor

  20: Searching

  21: Currant Cakes And Kisses

  22: A Proposal

  23: To Hereford

  24: A Ride To Norton Forbury

  25: The Old Library

  26: Missing

  27: A Dusty Room

  28: Supper At The Manor House

  29: Breakfast At The Parsonage

  30: The Study

  31: Books And Proofs

  32: A Celebration Ball (October)

  Thanks for reading!

  About the author

  Acknowledgements

  Sneak preview of Book 4: The Seamstress: Chapter 1: A New Home (January)

  The Winterton family

  Hi-res version available here.

  The Dalton family

  Hi-res version available here.

  The Tilford and Haymer families

  Hi-res version available here.

  1: The Road To Pendarreth (January)

  ‘My dear niece Margaret, We are all so looking forward to your arrival. You will be such a help to your Aunt Letty, and it will greatly relieve my mind to have you in the house and able to share the burden of caring for her. Not that I regard it as the least burdensome, naturally, for who else should care for her but her sister? But your tender ministrations to your aunt will enable me to devote more time to tending our precious inheritance, which duty I have been obliged to set aside since my dear sister became ill. When I say duty, of course it is the pleasantest of duties and quite lifts my spirits. Your loving aunt, Prudence Tilford.’

  ~~~~~

  JANUARY

  Even the birds were silent, the bare branches of the big old oak tree unmoving in the still, crisp air. High up in the branches, Margaret was saying farewell to the tree house. Alone of her sisters, she still came here very often to sit amongst the rustling leaves and be silent, remembering. Today the leaves were gone, and it was too cold for her to linger, but she could not leave Woodside for ever without sitting in the tree house. Remembering. Or perhaps trying to forget.

  Annabelle’s voice intruded first. “Margaret, dear! The carriage will be here soon. Come now, dearest, you must be ready when it arrives. You have a long journey ahead of you.”

  Margaret sat motionless in the wooden house among the now leafless boughs. In summer, no one could see her, even when she sat on the platform outside, her feet dangling over the edge into emptiness. But now she hid inside, wrapped in her old travelling cloak, making no sound, hoping for just a few more minutes of solitude. Peering through the knothole in the wall, she could see Annabelle marching purposefully across the lawn.

  Then Lucy’s high voice. “Come on down, Margaret. It is time to go.”

  With a sigh, Margaret got to her feet. There was no point trying to escape Lucy, for she would climb the tree and pull her down, if need be. Slowly she stepped over the edge onto the ladder, skirts caught up in one hand.

  “There you are, dear,” Annabelle said. “Quickly now, go and get your bonnet on, for you do not want to keep Mr Dalton waiting.”

  Margaret nodded, and with Annabelle on one side of her and Lucy on the other like gaolers, she made her way back to the house and prepared herself to face the unknown future.

  ~~~~~

  Her brother-in-law Mr Dalton was very kind. Everyone was very kind, but still she could not stop herself from crying. She cried all the first day in the carriage, and then there was a horrid night to be endured in the house where Lucy was to live. Margaret was sure there were ghosts and could not sleep a wink. She did not in the least like to leave Lucy there. Then onward with Mr Dalton alone, and even though he was unfailingly polite to her, she could not stop herself from crying again, just a little, and she could tell he was not pleased with her.

  Yet how could she help crying? Everything was changed. Poor, dear Papa had left his daughters quite destitute, and there was no help for it but to go out and make their own way in the world. The Miss Wintertons of Woodside had never been very high up in good society, but now they were excluded from it altogether. Annabelle was to be a governess, Lucy a chaperon, and Fanny — dear Fanny, so quick and neat with her stitchery — was to be a seamstress and ply her needle for money. And Margaret was t
o be a companion to two elderly aunts she had never seen.

  She wished they could have stayed at Frickham, where all the lanes and fields and woods and streams were familiar, like comforting old friends. There had been talk at one time of Mr Dalton finding them a little cottage in the village, where they could have stayed together and been very snug and kept chickens. But the others had not liked to be beholden to him, for he was only a brother-in-law, so it was not right that he should keep them. He had not so much money that they would not be a drain on his purse, she supposed. Four unmarried sisters — it would cost him several hundred pounds a year to keep them in tolerable comfort, and he would be obliged to invite them frequently to dinner, send them game and fish when he had it, and make the carriage available to them. No, it would have been the greatest inconvenience to him. It was generous of him to offer, but it was not to be thought of. Although she did think of it, naturally, in her darker moments.

  In the afternoon, the scenery became more rugged, and once they neared their destination and turned off the main road, Margaret grew interested. This was better! Hills and woods — mile after mile of woods — with hardly a habitation to be seen save one lonely cottage, after which there was nothing but trees. Then they passed between two stone pillars, with the name ‘Pendarreth’ engraved on each. They had arrived.

  In the gloom of a winter afternoon, the house looked lowering and dark, its latticed windows unfriendly. No light showed anywhere as their vehicle drew to a halt under the carriage porch. Mr Dalton was obliged to descend and sound the knocker, and even then it was some minutes before the door creaked open, and someone peered out with a lantern.

  Margaret, waiting in the carriage, heard the murmur of voices, then Mr Dalton came and opened the carriage door for her. “Down you come, Margaret. Here is your Aunt Prudence to greet you. Miss Tilford, this is your niece Margaret Winterton.”

  Margaret descended and curtsied politely. Her aunt held the lamp up, and by its light her anxious face could be seen, wisps of grey hair peeking out from beneath her cambric cap. Long lace lappets framed her face, and her round gown was unfashionably full-skirted.

  “Well, child, how small you are! We expected you days since. Come in, come in at once for you are very late. We have already begun dinner, and Letty so dislikes any delay. Hurry now!”

  She hustled Margaret towards the house. No one else was about, and no servants hurried out to help with the luggage. Margaret glanced at Mr Dalton, and with the smallest hint of a shrug, he turned to assist the groom to unload.

  Inside, the high-ceilinged entrance hall echoed to their steps. Dark wooden floors and sombre panelling made it as gloomy as a cave, the light from the single lamp flickering so that shadows danced in the corners. Margaret could almost make out the shapes of ghouls shifting restlessly here and there, banished where the light fell on them, only to reappear as soon as the beam passed by.

  “Come along, now. Hurry!”

  Margaret felt her aunt’s rudeness and stopped, looking uncertainly towards the door where Mr Dalton and the groom were labouring to carry one of her boxes across the threshold. As always, she could not speak the words to express what she felt. Any of her sisters could have done it, but her tongue could not shape the words.

  Mr Dalton saw her bemusement and gave her a little smile. “Yes, go with your aunt, Margaret. I shall leave your boxes here, and I daresay the servants will attend to them later.”

  Still she hesitated.

  “I shall find an inn, never fear. Nothing else was expected, I assure you.”

  “Oh no, we cannot accommodate a gentleman,” Aunt Pru said. “There is no room for a gentleman here. We keep no manservant, you know. Better go to an inn. Come now, Margaret.”

  “Goodbye, Margaret,” Mr Dalton said. “Be sure to write to your sisters often.”

  She nodded. The wretched tears were welling up again, rendering her quite incapable of speech, so she hurled herself at him, wrapping her arms as far round him as she could reach. He laughed and hugged her back.

  “There, there, now! Off you go.”

  She allowed him to push her gently away towards Aunt Pru, who turned without another word and set off at great speed down the hall. Terrified of being left behind, Margaret ran after her, and then up some stairs. When she looked back, Mr Dalton had gone, and the hall was quite empty, with only her boxes making deeper pools of darkness in the gloom.

  With so little ceremony was the last tie to her home broken.

  Up and up the stairs they went, the high windows admitting little light. Then into a vast, empty room, her aunt’s slippers making a soft shushing sound on the polished floor, while Margaret’s boots thumped loudly. They entered a narrow corridor, doors on one side, windows on the other. A corner, and another, even longer, corridor. A door was thrown open, and suddenly there was light and warmth and voices.

  “At last!” a deep voice called out. “The soup will be quite cold.”

  “So sorry, sister,” Aunt Pru said. “Niece Margaret is come, that is all. We can eat now. Rose, set another place for Miss Margaret.”

  It was an odd sort of room, clearly a bedroom, for the huge bed took up about a quarter of the space. But there were comfortable chairs, desks and small tables scattered about, as well as a small dining table set with two places and groaning with food. There were three maids in the room. One of them opened a drawer in a sideboard and produced the cover and cutlery for a third setting.

  “Quickly, child!” Aunt Pru said. “Do not stand there like a statue. Take off your cloak and sit down. Oh, just leave it on that chair there. Come along, come along. Your Aunt Letty is waiting.”

  Margaret threw aside her cloak and ripped the bonnet from her head without even bothering to untie the ribbons. Hurriedly, she sat down, trying to unbutton her gloves at the same time.

  “Good. Now at last we may eat. Serve the soup, Lily.”

  The two sisters were as different as could be. Aunt Pru was spindly, bent and grey, as old ladies are presumed to be, her face wizened and wrinkled, her black gown old fashioned. Aunt Letty was large, her face as smooth and round as the moon, her hair still mostly black. Rolls of flesh padded her neck and arms, and her robe of rich red velvet was cut loose to accommodate her rounded stomach.

  Aunt Letty said nothing at all to Margaret, applying herself to her food with surprising enthusiasm for one supposedly ill. Aunt Pru, on the other hand, ate like a bird, pecking at this and that, and fussing over whether a dish might be too hot or too cold or too spicy for Aunt Letty. Margaret ate a little of everything she was offered, as she had been taught to do, but enjoyed none of it. There was no wine to drink, only a queer sweet sort of ale, but there were two courses and several kinds of meat, as well as a syllabub, a dish of which Margaret was particularly fond.

  She had taken only two mouthfuls of this when Aunt Letty said, “The girl is tired. Lily, show her to her room.”

  One of the maids bobbed a curtsy and lit two candles from the fire with a taper. Giving one to Margaret, she led her silently to the door. Margaret, quite bemused, remembered her manners and curtsied to her aunts.

  “Good night, dear,” Aunt Pru said. “Breakfast at ten.”

  Aunt Letty, busy spooning blancmange onto her plate, said nothing at all.

  Margaret scuttled behind the maid, but she had not far to go. Her room was next door to Aunt Letty’s. Lily lit several candles, built up the fire to a good blaze and turned down the bed.

  “Ye’ll get used to ’em, miss,” she said. “They’s kindly souls, both on ’em. G’night, miss.”

  With that, she was gone, and Margaret was alone. There was no sign of her boxes, a nightgown, or washing water. She sat for a while, in the hope that one or other of these items might appear. When they did not, she undressed down to her chemise, blew out the candles and slipped into bed, shivering between chilly sheets. It was, she guessed, no later than five o’clock in the afternoon. At Woodside, that was the hour to dress for dinner. Then ther
e would be a leisurely meal with her sisters chattering around her, followed by two or three hours in the drawing room for cards or music or conversation. But here, the evening was over already.

  She was tired, though. Aunt Letty had been right about that. Two days of travelling and weeping had exhausted her. She closed her eyes, and sank into sleep.

  ~~~~~

  In the small town of Heston Ford, the day was drawing to a peaceful close. At the coach-builder’s cottage, Mel Haymer ducked his head to avoid the low lintel, and passed through the doorway. Even from the porch, he could still hear one of the women weeping upstairs. “Good night, Mrs Williams. I am glad your father-in-law is looking so peaceful.”

  “Aye, it’ll not be long now,” Mrs Williams said. “Good night, then, Mr Haymer, sir. Thank you for coming, and for staying so long. It’s been a great comfort to him, when he’s so near the end.” A pause. “Will you look in again tomorrow? Like as not, he’ll not last the night, but if he does…”

  “I shall certainly call again tomorrow and see how things are,” Mel said. “A prayer or two never goes amiss, whether for those leaving the world or for those left behind.”

  “Aye, that’s just like you, sir. You’re the best curate we’ve had here, beyond a doubt. The rector’s very lucky to have you, and so are we. Here’s Jed with your horse now, sir. Will you take a lantern with you?”

  “No need,” he said. “The horse knows his way, and it is only five miles to Dunton Cross, after all.”

  Just as the horse arrived at the door, a smart carriage bowled past on the main road heading north.

  “I saw that carriage earlier this afternoon,” Mel said. “It turned down the Pendarreth road.”

  “Aye, that’ll have brought the niece they’re expecting,” Mrs Williams said. “A Miss Margaret Winterton. You’ll have heard the story, I expect. Her father left her without two pennies to rub together, so she’s to be companion to Mrs Bradwell and Miss Tilford at Pendarreth. Not a place for a young lady, I’d have thought. Not that it’s any of my business, but I can’t help feeling sorry for the girl, shut away there with those two queer old ladies.”