An Ideal Companion. ANNE ASHLEY
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not even to the smallest degree. Yes, she could be considerate when she chose to a favoured few. But she could also be thoughtless and intractable, thinking only of herself and her own comfort.
But little wonder, Ruth continued to reflect, when one considered her unfortunate marriage to Lord Charles Lindley, a cruel and unfeeling tyrant by any standard. No doubt any capacity she might once have had to give and receive love had long since withered.
‘You look very thoughtful, my dear,’ Lady Beatrice remarked, after raising her eyes to discover her young companion staring pensively down into the fire. ‘I was surprised to discover from Whitton, earlier, that you’d taken your customary walk this morning. It’s so uncommonly cold for the start of October. More like midwinter, I should have said.’
Only the fiercest elements had ever dissuaded Ruth from getting away from the Hall for an hour or so. It wasn’t that she disliked the place, even though it couldn’t be denied that the grey-stone house distinctly lacked any architectural merit to speak of and, worse still, always appeared to be shrouded in an atmosphere of impending doom. At least that was the impression most visitors held when turning into the driveway and catching their first glimpse of the building, surrounded as it was by tall trees that blocked out much of the natural light.
Not that Dunsterford Hall received many visitors, of course, Ruth reminded herself, at least not during the years she had dwelt beneath its slate roof. Its situation on the edge of the moor made it somewhat isolated, of course. Moreover, Lady Beatrice didn’t encourage visitors as a rule. Apart from the parson and the doctor, and two or three favoured middle-aged ladies living in the locale, very few people ever called at the house.
And that was precisely why she herself would brave all but the most inclement weather to make an almost daily visit to the small market town situated within a mile or so of the Hall. Apart from her employer, and the servants, of course, she would never see a soul, else!
‘You’re right. It is unseasonably cold,’ Ruth agreed. ‘Dan Smethers predicts snow before evening.’
Above the rim of her glass one of Lady Beatrice’s brows rose in a decidedly haughty arch. ‘And who, pray, is Master Smethers, may I ask?’
Ruth was unequal to suppressing a smile. Without doubt there was a streak of quaint snobbery running through her employer’s character, which had a tendency to surface from time to time. ‘He’s the blacksmith’s son, ma’am.’
Lady Beatrice shuddered. ‘I do wish, my dear girl, you might lose this propensity of yours for fraternising with tradespersons. It simply isn’t the done thing for a young lady of your standing to be seen hobnobbing with those from the lower orders. I shall take leave to inform you that it creates a decidedly odd impression.’
‘Ma’am, with respect, I do not think myself above anyone who works hard for a living. In truth, I feel distinctly inferior,’ Ruth responded candidly. ‘I do little enough for what I receive from you, not to mention enjoying a great many of those privileges reserved for those females much better placed in society,’ she added, raising her glass of Madeira as a prime example of precisely what she had meant.
‘There is absolutely nothing of which you need feel ashamed about your lineage,’ the widow countered. ‘Might I remind you that your paternal grandfather was none other than General Sir Mortimer Harrington, and your mother was a Worthing. No hereditary titles, of course, on either side,’ she added, the snobbery rearing its head once again. ‘Both old and worthy families, none the less. It’s a great pity your maternal grandfather had no head for business. He brought his branch of the Worthing family to the brink of ruin with his ill-judged investments. Still, you’d know all about that, I’m sure.’
Shaking her head, Lady Beatrice released her breath in a long sigh. ‘During my childhood your mother was one of my dearest friends, simply a lovely girl in both looks and nature. Had she ever been privileged to enjoy a London Season she could have had her pick of all the eligible bachelors and might have achieved a truly splendid alliance.’
Ruth acknowledged the truth of what had been said with a nod of her head. Her mother had, indeed, been quite breathtakingly lovely in her youth; the likeness painted by her own father, which took pride of place in her bedchamber, was testament enough to that.
‘I don’t recall ever hearing Mama bemoaning the fact that she was denied a Season in town, ma’am. She told me she fell in love with my father on first setting eyes upon him, as he did with her. It was so tragic he died within a year of their marriage. She never so much as looked at another man.’
‘She showed sense in that, at least!’ Lady Beatrice returned tartly, thereby strengthening Ruth’s belief that her employer had scant regard for the male sex as a whole. ‘Oh, I don’t mean to denigrate your father, my dear,’ she continued, appearing slightly shamefaced. ‘I hardly knew the man, after all. I met him only twice and must own he was the most handsome fellow I ever clapped eyes on. That said, like most members of his sex, he was utterly selfish and thoroughly feckless. Why, the instant he discovered your mother was with child, he upped and left to go off and enjoy the sights and pleasures of Italy.’
Again she gave vent to a deep sigh. ‘I do not deny he was a gifted artist—very gifted, in my humble opinion. Had he lived he might well have been recognised as such, and possibly would have made a real name for himself. And, I suppose, it was a blessing that he did leave your dear mama behind whilst he went abroad to paint, otherwise she might have succumbed to the same contagion that sadly cut short his life. But that doesn’t alter the fact that he left your mother virtually destitute. Why, even his own father disowned him—cut him off without so much as the proverbial penny, when he refused to engage in what the General considered some useful occupation.’
‘True,’ Ruth acknowledged. ‘But Grandpapa did attempt to make amends after learning of his son’s death, even though he had been very much against the marriage in the first place. It wasn’t that he disliked Mama. It was simply that he didn’t think his son was in a position to support a wife.’
‘Well, he wasn’t wrong in that! And, to be fair to the General, it was your mother who refused his help. Why, she even flatly refused to come here and live with me when I was eventually in a position to assist you both.’
‘Too proud, I suppose,’ Ruth suggested, whilst at the same time understanding her mother’s reasons for not accepting charity and being determined to support herself and her daughter. ‘Besides, as the years passed Mama became very content living at the rectory, caring for Mr Stephens. And he was very good to us in return, as indeed was Grandpapa Harrington. Remember, he did leave me something in his will.’
‘A sum that can only be attained upon marriage, or reaching the age of thirty, by which time he possibly considered you would be unlikely ever to find yourself a husband.’ Lady Beatrice showed her contempt by waving one hand in a disparaging gesture, before looking thoughtfully across the distance that separated them. ‘Well, my dear, I have seen to it that you need never marry. I didn’t intend telling you this, at least not for a while, but now the subject has arisen, I think you should know that during my most recent meeting with Pearce, my lawyer, I made fundamental adjustments to my will. Apart from bequests to servants, I named your good self my main beneficiary.’
Ruth was genuinely taken aback to learn this. ‘Ma’am, please do not think me ungrateful,’ she said, finding her voice at last, ‘but you have family. What about your sisters and their children?’
Again Lady Beatrice raised her hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘They are comfortably circumstanced. Both my sisters contracted suitable marriages, so their children’s futures are assured. Which yours is not. Besides, I have come to think of you as an adopted daughter. The money you receive from me is not a salary, but an allowance. I have never really looked upon you as merely a paid companion.’
‘No, I know you haven’t.’ Ruth could not find it within herself to be angry, or even remotely annoyed. How could she, given the lady’s most unexpected generosity? None the less, she couldn’t resist adding, ‘I shall take leave to tell you, ma’am, that you resorted to very devious means to persuade me to take up