Free Emily Goes to Exeter by M. C. Beaton Page B

glass of brandy in front of him.
    ‘Oh, there you are,’ he cried when he saw Lizzie, but his face darkened as he saw the little lawyer behind her.
    ‘We cannot stay,’ said Lizzie hurriedly. ‘We must do the bedchambers.’
    ‘Do the …? You sit down here, Mrs Bisley. It is time we had a talk. Let that poor fellow there act as chambermaid if he wishes.’
    ‘Take that back,’ shouted Mr Fletcher, fists swinging. Lizzie sprang between them. ‘Please go … for me,’ she pleaded with the lawyer. ‘I shall join you shortly.’ Mr Fletcher reluctantly withdrew.
    ‘Sit down, my sweet,’ cajoled the captain. ‘We have hardly had time to talk.’
    ‘There is work to do,’ said Lizzie. How gross and common the captain seemed. How could she ever have leaned on him for support? She had met him a month before by chance at the home of a friend. He had been low-voiced and courteous then in a sort of bluff way. He had seemed a tower of strength. The fact was that, much as Lizzie was convinced she had adored the late Mr Bisley, the man had been a household bully, not allowing her an idea of her own or any independence whatsoever. His death had left her alone and helpless, not really knowing who she was. The captain had seemed so masculine, so confident, so prepared to take all arrangements for living out of her hands.
    ‘Let the others do it,’ the captain was saying. ‘This bent-nosed spinster is common enough. She don’t mind. But a lady like you …’
    ‘Lord Harley does not mind dirtying his hands,’ said Lizzie, her voice trembling, for she had not been in the way of speaking up for herself or indeed of contradicting anyone whatsoever.
    ‘That’s different,’ blustered the captain. ‘He’samusing hisself at the moment. Another day and he’ll have you waiting on him hand and foot. I command you to sit down here with me.’
    Lizzie slowly moved forward and then stopped still.
    ‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘we must all help. You have no right, sir, to command me to do anything.’
    ‘I am your fiancé, madam, I’ll have you know.’
    ‘We were never officially engaged,’ said Lizzie sadly. How had it all come about? He had suggested this journey to Exeter. He had said he had friends and family there. But he had made her promise not to tell her friends. Why? And why had she done such a stupid thing? ‘Because he ordered you,’ said a voice in her head, ‘and all your life you have obeyed orders without question.’
    ‘We will talk later,’ said Lizzie, her voice slightly squeaky with fright, ‘but I am leaving you now.’ And she darted from the room.
    She ran lightly upstairs and found Mr Fletcher in one of the bedrooms, raking out the fire.
    She hesitated in the doorway. He stood up and smiled at her with simple affection. She dreaded his asking her questions but braced herself for them.
    Instead, he said mildly, ‘We will make up the fires this once, I think, and then announce at dinner that each must see to their own fires while the storm lasts. But there is no need for both of us to dirty our hands. Perhaps if you start to make the beds …?’
    Lizzie agreed eagerly and was disappointed when the bulk of Mrs Bradley loomed in the doorway offering to help.
    With the exception of Captain Seaton, who had done nothing, they all sat down to dinner at four o’clock in the afternoon feeling like brave adventurers. The men and Lord Harley had chopped wood and dug paths in the snow to the stable and to the front of the inn. All were tired from their exertions. Emily nursed burnt fingers. She had been so anxious to take that cake out of the oven herself that she had burnt her fingers on the knob of the oven door.
    It was a simple dinner with no extra side dishes. There was soup to begin with, roast mutton, vegetables and potatoes as a main course, and Emily’s tartlets and the cake splendidly iced to make do for dessert.
    The men praised Emily the most and Emily took it all as her due, forgetting