by Beverley, Jo
The lad sprang to work eagerly enough, but John, who must be a footman, scowled as he left. Trouble there, for sure.
"You'll have to excuse the chill, ma'am," Mistress Kingsley said. "It's usually only the master, see, and he only uses his bedchamber and the library."
"A gentleman who likes to live simply," Lily said. "That's to his credit. May I help you with what you're doing?"
"No need for that, ma'am." The cook spoke as if Lily had tried to steal from her. She scooped the vegetables into a boiling pot. "I'll have a good soup for you and your children in a trice. I always keep a stock pot bubbling."
"An excellent practice," Lily praised, with honesty.
Despite the cook’s grubby apron, she seemed competent, but she was also the housekeeper. A normal house of this size would be too much work for one.
This household was not normal. Lily was wondering if she could use that.
Warmth and conversation were leading her to the obvious conclusion. If at all possible, she and her children must remain here for a while, until she could devise some other means of survival. Sir Benjamin seemed to be a sad figure, and his house neglected.
"There'll be fresh bread, too, ma'am," the cook said, indicating the big, cut loaf. "Sir Benjamin likes his bread fresh, so I bake every day when he's at home. I can do fancy breads, too. Wiggs, brioches, and honey buns, though I don't get much call on such skills. Not a man for fancy food or sweets, Sir Benjamin."
Lily tucked the information away, but four warming pans were being filled with hot coals and would need to be carried upstairs. She, Michael, and the lad couldn't manage that.
The maids returned then, however, and took over the jobs. Soon the pans were ready, so Lily took one, Michael the other, and they left the kitchen behind the maids. The front maid managed a candle as well as a warming pan, which was admirable dexterity.
Michael winked at her, and she smiled back. He'd come to the same conclusion she had, and he'd do all he could to help. He'd tell Charlotte, who was as quick-witted as he and wouldn't let resentment blind her to the point.
The two of them must do their best to ensure that the little ones were no trouble. Seven-year-old Susan did whine, and five-year-old Tom was insatiably curious. Dear little Anna, poor mite, was never any trouble except for crying if in real distress.
They went up back stairs and emerged into a gloomy corridor with a number of dark wooden doors. The floor was plain, dark wood, but there were some pictures on the walls. All the same, Lily sensed what she'd already guessed, that most of this house was unused and uncared for.
Why did Sir Benjamin Brook live in seclusion and rarely have visitors? He'd seemed normal enough, but could he be deranged? At least it wasn't a full moon.
The maid without the lamp opened a door, and they all went into a handsome bedchamber. Or more exactly, a once-handsome bedchamber. Lily could smell dust, and perhaps even mold, though the fire in the hearth was fighting the damp, and the chimney didn't smoke. She'd lay no money at all on the hangings being free of moth.
The maid with the lamp lit a candle on a chest of drawers. "You and the young gentleman do this one, Becky, and I'll take the lady to the other."
She led the way to the next room, which was much like the other.
They drew back the covers and put in the warming pans. Lily touched the sheets. They weren't very damp, and they'd slept in worse in inns along the way. Beggars should be grateful for what they got.
They pulled the covers back over and worked the pans around the bed. "I'm sorry to be giving you so much trouble," Lily said.
"That's all right, ma'am," the maid said, and even smiled. "We've little enough to do most of the time, and master's been away for nigh on a week."
In such a time you could dust and polish all the un-used rooms, Lily thought, but could see it from the servants' angle. Why should they if the rooms truly were hardly ever used, and no one demanded it? It wasn't right, however. Serious problems could be being ignored. Moth, leaks, rot.
None of your business, she reminded herself.
But then something whispered, It could be...
She pushed that away as if it might show. "My girls and I will sleep here. And as there's a table, we can eat here, too, the boys as well." Not enough chairs, but they'd manage. "We can fetch and carry our own food."
"We won't mind doing that, ma'am. I'll go down now and see to it."
"Wait." Lily smiled at the girl. "I hesitate to ask anything further, but we all could do with a wash before eating, if hot water is available."
"Oh, yes, ma'am. We've a big copper. We'll bring that up first, then."
She went away, and Lily gave thanks for the maid's willing nature. Overall the servants here did seem willing enough now she and Michael had turned them up sweet. Except the man.
She went into the other room to find Michael alone, working one warming pan. "We have much to be thankful for, mama."
She took the other handle and pushed the pan into the edges of the bed. "Yes, we do."
"Is it too good to be true?"
She went round to hug him. "Oh, Michael, I'm sorry you've learned to be wary. You're right to wonder, but I don't think we're in any danger here. If you consider, once Sir Benjamin stopped he had little choice but to give us shelter. He's clearly a good, Christian gentleman."
He looked at her with Tom's dark-lashed eyes, but without Tom's sneer. "Then perhaps he won't send us on our way until we have somewhere to go?"
"I thought the same, dearest, which is why we must be no trouble."
"But where can we go in the end?"
She'd come to depend on him too much. He was only a lad, and he wanted his mother to make all right.
She would.
She must.
But at this moment she could only say, "I don't know, dearest. Carpe diem. Tonight we have warmth, shelter, and food, and will give thanks to the Lord for it. Let's go and get the others and bring them up here."
Chapter Two
John came to tell Ben that the vagrants had left the library and were in their rooms.
"Not vagrants, John," Ben corrected, but not harshly. John's flaw was to be excessively protective of him.
John had come here as kitchen lad at twelve, one year younger than Ben. He'd not seemed to mind Ben's appearance, so Ben's father hadn't objected to John sharing some of his son's outdoor activities. They weren't exactly friends, for they had few interests in common and were past the age for tree climbing and bat and ball, but it was pleasant to have John as valet rather than a stranger. What need did he have of a fancy gentleman's gentleman? He rarely went anywhere, and never anywhere that required fine style.
"As you say, sir," John said. "But she came down to the kitchen, she did, checking everything out. You should lock their doors tonight."
"You think they'll steal?"
"Why not? They're clearly desperate."
It was something to think about, even though Ben didn't want to. After the stress of being away, all he wanted was his comfortable home and routine. He couldn't regret helping Mistress Gifford and her children, and he'd find it hard to think them thieves, but he wished God hadn't put them in his way.
He left his room cautiously, but was reassured by voices farther down the corridor. They were safely tucked away.
He feared to find the library changed by the invasion, but all was exactly as it should be. The dogs greeted him again, and John brought his soup.
"Ham and chicken, sir."
One of his favorites, and there was Mistress Kingsley's wonderful bread to go with it, thickly buttered.
All was right with his world.
He found the book he'd been reading before traveling to the meeting of the Botanical Fellows in Birmingham and propped it on the stand by his place. He found the page, used the weighted strings to hold it open, then sat to eat his soup whilst reading about new plants discovered in Asia.
He'd like to travel in search of new plants himself. His friend by c
orrespondence, Sir Joseph Banks, planned to go to Newfoundland and Labrador to study their natural history. Banks had suggested that Ben accompany him, but travel would involve constantly meeting new people, something he couldn't bear. There would be correspondence and reports, however, and he still had much to explore in this locality.
John brought lamb chops with spinach and turnips and a decanter of claret.
"Do the Giffords have all they need, John?"
"I believe so, sir."
See, no problems at all.
And tomorrow? muttered something in his mind.
Carpe diem.
At this moment, all was well with his world.
***
Lily supervised as her daughters washed, then checked on the boys and brought them into the girls' room to eat. Anna had fallen asleep on the carpet, so Lily took off the child’s outer clothing and tucked her in the big bed, safely away from the warming pans. Susie took two mouthfuls of soup and fell asleep where she sat, so she joined her sister.
Once Tommy had eaten, he wandered off. Lily hurried to follow, to be sure he wasn't up to mischief, but found him asleep half-on, half-off the bed. She took off his boots, breeches, and coat and put him to bed. Michael came in and helped, though he looked as exhausted.
"Mama...?"
"Carpe diem," Lily reminded him. She kissed his forehead. "Go to bed, darling. We'll all need our strength tomorrow."
When she returned to the other room, Charlotte had piled up the dishes. "Should we take these down?"
She was sullen, and Lily knew that this respite was allowing her daughter's resentment to rise up. She needed to talk to Charlotte and Michael, to try to explain, but she quailed at the thought.
Perhaps moving on tomorrow would be preferable after all. When trying to survive, there was no time for analysis.
Two-year-old Anna woke. "Mama...?"
Lily scooped her up before she started an all-out-wail.
"Need to wee, mama...."
Charlotte pulled the chamber pot from under the bed. They'd all used it, and now Anna added to it. Something else that would need to be taken care of. Lily was tempted to open the window and hurl the contents down to the garden.
Guardez-loo!
So many trivial things, and yet they were building into a mountain.
"Hungry, mama."
"You missed your dinner, love. Come, there's some soup left."
She crumbled bread into the remains of the vegetable soup and helped Anna eat it, pushed almost to tears by the plight of her youngest child, who'd always been delicate and prone to coughs. Lily had been blessed not to lose a one of them when so many little ones died, but now she feared for them all.
Charlotte asked the question. "What happens tomorrow, mama?"
Lily gave her the same answer. "I don't know."
"We have nowhere else to go, do we?"
It was plain truth, but the accusation ran beneath it. And it's all your fault. We could still be living in comfort in our Bloomsbury home if you hadn't been a wicked, sinful woman.
Lily offered the most desperate solution, because it was the only one she saw. "Your father's family might take you all in."
"No! They've never liked us, and now..."
Now Lily had caused their son's death.
"I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry, Charlotte. I'll think of something. I will. Go to bed now, darling. You deserve your rest."
Charlotte sighed, but she stripped down to her shift and climbed into the bed. Anna soon finished eating and could be settled in beside Charlotte. Lily moved the cooling bedpans to the empty side where she would sleep, but not yet.
She ached with weariness and longed to collapse, but she still had things to do. She put the girls' shoes near the hearth and spread their outer clothing over chairs and other furniture to absorb some of the warmth.
Not that it would do much good when the fire died. A lad had brought extra wood, so she added some, but it would die in an hour or two.
She put their petticoats, stockings, and gowns under the coverlet, so they'd not be so cold on the morrow. She went to the boys' room and did the same, pausing a moment to sigh over them. Tommy looked mischievous even in sleep, but Michael simply looked younger.
She must remember that he was a child and not depend on him so much. This was all her fault, and it was hers to amend.
She returned to the other room and sat by the fire, seeking a solution.
Only one came to mind. She thought about it as the clock ticked, but then nodded. She pushed back exhaustion and rose. She inspected herself in the mirror. Her stockings were soiled around the ankles, so she put on fresh ones, but otherwise she wasn't in too bad a state.
Amazing, really, that her ordeal hadn't marked her.
She was thirty-three years old, but still had her looks. Recently they'd been a burden, but now they might play to her advantage. She tidied her dark hair and bit her full lips together to make them pinker.
She wished she still had her paint pots, but they'd been jettisoned along with all other non-essentials for this journey. In any case, simplicity would serve her better here. Sir Benjamin Brook seemed to like simplicity.
Perhaps he was of a puritan persuasion. In that case she could only hope that a little human frailty remained -- and that he never learned her story.
If her host were not such a recluse, she'd never attempt this plan. The whole world had heard about Lillias Dellaby. The newspapers and ballad-writers had liked to use her full name. Perhaps it sounded more wicked than Lily, which was how she'd always been known. She'd taken back her maiden name and trained the children to use it, so Sir Benjamin should never make the connection. Being a recluse, he shouldn't recognize her.
The trial had been a cause celebre, and people of all ranks had crammed in to watch the proceedings. She'd worn a veil as much as possible, but been compelled to raise it to give her testimony. Those present would remember her face, and her image had been in print in various forms. Many had been cruel cartoons showing a bloated, blowsy slut who looked nothing like her. Some, however, had been skilled portrayals.
Did he read that sort of newspaper?
Even so, surely no one would guess that Mistress Gifford, simply dressed, her hair plaited and pinned up, her face free of all enhancement, was fashionable, wicked Lillias Dellaby?
She need fear only those she'd known, or those who'd sat in court, listening avidly to her testimony. Her confession.
Her host was a recluse, she reminded herself.
So, how did Sir Benjamin Brook, recluse, regard women? A young man of property, even if short of funds, must have had chances to wed.
There was always the possibility that he favored men, and that would leave her with no temptations to offer.
There was only one way to find out.
***
Ben was settled in his leather chair at his fireside, his dogs at his feet, a glass of port in hand. All would be well if he could forget that there were strangers in his house, people in distress who would need help tomorrow.
It fretted him that they would sleep in damp beds, but there was nothing he could do about that, and warming pans would help. There were fires in their rooms, and they'd been given food. Beggars can't be choosers, but concern for their discomfort was spoiling his evening.
He was even feeling guilty for fleeing and leaving them to his servants, but he hated having anything to do with strangers, especially children. Most adults attempted to be polite, but children stared and shrank away as if he were a monster.
A knock on the door disturbed his thoughts.
It had to be one of the intruders. Doubtless the mother. He ignored it.
Then the knob turned, and the door slowly opened.
He stared at the woman in affront, but then saw how embarrassed she looked, perhaps even afraid to intrude.
And quite lovely.
Shrouded in cloak and shawl, at the end of her tether, she'd not seemed remarkable, but now she made him inh
ale. Her pinned-back hair was thick and dark, her face an elegant oval. Her brows and lashes were dark, and her lips...
Her full lips were any man's dream.
Or nightmare.
She was staring at him in horror.
He pressed his lips together as he stood, and tried to keep them that way as he spoke. "Ma'am? Mistress Gifford. May I assist you?"
She smiled. Had he imagined the horror? He could see none now. Hers wasn't a polite smile, but a truly glowing one.
"Sir Benjamin!" She came toward him. "I hesitated to intrude, but I feared I hadn't thanked you enough. You have been extraordinarily kind, sir."
Her voice was pleasantly mellow and her speech ladylike. Who was this beautiful woman and how had she come to these straits?
And how could she look at him like that?
In the mirror of her expression, he could almost imagine himself flawless.
He relaxed his lips to test the effect. "I was only doing my Christian duty, ma'am."
Nothing changed in her face. "Not all Christians do, sir, as we have found at times."
"It says somewhere in the Bible that beggars provide the opportunity..." Damnation. "Not that you are a beggar, ma'am. I do beg your pardon."
Humor twinkled in her fine, dark eyes, but then died. "As close as, I fear, sir. We are in a desperate state."
He hesitated over taking such a momentous step, but then said, "Won't you sit by the fire for a moment, ma'am? If you're not too tired. I would like to know your story."
She hesitated, and he realized that her being here alone with him could be seen as improper.
"I apologize again. You may not wish..."
"I would not insult you, sir, by seeing shame in my sitting with you to seek your advice."
She went to close the door and then returned to sit in the second chair he'd hastily moved close to the fire, opposite his own. When had anyone last sat here to speak with him? William Hudson had visited, but that must have been four years ago or more. Cousin Perry came by now and then, when his gadfly life brought him in this direction.
