Rainbird skipped out while Emily glared furiously after him.
‘My dear,’ quavered Mr Goodenough, ‘such studied insolence does, I fear, betoken that they have guessed our humble origins.’
‘Stuff!’ said Emily roundly.
They waited impatiently as oh-so-slowly Joseph lounged in and made up the fire, placing lumps of coal delicately in the hearth with the tongs, one piece at a time.
Rainbird came in with the tea-tray and set it down on a console table with a loud crash that made the silver clatter against the china.
But Emily brightened. For the array of cakes looked absolutely delicious. Her stomach gave an unmaidenly rumble.
Rainbird began to skip off.
‘Stop!’ cried Emily. ‘Cannot you leave a room in a civilized manner?’
Rainbird turned hurt eyes on her. ‘You told me to jump to it, ma’am,’ he said plaintively, ‘so I am jumping.’
‘When I have finished tea,’ said Emily evenly, ‘I want you and the rest of the staff to assemble here. Such impertinence must cease immediately.’
‘Impertinence?’ demanded Rainbird, folding his arms and leaning against the door jamb. ‘I—’
He broke off as a resounding volley of knocks sounded on the street door.
He sprang to answer it.
The Earl of Fleetwood stood on the doorstep.
‘I am come for another look at this place,’ he said strolling in past Rainbird.
‘The house is taken,’ cried Rainbird, but Lord Fleetwood had already entered the front parlour.
He stopped short before the vision that was Emily.
Emily looked at him, her eyes wandering from his handsome, clever face to his elegant dress, the large jewe sparkling in his cravat, and then down to those boots which had caused even Beau Brummell to turn green with envy
‘My apologies, ma’am,’ said the earl. ‘Am I to understand the house is let?’
‘Yes,’ said Emily breathlessly. ‘To me.’
‘Me being?’
‘Introduce yourself first,’ snapped Emily, who was quite overset by the insolence of the servants.
He raised thin brows and looked at her haughtily. ‘My name is Fleetwood.’
‘Earl of,’ prompted Mr Goodenough sotto voce.
‘Well, Lord Fleetwood, I am Miss Emily Goodenough and this is my uncle, Mr Benjamin Goodenough.’
‘Your servant, Miss Goodenough. When did you decide to take the house?’
‘Today, my lord.’
‘And you are satisfied with it?’
‘Not quite,’ said Emily with a baleful look at Rainbird who was staring at the cakes in a most peculiar way. ‘I find the staff lacking in respect. Pray be seated, my lord.’
Lord Fleetwood sat down. ‘I confess I do not like the servant class, Miss Goodenough,’ he said. ‘I find them all prone to gossip and insolence.’
Rainbird picked up the plate of cakes and headed for the door.
‘Put those cakes back down immediately,’ said Emily crossly. ‘And go away, Rainbird. I shall speak to you later.’
Rainbird slowly put the cakes back on the tray as Emily drew a chair up to the table and asked Lord Fleetwood if he took sugar and milk.
The butler ran downstairs to the kitchen. ‘Angus,’ he wailed, ‘that Lord Fleetwood has called and she is about to offer him those cakes. What did you put in them?’
‘Enough curry powder to blow his head off,’ said the cook.
‘We must stop him eating them,’ screamed Mrs Middleton.
‘Why?’ demanded the cook laconically. ‘I don’t like him either.’
‘Fleetwood is a leader of the ton, you lummox!’ howled Rainbird. ‘This house is damned as unlucky, and now added to that will be the tale that the servants try to poison their masters. I must think of something.’
Upstairs, Emily held out the plate of cakes to the earl. ‘Thank you, Miss Goodenough,’ he said, ‘but they look so delicious, I feel you should have first choice.’
But Emily’s appetite had left her. Mr Goodenough had muttered something about seeing to his unpacking and had left the room, leaving her alone with this terrifying aristocrat. She knew, as she watched a look of surprise cross the earl’s face, that it was bad ton to leave a young girl alone and unchaperoned with a gentleman.
‘No, I thank you,’ she said. ‘Perhaps later.’
The earl selected a large confection that appeared to be made of chocolate and cream and raised it to his mouth.
Then there came a loud shout from outside. He jumped to his feet. Outside the window, his horses were rearing and plunging while his little tiger clung desperately to the reins.
He ran from the room. Emily went to the window and was able to admire how efficiently the earl soothed down his frightened horses.
She turned about to return to her seat and let out a terrified scream as a large grey rat scuttled into the room, followed by The Moocher, the kitchen cat. She jumped up on her chair, holding up her skirts. Rainbird ran in after the cat, crashed into the table, and sent the tea service and cakes flying across the room. Dave erupted into the front parlour, deftly seized the rat by the tail, ran out again, with The Moocher in hot pursuit, and opened the front door and threw the rat out.
Unfortunately, the rat struck the returning earl full in the face and the kitchen cat jumped on him, howling and uttering war-cries.
The earl pulled the stunned rat off his face and threw it into the middle of the street, where it landed in the kennel.
Emily was still screaming as he hurried into the parlour.
‘This house is infested!’ cried Emily. ‘We must leave. We cannot stay.’
Despite all the shocks and alarms, the earl could not help noticing that her ankles revealed by her pulled-up skirts were absolutely beautiful.
‘It was only a rat,’ he said soothingly. He helped her solicitously down from the chair. ‘What a set of happenings! My tiger tells me that some red-headed giant jumped up and down in front of the horses shouting, “Boo!” at the top of his voice.’
‘It’s those poxy servants,’ said Emily bitterly. ‘Bad cess to ’em.’
From the sudden chill in the earl’s eyes, Emily realized miserably that her newly acquired refined speech had slipped into vulgarity.
She tried to compose herself. She said she would ring for more tea. But the earl’s face had become a polite social blank. He sent his regards to her uncle, he was sad the house had been let, but assured her with patently false gallantry that it could not have been let to a more charming tenant, and bowed his way out.
Emily ran upstairs to pour out her troubles to Mr Goodenough, only to find he was fast asleep in a chair in the bedroom.
She trailed back down to the front parlour. She would have to tackle these terrible servants herself.
Emily was twenty years of age, and her recently adopted haughty manner often made her look older, but as she threw herself down in a chair beside the fire and burst into tears, she looked little more than a child.
Joseph opened the door of the parlour, a dustpan and brush in his hand ready to sweep up the mess, saw the weeping Emily, and backed out in confusion, bumping into Rainbird. He whispered to the butler that Miss was in distress and they were joined by Mrs Middleton, who was twitching like a nervous rabbit and clutching the housekeeping books to her chest. Together they peered round the door of the parlour at the miserably sobbing Emily, and then quietly closed the door and stood together in the hall.
‘Poor child,’ whispered Mrs Middleton.
‘It goes to my heart to see her like that,’ muttered Rainbird. ‘I shall give her a few moments to compose herself and then I shall go in there and apologize.’
Emily at last dried her eyes and was reaching for the bell rope to summon Rainbird when the contrite butler appeared before her. He apologized for all the mishaps and for his own behaviour, and although he offered no explanation, Emily was relieved and at the same time touched.
As Ra
inbird apologized, Jenny and Joseph cleaned up the mess, Alice carried in bowls of flowers, bought earlier in case a new tenant should arrive after the rout of the Goodenoughs, Joseph made up the fire, and Angus himself appeared with tea and biscuits.
Emily rallied wonderfully under all this attentive kindness.
By the time Mrs Middleton came in with the books, Emily found she was beginning to enjoy herself discussing household matters. She asked how much they all earned and exclaimed in surprise over the small amount. Rainbird, without much hope, for he still feared Miss Goodenough would prove tightfisted, murmured that previous tenants had seen fit to augment their wages for the length of the Season, and to his surprise, Emily readily agreed to this.
The household budget she proposed was extremely generous.
Emily tried to maintain an aloof manner with these odd servants, frightened that they might become too familiar again should she be over-friendly, but soon found herself chatting easily with Mrs Middleton and Rainbird about plans to send cards out for a rout so as to lay the ground for her forthcoming début.
Mr Goodenough did not wake until dinner time, unaware of all the battles that had been fought and won while he slept. He was delighted to hear how friendly, helpful, and efficient the servants had proved to be and, mellowed by good food and excellent wine, began to look more confident than he had done since he had gained his inheritance. Emily somehow could not bring herself to tell him about the end to the Earl of Fleetwood’s disastrous visit. She knew he would be alarmed and frightened when he learned of her slip into common language. It was wonderful to see this, her patron, looking happy and at ease, for he was facing up to the rigours of a London Season solely for her sake.
Downstairs, the servants settled down late in the evening to their supper, just as relaxed and happy as Mr Goodenough.
‘A pleasant, quiet, genteel couple,’ said Mrs Middleton. ‘Oh, Mr Rainbird, it appears as if we shall have our first comfortable Season.’
‘Amen to that!’ said Rainbird, raising his glass. ‘What a monstrous rat, Angus. How did you find it so quickly?’
‘Got it frae the rat-catcher earlier,’ said the cook. ‘I originally planned tae put it in Miss Goodenough’s bed. Well, it’s just as well I did not, for she has turned out to be a good lady. I hope that Lord Fleetwood never finds out it was me that startled his horses.’
It was to be Emily’s first night in London. She had never slept anywhere other than in the country before. Every time she was on the point of dropping off to sleep, the watchman would come along the street below, shouting it was a fine moonlit night and all was well. He came along with his weather bulletin every half-hour. Added to that were the cries and rumbles of the night coaches going along Piccadilly at the end of Clarges Street. No sooner had their din ceased, than the clatter of the morning carts began. Then came the dustman with his bell, bellowing, ‘Dust ho!’ at the top of his voice, then came the watchman again. He was succeeded by the porterhouse boy, jangling and clashing his tray of pewter pots. After him came the milkman and then more and more numerous cries, a deafening cacophony, but pierced always, every half-hour, by the irritating, penetrating drone of the watch.
Emily climbed down from her high bed and pulled a wrapper about her shoulders. She took a crown from her reticule and made her way downstairs. She would pay that watchman to go away. If he at least was silenced, then perhaps she could get some sleep.
The Earl of Fleetwood was walking back to Limmer’s Hotel from his club in St James’s. He found himself in Clarges Street and wondered idly how the strange Miss Goodenough was faring with her even stranger servants.
And then he saw her.
A shaft of morning sunlight was striking the doorway of 67 Clarges Street. Between the two chained iron dogs that ornamented the front step stood Miss Emily Goodenough. She was saying something to the watchman and handing him a crown. The watch touched his hat and walked away.
Emily stood for a moment on the step, her face lifted up to the sunshine.
The sunlight lit up the gold threads in the masses of her hair, which tumbled down her back. In her white muslin wrapper and white nightgown she looked like some princess in a fairy-tale.
There was a purity about her, and a vulnerable innocence. She was as fresh as the morning.
Strangely touched, the earl stood watching her until she turned about and went back inside.
THREE
Last night, party at Landsdowne House. Tonight, party at Lady Charlotte Greville’s – deplorable waste of time, and something of temper. Nothing imparted – nothing acquired – talking without ideas . . . Heigho! – and in this way half London pass what is called life.
LORD ALTHORP
Emily was just sinking into a deep sleep when she remembered that rat. And then she remembered the drama caused by Lord Fleetwood’s startled horses. In the heat of the moment, she had been sure it was all the fault of the servants. But Rainbird had been so apologetic . . . and yet . . . and yet, he had not explained anything.
She tossed and turned, determined to put the matter out of her head, but now every creak and rustle sounded like the furtive movements of rats.
She rang the bell.
Alice answered it, looking her usual relaxed and beautiful self.
‘I shall fetch your morning chocolate directly, miss,’ said Alice, crossing the room to open the curtains.
‘No,’ said Emily. ‘I still want to sleep, but I am troubled about that rat. Is this house full of rats?’
Alice, like Rainbird, had no conscience about lying when she considered it necessary. ‘Oh, no,’ she said in her slow, rich country voice. ‘Lord Charteris next door had the rat-catcher in and one of the rats got away. But we have no trouble on account of The Moocher, the kitchen cat. Fearsome hunter, he is.’
‘But why were Lord Fleetwood’s horses frightened?’
‘I don’t know, miss. Reckon there are many odd people about London. Mr Rainbird said a horrible-looking man shouted at them and frightened them. Will there be anything else?’
‘Yes. Rainbird apologized for his earlier insolence but did not explain why he had been insolent. Can you tell me?’
Alice looked at Emily with wide blue eyes while she tried to think of an excuse. Then it hit her that perhaps the truth was the best explanation.
‘You see, miss,’ said Alice, ‘we have mortal-poor wages, and we rely on a tenant to increase those wages. Seeing as how you was so nice over the matter of the rent, we reckoned as how you might be overnice in the matter of household expenses. And there was still time to find another tenant.’
‘Do you mean,’ said Emily wrathfully, ‘that you were trying to drive me away?’
‘Sounds a bit harsh put like that,’ said Alice, ‘but times is hard. We are all ever so sorry now.’
Emily tried to stay angry, but anger was quickly being replaced by relief. They had not thought her common or despised her for her low origins. They did not know! They had merely considered her to be stingy.
‘Oh,’ said Emily. ‘Well, behave yourselves in future. Perhaps I understand now why that normally deft and agile butler contrived to fall over the table. What was in those cakes?’
But Alice felt she had revealed enough. ‘Mr MacGregor, the cook, is a genius,’ said Alice. ‘Pity them cakes was spoiled.’
‘It is a pity that Lord Fleetwood was given a disgust of this house,’ said Emily, although she knew it was she herself who had disaffected him. ‘Is he a great personage?’
‘Yes, miss. Mr Rainbird do say as how Lord Fleetwood is a leader of society. This is his second Season in London since the death of his wife, although she died eight years ago.’
‘And how did she die?’ Emily felt she was being very vulgar gossiping with a servant, but her curiosity about the handsome earl was becoming stronger by the minute.
‘She was beaten to death in a wood near his country home, miss.’
‘Gracious! Who was responsible?’
‘Nob
ody ever found out, miss,’ said Alice, who, like Jenny, had no time for Luke’s gossip and did not believe a word of the next-door footman’s story of Lord Fleetwood’s having committed the murder himself.
Emily felt she should now dismiss Alice, but she had not conversed with any member of her own sex for such a long time. ‘You are very pretty, Alice,’ said Emily. ‘Did that not cause you some trouble with the previous gentleman tenants of this house?’ Emily suddenly remembered some of her own experiences as a chambermaid while Sir Harry Jackson had still been well enough to entertain.
‘No, miss. Mr Rainbird would never allow such a thing. One gentleman,’ said Alice, remembering the arrival of last year’s handsome tenant, ‘got a bit frisky at first, but after Mr Rainbird spoke to him I didn’t have no trouble.’
‘Thank you, Alice,’ said Emily, who felt she had been indulging in gossip for long enough. ‘You may go.’
Alice went out quietly and closed the door.
Emily snuggled down under the blankets. So the servants had not seen under her mask after all! No one would, she reassured herself fiercely. Sir Harry’s estates had been in Cumberland, in the far north of England. Such guests as he had entertained had usually come from the local county, and only one or two travellers had stopped over on their road to London.
A shadow fell across Emily’s face. It was one of those travellers who had tried to force his attentions on her, a horrible man – Mr Percival Pardon. Her screams had brought Mr Goodenough, then the butler, Spinks, running to her aid. The row that had ensued had caused the poor butler to have an apoplexy from which he had recovered but which had left his face peculiarly twisted up. Shortly after that unfortunate visit, Sir Harry had fallen ill and entertained no more.
Surely no one in. London would recognize the chambermaid Emily Jenkins in the now rich and fashionable Emily Goodenough, or the butler Spinks in the changed face of the now Benjamin Goodenough, Esquire.
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