Virginia Henley (8 page)

She wanted to pull the tablecloth off and smash dishes, she
wanted to throw the contents of the soup tureen over him, she wanted to fly at him and scratch his eyes out, but she knew better than to tangle with Patrick when he was in this quiet, cutting mood. Barbara’s dinner was totally ruined now that her brother as well as her father was hostile; she tried to conceal her sniffling behind her napkin. Without glancing in her direction, Patrick said, “That noise is unacceptable at table. You may go to your room.” Barbara fled; Julia followed.

Jonathan O’Reilly looked down the table at his son and felt uneasy.

“What’s the matter, lad? Is your wound plaguing you?”

He shook his head and said, “A bit tired, I suppose. It’s just these women—they’re all the same, they always want something.”

“We’ve both spoiled them because they’ve no mother, but who spoils us, eh, lad? Anyroad, tell me about the mills. Who did you leave in charge?”

“I know you trust Tom Connors, so I put him over all three mills. If things work out well, I think you should leave him as manager to take some of the load from your shoulders. I’m putting my money into that shipping venture I told you about with Isaac Bolt, and I’m seriously considering going to America on one of the trips.”

“Maybe I should sell the mills and retire altogether,” Jonathan mused.

Patrick was shocked; though he agreed completely with that suggestion, he had never thought to see the day his father would propose it. “Well, there’s no hurry. Once Julia’s married, perhaps you can think about it more seriously. I certainly intend to invest any future monies in London rather than the North; perhaps you should do the same.”

*   *   *

On the day of the engagement party Kitty was up at five o’clock. She was told to light the kitchen fires and when she discovered all the coal scuttles empty, she could have cried with vexation. She hated going to the cellars for coal, as there were always rats, but worse than the rats was the degrading nature of picking up the filthy cobs with her hands to fill the scuttle and then heaving it up the stairs, a job much too heavy for her. The chef had a hired helper for the day, so naturally he had to establish total authority by throwing a temperamental fit of pique. The chef demanded the flagstone floor of the huge kitchen be scrubbed before he set foot on it, and this job fell to Kitty. While she longed for the fancy jobs such as making exquisitely patterned butter pats and putting silver balls on the pretty
gateaux
, in reality she got the job of gutting and cleaning the fowl. She only thanked God that someone had had the foresight to pluck them the day before. So while the other maids helped make canapes and hors d’oeuvres, she sat with a bucket of guts between her legs and pinched her nostrils together as best she could to prevent her gorge from rising. She silently prayed that Julia would need her for something and call her away from all this, but of course the girls were busy with their own preparations. Their gowns were to have final fittings and each spent over two hours with the hairdresser. After lunch she was put to work cleaning vegetables. Her hands were in water so long they became crinkled and red. When at last she was finished, she wiped them on her apron and surveyed them with dismay. She shrugged; there was no alternative but to steal some of the hand lotion from Julia’s room next time she passed that way. Kitty longed to find a concealed hide-away where she could observe the guests, but due to a mild conspiracy of the other servants she was placed at the sink once again. At first she took pleasure in handling the fine crystal glasses and china plates, but after she had stood at this task four hours
without respite, her legs began to ache painfully. Her hands stopped being red and wrinkled and turned white and bloated. Kitty felt sorry for herself. She hated them all. She could imagine the music and the laughter in the big salon that stretched across the whole front of the house, and vowed that when she was rich and gave parties she would always remember the poor drudges belowstairs who had to do all the dirty work. She wasn’t allowed to go up to bed until after one o’clock in the morning, and her weary legs could hardly carry her up the back stairs to the attic. The thought of arising again at five appalled her, and she thought enviously of Julia and Barbara, who could stay in bed until noon if they fancied.

Patrick was up early about his own affairs the next morning. He took a lease on a small but smart establishment in Half-Moon Street and sent a note around to the employment agency setting out his requirements for a lady’s maid, informing them he would be around the next day to make his selection. He kept the appointment promptly and made his choice from the three women they had lined up for him.

“Mrs. Harris, the lady you will be looking after is rather young and your duties will be quite light. Naturally, I have a daily to do the heavy work and I think I’ll get you a cook too. Here’s the address. Can you start tomorrow?”

“Yes, sir. Is there just you and your wife, sir? Are there any children?”

He smiled and said, “The lady is not my wife, Mrs. Harris. I won’t be residing there, I’ll only be a visitor.”

She grasped the situation immediately. “I see. So it’s simply a matter of looking after the lady’s wardrobe and attending to her toilet and hair and accompanying her shopping, and of course keeping an eye on her as regards other gentlemen callers?”

“Precisely, Mrs. Harris. I think we understand each other perfectly.”

Patrick had asked Jeffrey to call at two o’clock and was pleased to see the butler usher him into the library at precisely that hour. Julia was in a fit of pique because when she had hinted to her father about a house in London for a wedding present, he had told her flatly they could live at Cadogen Square; he had been adamant about not wanting the expense of another household in London. Patrick poured them both a glass of Scotch and water, sat behind the library desk and indicated a seat for his future brother-in-law.

“Jeff, I hope you won’t take me wrong, but I feel I have to speak. I would hate to see you set off on the wrong foot with Julia.”

Jeffrey held himself stiffly, not knowing what to expect.

Patrick drank half his glassful in one swallow and continued, “You should start out as you mean to carry on, and that’s to take the upper hand.”

Jeffrey was surprised at the words.

“Julia is used to dealing with two very strong-willed men, and yet she is able to get her own way most of the time. If she were to come up against anything softer than an iron will, she would walk all over you; worse, she would devour you,” Patrick emphasized.

Jeffrey said carefully, “It would be nice to be master in my house, but it will not be my own house, will it? Julia will control the purse strings.”

“Wrong! Father will control the purse strings and you can only avoid that in the way I myself did; make yourself financially independent of him.”

Jeff opened his mouth to speak.

“Ah, don’t object before you hear me out. I realize England’s ruling classes haven’t soiled their hands with trade in the past. The Regency saw to that, but we are coming into a
new era now that Victoria is on the throne. England owes its strength to manufacturing.”

Jeffrey said quietly, “I wasn’t going to object. I would jump at the opportunity to prove myself, in spite of my family’s objections.”

“Excellent! Now, I’ve been giving some thought to you and I believe that the one occupation that wouldn’t put you beyond the pale is that of wine merchant. You have the entree to society and you could introduce and promote new brands of wine, especially champagne. I am about to acquire part interest in such a company, Stowils of Chelsea. Your help will be invaluable. What do you say?”

“I should be honored to join you in any endeavor you have in mind. I’d be a fool to refuse; you are always such a resounding success.”

“Thanks for your confidence. I abhor snobbery. It’s like cutting off your nose to spite your face. I remember at Oxford I was the best damned oarsman they’d ever had, but I was barred from entering the Royal Henley Regatta because I’d worked with my hands. I had the satisfaction of seeing my school defeated because they dispensed with my services.”

Jeffrey thought, I wouldn’t want Patrick O’Reilly for my enemy. “So let’s shake on it, and I’ll be in touch with you. Don’t forget my advice concerning Julia,” he said with a wink.

Jonathan O’Reilly was expecting a shipment of wine and liquor from the distillery to replenish his stock. When it arrived he looked over the invoices, signed the receipt and told the two delivery men to put the cases in the cellar.

An angry Kitty had been sent down for coal. She vowed that she would never do this degrading chore again, promising herself she would appeal to Patrick if there were any repercussions. The men stacked the cases of wine at the top of the cellar steps and as Kitty hauled the heavy coal scuttle through the door she collided with the wine and sent eight cases crashing to the floor. The girl was rooted to the spot with horror. “How many’s broken?” she finally whispered.

“All of ’um! Eight dozen, that’s ninety-six bottles, you clumsy bitch!”

She stood in a wine-red pool with shards of glass stretching clear across the kitchen floor.

“Oh, my God, whatever shall I do?” she asked piteously, and the tears ran down her cheeks and dripped into the pool.

Patrick, followed by most of the servants, came to investigate the crash. “What in Christ’s name is going on here?”

The men spoke up together, “It was her fault, gov’nor. She crashed into the wine with that bleedin’ coal scuttle. Who’s going’ to pay for this breakage that’s what I’d like to know.”

Kitty dared not look up at Patrick. She trembled with the overwhelming knowledge of the havoc she had wrought.

Patrick’s voice had a cutting edge that brooked no disobedience.

“Clean it up instantly. Replace the order and bill me. Kitty, come!” He ushered her from the kitchen and up the broad staircase to his bedroom. The tears were still coming as she climbed each stair with trepidation in her heart. Her mind was going over the alternatives rapidly. Would it be best to deny that she had done it, or disclaim responsibility because the cases were stacked improperly, or would it simply be best to throw herself on Patrick’s mercy and hope he wouldn’t deduct the cost of the wine from her year’s wages? He closed the door quietly and stood looking down at her. He took a large white handkerchief from his pocket, put a finger under her chin to lift her face and then very gently wiped away her tears.

She eyed him warily.

“Kitty, I can’t bear to see you a servant. Let me take you away from all this.” For one glorious moment she thought he was going to ask her to marry him, until a little voice of reason told her it wouldn’t be that easy.

“What do you mean?” she whispered.

“First of all, Kitty, tell me what you want to do,” he urged.

She knew he was not referring to the wine, but to life. She took a deep breath. “Everything! I want to see, smell, taste, touch everything. I want to do everything, go everywhere, experience it all,” she said with passion.

“Then we are alike,” he smiled. “I have a little house in Half-Moon Street. Would you like to go and live there? Learn how to be a lady, wear pretty clothes and have servants of your own?”

“Are you sure it would be all right for me to do that?”

“Oh, yes, it’s done all the time, I assure you.”

“When can we leave?” she asked quickly.

He laughed and said, “Now, if you like.”

She thought happily, He does want to marry me, but first I have to learn to be a lady.

She dashed upstairs to the attic for her cloak. She slipped her tarot cards into her reticule, retrieved her bracelet from under the mattress and didn’t even pause to look around the room. Her heart was singing. She wanted to slide down the banister, but when she saw Patrick waiting at the bottom for her, she quickly decided that it would be unladylike.

She leaned back against the velvet squabs of Patrick’s well-sprung carriage and closed her eyes for a second to control her excitement.

He kept glancing at her and smiling, while keeping an eye on his driver.

“Where are we going?” she ventured.

“I’m going to take you to Madame Martine’s in Bond Street. A very chic Paris dressmaker. Probably the only time she saw France was from Dover on a clear day, but her clothes are unsurpassed.”

Kitty laughed and asked, “Is she very expensive?”

“You will be delighted to know her prices are shameful. It will very likely cost me an arm and a leg before I get out of there, but don’t let that stop you from picking anything you desire.”

She threw him a mischievous glance from under those long black lashes and said with a laugh, “I won’t disappoint you!”

He held her eyes for a moment and said, “I’ll hold you to that promise,” but she quickly lowered her eyes and fingered the tiny bells on her bracelet. His eyes clouded momentarily. “Kitty, where did you get that?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you,” she said prettily.

“Damn it, Kitty, I won’t have you accepting presents from other men. I wasn’t even aware you knew any men except
Father and me. Father! That’s who bought your little trinket, isn’t it?” he demanded.