The Mysterious Maid-Servant

by Barbara Cartland

  He saw that she was still unconvinced and added,

  “You have obviously not heard the story of Edmund Kean who was paid fifty pounds in Cheltenham for a morning performance, fifty pounds in Tewkesbury in the afternoon and again the same sum at Gloucester in the evening, so that he earned one hundred and fifty pounds in one day.”

  “I am not – Edmund Kean.” the Earl smiled.

  “Must I say the obvious?”

  “You are – only doing this to – save me,” Giselda said hesitatingly.

  “That is certainly half the reason why I suggested such a scheme,” the Earl admitted. “The other half, as you are well aware, is because I do not want a usurer’s daughter as a close relative.”

  “Supposing Mr. Lynd is not – interested in me?”

  “I have never suggested that he should be interested in you as a person,” the Earl replied, “but he will undoubtedly be interested in your supposed money. Captain Somercote was not exaggerating when he said that Julius has been pursuing every heiress during the Season in London and making every possible attempt to marry one of them.”

  He wondered if he should tell Giselda of Julius’s attempt to compromise a young girl and how he had escaped down a drainpipe.

  Then he told himself that it would only shock her, although she might in fact not understand exactly what was implied.

  The only difficulty about this whole scheme, the Earl thought, was whether anyone would credit that Giselda was a married woman.

  There was something very young and innocent about her, something the Earl had certainly not found amongst the women he had flirted with and enjoyed himself before he was wounded.

  In her plain blue gown she looked at the moment exactly what she was, a young girl bewildered by life and ignorant of all the subtleties and intrigues of the fashionable world.

  Then he told himself that the only alternative to what he had suggested was Giselda’s own idea, the thought of which was something he could never contemplate.

  In a voice that was authoritative because he knew she would obey it he ordered her,

  “Go downstairs, Giselda, and ask Mr. Knightley for notes to the sum of fifty pounds. Tell him I will have a cheque ready when he wishes to collect it. You can take the money first thing tomorrow morning to Mr. Newell and arrange for your brother’s operation on Thursday.”

  Giselda drew in her breath and for a moment there was a light in her eyes.

  Then she said,

  “If I fail you – if Mr. Lynd is not interested in me – I should give it back.”

  “If you argue with me,” the Earl asserted, “I shall have a relapse and Newell will not be operating on anyone because he will be attending to me. For God’s sake, girl, stop making difficulties and do what I tell you to do!”

  He spoke angrily and Giselda moved a little nearer to him.

  “I am – sorry. I am upsetting you and it is the last thing I intended to do. I am grateful – more grateful than I can ever say.”

  “Then show your gratitude by doing your best in a part that should come quite naturally to you, that of being a lady, which you are by birth.”

  “ – and a servant by profession,” Giselda added with a smile.

  “I look upon you as my nurse,” the Earl said, “and however grand you may become in your new clothes, however many balls and assemblies you attend in the person of Mrs. Barrowfield, you will attend to my leg and pander to my every wish whenever you are off duty.”

  “You know I want to do that,” Giselda said softly, “and please – may I thank you again?”

  There was something very gentle in her voice and an expression in her eyes the Earl had not seen before.

  Then, because he knew it was the best way to deal with her, he said sharply,

  “I have no intention of being neglected.”

  “You will not be,” Giselda promised, “but I am sure now that you should rest.”

  “I will rest as long as I am not kept in ignorance of what is going on,” the Earl thundered. “When Madame Vivienne arrives I wish to see her and tell her what I require. I will choose your gowns myself, one by one.”

  “Yes, of course,” Giselda agreed.

  Then a sudden thought struck her.

  “Will – will you be – paying for them?”

  “I shall be paying for them!” the Earl said positively. “And I don’t want any argument about it, Giselda. No one can put on a stage show without it costing money and I assure you that anything expended on your behalf will be very much less than what Julius has cost me this last year, let alone the sums I have coughed up in previous years.”

  “How can he possibly spend so much money? What does he buy with it?” Giselda enquired.

  “If I could answer ‘horses’, which would be true of the Colonel who spends a fortune on his, there would be some excuse,” the Earl replied. “But Julius’s money goes on drink and women and, of course, gambling.”

  “How foolish!”

  “As you say, very foolish and very expensive!”

  “I could never admire a man who is a gambler,” Giselda said reflectively. “There is something so nonsensical in wagering money, especially if you cannot afford it, on the turn of a card.”

  “And what about the other vices?” the Earl asked, “women for instance?”

  To his surprise the colour rose in Giselda’s face and her eyes that had been looking frankly into his, dropped.

  “In some – cases,” she said in a hard little voice that the Earl had never heard before, “such behaviour is – indefensible.”

  She rose as she spoke and walked towards the door.

  “I will tell the butler that when Madame Vivienne comes you wish to see her,” she said and left the room.

  The Earl stared after her in surprise.

  So among all the other mysteries there was something connected with women of the type he had insinuated which upset her?

  He wondered if perhaps her father had left her and her family destitute because of some ‘fancy woman’ who proved more attractive than domesticity.

  Perhaps that was the solution, but if it was why should she be so very secretive about it?

  It was a situation that had happened thousands of times and usually those who were left behind were resentful and very vocal in their resentment.

  Mysteries – always more mysteries!

  And the Earl realised that he was still no nearer to solving any of them than he had been when Giselda had first intrigued him because she was starving.

  Well, she was certainly not starving now, and he imagined that her family, although they would not be living in luxury, would not be hungry either on the one pound a week she earned and the fact that she took food home for them. Now her brother could have his operation.

  ‘I suppose I am learning a little more about her than I knew at first,’ the Earl told himself.

  He recalled how much easier it had been in the war to discover information about the enemy than it was to discover anything about Giselda.

  Then there had been spies to tell him what he wanted to know, the interrogation of prisoners and a dozen other ways which kept him the best informed Commander in the whole of the Peninsula.

  Despite having so much to think about, he did in fact, after a light luncheon, doze a little to awaken with a start when Madame Vivienne was shown into the bedroom.

  A vivacious Frenchwoman, she had concealed her nationality during the war, but was now prepared to proclaim it to the world.

  The Earl discovered that Madame Vivienne had worked for the Colonel ever since he had produced his first play and she had already been briefed in what was required.

  She informed the Earl that she had brought with her all the gowns she had ready with bonnets and shawls to go with them, besides some sketches and patterns of material for him to make a selection of other gowns.

  The sketches and patterns were placed on the bed while Madame Vivienne suggested that she should take Giselda into
another room and dress her in a gown she had brought with her.

  “I understand, my Lord, there is a special occasion and a special gentleman this evening for whom Mrs. Barrowfield must look her best.”

  Both the Earl and Giselda found it hard for a moment to remember of whom the dressmaker was speaking. Then Madame Vivienne whisked Giselda away and the Earl was left looking at the sketches, most of which he considered too theatrical and flamboyant for Giselda’s quiet unassuming personality.

  He was, however, to change his mind and receive a shock a little later.

  He had begun to wonder what could be happening in the other room and was considering ringing for Batley to take a message that he was tired of waiting when the door opened and Madame Vivienne came in.

  “I have dressed Mrs. Barrowfield,” she said to the Earl, “exactly as Monsieur Le Colonel instructed me. I hope, my Lord, it meets with your approval.”

  She made a gesture with her hand and Giselda, as if she had actually been waiting in the wings of a theatre, came slowly into the room.

  The Earl could only stare at her in astonishment.

  Madame Vivienne’s instructions had been explicit and she had carried out the Colonel’s orders to the letter. Giselda now looked older than her nineteen years and certainly more opulent, but the Earl had not expected that she would look so beautiful.

  For a moment he could not understand what had happened to change her appearance so dramatically.

  Then he understood.

  Madame Vivienne had applied to Giselda’s face the fashionable cosmetics that were used by all the ladies of the Beau Monde – not as vividly as those employed by the theatrical profession, but delicately, as a Lady of Quality would use them.

  And for the first time the Earl realised why Giselda, except for the largeness of her eyes, had seemed so pale and insignificant. She had used no cosmetics for the obvious reason that she could not afford them.

  Now her white skin seemed to glow with the translucence of a pearl and there was a faint flush on her cheeks, concealing the hollows under her cheekbones.

  Her eyes seemed to have a new luminosity about them, while her eyelashes looked very long, dark and silky. There was a touch of lipsalve on her curving mouth and her hair had been arranged in a corona on top of her head with ringlets falling on either side of her small face.

  Her gown was outstandingly fashionable, but at the same time not too exaggerated for a lady, although it was more elaborate and sophisticated than the type of gown that would have normally been worn by a girl of nineteen.

  The Earl stared, then realised that both women were waiting for his verdict.

  With his eyes still on Giselda, he began,

  “I can only congratulate you, Madame. The Colonel was right. You are an artiste and may I say I think you have produced a masterpiece!”

  Madame Vivienne swept him a curtsey.

  “Merci, my Lord, your satisfaction is all that I ask.”

  “I am very satisfied!” the Earl pronounced emphatically.

  *

  It was growing late in the afternoon before Madame Vivienne left and Giselda came into the room alone.

  “I am – worried,” she said.

  “Why?” the Earl asked.

  “When Madame came and saw you alone she said you had instructed her to buy me dozens of gowns. Really – I don’t need so many – and the bill will be enormous!”

  “Are you interfering with my arrangements, Giselda ?” the Earl enquired.

  “No – no, of course not,” she replied. “It is just that I don’t wish you to – spend so much money on me.”

  “I can spend my money how I wish,” the Earl answered, “and I would like to point out to you that I have had very little opportunity of spending a penny of my very considerable fortune this last year except on doctors who, with the exception of Newell, showed little return for my guineas.”

  “You mean, my Lord – you enjoy buying the gowns you have chosen for me – and all the other things?”

  “I am speaking the truth when I tell you that I have enjoyed it very much!” the Earl answered. “And shall I use a rather banal phrase and say that you ‘pay with dressing’?”

  She still looked troubled and after a moment he said,

  “If you talk of paying me back, I think I shall spank you! However, if it salves that tiresome, irritating pride of yours, let me say that, if you decide you have no further use for the clothes or if we quarrel unaccountably over some trifle such as extravagance, then we can give the gowns to the Colonel’s theatrical wardrobe.”

  The Earl paused to go on,

  “I have learnt from Madame Vivienne that he has a considerable stock of garments of all sorts and of all periods, so that if he wishes to do so, he can put on a production at a moment’s notice. I am told that there are fast horses and carriages kept especially in Cheltenham ready to convey anything he requires for the charades and theatricals that often take place at Berkeley Castle.”

  “I s-suppose you think I am very – foolish,” Giselda said in a low voice.

  “On the contrary,” the Earl replied, “I respect your feelings in this matter. Most women are only too ready to grab anything that can be got from a man. You are the exception, Giselda, and I think many men would find it one of your most endearing qualities.”

  He saw her give a little sigh of relief. Then she said, almost like a child who wishes to be reassured,

  “I will not fail you – will I?”

  “I am quite sure you could never do that,” the Earl said.

  He spoke in an unexpectedly deep voice.

  Then as his eyes met Giselda’s something strange seemed to pass between them.

  For a moment they were both very still.

  Then Giselda turned away to say a little incoherently,

  “I-I will – ring for your – tea or would you prefer something – stronger?”

  “I think we both need a glass of wine,” the Earl replied. “I, because I shall enjoy it and you because, as you well know, Henry may bring Julius here at any moment.”

  He saw a little quiver go through her.

  Then she looked at him and he knew without being told that she was thinking of what had just passed between them when he had told her that he knew she would not fail him.

  ‘At least I have solved her problem,’ the Earl told himself.

  He wondered why he disliked, almost violently, the thought that to justify the fifty pounds she would have to spend her time with Julius.

  Although he was tired and was in fact suffering no pain in his leg, the Earl found it difficult to sleep.

  He could not help going over and over again all that had happened earlier in the evening when Henry, as he had expected, had brought Julius to call on him.

  As soon as Batley announced that the gentlemen were downstairs, Giselda had slipped from the room and the Earl received Henry Somercote and Julius alone.

  “This is a surprise, Julius!” he said to his young cousin with an affability he had seldom shown in the past.

  “I am glad to see you are better, Cousin Talbot.”

  Henry Somercote was a ‘Tulip of Fashion’, but Julius failed in his attempts to emulate one. He was expensively dressed, but he had neither the physique nor the character of the two older men who had been in the Army, nor had he the good taste for which Henry Somercote was famous.

  His pantaloons were not the perfect shade of yellow made fashionable by the Regent, his cravat was just a little too frilled and the points of his collar were a trifle too high for them not to appear exaggerated.

  Yet to a woman’s eyes, the Earl thought almost savagely, Julius would appear a very presentable young man. It was only when one looked at the lines under his eyes and the slight thickening under his chin that one realised he was not in particularly good shape for a young man of twenty-four.

  But there was no criticism in his Lordship’s expression or in his voice as he asked his guests to sit down and sent fo
r more wine.

  “I was having a glass by myself,” he explained, “and I am hoping you will join me. I have also invited another guest who is staying in the house, Mrs. Barrowfield. I have not yet had an answer so she may have another engagement.”

  He saw without appearing to do so that Julius’s face fell.

  “I have been telling Julius about Mrs. Barrowfield,” Henry Somercote said conversationally. “When I met her here yesterday I thought her extremely attractive!”

  “I am afraid I do not think so myself,” the Earl replied coldly, “although there are obviously a large number of ardent gentlemen like yourself who do so.”

  “That is not surprising when you remember how much Barrowfield left,” Henry Somercote remarked.

  “Was she very much younger than her husband?” Julius enquired, perking up as the conversation turned to money.

  “I believe much younger,” Henry Somercote replied. “I think it was his second marriage, although I am not sure. Anyway she is young to be a widow and who will quarrel with that when she has the Barrowfield millions behind her?”

  “I have never heard of the Barrowfields,” Julius said in a peevish manner, as if he had somehow been deprived of such knowledge. “Do you know anything about them, Cousin Talbot?”

  “Not heard of the Barrowfields?” the Earl repeated in a voice of incredulity. “My dear boy – ”

  There was no reason to say more or, the Earl thought, to lie. It was obvious that Julius was convinced that Mrs. Barrowfield was all that Henry Somercote had said she was.

  The door opened.

  “Mrs. Barrowfield, my Lord!” Batley announced and Giselda came into the room.

  The Earl held out his hand.

  “How very kind of you to give me the pleasure of your company,” he said in his most charming voice. “I was afraid you might have a more interesting engagement than visiting an invalid.”

  “It is very kind of you to – ask me,” Giselda answered.

  She put her hand as she spoke into the Earl’s and he felt her fingers were very cold and trembling with nervousness, so he held them closer hoping to give her confidence.