The Master of Winterbourne

‘Amen to that.’ Henrietta stood and watched as he moved into the yard, directly into a patch of moonlight.

At that moment the door from the house banged open and Cobham stood there, a horn lantern in one hand, a cudgel in the other.

‘Stay where you are!’

Henrietta's hands flew to her throat. Behind her she heard Alice's gasp cut short by Robert's hand over her mouth. After a heart-thudding moment Henrietta realised that only the messenger could be seen in the fitful moonlight. The man threw back his cloak over one shoulder, his hand on his sword hilt.

‘No,’ Henrietta whispered fiercely. There could be only one end to this: Cobham dead on the cobbles, run through. How could she justify that, explain it to Matthew?

Cobham's grizzled head swivelled as he caught the sound. Henrietta braced herself to step forward, somehow to stop him while the messenger escaped, when behind him another voice broke the silence.

‘Wilson!’ Lady Willoughby's authoritarian tones echoed round the yard, freezing them all where they stood. ‘What are you about, man? As if I did not know!’ She was an imposing figure in flowing robe and nightcap, her grey plait loose on her shoulders. ‘Cannot I bring you to a gentleman's house without you sneaking about to despoil his maidservants? What have you to say for yourself? Come, I am waiting.’ She folded her arms across her bosom and glared into the darkness.

There was a moment of heavy silence, then, ‘I'm sure I'm sorry, ma'am.’ The man's accent was purest Buckinghamshire. ‘But the wench had such a willing eye.’

‘They all have willing eyes.’

Henrietta realised that for this ludicrous charade to work she must make her presence felt. Alice and Robert, whose presence would be impossible to explain, had melted back into the darkness, but sooner or later even Cobham, with his eyes left weak by years of close bookwork, was going to see her in the shadows.

‘My thanks, Lady Willoughby.’ She stepped into the pool of light cast by the horn lantern and heard Cobham's indrawn hiss of breath. ‘The silly wench escaped me. I heard her creeping down the back stairs and followed, but without a candle I lost her in the yard. The next thing I knew, this rogue was standing there, and, not knowing who he was, I dared not show myself.’

Cobham’s head swivelled from Henrietta back to Lady Willoughby. Henrietta knew the suspicion must be in his mind that she was meeting a lover. But how then could he account for the presence of Lady Willoughby? Even Cobham was daunted by her.

‘Where is the wench, then?’ he demanded, the nearest he dared approach to accusing them of outright lies.

Suddenly a window above them flew open and Letty stuck out her head. ‘She's here, Mistress, I have her. Flighty slut!’ Her voice was shrill with moral outrage. ‘I caught her sneaking back in, Mistress. Stand still, you baggage!’ There was the sound of a stinging slap and an outraged feminine cry.

‘Wilson, get back to your bed in the stables this minute. I shall deal with you in the morning. Henrietta, child, come with me, you must be frozen. I can only apologise for my groom's behaviour. His master will hear of it, I promise. And you, girl – ’ She tilted back her head to address Letty who was still hanging out of the window, ‘Well done. Lock the slut in her room and Lady Sheridan will deal with her tomorrow as she deserves.’

She put her arms round Henrietta and swept her past Cobham. ‘Come along, man, back to your bed. You should know better than to go creeping about like a thief in the night at your age. Lock the doors after us.’ Leaving Cobham speechless in the face of this totally unjust attack, she ascended the stairs, her arm linked through Henrietta's.

At her chamber door she drew Henrietta inside, keeping her voice low. ‘I do not know what that was about or who that man was, but he should be safe away by now. Perhaps you will tell me as much as you are able one day, but tomorrow we will be up and off early, before that clerk can cast a rheumy eye over my servants.’

Henrietta threw her arms around her and kissed her cheek. ‘You are a wonderful woman, Lady Willoughby. You have saved more people than you know tonight, perhaps even served His Majesty.’

The older woman's eyebrows rose and a spot of colour touched each cheek. ‘And you are a surprising young woman, Henrietta. I wish I had you for a daughter. But take care, you will not gull your husband as easily as you did his clerk.’

How fortunate that Matthew had been from home. Henrietta shivered with more than cold as she climbed back into bed. With his false belief that she already had a lover he would not have hesitated if he had found the messenger – the man would be dead by now.

And Cobham was sure to tell him of the suspicious scene. Henrietta could not comfort herself they had fooled him for a minute. He might not know what was afoot, but he would lose no time in telling his master, who would draw his own conclusions.

Could she tell Matthew the truth now the casket had gone? Henrietta tossed and turned, weighing the dangers to the others and her oath to James against the possible reactions of the man she had married.

Henrietta was still undecided when she sat down to dinner next day in solitary splendour at one end of the long table in the hall. She had been tempted to order dinner set in the parlour, it was so lonely there without M

atthew or Aunt Susan, especially since Lady Willoughby had gone. But she was mistress of Winterbourne and standards had to be kept up.

The servants were already becoming slack, freed from Mistress Clifford's gimlet eye and Alice's sharp tongue. It would do them no harm to realise their mistress was firmly in charge of the household.

‘Martha, that apron is a disgrace. You should not be serving at table in it.’

‘There's no guests, Mistress,’ Martha protested indignantly.

‘Well, I do not want to eat with you looking like a wench out of a tavern, and, besides, Sir Matthew may walk through that very door at any moment.’

Martha muttered under her breath, dropped a brief curtsy and took Henrietta's plate back to the kitchen. Her voice carried faintly back as she passed Mary behind the screens. ‘Got out the wrong side of bed this morning.’

‘More like 'cos master ain't there to warm it,’ the other maid said pertly. Just as Henrietta was about to issue a sharp rebuke there was a faint shriek of alarm and John, his sword drawn, strode through the front door.