Sauce for the Gander (The Marstone Series Book 1)

by Jayne Davis

  The kitchens, below the back of the house, were lit by windows high in the walls. Mrs Curnow glanced at Connie, reaching for a cloth to wipe floury hands. She was plump, as most cooks were, with a face as red and cheery as a ripe apple and grey hair scraped back into a tight knot.

  Martha had warned Connie that she could not be familiar with the staff of a large house in the way she had been at home, but that did not exclude getting to know them.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs Curnow, I don’t intend to make a habit of interrupting you at your work.” Connie pulled up a chair and took a seat at the kitchen table, away from the dusting of flour where the cook was filling loaf tins with dough. “Please carry on.”

  The cook hesitated, then filled the last tin and set it aside before wiping her hands again. “There’s some of yesterday’s bread left, my lady.” As she spoke, she lifted a tray containing balls of risen dough and crossed to the range. The oven door squealed as she pulled it open. “These’ll be about half an hour, ready for Lord Wingrave’s breakfast.”

  “I’ll wait, thank you. But a cup of tea would be lovely.”

  Sukey, still at the kitchen door, dashed in and took down a kettle, then disappeared through another doorway. Connie heard the sound of a pump.

  “Good girl, that,” Mrs Curnow said. “Not been here long. Father lost at sea.”

  “Will you take tea with me, Mrs Curnow? And tell me about the kitchens. Do the gardens here provide enough vegetables?”

  By the time the smell of warm bread filled the kitchen, Connie had gained the impression of a household run well enough for its limited number of staff, although it appeared that several of the servants took advantage of the absence of permanent residents to idle away their time. That was to be expected, but as this was her home now, she should do something about it.

  “Mrs Curnow, what are—?” Mrs Strickland’s voice came from the kitchen door, behind Connie. “Oh, my lady.”

  Connie turned her head, and saw Milsom standing behind the housekeeper. “Mrs Strickland,” she said, rising to her feet. “Perhaps you could show me the way to the dining room. And, after breakfast, the rest of the house.”

  She’d need to find out Lord Wingrave’s plans for the day before making firm arrangements.

  The formal dining room opened off the main entrance hall, its dark green walls giving it an air of gloom even after Mrs Strickland opened the curtains. Connie didn’t care for the pictures of dead game on the walls—she would far rather look at landscapes while eating. A long table of polished wood must seat at least twenty people. The demands of her new role knotted her stomach; could she entertain so many people of her new class without making a faux pas?

  There was only one place set, at the far end of the table. Connie turned to Mrs Strickland. “Is Lord Wingrave not taking his breakfast?”

  “Lady Marstone used to take her breakfast in bed, my lady,” Mrs Strickland said. “I will send Barton to lay another place.” She inclined her head and left. A few minutes later a footman arrived with steaming pots of tea and coffee, along with the extra cutlery and plates.

  “Ah, just in time!”

  Connie jumped as Lord Wingrave’s voice sounded behind her.

  Will was surprised, and pleased, to see his wife already up. The women of his recent acquaintance had rarely shown their faces before noon, if then. But then he hadn’t either; that was but one change in this new life.

  “I trust you slept well, my lady?” She did look better than she had last night.

  “Yes, thank you, my lord.” A tentative smile appeared.

  He pulled out a chair for her, dismissing the footman as soon as he’d served them.

  “I normally breakfast around ten when I stay here,” Will explained. “I’m eating early this morning as I need to go into Exeter.”

  She nodded. “You said you might have to.”

  “I may not be back until tomorrow,” he added. “It is possible that the people I need to see will not be free today. Is there anything you wish me to get for you while I’m there?”

  She seemed surprised by his offer, then shook her head. “I will look around the house today, my lord. There may be things wanted, but as yet I don’t know.”

  “No matter, there will be other opportunities. Mrs Strickland can tell you all you wish to know about the house.”

  Her forehead wrinkled, and he recalled her comment that the house wasn’t too big. Was she worried about taking charge?

  “The place has been running well under Mrs Strickland’s direction, there is no great hurry for you to take over.”

  “Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “It is just that there have been a great many changes in the last week. It can be a little overwhelming.”

  “I’m sure you will manage.” She’d shown intelligence and interest; she’d soon learn what she needed to.

  That seemed to have reassured her, as she smiled and reached for another roll.

  They finished their breakfast in companionable silence, and when Barton came to say the coach was ready, she accompanied him to the front door.

  Connie stood and watched the coach roll down the drive, disappearing where the gravel curved into the belt of woodland that bordered the road. She felt suddenly alone, even though there were at least half a dozen other people in the house. It was probably nerves at being left in charge—although she wasn’t really. Warren and Mrs Strickland ran the place between them.

  She squared her shoulders. It was just a house and its servants. Larger than she was used to, but as she had told the Earl of Marstone, the basics were the same. She turned back into the house, and asked Warren to send Mrs Strickland to her.

  “I would like a tour of the house, if you please,” she said, when the housekeeper appeared.

  “Very well, my lady. If you would step this way?” Mrs Strickland opened a door near the bottom of the staircase and stood to one side so Connie could enter.

  The drawing room was as large as the dining room. Sofas stood in a formal rectangle around a fireplace, with several clusters of chairs and small tables filling the rest of the space. The walls above the wainscoting were dark red, blending with the heavy curtains. The room felt cool—pleasant in this hot weather. Connie turned to ask the housekeeper how warm the room was in winter, but Mrs Strickland was already waiting by the door, ready to move on.

  The next room was the library. Connie breathed the scent of leather bindings and wood polish. She would enjoy browsing the books here at her leisure, as long as Lord Wingrave did not regard the room as his exclusive domain, as her father had.

  Back in the passageway, Mrs Strickland walked past a door. “That is a billiards room, my lady. Lord Wingrave rarely uses it.” She indicated the next two doors. “My office, my lady, and an estate office, although there hasn’t been a steward in residence for some years.”

  Back in the main entrance hall, Mrs Strickland opened the final door. This parlour was much smaller than the first. Light filtering through the curtains revealed furniture shrouded in holland covers; Connie made out the shapes of a round table with six chairs, and several armchairs arranged around the fireplace. Crossing to the windows, she pulled back a curtain to reveal a view down the drive. The sunlight illuminated pale green walls above the wainscoting, and a carpet with a delicate pattern of yellow flowers and green leaves. There was another door beside one of the windows.

  “That’s only Lady Marstone’s private parlour,” the housekeeper said as Connie moved towards it.

  The room beyond the door was much smaller, but being on the corner of the house it had windows on two walls, facing south and west. It would be a splendid room for needlework, with plenty of light during the day and in summer evenings. The few pieces of furniture were swathed in holland covers here, too.

  Connie hadn’t been sure what to expect of the housekeeper—some more detail, perhaps, about how the rooms had been used, or on repairs or refurbishments that might be needed. She had not anticipated blank silence while
inspecting each room. Any housekeeper would be wary at having a new mistress, but Connie had made no mention of replacing her. She sighed; life would be more pleasant if Mrs Strickland were more like Mrs Curnow.

  She’d started the tour, though, so she may as well continue. “The bedrooms?” she prompted.

  There were several guest bedrooms, of varying sizes, all with furniture covered. Dust stirred as she crossed the carpets, and the rooms had a faint musty smell, as if Mrs Strickland hadn’t bothered to keep them aired regularly.

  They did not enter two of the bedrooms: her own, and Lord Wingrave’s. A blush rose to her cheeks as she realised the housekeeper would assume she had already seen them both.

  “Is that is all, my lady?” Mrs Strickland stood on the landing with hands demurely folded in front of her.

  “Thank you, yes.”

  The housekeeper inclined her head and descended the stairs.

  It was not all—there were several other doors they had not looked behind, and the house had another floor. Servants’ quarters, most likely, and she wanted to see those too, but she didn’t need Mrs Strickland’s disapproving presence.

  She sighed, and went to investigate the top floor.

  Chapter 16

  On the way to Exeter, Will occupied himself reading the papers his father had given him. He had a letter of introduction to Snell and Cowper, his father’s legal representatives for the Ashton Tracey estate. But if it were only a letter of introduction, why did it need to be sealed?

  There was also a draft on his father’s bank. He’d told the earl that Ashton Tracey was no use to him without the money to run it, so he may as well run away to India or perish in the attempt. He didn’t think his father had quite believed this threat, but he’d not called Will’s bluff. The draft was the first instalment of an allowance to be paid quarterly.

  His father had assumed he would use Snell and Cowper, but Will had his own connections in Exeter who could help him find a different firm. His father hadn’t taken enough interest in his doings ten years ago to know that.

  Leaving the coach and driver at an inn, he walked the rest of the way to Pendrick’s warehouse by the river. As he had no appointment, he had to wait until Mr Pendrick was free, but it was pleasant to spend an hour on a bench watching the boats come and go, and goods being loaded and unloaded. He was struck by the fact that in his previous life he would barely have risen at this hour, but found that he didn’t mind the change.

  “How can I help, my lord?” Pendrick came around his desk to shake Will’s hand. His weathered face was more lined than before, but otherwise he looked well. “Westbrook is away for several days, and I wasn’t aware that my sister was expecting you.”

  “I haven’t come to see the boy,” Will said. He would have liked to, but it was best for Alex if he didn’t see him too often. “I have a small favour to ask of you.”

  Pendrick waved Will to a chair. “How may I help you, then?”

  Will briefly described his circumstances. “I meant to explain my more permanent presence in the area to Westbrook after seeing you, but as he is away…”

  “I will let him know, my lord. Is that all?”

  “No. I came to ask if you could recommend a man of business who might act for me. Snell normally handles matters affecting Ashton Tracey, but he would be my father’s agent, not mine.”

  “Not Westbrook? His firm is quite busy, but I think he would oblige you.”

  “Better not, I think, don’t you?”

  “Hmm, yes.” Pendrick stuck a finger under his wig to scratch his head, gazing into the distance. “Samuel Kellet acts for one of the manufacturers I have dealings with, and I have found him trustworthy and reliable.” He looked back at Will. “I will write a note of introduction, if you care to wait for a few minutes.”

  “Thank you,” Will said. Pendrick took a piece of paper from a drawer in his desk.

  The solicitor’s office was on Fore Street, at the end nearest the cathedral. Kellet, not unexpectedly, was also busy when Will arrived, and likely to be so for the rest of the day. However, the clerk gave Will an appointment for first thing the following morning, and also recommended a stable where he could buy a horse for the chaise. Leaving Kellet’s office, Will made his way to the suggested livery to inspect their stock.

  He bought a mare—a mediocre specimen that was the best on offer—and arranged to collect the animal the next morning. After arranging for a room at an inn, he set off to look around the shops. He didn’t need anything at the moment, but it would be as well to work out what he could find in Exeter, and what might have to be sent for from London.

  And Lady Wingrave would be interested to hear about the cathedral.

  After inspecting the top floor, Connie was tempted by the sunshine. She rang the bell and asked Warren to send someone to show her to the gardener’s office.

  Yatton was hoeing a row of carrots but stopped work as Connie approached. He was in his middle years, with a tanned and lined face and spare frame. He was also a man of as few words as Mrs Strickland, but in pleasant contrast to the housekeeper, his silences as they toured the kitchen garden did not feel unfriendly. He answered all Connie’s queries politely, and even offered some information without being asked.

  The garden was enclosed by a brick wall, providing shelter and support for the fruit trees trained against them. Only part of the area was cultivated, the rest being covered in grass.

  “It’s been like that all my time here, my lady,” Yatton explained. “Lady Marstone, God bless her, used to come in the summer for a month or two, but there weren’t no call to keep the whole lot planted. The bit we got planted feeds the staff.”

  “How many under-gardeners would you need to clear and plant it?”

  Yatton scratched his head. “Depends what you want to grow, my lady. Some things take more work than others. There’s only me, and a lad from the village now and then when there be fruit to pick or it be sowing time.”

  “You seem to be managing it very well, Yatton.” Connie was pleased to see an answering smile, and left him to his weeding. She’d have to talk to Lord Wingrave about their plans before she considered any changes here.

  She headed back to her bedroom, stopping in the kitchen to ask for a drink and a cold plate to be sent up. She’d done enough talking and thinking for now, and wanted to enjoy the luxury of being able to sit quietly for a while.

  When Sukey brought the food, she was followed into the room by Mrs Strickland. Sukey set the tray on a table, casting a wary glance at the housekeeper before leaving.

  “Mrs Strickland?”

  “Might I have a word, my lady?”

  Connie suppressed a sigh, recognising the standard prelude to a complaint. “By all means.” She sat at the table as she spoke, but with little hope that Mrs Strickland would take the hint to be quick.

  “Mrs Curnow reports to me, my lady.”

  “Naturally.”

  “You—” Mrs Strickland bit her lip and took a deep breath. “It would be helpful, my lady, if enquiries about the running of the household were addressed to me.”

  Connie inclined her head. She already had the information she wanted, and didn’t feel like arguing the point now. “While you are here, Mrs Strickland, please arrange for me to have a cup of tea in bed at seven. I will breakfast with Lord Wingrave at ten when he is at home.”

  “Very well, my lady.”

  “Good. I also wish the small parlour and the adjoining room to be opened up. I will use that parlour for dining, and the smaller room as my own private sitting room.”

  “Lord Wingrave never uses those rooms, my lady.” Mrs Strickland had a stubborn set to her jaw.

  “Yes, I recall you saying that earlier.” Connie made an effort to stop her irritation showing in her voice.

  “There aren’t enough staff to keep all the rooms open.”

  “We can see about getting more.” She should check with Lord Wingrave about that, but they could always put the larg
e dining room back under holland covers in the meantime. “Thank you, Mrs Strickland.”

  She nodded dismissal and turned to the plate of rolls and cold meat Mrs Curnow had sent up, hoping to head off any more comments from the housekeeper.

  There was a pause before Mrs Strickland’s final “my lady,” and the woman left the room.

  Connie let out a breath and leaned back in her chair. She would not have put up with such manners from a servant at home, but there her father had left her in complete charge of the staff, as long as she didn’t bother him. She hoped that was the case here, but she was not yet sure.

  Another thing to talk to Lord Wingrave about.

  Will enjoyed a pint of ale in the taproom of the Queen’s Head. It was a small place, not far from the dock, and appeared to be frequented mostly by merchants and traders. Just the kind of men his father would despise. He leaned back in his chair as he observed the conversations at the tables around him. A few groups were clearly having a sociable evening, calling for more ale and food, but others looked to be discussing serious matters—business, perhaps.

  Useful things—things his father considered were beneath him. He wondered how Lady Wingrave was getting on at Ashton Tracey, and half wished he’d asked her to accompany him. She would have liked to see the city. And he would have enjoyed showing her around.

  Will looked up as one of the waiters came to stand beside his table.

  “Be you wanting some dinner, sir?”

  “Not yet, thank you.” The evening would be long without anyone to talk to; no need to eat yet.

  The waiter hesitated, then cleared his throat. “It’s just that we’ve more folk wanting to eat, sir, but no space.”

  Three men stood by the bar, looking hopefully in his direction. Will sighed and prepared to move, then changed his mind. “They are welcome to take these places, if they wish.”