“Now just you listen to me, you silly little girl from ze country.” Céline spoke in a low, furious voice. “How dare you come here and stir up trouble for my mistress. You should be ashamed! Some friend you are.”
Annie jerked her arm away. “Some friend I am? And what about her, turning me away like a beggar?”
“Don’t be so silly. She did it for your own good.” She fixed Annie with a hard gaze. “Why are you hanging around here anyway?”
“Miss Charlotte told me I should stay.” Annie raised her chin. “She’s a real lady, unlike some.”
“Lady Rose is a lady if society says she is.”
“Miss Charlotte says—”
“Oh, Miss Charlotte. I see she has engaged you to spread poison about Lady Rose.”
“I’m engaged as a lady’s maid!”
“Are you indeed?” The sarcasm in her voice cut Annie to the core. “Well, I am pleased for you. But that doesn’t make it better that you should be speaking against your friend. It’s not easy for her either, you know, to be so suddenly a lady. Didn’t you ever think she might need your friendship? You only think of what she can give to you.”
Annie’s gaze faltered, and she looked down. Rose’s lady’s maid was so forthright; Annie was surprised to find herself feeling uncomfortable. She tried to rally some defiance. “What does it matter to you anyway?” she muttered.
Céline folded the shift again, twice, then three times, smoothing away the creases, before replying. “I have my own plans. They are none of your business. But let me tell you, if you continue to stir up trouble for Lady Rose, I will stir up big, big trouble for you.”
“I should like to see you try!” exclaimed a voice.
Annie turned to see Stella standing at the end of the corridor. She had a triumphant smile on her face as she came toward Céline.
“I hate to ruin your illusions of rising to be lady’s maid to a Duchess, but I don’t believe the Duke of Huntleigh is interested in Lady Rose.”
“What makes you say that?” Céline did not sound troubled.
“Oh, never mind. Just that he’s more likely to marry someone else.”
“Miss Templeton?” Céline sniffed. “I doubt it.”
“What Miss Templeton wants, Miss Templeton gets.” Stella paced slowly toward them, smirking. “This is her third season, as we all know—she’s on the shelf after this. She wants a proposal and she wants one from the Duke of Huntleigh. If you want to know what I think—”
“We don’t, Ward.”
Annie’s head jerked up at the new voice that cut into their exchange. Charlotte Templeton stood on the servants’ stairs, a little above them. Her face was flushed slightly, but the look she gave Stella was icy.
Stella and Céline straightened at once.
“Miss Templeton,” Stella said, sounding terrified.
Miss Templeton ignored her. She walked down the stairs and smiled at Annie. “Bailey, have you finished my mending?” She held out her hands, and Annie wordlessly placed the dress in them.
Stella’s eyes went from the dress to Charlotte and Annie. “But that mending—that’s my job, Miss Templeton.”
“No, Ward, it is my lady’s maid’s job,” Charlotte said.
Céline’s eyes widened.
Stella’s color changed from red to pale. “Your—but—I—” she began.
Annie stood clutching the hem of her apron, feeling like a rabbit before an oncoming train. This was more than she had bargained for. She hadn’t thought Miss Templeton would rid herself of her old maid quite so viciously and publicly. She could feel Stella’s furious gaze burning into her.
“I’ve placed your reference and month’s wages on your dressing table, Ward,” Charlotte went on. “I may be on the shelf, in your view, but I still have my standards, and one thing I cannot abide is a servant who does not know her place.” She smiled sweetly. “And now, where is that tea?”
“I have delivered the message you entrusted to me, my lady,” Céline said the next morning as she helped Rose dress.
“Oh!” Rose wished she had not. She felt foolish and small for writing to Alexander. The image from the photograph album had stayed in her mind. Alexander and Charlotte had been standing so very close together in the photographs. They’d shared a whole season together. They had talked, and danced, and laughed, and no doubt exchanged secrets. Had more happened? She was not sure she wanted to know.
Rose turned to see that Céline was holding a piece of brocaded silk in crimson and gold.
“Now, my lady, if you’d like to look at this sample, which has come from Worth—”
“I wouldn’t much, Céline,” Rose sighed.
“Or perhaps this one—” Céline flipped the page of her fabric sample book to show a swatch of dove-gray chiffon.
“I am not really in the humor.”
Céline looked at her in surprise. “But my lady has given some thought to her dress for Mrs. Verulam’s costume ball?”
“To be honest, I was thinking of not going at all.”
Céline stood very still, her face expressionless. Rose tried to lighten the mood. “You may have the afternoon off, Céline. It’s a beautiful day and there’s no sense in your spending it moping around inside with me.”
“My lady,” said Céline. “I must ask you to go to this ball.”
Rose raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”
“I would like you very much to go to this ball and allow me to dress you as a daughter of the Earl of Westlake should be dressed.” Céline’s voice trembled.
Rose’s cheeks flushed slightly with annoyance. Were all the servants going to be insolent to her? She had thought better of Céline. She spoke hastily. “I think you’re being familiar. I dress quite properly. But you seem to want me to stand out. I don’t say your dresses are not elegant, are not—” She hesitated. “My goodness, whatever is the matter? Céline, are you crying?”
Rose leapt to her feet and reached for her handkerchief. She pressed it into the maid’s hand and ushered her to a chair. Céline dabbed the tears away. “Whatever is the matter? I am sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean to—”
“Please, my lady,” Céline said, “You don’t know what damage you will do to me—to my dreams—if you keep on as you are doing. You are acting like a housemaid still—excuse me, but it is true. But you are not a housemaid. You are a very beautiful young lady, and I could dress you so that society would be dazzled as if a meteor had landed in their midst—”
“But I can’t think of anything worse—didn’t a meteor land in Russia a year ago and many people were killed?” Rose was glad to see her lady’s maid’s lips curve in their usual mischievous smile. She went on, “It’s Charlotte who’s going as the Firebird, not me. I really don’t want to dazzle.” She paused. “But am I to understand that it matters to you what I wear?”
“Of course it matters, my lady!” Céline exclaimed. “My reputation—” She hesitated.
“Oh?” Rose was half amused, half insulted. “So I’m your shop window, am I?”
“In a sense, my lady—yes.” She looked down, then up again with a bright, fierce gaze. “My lady, I don’t intend to be a maid all my life. I want to have independence, and I know I can earn it through my skill. I don’t mean to leave you, but perhaps a little shop, a boutique…”
“You want an atelier!” Rose exclaimed.
“Yes, but…it all depends upon you,” Céline said. “This ball will be the culmination of the season. Queen Alexandra will be there!”
Rose began to understand. Queen Alexandra, the widow of King Edward and mother of the current king, was a known arbiter of style. If she admired a dress, everyone would rush to buy it.
“If society sees I have dressed Lady Rose Averley more than becomingly, stunningly—I can succeed. But if you do not allow me to do that…” Céline bowed her head. “I have a chance, my lady, and you are it. I hope you don’t object to my speaking so boldly.”
“You wouldn’
t be yourself if you were not bold, Céline.” Rose’s amusement had subsided, and she was now admiring. Goodness knew Céline would need boldness if she were going to try to set herself up in business. “Well, I was thinking how useless my life is, but if I can be of use to you, if I can give you the help you need…well, why not? I will be your mannequin, Céline.” Rose smiled. She would not allow Alexander’s rejection to stop her having pleasure or helping others. “I will go to the ball.”
“Thank you, Thompson.” Lady Emily Maddox looked up to acknowledge the tea that the butler placed at her side. “You may leave us.”
The butler melted away and Emily turned her attention back to the young woman perched on the edge of the chesterfield in front of her. Although she was clearly not at her ease in the opulent drawing room, she met Lady Emily’s gaze with a hard, bold confidence. Miss Ward, thought Emily, was the kind of woman who set a great deal of store by revenge. She liked her already.
“Do please go on,” she said, lifting the teapot. There was the music of Assam flowing, and the gentle shiver of china against china as she handed the cup and saucer to Miss Ward. “So Miss Templeton dismissed you unjustly.”
“It was more than unjust, my lady. I was privy to all Miss Templeton’s secrets. I carried messages for her, arranged assignations. Of course my conscience protested, but I did it out of a misplaced loyalty to her.” She sipped the tea—the porcelain, thin as a rose petal, glowed as the light shone through it—and her eyes met Lady Emily’s. She lowered the cup. “I can be very loyal, my lady.”
“I am sure you can,” murmured Emily, adding silently, When it suits you. “So you were only following her instructions when you carried this letter to the Duke of Huntleigh.”
Stella set cup and saucer down. The clock distantly chimed four. “Yes, and now I bitterly regret it.” There was certainly passion in her voice, but Lady Emily doubted it was the passion of remorse. “Apparently the duke had no idea that Lady Rose was once a servant. And Miss Templeton has no more obstacles in her way.” Her eyelid twitched though her voice was perfectly calm. “I expect it was her plan all along.”
Emily looked down at the cup and saucer in her hands. They fit together so well. Just as she had once thought she and Alexander fit together so well. That had been an illusion, most rudely shattered by Charlotte one terrible Saturday-to-Monday at Gravelley Park two seasons ago.
They had come for a jolly house party—she and Laurence travelling together, Alexander arriving after one of his jaunts to Europe, and Charlotte with Sebastian in tow—poor old Sebastian, always down on his uppers. A few other young people, some games of tennis, riding, croquet, and theater games. And dancing to the gramophone and the piano in the evenings. Emily had danced with Alexander several times that season, and had fancied herself in love with him—no, perhaps she really had been in love with him. At least, his dry voice, with the laugh hidden deep inside it, had made her feel all shivery, whenever she heard him speak. They had flirted. Laurence hadn’t approved, but he’d had other things to occupy him—namely Charlotte Templeton.
That Saturday night, Emily, lying awake, had heard whispers and giggles and the padding of bare feet along the corridor. She had heard enough so that when Charlotte appeared late for breakfast the next day, and when Emily heard whispered arguments between them the day after that, Emily guessed at what had happened. Charlotte must have allowed Laurence to go a little too far, and now she was frightened and desperate for him to propose. But Laurence had never reacted well to pressure of that kind. He had pulled away—and that afternoon, over a game of cards, Emily had watched helplessly as Charlotte exerted all her skills of flattery and flirtation to tease Alexander out of Emily’s clutches and into her own.
Emily still flushed with humiliation and rage as she remembered that afternoon. It was not that she wanted Alexander back. That was two years ago and much had changed. But she still remembered the pain Charlotte had caused her. Hatred, in her experience, endured much longer than love.
Emily set the cup and saucer down on the silver tray and looked up at Miss Ward with a pleasant smile. “Well, I do think you have been very badly treated in all this. And by chance, dear Leblanc has just given notice—she wants to get married, of all things. May I offer you employment as my lady’s maid?”
Miss Ward smiled. Lady Emily wasn’t surprised. Their needs matched precisely, and it had been obvious from the start that this was why the woman had come. She must have heard of Leblanc’s departure on the servants’ grapevine. Gossip did travel so.
“I would be honored, my lady.” Miss Ward put a hand into her reticule and drew out something grasped in her fist. She opened it to display scarlet petals, as if she had crushed a rose in her hand. “And now that that is quite understood, I think you may be interested in these.…”
Rose followed Ada out of the breakfast room. Ada stopped to collect the visiting cards that had already been left.
“‘Lady Gertrude, Lady Cynthia,’” Ada read aloud, flicking through them as she entered the drawing room. “Oh, what on earth can those two want? They’re fooling no one by pretending they like us. Thank heavens Laurence will be here to help us bear them.” She placed the cards on the mantelpiece just as Charlotte and the countess came down the stairs, dressed to go out, Charlotte a blaze of yellow and pearls, with ivory feathers in her hat, and the countess resplendent in the palest shades of gray and violet.
“I simply cannot wait,” Charlotte was saying to her mother. “In flagrante with her butler—it’s like a play!”
“Where are you two going?” Ada asked, looking up.
“The divorce court public gallery,” the countess said, glancing in the mirror to adjust her stole. “It’s Agatha Folsover today. I’m so looking forward to it.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little cruel?” Rose said quietly. “Marriage isn’t a spectator sport.”
The countess ignored her—Rose was used to that—but Charlotte replied, “Nonsense. It’s exactly that, and she’s a fool if she imagines anything else.” Her voice was acid as she continued. “Ada understands, don’t you? From the trousseau to the honeymoon, it’ll all be pawed over by the gossip rags.”
“My dear, you sound quite jaded,” the countess murmured, taking the visiting cards from Ada and glancing through them.
“Just realistic, Mother.”
“I hope it hasn’t put you off marriage.” A note of warning sounded in the countess’s voice.
Charlotte’s mouth trembled slightly, but she composed herself, and when she spoke again she was her usual self. “Not at all. I’m just looking for the perfect partner to perform with.” Her eyes met Rose’s. “Someone who shares my artistic interests.”
Rose kept her face expressionless. She was not about to allow Charlotte the satisfaction of seeing that her shot had hit home. There had been no reply to her note. Just a cold silence.
Charlotte turned right and left, looking in the mirror with evident appreciation. “I do like my new maid’s taste,” she said. “If she goes on this well, she’ll be Lady Annie in a year, I shouldn’t wonder.”
She swept out, and the countess followed her. Rose and Ada looked at each other.
“I wish she had not taken Annie on,” said Rose under her breath. “I suppose I should be glad, but I wonder what her motives are. The poor girl is no more a lady’s maid than I’m a duchess, and I’m sure the extra work is falling on Céline.”
Ada sighed. “Yes, it worries me too. However, perhaps it’s a way for Annie to return to Somerton without too much embarrassment.”
“You’re right. I must think of it that way,” Rose agreed.
“Have you plans for this morning, Rose?” Ada asked. “I hoped to find some time to write to Emily about our fund-raising dinner for the suffragettes. We want to invite Hannah Darford to speak.” She turned to the newspaper, glancing at the front page. “Though with all this troubling news from Europe, I wonder if this is the moment for such an event. Laurence says there
is nothing to worry about, but I’m afraid he is trying to shelter me.”
“No, no plans,” Rose said. Ada glanced at her, and Rose managed a smile. She couldn’t weigh on Ada’s spirits, it wasn’t fair to her. “I shall take the chance to practice. It seems forever since I last played,” Rose said. She turned and left of the room, heading for the drawing room. There was no music room here, but the countess kept a piano for after-dinner concerts.
Rose sat down at the piano and gazed at the keys. Once she would simply have begun to play, and ideas would have formed as if out of thin air. But now all she could hear was the rattle of wheel on the cobbles outside, the scraping of some maid cleaning the steps, the endless drone of the city. She placed her hands on the piano, but she did not begin to play.
A small sound behind her made her start. She turned sharply. Sunlight poured through the sash windows and bathed the walnut table and sideboard and glinted from the piano. The breeze through the open window stirred the curtain. Rose blinked as she seemed to see a ghost cowering behind it. Then she realized it was not a ghost. It was the tweeny. She looked frozen with terror, and she was holding Rose’s book, A Duke for Daisy, which she had left behind on an end table the day before.
Rose stood up, startled. The tweeny jumped like a shot rabbit. She dropped the book with a clatter, and Rose saw that her hands were shaking. Full of pity, she left the piano and crossed to the girl.
“Please don’t be afraid,” she said warmly. Ellen, she remembered. The girl’s name was Ellen. “I don’t mind your reading it at all. I had no idea you were interested in books.”
Ellen hung her head. She was so pale and washed out, Rose thought, remembering how she had rarely had a sight of sunlight when she was a housemaid. There was never time, never anything but work and sleep.
“I can’t read much, my lady.” Her voice was a whisper. “But the maids, they’re reading it out loud in the evenings and they let me listen in. I just wanted to know what happened next. I’m sorry if I gave offense.”
Diamonds and Deceit (At Somerton) Page 13
