Devotion (8 page)

Alas, '
twould
be her first winter without Paul.

Wearily, she reentered the manse and, shutting the door behind her, leaned back against it and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she looked into the wide-eyed watchful eyes of the curious staff.

Gertrude beamed
her a
reassuring smile. "I'm glad ya stayed, lass. I sense
y'll
bring some life to the old place. Ya might even do His Grace a bit of good."

"I hope so," she replied simply, though she was not at all certain of it herself. She felt a bit light-headed with nervousness; her stomach ached and she wondered if it were from trepidation or because she had not eaten since yesterday morning.

"If ya ask me"—Molly's voice came from a nearby doorway—"she won't be
lastin
' out the week. '
E'll
be
eatin
' the likes of 'er for his bloody tea by the end of the day . . ."

"Hush!" Gertrude threw the servant a withering look. "There'll be no more o' that talk in my company. If the duchess feels the
lass is
capable of
handlin
' the . . . His Grace, then that's that. In truth, it might do His Grace a bit o' good to have such an angel
watchin
' over him. We all thrive with a bit of kindness and compassion now and again."

"'
E'll
break 'er in two
joost
like that," Molly sneered then snapped her fingers for emphasis.

Maria gasped.

Molly sauntered toward the group, her hands on her hips. "Maybe we should tell 'er
joost
wot he done t' the others, eh?"

Gertrude made a sound and the others muttered to themselves.

"Conked 'em, 'e did, right on the
ol
' noggin' with this or that dish.
If he could get 'is 'ands on 'em 'e flung 'em like they was puppets across the room—'
cept
Mr. Doherty who he pitched out the window, headfirst. It
were
an ugly mess, I vow." She shuddered. "'Is arms is strong as ten men's, I wager, and when 'e snarls—"

"Enough!" Gertrude cried. "He weren't that bad, love," she said to Maria, who felt herself go cold inside at the image of the "the beast" snarling and mauling any hapless ninny who thought to help him. "Granted, he has his moments, but who wouldn't,
considerin
'. He were once an energetic and virile man, not to mention handsome—"

"Handsome," Maria said in a tone of disbelief.

"Aye," another young maid declared with an air of dreaminess. "A real rogue, he
were
. Weren't a mamma in England wouldn't have given her right tit to get her daughter matched up with
him . . .
if she couldn't have him herself."

The group snickered, and Molly added, "Most of 'em did
. '
E made a cuckold of '
alf
the husbands in England,

I wager. By the time 'e used up one there were another waitin' in the background. Course,
them
days are gone now. The silly bitches wot used to come
sniffin
' at 'is 'eels wouldn't come within a mile of '
im
now. Not even that fancy-
knickered
Lady Laura—"

"
Ye'll
not be
spoutin
' on about his personal affairs," Gertrude declared in a tone that set half the servants back on their heels.
"Yer just jealous that he wouldn't have aught to do with you.
And
speakin
' of jealous, you'd best keep yer talons out of Miss Ashton or
ye'll
have me to answer to. The
lass has
got better judgment than to be
sniffin
' after the lot of ne'er-do-wells you invite under yer skirts."

With a squeal of indignation, Molly marched from the foyer, slamming a door in her wake.

The image of a naked Molly and companion writhing over the kitchen table brought a discomfiting flush to Maria's cheeks—even more so than the thought of venturing up the stairs to confront the devil himself. So collecting herself up, filled with a purpose she had not experienced since the passing away of her brother, she moved toward the staircase.
" 'Tis
no better time than this to get to know him, I suppose," she said more to herself than to her companions.

The line of servants trailed up the staircase behind her, their footsteps reverberating like marching soldiers on the carpeted floor.

The corridors to His Grace's room were lined with gold-gilded friezes and busts of kings and queens (no doubt the Salterdon ancestors), and life-sized portraits of wide-eyed, pale-faced young boys (identical in every manner) lounging with dogs or sitting rigidly on the backs of saddled horses. Only as Maria paused outside the duke's door did the idea occur to her that one of those cherubic visages belonged to the Duke of Salterdon. So much for innocence . . .

Allowing herself a glance back at Gertrude, who encouraged her with a weak smile, Maria nudged open the chamber door, bracing
herself
for the rush of cold, fetid air and gloom. Regarding the littered floor, the dim light, the bed blanketed by shadows and testers, and the vague form silhouetted within, Maria cleared her throat and stepped over the threshold, feeling not unlike Beowulf entering
Grendel's
lair.

She made her way through the broken china, past tumbled furnishings and discarded clothes (long forgotten) tossed over chair backs. Arriving at the window, she took a fortifying breath and flung open the drapes, scattering dust that danced in the dull winter's light spilling through sooty windows.

"Gertrude," she called.

"Aye, Miss Ashton?"

"From now on these casings will be left open during the day."

"Aye, Miss Ashton."

"We'll begin by cleaning this room. Bring hot water and soap and brushes. Remove the carpets and beat them. I noticed fresh flowers—"

"They come from the conservatory, miss."

"I want every table, every nook and cranny filled with flowers. Yonder chandelier is to be polished, and light it."

"Immediately,
miss."

Turning to her underlings, Gertrude barked out orders and clapped her hands, causing her subordinates to scatter. Turning back to Maria, Gertrude looked from her to the bed then back again, her expression now one of concern and wariness.

Maria gave her a reassuring smile and approached the bed, hesitated as she reached for the curtain, then taking another deep breath, drew it aside.

His Grace, the Duke of Salterdon, or what she could see of him beneath his tangle of dark, slightly curly hair and bearded features, lay just as he had lain the previous evening, twisted in his bedclothes, his dull eyes open, staring at the roof of his bed. Cautiously bending nearer, pressing the back of one hand against her nose and mouth, she studied hard to see that his chest was slightly moving.

Closer, holding her breath, she tried her best to study his unkempt features, which were even more frightening than she had first thought. Surely, this personage could not belong to anything human—certainly no one sane! Those sunken features—or what she could see of them behind the wild growth of facial hair, heavy brows, and tangled mop of hair spread out over the entire soiled pillowcase—were corpse-like. Trembling, she passed her hand over his face and eyes, prepared to snatch it back at the least hint that he might rouse from his trance-like state to attack her. Yet he did not
so
much as blink.

Turning again to Gertrude, she asked, "How long has he lain here like this?"

"I can't rightly say, miss. Like I told ya, I've been away for a fortnight. But even afore I left he'd decided to hole himself up in here like some dragon in a cave. He wouldn't have aught to do with anyone
tryin
' to rouse him. We
was
forced to leave his meals on a tray by his bed. Sometimes he managed to feed himself— other times . . ."A sadness passing over her features, Gertrude wrung her hands. "Other times he'd go for days, as if he were
willin
' himself to starve, until the hunger became so bad he'd break down and . . ."

Gertrude turned away. Maria hurried to her, wrapped one arm comfortingly around the housekeeper's shoulders, and regarded her pained profile.
"And what, dear Gertrude?
Tell me. I must know everything if
I'm to
help him."

Gertrude shook her head, as if the memory were too much to bear. "I'd find him
attemptin
' to feed himself, food crushed in his hands 'cause he ain't got the coordination
no
more to find his mouth. It broke me heart, it did, to see him that way,
knowin
' how he use to be and all—so dignified and handsome—aye, he was the epitome of aristocracy. We was all right proud to work for him."

Her own throat tight with emotion, recalling how her own brother had become a mere shadow of himself, Maria gave the grieving servant a reassuring hug. "Then that shall be our first endeavor, dear Gertrude: to do our best to restore our master to his former distinguished self. Will you help me?"

"Aye, lass."

"Our first objective will be to clean this room from top to bottom,
then
focus our energies on His Grace. I'll need your help to assure the staff that no harm will come to them."

"It won't be easy, miss. Betty, she's the uncomely wee one with the crossed eyes and the
underbite
—her job is to empty the grates and clean and polish '
ern
with black lead—the last time she come in here he flung a china vase at her—smacked her upside the head, it did, right here." She pointed to her right ear. "She's been
hearin
' bells ring ever since. Says it'll be a cold day in perdition before she sticks a big toe over that threshold. And who could blame 'er."

"But he seems docile enough now." Maria cast another precautionary look toward the bed.

Gertrude lowered her voice to a whisper, and her face became a mask of fear. "That's the devil of it, ya see. Ya just never know when he's
gonna
rouse. One minute he's
lyin
' there
starin
' off into space, the next he's
grabbin
' ya 'round the neck and
wringin
' the very life from
ya.
Ooo
, I shudder to think about it!" With a gasp, Gertrude covered her mouth with her hands and squeezed her eyes closed. Her entire body took on a trembling that made Maria's chest restrict. "Promise me
ye'll
be cautious at all times," the housekeeper pleaded.

Her mouth dry, Maria nodded.

"Then I'll see to the others." Gertrude moved toward the door, where the others continued to crowd, brows knit in consternation and anticipation. Stopping, she looked around, chin quivering, her face twisted in a sort of despair, which made Maria feel as if she were about to be hanged and slung from the gibbet.

"Good luck to
ye
," said the maid, then she scurried from the chamber.

From her bedroom threshold, which adjoined
Salterdon's
immense chamber, Maria watched as a small army of servants paraded into his room, arms loaded with dustbins, wash pails, brushes and flakes of lye soap. They set about their grueling task with fierce purpose, occasionally glancing warily toward their master as if anticipating his rousing any moment to devour them.

Soon the displeasing stench of sickness gave way to the pungent smells of soap and fragrant beeswax, and with each improvement Maria's spirit lifted, despite the extreme fatigue she felt over her lack of food and sleep. Twice she attempted to lend her energies, little as they were, to the task of cleaning, but Gertrude would not have it.