The letter’s wording implied that the servant should have arrived in Washington first, so she would not have to wait. But there had been no carriage waiting for her, and those at the station had seen neither Mr. Parker nor Mr. Tubbs. She supposed she could hire her own carriage to take her to the castle, but she had never hired a carriage before, so she hoped it did not come to that. She tried to sit tall and be an example of long-suffering for the men at the carriage station.
After a few minutes, a shiny black carriage approached and stopped in front of her. The driver, a jovial man with peppered hair, spoke to her. “Are you Miss Bennet? I am Mr. Tubbs. I work for Lady Trafford.”
“Yes, I am Miss Bennet. I have been waiting for at least half an hour. I thought Lady Trafford had a brown carriage, not a black one.”
“She has two carriages, miss. I am sorry that I forced you to wait. The carriage from Horsham must have been fast today. Normally it is late.” He laughed. “You can never predict these things.”
Once they had exited Washington, Mr. Tubbs took the horses at a trot. The countryside did not appear markedly different than what she had already seen, so Mary leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the bumps in the road.
Before this, she had only left Hertfordshire a handful of times in her life, and that had been as a child. Travelling seemed overrated, with endless inconveniences and only small benefits.
But at least she would be able to use a pianoforte and a library when she arrived. The past month at the Philipses’ home had been tedious without either. She raised her hands as if she were seated at a pianoforte and played the beginning of a song in the air, hearing the melody in her mind.
She let out a sigh and set down her hands. She could wait a few more minutes.
It occurred to her that it would be proper, as a guest, to express her gratitude to Lady Trafford upon her arrival. She composed a short speech in her mind, making sure her phrases were crafted to her satisfaction.
After a little over an hour, the carriage slowed, and Mr. Tubbs tapped on the wall. “We are here, miss.”
All thoughts of her speech disappeared as she saw Castle Durrington for the first time. She had not expected something nearly as grand or magnificent as this. It looked like an illustration in one of the books she had read to her cousins in London, about King Arthur’s castle.
The central mass of the castle consisted of grand, square stone towers, topped by parapets. The right section of the castle was edged by rounded stone towers with parapets, and the left section, while it did not have true towers, had a two-storied tracery window, which she could confidently say, based on her architectural readings, had been constructed in the Gothic style. Though the edges of the grey stones looked sharp and new, she could picture medieval soldiers standing behind the parapets and shooting arrows at an attacking foe.
She leaned forward in anticipation as the carriage came to a stop in front of the main doorway. Outside stood five servants waiting for her arrival, but there was no sign of Lady Trafford.
As Mr. Tubbs helped Mary out, one of the servants stepped inside and returned but not with Lady Trafford. He led Mr. Withrow. Yet the letter had clearly stated that Lady Trafford would be here.
Withrow stepped forward and gave a practiced bow. “Lady Trafford sends her regards. I apologize that she is not here to greet you. While she had every plan to be here today, she was called to Brighton for urgent business and will not return until tomorrow or the following day.”
What type of business was so urgent that it could not wait a single day? How peculiar. And what sort of business would preclude sending her nephew or a trusted servant instead? It was very peculiar indeed.
Mary twisted her hands together, unsure of how she should act until the mistress of the house returned. Admittedly, she felt less welcome here with only Mr. Withrow. From their brief interactions, he did not seem as approachable as Lady Trafford, and there was the matter of him searching her father’s things and then lying about it.
“Are you going to respond to what I said?” asked Withrow. “Or have you gone mute?”
She opened her mouth and out came the words she had prepared to deliver to Lady Trafford. “It is a great honor for me to be invited to stay at Castle Durrington. My gratitude stems from both my commitment to my education and my willingness to expand my spheres of interaction. I feel that during my stay—”
“Your gratitude is appreciated,” interrupted Mr. Withrow, making it impossible for her to finish the speech. “Would you care for a brief refreshment? This is Mrs. Boughton, our indomitable housekeeper. After we have tea, she will provide you with a tour. I have obligations to the estate today and will be unable to join you, but you can trust that you will be in very capable hands.”
Clearly, he did not want her company. She had no particular need for his either. “I do not need any refreshment,” said Mary. “I feel refreshed already. You may return to your work so I can immediately begin the tour.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Withrow. “I will see you at dinner.” He seemed relieved that she did not demand his attention and stepped into the castle.
Mary pressed her lips firmly together. This was not the welcome she had envisioned. She had prepared for Lady Trafford, she had not been able to give her speech, and she did not particularly want to be thrust into the care of a housekeeper, no matter how
