The Potter's Niece

by Randall, Rona

  Puzzled nonetheless, Charlotte proceeded to the domestic quarters, her tall, erect figure stepping out briskly. She always said that her daily visit to the kitchens was equal to a good mile walk, and no one appreciated, more than she, the added burden these stone-flagged passages placed on her servants. For this reason she maintained a large staff, never employing one person to do two jobs, as so many wealthy households did. Each to his own, each in his own niche, each pulling his weight, each adequately rewarded. That was her policy and in return they served her loyally. When Cook now offered to step outside her normal duties and carry the master’s tray upstairs, Charlotte refused if only to show that she was still physically strong despite her years. Sixty-five was considered a great age, and she was proud of it.

  So she held the big silver tray aloft. It bore newly-baked bread — for Cook, having retired at her normal hour, had been up betimes to stack the deep ovens with balmy dough left to rise overnight — and fresh butter from the dairy, and devilled kidneys, and a helping of carp with sauce à-la-Craster made thick with anchovies, mixed herbs, and sliced horseradish, with the best sherry wine and strong gravy poured over, all to be washed down with a draught of small ale. It was dear Ralph’s favourite breakfast.

  At the end of the second long passage Charlotte set down the tray and rested, thankful that no one was around to see her do so, and at that moment Olivia appeared from the domestic quarters, her usual short cut from the stables. Giving Charlotte no chance to protest, she seized the tray and said, ‘For Grandfather, I take it, since only he drinks small ale with his first meal of the day?’ She even summoned a wan smile. The effort it demanded didn’t escape her grandmother.

  ‘Where have you been, child?’

  ‘Just walking.’

  ‘Then where did you pick up Corporal?’ Charlotte didn’t want to probe, but curiosity overcame her. ‘I saw you returning,’ she explained gently.

  Olivia, intent on negotiating stairs, made no answer until reaching the first landing. Glancing at her grandmother’s lined but still handsome face she said, with a wry tilt of her mouth, ‘Has anyone ever succeeded in hiding anything from you?’

  ‘Many times, I have no doubt, but your face betrays you. It is expressive.’

  Now what made the girl wince like that, the old lady wondered, noticing the swiftly averted eyes and the concentration immediately focused on the laden tray. Had someone else recently said the same thing to her? And why did it hurt?

  Briskly she asked, ‘Why those clothes, my dear? They look like working garments — ’

  The words apparently passed unheard because they had reached the bedroom door and Olivia was sailing through even as Charlotte opened it, the tray serving as a good excuse to enter first.

  ‘I hope your appetite is hearty, Grandfather, because there is enough here for three!’

  ‘Two will be enough,’ he joked, watching affectionately as she placed the tray on a wheeled table and brought it to his bed, where he reclined on a disordered coverlet. Charlotte straightened it as best she could, banked up his pillows, took more from her adjoining bed, and placed another beneath his rapidly swelling foot.

  ‘That,’ she said sternly, ‘will have to be bandaged and not put to the ground until the doctor approves. I will send for him without delay.’

  ‘My good wife, don’t fuss. I’ll not endure any quack’s prodding and probing, guaranteed to make the damn thing worse. As for any tinctures or medicines, I’ll have them swilled away, that I swear.’

  ‘Not the tinctures, at least,’ Charlotte answered serenely. ‘I will see to that.’ The medicines didn’t matter because she too had little belief in nauseous concoctions — unlike Agatha, who was forever trying something new for her ‘delicate’ stomach.

  Olivia dropped a kiss on her grandfather’s forehead and was about to leave when he said, ‘Don’t go, my dear. It’s good to see your fresh young face.’

  ‘Her pale young face, husband. Unusually so, I fear.’

  ‘No paler than many another this morning, I’ll warrant.’

  ‘It is afternoon, Grandfather, and well into it.’

  ‘Then you should be enjoying fresh air, my child.’

  ‘She has only just left it,’ Charlotte said, ‘which is why I don’t understand her pallor. A morning’s ride should have brought roses to her cheeks.’

  ‘Stop scolding her.’ Ralph took a gulp of ale and a hearty bite of bread which, with its crustiness, proved much to his liking.

  ‘I am not scolding,’ Charlotte answered as she seated herself on the side of the adjoining bed. Even after their long marriage they still shared a room, proximity being essential to both, day and night. Without each other, a room could seem singularly empty. ‘I merely wonder why she should be wearing such homely garments and why she should be so pale when she normally glows with health. She is not sickening for something, I hope … ’

  ‘Indeed I am not, Grandmother, and without wishing to be disrespectful I do wish you would cease discussing me as if I were not here.’ The suppressed edge to her voice caught even Ralph’s attention, absorbed though he was in his food. The carp looked so good that he decided to sample it before the devilled kidneys, a decision well rewarded for the anchovies marinated in sherry and strong gravy imparted just the degree of piquancy he liked. At such moments only something untoward could distract him, such as Olivia’s hint of impatience — rare indeed. Studying her from beneath bushy eyebrows he observed the pallor Charlotte referred to. He also sensed the girl’s desire to escape. That, too, was unusual. Of their two grandchildren, Olivia was the one who never shunned the older generation.

  Charlotte said gently, ‘My dear, forgive me. I meant no criticism.’

  ‘No, no — forgive me, Grandmother! I think I am a little tired. I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  ‘You should have stayed in bed like me,’ said Ralph, turning now to the devilled kidneys, then heeding his stomach’s warning that, after last night’s feasting, he had really had enough. So he rejected the kidneys, turning his attention wholly to Olivia as his wife removed the tray.

  ‘What were you saying about her clothes, Charlotte m’dear? Homely, eh?’ Groping for his spectacles, he surveyed the girl as she drifted to the door. Seemed in a deuced hurry, too. Didn’t like being studied, or commented on, and who could blame her? All the same, those garments were pretty fusty; not a bit becoming, not remotely elegant — unusual again in a young woman who was normally as stylish as Amelia and her Aunt Jessica. But if she wanted to wear them, why not? She had a wardrobe full of elegant ones; she would undoubtedly choose something from it later. The trouble with dear Charlotte was that she missed nothing and was a bit too inquisitive at times. He wanted to tell her to leave the girl alone, but found his own curiosity aroused nonetheless. And as Olivia’s skirts whirled away he detected something else — mud on them. No, not mud. Dried clay. Surely that was terra-cotta?

  Olivia’s hand was on the door latch when a knock sounded outside. It was Lionel, come to pay his respects and to thank his grandparents for gracing last night’s celebrations. ‘I was proud of you both, so handsome and distinguished … ’ He kissed his grandmother’s hand and bowed low to his grandfather, who merely grunted and remained silent until Lionel glanced at his cousin and remarked on what a sight she looked, at which the old man exploded.

  ‘Don’t be so damned insulting, young man. Olivia has a right to wear what she likes when she likes. No business of yours or mine — or anyone else’s,’ Ralph finished, shooting a reproving glance at his wife.

  ‘I take it Grandmother Charlotte has commented, too? I share your surprise, Madam. Dressing informally is one thing, but looking like a servant is another.’

  Ralph barked, ‘What d’you mean, “looking like a servant?” Be off with you. I’m about to dress.’

  Lionel apologised profusely, but remained where he was, blocking Olivia’s access to the door. All this time he had concealed one hand behind his back, but now he produced it
with a flourish, his white, well manicured hand presenting a bunch of lavender to Charlotte. ‘I picked it for you myself, dear Grandmamma — not quite with the dew upon it, but nonetheless fragrant and nonetheless acceptable, I trust?’

  ‘My dear boy, how nice! And how thoughtful of you … ’

  Olivia side-stepped, still aiming for the door, but in one imperceptible movement her cousin blocked her way again. Surveying her coolly, he said, ‘I share your disapproval, dear Grandmamma. Olivia’s dress sense is certainly unpredictable, but rest assured that when she and I are wed she shall no longer tear about the countryside looking like a farmer’s lass — ’ At their startled looks he added hastily, ‘always assuming she will accept my hand, of course, though I am given to hope … indeed, I am confident, since the idea meets with my mother’s approval as well as Aunt Phoebe’s.’

  ‘And is that why you’ve come here?’ snapped old Ralph. ‘To get ours, too? Then let me tell you this, young man. You won’t get it. Not from me, you won’t.’

  ‘Then I must hope for Grandmother Charlotte’s. I am sure she is astute enough to recognise the advantages of such a union, both of us being born at Tremain and belonging to the family. One could say we are both rightful heirs.’

  ‘And what has my grand-daughter to say to that?’ Charlotte asked.

  Olivia cried, ‘That I’ll have none of it! I don’t want to be chatelaine here! I love Tremain, but I have other dreams, other plans — ’ She began to sob, desperately trying to hold back threatening tears. She had been fighting them since learning the identity of the young woman in the miniature and now, determined to avoid her grandparents’ concern and curiosity, she turned them into tears of anger. ‘I will never be Lionel’s wife! Let him inherit. I beg you, don’t name me.’

  Ralph Freeman said gently, ‘No one is going to force you into anything you are averse to, Olivia, but I’d be interested to know what these other plans are. “Dreams” you said. May an old man be allowed to share them?’

  ‘May we all be allowed to share them?’ mocked Lionel. ‘Perhaps they include dreams of an earl or a duke? One glimpse of you in those frumpish garments would win their noble hearts, to be sure!’ He shook with silent laughter. ‘Does dressing like that make you feel like Cinderella, waiting for a magic wand to bring a handsome prince to your feet?’ This time his laughter gushed out, but the sound was angry, not amused. You’ll regret this, it said. You’ll rue the day you rejected Lionel Drayton so insultingly.

  Ignoring his grandfather’s demand for silence, he continued to laugh until at length Charlotte said severely, ‘Stop that, Lionel. Leave us.’

  ‘What! And miss startling revelations? Have you lost your virginity, Livvy? Have you been rolling in the hay unbeknown to the family? Is that why you turn down the chance to marry me — because you have to?’

  ‘It would please you to think so, I have no doubt.’ Olivia was calm again. ‘I don’t in the least mind sharing my plans with anyone. These plans don’t include marriage. They will never include marriage.’

  ‘Good God, d’you mean you like being a spinster?’

  ‘I shan’t dislike it. I’ll have no time to because my days will be so busy.’

  ‘Busy?’ echoed Charlotte, thinking that never would she understand young people of today and that surely every girl wanted to become a wife and mother. Olivia’s rejection of the Tremain inheritance surprised and concerned her, but of greater concern was the girl’s avowed intention never to marry. Surely such a notion would pass? Surely she would come to her senses? Surely she would meet some man who would be eminently suitable, and then her aversion to being named as heretrix would be overcome? Let Lionel scoff at the idea of a title. Such a thing wasn’t essential, but there were plenty of titles in various branches of the family and perhaps, through them, a more desirable suitor could be found, one who would persuade Olivia to change her mind. Judging by Lionel’s behaviour just now, dear Ralph had been right in declaring him unsuitable as a husband for their granddaughter.

  The old lady persisted. ‘Busy in what way, Olivia? If you choose not to marry and have no wish to accept Tremain as your responsibility, how will you occupy your days?’

  ‘At the Drayton Pottery, Grandmother.’

  ‘At the Pottery?’ Lionel exploded. ‘What in heaven’s name would you do there?’

  ‘Hopefully, the work I’ve been doing this morning. Or in any other capacity Uncle Martin thinks fit. But also in another way. Amelia and I are going to teach the workers’ children for a couple of hours daily. That should be fun.’

  ‘Fun! Good God, the girl’s taken leave of her senses. Mind you, I’ve never thought her quite normal — ’

  ‘ — because you couldn’t have your way with her?’ growled old Ralph. ‘Don’t think I haven’t guessed, m’lad. I see more than you think. And I must say Olivia’s decision pleases me. Her decision to turn you down, I mean. As for working at the pottery, why not? Plenty of women do.’

  ‘Women born to it. Women who have no choice.’ It was Charlotte who spoke, not in anger, but surprise, at which Olivia hastily put her right.

  ‘Not always, Grandmother. Lady Virginia Ewell does overglaze decoration for the Glaxman works. She paints the most delicate flowers and birds.’

  ‘In her home, my child. Not alongside the workers.’

  ‘And everyone knows the Ewell woman is mad,’ Lionel sneered.

  Olivia retorted, ‘Because she has talent and prefers to use it rather than waste hours in stuffy withdrawing rooms, gossiping?’

  ‘Have you really been at the pottery today?’ her grandmother asked.

  ‘Today and many other days. Hence these clothes, which I know have been puzzling you. I’ve taken care not to be seen in them before. Working with clay demands serviceable wear.’

  ‘I thought Drayton’s closed on the Sabbath.’

  ‘It does, but Uncle Martin lets me have a key. And please don’t blame him for that — I persuaded him long ago. It has been our secret until now.’

  ‘A secret from your mother too, I’ll be bound,’ Ralph chuckled, at which Lionel let out a yelp of amusement and declared that he’d give much to see his aunt’s face when she heard, and that to be a fly on the wall during that meeting would please him greatly. His ill-humour had gone. In fact, he was feeling decidedly optimistic, for if this whim of Olivia’s was indulged — and from the set of her stubborn chin she was obviously determined that it should be — then his inheritance was assured.

  Olivia kissed Charlotte’s wrinkled cheek. ‘Don’t be disappointed, Grandmother. I would make an indifferent mistress of Tremain.’

  ‘But what made you decide this so suddenly? What has happened, my child?’

  To that Olivia made no answer and this time her departure was not forestalled. Once outside the room she walked resolutely toward the heir’s wing and, taking a deep breath, knocked on her mother’s bedroom door. No summons came, so she glanced inside. The room was empty, Hannah’s fastidious touch confirming that the bed had been recently made. Release from duties today did not extend to staff employed by the two widows in the house, answerable only to their mistresses.

  Even the boudoir was empty, likewise the breakfast and morning rooms. Surprised and not a little puzzled, for Phoebe rarely rose before noon and not until much later after retiring in the early hours, Olivia opened the door of her mother’s stylish reception room and saw her reclining on her favourite chaise longue, the skirts of one of her most fetching gowns carelessly outspread, a splash of vivid turquoise taffeta against brown velvet upholstery. Ringlets, added to her natural hair, cascaded from the crown of her head and nestled coyly against her cheeks. Rarely did she appear so ravishingly turned out at this hour of the day, for elegant simplicity was the order at such a time.

  The reason for it startled Olivia. She paused on the threshold and Phoebe didn’t even turn her head, so absorbed was she in Roger Acland. The man was seated on the opposite side of the fireplace, regarding her with open adm
iration.

  CHAPTER 6

  Phoebe had not expected to see Acland again so soon. ‘May I have your permission to call?’ he had asked with just the right note of deference and desire. Of course, she had appeared to hesitate, as if pondering on the propriety of granting such a request so early in their acquaintance, for she placed great store on social etiquette. So she had raised her eyebrows in faint surprise, but not too much in case he interpreted it as dismissal. A suggestion of kindly consideration was called for, a subtle suggestion that he would not be wholly unwelcome but that a widow had to be careful of her reputation.

  Such a situation was one she was unacquainted with, though she had not been without prospective replacements for her unlamented husband, all of whom she had feared were after her money and possibly were. But Roger Acland was not only an attractive man, but a successful one, so no ulterior motive could possibly be attributed to him.

  In the end she had graciously given her consent, whereupon he begged that it should be soon. ‘Very soon, dear lady. I can extend my visit for a brief time, but business pressures force me to return to Bristol by the end of next week. I cannot waste a moment of such precious hours, so tell me — how early tomorrow may I call?’

  Masterful. Determined. Direct and honest and wholly dependable. Not a man who flattered and fawned or believed widows to be easy game. A sincere man. A man she could trust. She had not met his kind since the days when the young Maxwell Freeman had appeared to be a knight in shining armour. She had been young and naive then and sadly taken in, but she was older and wiser now, capable of judging men, and Roger Acland passed muster in every way.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he had insisted, brooking no refusal. ‘As early as possible, dear Mistress Freeman.’ So she had invited him for noonday, and told him where the main entrance to the heir’s wing was situated and how to approach it via a side lane across the grounds, for she was anxious that he should be seen by as few people as possible. Servants didn’t matter, but her in-laws did. Agatha, particularly, would be sure to comment.