‘What do you usually do when His Lordship,’ said Marguerite, indicating Ben, ‘comes to stay? Do you eat in the dining room?’ She turned to look at him.
‘No,’ he said. ‘But then I... That is, I have always eaten in the kitchen, with the staff, so I saw no reason to change things when I...’ He shifted from one foot to the other.
He had always eaten in the kitchen with the staff? How...peculiar. But there wasn’t the time to consider that for long.
‘Well, I can see that I will have to see about the lack of china and, er, eating irons in due course. But for tonight we may as well all eat together in here. If there are enough dishes and so forth?’ She’d already surreptitiously glanced around the kitchen, which did at least look clean and organised, unlike what she suspected lurked in the rest of the house.
‘Oh, yes, my lady,’ said the cook, bobbing yet another curtsey, just as Vale came in through the kitchen door with the first of her trunks. ‘Sally, will you show this chap where to take Her Ladyship’s things? If we don’t have to try to arrange things in the dining room, I can manage here on my own for a while.’
‘You won’t have to manage on yer own,’ said Marcie. ‘I can help out. No, don’t argue,’ she said, as she began stripping off her gloves and overcoat. ‘I’m sure I can do what needs doing to get a dinner on the table.’
‘But,’ said Ben with a frown, ‘you are a lady’s maid, not a...cook or a scullery maid.’
Marcie gave one of her scornful snorts. ‘Well, you surely don’t expect me to swan off upstairs and wait for someone to come and wait on me when it’s clear you don’t have enough servants to cater for you and my lady, let alone your manservant, and Vale, and the coachman and groom.’
‘Goodness, yes,’ said Marguerite. ‘We had better set out nine places.’ The kitchen table was easily big enough to seat three times that number, and she guessed that it was where the staff had taken their meals in the days when there had been a full complement of them.
‘Daisy,’ said Ben, approaching and speaking to her in an undertone, ‘you cannot mean to sit down and eat in the kitchen with the servants.’
‘Why not? You do. Apparently.’ And why was that? She was on the verge of asking him when she remembered that it wouldn’t give the right impression. She was supposed to be giving him the cold shoulder, not indulging in curiosity about his habits. ‘And, anyway, what sort of person would I be if I insisted on having my food brought to me in another room, when it will cause so much work for those two poor creatures?’
She was just taking a breath to remind him that her name was Marguerite, not Daisy, and she would thank him to have some consideration for her feelings, when he said, ‘Thank you,’ with a throbbing sort of intensity. ‘You cannot think what this means to me. To...to them.’
It gave her a funny feeling to have him speak to her like that. With that look in his warm brown eyes, as though she was...was doing something that pleased him. As though he thought she was doing it to impress him. As though she cared what he thought of her.
Well, she couldn’t have that! So she tossed her head. ‘Well, it would be silly to insist on dining in a room that sounds as though there wouldn’t even be a fire lit, or any sort of comforts, when it is so lovely and warm and cosy right here, wouldn’t it? Besides, it is only for the one time. I am sure I can survive.’
His intense expression turned to one of disappointment. As though he completely believed she was so shallow and selfish as she’d intended that statement to sound. ‘Yes. Of course. How stupid of me to think...’ He stood up straighter, which had the effect of making him move away from her. Which hurt.
‘I shall make the tea, shall I, Mrs Green,’ he said, turning to the cook and giving her the benefit of his crooked grin. He then started moving about the kitchen with an ease that spoke of familiarity. Marcie tied an apron round her waist and started stirring something on the stove. While the cook went to a drawer and grabbed a bunch of cutlery.
‘Let me set the table,’ said Marguerite, crossing to the big, deal table where the cook had dropped the whole lot with a clatter. Apart from wanting to be useful, it would give her something to do other than standing there watching Ben moving about the kitchen as though she couldn’t take her eyes off him. ‘I am sure I can do that, which will free you to see to the more...complicated tasks required.’
The cook beamed at her. ‘Well, ’tis a pleasure to see that Master Ben has found himself such a...lovely girl to marry. One as who will pitch in and roll up her sleeves, and not turn her nose up at us common folk.’
Ben’s shoulders stiffened a bit as though he would have liked to point out that so far he hadn’t discovered anything lovely about his bride at all. The cook, meanwhile, was fishing a handkerchief out of her pocket and blowing her nose.
‘What with the way things have been the last few years,’ she began, breaking off to shake her head at the precise moment Vale appeared in the doorway and let out a rather unfortunate word when he saw Marguerite setting the table.
‘You should not be doing that, my lady,’ he said, scurrying over, his face red. ‘Let me.’ He reached for the cutlery.
‘Have you finished carrying all the luggage to my room?’
‘No, but—’
‘Well, then, you would be of much more use if you did that. I can easily wield cutlery but not, I fear, my trunks.’
‘But, my lady...’
Marcie chose that moment to shoot him a look of scorn. ‘I told you, my lady, didn’t I, that things below stairs in your parents’ house were rather rigid? A place for everyone and everyone in their place.’
‘Well, I daresay it made things run smoothly. But we don’t have the luxury of having one particular servant to do only one specific task, do we, Vale? For tonight we are all going to have to pull our weight.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ he said, and went out of the back door, presumably to fetch the rest of the luggage, his face flaming.
Marguerite couldn’t claim that the meal was a great success. Her father’s coachman, and groom, and Vale were all extremely uncomfortable sitting at the table with what they kept muttering were their betters. Marcie kept shooting Vale scornful looks, which had the effect of making him appear increasingly wretched. The cook and the scullery maid kept apologising for the state of the house, no matter how many times Marguerite assured them she didn’t hold them in the least to blame. And as for Ben and the leathery-faced man she was starting to think of as his henchman, they ate in a surly silence, which did nothing to dispel the strained atmosphere.
Ben had never been what you’d call the life and soul of any party, though. She couldn’t expect him to suddenly act like a genial host. Particularly not when marrying her, and bringing her here, was something he would have avoided it if it hadn’t been for the idiots he called his friends.
Which conclusion made her feel suddenly very weary. Nobody had ever really wanted her. Her parents certainly hadn’t rejoiced when they’d produced a girl child. Father had never known quite what to do with her, and Mother had always spent far more time and effort on her boys. So why should a husband...treasure her? She’d had enough for one day. She just wanted to be on her own. The way she so often did.
She cleared her throat. ‘If it isn’t too much trouble, I should like to go to my room now. It has been a long day.’ She gazed round at the detritus of the meal on the table with a sudden feeling of guilt. She’d never before thought of the work that would go into clearing away after a meal. She’d always just got up and left it, knowing there was an army of people whose job it was to do it.
But tonight she could see that it would be down to the people sitting here with her.
‘I... I should help with the dishes,’ she said aloud, as the notion finally occurred to her.
‘Absolutely not,’ said Vale, getting to his feet. ‘You get off to bed, if that is what you want, my lady
. We can clear up down here.’
‘Just wait until I’ve drawn some hot water for your wash,’ said Marcie, ‘and I’ll come up with you. If...if Vale wouldn’t mind just showing us where, exactly, we should go.’
‘Of course,’ he said. And went to the stove to draw water from a little spigot into a jug that he refused to allow Marcie to carry.
It was a relief to leave the kitchen, and her gloomy husband. Although for some reason she couldn’t resist turning back to glance at him, just once. He wasn’t watching her leave. He was just sitting slumped at the head of the table, staring broodingly into his tankard. As though he’d put her out of his mind already.
Fine. She didn’t care. She hadn’t wanted to marry him either!
CHAPTER NINE
But it wasn’t as easy for her to put Ben out of her mind as he’d appeared to have done with her, not when the first thing she saw, on entering the room Vale led her to, was his trunk. At least, yes, it must be his trunk. She certainly didn’t own one as battered as the one standing under the window. And, anyway, a sword, still attached to its belt and lying across the lid, was a massive clue.
She suspected that if she were to move the sword and lift the lid she’d see all his personal things. His shaving equipment, and clean shirts, and...his uniform. The one he’d worn at the ball the night he’d danced with her.
She swallowed, her hand going to her throat where a lump of...something like regret was making her feel...
‘It’s not very clean, is it?’ Marcie’s scathing tones, coming from just behind her, drew Marguerite’s attention from Ben’s trunk, and the memory of how magnificent he’d looked in uniform. She looked around the room properly for the first time and saw that it was indeed distinctly grubby. The curtains were dusty, the windows grimy, and spider webs festooned every corner and hung thickly from any bit of ornamentation on furniture or fireplace.
‘That girl, Sally,’ said Vale, apologetically, ‘told me this was the best room in the house.’
‘From what I’ve seen so far,’ said Marguerite, ‘I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.’ She approached the bed, warily. ‘Though it looks as if someone has made an attempt to make the bed, at least, usable.’ The bed hangings were not as dusty as the window curtains, as if someone had given them a bit of a shake, and the coverlet was definitely clean. She turned it back and leaned in close. The pillows smelled freshly laundered, as did the sheets.
And as she straightened up, it struck her that though the whole house showed signs of neglect, at least she wasn’t going to find frogs, or earwigs, or slugs anywhere that they wouldn’t occur naturally. Nobody here was likely to deliberately try to scare her. There were probably no ills here that couldn’t be cured by the efforts of an efficient housewife.
‘Tomorrow, we’re going to have to roll up our sleeves and get cleaning,’ she said. ‘No, actually, I think I ought to go around the whole house and make a list of what jobs need doing first, just in case it is more than just a case of housework that is required. Thank you, Vale, that will be all,’ she said, noticing the footman still standing by the washstand, looking as though he was struggling with some immense internal debate.
Whatever he’d been thinking, he managed to keep it to himself. He resumed the appearance of a well-trained footman and gave her a deferential nod before leaving the room.
Marcie was already pulling a fresh nightgown from Marguerite’s own trunk. One of the handful of scandalously brief slivers of silk Mother had somehow purchased without anyone knowing while they’d been in London.
‘No, not that one,’ she said. Even though Ben had made his intentions clear by leaving his trunk in her room, she was not, not, not going to get all worked up like she’d done on their wedding night. Nor was she going to leave her hair loose or put on a nightgown expressly designed to please and excite a man.
And she was not going to lie awake all night, wondering why he wasn’t interested in anything about her apart from her money. If he came up here...no, when he came up here...she’d...she’d...
‘The muslin with the square neck,’ she said to Marcie, who was looking more bewildered the longer her mistress stayed silent, clenching and unclenching her fists.
As the girl laid the simple and modest nightgown across the foot of the bed, she muttered, ‘Not fitting to expect a fine lady like you to put up with such conditions. No wonder you want to let him know you aren’t very pleased with him. I’d give him what for if I wasn’t so aware that it ain’t my place.’
Marguerite said nothing. What Marcie was thinking wasn’t strictly true, but she had no intention of admitting that it wasn’t the state of the house that had offended her but Ben’s reluctance to visit her room and behave like a bridegroom at any of the stops they’d made en route. She didn’t want anyone knowing that three days into her marriage she was still a virgin.
‘Thank goodness I come with you, my lady,’ said Marcie as Marguerite was climbing into bed. ‘You are going to need me, like nobody has ever needed me before.’
That simple, yet heartfelt declaration struck a chord. For Marguerite had always wished somebody might need her. Or at least that they might find her presence in their life of importance. But more than that, it was good to learn that somehow she’d inspired Marcie to feel such devotion that she wanted to stay and help her, rather than saying that the conditions weren’t what she was used to and she’d be seeking employment elsewhere. For the first time in her life Marguerite realised she had a...well, an ally.
She watched Marcie leaving the room, a bundle of laundry clutched to her chest, and almost smiled. But then the odour of dust and neglect made her wrinkle her nose instead. She wished she’d thought of asking Marcie to open a window before she left. Then, since she felt too tired to get out of bed and see to it herself, she pulled the coverlet up to her chin so she could at least breathe in the smell of laundered sheets.
She scowled up at the canopy overhead, wondering what she should do when he came to her room. She could probably express her feelings very succinctly by throwing something at him. Unfortunately, there was little to hand that she could throw, not without regretting it instantly. There simply wasn’t enough china to spare to go throwing it about and smashing it recklessly.
Although there was bound to be a local market, where she could pick up some simple wares to tide them over until she could send to a decent supplier for proper china and crystal so she wouldn’t have to eat off chipped plates and drink from pewter tankards. Mrs Green would know where to buy such stuff. She’d also be able to tell her where to get hold of more linen, and if there was someone they could employ, right away, to do the household laundry. From the feel of Sally’s hands, she’d been doing it, as well as other menial chores around the kitchen. Which was too much to expect the poor girl to do, now that there were more than a handful of people living here.
She wished she had a pen and some paper to hand. Or that it wasn’t too dark to see to write. There was so much that needed doing, and she didn’t want to forget anything. Although, rather than feeling daunted by the prospect of all the hard work she could foresee taking up her immediate future, she was beginning to feel a strange kind of...excitement.
Because, for the first time in her life, she would actually have a purpose. A reason to get up in the morning. She wasn’t going to have to rack her brains to find some way to fritter away the gaps between meals. She was going to be busy, and useful. This house needed her to put all the deficiencies to rights.
And, thanks to her mother’s insistence that her most important function in life would, one day, be the oversight of an establishment such as this one, and had made sure she’d had formal lessons in household management, as well as sharing hints and tips, she was fairly confident that she was up to the challenge.
Her heart gave a funny little lurch. She’d come to bed angry with Ben, and resentful that he saw her as a means to an end, but
to be honest she was... Well, she was itching to get started. Not that she had any intention of telling him that. No, he didn’t deserve to know that she was looking forward to exploring the house, and making lists of what needed doing, and seeing his wreck of a home brought back to its former glory... Because he should have warned her what she was going to face here. So she could have brought a little band of workers from her mother’s house, to give the place a thorough cleansing before she took up residence.
Although, on second thoughts, she wouldn’t have derived half as much satisfaction if she had been able to do that, would she? In fact, by organising the work herself, it would be like putting her own stamp on the place. She could do it exactly the way she wished. She would be in charge. Her! Who had never been trusted with anything of a practical nature. Father had always looked down his nose at her, saying she was too pretty to ever amount to anything more than an ornament on some man’s arm. But she would not be a mere ornament in this setting. She would be useful.
With a little smile playing about her lips, Marguerite pulled the sheets right up over her head and went to sleep.
* * *
Downstairs, in the study, which was the one room in the house the Fourth Earl seemed to have used frequently, and was therefore relatively habitable, Ben pulled his army greatcoat round himself and huddled up in the least draughty corner of the room. He’d been too proud to go with the other men to the stables, where Wilmot had made a bivouac for Vale, and the coachman, and groom, out of straw and all the blankets he’d been able to find. Because to sleep outside, in the stables, would be to admit to everyone that he still wasn’t welcome in his wife’s bed.
He could put his theory to the test, he supposed...
Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 9
