Stranger at the Dower House (Strangers Book 1)

by Mary Kingswood

  Louisa sipped her wine thoughtfully once they were alone again. “Well, it is a great relief to find that William is competent at something, for as a footman he is sadly deficient. I have never had to train servants before, Mr Gage, and I am finding it a tiresome business.”

  He frowned as if finding the point difficult to grasp. “How did you manage?” he said eventually. “Did they always come to you fully trained?”

  “Generally speaking, they were born on the estate or one of the neighbouring estates. They went into service at the age of ten or twelve, and then the butler trained them up, or the housekeeper or the head groom or the cook. The family never even saw a footman until he was proficient. Now I have a footman who used to be a groom, and no butler to teach him how to behave. The maid was a third housemaid somewhere, and I have no doubt that she was an excellent third housemaid, for her polishing and dusting is exemplary, but now I need her to be everything from scullery maid up to housekeeper, and to do what needs to be done without being told, and it is a challenge for both of us.”

  “Ah, the trials of the mistress of the house,” he said lightly. With a frown, he went on, “Dilys Hughes, a housemaid in a spot of bother. It could be, I suppose.”

  “With shoes like that? No housemaid ever wore anything so fancy, and the cloak had silver fastenings. I should very much like to see the rest of her clothes. Sometimes the outer garments are the mistress’s castoffs, so the cheap shift will give it away. And her hands… a housemaid would have roughened hands, although perhaps that could not be discerned, given the state of the corpse.”

  “I wonder why she came here?” he said thoughtfully. “That is the part I find odd. If she worked at the Hall, and wanted to kill herself, why come here to do it, and lock herself in? It is very strange.”

  “Perhaps because the house was empty?” Louisa said. “Was it empty then?”

  “I cannot remember. There was a very elderly lady living here when we first came to the village, about thirty years ago, but she died not long after and the house has been empty since then. I expect Winslade will check the precise dates.”

  The door knocker sounded, and a thunder of feet on the service stairs heralded the arrival of William to answer it. The front door opened, a few words were spoken, the door closed again. A moment later, he stood hesitantly in the door.

  “Letter for you, madam.”

  “Then bring it to me,” she said. “I have still not found you a silver salver for this sort of thing, have I? Who brought it, a footman?”

  “Maid, madam.”

  “Is an answer expected?”

  “No, madam.”

  “Then you may go.”

  Mr Gage smiled, shaking his head. “I see the problem. One takes one’s servants for granted rather.”

  “Indeed. How he will manage when my wine arrives I cannot imagine. I wonder if I might presume to send him to your butler for instruction? I do not care if he addresses me as ‘mum’ and calls the drawing room the back parlour, but I care very much about racking and sulphuring, and the proper management of my cellar. Oh, this is from Miss Beasley. ‘So sorry for the confusion… most happy to invite you… look forward to seeing you…’ I am to get my dinner and cards at the Beasley’s after all. How delightful. Is Dr Beasley a connoisseur of wine also?”

  “You will get Hock with the dinner, I expect.”

  “What a pity. And ratafia with the cards and Tokay with supper. Your sister warned me of those. I shall endeavour to conceal my disappointment.”

  He laughed and drained his glass. “Just one more before I go?”

  ~~~~~

  It would be stretching a point to say that Louisa settled into a routine, but the days began to show some semblance of order. Each morning she strode briskly down to what might loosely be described as the centre of the village to buy bread and buns for her breakfast from Mr Seldon, and to leave her letters at the inn. Quite often she would call at Timpson’s, a general store where might be bought almost anything from butter to buckets, and from dried peas to pins, and a great deal more besides. There were other more specialised shops, but there was something peculiarly satisfying about a shop that stocked absolutely everything. Several times in that first, rather fraught, week she would say to Mr Timpson, “I suppose you have no ink… or gelatine… or rose water…?” and he would reply, “One moment, if you please, madam,” and there it would be, the thing she wanted, often a little dusty or faded or dried up, but perfectly sound, and for considerably less than she would have paid in Durham.

  She found herself a person worthy of notice again, but she was as yet undecided as to the benefit of this. Her evening with the Beasleys was pleasant enough, although Dr Beasley was rather too inclined to beguile the dinner table with every tiny detail of his discoveries regarding the wine cellar body. However, this was followed by two evenings of bad dinners and stultifying boredom with the Andersons and the Drinkwaters. Mrs Anderson was shocked to find that Louisa had not been to London since her come out. “Oh, but the season!” she twittered. “How can you bear to miss the season? It is so important that our leading families set the tone, do you not agree?” Mrs Drinkwater was even more direct. “Surely Lord Mountsea wished his heir to show himself at court?”

  So that accounted for her return to popularity. They knew she had nearly become a baroness. Ah well, so much for her quiet, discreet life in the shires. Still, she was optimistic that her plan would eventually come to fruition.

  Sunday took her to church, where she found herself sharing a pew with the Beasleys, and discovering that the parson was an excessively personable young man of much her own age, with a well-honed and muscular figure, and a decided air of fashion, only partially concealed by the vestments. Louisa had never met a clergyman before who was neither dowdy nor elderly nor pious, and more usually all three, so Mr Truman was something of a revelation to her.

  “He is wasted in the pulpit,” she murmured to Marie, as they joined the throng outside the church.

  “Il n'est pas marié, madame,” she said, with a knowing smile. He is not married.

  “Not… um, marié? A bachelor, is he?” Well, that had possibilities, certainly.

  That evening, she dined at the Hall again, and to her delight, the attractive Mr Truman was there too, having set aside his sober Sunday blacks for a well-fitted coat of blue superfine and silk knee breeches that displayed his shapely legs to perfection. She was rather glad that she had decided to abandon the tired blue muslin and wear the pale green silk this time.

  Mr Truman’s manners were exquisite, bestowing his perfect form and well turned phrases liberally on the company in equal measure. Louisa detected a certain excitement amongst the young ladies — Miss Saxby in particular wore a little glow of pleasure whenever the parson addressed her, and she was old enough to be past the awkward stage of blushing over every personable young man. But then some women never quite grew into composure until they married, and perhaps she was in love. It could happen to anyone, she supposed.

  She had her share of his attention at dinner, where she found herself seated next to Mr Truman and discovered, rather to her surprise, that he was from Shrewsbury and knew Esther and her husband.

  “Dr Deerham is very highly regarded, Mrs Middlehope,” he said. “Most highly regarded. Have you read his book of sermons?”

  “I have tried,” she said, with a laugh. “They are a little too dry and scholarly for my taste. It rather defeats the point if one has to struggle to understand the moral being imparted, do you not think? Your sermon today was very effective, I thought.”

  “Why, thank you! Its effectiveness is in opposing proportion to its length, I suspect. My father always said, ‘Keep it short, and speak loud enough to keep the congregation awake.’ His advice has stood me in good stead. I find Dr Deerham’s sermons rather dry myself, but there is no need to mention that when next you see him.”

  She laughed again. “I will not do so, but whatever our opinions, the book must sell rather
well, for his publisher has asked him to compile another volume.”

  Louisa had refused the use of the carriage, since it was a fine, dry evening with the waxing moon providing enough light, and now she was glad of it, for it meant that she had the company of Mr Truman on her walk home. He was an excellent conversationalist, and they managed to range over poetry, modern architecture, the fall of Rome and the Emperor Napoleon before they reached the Hall gates and turned into the lane. Before long they had reached the Dower House gates, and the welcome sight of the lamp above the door.

  “This is where we part ways, Mr Truman,” she said.

  “By no means,” he said. “I shall escort you to your front door, for I do not like to leave a lady to make her way all alone at night, even for so short a distance.”

  She was not averse to prolonging his company, so she acceded to it graciously.

  “In fact,” he continued, “it does not sit well with me to see a lady alone in any circumstance. I do hope you will not be too solitary living by yourself in this way. I can tell that you are a lady with many resources, and will find much to occupy your mornings, but the evenings… ah, that can be a lonely business, as I know only too well. My duties during the day are many, and leave me no time to repine, but unless my neighbours are so kind as to issue an invitation, my evenings stretch before me, long and empty. Do you not find it so, Mrs Middlehope?”

  “I confess, I rather enjoy long, empty evenings, sir, when I can put my feet up and read for hours. I never notice that I am alone when I have a book to read.”

  “Ah yes, but when you lay down your book, with whom will you share your reflections? Who will discuss the finer points of the ideas contained within its pages if you have no companion beside you?”

  For some reason, the image of Mr Gage rose to her mind, a glass of wine in his hand, his face alight with enthusiasm for the subject — any subject, she had discovered. He was the perfect companion for the evening hours, for he could talk knowledgeably about anything. As could Mr Truman, she realised. Yes, he was definitely a possibility.

  “I keep a journal for such a purpose,” she said cautiously. “Naturally it is pleasant to discuss points of contention with a friend, but failing such a person I will write down my own thoughts.”

  “Did I not say you are resourceful?” he cried, pleased with his own perspicacity. “That is exactly as I should have expected of you.”

  “Oh, you understand me so well, do you, sir?” she said, amused.

  “I begin to understand you, a little. You will not repine — you will never repine, no matter the circumstances, but I do not think you were made to be solitary. Perhaps you have plans for a female companion to join you in your pretty little house? Or you might, one day, consider the possibility of placing yourself in the care of a man once more?”

  “Neither a female companion nor a second husband is likely to feature in my plans, Mr Truman,” she said crisply. “I have been looking forward to living alone for some time now.”

  “Ah,” he said thoughtfully. “But that does not preclude the possibility of… friendship, does it? A congenial companion to while away a few hours now and then, and keep loneliness at bay for both parties? You are such an affable and open-hearted woman that I am sure it will not be long before you make such a friend.”

  Louisa did not quite know what to make of such a remark. Was it a bland expression of good will from a clergyman, or was it a subtly worded proposition from a single man? Impossible to tell. She made some non-committal reply, and, since they had now reached her front door and William was holding it open for her, she bade Mr Truman good night.

  “There’s a fire in the front room… the study, madam, and I decanted the wine very carefully, just as you told me.”

  “Excellent. Thank you, William, and you were on the watch for my return, too. Well done. You are coming along very well. Now you may lock and bolt the front door, check that the drawing room door is locked and all the windows are closed. Then you may go downstairs, check the kitchen door is locked and bolted, and make sure the kitchen fire is banked for the night.”

  “That’s Sarah’s job, isn’t it, the kitchen fire?”

  “Yes, but you are the senior servant in the house, so it is your job to ensure that the servants under you are doing their work properly. It is also a question of safety, in ensuring that an unattended fire does not burn the house down. After that you may go to bed. I will attend to the fire and candles in the study.”

  “Very good, madam.”

  She entered the study and shut the door behind her with a sigh of relief. A glass of something and a few minutes of quietude before bed would settle her. She had no books to read until her things arrived from Roseacre, but it would be pleasant to ponder her options. For now she had two possibilities, Mr Gage and Mr Truman. An interesting choice.

  7: A Visit From A Friend

  Monday brought Louisa a welcome visitor, her friend Esther Deerham from Shrewsbury. Esther was a former neighbour from Hertfordshire, whose high spirits had precisely matched Louisa’s own, engendering a close and deep-rooted intimacy. Even when Esther’s father had inherited a modest property in Shrewsbury, their friendship had survived the separation through long and frequent letters, and regular visits. It had even weathered their marriages, each of them disapproving of the other’s choice of husband, but their affection was so strong that after the initial shock, they never did more than tease each other gently on the subject.

  Esther brought not only the long-awaited cook with her, but also a large parcel of books. Leaving William and Sarah to take care of the cook, Louisa took Esther straight into the study and gleefully unwrapped the parcel.

  “Wonderful! At last I have something to read.”

  “You ordered them and then vanished, and Mr Moffat delivered them last week and was astonished to hear that you had gone. I believe he thought to make his fortune from you, for no one else buys books twenty at a time. He has enclosed a list of more that you might like, but I was not sure what to tell him. Do you always buy so many books at once?”

  “Only when I find myself without a library at my disposal. Once Pamela sends my things to me, I shall be better placed, but I shall continue to buy from the obliging Mr Moffat.”

  “Oh yes… Pamela,” Esther said. “That reminds me that I have letters for you.”

  She reached into her reticule and pulled out a handful of letters, tipping them onto the desk. Another probe produced more. A third rummage brought forth several more.

  “Good gracious!” Louisa said. “These cannot possibly all be from Pamela. Oh, but most of them are. She must have been writing to me every day, or even more often. I shall read them later.”

  “Oh, do read them now! I cannot wait to find out what is so urgent.”

  “I shall need to fortify myself for so much of Pamela all at once,” Louisa said. “Will you have something? I have brandy or sherry, or a very good Madeira.”

  “Oh, sherry, if you please. Such a treat for a Monday.”

  Louisa poured, saying in amused tones, “That is what comes of marrying a righteous man, my dear friend, he expects you to be righteous too. It was fortunate for me that Ned was more tolerant of my foibles.” She sat in one of the chairs beside the fire, waving Esther to the other, and began opening the letters and arranging them in date order. “Heavens, why must she cross her lines so! I can barely read this. Oh, I see, she is waiting for me to send my direction. But I told her to send everything to you, and you would see that it got to me. But no, she has changed her mind and is sending everything to you… but when the wagons came she sent them away! She would not trust my things to the common carrier, and is to send them in the Roseacre travelling coach, but there is some difficulty with it, something broken. As soon as it is mended, she will send my things. Oh, Pamela, Pamela! And all this time I am without my pianoforte, my pictures, my books and most of my gowns. I have precisely three day gowns and three for evening, and I am heartily sick of all o
f them. I must write to her, I suppose.”

  “Louisa! Have you not written at all?”

  “I sent her a note to say I had arrived safely when I reached Shrewsbury, and I planned to write and thank her when everything arrived. What more is needed?”

  Esther snorted with unladylike laughter, and instantly covered her mouth with her hand in embarrassment. “But you have written three times to me, telling me in great detail of all your adventures here.”

  “Yes, but you are my friend,” Louisa said tartly. “Pamela is not and never will be my friend, no matter how much she encroaches.”

  “Oh, Louisa, you are wicked!” Esther said. “Does she encroach? Can a baroness encroach?”

  “She can indeed. I had my own apartments at Roseacre where I could retreat when the combined mass of Middlehopes and Pritchards became too much for me, and I was very glad of it, for I should have decamped long since without that refuge. Pamela, however, never once waited to be invited there. She would knock on the door of my boudoir and then come marching in as if she owned the place… well, I suppose she did, if we are being strictly truthful, but that is neither here nor there. In she would come, saying, ‘Oh, so this is where you are hiding away, you naughty creature. Are you avoiding us?’ I so badly wanted to answer that truthfully, but good manners are wretchedly inhibiting and I was never able to, so I had to listen to her twitterings for an hour instead of reading. And she scolded me constantly, far worse than my mother ever did.”

  “Scolded you! On what grounds?”

  “I eat too much, drink too much, spend too much money… all of which is doubtless true, but at my age these are my choices to make. That I am too sociable, or not sociable enough. Also that I take no interest in her children, although why I should is beyond me. It would be good for me, she opined, while graciously telling me that she quite understood how painful it must be for me to be daily confronted by such an abundance of offspring. And again she is right, but for the wrong reason. If her children screamed less or could stay in one place for more than two minutes at a time, I might have found them more appealing. Now your children are lovely. If I had ever had any myself, I should have wanted them to be just like that, quiet, respectful and above all intelligent.”