Sneak Peek: Fair Play
Here’s a sneak peek of Fair Play, Book 7 in the Branwell Chronicles:
The journey from Jamaica to England had been a comfortable one for Eliza Willoughby, so far as such long journeys could be. The William Miles, though primarily a cargo ship, was provided with excellent accommodation for its relatively few passengers. But nearly two months of confinement to two levels of a ship had been wearing, even to one of Eliza’s sunny temperament. When the West Indiaman entered the mouth of the River Avon, therefore, she joined her fellow passengers on the deck in a cheer.
As the ship maneuvered its way into the Floating Basin at Bristol, Eliza turned from the rail and hastened belowdecks to her quarters, where her maid was finishing the packing.
“Make haste, Muncey!” she cried, taking up one of the garments laid out upon the bed and folding it swiftly and neatly to lay it in the portmanteau. “I think I shall die if we do not instantly escape the ship when she docks.”
Muncey grunted, replying in a grim tone, “No hurry. You will die of cold in dis place, anyway. All de way across de ocean, I felt de cold in my bones.”
“It’s not so bad,” said Eliza, folding another garment. “I scarcely feel a chill, and I’ve been on deck since we sighted the Bristol Channel.”
Muncey only tutted, casting a deprecatory look at her young mistress. “You will feel it soon enough. When all dis excitement dies away, you will wish you were back in Jamaica. I told you not to come.”
The click of the clasp on the portmanteau sounded in the following silence. Eliza did not look at her maid as she said, “I already miss Jamaica, Muncey, but you know there is nothing left there for me.”
After a slight hesitation, Muncey reached to take her mistress’s hand, giving it a fierce squeeze. Eliza squeezed back, closing her eyes for a moment before giving her maid a sidelong look and conjuring a grin.
“You nearly undid me there, but I am resolved that nothing today shall dim my joy. I am having a grand adventure, and whether you like it or not, you are having it with me. Now, we had better go up and greet our new home!”
With a resolute set to her shoulders, Eliza took up the portmanteau and hastened out the door, while Muncey, grimly setting her lips, followed more sedately with her own bag. Eliza hurried up the steep stairs to the deck, skirting a group of seamen intent on furling the sails as they drew alongside the dock. The captain gave the order to weigh anchor and within minutes, several seamen had swarmed over the side, while others wound out ropes to toss to the dock.
Eliza leaned out over the side to watch as four sturdy seamen made ready to run out the gangplank, but she immediately drew back in shock and disgust. The air of a port was often pungent, but the stench that assailed her nostrils from the murky waters below made her eyes water. Blinking, she pressed her handkerchief to her nose and glanced at Muncey, who had joined her by the rail.
The lady’s maid stood stoically. “Maybe I was mistaken, Miss Eliza, and you will die of de smell before you die of de cold!”
Eliza grimaced beneath her handkerchief. It was not the welcome she had dreamed of these many weeks, indeed. The rank stench of rotting fish mingled with human refuse rising up from the water below seemed impossibly strong.
“Well,” she said in a voice muffled by the handkerchief, “it cannot smell so foul everywhere. Come, Muncey, let us disembark and await Mr. Findlay on the dock. The sooner we are away from the water, the sooner we will feel more at home.”
Lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, Eliza took short, shallow breaths as she stepped onto the gangplank and made her way down onto the stone dock. No sooner had she touched stable ground than her legs wobbled uneasily beneath her and she stumbled sideways into a carter as he pushed his load. With a little cry, she stepped backward, colliding with a fishmonger.
“Oh, pardon me, sir,” she said, lowering her handkerchief. She instantly regretted the lapse. Replacing the handkerchief and backing unsteadily away, she bumped into a stack of trunks and cried out when a hand grasped her elbow.
“Best get out of de way, Miss Eliza,” said Muncey, steering her across the dock to a corner beside the window of a small shop. She settled Eliza on a whiskey keg and went off to find a porter to take their trunks.
The energetic woman’s legs seemed unaffected as she dodged seamen, crewmen, dogs, and passengers on her way toward a young man waiting with a cart for hire. Eliza smiled as Muncey sized up both the young man and his cart before pointing an imperious finger at their trunks that had been piled haphazardly beside the dock, entirely at ease.
What happened next, Eliza could not tell, for the cacophony of the docks engulfed her. Ringing bells, pounding feet, creaking ships, calling gulls, shouting seamen, and banging hammers drowned out everything else, and the constant flow of traffic up and down the dock made it impossible to see much at all. Eliza quickly gave up the attempt to follow Muncey’s doings and glanced about her new surroundings.
The harbor at Bristol was a fairly recent addition, having been completed less than a decade earlier. The captain had kindly informed his handful of passengers that the tidal nature of the River Avon had made it necessary to create a harbor so that ships would no longer be in danger of running aground at low tide. The river had been diverted and locks installed at either end of what would come to be known as the Floating Basin, providing the stable water level required to support the high level of ships’ traffic to Bristol.
Eliza noted that improvements to the docks and surrounding buildings seemed continuous, and added both to the general chaos of the place and its utility. While nothing was particularly charming about the architecture, nor the humanity swarming about the docks, Eliza was determined to admire her new home and could approve its industry if she could not detect much beauty.
So intent was she on her inspection that she did not notice a gentleman approaching her until he addressed her directly.
“Miss Muncey?”
She glanced up quickly to find a man of middle height and age, with a worried brow and a dusty frock coat, gazing intently at her through round spectacles as he, too, pressed a handkerchief to his nose. “No, sir, I am Miss Willoughby. That is Miss Muncey, my maid, over there.”
He glanced at where she indicated, but quickly returned his gaze to her. “Forgive me, ma’am, but I did not expect—” He stopped, his brow furrowing. Then he tipped his hat and cleared his throat. “I am Mr. Findlay, of Windle, Windle, and Findlay, London. Welcome to England, Miss Willoughby.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Findlay!” She sprang up, holding out her hand. “It is delightful to meet you at last.”
He took her proffered hand and bowed punctiliously over it. “I see Muncey has secured a porter. May I take your portmanteau?”
“Yes, thank you. I must own I am glad not to be the only one offended by the general smell,” Eliza said with a mischievous look. “It quite took me by surprise, for I doubt even Kingston is ever so noisesome as this.”
Mr. Findlay’s smile was pained. “It is the stagnant nature of the Basin, ma’am. The problem has yet to be solved, though I know not what has been attempted. But you may rest assured that the smell does not extend farther than the city, and the problem certainly does not afflict other English ports.”
On this patriotic defense, he assisted her across the busy dock to where Muncey stood with the loaded cart, and Eliza made the introductions. Then, with the facility of a man secure in his own capability, Mr. Findlay took matters into his own hands, signaling to the porter and leading the whole party off the dock to where a traveling carriage waited. He handed the ladies inside before stepping back to make arrangements with the porter for the transfer of the trunks to the carriage, then climbed in beside them.
Looking on his companions in a fatherly, if somewhat condescending way, he said, “You are still determined to live at Penhurst Lodge with your brother rather than stay here in Bristol with your former governess?”
Muncey made a strangled noise and Eliza quickly answered, “Yes, sir. Miss Tibble is expecting us only for the night.”
“Very good,” he said, though his mouth pinched in disapprobation. “I have a room at the White Hart, which is not far from her home.”
The carriage jolted to a start, and after some minutes, Mr. Findlay cleared his throat. “I shall be obliged to collect you rather early in the morning, I’m afraid. It is over a hundred miles to London, and we must be on our way betimes.”
“London?” inquired Eliza. “But were we not to travel directly to Lincolnshire?”
Mr. Findlay dropped his gaze to adjust his gloves. “Mr. Willoughby has not answered my letters. I do not believe it proper to deliver you to Penhurst Lodge without first ensuring his—well, that he is in residence. I have resolved upon taking you to London until we might discover his whereabouts.”
Muncey tutted. “An ill wind,” she muttered, shaking her head.
“Nonsense,” murmured Eliza with a quick, repressive look, before returning her bright gaze to Mr. Findlay. “That is all the better, for I am curious to see London. As much as I should like to be settled in my new home, I will not mind a sojourn in the Metropolis of which I have heard so much.”
He glanced over the light muslin of her gown. “You will wish to have new gowns made, I daresay, that are more in keeping with the climate of our fair kingdom. Mrs. Riddle—the lady I have engaged as your companion while you are in Town—will find a respectable dressmaker to see to your needs.”
“You are very kind, sir. Though, a linen draper’s would be adequate. Between us, Muncey and I may contrive.”
“You are an heiress of no little fortune, Miss Willoughby,” said Mr. Findlay, eying her significantly over the rims of his spectacles. “You need not ‘contrive.”
Eliza’s smile dimmed slightly. It was only through the deaths of those she loved, and the loss of all she held dear, that she was so wealthy, after all.
“No, certainly not,” she said. “I am most fortunate in that respect.”
Mr. Findlay seemed satisfied and sat back in his seat, looking out at the passing streets. Eliza did not mind the ensuing silence, glad as she was to put the sorrowful thoughts elicited by the conversation behind her. She was also rather tired from the journey, and grateful once they arrived at the tidy little row house Miss Tibble kept with her sister. Mr. Findlay escorted them to the door before bidding them good day.
“I shall call for you at eight,” he said, bowing.
Eliza gave him her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Findlay! You have already been indispensable in your service. ‘Til tomorrow.”
He nodded and turned away, and Miss Tibble, who had met them at the door, guided her former charge and the maid into the tiny parlor on the first floor. They all sat on the faded but serviceable sofa and chairs and the greying governess clasped her hands before her bosom in rapture.
“Oh, my dear Eliza, what joy it is to see you! And Miss Muncey! It seems only yesterday I consigned my dear charge into your care. But you have done admirably, for she is looking so well! Look at the roses in your cheeks, my dear Eliza, and I do believe you have grown, though it has been only two years. What a lady you have become! You quite take my breath away. How oft have I envisioned this day, when we would be reunited—and I never dreamed of it until I received your letter upon your poor father’s death. Oh, my dear, what a tragedy! The palpitations I suffered upon learning of it! It must have been a blow to you, having already lost your dear mama, and so young, too.”
Eliza, smiling bravely under this effusion, replied, “It was a blow, Miss Tibble. Neither my father nor myself were quite the same after my mother’s death.”
“Certainly not,” agreed Miss Tibble, her rapture only somewhat impaired by remembered grief. “Poor man. While I was with your family those many years, I can scarce recall a day when he did not speak of her, and lament that he could not consult her in something, whether regarding your upbringing, or the running of the house or the plantation. But you were his greatest consolation, Eliza. So dearly did he delight in your likeness to your mother. Though I did not have the privilege to know her, I never doubted that your father loved her so, like Romeo his Juliet, or like Antony and his Cleopatra. How disheartening that his story was quite as tragic, now it is over.”
Eliza bit her lips, blinking away the sudden moisture in her eyes. Having been to all intents and purposes reared by Miss Tibble, she had anticipated her loquacity, and known it would likely bring up painful topics. But she had misjudged the strength of her emotions in response. The governess’s fond remembrances conjured vivid images of her beloved parents and the deep grief Eliza had felt at their deaths threatened once more to bubble up and overwhelm her. But she swallowed them down, for she had determined to be brave and to forge ahead on her new path, as was her father’s wish.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “They are sorely missed, and ever will be. But I have my dear Muncey, and am with you again, my dear Miss Tibble, and shall soon meet my other family.”
“Oh, yes, Eliza! It is a blessing of Providence, to be sure, for I thought you lost to me, but now I may see you, and with far greater frequency than I ever could have imagined. We shall be nearly as close as—well, Lincolnshire is less than two hundred miles away, rather than halfway round the world! And we cannot guess where you will settle in the end, for you will likely marry, and who is to say that your husband’s abode might not be in this very county!”
Muncey darted a horrified glance at her employer, who bit her lips against a laugh. Muncey had come to Willow Great House scarcely a month before Miss Tibble had left the family’s service, and had declared the governess’s volubility to be more than she could stand. But Eliza, somewhat immune from many years’ experience, only said graciously, “That would be delightful, my dear. And as my whole purpose for coming to England is to secure a husband and a home of my own, we must hope that all the circumstances attached to my new situation will be salutary.”
Miss Tibble nodded emphatically. “To be sure, my love, for you will have your half-brother to assist you. What an astonishing discovery his existence was, I declare! I scarcely could believe it when I read your letter. But it is all for the better, for he will do all in his power to oblige you, I am persuaded. He is your father’s son, for all they were never on good terms. But I heartily agree that one cannot fault your brother for somewhat resenting your father’s choosing to reside in Jamaica, his being so young when Mr. Willoughby went away. In such a case, one might expect some…disapprobation, or even dislike.” The governess looked uncertainly at her former charge. “But surely he will not bear a grudge against *you, my dear Eliza! That would be ungentlemanly, and he is a gentleman, by all accounts. At least, his estate is quite handsome, from what I have gathered—for all it is in the Fens—and he counts some illustrious personages as his friends.”
Eliza laughed. “My dear Miss Tibble! Have you been listening to gossip? How shocking! Must I repeat back to you the lesson you were obliged to drill into my head more than once?”
“Oh dear, no,” replied the governess quickly, color tinging her faded cheeks. “It was not gossip, my dear. One knows well enough that one may never find the truth through gossip! I had recourse to the Lincolnshire guidebooks, where I discovered a complete description of Penhurst Lodge and its environs. And it was only a chance comment I let fall at an evening party, to which Mrs. Franklinson was so kind as to invite me, that brought forth the information that Mr. Willoughby was seen to be much in company with Lord Wraglain’s eldest son and with Lord Hayes’s heir during the Season.”
“Very well,” said Eliza with mock solemnity, “I shall be content with that. And if, as his fine estate and high-born friends attest, my brother proves to be a gentleman, then he will not be disinclined to put me in the way of some of those high-born friends, and thus secure a husband to take me off his hands.”
Miss Tibble exclaimed against the notion that her dear Eliza could be in any way an encumbrance before her countenance assumed a dreamy aspect. “How romantic to be young, with all the world at one’s feet. I declare, you will be beset with suitors, so pretty and lively as you are. Certainly there will be many willing to overlook—” She stopped, suddenly blushing scarlet. Putting a hand to her cheek, she sprang to her feet. “Where have my wits gone begging? Here I have been gabbling on, while you are sure to be fatigued beyond measure with your travels. Was the crossing horridly tedious? Mine was ever so tiresome, and I am forever hearing the same from others coming from the West Indies. A storm may have been more welcome than the everlasting blue sky and glinting sea. I declare, my eyes were sore from the sight of it! And I was sick to death of the pitch and roll of the deck—oh, how grateful I was that my seasickness did not extend beyond the first two days. Were you sick, my dear? Of course you were not. You have been on boats in Montego Bay. But a sailing ship is something different altogether, I believe, for—”
She continued her monologue all the way up the stairs, with Eliza nodding or murmuring affirmations appropriately, and Muncey pursing her lips and raising her eyes heavenward.
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