Bettina’s heart sank. To wait that long for the wages she urgently needed? She shifted in the chair and struggled to keep the displeasure from her face. “That is fine, merci.”
“My coach will pick you up at four o'clock. We’ll try this twice a week, every Monday and Thursday for two hours at the price you discussed with Slate. But be aware, if I have more pressing business with my coach and driver, you will have to walk.”
“Bien sûr, I will do so.”
“Since this room is easily accessed from the front, I’ve made a concession for you to enter through the front door. And I expect decent behavior at all times.” He flipped up his hand—a hand that might have squeezed a woman’s throat—and picked up a paper on his desk. “You may go now. See yourself out.”
* * * *
Bettina climbed in the coach and fumed for the entire ride down the hill. Camborne settled for her, he’d made that plain enough. And he ‘allowed’ her to enter his front door. Here in Cornwall everyone perceived her as a drudge from the lower classes, but had he no common courtesy? Her family always treated their servants well, or so she’d thought. If he only knew she’d once held a far superior rank and lived in much grander places—and soon she would again.
Once she reached the inn, she hurried around to the back, satisfied that at least he’d conceded to her request for transportation. But to wait two months! Entering the kitchen, Bettina blurted out her news to Kerra.
“Up there? With him? Have you gone bloody daft? Didn't I warn you about what went on up there? Why didn’t you tell me you was advertising French lessons?” Kerra scrunched up her face as she peeled turnips at the kitchen table. “That wretch Ann, she should’ve told you Mr. Slate was from the manor house. If only I’d been here to chase him away. Dory knows about him too, the wicked jade.”
“What is this?” Maddie walked in. “And where has you been, child?”
Bettina explained, and then turned to Kerra. “Those are but nasty rumors. People are not always what they seem.” She said this to soften her own misgivings: only the money mattered. “Mr. Camborne is not very friendly, it is true. But I hope the child will be nice.”
“Just be careful. I can’t tell you what to do, but I don’t like the idea of you goin’ up there,” Maddie said, her expression one of concerned reproach. “Kerra, mash them turnips well. Has to fill people up an’ replace the bread. Barley and wheat’s dear with this dry season. Farmers hardly reaped a good crop an’ here it be December.”
“Mr. Camborne cannot be as bad as this gossip says.” Bettina needed to believe this. She tried not to stare at the cow’s head Maddie placed on the table, its glazed eyes ghastly in raw, exposed flesh. Bile rose in her throat.
Morley ran in with a pot of water, and Maddie plopped the head in.
“Camborne ain’t so bad, if you don’t count killin’ his wife,” Kerra snickered.
“Never seemed a violent man up till then.” Maddie tossed chopped onions into the pot. “A good man who gives generous tithes to the church, according to the vicar. He’s lived all by hisself in that big old place with just a couple o’ long-time servants, after his missus up and disappeared. An’ now the child….”
“And nobody knew where his wife went?” Bettina helped her carry the pot over to the hearth to hang on a hook.
“Gossip says she be cheating, an’ having more than one affair.” Maddie stretched her back with a groan. “Mr. Camborne found out ’bout it, and they had a big row, so a maid said. Right after, she’s gone.”
Bettina tried to picture the woman, once mistress of that stark manor. “What was the name of this Mrs. Camborne?”
“Miriam. A fancy name for a fancy lady. Mr. Camborne insisted she went to London. But the woman’s maid, Vida, claimed different. Justice of the Peace looked into it, but nothing come of it.”
“Maybe his wife ran off with one of her liaisons.” For some reason, Bettina wished this to be true. She lowered her voice. “What about Vida? Kerra told me she disappeared also.”
Maddie smiled. “Nay, she left to work elsewhere, so I heard. After accusing her employer, she had no references to find another decent job. And I wouldn’t put much stock in what Vida said. She were a London girl, known for her bragging. But if you be takin’ this position, afraid I’ll have to cut some of your wages, for the time you teach there.”
“If … you must.” Bettina didn’t welcome this, but she’d earn far more at the manor.
“And here’s more advice.” Maddie stirred the turf fire to life. “Make sure he pays you up front. The quality be known to slacken in their obligations.”
* * * *
On Christmas day, Bettina had usually gone to mass with her family. Now she stared up the wide chimney shaft, swished a brush into a bucket of water and scrubbed it along the sooty brick walls. Black water dripped on her face. “Joyeux Noel.”
Kerra removed the oblong mince pies from the bread oven, the sweet smell of mutton and spices filling the air. “Wish Charlie would come for dinner. But his mamm has them over, usually.”
Bettina wiped her cheeks with her apron corner. “I hope that keeps Stephen away.” Her thoughts drifted to the enigmatic Mr. Camborne in London, where she wanted to be. “If this Mrs. Camborne was cheating, was it here in Cornwall, up at the manor house?”
Kerra laughed as she placed the pies on a trivet to cool. “That do remind me. Mr. Camborne’s sister … her husband … now there was gossip ’bout him and Mrs. Camborne. At an assembly room in Truro, I do believe. Carryin’ on scandalous.”
“The little boy’s father?” Bettina felt a ping of sadness for a child she hadn’t yet met. “I suppose she was a beautiful woman, Mrs. Camborne.”
“Many said so. A blonde icy snob, if I do say so.”
“Ain’t smokin’ no ham.” Maddie bustled in the back door with a basket of eggs, face flushed. Cold air whooshed in behind her. “Shoulda had it in yesterday, besides. Butcher said he’d save one for me, but he wanted to charge too much. Sorry you cleaned the shaft for nothin’.” She nodded toward Bettina.
“That is fine.” Bettina slopped the brush into the bucket.
“I’ll show you how to make the Christmas Bush, Mamsell.” Kerra opened a large cupboard and shuffled through items. “Ann, where’d you put them from last year? Here they be. You was hiding them from me, weren’t you?” She emerged with two wooden rings that she placed on the kitchen table.
“Christmas should be spent in church honoring the birth of the Savior, not with all this fribble.” Ann glared at Bettina. “An’ now you goin’ up to that den of iniquity, with a nephew to torture. It were in Truro, that scandal. Many people saw them together.”
“Gossip’s the devil’s tool,” Maddie said with a wink. She started cracking eggs in a bowl and sprinkled them in raisins. “This be called grateful pudding, a Cornish tradition. Ann, if you finished making the plum pudding, please go out and collect some mistletoe.”
“People shouldn’t be kissing others they ain’t married to. You see what happen to that faithless Mrs. Camborne,” Ann grumbled as she flapped out the door like a duck on her long, flat feet.
Kerra motioned Bettina over to observe as she tied the rings side by side. “Now this be our Christmas Bush. We decorate it with the evergreen and furze. The Sweet William and apples here is for color. When it’s dark, we’ll hang it in the window.”
“Why does a severe woman like Ann work in a tavern?” Bettina asked as she handed Kerra each item. “And she has such a nice son.” Bettina had been surprised to learn that eleven-year-old Morley, an aspiring ostler who performed odd jobs around the inn, was Ann’s son.
“Her husband run off with one of our servers, years ago,” Kerra said, her fingers deftly working the greenery around the rings. “He told Ann she were dull and lifeless. So working here is Ann’s way of proving she ain’t. ’Course, we don’t see no improvement. She just switched to bein’ a bitter shrew. But she needed to make a living for her and her boy after t
he chucklehead run off, so Maddie took her in.”
“Maddie has a soft heart for stray people. Thankfully for me.” Bettina forced a smile, annoyed that she almost felt sympathy for Ann. The air permeated with the rich, spicy aroma—cinnamon, nutmeg—of holiday cuisine as the day wore on. Bettina and Kerra pushed tables together in the taproom and set out pewter and crockery dishes. Many of the villagers were invited to partake of the feast. If they could, each person brought food to add to the bounty. Cod and wild duck were the main courses.
“I see Lew is here to gobble up our food, not bringing nothing of his own,” Ann groused as she placed the grateful pudding on the table. “Of course that fiend on the hill wouldn’t give his servants decent fare.”
“The fiend … I mean, Mr. Camborne went out of town. Whom do you speak of here?” Bettina set down the plum pudding. She looked at a lanky young man who’d just entered, his hat almost brushing the beams above. He nodded and smiled shyly.
“Lew works at Bronnmargh, taking care of the horses and coach,” Ann said. She yelled for her son to bring in another keg of beer. “One of few who dares to work up there. Other housemaids has come an’ gone at that place. An’ now you be riskin’ your life. That’s what comes from wantin’ more than you need.”
“I am doing nothing of the sort.” Bettina quivered despite herself. But Ann had no idea what she needed, or how much of it. Bettina put her tongue firmly in her cheek. “I am shocked that you would spread such nasty rumors.”
Ann stomped off with a harrumph. A hand clamped down on Bettina’s shoulder.
She jumped and turned to face the cruel eyes of Stephen Tremayne. She hadn’t even noticed that he’d joined the party.
“Teachin’ up at the manor, aye? You can teach me a few things out in the stable.” He traced his fingers over his crotch. “I try a friendly kiss and you be scratchin’ my eyes out. Then who comes to rescue you, the murdering master hisself?” He jerked her up to his chest.
“Keep your hands off me!” Bettina flung him back, his body stench with him. His touch made her feel like bugs crawled over her. “You know that kiss was not friendly, and I will scratch your eyes out the next time.”
“Camborne can’t always come out o’ the night to protect you … can he?” Stephen sidled close again. He slipped his hand up under her breast. “I’ll show you how to bed a saucy piece.”
Betting gasped and slapped him. He growled and lunged.
“Tremayne, leave!” Maddie rushed up and snatched him by the shirt collar. “An’ don’t come back, since you want to behave like a beast.” She propelled him toward the door. Stephen glowered at Bettina before stomping out.
“Mon Dieu. There is no hope for one like him.” Bettina rubbed her sore palm. In France, if he’d insulted her like that … but now her class was insulted and far worse.
“O’ course, that one comes but don’t bring his brother.” Kerra walked past with the bush and hung it in the front window. She lit the candle at its center. The flame’s warmth set off the piney smell and illuminated the lattice panes, giving the room a festive appearance.
The guests in threadbare clothes, laughed, threw back beer and ale, scratched themselves and wiped their hands on the tablecloth. A rat came out to sniff the food splattered on the floor. Bettina tried to relax and enjoy it, while keeping a sharp eye out for Stephen. She reminisced on the effulgence of her former holidays. That abundance of food, and gifts for the New Year, glistening crystal and silver, the sumptuous parties attended by relatives and friends in ravishing attire, the comforting Christmas Mass. She recalled the laughter and affection from those people who loved her, who had known her all her life—her mother’s smile … she gulped her own tankard of ale, bitter but smooth, before the heaviness of her heart could drag her down.
“I has the mistletoe!” A young man with russet teeth grinned as he dangled the sprig over Kerra’s head. Clad in filthy attire, he shuffled about and dust seemed to float up from his shoes. A mop of unruly hair flopped over his forehead, hiding his eyes. “Give me a kiss … please?”
Everyone turned to stare and Kerra flushed red. Snickers rose and fell among the guests.
“Oh, Peder … if you hasta … just on the cheek,” Kerra grimaced, shut her eyes and poked her cheek toward him.
Peder gave her sloppy kiss. She swiped it off as several clapped.
The young man snorted with nervous laughter and hurried out the front door. The other guests finished eating and finally started to rise and trickle out with waves to their hostess.
Maddie laughed and squeezed her sister’s shoulder. “That Peder Vage gets dirtier each year. Someone should boil him in a pot of lye.”
“He used to work up at Bronnmargh,” Kerra said to Bettina, obviously intent on changing the subject. “When Mr. Camborne’s mamm still lived there. Now he’s down the mines, and on Sunday’s, he’s the village dog whipper.”
“He whips dogs … as a trade?” Bettina dipped her finger into the mince pie pan and tasted the spices again. She stifled her own laugh because she’d never seen Kerra so embarrassed.
“During service. They hire him to keep the dogs quiet that’s been brought to town by the congregation.” Kerra wiped her cheek harder.
“You have strange but … interesting customs.” Bettina smiled, patted her friend’s back, and finished her tankard of ale. She wondered briefly what had happened to Mr. Camborne’s mother. “But people should not beat poor animals.”
“Enough talk—let’s clean up, then time for bed,” Maddie said. To Bettina’s surprise, she hugged and kissed them both on the cheek. “Holiday’s over, morning duties come early.”
Bettina filled with warmth; Maddie’s kiss soothed her, as if she were her older sister, too. Bettina admired her, a woman who had the courage to do a man’s work in a man’s world. She began to think she needed to be more like her. Her new wages couldn’t come soon enough.
Ann, who’d stayed in the kitchen most of the evening, tramped in with a bowl of vinegar and water and a rag. “Hurry it along, some o’ us need our sleep.” She shoved both into Bettina’s hands, stacked dirty dishes, and returned with them to the kitchen.
“So, what happened to your family?” Kerra snatched a broom and swept up the food remnants on the taproom floor. “Looked kinda sad a few times tonight, like you be missing them.”
Bettina set the bowl on a table, rubbed her shoulder and yawned to hide the wariness that crept up in her. “I … I am not certain where they are now.”
“Sticks in my craw, you don’t tell me nothin’.” Kerra gave her a pout, though it looked contrived. “Ain’t we good friends? You never said nothin’ ’bout teaching, an’ to go up to the manor.”
“Good friends, yes.” Bettina smiled at Kerra’s now earnest expression as she dampened the rag and wiped tables. “My guardian, he sent me off, because of … the trouble on the continent. But then the people I was supposed to … you remember, they were not living at that address anymo—”
The front door banged open with a gush of icy wind. Benny, one of the regulars, stood there, his face florid, his grin broad. “They done it, on Christmas Day no less!”
“Now what’s happened?” Maddie asked, her expression tired and impatient as she dragged benches back into place.
“A wreck, down in the cove! Someone showed the false lights and drew them in. Come on, if you want to scavenge!” He rushed off.
“Oh no, I be done with that.” Maddie shut the door, throwing the bolt with a clank.
“What is this, something has wrecked?” Bettina stared at the other women.
Kerra’s green eyes lit up with mischief. “Salvagers an’ smugglers used to work from this inn, years back. They’d wait out the storms in the coves, for any ship that lost her way. Showing false lights so the captain would think it safe and try to come in. If the ship wrecked on the rocks, ever’one would be ready to grab the cargo.”
“Vraiment?” Bettina sat and massaged her aching ankles. “Is t
hat not against the law?”
“’Course it is. But people here consider it fair game, especially when times be bad.” Kerra turned to her sister. “Sure you don’t wanna go down an’ see what we can find, Mads?”
“Go to bed, an’ that’s an order.” Maddie jerked off her white cap, sending her short dark hair flying. “I mean it. Don’t need no trouble with the excise men.” She wagged a finger at Kerra then trotted up the stairs.
“Such a wild history you have.” Bettina dragged herself to her feet again. “What are these ‘false lights’ you mentioned?”
“Someone on shore with lanterns, pretending to guide the way to safe harbor, but bringin’ in the ships to crash on the rocks.” Kerra propped her broom in a corner.
“It sounds like a cruel occupation.” Bettina frowned, but Kerra just shrugged.
In her room, Bettina pulled off her wool gown, unlaced and peeled off her stays, and wrapped herself in the blanket on the thin mattress. She smoothed down her pillow and tried to relax. Then she bunched the pillow in her fists, the anger rising, thinking of Armand’s false light—his false tales about delivering packages and finding refuge, luring her to dash on this shore.
She prayed Mr. Camborne didn’t change his mind about her when February came.
Chapter Nine
Bettina stared out the inn window, her breath fogging the glass. When the small coach rumbled up, relief warmed her like the sun’s rays that had been so scarce. She climbed in the coach, her stomach growling. She’d been so nervous this first Monday of February, 1791, that Mr. Camborne might think better of hiring her, she’d barely eaten all day. The weeks up until now had passed in an agonizing routine.
At Bronnmargh, the dour Mr. Slate answered the door and showed her to the same room.
“Good afternoon, Miss.” A child greeted her with a radiant smile. He sat before a crackling fire, dressed and groomed like a little gentleman. “I’m Frederick Prescott.”
Betrayed Countess (Books We Love Historical Romance) Page 9
