The Elusive Miss Wakefield

All Rights Reserved ©

Stavely: A Challenging Beginning

'Oh what a tangled web we weave When first we practice to deceive.' —Sir Walter Scott (Marmion, 1808)

Stavely was a larger house than she had expected when she first glimpsed it from a rise in the road—perhaps even as large as the one at Fallowfield. It was a square house, with extensive gardens leading up to it and had what, at one time, may have been a maze beside it. The large, relatively open lawns were dotted here and there with what were either oak or chestnut trees, and the driveway was lined with other trees that were mixed in type, extending for fully a half mile from what she could see, though almost totally leafless at this time of year. Even at that hour in the afternoon, there was a mist forming over low wetlands where the warm air of the day encountered colder water. The house and grounds had been badly neglected when the older Stavely brother had it, or so Cartwright had told her when she had requested he stop at the top of that rise so that she could see everything more clearly and fix it in her mind. It did not look to be neglected from that distance.

He explained that it had been ignored for the last twenty years, but that the new owner, the younger of the Stavely brothers and his son—mostly the son—now had control of it and, with more money coming in, had begun to put men to work to bring the gardens back to where they had been, and to strip the ivy from the façade. Charlotte thought that the ivy added to its appearance, rather than detracted from it, but she would say nothing. She could see several men at work in various tasks and tending to a large bonfire. She also learned that what she had thought might be a maze was indeed one, and that it had been designed by Capability Brown himself just before he died in 1783. It had been laid out long before the recent family troubles. He did not expand on that, but she knew more than he might know. From what she could see, all that was needed was a good trimming of the hedges, still green, of either yew or privet, and removal of some trees that appeared to have rooted in the hedgerows. The lawns, at least, were being tended to in some way and would be easily brought back to condition in the spring.

Despite what Willis had said of the rumors being that the estate was heavily encumbered, something must have recently changed to allow so many men to be tending the grounds and the buildings, with others working on the roof and a small army of men clearing and tidying up the grounds while the weather allowed them. There was a second large, smoky bonfire of ivy fronds, torn from the same building, and there were several boys given the lighter job of clearing up dead wood and limbs from some of the older oak trees throughout the park and tossing them onto the blaze. Charlotte noticed a change in the ride of the carriage. She was no longer thrown from side to side. The driveway had been leveled and covered with fine chipped stone, which would soon work its way down deeper into the mud, as it was traveled.

She learned that Miss Georgiana and Master Henry were the ones mostly in residence, with their parents in London and with their father managing the day-to-day affairs of the company while Henry was off traveling and recovering assets that had been improperly disposed of.

Charlotte had learned that the estate, which had initially gone to the eldest son, Matthew, had now been legally passed on to his younger brother. Both Matthew and his son had disappeared at the same time, so Robert Stavely had inherited it all, once Matthew was declared legally dead—whether he was dead or not. After that, Robert could then begin to sell off parts of it to defray some of the earlier business losses and to allow them to put the business back onto a secure footing that much sooner.

She was expected, of course. She was met by the butler, who showed her into the parlor to meet with her employer, while her trunks were being brought in from the carriage. She found that she was quite nervous and was not sure what to expect or what sort of an appearance her hostess might present after her recent tragic loss. She had only fleetingly seen her at a distance in the village several times, or in the dark, the night she had married Oliver.

Though Georgiana looked haggard and pale when she first came into the room, she did not meet Charlotte in any way that might be seen as deficient. She presented a smiling face, no matter how little she might feel it, and made her welcome as though they might have known each other for ever. Charlotte felt her trepidation at meeting her for the first time slip from her shoulders. She sensed an instant bonding with Miss Georgiana who was as near her own age as might be. She could also sense the great burden the young woman bore, and which she tried to hide away from everyone, though there could be no hiding it from Charlotte who knew of her secrets, and thus everything that might be troubling her—or hoped she did.

She saw a sad-looking young woman with dark areas under her eyes. She had been crying. Charlotte wondered if she herself might also present a similar appearance as she had also cried herself to sleep most nights and had slept little. It was not a good time to be alone and to dwell upon recent tragedies. Charlotte knew how she felt and resisted the urge to rush over to her, fold her in her arms, and commiserate with her as a sister might, with such a common bond, and blurt out everything to her. She would need to restrain herself until she was better able to gauge Miss Georgiana’s mood and what would be needed from her. However, forewarned—and aware of the situation she was walking into—was forearmed. There was no sign of any pregnancy just yet, of course, and would not be for at least another two or even three months, though other signs might present themselves before then. She would have time to learn more of Georgiana and for her to learn more of her before her secret would be obvious, but she would need to be careful and not disclose her own secret too soon.

Georgiana had immediately reached out for her as though crying out for help. In that one brief moment of time, they both sensed a bond of friendship between them that could never be broken or removed. Charlotte knew why, but Georgiana could not yet know what there was about them both that drew them together—love of the same man, but each in her own way, and each with her own memories.

“Miss Wakefield! Caroline.”

Charlotte,” she corrected her. “There was a mistake with my name. Penningtons persisted in addressing me as Caroline, no matter what I said, so I gave up.”

“Charlotte then. We should call each other by our first names, for I do hate formality between friends, and we are destined to become friends, I can sense it.”

Charlotte sensed the same kind of bond with her, though would never have dared explain it. Everything her brother had told her had painted a more-than-interesting portrait of a fine young woman, despite the sudden dispensing of moral restraint when they had first met. She was not about to judge her for that. Her brother had been more than ready to take the blame for that, himself, while not seeming to regret any part of what he had done—what they had done. It was frightening for Charlotte to realize that such emotions could take hold so soon and so powerfully and overturn a lifetime of teaching, concerning a lady’s reputation and how it must be guarded and protected—at least until it was clear that it would only get in the way of life. It had been in Oliver’s and Georgiana’s way almost as soon as they had become acquainted with each other.

“Welcome to Stavely, Miss Wakefield, Charlotte. You are welcome. I am sure we shall get on well together.” Charlotte had the same feeling. “Do you need time to freshen up or change—perhaps to rest after being bounced over these dreadful roads for hours, or to have some tea? It is an interminable trip from London unless one has one’s own horses and carriage.”

“Thank you, but I had several hours to freshen up and rest in the village. I need nothing. What a beautiful house and grounds!” She gave up her bonnet and outer coat to the butler, as Miss Georgiana, distracted for the first time for too long, steered her off to show her the house, and so that they could learn of each other in private.

“You dress better than I expected, but you are exactly as Penningtons described you in their letters. Too many families fell upon hard times after that war, while others prospered.” Charlotte wondered what Penningtons might have said about her and her family ties, and history. She would have to be careful. “We almost did not survive ourselves, after father decided to try and salvage the family name. But you know all of that if you spent any time in the village at one or other of the inns.” She stood back and looked over her guest, though without giving any offense. “Thank goodness you are close to my own age. Penningtons disclosed so little. They did say, however, that you were not only well informed of society and its recent goings on but that you were also well read and quite widely traveled, so we shall be able to while away the evening hours in conversation as you tell me your adventures.

“Your grandfather, General Murgatroyd, was a friend of my own grandfather before mine died.” Charlotte had not known that. She would need to read up on her supposed grandfather in the army lists, or ask Anne to find out for her. She realized that her conversation with Miss Wakefield had been far too brief and realized how little she knew of her supposed origins and hoped that there would not be too many such surprises to tax her ingenuity or trip her up. She stored away that name, Murgatroyd.

“You will be exactly what I need to fight away the sullens, but I would like to make it clear at the outset—you are to be more a companion and a friend than anything else.” Charlotte was relieved to hear that but would quite happily have taken on any role that would have allowed her to be close to Miss Stavely.

She observed, and was in turn observed, no doubt with Georgiana wondering how much she dare confide in her so soon. It was a mutual feeling. They both had weighty secrets from the other, though Georgiana was not to know how her secrets were already well known. Her heart went out to her. The great upset to her existence was evident in her eyes, her face, and even her demeanor. Her shoulders seemed unable to bear the great weight that had been forced upon her. Charlotte would do what she could to lift that burden from her as she might be allowed.

She was surprised to recognize that though she, Charlotte, had lost a brother she had known for her entire lifetime, she was still surrounded by mother, sisters, familiar settings, and circumstances (at least when she had been at home); but that this young woman had lost her true love, whom she may only have known for such a brief time but who had become her entire world, as she had become Oliver’s. Her life, her entire future, had completely changed with that loss; and there would be no easy return to that earlier time, no matter what else might surround her. That earlier life now no longer existed even. Everything in her life from this moment forward would be haunted by the memory of the man she had so intensely loved and that had filled her every waking and sleeping moment for the last two months. She began to come to the reluctant realization that as great as her own loss was, that of Georgiana was so much worse, so much more painful, and so much harder to bear. Love was not only its own greatest reward but also, in losing it, its own greatest torture. Oliver had been right to have wanted his sister to be here for her.

Georgiana took her hand. “Come, I shall help you unpack if you do not mind, and we can discuss fashions and the London scene and take our minds off our own particular difficulties that weigh us down, you with your Mrs. Deming and her disreputable brother—yes, I heard of that—and me of . . . my own. Eventually!

“You are a surprise already. Penningtons led me to believe that you would be relatively withdrawn, perhaps shy, even reserved, and proper—perhaps a little stiff, if you do not mind me being so outspoken. They were wrong about you, you are already so much better than they described you. I do not think that you are withdrawn in that way, not do I sense any reserve in you, for you greeted me almost as warmly and as openly as I greeted you, and yet we are still strangers, though we shall not be that way for long.” She looked at Charlotte with a strange look on her face and a slight blush on her cheeks where there had been none earlier. “I already feel as though I might know you from somewhere.”

Until Charlotte had learned from Miss Wakefield that no member of the Stavely family had met her, it had seemed an impossible and awkward thing to consider; to pass herself off as someone else. But then the family knew as little of her as she would know of them, though Oliver had told her a little of what he knew, so she did have some warning of what might await her outside of his obvious attachment to Miss Georgiana.

“There it is again. I have the strangest feeling that I know you. Are you sure we have not met somewhere?” Georgiana had a far-off look on her face, trying to recall something that was obviously important to her.

“I can assure you, we have not met. I spent so little time in London society before . . .” She alluded to the presumed family upset that had seen Miss Wakefield thrown into society to fend for herself. “I do not think I could forget if we had.” Charlotte wondered if she might sense some part of Oliver in her behavior or in her manner or way of speaking. It would not do for her subterfuge to be discovered too soon, or she might face a sudden loss of trust and loss of everything that Oliver had hoped she might be able to do. It would be her own loss too. She would need to be careful and would need to check her baggage for any remaining hint of Fallowfield in her belongings.

They chatted away quite easily as Georgiana watched her unpack and tidy her clothing away in an empty dresser or to one side of a closet, which seemed to contain other clothing—belonging to a gentleman. “I must see to getting those relocated into another room. They are my brother’s, and this was his room, but I would rather have you closer to me. He is away on business and rarely gets through. He sets the dogs off whenever he does come through, so we will have some warning. I shall tell the housekeeper to put him in that room next to the library. He spends most of his time there anyway, with his books, or in the study. We shall have some tea in a few minutes, but until then, if you do not mind, and if my constant chattering has not tired you out—I see so few people with whom I have anything in common—I need some fresh air, and you probably need to stretch your legs. We need to get out of here, for I have felt cooped up and confined here for too long. It was about to send me mad, but for you arriving as you did. If it is not too cold, we should go into the garden, while the sun still has some warmth, and admire the late roses. We have you unpacked and the first and more difficult introductions out of the way. Though perhaps you would like to be left alone for a while, to rest.”

“No. I would like to stretch my legs as you say and see some of the garden if you would not mind showing me. I saw it from the rise by the house, and I was curious about it then.” Her initial welcome had been reassuring, but she would need to keep her wits about her. Those who intended to deceive needed the memory of an elephant. She had been ill prepared to take on such a deception.

They walked out of the house and strolled across to the gardens to see the beds of chrysanthemums and the still-blooming roses. “I must admit you dress far better than I expected, Miss Wakefield, Charlotte, but that is to the good, for one must be forever on one’s toes and not appear shabby, or behind society, and you don’t. You shall lead by example, for I fear I might have neglected myself of late and have become careless in my appearance. My brother can usually shake me out of it, but he has been away for almost a month now. If he did not write so often, I should worry for him far more than I do.” She paused and looked at her companion. “I do like that dress by the way, and if I do not mistake, it is one of those that I saw in Miss Horace’s shop in Mayfair just this spring.”

“Oh! I did not realize!” Charlotte wondered what else Miss Stavely might notice, for that indeed was where she had purchased some of her dresses. She began to regret not purchasing some plainer ones in the village, except that the selection in the shop there was limited, from what she had seen the one time she was in there, and not at all to her taste. She had better go over her personal things once more, when she was able to get back to her room to make sure that her minor pieces of jewelry, which she had held back from being returned with Willis, were not of similar quality, though she was sure that they all might be.

She recalled what Miss Wakefield had told her and responded quite quickly, she thought, to the flattering comment on the quality of her dress. “My previous employer was kind and gave me her own daughter’s discards, even after only one or two wearings if she were tired of them, for we were the same size. I found I had to make few alterations. I did not realize they were of such an obvious quality. However, some of my own are not so shabby, for my own situation at home was not so deprived either, until recently, but circumstances can change suddenly for any family, as they did in mine.” At least that was true. Charlotte regretted that thoughtless comment even as she uttered it. The fewer such reminders of grief and such personal loss, the better.

“Yes, they can, and they do.” Her companion fell silent and sighed heavily, before she picked up the conversational thread again. “I didn’t know that Mrs. Deming was so generous. That doesn’t sound like the Mrs. Deming that I heard of, except her eldest daughter—whose name escapes me—has that reputation of generosity.”

“Alicia!” Charlotte had tried to remember those details that would undoubtedly be important.

“Is it? I forget!” Fortunately, the real Miss Wakefield had felt relieved to meet a kindred spirit at the inn and had chattered on without realizing just how attentive her listener was or that her questions might have had a deeper purpose than mere interest and curiosity. With gentle encouragement from her gentle inquisitor, Miss Wakefield had disclosed more-than-enough details of her previous life, as she had rambled along with different tales of Mrs. Deming and that family. That General Murgatroyd had been her grandfather, however, was not one of them.

Georgiana kept the conversation going. “I may have met the daughter once, but I was there only one season, in London, and I did not like it. I met her mother briefly, in Almacks. I remember that the daughter did dress well, and I can see that she and her mother were clearly generous to you, as I am sure you deserved. I was not there long that evening, or I may have met you also. She must miss you sorely. I expect that disreputable brother of hers was enough of a disincentive to stay.”

Charlotte readily agreed, but not too eagerly, and wondered how she might have learned of Mrs. Deming’s brother. Still, it was a topic never likely to be raised again, and she could easily excuse herself from discussing it, pleading a case of unwelcome memories, if it seemed likely to get out of hand.

Georgiana realized that she had monopolized her companion’s time more than she should have done upon first meeting. “But I have forgotten my manners, Charlotte. Despite what you say, I am sure you had a tiring day, kicking your heels waiting to be picked up, and here I am, so full of myself that I dragged you out here to speak with me, and with no thought of you. You must be famished and in need of a luncheon and some tea at least, as dinner is still some time off, though we can order it as we see fit, as there is only you and I dining this evening. I usually dine alone these days, with my brother off in the north somewhere and my parents still in London. I also should introduce you to Mrs. Forster, our housekeeper. She keeps us all in line and is strict with us when we are assembled. She insists on formality and does not allow us to become careless over what is expected of us, so we do dine with some formality, but not too much.”

Charlotte was duly introduced to the housekeeper and other of the servants as she was shown about the house and fell easily into being a companion and confidante, though hardly that latter, just yet. She also learned more of the family history and began to realize that she may have severely misled the real Miss Wakefield about the character of the family. She had heard tales about two separate branches of it and had mistakenly, in her ignorance, put both of them under the same roof.

Continue Reading Next Chapter

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.