The Lady and the Lake Read online

  The Lady and the Lake

  Rosemary A. Smith

  © Rosemary Smith 2006

  Rosemary Smith has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 2006 by Linford Romance as THE BROODING LAKE

  This edition published by Endeavour Press Ltd 2014

  Dedicated with love to the memory of my friend Beryl Lord of East Budleigh who appreciated the written word, and was a wonderful conversationalist.

  You are greatly missed.

  Table of Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  Extract from A Stranger’s Kiss by Rosemary Smith

  1

  I stood in the hot July sun watching the coach and horses which had conveyed me from York trundle away in the distance across the Yorkshire moors. I looked at the signpost which pointed to Kerslake Hall and then surveyed the small trunk and valise at my feet. There was little chance that I could carry them the two miles indicated to the Hall.

  My brow was hot and I brushed my equally warm hand across it with little relief, it was tempting to remove my straw boater and mauve short wide-collared jacket, but knew it would not be seemly even in this wilderness, for that is how it appeared to me.

  The track I would need to traverse was rough and uneven, no trees were in sight where I could have rested for a while in the shade. The high-necked collar of my white blouse was suffocating and swiftly I loosened the large bow, undoing the top button, now I could at least breathe.

  While mulling over what to do it would seem help was moving towards me in the form of a brown pony and small trap. As the young man came to a halt on the dusty road beside me he raised his cap.

  ‘Can I help you, Miss?’ he asked in a pleasant Yorkshire brogue while glancing at my luggage.

  ‘I am bound for Kerslake Hall,’ I replied with hope, although knowing it would be unconventional to accept assistance from this stranger, but it appeared I had no other choice and he seemed pleasant enough. The young man looked over my head into the distance somehow deliberating what to do.

  ‘There’s not many that would venture near the Hall since...’ His words trailed away.

  ‘Since what?’ I enquired somewhat sharply, was it with anxiety or impatience I wondered.

  Not for me to say, Miss, but I can see the predicament you are in, let me help you on board.’ So saying he jumped down, swiftly storing my luggage in the back of the trap, and then assisting me on to the seat beside him, my flared petticoats almost sticking to my legs.

  We moved slowly along the uneven track, out of the corner of my eye I could see him glancing at me from time to time. I kept silent until he spoke.

  ‘My name’s Harry,’ he said, ‘And yours, Miss?’

  At this question I was reticent to offer a name but in view of his help realised it would be rude not to. ‘Abbey Sinclair,’ I offered quietly.

  ‘A lovely name if I may be so bold, Miss, and quite appropriate as there are many abbeys in these parts albeit they are ruined.’ That piece of information was pleasing to my ear as I had a love of history which prompted my next question.

  ‘Is there one near the Hall?’ I asked with interest.

  ‘There most certainly is Miss, not far from the surrounding wall. I don’t know for sure, but would imagine you could see Thurston Abbey from an upper window.’

  The ground was flat, covered with a springy carpet of beautiful purple heather. On the horizon there were ranges of hills some higher than others, the tops of which were obscured by a heat haze, then ahead of me on the right I caught sight of a large grey forbidding-looking building surrounded by a high granite wall. Harry must have heard my sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Still time to change your mind Miss, for that is indeed Kerslake Hall.’

  At his words I was sorely tempted to instruct Harry to retrace our journey, but then I thought of Mrs Henrietta Kershaw who would be expecting me, and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad as it appeared, but then if the place looked so eerie in sunlight, what would it look like in the dead of winter?

  ‘Please stop for a moment, Harry, for I need to collect my thoughts.’ Without realising it, as I spoke I gently touched his arm as he drew Bessie to a halt. What am I doing here? I asked myself already knowing the answer, in this year of Our Lord 1890 an impoverished young woman had but two courses to follow in life, marriage or a position as governess or companion.

  As I was twenty-five years of age the former had obviously eluded me, so the latter had been inevitable and I had found myself being interviewed by a starchy solicitor named Mr Lang for position of companion to a Mrs Kershaw of Kerslake Hall in Yorkshire.

  It had all seemed very romantic sat in Mr Lang’s office, but now it would seem somewhat unfortunate that I had been successful in securing the post. I would however endure it for a short time, after all Mrs Kershaw may be a very amenable person, unlike the exterior of her home. Little did I know then, thankfully, what sort of person she would turn out to be.

  Harry set me down outside the iron gates which were flanked either side by pillars, on top of which sat two demons with open mouths and fiery tongues. He graciously excused himself from helping me with my luggage and with little ado was gone leaving me stood in a blast of dust due to the speed of his departure.

  Tentatively I pressed down the iron latch and the gate swung open with ease, squealing as it came to a halt against the hedge, which lined the drive on either side. Picking up my luggage I hesitated before stepping across the boundary of the Hall. I placed the luggage down once more before closing the gate, retying the bow on my blouse I picked up trunk and valise and proceeded up the long path.

  Everywhere was silent and I had a fancy that the place was in truth uninhabited, when a large black raven swooped noisily over the top of my head almost dislodging my hat, so close had it flown, leaving me trembling and somewhat startled.

  The house loomed up on me suddenly as I looked at the tall three storey building with many large plain glass windows I had an overwhelming feeling of familiarity, yet I was sure I’d never been here before in my life.

  At the far end of the building on the left was a small round turreted tower, although attached to the house it looked incongruous and somehow filled me with dread. I had had my chance to retreat but it was too late for as I looked, the double front doors opened as if by themselves, before a tall woman appeared in the doorway at the top of the steps.

  ‘I take it you are Miss Sinclair?’ she called out to me in a cultured voice.

  ‘I am indeed,’ I answered moving towards the bottom of the steps, my feet crunching on the gravel beneath.

  ‘Mrs Kershaw is expecting you, indeed waiting for you,’ she added, almost as an afterthought. As she spoke I looked at my fob watch and realised that I was one-and-a-half hours late, not a good start, but I didn’t really care as my intention was to leave this cold gloomy house at the first opportunity.

  As I stepped across the threshold the woman who bade me enter closed the doors behind me, I could barely see the huge hall I had stepped into for the sun did not reach this side of the house at this time of day. All I could ascertain were shadowy corners and a musty smell, as though the house were unlived in.

  ‘I’m Mrs Grafton.’ Her voice brought me back to the present, ‘I’d like to welcome you to Kerslake Hall and ask that in future you use the servants’ entrance.’

  ‘Which is where?’ I interrupted sharply, for I felt anything but welcome in this gloomy place.

  ‘At
the far side of the house, someone will show you later,’ replied Mrs Grafton through gritted teeth, she was obviously unused to being questioned. ‘Please leave your bags here, as before I show you your room, Mrs Kershaw wishes to speak with you, follow me!’

  Doing as I was bid, I followed the slim, grey-clad woman to the back of the hall and along a corridor which was sparsely carpeted in green, my eyes were adjusting to the light and I could see many small pieces of furniture set against the purple-coloured wallpaper. Mrs Grafton opened a large wooden door, and as she did I was blinded by sunlight which streamed through one of the large windows on the left.

  ‘Miss Sinclair has arrived, Mistress.’ Seconds after she spoke I heard Mrs Grafton close the door behind her, I could hardly see the room let alone my employer, so blinded was I by the light.

  ‘You’re late.’ A harsh voice admonished me with two simple words.

  I stepped forward out of the sunlight and looked in the direction from which the voice came.

  ‘Have you lost your tongue girl?’

  As I looked at the owner of the voice I could scarcely believe my eyes. A small female form was sitting in an armchair by a large granite fireplace, she was dressed in brown which matched the brown leather chair she sat in, her feet resting on a stool with an ebony stick leaning against her chair.

  What fascinated me more than anything was the fact that a black spotted veil covered her face, I could just see her grey hair and pallid face through the fine mesh and quite garishly, the bright red rouge she wore on her thin lips.

  I disliked her instantly from her harsh voice to the bony hands which lay on her lap. ‘Don’t stare girl, I’m not a spectacle at some circus. So Abbey Sinclair, you are to be my paid companion.’ Her voice stressed the word paid, which caused me to dislike her even further as she continued. ‘My guess is you are really named Abigail, come on girl speak, I’m right, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ I managed to utter trying desperately to keep control of my rising temper.

  ‘I thought as much, well that’s what I shall call you for I don’t hold with pet names, we should all use the names that we were given. Your job will not be difficult as I don’t need much company, I prefer my own, but my eyesight is failing and I need someone to read to me. I take it you can read, girl?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied ungraciously, for her manner was irking me.

  ‘Thank the Lord for that at least. Your clothes do not please me, far too gaudy, have you anything grey?’ As she spoke I looked down at the mauve suit I had painstakingly saved for to make a good impression. The flared skirt fell beautifully across the toes of my black ankle boots and the jacket to match with leg of mutton sleeves was plain except for some piping on the wide lapels, the whole outfit I felt was quite reserved and appropriate. How dare she? I was very much my own person and resented being dictated to as to what I should wear.

  ‘I ask again, have you anything grey?’ the voice reiterated.

  ‘Yes,’ I answered, quite resolved to leave this place as soon as I left this woman’s presence.

  There was a sudden commotion behind me as the door opened to reveal a pretty dark-haired girl aged about ten years, dressed in a pretty powder blue dress with white stockings and black shiny shoes.

  ‘Grandmamma; she shouted running across to Mrs Kershaw who put out a bony hand to take the child’s offered one.

  ‘Miss Hayward, how many times have I asked you not to let Emily burst into my room unannounced?’ As she spoke I turned to look at the recipient of Mrs Kershaw’s displeasure.

  A tall serene-looking young woman with pale brown hair stood by the door, her hands clasped in front of her. She was dressed in a dove grey dress which fitted in at her small waist, flimsy grey frills fell from the neck not quite concealing her slender white throat. She was a lovely creature.

  The child gave life to the drab room which was sparsely furnished with just a large table and two huge brown leather armchairs. In contrast bright yellow curtains hung at the windows.

  ‘I’m sorry Mrs Kershaw, but the child was longing to see you and I could not keep up with her as she ran down the stairs and along the corridor.’

  I listened to Miss Hayward’s soft almost reverent voice and wondered how she kept so calm at Mrs Kershaw’s manner towards her; I could not be so subservient.

  ‘This is Abigail Sinclair, newly arrived, Miss Hayward, and this is my over-zealous granddaughter, Emily.’ As she spoke I looked from one to the other, Emily was by now sat at Mrs Kershaw’s feet stroking a long-haired white cat that I had not noticed before. The child’s governess stood demurely by the door looking down at the floor, she seemed not to want to meet my eye or talk to me, maybe this would alter out of the old lady’s domineering presence.

  ‘I’m weary.’ Mrs Kershaw’s voice drifted across to me, although weary her voice was still harsh and hostile.

  ‘Please, Miss Hayward show Abigail to the hall and take Emily for her tea. Goodbye, pet, I’ll see you tomorrow.’ As she ruffled her granddaughter’s hair her voice was gentle each time she addressed the child. ‘No Emily, you can’t take Charles with you, put him down.’

  Emily put the purring cat back in his bed at the old lady’s feet and ran to take Miss Hayward’s hand. I followed them out realising that I’d uttered only three words since entering the room and summed up that the old lady had an acid tongue.

  I was pleased to follow Miss Hayward, as stepping back into the corridor it was dark and shadowy once more. Emily skipped along quite unperturbed at the darkness, the silent Miss Hayward walked ahead of me her back straight and head held high.

  As we reached the entrance hall once more the front door opened and a man stood silhouetted in the doorway. ‘Father! Father!’ Emily exclaimed, releasing the grip of Miss Hayward’s hand she ran to him and he gathered her in his arms in a strong embrace, this child was obviously well loved.

  As he stepped farther into the hallway I could see he was a tall slim man of about thirty-five years of age, the sun had bleached his already blond hair and I could see as he turned his attention to me that his eyes were a startling blue.

  ‘You must be Miss Sinclair.’ As he spoke he gently removed his daughter from him. ‘I’m Antony Kershaw, welcome to my home, I trust you will be happy here.’ He offered his hand to me which I took gladly, this was a genuine welcome indeed. So the abominable Mrs Kershaw was not the mistress here and I smiled. Almost reading my thoughts he continued.

  ‘Have you met my mother?’

  ‘I have indeed, not a moment since,’ I replied with feeling.

  ‘And what did you make of her?’ he asked politely.

  ‘She is somewhat daunting and also very rude,’ I said honestly. A brief smile hovered on Antony Kershaw’s lips.

  ‘You sum her up very well, Miss Sinclair, but I assure you her bark is worse than her bite, just give her a chance. Since my wife,’ here he hesitated momentarily, ‘since my wife died two years ago, things have not been easy for any of us. The last two companions employed for my mother have left within days. I trust this will not be the case with you.’

  His words were a challenge and shortly afterwards as I followed Mrs Grafton up the stone staircase to my room, my mind was in a whirl. I’d sensed hostility at every turn in the brief time I’d been in the house, except from Mr Kershaw and his child Emily, even the lovely Miss Hayward had not spoken, but watched me with a silent, unfathomable manner.

  I wondered also why my employer covered her face with a veil, and did everyone in the house apart from Emily and the old lady wear grey? For Antony Kershaw also wore it in the form of a country suit, and the hat he had removed was of grey felt with a curled brim. I had quite taken to the man and felt in some way sorry for the position he was in with a domineering mother and a young daughter to contend with.

  2

  My room was small and adequate, the polished wooden floorboards were covered by a small beige-coloured rug, there was a single wardrobe in one corner adjacent to the d
oor with a matching dressing table next to it. The window opposite cast light onto the bevelled mirror.

  Mrs Grafton left me to settle in, telling me that I could either eat in my room or share the table in the kitchen with the rest of the household staff.

  Before arranging my sparse array of clothes, I was eager to see the view from the window. The sun was still high in the sky and shone down on a vast lake, two white swans glided across the mirrored water, four cygnets in their wake. I could see a white summer pavilion on the other side of the water, and to one side of the lake was a beautiful garden full of brightly-coloured flowers intermingling with one another.

  The whole scene in its entirety was beautifully tranquil and so in contrast to the front of the house. Then on my left out of the corner of my eye I could see that the round tower was adjacent to my room. I was obviously at the top of the house and my window was level with the one that jutted out from the tower, so close to me I could almost touch it.

  I shivered involuntarily and went over to the mirror.

  Removing my straw bonnet I marvelled at the fact that my thick dark blonde hair had not strayed out of place, the pins which held the back in a twisted knot were still in place.

  Replacing my bonnet I decided to take a closer look at the beautiful lake. A walk in the fresh air would do me good after the long journey from London, my unpacking could wait.

  As I stepped into the narrow corridor, Miss Hayward was about to step into the room next to mine, she stopped, one hand on the door knob and a tray balanced precariously on the other. Swiftly I walked over to her and removed the tray from her hand.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Sinclair,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Abbey, please call me Abbey,’ I urged as I followed Miss Hayward into her room which was a bit larger than mine. She’d made it her own, pictures hung on the walls and a small table by her bed held petite china ornaments. The room looked lived in and was quite pleasant, the bottom of the window was open causing the pink curtains to flutter softly in the warm summer breeze.