Authors: Julia Ross
"The lady was widowed before she came here?
Was it a recent loss, do you think?"
"She were dead with grief, I'd say, when she
arrived - pale as a ghost and sick with a fever. Miss Parrett nursed her. But
the ladies always kept themselves to themselves, sir. That's all Ι know.
'Tis all anyone knows. Though she's well respected around here, Mistress
Seton's never had friends or visitors - till you."
"And Miss Parrett. Who was she?"
"Why, Ι don't rightly know, sir. She
weren't born around here. She were quite an old lady when she bought the house.
She had genteel enough ways. Ι thought to myself perhaps she'd been a
lady's maid, but she said not. That's all anyone knows."
"For your trouble." Alden pressed a
coin into the man's palm.
"
I
await the hot water."
JEMMY BRAMBEY HAD TO WAIT UNTIL AFTER HIS SUPPER
TO escape his mother. He left his brothers and sisters playing on the green. It
took him over an hour, running much of the way, before he knocked at the back
entrance to Marion Hall. Sir Reginald Denby never allowed him into the fancy part
of the house, so Jemmy sat in a hallway near the kitchen. Nothing to complain
about, since the cook had given him a large slice of mutton pie co keep him
occupied.
When the plump form of Sir Reginald finally
approached, Jemmy had already finished his pie and wiped his mouth on his
sleeve.
"You have more news of Mistress Seton,
lad?" Sir Reginald asked.
Jemmy stood and gave the hair over his forehead a
quick tug. Another gentleman, call, chin, richly dressed, his wig powdered, had
also entered the hallway. He leaned against the wall and scared at Jemmy
through a quizzing glass.
"How amusing!" the stranger said. ''You
have many such spies, Denby? Very effective, I'm sure!"
"I’m not a spy, sir!" Jemmy said
indignantly. "Ι bring only the common news."
"Lud, the creature has a tongue!" The
stranger smiled. Α patch creased at the corner of his mouth. He was
handsome enough - a lord, most like!
"
Of course, as seigneur, Sir Reginald must know
what is happening in the parish attached to his manor. Don't let me intimidate
you, lad. Here's an extra penny for you."
Metal spun. Jemmy snatched the coin out of the
air and thrust it away in a pocket. Mother needed all the extra he could earn.
Anyhow, the stranger was right. He had no idea what a
sαy-nure
might
be and no one liked Sir Reginald, but there was nothing wrong in telling him
what he was bound to find out anyway. Besides, the Marion Hall cook made a
splendid mutton pie.
JULIET BURIED IT, ALL OF IT - ALL THE MEMORIES,
ALL THE emotions - as deeply as she could. She vigorously cleaned her copper
pots, turned out a cupboard and scrubbed her pine table. After a quick meal she
carried clean sheets upstairs to her bedroom and made the bed. For just a
moment she lay down on the lavender-scented cover and closed her eyes.
Her gold chain twisted against her neck. She
tugged at the locket to free it, then kissed the warm metal. Images swarmed: a
golden-haired boy ran laughing through a summer garden; spread my soldiers
before a wintertime hearth; held her hand in trust or pulled away in momentary
rebellion. In spite of her resolutions, searing tears welled up, ugly and
self-indulgent. She would not allow it! She would not. . . . She tucked the
locket away and tried to breathe deeply, stifling the sobs. . . .
Something was shaking her, a tentative hand at
her shoulder. Juliet opened her eyes to see her maid-of-all-work smiling down
at her. Τilly Brambey was about five years older than her little brother
Jemmy, and already courting.
Walking out with the woodcutter's son,
as
she put it.
"La, ma'am!" Tilly exclaimed.
"You're all worn out, not having any help. Ι planned to come back to
work in the morning, but Ι felt ever so much better, so-"
Juliet glanced at the window. She must have been
asleep for several hours. It was early evening, the warm summer day winding
down into dust motes and haze. It was an effort to sit up, to act as if nothing
were wrong. She felt drained, even desperate.
"Thank you, Tilly. You are quite well
now?"
The maid pushed a wisp of hair back from her
freckled face. In the other hand she held a feather duster. She looked excited,
like a child with a secret.
"La, Mistress Seton!
It was just a touch of the influenza that's going
about, though it made my nose look red as a beet. Ι wouldn't have had my
young man see me like that!"
"Does the thought of your young man always
bring such a blush to your cheeks?" Juliet asked.
"It's not that, ma'am." The maid's
color deepened until her eyes sparkled. "There's a gentleman come to
call."
So he had charmed even Tilly, brought that
bright, becoming look to her face!
"Did this gentleman give his name and
business?"
Tilly turned to whisk her bundle of feathers over
the mirror, smiling at herself in the glass, thrilled by her own prettiness and
the dominion it gave her over the woodcutter's son-thrilled that even the
gentleman who'd come to see her mistress had complimented her hazel eyes.
"It's the gentleman 'as cut the hay, ma'am.
Mr. Granville, as is staying at the Three Tuns. All the village is talking of it."
Innocent mischief was as plain as the freckles on Tilly's round cheeks.
"La! He's a very comely gentleman. Oh, ma'am! Mr. Sandham says he takes a
bath every day!"
In spite of herself, Juliet laughed. "So you
thought you'd come back this evening to see this notorious fellow for
yourself?"
The feathers danced as Tilly dusted the frame.
"He says he's come to play chess. Where's the harm in that?"
Had
he flirted with Tilly, trying his luck? Was he a rake who didn't
hesitate to take advantage of that keen female vulnerability - even in a
maidservant - the terrible power of any handsome, unprincipled man, when a
foolish girl thought she had charmed him?
Juliet slid from the bed. "Ι fail to
see why the thought of my playing chess brings you so much happiness, Matilda
Brambey."
The maid spun about.
"O
h, ma'am! It's so exciting! He said all this work
was too much for a pretty girl like me all by myself. He's sent three maids to
help for the remainder of the week. They're downstairs."
Three maids!
With unimaginable arrogance, without even
consulting her, he had hired three maids? If she upbraided him, she would only
seem petty and stubborn. Yet if she accepted it, she allowed him an outrageous
liberty - for a chess game! Indignation left her speechless.
Juliet stalked to her washstand and splashed cold
water on her face. With vigorous strokes, she brushed out and pinned up her
hair, then selected a fresh fichu for her dress. Apart from her high color, a
respectable widow stared back from the mirror, as if defying the world to
declare the image a falsehood.
Tilly's artless face waited in the background.
With one hand on the door latch, she gazed expectantly at her mistress.
"What shall Ι tell the new maids, ma'am?"
An unwanted gift with far too high a price
attached! Juliet was free to play chess, free of her daily chores-as if she
were still a lady of leisure - for a week. Then she must return to her regular
life and think herself lucky for this memory? The irony of it was almost cruel.
It was past time for her to turn the tables.
Juliet smoothed her bodice, fitting the fabric
properly over her corset. Three maids! She had grown up in a household with
forty. When she turned back to Tilly, her tone was dispassionate.
"This invasion force must be given beds, of
course. You know where the linens are. Tell these new maids to wait for me in
the kitchen. "
"Yes, ma'am." Tilly gave a clumsy
little curtsy, her eyes bright. "And the gentleman?"
"Please inform Mr. Granville that he may set
up the chessmen in the arbor."
"Yes, ma'am."
Juliet smiled and reined in her annoyance.
"You may also tell him that this time Ι intend to win."
CHAPTER FOUR
HE WAS NOT IN THE ARBOR, THOUGH THE CHESSBOARD
WAS left
laid out on the little iron table. Perhaps he had tired of
waiting and returned to the Three Tuns? Juliet ran her finger over the black
king's wooden crown, surprised by a keen rush of disappointment. Was she mad?
She resented his presence, she regretted the wager, yet she was
disappointed?
Disappointed because, in spite of everything, she wanted to play chess -
she wanted to match wits with this man? Laughter ran far too close to tears!
Juliet looked up at the wash of green leaves
overhead. Summer life spiraled and surged all around her. Until now she had
been content enough with her unchanging days. She had even been proud of her
tenacity and courage. With Miss Parrett's help, she had learned to find a new
dignity and fulfillment in work - something she had never imagined in her
girlhood. It had taken immense determination. What an absurdity to find all
that hard-won accomplishment lying empty in her heart because a handsome knave
wanted to play games!
Trying to negate her odd mood, Juliet went back
to the kitchen to fetch a basket of scraps to feed her chickens. She had interviewed
the maids: three solid, respectable women. Betty and Sarah were competent in
every task from the kitchen to the dairy, but Kate had curtsied with a quite
different air.
"I’m a lady's maid, ma'am, for your personal
needs, your clothing, your own room, whatever you wish."
Juliet suppressed her astonishment. "You
have been hired recently, or you come here from Mr. Granville's own
home?"
Kate curtsied again. "Ι can't rightly
say, ma'am, but you will find me as well trained as any."
Α lady's maid! Stolen from his wife, sister,
mistress?
With a few brief instructions, Juliet had sent
the women upstairs to settle in. He might have guessed she wou1dn't embarrass
them by a close interrogation, but did he think she would send such help away?
Even a lady's maid! It felt almost reckless, to be forced back into a role she
had never thought to fulfill again.
She could spend the rest of the week without
lifting a finger. Yet she liked feeding her poultry herself. There was
something fearless about hens - they didn't have the brains to be apprehensive.
Contentment could turn into squawking panic in an instant, but chickens didn't
worry about the future or have regrets for the past. Juliet smiled as she
pulled on her old blue smock. Everything in life had its compensations.
Carrying the basket, she walked out through the
yard, only to see Alden Granville leaning against the woven fence of her
chicken coop.
The breath caught in her throat.
In the dappled half-shadow of the trees he stood
absolutely still, the lines of his body graceful and lithe. With one buckled
shoe propped on the bottom support rail, he stared down at the hens as they
dusted in the shade.
Gold-and-red embroidery swirled over his tan
satin waistcoat, echoing the trail of ribbon tying back his hair. Hooked on one
forefinger, his jacket was flung over his shoulder. The other hand at his hip
pushed aside the skirt of his waistcoat to reveal elegant breeches and white
stockings. The impression of soft elegance was belied only by the smallsword
hanging at his side and the virile tension in his stance that said he knew how
to use it.
My lord,
the laborer had almost said. The still center of
a wave of disturbance that had raced through her zealously guarded sanctuary.
Juliet moved forward, clutching the basket to her
hip. So the sight of him agitated her pulse! He was beautiful. He was undoubtedly
a rake, who sought some casual amusement at her expense. His identity was
entirely irrelevant. He - and his maids - would be gone in a week.
Like the sweet kernel hidden in the walnut,
perhaps she could find some amusement of her own in his presumption and let the
costs all be his.
He looked up. For a moment his eyes seemed bleak,
then a smi1e broke over his face, the entranced smile of a man who greets his
lover's return from a long journey. It seemed as if he might open his arms to
welcome her straight into his embrace.
Her heart faltered.
"You have a broody hen," he said.
"She's very fierce. As soon as Ι appeared, she called to her babies
with the most imperious cries Ι have ever heard outside of the Countess of
Roxham's withdrawing room."
Juliet stopped dead, disconcerted he could still
catch her so off guard, almost as if she were waking after a long sleep to
find herself surrounded by playmates who had grown old and become strangers, a
fearful discontinuity that left her floundering for a moment.
But Ι
remember Lady Roxham - she was indeed feathered with shrillness and ribbons!
It reminded her only too clearly of what she had
lost, that she was indeed a lady, yet it was far too intimate a greeting, as if
they had been close friends for years.