Nell by Elizabeth Bailey Page B

her in cold blood!’ pursued the housekeeper, a note in her voice that gave echo of the shock she must originally have experienced. ‘Folk say it was that wretch Lord Nobody, but there’s none to witness it. All that’s known is there were a tussle with a masked rider and his gun went off. But he must have meant to kill her. Who’d cock a gun on an unarmed female?’
    The instant image of the highwayman Nell had seen was fading in her mind, overlaid instead with the dread features of Papa. So pale, but for the red ooze that seeped steadily past his sightless eyes and ran in a rivulet down his cheek. Pale, and deathly still, until the weight of hislifeless body had toppled him, and he slumped sideways, a heap upon the cushioned seat, ungainly and unmoving.
    Unaware that she sat as she had done then, as if petrified, unable to speak or move as the terror bubbled up, Nell was only conscious of a resurgence of that same sensation of faintness that had attacked her at the sight.
    She became aware of a voice of concern in her immediate vicinity. ‘Oh, dearie me, how pale you look! Miss Faraday! Miss Faraday! ’
    With an effort, Nell pulled herself out of the memory. She blinked upon the plump face peering into hers. She summoned a response. ‘I am all right.’
    ‘You don’t look it,’ said Mrs Whyte frankly. ‘Wait. I’ll fetch you a glass of water.’
    She was gone only a moment, but the sensations were fading with the memory, and Nell was able to take the proffered glass into her own hand. The housekeeper fretted as she sipped.
    ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m that sorry, my dear. I’d no call to shock you so deeply. Only I never thought how it might appear to a stranger. I’ve become used to it, I suppose, like the rest.’
    Nell laid down the glass with fingers that shook slightly, and managed to smile. ‘It makes no matter. You do not know—’
    She broke off, unwilling to shatter her self-imposed silence. Let the woman think her a poor creature. She could bear that better than the inevitable expressions of sympathy—which she had never been able to endure. But she must make some amends.
    ‘Pray do not blame yourself, Mrs Whyte. I am glad you told me. It explains a good deal, and I had rather know than make a slip and distress anyone through ignorance.’
    The housekeeper conceded that she had a point, but she was greatly discomposed and not only insisted upon Nell remaining quietly in the kitchen until she should feel fully recovered, but went off to prepare some tea. A luxury in this household, Nell had no doubt, but she refrained from protest. Truth to tell, she was much in need of a cup of the sustaining beverage.
    The tea did indeed revive her, and she was able to reassure the housekeeper, who was inclined to blame herself.
    ‘I am not prone to fainting, Mrs Whyte. I suspect it has been rather an accumulation of surprises. There have been several—shall we say unexpected?—aspects to this post that were only to be learned on arrival.’
    The housekeeper set her mob cap aflutter. ‘I don’t doubt it for a moment. The wonder is that you’re still here, Miss Faraday.’
    Nell thought so too, but it was scarcely politic to say so. ‘I hope I have a little more gumption than to run away, however difficult the situation may be.’
    ‘Well, I wouldn’t blame you,’ declared the housekeeper stoutly. ‘No more than I blamed young Liza, hoity-toity madam though she was.’
    Upon enquiry, Mrs Whyte explained that Liza had been the last kitchen maid who had left a few weeks back. ‘We’ve not yet replaced her, but then kitchen maids are so hard to come by these days.’
    Nell was glad of the change of subject. ‘How in the world do you manage?’
    ‘Grig does most of the heavy work. Only he’s got so little up top that it has me fair rattled sometimes. I’d rather cope with a sour-faced kitchen maid any day!’
    The inconsequent chatter did much to bring Nell back to her usual composure.