by M C Beaton
Hannah retreated.
She waited outside the door, and after a few moments Lord Harley came out and closed the door behind him. ‘What is it, Miss Pym? And do you never knock?’
The answer to that was, ‘No, good servants never knock,’ but Hannah had no intention of letting Lord Harley or anyone else know she had been a servant.
‘I am sorry, my lord,’ said Hannah. ‘I am sleepy and forgot.’
He thought she looked remarkably wide awake, and was further amazed that the sight of a naked man had not even raised a blush to this spinster’s cheek. He could not know that Hannah was accustomed, from her days in the lower ranks of servants, to coming across gentlemen in the buff.
Hannah held out the wig, shirt, and neckcloth. ‘Miss Freemantle will not be needing these items, and I thought Mr Fletcher might appreciate a fresh change of shirt and perhaps a new wig. Mr Fletcher is thin and Miss Freemantle is slim and I felt sure the shirt would fit.’
Lord Harley’s lips curled in amusement. Poor Mr Fletcher. There had been no doubt that Mr Fletcher was slightly ripe. Lord Harley had cajoled him into taking a bath, not wanting to share the bed with a smelly stranger. ‘You had best give these things to me,’ he said, opening the door again to enter. ‘Tact is called for. Wait there.’
‘I have come upon some fresh articles of clothing,’ said Lord Harley, putting shirt, wig and neckcloth on a chair beside the bath. ‘Pray give me your soiled linen and I will take it to the kitchen for washing.’
‘Very well,’ said Mr Fletcher, trying to cover himself modestly with a large bar of soap. ‘But these things were washed last month.’
‘Another washing won’t harm them,’ said Lord Harley. ‘Do you have fresh linen?’
‘In my trunk,’ said Mr Fletcher, feeling like a schoolboy.
Lord Harley searched in it and found items which he noticed were actually fresh and clean. He scooped up Mr Fletcher’s discarded underwear and shirt. ‘Do not wait up for me,’ he ordered. ‘Leave the bath and I shall send a couple of waiters up to take it away.’
Mr Fletcher nodded dumbly. He was not insulted. He thought this bathing thing was a mad foible of the aristocracy, but he was too overwhelmed at the honour of being looked after by a real-live lord to protest.
Lord Harley went out and joined Hannah on the landing. ‘I will take these from you,’ said Hannah briskly.
‘No, I shall come with you. It is early yet.’
He followed Hannah to the kitchen and watched as she gave orders for the clothes to be washed and pointed to a couple of minute tears and asked that they might be stitched.
‘Put it on my bill,’ said Lord Harley to the landlord, who was sitting at the kitchen table eating a late supper. Hannah stifled a sigh of relief. She was thrifty by nature and her recent elevation to the ranks of the middle class had made her realize that five thousand pounds had to be guarded carefully. ‘Is there anyone in the coffee room?’ Lord Harley asked.
‘No, your honour,’ said the landlord, Mr Silvers. ‘They’s all abed.’
‘Then have a bottle of brandy sent up. Miss Pym and I have much to discuss.’
Hannah’s eyes flashed green with excitement. But although she was happy to let the thought of drinking brandy with a lord go to her head, she was worried about the effects of so much alcohol, and when they were seated in the coffee room before the fire, she asked for only a little to be poured for her.
The wind howled ferociously outside, and snow whispered busily against the glass of the bay window that overlooked the courtyard of the inn.
‘Nasty weather,’ said Lord Harley. ‘I fear it will be a few days before any of us can move.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Hannah happily. She felt she had walked out of the wings on to the centre stage for the first time in her life. There was so very much to interest her in the other guests.
‘Now to Miss Freemantle,’ said Lord Harley, stretching out his booted legs to the fire. They were very handsome legs, Hannah noticed. Hannah firmly believed that any gentleman with good legs was set for life. No one bothered about his face so long as he had good legs.
‘Has she spoken to you of this sad affair?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Hannah. ‘It appears her head was filled by a lot of rubbish about you by her governess, a Miss Cudlipp. This Miss Cudlipp told Miss Freemantle you had an opera dancer in keeping.’
‘The deuce she did! And does that make me a monster?’
‘To an impressionable young girl who has not yet made her come-out and has had no influence on her mind other than that given it by novels and by one addle-pated governess – yes.’
‘What a coil,’ he mused. ‘I had planned to marry, to settle down, you know how it is. My aunt sent me a miniature of the Freemantle chit with a long story about how the girl had seen me in the Park and had fallen instantly in love. Miss Freemantle is from a good background. I thought it time to marry. My affections were not engaged. Mr and Mrs Freemantle came to see me. My lawyers met their lawyers. All was arranged. I thought it time to call and see this maiden who was so enamoured of me. The house was in an uproar. Maiden fled. Aunt had lied. Governess interrogated. Yes, she is a vastly silly woman. At last, parents decide the girl has gone to Exeter to visit her old nurse. I thought that if I took the stage myself and asked at inns and posting-houses on the road, I might catch up with her. Why on earth does she think I might want to marry her now?’
‘Because she is so very beautiful.’
‘Did she say that?’
‘I think it was more the voice of Miss Cudlipp speaking in her head.’
‘Talk some sense into her, Miss Pym, I beg of you. She might do something silly, like running off into the snow.’
‘I shall do my best,’ said Hannah, ‘but the damage done by a silly governess is hard to counteract in a short space of time.’
‘What takes you to Exeter, Miss Pym?’
‘I have never seen Exeter.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘I have a wish to travel,’ said Hannah, clasping her long, thin fingers.’
‘On the common stage?’
‘The stage-coaches are not common to me,’ said Hannah. ‘I used to watch them going along the Kensington Road. All that motion and adventure.’
‘You live in Kensington?’
‘Yes, at Thornton Hall.’
Lord Harley looked at her curiously. ‘You must be one of the Clarences.’
‘Distantly related, my lord,’ said Hannah, quickly lowering her eyes.
‘Indeed? And which branch of the family would that be?’
Hannah felt a stab of panic. The aristocracy and gentry knew everything about everyone. It was their way of making sure that no interloper or adventurer broke into their gilded ranks. There were ladies, Hannah knew, who did little else but discuss families and relations.
She looked miserably into her brandy glass and prayed for inspiration.
‘You are not running away as well?’ asked Lord Harley sharply.
No reply.
‘Come, I shall find out, you know. Clarence died only recently, and I am a friend of his brother, Sir George.’
‘I lied,’ said Hannah miserably. ‘I was the housekeeper at Thornton Hall for years and years. Mr Clarence left me five thousand pounds in his will. It has always been my dream to travel and see the world.’
‘There was no need to lie to me.’
Hannah raised her eyes. ‘There was every need,’ she said passionately. ‘Servants, my lord, are the most despised class in England. Oh, I have heard the ladies talk about us often in the days when Mrs Clarence used to entertain. Hard as we work, we are regarded as some sort of parasite. The tradesmen and artisans despise us too. They consider the whole servant class lazy and unskilled. You ask me to talk sense to Miss Freemantle. If that young lady realized for a moment she was talking to a servant, then she would not listen to a word I said.’
He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Strange as it may
seem, Miss Pym, there was a Pym in my family, a fourth cousin, recently dead, of the Surrey Pyms, the last of the line. I will make you a present. Use your good sense with Miss Freemantle, and you may claim me as kinsman to all who care to listen.’
‘It is of no use,’ said Hannah. ‘My voice …’
‘What is up with your voice?’
‘There is a certain coarseness of accent.’
‘My dear Miss Pym, as a lady of your years should know, it is only recently that the ton started ruthlessly shedding their regional accents. I myself went to see a great-aunt in Edinburgh and could not make out a word she was saying. You are over-sensitive on the subject of rank. Banish it from your mind. If it helps, you are now Miss Pym of Surrey.’
‘I felt very wicked lying like that,’ said Hannah in a small voice. ‘Perhaps it is best to tell the truth, and if people are of any worth at all, they will not despise me. Sir George did not. He … he took me to Gunter’s.’
‘Well, there you are. But the world is a wicked and vain place, and there are many misguided people like Emily Freemantle. Think on it. You may use relationship to me as you think fit.’ He gave her a charming smile. ‘You have perhaps too much character for a gentlewoman and too much concern for others. Why, for example, did you think to bring poor little Mr Fletcher clean linen and a new wig? They were Miss Freemantle’s, I assume, and I am also sure she would never have thought of such a thing.’
Hannah put her hands to her face in sudden consternation. ‘I have stolen from her,’ she whispered.
‘She has no need of them. Tell her I commanded you to find something. But you have not answered my question.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Hannah put down her glass. ‘It is this wicked evil drink, my lord. It made me feel so confident, so assured, that it did not dawn on me until now that I was stealing.’
‘Tell her first thing in the morning, and if she is enraged, let me know and I will hand everything back, even if I have to rip it off Mr Fletcher. But what was in your mind?’
‘I feel Mr Fletcher is a bachelor and has never had anyone to care for him,’ said Hannah slowly. ‘I do not like that Captain Seaton. I suspect he is an adventurer and after little Mrs Bisley’s money. You see, I feel she was married to Mr Bisley and probably very fond of him for a long time. She is one of those ladies who rely totally on a gentleman for their very existence. The captain cleverly moved into the vacuum created by Mr Bisley’s death. Mrs Bisley should have more time to mourn. As it was, I think she saw in the disgusting captain a broad shoulder to lean on. Mr Fletcher has a neglected air, neglected in body and spirit. I do not think he has much money, and I do not think anyone has ever cared for him. I thought that perhaps if he were arrayed in clean linen and a good wig, then perhaps …’
Her voice trailed away. Lord Harley roared with laughter, his black eyes dancing. ‘I’ faith, Miss Pym, you are a travelling matchmaker.’
‘It was the drink,’ said Hannah in a hollow voice.
‘Poor Mr Fletcher,’ said Lord Harley with a grin. ‘Into what masterful hands he has fallen. I scrub his back and you make over his clothes. Let well alone, Miss Pym, and heed my advice. Never think for a moment you can alter the course of people’s affections. Now we shall have some sobering coffee and go to bed.’
He rang the bell. No one answered its summons. The inn was quiet apart from the roaring of the wind in the chimney.
At last the landlord appeared, looking worried. ‘Beg pardon, my lord,’ he said, ‘but the maids went to their homes in the town as they usually do, along with the waiters, me not having the room to house them here. I got the ostlers to help them through the storm. There’s not one here now but me and missus, and she is feeling poorly. I myself will bring you anything you desire.’
‘Go to bed, landlord,’ said Hannah quickly before Lord Harley could say anything.. ‘I shall fetch coffee myself. You will need your strength for the morrow.’
‘Thank you, mum, but it don’t seem fitting.’
‘Anything is fitting in such a storm as this. Pray retire,’ said Hannah, ‘and I shall look at your wife tomorrow and see if she needs help.’
When the landlord had bowed his way out, stammering his thanks, Hannah said, ‘I shall fetch the coffee now, my lord.’
‘You are no longer a servant, Miss Pym. It appears we must all be our own servants, and it will do us no harm. Lead the way!’
He followed Hannah through a long narrow corridor and then through a green baize door and so to the kitchen of the inn, which was at the back. Here the noise of the storm was worse than ever. He sat at the table and watched as Hannah ground coffee beans and then made a jug of coffee. She was arranging cups on a tray when he said languidly, ‘We will drink it here. Are you never tired, Miss Pym?’
‘I am fortunate in needing very little sleep,’ said Hannah. ‘Oh, my lord, what a wonderful day it has been. God is very good.’
‘You amaze me, Miss Pym. To my mind we have endured a day which would make most sober people doubt the existence of their Maker.’
‘But they have not been starved for adventure, as I,’ said Hannah.
They fell into a companionable silence. Lord Harley felt he knew why Sir George, a high stickler if ever there was one, had decided to take the housekeeper to Gunter’s. There was something childlike about this Miss Pym, an innocence that was strangely endearing. He thought of Emily Freemantle and his face hardened. What a fool he had been to settle for an arranged marriage. It was not that he did not believe in love. Several of his friends had been fortunate to find it. But he himself never had and was sure now he never would. All he wanted was to settle down with some amiable female and bring up a family. But the next time, he would go about it all the time-honoured way and court and get to know the lady first.
He drained his coffee and thanked Hannah and stood up and stretched his arms above his head. Then he exclaimed, ‘I forgot about Mr Fletcher’s bath, and there is no one to take it down.’
‘I shall help you,’ said Hannah.
And so it was. While Mr Fletcher slept curled up in the large bed, Hannah and Lord Harley, on Hannah’s instructions, opened the bedroom window, which was fortunately on the leeward side of the inn, and poured out jugs of dirty bath water into the snow. And then Lord Harley lugged the empty bath down to the kitchen, where he left it propped against the back door.
Hannah went to her own room, washed in now cold water, changed into a voluminous night-gown, tied her nightcap under her chin, and crept into bed beside Emily.
Lord Harley was right, she thought sleepily, there was no need to interfere. But Emily was so beautiful and he was so handsome and Emily’s parents would be overjoyed if they were to marry after all and that silly Miss Cudlipp would be confounded.
And, still making plans in her head, Hannah fell asleep.
4
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter,
Long ago.
Christina Rossetti
Hannah awoke at six o’clock, climbed out of bed and drew back the curtains. She could see nothing but a sort of raging white wilderness. She washed and dressed and then raked out the fire and lighted it. If Emily wanted hot water to wash herself, then she would need to fetch it from the kitchen. Hannah was sure none of the servants would be able to manage to get to work that day.
She went down to the kitchen. Mrs Silvers was sitting at the table wearing a night-gown, a wrapper, and a huge red nightcap. Her nose was red and her eyes watery.
‘Oh, Miss Pym,’ she said. ‘I do feel mortal bad.’
‘Then you must go to bed,’ said Hannah briskly. ‘Where is your husband?’
‘Out at the stables, rousing the post-boys. They sleeps over the stables.’
‘Good,’ said Hannah, relieved to find that there was some help. She looked around her. The soiled linen lay piled up in a basket in the corner, but the fire was blazing brightly. ‘Please do go to bed, Mrs Silvers,�
� she urged, ‘or we shall all catch your cold. We can all make shift for ourselves.’ Her eyes gleamed green with excitement. ‘It is an adventure for me.’
Mrs Silvers went reluctantly and Hannah set to work, filling a huge copper with water from the scullery pump and hanging it on a hook over the fire. She found a bar of washing soap and began to shave flakes off it for the wash. There was a container of chicken dung in the scullery, so useful for whitening yellow linen, but Hannah did not think she could bear the smell of it so early in the day. After she had put the clothes on to boil, she made herself a cup of hot chocolate, drank it and then ran up the stairs and roused Emily.
‘It is still darkness,’ moaned Emily. ‘What’s to do?’
‘The servants went home last night and are not able to return this day because of the ferocity of the storm. You must rouse yourself and help me prepare breakfast.’
‘I!’ said Emily aghast. ‘I, work in a common inn kitchen? No, I thank you. I would rather starve.’ She pulled the blankets over her head.
‘In that case you will starve!’ said Hannah. ‘If you are not prepared to work, then you will not be allowed to eat.’ She went out and slammed the door behind her.
Lord Harley heard the indomitable Hannah rousing Mrs Bradley and Mrs Bisley. He heard her tell them that there were no servants and that she was in need of help. He picked up his watch and looked at it by the light of the rushlight beside his bed. Seven o’clock. He groaned. But she had the right of it. Everyone must help. He swung his long legs out of bed and then twisted around and looked at the sleeping Mr Fletcher. The lawyer lay calmly asleep. His face looked younger with the lines smoothed away. Lord Harley decided to leave him. Wouldn’t be of much help anyway, he thought.
Emily did not go back to sleep. At first she felt tearful. Here she was in a strange inn with that monster somewhere about and she was expected to work like a common servant. It was too bad.
Then she heard Mrs Bradley’s voice from the corridor. ‘Right you are, Miss Pym, m’dear. Just get my duds on and I’ll be with you in a trice.’ And then the sleepy voice of Mrs Bisley: ‘I shall be there, too, Miss Pym. Give me but twenty minutes.’
