Elizabeth Mansfield (7 page)

"Did something occur to bring you to that conclusion?"

Jane shook her head. "Only that we had a few moments to converse this morning, a conversation that proved to me we could not... er... get on."

"A few moments of conversation? Are you saying that you managed to uncover the complexities of a man's character so quickly?"

"I ascertained enough to convince me that my remaining would be a waste of time."

"Can you tell me just what it was you ascertained that convinced you?"

Jane hesitated. "You're his mother, ma'am. I should not like to offend—"

"I promise to take no offense. You know I'm not unaware of Luke's faults."

"Yes, I know. You've often discussed with me his profligacy and irresponsibility. But—"

Lady Martha cut the girl short. "It was to improve him in those regards that I brought you here, was it not? You knew that before we agreed on the terms."

"Yes, but I did not know the extent of them. I now realize that I can have no good influence over his behavior."

"And what made you realize that, may I ask?"

Jane did not know how to answer. "I... he..." She expelled a helpless breath. "How can I make any headway if he has taken me in such dislike?"

"Has he? What makes you think—? Has he been rude to you?"

"No, not at all. He's been very polite. In fact, quite generous."

"Generous?"

Jane's eyes fell. "He... gave me a book. As a gift."

"Did he, indeed?" Lady Martha studied Jane's face with interest. "A gift, you say? I would not take that as a mark of dislike."

"Well, that was before..." Her voice faded away.

"Before—?"

Jane shook her head. "No, never mind. I can't explain."

"It seems to me, my dear," her ladyship said, "that you, of all people, are not being logical. If a man is very polite to you, offers to house you in the Rose Bedroom, and even gives you a gift, it hardly seems logical to suppose him to dislike you."

"No, it doesn't seem logical," Jane had to agree. "It is not something I can prove rationally, with numbers. But one can make judgments from instinct, too."

"But without rational proof, how can you be sure your instincts are sound?" her ladyship pressed.

"I... don't know," Jane admitted reluctantly. "But I am sure that I don't want to go on with this."

Lady Martha took another sip of her tea and, thus fortified, set down the cup. "We had an agreement," she said firmly.

"Yes, but—"

"I am not an ogre, Jane. I cannot force you to honor your word. But I can point out the consequences if you break it."

Jane, knowing that her life's situation depended on the good offices of this woman, tried without success to keep her voice from quivering. "C-consequences?"

Her ladyship did not mince words. "Not only will you lose your rise in salary but your post in my house."

The girl put up her chin. "I don't see why this matter should have anything to do with my post in your house."

"You cannot expect me to employ a person whose word I can no longer trust."

"Oh. I see." Jane, recognizing defeat, sank down upon the nearest chair. "You've given me no choice," she said glumly. "I must go on with this, then."

Lady Martha reached across the table and squeezed the young woman's hand. "Don't fall into the dismals, my dear. It's only for a month, after all."

"Yes, you're right." Jane put her shoulders back and rose from her chair. "I suppose I shall survive a month."

Her ladyship watched her go to the door. "We've had your things sent up to a very pleasant room on the third floor. And you're to take your meals in the family dining rooms, at whatever hours suit you. So you see, we are trying to do everything to make your stay comfortable."

Jane bobbed a little curtsy. "Thank you, ma'am. As you pointed out, I've given my word. I shall do my best. But I hope you will not place the blame at my door if this little experiment of yours proves—as I'm sure it will—to be an utter failure."

SEVEN

As she reentered the Rose Bedroom, Jane felt a tinge of regret. No more would she be surrounded with such luxury. This was the last time she'd see this room. Before she gathered up her things, she looked around at the elegant appointments that had been hers for one night—the flocked wallpaper, the china figurines, the ormolu clock, the lovely, sheer fabric that decorated the posts of the magnificent bed. That bed had been heavenly. She'd never experienced a night of such sumptuous luxury.
It's just as well I'm leaving this room,
she thought.
If I spent another night on that bed, I might never be able to pull myself out of it in the morning.

On an impulse she threw herself down on it, just to feel its softness once more. But she'd barely laid her head on the satiny pillow when the door opened. "Oh, dear!" she cried, sitting up abruptly. "Who—?"

"It's on'y me, ma'am," said a timid voice from the doorway. "I'm Meggie. I hope I ain't disturbin' ye."

"No, no," Jane said, blushing in embarrassment as she met the eye of the young housemaid standing at the door. "I was only... that is, I..."

"I cin come back later, ma'am," the girl said. "They sent me t' show ye yer room upstairs."

"Oh, I see." Jane scrambled off the bed hurriedly and straightened her skirts. "Thank you, Meggie, I'm quite ready."

"Ye needn't disturb yer rest, ma'am," the girl insisted. "I cin come back later."

"I wasn't resting. I was... well, I was just being childish. Enjoying the luxury of that featherbed."

The housemaid nodded. "I know whut ye mean. I tried it once when they let me do up this room. It's mostly Mrs. 'Awkins job to do the fam'ly bedrooms, but once when they was all busy, they let me do it." She grinned at Jane conspiratorially. "It's a grand bed, fer certain."

"Yes," Jane said, gathering up her clothes and stuffing them into her shabby portmanteau, "a grand bed."

Meggie insisted on carrying the portmanteau upstairs. The third floor was very quiet, the rooms evidently not in use. "Where does the staff sleep?" Jane asked the maid.

"We all 'ave rooms in the back wing," Meggie explained, starting to unpack the portmanteau. "This 'ere floor was fer the governess an' the tutors, back in the ol' days."

"You needn't do that, Meggie," Jane said, taking over the unpacking. "I'm just a servant here, like you."

"I don' know about that, ma'am," the girl replied. "They said I was to do fer you whatever you need."

"Thank you, but I don't need anything. And please, Meggie, don't call me ma'am. My name is Jane."

Meggie accepted Jane's attempts at informality with a smile, but she nevertheless dropped Jane a curtsy before departing.

I'm afraid I'll always be neither fish nor fowl in this household,
Jane thought with a sigh.

Alone in her new quarters, she looked about her. Lady Martha had been right; the room was very pleasant. Although only a fraction of the size of the Rose Bedroom, it had two dormer windows with padded sills for seating, a good-sized bed, a table with a mirror and a lavabo, a small bookcase containing a handful of books, and a cupboard. After she'd stowed away her things, Jane looked at the books. They were, for the most part, children's books—fairy tales, Aesop's Fables, Mother Goose, copy books, and a children's Bible. As she leafed through the well-worn Aesop, a folded sheet of paper fell to the floor. She picked it up and unfolded it. It was a letter written in a childish hand. The first line, Dear Simmy, was crossed out. Then it went on:

Dear Miss Simmons,

Parks told me that yestiday was your birthday. Why did you not tell me? I am very sorry not to have given you this on the propur day. I hope you will like this good-luck tokin, even tho it is late. I whitled it myself from a peice of a doorknob from the old stabel door. It is supose to be Cupid, the God of Love. I am sory the nose broke off. Mama gave me the chane, so you may wear it round your neck if you wish. Happy birthday.
 

Yours, Lucian Hammond.

Jane, charmed, read it over twice. His lordship must have written it when he was no more than seven or eight. Miss Simmons must have been his governess, whom he'd affectionately called Simmy. What a lovable child he seemed to have been! What on earth, she wondered, had made him change to a gambler, a wastrel, and a libertine? She sank down on a window seat and stared at the childish handwriting. Even the misspellings were endearing. So sweetly innocent he once had been. It was enough to break one's heart.

EIGHT

Lady Martha, having succeeded in coercing both her son and her protégé into accepting her terms, lost no time in sealing the bargain. Dressed in a mauve satin walking dress, a hat with six enormous peacock feathers dangling from its brim, and her newest pair of white gloves, she accompanied her son to the offices of Mr. Fairleigh in the City, where they would sign the documents required to surrender control of his fortune into Luke's hands. "This is a very special day," she told her son when he made a mocking comment about her hat, "and I want to be properly costumed for it."

Mr. Fairleigh and his clerk ushered them into his offices with appropriate fanfare, but the business of signing took no more than a quarter of an hour. It took no more than another quarter hour, however, before her ladyship was regretting her decision.

The start of the meeting was very pleasant for all concerned. And for Luke it was a splendid event. As he signed the last paper, he looked at Fairleigh eagerly.

"When does this go into effect?" he asked.

"Oh, immediately, my lord," Mr. Fairleigh declared. "Immediately. Although you do understand that, if the report of your financial activities is not satisfactory to her, Lady Martha may still revoke your rights at the end of one month."

"Yes, I understand," Luke murmured, staring down in awe at the documents that would so drastically change his life. "But in the meantime, I may use my entire inheritance as I see fit?"

"Yes, quite so."

Mr. Fairleigh, a lawyer as well as a financial adviser, was a portly, bald-headed fellow whose demeanor, even when he had to give a client bad news, was invariably cheerful. On this happy occasion, he exuded geniality from every pore. "A momentous day!" he kept declaring as the papers were passed from hand to hand. "Such a momentous day!"

In order to celebrate, he ordered his clerk to bring in a bottle of port and three glasses. As soon as the liquor was poured, he raised his glass and offered a toast. "May good fortune always be yours," he said, grinning broadly and slapping Luke on the back.

"And so it will be, Luke, my love," his mother added, her feathers bobbing with every earnest nod of her head, "if you but remember that moderation in prosperity staves off adversity."

"Oh, yes!" the smiling lawyer agreed. "Quite true, quite! Your dear father often used to say that riches have wings and too easily fly away. He understood that prudence is the greatest asset to wealth."

"Did he, indeed?" Luke took a sip of his port to suppress a laugh. "I seem to remember another of his sayings: 'Wealth is not his who
gets
it but his who
enjoys
it."'

"You
would
remember that," his mother muttered dryly.

"Of course you will enjoy it," Mr. Fairleigh said, "but within moderation. Moderation must be the key." He drained his glass and licked his lips before proceeding. "After all, we don't want anything to stand in the way of your mother's final signature at the end of the... er... shall we call it probationary period?"

"Yes," Lady Martha said. "That's just what it is. A probationary period."

The lawyer, gathering up the papers, looked up to ask, "Am I correct in assuming you will not require an increase in your monthly expenses?"

"I don't know," Luke answered. "We shall see. But I should like to make a withdrawal right now, if you please."

"Right now?" Mr. Fairleigh's smile wavered only slightly. "Ah, yes, I understand. Naturally you would wish a little something for a celebration this evening. Quite understandable, quite. A token of your inheritance to lavish on some amusement to mark this day." His smile restored, he looked up at Luke eagerly. "I believe fifty pounds will be a most enjoyable, if moderate, amount for the purpose—?"

Lady Martha's dangling feathers came upright as her chin lifted. "Fifty pounds? Good God, that is far beyond moderation for an evening's frivolity! Twenty-five would be more than adequate for any sort of dissipation."

But Luke shook his head. "I'm afraid, Mr. Fairleigh," he said as he put down his glass, "that I shall require a thousand."

His mother gasped.
"A thousand?"
That was when she felt the first misgiving.

"A thousand, yes," Luke said firmly.

"But did you not mean it only as a celebratory token?" the astounded lawyer asked. 'To enjoy for some festivity this evening?"

"That is just what I intend," Luke said, holding out his hand.

Mr. Fairleigh, his smile making an abrupt disappearance, hesitated and glanced over at Lady Martha. Her ladyship, stiffening so angrily that the feathers trembled, opened her mouth to object, but Luke held up a restraining hand. "Am I correct in believing that the papers we just signed permit this decision to be my own, at least for this month? That I might demand from you any amount up to the sum total on this document, and that I might throw it to the four winds if I wish? Is that not so, Mr. Fairleigh?"

"Yes, your lordship, it is your right," the portly man gulped, "but—"

"Come now, Luke," his mother snapped, "must you behave like a jackanapes? Throw it to the winds, indeed!"

"I'm trying to make a point, Mama. I've stated an amount for a withdrawal. I expect my wishes to be honored. What is the purpose of this experiment if I still must explain or apologize for any demands I might make?"

Her ladyship, admitting to herself that he was right, threw up her hands. "Very well! Do as you wish. For the next thirty days I have no control over what you do."