by Karen Ranney
The next doorway led to a music room, which surprised Suzanne because she hadn’t thought of music as something that might be taught in such conditions. When she said as much to Mrs. Armbruster, the woman smiled.
“Many of these girls are frightened, Your Grace. Music, we’ve found, is a great equalizer. If you can get a few girls to sing a song they all know together, it eases them, and makes them less afraid.”
Mrs. Armbruster finally stopped, turned to the right, and entered a beige room, this one a parlor. Impressively large, the room had two fireplaces on opposite walls. A selection of couches, chairs, tables, and lamps were scattered about the room. Nothing seemed to match and Suzanne couldn’t help but wonder if every item in the parlor was a castoff from someone’s home.
A great many of the couches and chairs were occupied, all by girls who seemed much too young to be in their condition. All of them were with child. Some looked to be due to give birth at any moment, while others probably had a few months left.
“Do they have no families?” Suzanne asked in a low voice.
Mrs. Armbruster turned to her, her doughy face softened into lines of compassion. For her naïveté? Or for the girls who surrounded them?
“The very sad fact, Your Grace, is that most of them do have families. But their families have thrown them out or locked the doors and banished them for their great sin. You will note, however, that the young men who helped them get into this condition are never punished in any way. Not by reputation. Not by the law. Not even financially.”
She’d been sick for the first three months with Georgie, but after that, the entire time until his birth had been one of joy and anticipation. What must it be like to be with child and have no home, no family, no shelter, or anyone to care?
“Is there nothing that can be done?” she asked.
She had so much and they had so little. No, they had nothing except themselves and Mrs. Armbruster, a woman whose zeal was the match of any politician.
“Some brave men in Parliament are attempting to pass laws to effect change, but those are slow measures. In the meantime, we have young women who would suffer without assistance. Everyone is foolish from time to time, my dear. Each one of us has done something we regret. A bad decision, a choice made in the heat of the moment should not result in tragedy.” Mrs. Armbruster cleared her throat. “In addition, Your Grace, there are some girls who had no choice in the matter. No choice at all.”
Her voice took on a practical tone. “We need to help them provide for themselves. We have classes,” she added. “We train them in various skills that an employer might wish to have. A great many of our girls have gone into service. Some work as milliners, some as seamstresses, and a few at nearby factories.”
“Surely not when they’re with child?”
The older woman nodded. “If they are healthy, yes, Your Grace. We’ve found that some occupation is harmful for neither the mother nor the child. A girl will remain here until her baby is born. Then she’ll stay until she can find employment. We’ll give her whatever education she wishes. Several of our girls have gone on to be quite successful, I’m proud to say.”
The woman beamed at her. “We have plans to charge the girls a small amount each month to live here after their child is born. Only if they’ve acquired a position, that is.” Mrs. Armbruster leaned close. “It’s my fervent wish never to deny a girl a place here, Your Grace. They’ve already lost so much. I would hate for them to lose this haven as well. But there are those who will disobey our tenets. And some, I regret to say, who have abandoned their babies and left.”
Suzanne couldn’t imagine such a thing, but she had never been in a similar situation as these girls.
Before she could ask any further questions, Mrs. Armbruster walked to the middle of the room and called for attention.
“Girls, I have a very important visitor to introduce to you.”
Suzanne felt her stomach drop and wished that Mrs. Armbruster had warned her prior to the announcement.
“I’d like to present Her Grace, the Duchess of Marsley. Please welcome her to the Institute.”
She was startled to be suddenly surrounded by the occupants of the parlor, most of them wishing to talk to her. Some girls just reached out a hand to touch her shoulder or her arm, almost as if she were an icon of some sort.
Mrs. Armbruster didn’t do a thing other than smile toothily at her and leave her there, surrounded and awash in a sea of conversation.
“What’s it like being a duchess?”
“Did you marry a prince?”
“Not a prince, a duke. She’d have to marry a duke.”
“Are you rich?”
“Of course she’s rich. She wouldn’t be a duchess without being rich.”
“Where’s your crown? Why didn’t you wear it today?”
“They don’t wear crowns. Do they?”
One by one she tried to answer as many questions tossed to her as she could. She had one of her own after glancing at Mrs. Armbruster, who was still grinning at her.
What else was the woman planning?
Chapter Twenty
Adam’s first interview of the day was with Daniel. He spoke to the junior footman about his family. Daniel wasn’t married. Nor did he have a sweetheart. He did, however, have a mother and five sisters, which probably went far in explaining why Daniel was grateful to have a room in the servant’s wing.
“Have I done something wrong, sir?” Daniel finally asked.
Adam wasn’t the least surprised to see high color on the young man’s cheekbones. Daniel was one of those people who would always reveal what they were feeling on their face.
Adam crossed his arms. “What do you think you’ve done wrong?” he asked. He always got more information from men under his command when he asked questions than when he made pronouncements.
“I can’t think of anything, sir,” Daniel said. “I did all my duties today, just like before. Before I went on the door, that is.”
“Who did you relieve?” Adam asked.
“Patrick, sir. He takes the early watch.”
Adam sat back in his chair and studied the young man. Even though Daniel was one of two men hired in the previous quarter, Adam doubted he was the spy.
He decided to show the young man some mercy. “I don’t know anything that you’ve done incorrectly, Daniel. In fact, I’ve heard many good comments about you.
“If you don’t mind sending Nathan in,” he said, standing and extending his hand.
Daniel looked a little surprised as they shook hands. Adam didn’t know if it was something that a majordomo normally did. If it wasn’t, perhaps it should have been.
This role was playacting. Granted, there were times in his life—and other roles—when he’d felt the same. Being Rebecca’s husband had felt odd to him, a confession he hadn’t made to himself until a few years after Manipora. Being considered a hero when he’d only been lucky was another role that hadn’t fit. He didn’t know what other people thought a hero was, but he had his own definition. A hero was a man who didn’t want to die so much that he was willing to do stupid things. For that, the British Army had rewarded him with a lieutenancy and a medal.
Daniel went out the door and Nathan came into the office.
“Close the door,” he said, sitting. He indicated with one hand where Nathan should sit, in the straight chair in front of his desk.
Nathan was assigned to the south wing, an area that Adam didn’t visit all that much, which meant he didn’t know the young man well despite Nathan being a fellow Scot.
The footman was tall and as scrawny as a tree in winter. His neck was long, his chin pronounced, and his ears stuck out on either side of his head like handles.
“How do you like working at Marsley House?” Adam asked the young man as he sat on the chair in front of the desk.
Nathan nodded several times. Adam waited, but that was evidently the only answer he was going to get.
“How do you fin
d London?”
Let Nathan try to answer that question with a nod or shake of his head.
“Crowded.”
“And the food at Marsley House?”
“Good.”
If Nathan was his spy, then he doubted Roger was getting more than a monosyllabic report.
Adam wasn’t an expert at ferreting out confidence men and tricksters, but he did tend to listen to that small voice within, the same one that was now telling him that Nathan wasn’t his man. He dismissed the footman after a few more questions and equally short answers.
It was entirely possible that Roger had installed someone at Marsley House before giving Adam his assignment. If that were the case, he would have to go further back and start interviewing staff hired months before he arrived.
That thought had the effect of souring his mood even more. Just add that mystery to another—where had the Duchess of Marsley gone?
Adam continued his planned interviews, which resulted in two surprises. One, that he suspected that one of the upper maids was with child. She’d been tearful throughout the entire meeting and unable to verbalize to him what the problem was.
The second surprise was that there was a Don Juan on the staff. This revelation had been made by yet another maid, one evidently feeling spurned by the man in question. He turned out to be Walter Lyle, who went by the name of Wals to his friends, of which he apparently had many at Marsley House.
The young man was personable, with a ready wit and a quick smile. His flashing brown eyes were probably attractive to women. There was something about Wals that disturbed Adam, however, and it wasn’t related to possibly being Roger’s spy. There was a calculating look in the footman’s eyes, as if he were measuring the vulnerabilities of those he met. In addition, Wals had a propensity for cologne and now smelled like a curious combination of lemon, orange, and lavender.
He didn’t know if the footman was responsible for the upper maid’s predicament, but he intended to find out. He would have, too, if he hadn’t been interrupted by Thomas, who knocked on the office door, then peered inside.
“Sir, Her Grace is asking to see you.”
The duchess had returned.
The anticipation he felt was ill-timed, incorrect, and out of place. He was her majordomo. She was his employer. He couldn’t forget the role he was playing.
He dismissed Wals with an admonition that they would meet again soon.
“Go back to your room and do a quick wash,” he told the footman. “This time don’t douse yourself with scent.”
Wals looked at him in surprise—evidently, most people didn’t comment on his lemon/orange/lavender odor.
Adam followed Thomas downstairs to find the duchess standing in the foyer accompanied by two young women he’d never seen. Mrs. Thigpen was also there, and the older woman was twisting her hands nervously, something she rarely did.
“Your Grace,” he said, bowing slightly.
“Drummond,” she responded, tilting up her chin at him. “These are your new staff members. I understand from Mrs. Thigpen that you are solely responsible for hiring new staff.”
He exchanged a quick glance with the housekeeper. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“Ruby and Hortense are to be given light duty only,” she said, gesturing to the two young women. “Both of them are with child.”
Once again, he and Mrs. Thigpen exchanged a look. Didn’t the duchess understand that such a condition was grounds for dismissal?
The look in the duchess’s eyes wasn’t one of grief. More like resolution, or a steely kind of determination he’d seen before.
Of all the subjects in all the world, he’d never thought to discuss a woman being with child with the Duchess of Marsley.
“There’s an upper maid that I suspect is in that condition, Your Grace. She was going to lose her position. Should I reconsider and keep her on?”
She merely blinked at him for a moment, her color steadily rising. In anyone else he might have thought them about to suffer from apoplexy, but he suspected the duchess’s courage was hard-won and that she was as embarrassed as he to be discussing this topic in the foyer.
“Would you like to adjourn to the library, Your Grace?”
She nodded, preceding him down the hall and through the double doors.
“I really must insist that you make room for them, Drummond,” she said, the minute she entered the room. She whirled and faced him. “It’s my home, after all.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And to dismiss a girl simply because she’s in trouble . . . That’s not very compassionate.”
“No, Your Grace.”
“You weren’t really going to do that, were you?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“Each of the girls knows the conditions of her employment.”
“That hardly seems fair, Drummond. Do you do the same for the men in that situation?”
“No, but I think we should.”
She looked surprised at that.
“They are hardly virgin births, Your Grace,” he said, hoping she’d forgive him his plain speaking. “It does take a male and a female.”
Her complexion grew pinker.
“I do think she should be allowed to stay on as long as she can,” the duchess said. “Does she have any family who will take her in?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
She looked surprised again. “Well, you should, Drummond.”
He nodded once more. “You’re right, Your Grace.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re being very agreeable about this, Drummond. Are you just saying what you think I want to hear to humor me?”
He smiled, the expression genuine. “I am not.”
“Then you won’t dismiss the upstairs maid,” she said.
“Not if you don’t wish it, Your Grace.”
“And the new girls, they’ll be welcome?”
“As much as it is in my power to ensure, Your Grace.”
“What exactly does that mean, Drummond?”
She had called him Adam last night.
“Human beings sometimes don’t act in ways that we would wish them to,” he said. “They may be accepted by the rest of the staff. Or not.”
“I will not have them called names,” she said.
“Of that I can guarantee you,” he answered.
His own sister had been called a whore for loving a peer who’d taken advantage of her. He’d do everything in his power to ensure that no one said anything about the two new maids, but he couldn’t manage anyone’s thoughts.
People were occasionally stodgy in their thinking. They might espouse a more advanced attitude, but they often fell back on tried and true ways. A girl in trouble was not an object of pity as much as derision, especially from other women. He couldn’t help but wonder if, behind their criticism, was the thought, There but for the grace of God go I.
“Do you disapprove, Drummond?”
“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove, Your Grace. As you stated, it’s your home.”
She regarded him steadily for more than a minute. He returned her look, thinking that she was surprising him again. She wasn’t as fragile as he’d thought. Instead, he had the startling notion that the Duchess of Marsley could give as much as she got.
She was, after all, Edward Hackney’s daughter. He shouldn’t forget that.
“I had to do something,” she said finally. “Mrs. Armbruster is one of those people who overwhelms you with good deeds. She’s started a Foundling Hospital and an Institute for Women. I couldn’t become her patron, so I had to make some gesture. It seemed a good idea to employ two of the girls who were new to the Institute.”
He could understand a compassionate gesture gone awry. How many times in his past had he tried to do a good thing only for the outcome to be less than what he’d desired?
“Your Grace,” he said, wanting to make her feel better, “it was a very kind thing that you did. I will let th
e upper maid know that you would like her to stay on for a few more weeks or months. I will find out if she has a family to go to and if she doesn’t, we’ll make some arrangement for her. As for the other girls, I’m certain that they will work out fine.”
“Do you really think so, Drummond?”
He wasn’t, no, but he didn’t want to disappoint her, so he only smiled in response.
“It’s best if I’m not at home when Mrs. Armbruster calls again,” she said, her tone one of wry resignation. “Heaven knows how many other maids I’ll come home with if I visit with her again.”
He wanted to do exactly what he’d done last night, pull her into his arms and hold her there for a moment. Enough time, perhaps, for them to become acquainted with the shape and the warmth of each other. He wanted to breathe in the scent of her hair and feel her breasts pressing against his chest.
He should remember his mission, his assignment, and nothing more.
Stepping to the side, he opened the library door, and bowed slightly to her before leaving. Would she realize how much he wanted to stay?
Chapter Twenty-One
The morning was beautiful, a perfect autumn morning without a hint of clouds in the sky. Suzanne stood at the open window of her sitting room, staring out at the day. The breeze was brisk, carrying a hint of the chill that the night would bring.
The formal Italian garden to the front of the house didn’t look any different in autumn than it did in spring. No blowsy, untidy flowers were allowed to bloom here. Nothing but clipped hedges and crushed granite paths.
Everything about Marsley House was manicured for presentation. She’d often felt that way about herself, delivered unto George coiffed and attired, trained and schooled—a fait accompli—the perfect duchess.
The trees below her were bathed in the sun, one side of their leaves tinted gold. An errant leaf had escaped the attention of the gardeners and it tumbled across the lawn in a joyous demonstration of freedom.
She wanted to be like that leaf. To throw off her role and race over the grass. The habits of a lifetime were difficult to break, however. Yet wouldn’t it be lovely to be someone other than who she was, if only for a few hours?
