Diamonds and Deceit (At Somerton)

by Rasheed, Leila

  “Give over yer primping,” she scoffed. “He won’t be interested in you.”

  “Want to bet?” Annie patted her hair and gave a little twirl. She didn’t look so bad, she thought. She might not be a beauty like Rose, but she had a pretty nose and hardly any freckles. She glanced at the clock. She could steal five minutes just to pop over and say hello to him.

  “Annie, love, a lad like that has his pick of the ladies.”

  “And he won’t pick you, that’s for sure!” Annie tossed over her shoulder as she went out into the courtyard. She held her head high and walked with a swing in her step toward the stables. Now that Rose wasn’t here, Annie was certainly the prettiest of the housemaids. There was no reason the new stable boy wouldn’t be interested in taking her to the fair.

  She reached the stables and peeped coyly round the door. The boy was at the far end of the stable, filling the rack with hay. He didn’t look up as she came closer. Annie cleared her throat, making him look up.

  “Hello,” she said with a smile.

  The boy grunted a greeting and went back to pitching hay. Annie gazed at his arms. They were like wood, she thought, like carved, hard oak.…

  “Got something to say to me?” he asked.

  “Oh!” Annie started and blushed. “I just thought I’d come over and say hello. You know what with you being new and all. What’s your name?”

  “Tobias.”

  Annie waited for him to ask hers, but he didn’t. She went on: “Up from the West Country, are you?”

  Tobias looked up for the first time, and smiled. Annie’s knees weakened. He had the whitest teeth she’d ever seen.

  “I am.”

  “You can hear it in your voice, it’s like cream and honey,” Annie fluttered, then blushed as she heard herself.

  Tobias’s smile broadened and he set the hayfork to one side. He brushed the hay from his hands and walked unhurriedly toward her. Annie felt her face turning bright red. She couldn’t stop staring at him. His skin was the same golden color as the hay.

  “Just a social call, is it?”

  “Y-yes.” Her voice had gone squeaky; she hastily brought it down. “Yes.” Too low, she sounded like a man. She swallowed and started again. “Some of us are going to the fair this evening and I just wondered, I thought maybe, since you’re new—” This was all going wrong. “If you’d like to come with us?” Her voice ended up squeaky again.

  “I see.” He was standing so close to her that she could smell the clean sweat on him. “That’s a kind offer…”

  “Annie.”

  “Annie, of course. Only I won’t be taking you up on it.”

  Annie fell silent in disappointment. Tobias nodded toward a beam, where Annie now saw a photograph of a young lady that had been propped against a nail. Annie took it in at one glance; the elegant clothes, the gloves, the feathered hat, the large dark eyes, the small mouth parted in a smile to show teeth as white as the pearls on Lady Edith’s best brooch…and the complete absence of a maid’s uniform.

  “See her? This is my young lady,” Tobias announced. “She works in the haberdasher’s in the village. Miss Sadie Billesley is her name.”

  Annie made no answer, but she had the feeling that someone had upset a jug of iced water in her insides.

  “I’ll be going to the fair with her. So can you think of any reason why I might go with a servant instead?” Tobias looked Annie up and down, and Annie was conscious as never before of her work-hardened hands, her ugly uniform, and the scent of the kitchen that hung about her. How could she compete with a young lady who worked in a shop, who was allowed to wear scent and jewelry and got called “miss” by the customers?

  Annie was frozen for a second. Then she turned and fled. Her face was burning with mortification as she ran across the courtyard, back to the kitchen. Right now, being a servant felt like the worst thing in the world.

  She slunk back into the kitchen, rubbing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. She hoped she could get through without anyone noticing and making fun of her. Luckily Martha was gutting fish at the sink and wasn’t watching her. She edged past Sarah, the second housemaid, who was drinking her tea, toward the door to the servants’ corridor. Before she reached it, it swung open and Thomas strode in with the post.

  “Letter for you, Annie,” he announced, tossing the envelope at her. Annie just caught it.

  “For me?” The shock dried up her tears. No one wrote to her. Why would they? She couldn’t read. She could, however, make out her own name at the top of the address. Thomas was right.

  Annie stared at the letter in astonishment. A thousand wild fancies hovered in her head like specks of flour in the sunbeams. Maybe some long-lost relative had died and left her a fortune. Maybe some visiting duke had seen her and fallen in love. Maybe—

  The bell shrilled out.

  “Oh, I hate that noise!” she exclaimed.

  “I’ll go.” Sarah put down her tea and jumped up. “You read your letter, Annie. It’s not every day you get one of those.”

  “Thank you.” Annie felt embarrassed. She didn’t care to show that she couldn’t read. She hesitated, then remembered. Priya, the nursemaid. She loved reading, and she wouldn’t tell tales. Annie, full of excitement, ran out of the kitchen and up the servants’ stairs to the nursery.

  She found Priya standing by the crib, folding nappies while Augustus played on his rocking horse. Priya swung round, her eyes wide and scared, as Annie came in.

  “You’re jumpy,” Annie laughed. “Got a guilty conscience?” She ran over to Priya. “I got a letter, look! It’s addressed to me with a stamp and everything.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Priya took it. “But what do you want me to do with it?”

  Annie blushed. She hadn’t thought to be embarrassed by asking Priya to read her letter, but now she realized how foolish she must look, asking for help from the Indian nursemaid. Typical housemaid, no education and no chance of a better life. Not like Miss Sadie Billesley. “Read it to me. I never had chance to get my ABC. Not that I need it.” She tossed her head. “No time to waste on novels.”

  “Of course I’ll read it for you,” Priya said with a kind expression that only made Annie’s face grow warmer. She opened the letter and scanned it. “It’s from Rose!” she exclaimed.

  “Rose!” Annie was startled and pleased. She hadn’t expected Rose to write, not now that she was a fine lady. “What does she say?”

  “That she misses you, and it’s so busy down in London that she hasn’t a moment to herself, but she thinks of the time you used to work together and she hasn’t forgotten you, and she hopes you haven’t forgotten her. And she sends her affectionate wishes to all.” Priya smiled. “That’s lovely, isn’t it?”

  “Rose was always kind,” said Annie. She felt warm inside, and somehow her aching knees and hands didn’t seem so bad…but then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the mantelpiece. Rose would be a fine lady now, all silks and satins and feathers and jewels. And here was she, drab and plain in her uniform, and no hope of going anywhere but up and down the stairs, up and down, up and down.

  “Thank you, Priya.” Annie took the letter back. “If I can do anything to help you, just ask.”

  “I…” Priya hesitated, then took a deep breath. “I did want to ask you if…never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  Now Annie was curious. “What?” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “Priya, you can ask me anything.”

  Priya looked terrified, but she took another breath and started again. “Well, have you ever found Sir William to be…to try and take liberties with you?”

  Annie looked at her in shock. Priya was blushing, her thick eyelashes swept down to hide the expression in her eyes. Annie’s shock turned to irritation. Did this girl really think she had caught the eye of the Earl of Westlake’s heir? Did everyone in this house have delusions of grandeur?

  “No,” Annie said, drawing herself up. “And I can
’t imagine he would have any interest in…‘taking liberties,’ as you say, with someone like you. I hope you haven’t set your sights on him.”

  “No, I—”

  “I mean, why would Sir William lower himself?” Annie went on, feeling more and more resentful as she spoke. “You ought to be grateful he’s kind to you—grateful for all this family has done for you. After all,” she sniffed, “think where you’d still be if they hadn’t brought you to England with them.”

  She swept to the door. Priya might have her large soft eyes and her slim waist, but she, Annie, had moral dignity. The curate’s sermon from last Sunday echoed in her ears: Bless the squire and his relations, and always keep our proper stations. Poor Priya, she thought as she went down the servants’ stairs. If only she had had the advantages of being born in a Christian country, she would know that.

  London

  Rose looked out of the window of Lord Westlake’s motorcar as the chauffeur brought them to a halt before the entrance to Buckingham Palace. Liveried footmen as tall and solid as British oaks framed the grand doors. One of them, gold buttons glinting, stepped forward smartly to open the motorcar door. Rose gathered her skirts, and with a nervous glance at Ada, who sat beside her, stepped out. At once she was glad of her fur-lined opera cloak’s soft hug. Even though it was a pleasant May evening, her ball dress was so delicate that the slightest breeze made her feel as if she were naked.

  “I don’t want to be covered in jewels as if I were a table at Garrard,” she had begged Céline a week ago. “Please, find me something simple to wear.”

  “My lady, it is a state ball.” Céline looked worried.

  “And everyone there will know that I was once a housemaid. I don’t want to give them more reason to mock.” She had smiled at Céline in the mirror. “I place myself in your hands.”

  As she stepped from the motorcar, she hoped she had been right to trust her. She clutched the cloak around her, her heart sinking as she thought of the moment she would have to remove it. No matter how Céline had tried to convince her that the sapphire-blue silk was meant to hug and reveal her curves, that it was the fashion to have nothing but velvet ribbons skimming her bare shoulders, she couldn’t help imagining her mother’s face if she saw her in such a dress. Ugly as they were, at this moment Rose would far rather have been wearing a maid’s uniform. It was as good as a cloak of invisibility.

  She followed her father and the countess up the stairs to the palace. A blaze of electric light and the more muted, subtle tones of candles seemed to unroll a glowing carpet of gold for them to walk on. Ladies in their shimmering ball gowns, light turning their diamonds to fire, and gentlemen in top hats and tails as glossy black as their ebony canes were walking up the stairs, chatting and laughing. Rose thought it looked like the fairy tales she had been told as a child, the enchanted world under the mountain that enticed in travelers to dance and dance…and then wake in the cold dawn to a world changed beyond belief. She shivered, and quickly followed her family into the entrance hall. She swept into her curtsy to Queen Mary as elegantly as she knew how, and allowed the tide to pull her on into the ballroom.

  Ahead of her, Lord Westlake said to his wife in an undertone, “I hope to see Rose dancing tonight, my dear.”

  Rose knew that the polite words masked a bitter conflict. The countess resented having to accompany her husband’s illegitimate daughter, child of his housekeeper.

  “Of course,” the countess replied, raising her eyebrows as if surprised at the comment. “If anyone asks her, she is welcome to dance.”

  Rose knew that was the end of it. The countess always made sure to keep her out of the way of any dance partners. She sighed as the countess led them toward the chairs where Lady Gertrude and Lady Cynthia were already sitting with their chaperones. The orchestra was in full swing, but it was hard to enjoy the music, knowing that she wouldn’t be dancing.

  Ada slipped a hand under her arm as they went. “You must promise me you won’t hang back tonight, Rose,” Ada said softly. “You have as much right as anyone to be here. You are an Averley.”

  Rose smiled back, thinking how beautiful her sister looked. Her dress was shell-pink net over cloudy-gray silk, and pink pearls edged the neckline and the hem giving it a languorous, sensual weight. A diamond star nestled in her hair.

  “I will try,” she replied. Ahead of them the crowd parted to reveal the glistening sweep of the dance floor, couples moving back and forth across it like blossoms swaying in the wind.

  Before Ada could answer, Fintan came up to them, smiling, and Rose knew that was the end of their private conversation for the evening.

  “Will you dance, Ada?” he said.

  Ada glanced at Rose, who quickly said, “Please do, I will be quite safe here.”

  “I—” Ada hesitated.

  Rose mustered up her brightest smile and urged Ada toward Fintan. “Please, I wouldn’t be happy if you sat out on my behalf,” she said firmly, and turned away to join Charlotte, Gertrude, and Cynthia on the chairs.

  Ada gave Rose a reassuring smile as they moved away, elegantly gliding as if on water.

  Rose sat down, aware that the women were staring at her.

  “Such an interesting dress,” Lady Gertrude remarked, addressing her directly for the first time. Rose knew that interesting was no compliment. She glanced surreptitiously around, noting the other debutantes’ dresses. Her heart sank. All were in pastels, soft and muted. The blue she had thought so beautiful in the haberdasher’s, the shade of a painting of the Mediterranean sea she had once seen hanging on the drawing room wall at Somerton—and, according to Céline, the precise shade of her eyes—seemed to glow in contrast.

  Rose felt the color flow into her cheeks.

  “Yes, quite unconventional.” Lady Cynthia covered a smile with her fan.

  Rose tried to twitch the opera cloak over the velvet ribbons that were all that covered her shoulders. Others around them were staring and whispering. How could Céline have let her pick out that color? She should have realized there was a way to do things, and that to be different would only result in more ridicule.

  “Rose is, though, isn’t she?” Charlotte yawned.

  Lady Emily twitched her fan like a cat twitching its tail. “I think it’s delightfully daring,” she murmured. Rose gave her a grateful glance, but Emily was looking over her shoulder, toward the crowd.

  A moment later Lady Cynthia hissed, “There he is!”

  Rose didn’t have to look around to know who she was talking about. There was only one man who could make Lady Cynthia sound quite so much like an excitable viper. Charlotte snapped open her Spanish fan, and held it before her face, eyes moving above it to follow the Duke of Huntleigh as he crossed the room—mothers sticking to him like burrs to a jacket.

  “Oh, do look, how unfair, Ethel Berridge is practically glued to his arm,” whispered Lady Gertrude to Lady Cynthia.

  “It’s simply exasperating—oh, there goes the countess. She’ll shake her off.”

  “And bring him over here, I hope.”

  Indeed, Rose saw that the countess had managed to detach the tenacious Ethel Berridge and was coming toward them with the force and determination of a jockey heading for the Grand National finish. The duke, though a head taller than she was, had no chance of resisting. He looked thoroughly annoyed. Suddenly Rose found herself in his gaze, and, taken by surprise, did not instantly look away. It could only have been a second in which their eyes met, but she felt heat touch her cheeks as if as if tinder had met flint.

  Rose looked away swiftly. She hadn’t meant to draw his attention, and she was annoyed that she had done so. Now the story of the housemaid turned lady would scamper around the ballroom once again—only this time it would be of the housemaid turned fortune hunter.

  “Charlotte!” the countess announced as she reached them. She was glowing with sapphires and self-satisfaction. “Alexander left our little party so quickly that I hadn’t the chance to bring you to
gether. But of course you remember each other. Alexander, I’m sure you know Lady Gertrude, Lady Emily, Lady Cynthia—and this is Lady Rose.”

  Rose looked down with a wry smile while Lady Gertrude and Lady Cynthia twittered greetings. The countess might as well have inserted the word unfortunately in front of her name. She looked up and was disconcerted to see that he was still looking at her and would have seen her smile. He, on the other hand, looked as likely to smile as Buckingham Palace itself. She quickly glanced down again, playing with the tassel on her fan. A man with no sense of humor, how dull, she thought. But his eyes were deep green, dappled with gold like a sunlit forest.

  “I must congratulate you on your recent marriage, Lady Westlake,” the duke said. His voice was low and serious. His eyes fell on Charlotte, and his momentary look of confusion was quickly replaced by composure. “And of course I remember Charlotte very well.”

  “Yes, our first season was delightful, wasn’t it?” Charlotte’s eyes sparkled from behind her fan. “I particularly remember that Saturday-to-Monday at Gravelley Park—they have such a fine collection of Oriental vases. I did enjoy sketching them.”

  Rose was startled enough to look up from her fan. Charlotte, she was sure, would not notice an Oriental vase unless one hit her on the head. But Charlotte looked perfectly innocent, smiling sweetly at the duke.

  “They certainly do,” he replied with an answering smile. “Lord Fintan’s home is delightful.”

  “It’s such a pity he doesn’t invite you more frequently. But then Laurence is a peacock who likes the stage to himself.”

  “Do you think we are rivals?” He glanced back at the floor where Fintan and Ada danced, gazing into each other’s eyes.

  “I think you were once.” Charlotte’s tone was almost flirtatious. Lady Gertrude and Lady Cynthia exchanged glances.