Devotion (4 page)

Taking a breath, she mounted the steps that were made of rough stone, so pitted that beaded spiders' webs glistened in the fissures. For a long moment she stared at the pair of matching lion's head knockers that had grown green with age,
then
she rapped hard on the door with her fist.

Nothing.

Again, harder, then glanced toward the dark mullioned windows, her mind racing through memories of stories Paul had once embellished upon her while she sat trembling in bed, the pillow pulled over her head in an attempt to muffle tales of banshees and headless knights who wandered castle galleries in search of "pretty lasses" to eat. Nothing about the windows or house felt remotely reassuring, and frowning, she turned and stared after the coach as it disappeared through the tunnel of denuded trees in the distance.

"'
Oo's
there?"
came
an intolerant voice from behind the door.

Flooded by relief, Maria laughed at her own nervousness and cried back, "'Tis I, here at last—"

"'
Oo
the blazes is I?
I '
oo
?
I ain't
openin
' this bloody door for nobody
name
I."

"Maria Ashton!"

"Don't know
no
Maria Ashton, ain't
expectin
' no Maria Ashton—"

"I was sent by Her Grace, the duchess—"

"I know '
oo
the blazes '
Er
Grace is—
lud
, do I look daft or wot?"

"I wouldn't know," she replied as patiently as she could manage, considering her toes and fingers were fast becoming numb. "If you will only open the door—"

"I ain't
openin
'
no
door for nobody unless I've explicit instructions from the housekeeper—"

"Then let me speak to her—"

"She ain't here!"

Dropping her valise to the step, Maria focused on the tarnished knocker and did her best to bite back her frustration and growing agitation. Then she remembered.
"The letter!"
Snatching up her reticule, she dug into it and produced a paper. "Will an order
written
by the duchess herself benefit?" she called, smugly smiling at the knocker and waving the notice beneath the lion's green snout.

Silence,
then . . .
the door cracked, just barely, enough to allow a thin nose to protrude through the opening. A pair of close-set eyes peered out at her, growing round,
then
narrowing conspicuously as they acknowledged Maria.

Her smile widening, Maria flipped open the paper and held it up for the sentinel to see. "Mayhap this will change your mind."

"
Wot
the blazes do I look like?
A
bloomin
' magistrate?
That damn
piecea
litter could say aught as far as I know."

For an instant, as she was struck with the realization that the servant could not read, her bravado foiled, then rallying, she thrust her nose to that of the door guardian and added, "Aye, you're right, but will you risk the chance that I'm telling you the truth? What do you think Her Grace's reaction will be should she learn her written directives were ignored?"

"Bloody 'ell," the voice muttered, just before the door slammed closed, rocking Maria back on her heels.

No more than a second passed before the door was flung open, revealing the scrawny form of a housemaid, her apron twisted lopsidedly around her waist, her scraggly blond hair spilling from beneath her crushed cap. "Well?" she barked. "Wot the blazes are ya waitin' for, a bleedin' engraved invitation? Hurry the hell up, for the love of a drunken Pete, afore I bloody freeze, not to mention
allowin
' ever'
connivin
' highwayman in the county access to the manor's silver chests."

"Highwaymen?"
Hefting up her valise, Maria hurried into the foyer, her mouth dropping open as she scanned the dim interior of the house.

"Aye, highwaymen.
Folks ain't safe in their own homes these days." The servant kicked shut the door, the slam reverberating down the half dozen corridors leading off the entry. Hands on her hips, giving Maria a thorough going over with her eyes, the girl added, "No more'n a fortnight ago Lord Middleton's
majordomo
answered the door to some gel who said she was there by invitation of Lady Middleton 'erself. No sooner did she step into the 'ouse than a dozen 'ooded bastards come bustin' in behind 'er. The next hour they, includin' the silly bitch who weren't no friend of Lady Middle-
ton's
at all, tied the whole damn family up with drape cords and robbed 'em blind." She sniffed. "Lady Middleton still 'as fits of vapor ever'time she thinks 'bout it."

"That's dreadful," Maria replied absently as she ran her fingers lightly over the ornately scrolled wainscot- ted walls and the carved mahogany cherubs peering out at her from deep alcoves.

"Dreadful's
puttin
' it mildly,
I'd say. And by the way, from now on 'ousekeepers come and go by the back entry—"

"Oh, I'm not a housekeeper." She picked up a china vase and held it up to the flickering oil sconce on the wall. "I'm here to companion young Salterdon."

"Young
Salterdon?"
The girl snatched the vase from Maria's hands and plunked it back on the table.

"The duchess's grandson.
He's ill, of course.
An invalid?"
Tiptoeing to the foot of a staircase, lightly placing her fingertips on the shining balustrade, she peered up through the dark at the landing above. "I should like to meet him immediately, of course."

"Right."
The voice sounded curiously tight with humor. Then the servant stepped around her and, none-too-gently brushing Maria's shoulder with her own, started up the stairs, her slender hips swaying from side to side in an exaggerated manner. "She'd like to meet '
im
immediately, she says, as if she were the bloody duchess 'erself. Next thing ya know she'll be
tellin
' me to unpack 'er damn bag and press 'er frilly knickers . . . as if I ain't got nothin' better to do with me time off . . . not as if I get a whole lot of bleedin' time off."

Obviously her fantasies of being greeted by cheerful servants in starched uniforms and frilly white mobcaps had been just that—fantasies, as were the images of her being met by some kindly
majordomo
who would, of course, be stiffly proper and look down his slightly bent nose as he announced her arrival to the staff. The housekeeper would sweep her away to some tidy warm space near the kitchen fire and reward her with hot tea and warm crumpets swimming in fresh butter and cream.

Instead Maria was led through one rambling passageway to the next, given little time to inspect her vast surroundings, which, she surmised, would look immensely more warm and welcoming, if not spellbinding, during the daylight.

Virtually running to keep up with the recalcitrant servant's long stride, her sight grabbing the occasional glimpse of galleries stretching north and south, oaken staircases curving up into the dark where paneled walls formed rich wooden horizons far above her head, Maria dragged her carpetbag behind her and attempted conversation.

"I didn't realize the journey from
Huddersfield
would take two days. We hardly stopped to eat, just briefly this morning, a tavern just out of
Lancashire . . .
I suppose I've arrived too late for tea?"

No response.

"I hate to admit it, but this is my first venture away from my home and family. Have you worked at Thorn Rose long?"

Nothing.

Maria frowned.

The air felt chill and vault-like; windows and passageways rose from the floors forming soaring arches with flying buttresses. It all seemed so cheerless and vacuous, despite the lavish accruements, hardly the sort of environment for a sickly child. No wonder the lad whom she had been employed to companion could prove to be difficult. "Without light, there could be no joy.

Without joy, there could be no life!" Paul had oftentimes declared with his brilliant smile.

Shadows had set into the tiny room where Maria was led, up four flights of stairs to the locus of tiny servants' cubicles, neatly lined up like pins, all the same size and with just enough space to get in and out of bed. Only a sliver of failing sunlight spilled through the drawn curtain of the single window, forming a pale streak on the floor near her bed. The servant, having entered before her, fumbled with a lantern, and once lighting it turned to stare at Maria with suspicious, disapproving eyes.

"I can't reckon why the duchess would send the likes of
you
to take care
o'
'un.
She's
slippin
', I vow. Up 'ere, I mean." She tapped her head with one finger and looked Maria over again, shaking her head. "She's paraded men thrice yer size through this house, thinkin' they would accomplish miracles—and all of 'em
'ave
packed it in within a fortnight,
vowin
it would be a cold day in 'ell afore they spent one more day with . . . 'the monster."'

"What a very cruel thing to say! There's not a solitary human heart and soul that cannot be saved with patience and kindness."

Her eyebrows going up, the servant huffed. "You ain't met '
im
yet, I vow. Well, never mind. You'll see for yerself soon enough, I
'spose."
Moving toward the door, she added, "I'd lock this if
I's
you. Never know who ya might wake up to find
standin
' over ya in the dark. Just last month the Viscountess Crenshaw woke up to find the man
fondlin
' 'er under 'er nightgown weren't her '
usband
at all, but some masked man, '
oo
spent the next two hours
ra
vagin'
er right there afore 'er own '
usband
. If there weren't bad enough, they went and stole 'er entire wardrobe of underclothes. Two days later 'er most
revealin
' chemise was discovered
flyin
' from the old gibbet down at Nigel's Hollow.

"And by the way," she added with a pause for effect. "This side of the row is the
women's
rooms,
the other belongs to the men servants. Any nighttime escapades is cause for immediate dismissal, if ya know wot I mean, and by the looks of
ya,
I '
spect
ya do."

She sniffed and regarded Maria with a disapproving glint in her brown eyes. "There's a washroom at the end of the 'all.
it
suffices for us all. Gertrude, she's *
ead
'
ousekeeper
, is
promisin
' to get us our own washbasin in each cell—that is if she can convince the local shopkeeper to advance us any more credit—a bloody cold day in 'ell that'll be, I
tol
' 'er, not the way
'
e's
mucked
up 'is
credit. We do well to eat 'round 'ere. '
Til
then, ya bathe there and
be
quick about it."

"When shall I meet Master Salterdon?" Maria called after the servant,
then
hurried to the door when getting no reply. As the faint shape of the housemaid disappeared into the shadows, silence swelled up in waves to surround her. She
glanced
first one way, then another, visions of highwaymen and headless knights parading across her mind's eye. With a lift of her chin, she reentered her room and shut the door. She fell against it with a sigh.