by Tamara Gill
Chapter Fourteen
On the morning but one before the family's departure for London, Constance was summoned from her dusting to Mrs Templeton's office. Her first thought was that she was being told to leave. 'What else could I expect? If I were in the Earl's shoes, I would do the same'. But this practical, if bitter, thought was little consolation. And she was thinking how she would plead with Mrs Templeton to let her stay on, just until the end of the week, as she went slowly down the cool stone passage to the office at the back of the house.
“Constance dear! How well you're looking! All is well with you I trust?”
“Well, it has been.”
Constance couldn't keep the dejection she felt at her imminent dismissal from taking possession of her. Mrs Templeton, somewhat hesitantly, looking a little dejected herself, went on.
“We have rather a problem which I fervently hope you can help us with, Constance dear.”
Constance, remembering the stoic Emperor Marcus Aurelius, on the Rhine facing the German barbarians, braced herself.
“You know of Tess, Lady Harriet's personal maid, don't you?”
“Why, yes, I do, a charming girl.”
“Indeed yes, pretty as a rose. And we aren't the only ones who think so. Her young beau, Frank Skinner, the shopkeeper's son, has proposed to her just yesterday evening. Tess has accepted.”
“I must congratulate her. Frank is a fine young man, and has excellent prospects.”
“They'll make a good match, I agree... the problem is, she won’t be able to go to London with Lady Harriet, as the wedding is set to be celebrated three weeks from Sunday at St Bartholomew’s. Frank and his family tried to arrange it to coincide with Tess's return from London, but... well… without going into every detail, circumstances have conspired against it. It's three weeks’ time or nothing. His Lordship has, of course, given them his blessing, but Lady Harriet has no personal maid, and though she is trying so valiantly not to be upset – you can imagine how it would be if news got out that she was in London for the Season with no personal maid! - the poor thing feels it deeply. We simply don't know what to do... I thought though that... well... I hope you won’t think I'm taking advantage of your good nature... I thought that I might ask you to accompany Lady Harriet, just until we find her a new, permanent maid.”
Constance, sitting facing Mrs Templeton, tried not to let the sudden burst of elation she felt register in her voice or discompose her features. London! And with the Earl’s family… She would need to arrange help for Margaret Leslie, but…
“Well, this is not what I expected...”
“Oh, have no fears Constance, his Lordship agrees with me, that if we were to ask anybody – and really, candidates are very thin on the ground – it should be you. That, as he said: ‘of our excellent staff Mrs Leslie is certainly the most qualified’ and, of course's he's right, you are... I know this must come as a terrible inconvenience, especially as the departure is the day after tomorrow... but could I ask you to give us your answer within the hour? Go and have a stroll outside, or stay here in my office – I have some business to attend to in the main house – have some more tea, and consider our offer. Could you, would you do that?”
Though doubts as to his Lordship's real intentions – likely amorous ones! - darted through her mind, along with concerns as to how Lady Harriet herself would react to this abrupt replacement of her personal maid, a young lady who knew every detail of her toilette and wardrobe so intimately, Constance knew what she had to do.
And it would also, she realised, make it possible for her to continue to help all of the girls, as she had been – to be ‘almost a governess’ in guiding them to continue to be pleasant, rather than nasty, young women.
“Thank you for the offer of more of your delicious tea Mrs Templeton, but I will decline it – and accept your, I'll admit, rather daunting offer of a change of position.”
Mrs Templeton's face, downcast at Constance's initial negative phrase, brightened, and brimmed over into smiles, when she heard what followed. Raising herself, she came around the desk to Constance and hugged her warmly.
“Bless you Constance! I knew that we could rely on you. Wait until Lady Harriet hears! Come, come with me.”
It was a very snuffled, inarticulate reply that Lady Harriet gave when Mrs Templeton knocked at her door, and when they entered, she had her back to them, bent over a confusion of clothing heaped on the bed, somewhere among which were a number of empty trunks lying like an array of big empty mouths.
It was a very affecting scene, and Constance was touched by how vulnerable, how forlorn, the girl looked, standing there alone, and not knowing where to begin. But at least she had attempted to make a start.
“Here my dear, come to old Mrs Temp!”
Mrs Templeton, who had known Lady Harriet, and her sisters, since they were in swaddling, went up to Lady Harriet, and, spreading her arm across the girl's back, drew her against the mighty maternal cushion of her bosom. As Lady Harriet sobbed there, the good lady gave her the news.
Lady Harriet raised her tear-stained face and looked at Constance.
“Constance? You will, really? Oh, thank you so much! You're too kind!”
“Now, you two have a lot to discuss so I'll leave you both alone... Constance, thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”
Mrs Templeton looked up, her eyes wet, into Constance's face and, squeezing her forearm briefly, left the two alone.
“Well Lady Harriet, we have precious little time... Let's see... Can I ask you to decide which jewellery you wish to take?”
Lady Harriet straightened, and a sigh of relief escaped her.
“I didn’t know where to start! Jewellery… yes, I can decide on that.”
The girl went to her dresser, and settled on the stool, emptying her jewellery box onto the surface, and beginning to sort through things.
“I will sort through your ballgowns and dinner dresses, first of all, as the most important task, for though you won’t be officially out, there will be numerous events that you will still be able to go to. Then we'll have a look at your morning and afternoon dresses, is that agreeable?”
“Most agreeable Constance, and thank you again.”
“Pray don't mention it.”
'So, that takes care of Lady Harriet's reaction. But what of the Earl? Doesn't this prove that he only sees me as a mistress, an indispensable part of the household baggage, to be taken along to London, and rifled through at any convenient opportunity?'
The thought was unsettling, yet Constance could not ignore it – soon, she needed to understand what the Earl really thought of her – but how could she discover that, when any time that they were alone together, they seemed to simply succumb to animal passion?
Chapter Fifteen
The two days prior to departure were filled with the bustle of preparations. Blackwood Chase positively hummed with activity, and through it all Constance and Perry were barely able to catch one or two glimpses of each other. These glimpses were as tantalising as aperitifs - with the feast indefinitely postponed. Constance's mouth watered for one of his kisses, while Perry's body hardened almost painfully every time that he allowed himself to revisit the memory of her naked loveliness stretched in the bed beneath him.
The day long coach ride to London provided some relief. To be out in the open air, out of the great house, away from the scenes of their impassioned lovemaking was a tonic, though, as she sat, bouncing along the uneven roads, squashed between the two other maids, and facing their ladyships, Constance found herself trying to snatch a glimpse of the Earl, who was accompanying them on Zenobia, along with his valet, who rode the other horse that the Earl had chosen to take to London with him. All she could manage, most of the time, was barely a glimpse of him - a view of his broad back as he rode ahead to check the road or to ascertain their proximity to one of the coaching inns.
It was only when they had reached Barnet, and the city was within view on the horizon that, lo
oking directly into the carriage, his eyes fell upon her. He smiled briefly, which was rather a bold act under the constrained circumstances, but she daren't return it.
Finally, the four-horse team clopped down a stately street in Knightsbridge, the houses uniformly magnificent with their pillared porticoes, and the coach drew up before the stateliest and most magnificent of all: Blackwood House. Before the coach come to a complete halt, the great royal blue double doors of the house swung open and a stream of footmen trotted down the steps, as well-regimented as a troop of the King's Guard, ready to begin unloading the luggage and attending to their ladyships.
Constance stepped out of the coach, a little stiff – more than a trace remained of her exertions with the Earl three days previous – but curious, excited, and keenly anticipating seeing new people and new scenes. As Constance and the two other maids, Abigail and Nora, had to stay with their ladyships until they were shown to their rooms, they entered the house behind the three girls and their father.
The entrance hall was breath-taking in its cool marbled spaciousness, with its great sweep of ornate staircase leading to the levels above, its stained-glass fan light, and its marble fountain shimmering with light, set in the centre of the tiled octagonal floor. Constance, despite herself, was overwhelmed by the regal air concentrated here – everything was so spotless! The floors and walls were pristine and even the air seemed crystalline. Surely, she was just a grubby interloper in this palace of the aristocracy...!
No less magnificent was a lady in her late sixties, standing by the fountain, arms extended in greeting to her guests. The girls rushed eagerly towards her, followed by the beaming Earl, her son.
Constance was brought out of her daze by the Butler, Mr Benton, muttering something to a footman a few feet in front of her. The footman turned and told her that he would show her to Lady Harriet's room, where she could make sure that it was in order to receive its guest. She would then meet the Housekeeper, Mrs Wilson. Constance nodded agreeably, and as the girls, and the Earl – the latter without a backward glance – were swept into the drawing room by the magnificent Dowager Countless of Blackwood, Constance followed the footman up the great staircase, pulling up her long skirts, afraid to allow its grubby hem to touch the purity of the marble steps.
~~~~~
Late that night, after making sure that Lady Harriet's clothes, jewellery, and other possessions were all neatly packed away in her dressing room, and that Lady Harriet herself was content with everything, Constance prepared herself to sleep in the small, but not cramped, room which she was given in the servants’ quarters, two floors above.
As she had got into the habit of doing in the last couple of weeks, she undressed and washed herself in front of the small mirror, checking her body and generally musing to herself. Her 'love bruises', as she called them, were beginning to fade already, as was the 'love bite' on her neck. She was sad to see them go.
They were marks of possession, physical evidence that her affair with the Earl had really taken place – for sometimes now she doubted it.
She stood in front of the mirror, turning her curved shape from side to side, wondering when, if ever, the little bruises would be renewed. Wondering if she would even see the Earl at all, over the next few days.
‘Come Constance. Isn’t it better for you if these bruises aren’t replaced? That the Earl remains out of sight?’
The sensible answer was not the one that she wished to give, to her annoying internal voice.
Chapter Sixteen
The following afternoon, Constance was back in Lady Harriet's room, helping her decide what she would wear that evening. There was to be a formal dinner at Blackwood House, attended by friends and relations of the Stapleton family, along with some important people from parliament and the court. Lady Harriet and her two sisters would be attending this 'at home' event and were thrilled to the core at the prospect of having dinner with so many significant people.
Lady Clara's coming out Ball was to take place in two days’ time, and the two younger girls, though they did their best to hide it, were deeply envious. But at least, they told themselves, they had this glittering dinner to enjoy, at which they would be on an almost equal footing with their soon to be officially adult, marriageable, older sister.
Lady Harriet had to have exactly the right dress, and it was no easy decision.
A classic dress with a beautifully embroidered chemisette? A stylish dress of cambric muslin? An ivory silk dinner dress? A Circassian robe of pink carpe...?
With Constance's help she had shrunk the possibilities down to a mere five, and these were spread upon the bed, with matching sets of jewellery set at their necks and wrists. Constance, as indecisive as her charge, was hovering above them. They were like a couple of generals hovering over the map of a battlefield, Constance thought, amused despite herself. When a knock came at the door, Lady Harriet, without turning, bade whoever it was enter.
Constance turned to see the Dowager Countess sweep into the room in her beautiful pale-green silk afternoon dress, her thick hair swept up like a great silver-grey crown, her deep green eyes, so like her son's, as flashingly alive as a pair of perfectly set emeralds. Constance curtseyed and offered her a chair. Lady Harriet kissed her cheek and hurried back to a detailed examination of her dresses.
“Perhaps you should wait before making your final decision my dear.”
The Dowager examined the brooding Lady Harriet with her lorgnette.
“I can't Grandmama, I simply can't. I have to know. There's so much more to do before tonight.”
“I see that you have five candidates to choose from. Do you think an addition to these would help or hinder the decision-making process?”
Lady Harriet, puzzled, turned. “What do you mean Grandmama?”
“I mean -” here she snapped her fingers towards the still open doorway. “...the dresses that you ordered when you were last here have finally arrived.”
In came three footmen, their arms heaped with towers of boxes, hat boxes swinging from their arms.
“Goodness! Oh, let me see! How marvellous! Put them here... and here... thank you, thank you Grandmama!”
“Don't thank me child, I'm merely the messenger, thank your Papa.”
“Oh I will! I will! I mean I – we- already have. Dear Papa!”
With the footmen gone, Lady Harriet fell on the boxes and began tearing them open, lids and layers of tissue flying from her eager fingers, gasps of amazement falling from her mouth.
“Oh! Look! Constance! Isn't this utterly sublime!... And this!... And... Oh! This... This is surely better than anything Clara ordered. Quick Constance, undo me, I must try it on at once!”
Lady Harriet, forgetting her Grandmama completely, thrust her back at Constance, indicating that she should unbutton her dress. Constance chose her next words with care.
“It certainly is a match for anything that Clara has, Harriet, but it is a ballgown and what we need for tonight is a dinner dress. Shall we see which of these might do for tonight, and then once we've decided that, we can settle down at our leisure for you to try on the ballgowns. What do you think?”
The Dowager noted with approval the tone of Constance's voice and her choice of expression: calm, dignified, with just the right hint of authority. It brought the over-excited girl to her senses quickly, and without undue fuss. The Dowager had been impressed by Constance's bearing, seeing her about the house that day, detecting something in her manner which suggested that she was fitted for far better things than being a maid.
Lady Harriet, recalling herself, agreed that Constance's was a good idea, and, as the Dowager sipped the tea she had ordered, Lady Harriet set about selecting more possibilities for the evening dinner, while directing wistful sighs at the shimmering ball gown which Constance had hung on the dressing screen.
~~~~~
That evening, just after seven o'clock, Lady Harriet left her bedroom looking very pleased with herself. Her almost black hair
, so difficult to style, was swept back and tied in a fashionable chignon, with just a few curls left loose to enhance her pretty face; she had finally decided on the new ivory silk dinner dress, with small soft sleeves and a short train. She looked prettier and more elegant, thanks to Constance's advice, than she'd ever dared to hope that she could look, and as she went to the stairs, she cast a backward look full of gratitude at Constance, who was watching her, smiling proudly at her handiwork, from the doorway of the bedroom.
Soon the dinner guests began to arrive and Constance remained on the balcony above the entry hall, watching them enter. The ladies, though not all exactly beautiful, or even pretty, looked resplendent in their fine dresses and glinting accessories, the Lords and gentlemen were elegant and commanding in their perfectly tailored coats, fine pantaloons or breeches, and perfectly fitting, highly polished footwear.
Though there were many very handsome men among the throng, there was one who stood, literally, head and shoulders above the rest, and from her eyrie, Constance could see many of the ladies' heads turning in this man's direction.
This was, of course, Peregrine Stapleton, the Earl of Blackwood. It wasn't just that, in his crimson-silk waistcoat and close-fitting jacket, he cut a finer figure than any of the men there, it was that there was a magnetism about him, independent of his dress, and even of his status.
He had, Constance concluded, not for the first time, a kind of weighty presence, an indefinable solidity about him, as if... how could she put it? He looked as if he were some god visiting Hades, shaking hands, and acknowledging dressed-up shadows. He was the realest man among them, of a certainty. Constance sighed, seeing him again, in her mind, naked, his thick hair loose and falling across his eyes, those eyes that burned like a lion's as he looked hungrily upon her nakedness spread like a feast beneath him...
She shook the image away, suddenly feeling overheated.
How she envied the ladies down there, even the old, ugly ones, who could shake his hand, and chat with him familiarly, his social equals! Here she was, stuck upstairs, only able to look, and sigh, and pine.
