Free The Amorous Nightingale by Edward Marston Page B

then,' he said with a smile.
        'You're
a good man. Too good in some ways.'
        'What
do you mean?'
        'You
expect too much. You set standards that others can never meet. Stop trying to
control people. They have their own lives to lead, Mary Hibbert among them.
Leave her be,' she counselled. 'My guess is that she's under no threat. Not if
she's the girl I remember. She has her wits about her.'
        'You
may be right.'
        'I am
right. Stop worrying about her.'
        'I'll
try, Sarah.'
        'Have
faith in the girl. Mary won't let herself down, I'm sure. Nor will she come to
any grief. Just let her go about her own business in her own way,' she said softly.
'No harm will befall her.'
        
        
        The
flowers never ceased to delight her. Mary Hibbert walked among them like a
child exploring a magic garden. Harriet Gow never lacked for floral tributes.
Baskets of exquisite blooms arrived each day from close friends or anonymous
admirers. The house near St James's Square was replete with Nature's beauty and
charged with the fragrance of summer. A red rose caught Mary's eye, a flower so
rich in hue and so perfect in composition that it took her breath away. She
felt a vicarious thrill. No man had ever sent her flowers or even given her a
posy. Yet she could take pleasure from the fact that her mistress attracted so
much love and devotion. She could share indirectly in the joy of adoration.
        It
was early evening and Mary had been back in the house for several hours now.
She was glad that she had visited her sick uncle even though she collected a
severe reproach from her aunt in the process, and, during her chance meeting
with Constable Bale, some further disapproval. Mary could understand their
attitude towards her and she was relieved that her brother, Peter, did not
share it. Her aunt and her former neighbour could never appreciate the
privileges of the world in which she now moved whereas Peter simply marvelled
at them. Being surrounded by beautiful flowers was only one of those
privileges. As she looked around the room with its costly furnishings, she
offered up a silent prayer of thanks.
        Hearing
the sound of a coach, she crossed to the window to see if her mistress was
returning but the vehicle rumbled on past the house. Mary was mystified. Mrs
Gow should have been back some hours ago. Peter, too, should have arrived by
now. Her brother was coming to get some money from her and he was rarely late for
such an appointment. Mary had no idea where either of them might be. Mrs Gow's
absences were routinely cloaked in euphemism. That was the rule of the house.
In this particular case, her departure enabled Mary to pay the overdue visit to
Carter Lane to call on an ailing relative. Enjoined to be back at the house by
early afternoon, she wondered what had delayed her employer. Her apprehension
grew.
        She
was relieved, therefore, when she heard the bell ring. Her mistress had come at
last. Running to the front door, she flung it open with a welcoming smile but
the greeting died on her lips. Instead of looking into the lovely face of
Harriet Gow, she was staring at a complete stranger, a short, stocky individual
in the garb of a coachman. The visitor tipped his hat respectfully.
        'Miss
Hibbert?' he asked.
        'Yes.'
        'We
need your help, please. Mrs Gow has sprained her ankle and will not alight from
the coach until you come. Follow me.'
        'Wait!'
said Mary guardedly. 'Where's Roland? He always drives Mrs Gow's coach. Why
isn't Roland here?'
        'He,
too, was injured in the accident, Miss Hibbert.'
        'What
accident?'
        'Come
with me and your mistress will explain.'
        'But
I see no coach.'
        'It's
just around the corner, a mere step away.'
        'Why
is it there?'
        'Please,'
he insisted politely. 'You're keeping Mrs Gow waiting.'
        Against
her better judgement, Mary went with him around