‘You are wrong you know.’ His eyes turned towards her, laughing again, and she realised that marquises were not accustomed to being told they were wrong, especially by such very young ladies. But this was too important, she had seen his insecurity about his dealings with his sister and she must relieve him of this burden, if she could. ‘You and your sister may not share your feelings conventionally, but you share all the same. You do so with humour and with teasing, and with all the affection of truly intimate family. How I envy you.’ He looked struck. ‘It means, you know, that when Emmi is able to share her — her grief, then all the doors will be open to her to do so. She does not fear you, Wrexham,’ and for the first time she used his name naturally, ‘and that is such an important thing.’
He came to her then, and sat nearer to her than was usual. He took her chin in one casual hand and her pulse raced. ‘Who are you, small creature who has come into our lives and brought with you new happiness?’
She breathed and looked up at him, trembling beneath his fingers. ‘I am someone who - who needs join your sister before she sleeps, my lord.’
He stood up, shaking his head, ‘Of course. Goodnight, my dear Miss Fox.’
Chapeter 10
Before George, or Dobson as she must now call him, had left on an errand of his master regarding the delicate and confidential matter of a carriage of burgundy sent from the coast, Beth had managed to talk with him. She supposed, when she heard his master gave him orders over breakfast, that this errand must be to do with the avoidance of the excise man, but no. It seemed the large haul was to be spilt among various gentleman’s houses, and the marquis required the cart to be met, and the wine to be carefully packed into another carriage, to be sent off to his Kent estate. The butler’s presence was necessary to oversee that the inn lads did not disturb the wine in the process, the marquis explained to Beth.
As Beth sat in her favourite chair in the library, reading, she feared she might be able to get used to this life. Often she felt the guilt of not being busy, and often found herself disposing articles more neatly around whatever room she was in, but the joy of reading for hours overcame it. Now she had the Iliad (thankfully in translation) and was engrossed in the tale of the Agamemnon and Achilles. ‘Ach—ill—es,’ she sounded to herself with a frown. Then light dawned and she said ‘Achilles!’ with the correct pronunciation. The marquis had stepped into the library at that moment and let out a short laugh, and Beth sat up abruptly.
‘I came in to see what you had found to read today, before I go out. And I see you have entered the world of ancient Greece. I’m not sure my mama would have approved this reading for young ladies.’
‘And you, my lord?’
‘I have no objection.’ He paused and thought a little, remembering some less salubrious passages, ‘With some exceptions.’ She smiled at him. ‘You had never heard of Achilles?’
‘Oh yes! My father had a dog so called, I just realised. It is merely that I had never seen the name written.’
He was smiling at her in that intimate, friendly way they had found together, and she returned it glowingly. ‘Any other names that have caused you problems?’
‘Almost all of them. I had to say Agamemnon aloud three times before I got it right. He is very unwise, of course, but now I believe it will be the name of my first child.’
‘But what if it is a girl? I think that a very heavy chain to lay upon any infant.’
She smiled back, ‘I am quite determined, Agamemnon it will be!’
‘Enjoy your Trojan adventure, Miss Fox. I look forward to discussing it with you this evening.’
Beth settled down again with her book, until the princess stepped in on her way to a shopping appointment. She was wearing a luxurious ermine stole over her blue pelisse and the most enormous muff that Beth had ever seen.
‘Oh darling Beth, I do hate to leave you with nothing to do but a dusty old book.’
‘I am very content, I assure you,’ said Beth equably. ‘Emmi, do you know who Achilles is?’ she asked as an afterthought, for she feared her ignorance had somehow shown her up.
‘Someone Greek,’ said Emmi.
‘And Agamemnon?’
Emmi looked disgusted. ‘Beth, if you continue in this vein, people will think you bookish!’
‘I’m rather afraid I am.’
‘Once your family returns and I show you around town, you will find other amusements. You are not much like your reputation, you know.’
‘I fear it will not be so simple,’ said Beth sadly.
‘You will be in trouble, no doubt,’ said the princess kindly. ‘But I assure you the Horescombes will understand when I explain how wonderful you have been for us.’ She bent and kissed her cheek briefly. ‘Have fun with your fusty old book. I will be back in the afternoon.’
Alone, Beth swung her legs over the arms of the chair, her head tucked into the side wing, and continued to read. She would not think about the Horescombes’ return, she had vowed, but would enjoy the enchanting days left. An hour passed in perfect bliss.
The door to the library had remained ajar, and she saw Dobson’s tall frame in the hall, and called him in, pulling herself upright once more.
‘Dobson!’
As he entered, Beth was amused by his gravity of bearing, wearing his new responsibility well. He bowed, a fraction lower than her status as a young girl warranted. ‘How can I help you, ma’am?’
Beth smiled. ‘Excuse my inquisitiveness, Dobson, I merely wished to ask how Mrs Fitch took the criticism.’
A fraction of a smile crossed his face. ‘Not well, Miss, and then again, very well indeed.’ Beth’s eyebrows raised. ‘She was extremely put out miss, and was, I’m sorry to say, very harsh indeed on the upstairs maids. But I’m afraid two of them are newly arrived, miss, and did not quite know their duties. Not in full, I mean.’
‘If they were not shown the correct way to go on, then it is not the girls’ fault. It is Mrs Fitch’s responsibility, after all, to see that the work is done to her standards. But she has been here some time? I find it very strange that the butler’s behaviour alone can have had such an effect on her.’
‘Yes, miss.’ Dobson’s face closed a little and he remained silent.
‘Is there, perhaps, another reason?’
Dobson looked at her for a moment, then seemed to make a decision of trust. ‘Well, miss, I do not think that Mrs Fitch would like it known, but she has developed a rheumatic complaint in the last two years that makes it difficult to climb stairs. She makes sure the ground floor is properly seen to, for she can manage one flight at the moment, but she no longer visits the upper floors. She made the effort yesterday, and suffered for it.’
Beth was sympathetic. ‘How dreadful for her, she must fear to be turned off.’
‘I believe so, ma’am, but the marquis is unusually kind to his dependants, and so I have told her.’
‘I know. But it is dreadful to fear the loss of your home for so long,’ she said with real feeling. She frowned. ‘Tell me, is there another housemaid who is competent and has been here for a long time?’
‘Meg, Miss. But I’m afraid that she is not a favourite of Mrs Fitch. If Meg instructs a newer maid and Mrs Fitch hears of it, well …’ George Dobson was surprised that he was jettisoning his disciplined discretion when talking to this young lady. There was no height in her manner at all, and he felt somehow safe to do so. Added to that, he knew she was the author of his unlooked-for promotion.
‘Of course she is not a favourite. She is afraid, of course, that Meg — is it? — may steal her position.’ Dobson looked down at her, fascinated. ‘How old is Mrs Fitch?’
‘Well, I hardly know, Miss. Perhaps sixty.’
‘It is a hard life as a maid and housekeeper for all these years. And now rheumatism, which can make the best of people crotchety! Mrs Fitch needs some support, it is clear. But it must be done in a manner that makes her know that her position remains safe.’ Beth had a thought. ‘Was
that a topic of the argument between Mrs Bates and her?’
‘It was ma’am. Mrs Bates mentioned once that Mrs Fitch was derelict in her duties as a result of her sore bones, and Mrs Fitch took much offence.’
‘That was cruel of Mrs Bates,’ said Beth.
‘I assure you ma’am, I believe it was the result of a difficult day for Cook. She was sorry almost the moment she spoke, but the damage was done. Then when Mrs Fitch disparaged her pastry, full war was engaged.’
Beth laughed. ‘I think it would be.’
‘Under Mr Wright, staff arguments were dealt with swiftly, and not allowed to fester. But Mr Dow would agree with one and then the other, and kept the fire burning.’
‘Dreadful!’ said Beth, imagining the damage to the entire household that such tensions between the upper servants could wreak.
‘But miss, Cook is very skilled, and if the marquis was to hear …’ said Dobson, looking concerned.
‘Don’t fear. I shall discuss all this with the marquis, but I will tread lightly over the dispute. The main thing is to get Mrs Fitch some help, in a manner that does not terrify her.’
‘I must go, miss, to meet the carriage.’ Dobson bowed and walked to the door. Then, very much like George again, he turned to say, ‘Thank you miss. It seems to me that you have already been the means for me to return the house to the days Mr Wright. If you can persuade the marquis to appoint an under-housekeeper, it will go a long way to helping.’
He left, but commanded another footman before departure, ‘Have coals sent up for the library fire. Miss Fox is cold.’
Beth, wearing an ‘old’ shawl of Emmi’s (the finest cashmere) did not feel cold at all, but appreciated the gesture very much.
Tobias Brunswick, Marquis of Wrexham, was on his way to his club to meet some cronies for an agreed game of cards, after he had performed more mundane tasks such as a drive through the park to exercise his horses and greet acquaintances. He tried to avoid the carriages containing young unmarried ladies and their mamas, but if old Lady Jobson had known him from birth, or Mrs Forest had been recently widowed, it was impossible to do so. He was introduced to their daughters, one shy and a little colourless, one much too loud, and was as charming as he could be, satisfying their mamas. He agreed to dance with both of them at upcoming engagements, and continued his park ride.
He plunged into deep thought, such that he missed the hail of several friends, on foot and on horseback, which he would be roasted for at a later date. He could not but compare the two young girls he had met to Miss Fox. He remembered finding her in the library yesterday, her feet over the arm of the chair, slightly swinging. Her fingers were thoughtlessly twirling one side ringlet, and she was raptly reading. He had stood watching that little face, which was pretty enough even when you could not see her fabulous eyes, and the soft brown of her hair. He was growing to love the slim blue gown she alternated with the other simple muslin. He saw an errant ankle beneath her hem, and something, that had been merely admiring and wondering at her effect on him, lit into a fire.
An ankle, he thought disgusted, had him shaking so much that he had not been able to go into the room lest he — what?
He did not really understand himself. Apart from the girls he had just met, there were many eligible ladies of great beauty in the ton that had somehow failed to light that fire. Some married ladies of high rank had lit it somewhat, and they had taken their pleasure together, but this was a new feeling to him. The fire was bound up in the quickness with which they had become friends, even though she was so terrified at first that he had thought she might shudder herself to death. That terror, he thought now, had somehow necessitated the change in his usual urbane, cynical demeanour. Seeing her at the inn, so obviously in trouble, had alighted protective instincts he hardly knew he possessed. So he was rather kinder to her than he was to the new crop of eligible young ladies pressurised to be agreeable to the rich marquis, to whom he gave only his detached, urbane chatter.
Her terror had kept him kind. That and the knowledge that catching a marquis for a husband was as far from her mind as it could be. At first he attributed this to her extreme youth, but since he had discovered her true age, it was just another of her unique qualities. He sounded like a coxcomb again — of course not every young lady found him tolerable, simply because he was a marquis. He had almost asked Miss Lovatt for another dance, only on the basis of her ill-concealed boredom at that idle chatter he practised to ward off romantic hopes. No, he knew that some young ladies did not find him to their taste. The version of him he displayed at balls and routs, at any rate. But very few. Many more would have liked him because of his position in society even had he been outright rude, he knew.
But Beth did like him, he was sure. And yet she evidently did not consider him as a prospective mate. They had developed (in such a short time) a cheerful, teasing tone with each other, and she was not afraid to put him in his place. No, that was not quite right. Concern for others seemed to compel her to do so, and she was delightfully guilty afterwards. They all, Emmi, Beth and he, seemed to have meshed. She was not like a guest at all. She was almost like his sister to him.
No, that was a lie. There had been moments between them, such powerful moments when he had felt her tremble beneath his fingers, when her gaze seemed to sear his skin. If he did not kiss her soon, he felt he might explode. But to do so while she was under his protection would be unpardonable. Also, to do so while he was so confused at his feelings for her, would similarly be unpardonable. He would not so wound her tender heart. Since when he had developed such a conscience, he had no idea. How could it be? How could he have been entranced by this small creature who, though young, seemed to have such unusual depth in her eyes? Those large, soft, often merry, sometimes angry then quickly guilty, glowing eyes. However it was, he knew. The mystery of her, her covering up whatever scrape she had been in, the reluctance to tell, gave him pause. She must confide in him, and before the Horescombes returned. It seemed all at once a test of her regard for him.
But if she would do that, if he knew that it was the same for her as it was for him, he would forget the insanity of falling for a pretty young girl in a matter of probably two days. He knew he desired her, but he knew she was merry and true and a woman of depths that seemed unlikely for her age and gentle rearing. He would like to know the cause of that knowledge, to heal the hurts he saw there, but that was for later. Emmi’s pushing them together aside, he realised he’d known on his own. Beth was for him — if only she truly felt for him as he did for her. If she would confide in them, he decided, then he would know.
Now on the road to his club, he decided to turn around and return home, hopeful for a word with her before his sister’s return. She was not the normal vision of a siren, but still his heart heard her song.
Chapter 11
Sophy was able to stretch her legs at last, the stage reaching London and depositing its charges at Cheapside, at the Swan with Two Necks. The large cobbled inn yard was bustling with life, ostlers changing horses, and porters moving carts. Sophy, in her plain bonnet, was largely ignored, being pushed rudely aside by a boy helping with the unloading of the luggage. She almost spoke sharply to him, but held her tongue.
It was a large old inn with beamed galleries on the second floor on three sides, where the motley crew of travellers, from farmer to gentleman, were at their leisure to stand on the covered balconies and watch the new stagecoach’s arrival. They regarded the excitement, rather as though they were in theatre boxes, watching the performance below. Sophy, looking above, encountered the gaze of watery-eyed gentleman with a pipe in his mouth, leering at her. She wished she might have persuaded Betty to come with her after all, but that young maid had been adamant that she had no need for Lunnon.
‘Don’t you want to see the world, Betty?’ had said Sophy, perplexed. ‘Don’t you want things to happen to you?’
Betty had sniffed. ‘Not Lunnon things, miss,’ she answered dismissively.
/> Now, Sophy suddenly felt very small. She had not been in the busiest of London streets before and certainly not in Cheapside. She touched the shoulder of the best dressed man she could find, who wore a rather flashy military uniform, and said, ‘Excuse me sir, could you indicate to me the way to —’she realised she did not want to give her direction, ‘— to Hyde Park?’
The man turned. He sported a natty set of military whiskers, an eye as watery as the leering gentleman’s on the gallery, and a disquieting smile that revealed several missing teeth. She saw at once that the uniform was frayed, the gold braid sadly tarnished, and smelt strong spirits emanate from him. She stepped back, but he held her arm. ‘Certainly, my pretty, come with me!’
Without making a scene, which might draw the attention of the gentlemen whose carriages were also in the yard, one of whom may discover her disguise, Sophy could hardly get away. She would kick and run if need be, but she was relieved when she heard a voice say, ‘Excuse me sir, but I think this is the maid I’m to take to my master’s house.’
‘What?’ The military gentleman looked like he would dispute this, but the man, obviously an upper servant of some kind, was almost a foot taller than he, and looked determined beneath his servility, so he said ‘Very well,’ and turned away, disgruntled.
‘Right you!’ said the tall man to Sophy. ‘Lost in London, is it? Well, you’re in luck, for I have to walk past Hyde Park to get back to my master’s. Come with me.’ He strode off, rather than trying to manhandle her, and so Sophy ran to catch up with him. As she skipped two steps to match his long stride, the dark servant looked down at her amused, and slowed. ‘Where you off to, then? In service?’
‘Yes!’ said Sophy, ‘And I’m going to Grosvenor Square.’ She did not wish to say the real street, two blocks from the square.
Beth and the Mistaken Identity Page 10
