by Amanda Scott
“They be gey stuck, m’lady,” Nancy said, stepping out of the way and looking critically around the room.
“My shutter at home sticks, too,” Laurie said, giving the shutters a sharp thump with her fist. “’Tis the nature of shutters, I believe, particularly after it rains.”
“It’s no rained for weeks,” Nancy said as she put the torch in a bracket provided for the purpose near the door. “But neither ha’ the master ordered the ones opened and I see now that ye’ve nobbut a wee stub of a candle in yon dish. What wi’ all the other work me mam and me ha’ to do, and no one sleepin’ here, we’ve no got round to cleaning this chamber yet a while. We thought ye’d sleep wi’ Sir Hugh. When he shouted, I were just meanin’ to go to his chamber wi’ that torch, in case ye needed me. They said in the yard that ye didna bring a woman wi’ ye.”
“Godamercy, are you and your mother the only maidservants in the castle?”
“Aye,” Nancy said. “Her ladyship brung a woman with her, but she only does for Lady Marjory. She willna lift a finger otherwise.”
“Mercy,” Laurie exclaimed, opening the shutters at last and taking a deep breath of fresh evening air. It was dark out now. “But why no more?” she asked. “Sir Hugh seems wealthy enough to afford any number of servants.”
“Aye, but after Mistress Janet went, no woman would come here. Their men all said a household wi’out a mistress were no suited for ’em.”
“Then you and your mam came because of Lady Marjory?”
“Nay, then,” Nancy said as she moved to smooth the coverlet and plump pillows on the curtained bed. “Her ladyship ha’ been here but a wee while,” she added. “Me mam brought us here months ago, when the master sent Ned Rowan to look after our farm. Our da died, chasing reivers.” Nibbling her lower lip, she cast Laurie an oblique, rueful look.
Matter-of-factly, Laurie said, “Scottish reivers, I expect.”
“Aye,” Nancy said, looking down at her hands.
“’Tis ever the way,” Laurie said quietly. “Women and children sit at home, wondering if the men will return again, no matter what side of the line they are on.”
“Aye, that’s what Mistress Janet did say,” Nancy said with a nod. Then, with a sigh, she added, “Sir Hugh said our mam needs a new husband. But she didna want to take Ned Rowan.”
“I can understand that, too,” Laurie said with feeling.
“Sir Hugh were vexed at first when Mam refused Ned Rowan,” Nancy said. “But then he said that if Mam would cook for ’im, at least we’d be safe here. Our Andrew, though, all he can think about is shooting reivers, just like our da.”
“Is Andrew your only brother?”
“Nay, then, I’m cursed wi’ three o’ them,” Nancy said as she stepped away from the bed and bent to wipe cobwebs off a stool with a handful of her skirt. “Our new bairn is a girl like me, though—only smaller, o’ course.”
“So your mother looks after five children and does the cooking and cleaning for the castle, as well.”
“Aye, but I help her. Wee Susan’s nobbut a babe yet.” She glanced at the cold, bare hearth. “Shall I fetch ye some wood, my—?” Looking self-conscious, she broke off. “Can I call ye ‘mistress’ then, or must it always be Mistress Halliot?”
“‘Mistress’ is enough, or perhaps you could call me ‘Mistress Laura,’ as our servants at home do,” Laurie said. “I’d like that.”
“Aye, sure. Shall I leave ye this torch, then?”
“Yes, please, unless you need it to light your way. As for wood, if you will tell a manservant to bring some up—and a tinderbox—I can light a fire after supper. Or perhaps the manservant might return then and light one for me.”
“Likely, Mistress Janet left a tinderbox somewhere hereabouts,” Nancy said. “Mam will tell our Andrew to bring up your wood.” She did not question Laurie’s suggestion that she could make her own fire.
That omission told Laurie much more about the household. Just the thought of one of the family at Aylewood building his or her fire would scandalize their servants. Laurie had learned to do so only because Lucy Elliot had been willing to teach her such things when she visited the cottage in Tarras Wood.
“Tell Andrew to bring a broom, too,” Laurie said. “And some candles.”
Nodding, Nancy gave the stool a last, hasty rub and hurried away.
A gentle breeze wafted through the open window, and finding herself alone for the first time since leaving Aylewood, Laurie walked over to look outside. There was no moon yet. She could make out dense shapes in the darkness, but little else.
The breeze was fresh and bore a slight chill. She would be glad of a fire.
Soon she heard the clatter of the boy’s boots on the stairs, and a moment later he appeared on the threshold with a leather sling of wood hanging so heavily from his right hand that it dragged down his whole right side. He held a besom broom tucked under that arm and the satchel from her saddle in his left hand.
“This be Mistress Janet’s room,” he said with strong accusation in his voice.
“Yes,” she said. “It is a very pleasant room.”
“Aye, it is,” he agreed, setting down the sling of wood and reaching into his shirt to extract two candles. “I’ve brung wood and these candles. Someone brung the wee satchel and said ye’d want it, and Nan said ye wanted the broom.”
“Thank you. Put the satchel on the bed. It contains only a few of my things. Will you come back later to light the fire for me, or have you other chores to do?”
“Me mam said I’m to do it now, but ye should close yon shutters first. Mistress Janet always said we should when she came to our cot. ’Cause when they’re open they let out the warm, she said.”
Amused by his knowledgeable air, she went to shut them while he lighted the two candles from the torch Nancy had left
While he dripped hot tallow into a pewter dish to set the first candle in, Laurie tried to figure out how the shutters’ latch worked. By the time she had done so and turned back, he had attended to the second candle and was kneeling on the hearth, dealing competently with the fire. Soon, it was crackling merrily.
Looking at her over his shoulder, he said, “I’ll slip down the noo and bring ye some water. Me mam said ye’d likely be wanting a wash afore supper.”
“Thank you,” Laurie said. “You must be a big help to her.”
He grimaced. “I stay in the stables, mostly, and Sir Hugh said if I’m good, I can help ’em put his mark on the new cattle over Haggbeck way. I dinna like bein’ indoors, fetching and carrying. I’d rather be out helpin’ the men wi’ the beasts.”
Since she felt much the same way, Laurie merely thanked him for all he had done and dismissed him. She passed the time until he returned with her hot water by exploring the bedchamber, then turned her attention to refreshing her appearance.
She had scrubbed her face and was washing her hands when, without ceremony, Lady Marjory entered and said with brisk good cheer, “Oh, good. I see they have managed to provide you with hot water. I must warn you, you will learn quickly that one must not rely too heavily upon the servants here.”
“They seem pleasant folk to me,” Laurie said.
“Oh, yes, indeed,” Lady Marjory agreed. She smiled and added confidingly, “My woman complains unceasingly, but I warrant Griselda would complain in any house outside the gates of London. Indeed, I know she does, because she even complained in Southampton when we stayed with my daughter Sarah, and again in Cornwall, when we visited my daughter Philadelphia.”
“So you are enjoying a round of visits with your family,” Laurie said. “That must be pleasant for you—a regular royal progress.”
“Oh, I am not visiting, my dear. I am surprised that our dear Sir Hugh did not explain. I have come to lend him the benefit of my experience in running a large household, because his sister, Janet, has married and gone to live in Scotland.”
“How kind you are to have come so far to look after him!”
“Yes, it was a tiresome journey, but I am persuaded that he must be glad to have me here, for I found this household in a dreadful state. But I must confess to you that even my presence has not stirred the servants to a much higher standard.”
“It seems a rather large place,” Laurie said, reaching for the towel Andrew had provided with her water.
“Indeed, although it is not so large as my house in London.”
“Surely, though, it is too large for one woman and a few small children to manage,” Laurie added, hanging the towel on a hook by the washstand to dry.
“Doubtless, that is so,” Lady Marjory agreed. She peered critically at the bed curtains without touching them. “Dear me,” she said, “these curtains want shaking. I see cobwebs between the folds.”
“It would help, perhaps, if there were more maidservants,” Laurie suggested.
“Oh, I dare not hire more, my dear, and although Sir Hugh has a steward, the man says he deals only with the farms and such, not the household. In any event, I warrant that Sir Hugh would very much dislike seeing more women about the place when he is not used to them, and we must not plague him with trivial matters. In my experience, gentlemen dislike change,” she went on. “It ruffles their feathers, as you might say, and I’m told that Sir Hugh has a fearsome temper. Indeed, just now, after you left the hall, he spoke rather disagreeably to me.”
“He should not have done that,” Laurie said, “not when you have been so kind to him. Whatever did he say?”
“Nothing to disturb me, I promise you,” Lady Marjory said with an airy wave. “I know that he suffered a tiresome day, so I paid him no heed. Still, it just goes to show how careful we must be, does it not? A woman’s duty is to see to a man’s comfort, not to irritate him, and poor, dear Sir Hugh has so many duties that he is quite shamefully busy. As if his duties as warden were not enough to consume his time, they are marking all the livestock again in preparation for winter. But it was just the same with Brampton, I promise you,” she added with a deep sigh.
Laurie said no more. She had finished her ablutions, so she did what she could to tidy her hair while Lady Marjory wandered around the bedchamber, peeping into the wardrobe, opening coffers, and maintaining a steady stream of commentary. The gist of it was that her ladyship had come to the sad conclusion that Janet Graham—“or Janet Scott as I fear we must call her now”—was not a very competent housekeeper.
“But I should not say such things when she is not here to defend herself,” she said when she had run out of things to bemoan. “It is unfair, and I expect that she had much on her mind, poor dear. In any event, she is not here now, and we must do what we can. Are you ready to go downstairs, my dear? You look quite presentable, but I wonder that you do not choose to change your gown for supper.”
Laurie said, “I thought Sir Hugh had explained how I came here, madam. When I left home this morning, I had no idea that I would be coming to Brackengill. As a result, I have no clothing other than what I stand in and the cloak that a manservant took when I entered the hall.”
“Mercy, but what will you wear?”
“I expect that my father will send some things to me soon.”
“I could lend you something, I suppose,” Lady Marjory said doubtfully.
“Not unless you would agree to letting me alter it considerably, madam. I must be six inches shorter than you are, and plumper, too.”
“Well, we must think of something,” Lady Marjory said.
Laurie believed she would simply have to resign herself to waiting for her things to arrive, but she soon discovered that she had not yet learned the extent of Lady Marjory’s resilience to censure.
No sooner had they taken their places at the high table than the older woman said brightly to Sir Hugh, “One must suppose, my dear Sir Hugh, that you know exactly when our dear Laurie’s things will arrive.”
He blinked at her, clearly at sea. “What things?”
“Godamercy, sir, her clothing and other gear! I know that you are too kind to expect her to live here with nothing to wear but what she wears now.”
Sir Hugh shot a rueful look at Laurie. “I forgot,” he admitted. “Your father said something to the point, but I do not recall precisely what it was. Have you really nothing more than what you are wearing?”
“I was not expecting to be away longer than two days,” Laurie said evenly. “I brought my bed gown but not much else.”
He looked at her speculatively for a long moment, then said, “Since you are staying in my sister’s room, and you are much the same size as she is, you may take what you like from her wardrobe and chests.”
“I… I couldn’t!”
“Of course you can. Janet has no need of those things any longer. She sent for what she wanted weeks ago, and I’ve left the rest wherever it lies. You need not fear to upset her. She would be more upset to hear that you were staying here with only the clothes on your back.”
“But my father will send my things soon, sir. I’m sure he will.”
“Perhaps, but until he does, make use of what you will. We need not discuss this again. Just do as I say.”
He gave her a long look, as if he challenged her to defy him, but Laurie met the look silently. It was not her way to challenge authority—not directly, anyway.
Sixteen
The first step that she stepped in,
She stepped in to the knee…
AT FIRST, LAURIE’S TIME at Brackengill proved more pleasant than she had expected. In Janet Graham’s wardrobe and coffers she found a number of items that fit her, although the colors that Janet had chosen were not ones that Laurie would have chosen for herself. Most were the newer pale shades that were becoming popular, and she preferred deeper shades. But one pale yellow gown, and another of gray velvet she liked very much.
She discovered that she was smaller in the bosom and hips than Janet was, but that did not matter with clothing that laced, only with items that hooked or buttoned. Their feet were the same size, and she found a pair of boots, and a pair of black satin slippers that fit her perfectly.
Sir Hugh was busy. For the first week, she scarcely laid eyes on him except at mealtimes, and not always then. When he was present, however, he seemed to fill any room he entered, and she did not have to watch for him to know when he was nearby. The very air seemed to vibrate with his presence.
He had said nothing more about examining her, and he had kept his word about behaving toward her as he would a guest. His people treated her with respect, and despite many having attended the proceedings at Lochmaben, most seemed to have no more understanding of her true position than Lady Marjory did. Her ladyship seemed to have put all notion of hostages out of her head. She treated Laurie like one of the family, which was exactly what she believed Laurie was.
Not only did she bring along her own Griselda the morning after Laurie’s arrival to help choose clothing from Janet’s wardrobe, but her ladyship insisted that Laurie make use of Griselda whenever she had need of her.
Some of Laurie’s own clothing and a few trifles arrived from Aylewood at the end of that first week. A brief note from her father accompanied them, telling her to inform him if she wanted anything more than what he had sent. He said nothing about May, so she assumed that her sister still was missing.
Unaccustomed as Laurie was to kindness, she found Lady Marjory’s outright devotion to her comfort an entirely new experience. Never before had anyone put so much effort into considering her needs and wishes.
If Laurie entered a room that Lady Marjory occupied, that lady set aside whatever she was doing to inquire if there was aught that Laurie wanted or desired of her. If Laurie sat down, Lady Marjory provided a cushion for her back or a footstool for her feet and offered numerous suggestions as to how she might pass the time. If Laurie yawned, Lady Marjory suggested that she might like to take a nap, and if Laurie’s stomach rumbled, Lady Marjory sent instantly to the kitchen for something to stave off the hunger pangs.
If Lauri
e stayed too long in her bedchamber, she could be sure that Lady Marjory would soon appear, concerned that she might be ailing. And whenever Lady Marjory set foot in Laurie’s bedchamber, she instantly examined it, peering at curtains, coffers, and washstand as if to check on the servants’ work. Little did she know that Laurie looked after the bedchamber herself.
Indeed, the only thing that Lady Marjory did not attempt to provide for her was real activity, for her ladyship apparently had none to provide. She herself frequently took a tambour frame in hand but rarely applied her needle, and she showed no interest in common mending.
When, out of utter boredom, Laurie suggested that she might help with the mending, Lady Marjory said that such work was not suitable for a lady of gentle breeding and that Griselda would do whatever mending she required. Although Laurie had been thinking more of household mending, and perhaps Sir Hugh’s, she did not feel that such an explanation would impress Lady Marjory.
So it was that, despite her ladyship’s company and kindness, by the end of Laurie’s first week at Brackengill, she was thoroughly bored from lack of exercise and activity. After she had dressed each morning and swept her room, she found herself with little to do but converse with Lady Marjory.
For a time, that conversation at least provided entertainment, because Lady Marjory was content to talk at length about London and London ways. However, Laurie soon realized that her ladyship lacked an observing eye and had paid heed only to her own comfort and that of family members in her household. Since she was accustomed to having a steward and a houseful of servants at her beck and bay, even that subject soon proved a limited one.
The fact was that Lady Marjory preferred indolence to most other ways of occupying her time. She exerted herself only to question Sir Hugh’s activities and to make suggestions as to how she might aid him.
Sir Hugh, however, seemed receptive to few of those suggestions. Lady Marjory’s entrance into a room, Laurie noted, was frequently his signal to leave it.
Lady Marjory also occasionally looked over Meggie’s shoulder in the kitchen and offered advice to her. Most of it was either impractical or impossible, as far as Laurie could tell from her ladyship’s comments and observations afterward, but she was sure that all of it was kindly meant.
