The Steward of Blackwood Hall

Chapter twenty-four - Pride maketh the man

"You may be wondering," Miss Mountford began once she closed the door behind them, "why I requested your assistance."

"I admit I am a little curious."

They entered a parlour, slightly smaller than the one at Woodside, decorated in a gaudy Baroque style and containing faded furnishings that were past their best. "I believe we should begin our search for the shawl here."

Their hostess crossed the room, checking the space behind a wide, sagging sofa. "I apologise if you think I am being forward, particularly considering that our acquaintance is so newly formed. My brother told me what happened at dinner yesterday evening, and I felt compelled to offer you my support."

Anabelle was moved by Miss Mountford's unexpected thoughtfulness, and blinked to clear the moisture from her eye. "I...I thank you for your kindness, but really it is—"

"I did not wish to embarrass you by raising the subject in the drawing room; particularly in front of my sister, who retired early last night. I am sorry if you were made uncomfortable by Mr. Fielding's abrupt departure."

Speaking about the events of the previous evening was something she would have to get used to. "Your consideration is most kind, but any discomfort I suffer is no more than I deserve. The whole story will be common knowledge among our neighbours by the end of the day, and I have no one to blame except myself."

"In a village the size of Haltford gossip is their meat and ale, but you will find it is consumed soon enough, and then they will look for something else to satiate their hunger. However uncomfortable it may be, it will not last long. Mr. Fielding will not allow it."

"Mr. Fielding would probably consider my desert to be entirely just. Is he still at Blackwood? I thought..."

"You thought him gone?

"I feared he might find it impossible to remain. He was furious when he discovered what I had said of him, and he had every right to be."

"I am probably one of the few people who do not have to imagine how Mr. Fielding reacted to your news. I have seen him angry before. The cold, hard stare...the firm set of his jaw...the face like a dark thunder cloud..." Miss Mountford illustrated her description with a mock frown.

Anabelle smiled, despite herself. "Yes, he looked very much like that."

"As with any other storm you will find it blows over soon enough. Last night he gave orders to his man to pack his things, but I understand those orders were rescinded before breakfast." She glanced around the room and sighed. "I was certain the shawl would be in here."

Her stomach twisted as she considered this new intelligence. Just because Mr. Fielding had not yet left Blackwood, Anabelle could not assume his change of plans had anything to do with her. He could have had other reasons for delaying his intended departure.

They withdrew from the parlour and Anabelle followed Miss Mountford across the wide entrance hall and into the dining room. The table was set for six, but it was large enough to accommodate twice that number.

"My mother thought Sir George's dining table could seat at least twenty."

Miss Mountford's laugh was light and musical. "It may once have done so, but two of the extra leaves were stored in a damp corner of the cellar and are now rotten beyond use. Sir Henry will have to order a new table before we can entertain on any grand scale."

Anabelle looked up at the ceiling, where the intricate plaster mouldings were intact, even though the gilding and decorative paintwork was peeling in places. "The room is impressive enough, even without a larger table."