Lady in the Veil Read Free

Mirabel replied, sipping the tea and
biting into the spicy cake and kept on nibbling until it was all gone, not a crumb.
    ‘Any Christian soul would do as I done,’ the farmer replied. ‘I hope your brother is fully recovered.’
    ‘He has gone for a rest cure in York.’ She blushed at this lie but the truth was too painful to share with strangers.
    ‘Then all is well and that’s what I like to see, a hearty appetite. Have another,’ said the old lady offering the plate again but Mirabel declined.
    ‘I must be on my way before the light goes.’
    ‘Matt and I will escort you back part way. It is only proper,’ the mother said, reaching for her cloak hanging on the hook at the back of the door.
    They walked slowly to her tethered horse at first with an awkward silence but then Mirabel lingered while the son opened the gate, bowing his head looking at her through the side of his eye.
‘Thank you for coming.’
    ‘Thank you for working so close by.’
    ‘Not exactly, Miss Dacre. I was experimenting . . .’
    ‘Experimenting?’ He’d caught her interest.
    ‘I were trying to get an image of Gunnerside Foss on paper.’
    ‘You were taking a photograph, really?’ She had seen likenesses in silver frames of local bigwigs.
    ‘It’s a particular interest of mine. I have a camera and saving for a stereoscope . . . It’s not easy to catch spray on moving water.’
    Mirabel was surprised. He did not sound like an educated man but there was a sparkle in his eyes as he was talking about his ideas. ‘Where did you learn all this? In London there are
special studios for portraits, I’m told.’
    ‘Only from books and lectures. If conditions are right you can photograph anything, mountains, animals, streams and people of course,’ he paused, staring at her. ‘You would
make a very good subject for a portrait.’
    Mirabel felt her cheeks flushing as he examined her face in all seriousness. ‘But Eliza and I have our likeness painted in oils.’
    ‘Of course, forgive my boldness. It was just an idle comment.’
    ‘No, no, you’ve given me an idea. If Papa will agree, we could make something to give William in his hospital to remind him of us all.’ She paused, knowing she must not give
his true condition away.
    ‘Ah, then you will want a proper photographer for indoor portraits with lights.’
    ‘No, no, William will want to see Hector, his horse recovered among the hills. It has to be out of doors. Will you help us?’
    ‘I’d be right honoured.’ It was his turn to blush. ‘Miss Dacre wants me to take a likeness of a horse, Mother.’
    ‘Oh aye,’ his mother replied, smiling. ‘That’ll be grand.’
    ‘I shall send word when it is convenient and you will send us a bill when it is complete,’ Mirabel said, turning her horse down towards the track, pleased that she’d come up
with such a brilliant idea and glad she’d be seeing Matt Stockdale again.

3
    In the days that followed, Matt wondered if he had dreamed the girl’s visit but his Mother kept going over every detail of Mirabel’s fine appearance, the cut of her
riding jacket, the quality of the woollen skirt and her dainty leather gloves. How tall she was for a youngster whose poor Mother had passed away only a few years ago and whose brother lay crippled
and injured in the head. The servants had already spread the gossip up the dale how the Master’s heir was bereft of his senses, unable to walk and how the girls must now be heirs and be
brought out to make fine marriages. He felt proud that she was defending her family by pretending he was almost recovered.
    ‘She’s a real little lady is that one,’ she sighed. ‘You did well to rescue her.’
    It was a windswept afternoon when Mirabel rode sidesaddle on Hector up the steep slope, his coat as glossy as jet in the sunlight. She had sent a note for them to meet at the crossroads. Matt
guessed she would dread seeing that cursed place again but it must look like an accidental