Lady Abigale’s Wager: Brides of Somerset Book Three

by Lynne, Karen

  His irritation at Lady Abigale was subsiding, though he was still curious as to why she pulled that prank on him yesterday. He should let the matter rest. He could keep an eye on her from a distance. If she got herself into any more trouble, he would let Sir George know.

  He entered the club, finding the gentleman he was looking for. Earlier that year, the city had passed a resolution to allocate funds for a new church in Bathwick, and a thousand pounds had been allocated for a new workhouse. Surely by now, a firm had been hired to draw up the plans. Satisfied with what he had learned, he ate before leaving to talk with the solicitors. But first, he wanted to visit Walcot workhouse.

  Walking into the foyer, he noted the cleanliness of the place. He could hear children playing in the back courtyard. It was a stark contrast to the workhouses he had seen in London. The city was expanding, and Bath was in need of more facilities.

  The matron entered the room. “My Lord,” she curtsied, “what can we do for you today?”

  “I’d like to speak with the director, Mr Beechrum.”

  “If you’ll just wait here, my lord, I will let him know you are here.” She led him into a room off to the side, closing the door behind him.

  Andrew laid his hat on the chair and followed the sound of the children to windows that looked out onto the back courtyard. Young girls ran and played. They were dressed in neat uniforms with little white aprons. A young girl dragging a ragged doll approached two ladies, seated on a bench by the edge of the courtyard. It was the maid who had approached him at Farlington, requesting a ride for her mistress. She was quite the actress, for she had quite convinced him of her mistress’s plight.

  Annoyance rose as he thought how two young misses duped him into giving them a ride. Didn’t Lady Abigale know how dangerous it was to accept rides from strange gentlemen? No wonder her father had asked him to check on her.

  Lady Abigale smiled at the young girl when a ball flew by and hit her skirt. She laughed then, picking up the ball, she stood and tossed it back to the group of girls, giving them a wave of her hand. She leaned down to talk to the young girl who had put a thumb in her mouth.

  A simple bonnet framed her face while blonde curls fell around it, softening the look. Andrew noted her hat was void of the fripperies, so many of the ladies insisted on wearing to the point of ridiculousness. He wondered how they could keep such contraptions on their heads. Her dress had a simple, delicate lace surrounding the neck and just two flounces along the edge of the skirt. It flowed across her soft curves. She had matured since the last time he had seen her.

  “My lord,” the matron said as she opened the door, “the director will be here directly. May I get you some tea?”

  Andrew shook his head as he turned his eyes from the window. “No, thank you. Can you tell me why Lady Phelips is here?”

  The matron came to the window and followed his direction. “Oh, yes, the lady is with Miss Underwood.” The matron brightened. “Miss Underwood is here to hire a cook from our women. We so appreciate Miss Underwood, for she comes here to hire help whenever she’s in town.”

  “Andrew mused, watching the scene before him. The matron left him, closing the door behind her.

  Lady Abigale continued to talk with the young girl. He wondered that she had no qualms talking to the lower class. Most young ladies avoided them or pretended they weren’t there. Lady Abigale was an unusual woman.

  Chapter Four

  Josephine and Abby returned home after a pleasant visit in which the matron of Walcot had promised to send several applicants to the Crescent for Josephine to interview the next day.

  “The butler and housekeeper have been providing simple fare for our meals, but I can’t help to be happy to have a cook,” Josephine said.

  “I’m sure you will find someone.” Abby replied, “but I should like to take advantage and go out to the market with Betsy. I would like to make some pastries with the winter apples I bought.”

  She would make some apple tarts and send them to Sir Andrew, thanking him for his hospitality.

  Josephine’s eyebrows raised. “Did I hear you right, that you were going to bake? I have never heard of such a thing from a lady before.”

  Abby clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh, yes, Josephine. I can bake, thanks to Lady Susan’s housekeeper at Fyne Court. I do tolerably well in the kitchen. I hope your new cook will tolerate me rumbling around occasionally.”

  “I shall put that on the requirement list,” Josephine teased her.

  * * *

  Abby left the house early the next morning with Betsy in tow for the housekeeper’s feathers had been ruffled when she found that Josephine was going to interview for the position of cook on her own rather than letting the housekeeper manage them. Applicants had started to arrive and were directed by the butler to sit in the hallway where chairs had been placed. Josephine was to interview each one separately in her office, and the line was growing as Abby made her way out the door.

  Abby had gone to the larder the night before and made a list of the supplies she would need. She was thankful her father was generous with her allowance. He had credit set up with the local bank should she need any funds but her pin money was plenty to pay for the goods she planned to buy this day.

  The smells and sounds of the market delighted Abby as she made her way through the stalls. She would make arrangements for the larger purchases to be delivered to the house. She found hard candies for the children at the workhouse and a stall full of colourful dried fruits of every kind. Little brown nuggets were labelled dates. She’d heard of dates but had never tasted one.

  “Dates, my lady,” the stall keeper said. “They come from India into the port of Bristol. Taste one.” He nodded, handing her one of the brown nuggets.

  Abby bit into the soft, sweet morsel. A rich honey flavour exploded in her mouth. Her eyes widened as she smiled at the merchant. “I’ll take one pound.”

  Her goods had been delivered by the time Abby returned to the townhouse. Applicants were gone from the hall, and Abby found Josephine in the back parlour.

  “You will be happy to hear our cook will be here tomorrow,” Josephine informed her.

  “I hope she isn’t fastidious about who is in her kitchen,” Abbey replied. “I have bought some marvellous dates.” Abby held up her package. “We shall have some with our tea.”

  Abby scooted off to the kitchen to organise her supplies. The winter apples sat in a bowl on the table. She picked one up and smelled. She would make the apple tarts before the new cook arrived.

  * * *

  Andrew entered the dining room to see the butler had laid out the evening post. Taking a seat, he arranged the paper as the butler poured his tea.

  “My lord.” The butler cleared his throat. “Lady Phelips has sent a box of pastries addressed to the servants. She states that she made them for your staff as a thank you. She has also included a box for you. I have taken the liberty of giving you one with your evening tea, along with the note.”

  Andrew lowered the paper and stared at the pastry by his cup. There was indeed a note addressed to him.

  His brow wrinkled. “Did you say Lady Abigale made them?”

  “That is what her note stated, my lord, to thank you for the service you provided.”

  He laid down his paper and picked up the plate turning it from side to side. A small apple tart with cinnamon, sugar, and walnuts sprinkled on top sat neatly on top of a napkin. It was still warm; he took a sniff.

  “The staff sends their thanks. Will you tell Lady Abigale next time you call, my lord, that the staff has thoroughly enjoyed them?” His butler bowed and moved to the side.

  Andrew laid the plate down, picked up his knife and fork, and slowly sliced a piece and lifted it to his lips the taste of sweet-tart apples delighted his tongue, a little bit of honey. He looked down at the delicacy and pocked it with his fork. Small pieces of dates had been added. He took a few more bites, surprised at how well it went with his te
a. He couldn’t believe that Lady Abigale had made the tarts on her own. Miss Underwood must have hired a cook.

  Leaning back in his chair, he wiped the crumbs from his lips with his napkin and picked up the note. His name was written in neat floral handwriting scrolled across the front. He broke the seal.

  Sir Andrew,

  I told you I would find a way to thank you for your kind service in delivering me to Bath. I sincerely apologise for any deceit I may have dealt you.

  I found these wonderful winter apples at the market the other day and thought they would make tasty pastries.

  As they are one of the only things I know how to bake, I hope you and your staff enjoy them. Our cook is coming later, and I thought it prudent to make them before she arrived. You know how servants can be when you invade their domain.

  I received the card you kindly left and deeply regret having missed you. Please do not feel any further obligation to call. As you can see, everything has turned out for the best.

  Sincerely,

  Lady Abigale Phelips

  Unbelievable, Andrew reread the letter. He was being dismissed by a little chit of a girl.

  * * *

  Abby received a card from Mrs Notley, they were to call on Friday and invited her to visit the pump room. Abby found Josephine in the back parlour. “Mrs Notley is coming to town on Friday. She has invited me to the pump room.”

  “You should try the waters once while you’re here. The waters are nasty, and I don’t know that they do any good. You’ll find the older set there during the day, and the younger set comes later,” Josephine told her.

  “Will you come with us?” Abby asked.

  “I have my women’s auxiliary meeting that day. Do not worry about me,” Josephine said. “Enjoy your friends. I want you to do as you please this summer. I won’t bore you with my projects.”

  “I would not call your projects boring, Josephine.” Abby laughed. “I should like to see the pump room and taste the waters at least once.”

  The new cook settled into the kitchen, providing regular meals. The staff began to run smoothly as they adjusted to Josephine’s social schedule. She had started a women’s club, meeting here at number 20 so by the time Mrs Notley came on Friday, Abby was ready to get out and away from the activity.

  “Mrs Notley.” Abby greeted the ladies and showed them into the parlour. “I must introduce you to Miss Underwood, who has been so gracious to let me stay with her.”

  “Yes, Lady Abigale, and you will be pleased that I have brought your dear friend, Miss Isabella, along with my niece, Miss Joanne, whom you know from home.”

  Mrs Notley and the ladies followed Abby into the parlour. Abby’s eyes brightened. “Miss Isabella, I am so happy you were able to come.” Abby moved forward as she greeted Isabella and hooked her arm.

  “Let us sit. Josephine will be in shortly,” Abby informed them. “Joanne, it’s good to see you as well. I hope you’re enjoying your stay with your aunt.”

  Joanne’s shy eyes watched Abby. “Yes, we are having a perfect time. My aunt is very generous, and we have been very busy.”

  Mrs Notley looked at Joanne with loving eyes as she gave her a pat. “I have enjoyed having you. Your sister, Eliza, married before I could give her a Season. Not that I’m complaining.” She raised her hands. “I am very happy for her.”

  Abby introduced Josephine when she came into the parlour. “You will find Miss Underwood very progressive, Mrs Notley. She has been here but a fortnight and already is organising the ladies club to supply things for the new workhouse that is being built in Bathwick.”

  Mrs Notley turned to Josephine, and a conversation began about the new workhouse.

  “You must tell me your opinion about the pump room. I have heard a lot about it, but I’ve never been there. What does the water taste like?” Abby asked Isabella and Joanne.

  Joanne wrinkled her nose. “It certainly tastes different. I think you’re better to bathe in it than to drink it.”

  “That may be true. I have heard some say rheumatism is relieved by soaking in the mineral pools,” Isabella said.

  “We don’t really go there for the water. There are a tea room, an assembly room and a game room where you may always find a game of cards. Mrs Notley loves her whist,” Joanne said.

  “Girls.” Mrs Notley rose from her seat. “Shall we be on our way?”

  The pump room consisted of a large assembly room filled with patrons milling about. Conversing and promenading around, they made a circle of the perimeter, occasionally stopping for conversation as they met acquaintances. A highly decorated gentleman in bright livery served water from a stone fountain and little glass cups at the side of the room.

  “It isn’t so crowded now,” Isabella said as she and Abby walked into the pump room. “It’s very crowded during the Season, but they’ve thinned out now that summer is here.”

  “Let us taste the water first, then we can visit.” Isabella led her to the fountain. The gentleman handed her a cup with about four ounces of water. Abby gave him fourpence as the sign directed, fishing it out from her reticule hanging from a chain on her arm.

  Abby followed Isabella away from the fountain. “Are you going to drink the water?”

  Isabella shook her head and giggled. “I have had enough water this Season.”

  Abby sniffed. It smelled of sulfur, although it was clear. It warmed her hand. Daring to take a sip, she scrunched her nose.

  “It’s best to drink it all at once.” Isabella gave her encouragement.

  Abby took another drink, gasping as she finished. “It tastes like gun powder.” She took a handkerchief from her bag and held it to her mouth.

  “It’s the minerals,” Isabella said, giggling.

  “I don’t know how anyone can drink this.” Abby looked around at all the patrons milling about, sipping on their cups.

  “Yes,” Isabella agreed. “I would much rather bathe in it.”

  The ladies circled the room several times, Isabella pointing out various persons of interest. A small orchestra played music in the gallery as people continued to converse over the strains, creating quite a hum of noise and only stopping to clap at the end of each song before a new one began.

  The room was warm, and after an hour, Abby’s head began to hurt. “Isabella, would you like to take a walk with me? I need to get some fresh air.”

  “Mrs Notley, Isabella and I would like to walk into town. Can we meet you back at the townhouse in a few hours?” Abby asked.

  Mrs Notley looked from the group of ladies that surrounded her, nodding her approval.

  The fresh air of the outdoors was a relief as Abby opened her parasol and took a deep breath. “That’s much better. I don’t know how the crowds can handle the smell and the humidity.”

  “It’s not so bad. In the winter, the crowds are much larger.” Isabella laughed.

  “I would like to revisit the Walcot workhouse. I bought some candies for the girls while I was shopping yesterday, and I think they would enjoy them.”

  “You visited the Walcott workhouse?” Isabella seemed, surprised.

  “Miss Underwood and I visited the week I came to town. She was looking to hire a cook. She found one, and an excellent cook she has turned out to be.”

  Abby entwined her arm with Isabella’s as they walked down the street. “Mrs Randall doesn’t even scold me for coming into the kitchen. You must tell me, Isabella, how your Season went. Have you found a particular gentleman?”

  Isabella shook her head. “I have had several that I like very much, but nothing has come of them. I fear that I am destined to be a spinster. If I choose a gentleman, my parents do not approve of, my dowry will be withheld. So, here are you. See me enjoying another Season.”

  “Well, I am determined to find a husband before I return home. For William has bet that I shall become a spinster just because I’ve turned down a few gentlemen. But I am determined to find someone I like, for we will be married for a very long
time.”

  Within half an hour, they were entering the Walcot workhouse. The matron approached with a smile and greeted them. “Lady Phelips, it’s good to see you again. How is Mrs Randall doing?”

  “Miss Underwood is very pleased with her work,” Abby was happy to inform her.

  “I’m so glad. What can I do for you today?”

  “I have brought some candies for the girls.” Abby pulled out a bag from her purse. “I hoped you wouldn’t mind, but I thought they would enjoy a treat.”

  “How kind of you, Lady Phelips. Yes, the girls would enjoy it very much. They get so little of those here. They should be coming out to play for a short period. You may wait in the courtyard until they come.”

  Abby found the bench where she had sat before and waited with Isabella.

  “You are so like Eliza,” Isabella said. “You both do such unusual things for ladies of your class.”

  “What things?”

  “You know, visiting little girls at the workhouse, and Eliza dragged me to the circulating library in Bristol to learn about abolitionists.” Isabella reached down and grabbed a twig from the ground, twirling it between her fingers.

  “I don’t think it’s so unusual. Miss Underwood is organising the women’s club as we speak.”

  “Yes, and you are a group of strong women. I wish I dared to be more independent.” Isabella snapped the twig into pieces before dropping them onto the ground.

  Abby wasn’t sure what to say as she watched her friend. She had always been independent. Her family was blessed with money and the ability to increase it. She knew not everyone was so fortunate. Abby knew many girls like Isabella, whose futures were dependent upon their parents because of their lack of fortunes.

  She reached over and covered Isabella’s hand, giving it a squeeze.