Amanda Scott (36 page)

“Yes, your ladyship. Begging your pardon, ma’am,” he added as she turned away, “but me and Jane … that is, well, perhaps I were speaking a bit sharp to her, but I think she’s … well, the fact is I’m right taken with her, your ladyship, and once I can persuade her of my exact sentiments, I’ll wager she won’t behave like she does now. Why, in the old days, before His Grace died … But I shouldn’t be talking out of turn, I expect.”

The phrase bit hard at Anne’s memory, and she fought a strong urge to demand to know exactly what he meant by it, but she managed to say calmly instead, “I am glad to hear that you have some consideration for Jane, Elbert, but you ought not to carry on your personal affairs when you are on duty, you know.”

“No, ma’am, that I do know, but Jane were wishful to know where she might find your ladyship, and I were just telling her that your ladyship had not come downstairs as yet.”

This bland description did not in any way fit the scene Anne and Mrs. Burdekin had interrupted, but Anne did not question him further, because Bagshaw returned just then and said in a stern tone, “When her ladyship does not require your services, Elbert, I shall want a few words with you in my pantry.”

The footman’s expressive grimace was nearly enough to make Anne change her mind and say she had other duties for him to perform, but she restrained herself, deciding it would do the young man no harm to hear what the butler had to say to him, and might well do him a great deal of good. Thus, she said, “Go with Bagshaw now, Elbert. If I want you, I will ring for you.”

“Yes, your ladyship,” Elbert said unhappily.

Leaving them, she went at once in search of Jane Hinkle and found her in the salon at the top of the stairs, energetically wielding her feather duster. She turned when Anne entered the room and, flushing, said, “Oh, your ladyship, I do beg your pardon. Is Mrs. Burdekin very cross with me, do you think?”

“I think, for once, the blame is being laid upon the right shoulders,” Anne said. “I left Elbert with Bagshaw, who did not look in the least as if he were going to commend him for his stupid behavior.” When the maid still looked doubtful, she added with a reassuring smile, “I do think you are safe for now, Jane, truly. Elbert said you were looking for me.”

“I was. He wanted me to tell him why I was in such a twitch, but I didn’t think I ought to do so, and you know what men are, madam. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. H-he fancies me, I’m afraid, and the footmen here seem to think that’s all that’s required to make a girl leap into bed with them. Indeed, they take it as a right, and I know for a fact that a number of the maids go in fear of them, but I’ve locked my little room at night since I came, and I’ll continue to do so.”

“An excellent idea,” Anne said, “but you should speak to Mrs. Burdekin, you know, if you have any more difficulty with Elbert. Was that all you wished to say to me?”

“No, ma’am.” Jane hesitated, then blurted, “I-I had my first afternoon out yesterday and … and I’m afraid I went to see her again—Mrs. Flowers, that is—and oh, my lady, she were in flat despair herself, on account of she says she is to be turned out of her house, and she said straight out that I were wasting my time searching for Molly.” Tears welled into her eyes, and she looked hopelessly at Anne. “Molly’s long since dead and buried, she said.”

“I’m so sorry, Jane. Is she quite certain?”

“Yes, ma’am, and it weren’t such a shock as you might think. I’ve feared from the beginning that Molly might be dead. Mrs. Flowers said she’d talked to one of the women on that boat down on the river, ma’am, who told her flat out Molly got killed. She said it were an accident, but I could tell Mrs. Flowers didn’t believe that part of it. I’d say she knew, or guessed, more than what she was telling me, but she didn’t tell me any more.”

“Perhaps she wanted to spare your feelings.”

“Perhaps, but I could see that she were too taken up with her own problems to care much about mine. And I do think,” Jane added on a harder note, “that what Sir Jacob did to her were a scandal, ma’am, though I know well I oughtn’t to say such things. Lady Thornton’s man already told Mrs. Flowers she’s to be out of the house by Monday, and that’s not fair, my lady, indeed it’s not, for she’s no place to go but back where she come from—if she’s even got money enough left to get to Chesterfield—or else she’ll have to work on that dreadful boat. It’s a crime, ma’am, or ought to be. She’s at her wits’ end, I can tell you.”

Sorry though she was to hear of Mrs. Flowers’s predicament, Anne could think of no way to help her. “What will you do now, Jane?” she asked. “I hope you do not mean to leave us.”

“As to that, my lady, I can’t say. On the one hand, I still want to know exactly what happened to Molly, and on the other, knowing she’s dead, I expect I ought to be thinking of myself.”

“I’d like you to stay on here if you can bear to do so,” Anne said. “You are the best housemaid we have, and I have no doubt that once we have a complete staff again, you will soon move up to a higher position.”

Jane’s smile was brief, but there was genuine amusement in it. “A fortnight ago, I’d have said you was all about in your head to suggest such a thing to me, ma’am—begging your pardon for the liberty—because, not having been born and bred here at Upminster, I knew I was lucky to have got my position at all, and would never stir a step upward from it. But since the day you snatched young Clara from the flames, Mrs. Burdekin’s not stopped singing your praises, and she’s been more than pleasant to me, as well. Still and all, I was that surprised to see her go for Mr. Bagshaw this morning, for I’m sure she never before did such a thing in her life. It was all yes and amen with her before, whenever he crooked a finger, but not anymore, I expect.”

When Anne encountered the butler a few minutes after she left Jane, she could not see that he had lost a jot of his customary dignity in the brief skirmish with the housekeeper. According Anne his usual nod of greeting, he said, “I have come to inform you that Lady Sylvia’s governess has arrived, madam. A Miss Johnson, whom I have left sitting in the hall, not knowing precisely where your ladyship would choose to receive her.”

“Good gracious,” Anne exclaimed, “I did not know she was coming today.”

“No, your ladyship, so I apprehend. According to what the young woman related to me, it was Lady Harlow who commanded her to come. A very well-mannered young woman she appears to be, I might add,” the butler added deprecatingly.

“I will see her at once, Bagshaw. Show her into the yellow drawing room, please.” Giving him time to do so before she followed him, Anne hoped the young woman would prove acceptable. Remembering Lady Harlow’s forthright manner, she had little doubt that she would take offense if the governess of her choice were turned away from Upminster. When she entered the drawing room to find a sensibly dressed young woman with soft brown hair and pink cheeks, she was reassured, and the twinkle in Miss Johnson’s hazel eyes bolstered an instant, instinctive conviction that Lady Harlow had chosen well. “How do you do,” Anne said, smiling. “I am Lady Michael. I hope your journey was a pleasant one.”

“Very pleasant, thank you, your ladyship,” she replied in a well-modulated voice. “I collect, from your butler’s reaction, that my arrival was not anticipated. My headmistress warned me that Lady Harlow might be acting precipitately in commanding me to come here straightaway when school let out for the half-term holiday, so I will tell you at once that I have relations in Derbyshire to whom I may go. Furthermore, should you decide that you will not require my services after all, I am assured that I may return to the school at Michaelmas term.” She withdrew a packet of papers from the sensible reticule she carried and held it out. “You will find my references in order, my lady.”

“I’m sure I will,” Anne said. “I admit that, not having a very good notion from her ladyship’s letter of when you would be free to leave your position, I did not expect your arrival. I’m afraid I was a little delayed in my response to her letter, too, but nonetheless, as I informed her, I have every confidence in her choice. You want to meet Sylvia at once, of course.”

“Yes, please. I might add, ma’am, that Lady Harlow was kind enough to explain the child’s affliction to me.”

“That, thank heaven, need no longer concern us, for I am happy to tell you she has begun speaking again. Come, I will take you to her now.”

They went upstairs to the nursery, where they found Sylvia chatting contentedly with Moffat. The nurse said, “Oh, your ladyship, ain’t it grand to be hearing her voice again?”

Anne saw that Sylvia, although she had risen at once to her feet when they entered, now seemed to be avoiding her gaze in much the same way that Jane Hinkle had done earlier. She said to the nurse, “This is Miss Johnson, Moffat. She is to be Lady Sylvia’s new governess. Mrs. Moffat is Sylvia’s nurse, Miss Johnson, and will no doubt be of much help to you. Shall I ring for a servant to show you to your own rooms now?”

“If it please your ladyship,” Miss Johnson said in her pleasant voice, “I would prefer to stay here for a time and get to know Mrs. Moffat and Lady Sylvia. Then perhaps, Sylvia would be so kind as to show me where I am to sleep.”

“Very well,” Anne said. “Sylvia, Miss Johnson’s rooms are at the end of this corridor. You know the ones, do you not?”

“I’ll show her,” Sylvia said quietly. She glanced at Anne, then looked guiltily away again, making Anne wonder what mischief she had been up to. Deciding that now was not the time to pursue that matter, however, she left them to get better acquainted and went to attend to her usual household duties.

She had scarcely had a chance before then to think about the decision she had made the previous night, but now she found it hard to concentrate on anything else. The spring cleaning was all but done, and despite Mrs. Burdekin’s acid comment to Jane about the salon, the great house sparkled from its attics to its cellars. Every cupboard and chest had been turned out and its contents inventoried, and every nook and cranny had been scrubbed and polished until it smelled as clean as it looked.

Blanket chests had been rubbed with lavender oil, new muslin bags of dried lavender scented the linen presses, and the potpourri jars in the main rooms had been scrubbed and refilled. Each room now boasted its own delicate fragrance, from damask roses in the state drawing room to the mixture of bay leaves and tonka beans in the library.

Though Anne might have attended to any of a dozen minor duties, she knew she would not concentrate. Thus, having approved the dinner menu and discussed with Mrs. Burdekin two projects for the month ahead, she fled the house for the gardens, where she had always been able to think more clearly. One of the dogs followed her outside, but it soon wandered off to explore the home wood, leaving Anne alone with her reflections.

Had Michael been at home, she was certain she would have taken Duchess Agnes’s letter to him straightaway; however, with time to think, her doubts soon returned. The only Lord M in the entire neighborhood, to her knowledge, was Lord Michael. But according to what he had said himself, he had not even been in Derbyshire at the time of the duchess’s death or at any time in the several years before it except for brief visits. Moreover, knowing him as she did now, she could not imagine him conspiring with his brother in such a distasteful way as the note described.

But while the emotional half of her mind insisted that the very idea was absurd, common sense told her it was entirely possible that Michael had lied to her all along. Certainly he had kept secrets from her, and was still doing so.

Kicking at the gravel path in a most unladylike way, she realized that her thoughts were not helping, and wished she had the nerve to visit Mrs. Flowers, who seemed to know a good deal about matters quite foreign to one who had been raised in a more sheltered fashion. For a fluttering moment, she even dared wish she might visit that dreadful boat on the river. There, she knew, she might learn about many things.

Smiling at herself in the knowledge that to visit either one would surely bring Michael’s wrath down upon her, she realized that she was about to take the path toward the river. Once again, she had come out unattended, and recalling Michael’s views on that subject—being fairly certain in spite of his kind words the last time the subject had come up that those views had not really changed much—she was about to turn back toward the house when she saw Mr. Pratt strolling toward her. She waited for him to come up to her, surprised in view of Michael’s having ordered Andrew’s study hours doubled, to see the tutor walking alone, and wondering if it might be a good time to ask if he might be able to teach the boy to swim.

“Good day to you, your ladyship,” he said.

“Good day, Mr. Pratt. Have you left Andrew alone with his books to contemplate his latest sins?”

He looked surprised. “Why, ma’am, surely you know he went with Lord Michael today. I believe they rode to Castleton so that his lordship might introduce His Grace to the mine there.”

All thought of swimming lessons vanished, and stifling her first inclination, which was to deny that Lord Michael had done any such thing, Anne murmured a vague reply, excused herself, and hurried back into the house. No longer were her thoughts possessed by what she would or would not tell Lord Michael. She wondered instead where on earth Andrew had got to.

Having no doubt that the tutor, still being unacquainted with his charge’s ability to seize the initiative when he wanted to do something forbidden to him, would have believed whatever the boy had said to him, she looked first in Andrew’s bedchamber, half expecting to discover him there. Finding it empty and showing no sign that he had been there since leaving it that morning, she was tempted to ring for his manservant, but she decided against it. Until she could discover precisely what Andrew was up to, the fewer people to know he was missing the better—for Andrew, at any rate.

Paying a visit next to the stable to see if his horse was gone, she found it in its loose box, munching hay. When she walked outside again, wondering if it would be worthwhile to walk to the meadow where Lord Ashby was overseeing the filling of his precious new balloon, she met his lordship coming back, strolling alongside Lady Hermione, leading her horse for her.