The Secret Heiress

by Luke Devenish

  Inside the room, Aggie Marshall the lady’s maid was clearly reacting with shock as Mr Clarkenwell reached the crux of the news that Samuel had given him. Listening, Ida considered her own response, given she’d had rather more time than the lady’s maid had to digest it. Ida had initially thought it unbelievable, until all of a sudden it wasn’t so unbelievable at all, but typical; the deception, the sheer injustice of what had been done to a hapless woman felt very believable to Ida’s sixteen-year-old ears. It was sickening confirmation to her that this was how things could be in this world if you were young and female with no one to look out for you.

  ‘And what’s she supposed to do now, sir?’ she heard the lady’s maid demanding to know from inside the room.

  Mr Clarkenwell evidently disliked her tone. ‘Remember your place here, Miss Marshall,’ he told her, his swivelling chair issuing complaints beneath him, ‘if we are to continue.’

  ‘I’ve worked here four months now, Mr Clarkenwell, and I think I know it well enough – and Miss Gregory does, too. Or she’ll think she did until today. When you break this news to her she’ll be left not knowing anything at all.’

  Ida liked to think she was becoming adept at reading uncomfortable pauses, and one followed now. Mr Clarkenwell cleared his throat in the vacuum and Ida imagined lady’s maid Aggie reading his look.

  ‘Oh. Now I see things even more clearly,’ Aggie said, cynicism in her voice.

  ‘Again, I remind you of your place and the tone of your voice when addressing a superior,’ Mr Clarkenwell warned her.

  ‘My place is as a lady’s maid, sir, nothing more,’ Aggie replied.

  Ida now pictured Clarkenwell forming his fat, grey fingers into a steeple as he waited behind his desk.

  ‘But you want me to be the one to tell her, don’t you?’

  Evidently Mr Clarkenwell did. His chair complained in a different way and Ida wondered if he was leaning back in it. It occurred to her that telling Miss Gregory the news about her wrongful confinement should be a joyful task to receive. Why was Mr Clarkenwell so keen to delegate it?

  ‘You’re a coward,’ said Aggie.

  Ida smiled, liking her spirit.

  ‘Very well,’ Aggie went on, ‘I will inform Miss Gregory of what you have just informed me.’

  ‘There must be no scandal,’ he warned from inside the room.

  ‘Really? And why is that?’ said Aggie. ‘Worried you’ll go to court? Well, from what you’ve told me I’d say you’re right to be worried.’

  Ida heard a drawer being pulled open in the deep, mahogany desk and she wondered what was being withdrawn.

  ‘Please don’t insult me,’ Aggie said flatly from within.

  ‘Ten guineas,’ said Mr Clarkenwell.

  Ida thrilled. Was the lady’s maid being bribed?

  ‘That much?’ Aggie mused. ‘I’ll buy myself something very pretty with that, I’m sure.’

  There was another pause, during which Ida heard Mr Clarkenwell wheezing. Was he writing out a cheque, Ida wondered?

  ‘Here,’ Mr Clarkenwell said.

  There followed the distinct sound of something being torn up. Ida heard Mr Clarkenwell choke and stand, shoving his chair.

  ‘You can eat your money,’ declared Aggie. ‘I work for Miss Gregory, not you, and she’s where my loyalty lies.’

  ‘The Hall pays your wages . . .’ Mr Clarkenwell started to say.

  ‘Miss Gregory’s late father’s estate pays them, actually,’ said Aggie, ‘and as for scandal, there’ll be none, provided you show her the decency you’ve obviously never shown her before. She’s not even the same person that everyone’s been telling her she is since she came here!’ The lady’s maid was furious now and clearly didn’t care how it sounded.

  Loving Aggie’s gall, Ida imagined Mr Clarkenwell fighting back his spite; fat, sweaty fists balled on his desk top. ‘Let me remind you that her late father believed her to be ill,’ he said, also getting heated now, ‘which is why he willed her care to the Hall!’

  ‘Believed Margaret Gregory to be ill, perhaps,’ Aggie spat back at him, ‘but she’s not Margaret now, is she, Mr Clarkenwell? She’s Matilda, and she was all the time she’s been here. Margaret is dead. Matilda is the heiress to a fortune.’

  Ida hoped the strain was showing itself on Clarkenwell’s fleshy face; deep lines scoring his flabby skin. ‘The situation is . . . very irregular,’ he conceded from the other side of the door. Ida visualised him pulling a handkerchief from his coat and scraping it across his brow.

  ‘Especially for my mistress, who’s been shut in here under a falsehood,’ said Aggie.

  ‘Under her late father’s legacy,’ he tried to remind her.

  ‘Which you not only corrupted but milked all you could,’ she said. ‘Because that’s the nub of the scandal, isn’t it, sir? The cost is very dear to be a resident here at the Hall, but the late Mr Gregory could afford it. The only trouble was, we now see, is that because he was dead there was no one to confirm we were taking the correct daughter. I suppose it suited your pockets not to make sure.’

  A sudden movement at Ida’s feet outside the door made her start. A little white terrier had appeared from nowhere and was looking up at her, wagging its tail. Ida’s eyes almost fell out of her head. The dog showed a flash of uncertainty at this reaction, before doubling its efforts to be friendly. She tentatively reached out to pat the little animal. Apparently pleased by this, the dog licked her fingers, before sitting on its hindquarters near her feet, content to share her company.

  Inside the room Mr Clarkenwell was saying, ‘When you inform Miss Gregory of what has been learned from Mr Samuel Hackett, you will tell her she is now discharged.’

  ‘That’s all I ask,’ said Aggie Marshall, ‘all that is decent.’

  Ida realised the lady’s maid was about to pull open the door. She leapt back a pace so that it wouldn’t look like she’d been listening. When Aggie emerged, the white terrier dashed forward, whipping its tail.

  ‘Yip, you little scallywag,’ Aggie whispered, stooping down to kiss the animal, ‘have you been eavesdropping?’

  Ida blushed.

  The white terrier thumped its tail on the floor and licked Aggie’s chin. ‘Get off!’ she complained, but she kissed and hugged the dog harder. ‘Good girl. Good girl.’ She looked up and addressed Ida. ‘Yip was a stray. She wandered into the garden one day and just seemed to make herself part of the household.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Ida, smiling, for want of something better to reply with.

  ‘Her meals were pot luck to begin with until I took them in hand,’ said Aggie, standing up. ‘Now she thinks of me as her mistress.’

  Ida smiled again, before lapsing into self-consciousness when she realised the other servant was looking at her not altogether appraisingly. A city servant, Aggie looked rather smarter than Ida in appearance

  ‘I’m very new in service,’ Ida said, by way of explanation. ‘Still in training.’

  ‘New at the great house?’

  ‘New at Summersby, that’s right.’

  Aggie sniffed and nodded, accepting her. ‘So, I suppose you know all about what I’ve just been told inside.’

  Ida wasn’t sure how to answer that without revealing she’d eavesdropped on not only one, but two conversations. ‘I know I’m here to help fetch Miss Gregory,’ she offered, ‘to whom a grave injustice has been done.’

  Aggie frowned, but not at Ida, and looked to Yip. ‘And what’s to become of us now, that’s the question.’

  ‘You’re Miss Gregory’s lady’s maid?’

  Aggie nodded.

  ‘Won’t you be wanted at Summersby?’

  The other servant seemed to consider that for the first time. ‘What’s it like there?’

  Ida told her in the truest way she could, aware that the other woman was her best ever chance for gaining a friend. If she could just convince Aggie to come then there’d be no more loneliness. She tried to explain a household she
barely understood herself. Aggie fixed on details that struck her as irregular, in particular the paucity of fellow servants. ‘How on earth do you do it all?’ she gasped.

  Ida didn’t think her answer satisfied Aggie, who clearly had higher standards.

  ‘I suppose you’ve got family here in Melbourne,’ Ida asked, suspecting she’d failed to entice Aggie.

  But the other servant shook her head. ‘Just me,’ she said. ‘And I’m from Beechworth, not Melbourne. My people have all passed on. I’ve been serving Miss Gregory for the last four months, since her first woman, a Miss Haines, left her.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Ida, taking hope. ‘Why did the first maid leave?’

  Aggie looked at her as if that was a pointless thing to ask. ‘I’ve been in service all up since I was fifteen,’ she said, ‘that’s nearly ten years. Made my way from the kitchens to become a lady’s maid, although what I’ve got for it apart from ruined looks and abandoned hopes, I don’t know.’

  Ida must have looked shocked as well as crestfallen, because Aggie was quick to counter this with a smile. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘Nothing’s ever so bad that a walk outside on a bright sunny day won’t fix it.’

  ‘There are some lovely long walks at Summersby,’ Ida offered. ‘You should see the grounds.’

  Aggie now seemed to reach a resolve. ‘A terrible thing has been done to my mistress.’

  Ida agreed.

  ‘She deserves decency, don’t you think?’

  ‘That why I’m here.’

  Aggie looked at her oddly.

  ‘With Mr Samuel Hackett and his man, Mr Barker,’ Ida qualified. ‘They are waiting outside. We’re all here to make better the terrible thing that’s been done to Miss Gregory and bring her home – most particularly Mr Hackett, who is the nicest, most handsome gentleman I’ve ever met. Just you wait and see.’

  Aggie raised her eyebrow at that and Ida felt a shot of embarrassment that she’d given her feelings away. ‘I’ve not met many gentlemen,’ she added quickly, ‘although I promise you won’t find him disappointing.’

  Aggie looked into the little dog’s eyes. ‘I told myself once I’d stay to the end of the world with a mistress who was kind to me,’ she muttered.

  ‘And is Miss Gregory kind?’ Ida wondered.

  Aggie considered. ‘She’s the kindest mistress I’ve ever known.’

  Ida’s heart lifted. ‘She’s also heiress to a grand house and a fortune.’

  While Aggie patted the little dog, Ida watched as she made up her mind. Aggie would claim her own fair share of any decency going, and what’s more, her beloved little Yip would have a piece of decency, too.

  • • •

  Observing from near the door to Miss Gregory’s bedroom Ida saw the emotion welling up inside Aggie as she studied her mistress’s reflection in the mirror. ‘You are lovely, miss, just lovely,’ Aggie told her.

  Something about the beautiful Matilda Gregory’s fragility clearly made Aggie feel protective towards her, Ida noted. Nineteen years old, the Summersby heiress had an otherworldly quality, as if she were merely visiting this plane and would at some time soon of her choosing elect to ascend to the clouds. Having met the dead woman she now knew was actually Margaret Gregory, Ida was struck by how identical Matilda was in every way to her twin – in physical appearance at least. In manner it was apparent they couldn’t have been more unalike.

  Outfit complete, Matilda beamed; her rich, dark hair arranged to perfection beneath her hat, framing her olive-skinned face, her deep brown eyes. Aggie glanced at her own reflection in the glass, where she saw a woman mousy and plain; Matilda’s looks placed her squarely in the shade.

  ‘Are we ready then?’ Aggie asked.

  Confusion seemed to come to the young woman’s eyes, but Aggie spoke before her mistress could give voice to it. ‘We are leaving the Hall,’ she reminded, ‘and here is Ida to help us.’

  Matilda glanced at Ida and nodded. ‘That’s right, of course we are, and I am very well presented for it. Thank you, Marshall.’ She stood, taking a final glance at herself in the glass. ‘I do like this yellow dress.’

  ‘Well, soon we’ll be buying you some new dresses, I’m sure,’ Aggie suggested, glancing at Ida herself, who smiled at her in turn. ‘All different colours for the season, too. Won’t that be nice?’

  ‘When do we leave?’

  ‘Once we’re out and about in the world again,’ said Aggie, giving Matilda’s gloved hand a little squeeze. ‘Won’t that be nice?’

  ‘What time will we return here?’ Matilda asked.

  Aggie was patient. ‘We will not return. These are our last moments ever at the Hall, miss.’

  It seemed to Ida that Matilda now digested this information as if hearing it afresh. It struck her then that Matilda was more than otherworldly – she was odd. ‘Then I must farewell dear Mr Clarkenwell.’

  Clearly Aggie intended having none of that. ‘Already done,’ she claimed, signalling Ida to open the door to the hallway. Ida did so.

  ‘I said goodbye to Mr Clarkenwell?’ Matilda’s confusion re-bubbled.

  Puzzled by what she was witnessing, Ida stood aside as Aggie eased her mistress into the polished hallway that led towards the stairs. Ida went to close the door behind them, but Aggie shook her head, so Ida left it, following in their wake. ‘It was a moment of little importance,’ Aggie continued the fib, ‘barely worth recalling. Mr Clarkenwell congratulated you on becoming so well.’ She smiled and nodded encouragingly.

  Matilda smiled and nodded too, clearly now seeing the scene in her mind as if it was a memory. ‘That’s right. He did. And I do feel well, Marshall. Better than I have felt since . . . goodness.’

  Aggie nipped the fresh confusion at the bud. ‘Since a very long time,’ she suggested. ‘I think you look radiant. Your relative will remark upon it, too, I have no doubt.’ She placed Matilda’s hand upon the banister and encouraged her to begin the descent. Ida trailed behind, transfixed by the strangeness of it all.

  ‘My relative . . .’ Matilda pondered this somehow extraordinary concept. ‘Yes, I have a relative.’

  ‘For want of another word, miss, yes,’ said Aggie. ‘Ida says he’s a very pleasant gentleman, quite young in years, but by no means a boy. Ida came here with him. Do you remember what I told you that she said?’

  Matilda thought that she did. ‘His manners. Did Ida remark upon his manners, Marshall?’

  ‘She did,’ said Aggie, smiling approvingly over her shoulder at Ida.

  ‘She said they were very fine. I remember now. A gentleman’s manners, she said.’

  ‘Exemplary,’ said Aggie.

  ‘And his style of dress? She said I’d like that.’

  ‘She did,’ said Aggie. ‘Very well attired, Ida promised us he was. Very fine clothes.’

  Matilda smiled. ‘I feel as if perhaps I shall like him already.’

  They all reached the landing together, bathed in the glow from a stained glass window above them. ‘I feel it, too,’ Aggie said, directing her mistress to the last flight of stairs.

  ‘And now he waits for me?’

  ‘He is just outside,’ said Aggie, ‘isn’t he, Ida?’

  The beautiful young woman looked to Ida, who in turn indicated the ornate front door in the entrance hall at the base of the stairs. ‘He has come such a long way to meet you, miss,’ she said. ‘He is anxious that he should make a good impression upon you.’

  Matilda stopped short. ‘Why?’ Suspicion filled her face. ‘Why should he care?’

  Ida faltered, not sure of what to say. Aggie pressed her hand to Matilda’s back, encouraging her to continue the descent, but the young woman stayed where she was, clutching the banister.

  ‘What is all this about, Marshall?’ she asked, immune to pressing hands. ‘Tell me, please, and if I dislike what you say, I shall return to my room and no more will I allow the matter talked of.’

  Horrified that she’d somehow been responsible for this change of heart,
Ida watched as Aggie answered with tact, evidently used to Matilda’s changeability. ‘He worries on what you might think of him only because he understands his responsibility,’ Aggie told her. ‘Or rather, he would like to acquire this responsibility and he wishes to ask you for it.’ She let this sink in a moment.

  Ida chipped in. ‘He knows you won’t grant it should you fail to like him, miss. Therefore he is anxious. Do you see?’ Ida glanced at Aggie to see if she approved of her contribution, but Aggie was so focused on her mistress she couldn’t tell.

  Matilda’s suspicion melted to become confusion again and Aggie used the moment to coax her down the remaining stairs. They reached the tessellated floor of the entrance hall where another array of stained glass lit the impressive front door.

  ‘But what is this responsibility he imagines I will grant him?’ Matilda wondered, finding a thread of the conversation again.

  Aggie kept the momentum going, propelling her forward. Ida saw the parlour door snap shut and guessed that Mr Clarkenwell hid behind it, a coward to the end. Yip was waiting patiently near the hallstand. Aggie slipped the rope she obviously used for walks around Yip’s neck and the little dog at once became keen to be off somewhere.

  ‘The responsibility is that of your wellbeing, miss,’ Aggie went on, the polished brass of the front door knob almost within reach, ‘the responsibility is that of your health and happiness and care.’ She slipped the front door key from her dress pocket, no doubt intending to cast the thing and all it represented aside forever, Ida thought, once the door was wide open.