And a Pigeon in a Pear Tree (Ebook)

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Chapter 1
“Well, I can’t say I’m glad to see you, Henrietta, but I suppose you can stay.” Mrs. Bray, the housekeeper at Castle Keyvnor, put down her cup and pursed her thin lips. “The castle is fully occupied at the moment due to all these weddings, so I could do with an extra pair of hands.” She quickly added, ”Not that I expect you’ll want to be paid for the privilege, seeing as I’m giving you free board and lodging.”
Henrietta smiled sunnily at her maternal grandmother. “I’d be happy to help, and I do appreciate you letting me stay with you over the yuletide season. My wretched baggage is still on a ship somewhere, and my funds haven’t arrived at the bank in Truro, so I am quite done up.”
“You’ve always been disorganized.” Mrs. Bray sniffed. “There’s a bed for you in the maid’s dormitory. It’s nothing fancy.”
“Seeing as I grew up following the drum with my father, having an actual roof over my head—as opposed to a leaking tent—is a distinct improvement.” Henrietta attempted to reassure her grandmother, even though she knew the woman thrived on feeling aggrieved. It was one of the reasons Henrietta’s mother Angharad had eloped with a soldier at the age of eighteen and never returned to Cornwall.
Angharad had died when Henrietta was seven. When her father had the funds, Henrietta had been able to spend the summer months at the castle. She’d loved the place and had run wild making friends with the ghosts, the local children, and the gypsies. When her father remarried, his eminently practical second wife stopped the visits, and Henrietta had acquired at least the basics of civility, such as shoes, stockings, and stays.
On this cold winter night, those summer days seemed long gone, and her grandmother even sterner, the bitterness of the winter weather etched on her face and set deep in her gaze. They were currently in the housekeeper’s sitting room that formed part of the kitchens in the lower regions of Castle Keyvnor.
“I will not stay long, I promise you.” Henrietta reached across the table and took her grandmother’s work-roughened hand in hers. “As soon as the roads are passable, I will be off to London.”
“And what exactly do you intend to do up there, missy?”
“Well, the first thing I need to do is speak to my father’s solicitor. He wrote me a letter asking me to call on him. I have the address.” She wrinkled her nose. “I cannot imagine why he wants to see me, but I feel I should go.”
“Your father probably left you a pile of debts and fathered three bastards on the side. Even though he is deceased, I cannot pray for his soul.” Her grandmother raised her chin. “That man ruined my daughter’s life.”
Henrietta concentrated on sipping her tea as a wave of grief engulfed her. She would not speak ill of the man who had been her whole world for most of her life. He could’ve left her to the coldness of her grandmother, but he’d refused to do that, and had taken her all over Europe—occasionally into danger, perhaps, but he’d never let her down, and he’d loved her mother.
The clock on the wall chimed nine times. Her grandmother stood and smoothed her hands over her apron. “It’s getting late. I have to be up at six in the morning. Let me show you your room.”
“Thank you, Grandmother.” Henrietta stood as well, opened the door, and took the tea tray over to the scullery end of the huge kitchen. “I really do appreciate you letting me stay here.”
Her grandmother paused by the vast kitchen table. “While you are residing in this house, perhaps you would call me by my title, Mrs. Bray? I don’t want the staff to think I’m getting soft in my old age or that you are being too familiar.”
“Of course, Grand—I mean Mrs. Bray.” As that was how she thought of the woman anyway, it would not be a hardship. “I will do my best to remember.”
“Then come with me.”
Henrietta gathered up the heavy folds of her black travelling gown and followed Mrs. Bray up endless flights of narrow stone stairs to the top floor. A howling wind careered along the darkened corridor. The housekeeper tutted as she shut the small, diamond-paned window at the end of the hallway.
“No matter how many times I close this dratted thing, it always blows open again.”
As Henrietta paused to regain her breath at the top of the stairs, a ghostly figure appeared behind her grandmother, waving and doffing his plumed hat.
Henrietta grinned and mouthed the words, “Good evening, Benedict.”
He winked and disappeared.
“Here you are, then.” Mrs. Bray unlocked a door and stepped inside. “The maid’s aired the bed last week. We were expecting a lady’s abigail, but she didn’t arrive. I’m also expecting a valet and another gentleman tonight, but they haven’t turned up either.”
“I’m sure they’ll appear at some point.” Even with the window closed, the salt-laced sea air permeated the small room. Henrietta immediately felt at home. “Thank you.”
She placed her small bag and reticule on the bed and turned to her grandmother, who still hadn’t managed a welcoming smile. Luckily, Henrietta was no longer a small child to be cowed, but a grown woman of experience who was accustomed to dealing with all kinds of emergencies.
“Goodnight, Mrs. Bray.”
“Goodnight, Henrietta.” Mrs. Bray paused in the doorway. “I don’t need to remind you to use the back stairs, and stay out of the way of our guests, do I?”
“Of course not,” Henrietta replied. “I know my place here.”
“Good, now don’t forget it.”
Henrietta closed the door and grimaced at the bed. “As if you’d let me.”
She walked over to the tiny window, sat on the window seat, and squinted out into the moonlight. There was a hint of frost in the air, and it was already sparkling on the rock surfaces, softening the harsh lines of the walls into a fairytale castle. In a few weeks she would be leaving this place—possibly forever. It was not in her nature to dwell on the darker problems of life. Whatever her grandmother said, Henrietta would make sure to enjoy every minute of her unexpected stay.