by M C Beaton
“Leave the good lady alone and mind your own business, young man,” said Fergus quietly. He covered Alice’s hand with his own, and Alice blushed and looked down.
“This is what I get for all my loyalty,” shouted Joseph. “Everyone’s smelling of April and May, ‘cept Lizzie, who prefers to sell her body.”
Angus crossed the kitchen and jerked the footman to his feet by his cravat.
“I’ve a guid mind tae wash your mouth out with soap,” he said.
“It’s true,” said Joseph. “Ask her. Ask Lizzie who she was with in Oxford Street tonight. Oh, we’re going to getthe pub, ain’t we? And we’re all going to live happily ever after, ain’t we? Mrs. Middleton will marry Rainbird and I’ll marry Lizzie and we’ll all be one big happy family in that poxy, tumbledown pub in the country. Pah! Ask her where she’s been and what’s she’s been doin’ of.”
Angus made a noise of disgust and let the footman go. Mrs. Middelton said quietly, “Lizzie! What is all this about?”
“I was going to tell you,” said Lizzie. “I didn’t have the courage before. I am going to be married.”
“Married? To whom?”
“To a Mr. Paul Gendreau. He was the Comte St. Bertin’s valet. But the comte died and left him money.”
“And you fell for it,” jeered Joseph. “Whenever did a valet with money marry the likes of you?”
“He is going to marry me,” shouted Lizzie. “And I’m going away and I am not going to the pub. So there!”
“And I’m not going to that pub neither, then,” yelled Joseph. “I’m going to be the Charteris’ first footman. And it’s all on account o’ you, Lizzie. I knew you was playing me false.”
“You don’t care for me one bit,” said Lizzie. “Not one little bit! All you care about’s yourself, you great popinjay.”
Incensed, Joseph slapped Lizzie across the face. With a growl, the cook fell on Joseph and the pair rolled over on the floor, Angus punching and Joseph screaming and kicking and gouging.
The door opened and Rainbird walked in, followed by Dave. He jumped on the two fighters and tried to pull them apart, calling to Fergus for help. At last Joseph and Angus were separated.
“What is going on?” demanded Rainbird, seizing a towel and wiping the rain-water from his face.
An angry babble of voices answered him.
“One at a time,” said the butler, sitting down. His eyes went over their faces. “You first, Mrs. Middleton.”
“I am to marry Angus MacGregor, Mr. Rainbird,” said Mrs. Middleton.
Joseph’s malicious eyes darted eagerly to the butler’s face, waiting to see it contorted in anger, but to his surprise, Rainbird looking immensely relieved. The butler rose to his feet, raised Mrs. Middleton’s hand to his lips, and kissed it.
“All happiness to you both,” he said. “This is a cause for celebration, not fighting. Now, what started the trouble? Lizzie?”
Lizzie, tearful and defiant, told the story of her engagement.
“Well, be it a respectable offer, then I am happy for you,” said Rainbird quietly. “But why did this Gendreau fellow not call on me?”
“Because of the pub,” said Lizzie wretchedly. “I hadn’t the courage to say I would not be going with you.”
“Then you must tell him to call on me tomorrow—today,” amended Rainbird with a glance at the clock. “You have no family but us, Lizzie, and you need someone to interview this gentleman for you.”
“She was promised to me,” said Joseph. “You know that.”
“It was understood, yes,” said Rainbird. “But I never thought you would suit.”
“What!” screeched Joseph, sounding like a parrot getting its tail feathers pulled.
“And Joseph is not going with us either,” said Mrs. Middleton. “He is to be first footman for Lord Charteris.”
“So Blenkinsop got after you, did he?” said Rainbird. “How can you think of going on being a servant when freedom is at hand, Joseph?”
Everyone had forgotten that the intently listening Fergus was not supposed to know about their future.
“I’ was on account of Lizzie being unfaithful to me,” said Joseph sulkily.
“The real truth, Joseph,” said Rainbird sharply.
“S’welp me Gawd …”
“Joseph!”
“Well, I didn’t want to go to the country,” muttered Joseph. “There’s nothing there for a fellow to do. All horses and sheep and cows and smelly animals like that. Waiting on table in ordinary dress. No livery.”
“But our livery is a very sign of our servitude!”
“You may think what you like about your’n,” said Joseph hotly, “but I look very fine in mine … when it’s brushed and pressed, that is, and hasn’t been mauled around by some Scotch barbarian.”
“Enough, Joseph,” chided Rainbird, seeing the cook was ready to return to the battle. “So now we have a situation where neither Lizzie nor Joseph will be with us … or …?”
He cocked his head and looked inquisitively at Alice, who sat hand in hand with Fergus.
“I must speak to my master first,” said Fergus. “But I have asked Alice if she will be willing to have me and she has said yes. I cannot marry without his grace’s permission, but I trust he will find me employ as perhaps a keeper on one of his estates. He can be very haughty, but he has never been so with me. And since he has been here, I have detected a softening in his attitude to others.”
“But you could always join our venture,” said Mrs. Middleton.
“Perhaps,” said Fergus. But the jealous Fergus wanted Alice all to himself and did not want to share her with these servants, who, he feared, might turn out to behave towards him in the manner of so many mothers-in-law.
“And Jenny?” asked Rainbird.
“Angus and I are going to adopt Jenny,” said Mrs. Middleton. “Now that Lizzie and Alice are settled, it would only be fair to give our Jenny the position of daughter of the house.”
The others cheered and laughed at the idea, telling the chambermaid that Angus would have her speaking Gaelic in no time at all. Only Joseph sat silent. No one had screamed or protested at his going. No one wanted to adopt him—not that he wanted a quiz like Angus MacGregor for a father.
“Aye, it’s going to be me and Mrs. Middleton and Jenny with Mr. Rainbird and Dave to run the pub,” said Angus.
“No,” said Rainbird quietly.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Dave burst into speech. “Mr. Rainbird’s goin’ on the stage, wiff me to help him. We’re goin’ to be ever so rich. Strewth! You should ha’ seen that audience tonight laugh and cheer and the Duke o’ Pelham hisself right in the side box watchin’ Mr. Rainbird act the part o’ Palmer, juggling the books.”
Rainbird was immediately surrounded by them all, demanding to know what Dave was talking about. He told them about his performance and of how he had decided to show up Palmer on the stage.
When all the exclamations and questions had died down, Fergus said, “Why did you not tell my master of your suspicions?”
“Because,” said Rainbird, “when I listened at the doorto him talking to Palmer, he seemed surprised at the paucity of our wages but not as shocked as he should be. I do not know him well and feared he might prove clutch-fisted.”
“Not his grace,” said Fergus loyally. “He is often cold and indifferent-seeming with both servants and soldiers, and yet he always treats them fairly and looks out for their welfare. Me, he has treated more as a friend than servant. I have never had reason to complain of the money he pays me.”
“But can we afford to run this pub now?” asked Mrs. Middleton. “Alice and Lizzie will need dowries. Joseph will keep his share of the money, as will you and Dave.”
“You can keep mine,” said Rainbird, “and Dave’s. We talked about it on the way back.”
“Mr. Gendreau told me I need no dowry,” said Lizzie. “So you can have mine.”
“Provided his grace agrees to my marriage
and sets me up in some capacity,” added Fergus, “then I do not wish a dowry from Alice.”
“What’s that hammering at the door!” cried Rainbird, starting up.
He ran up the back stairs, followed by Joseph, Angus, and Fergus.
A member of the Horse Patrol stood on the steps, instantly recognisable as such by his blue greatcoat, black leather hat, and scarlet waistcoat.
“There’s a swell cove locked up in the round-house with his moll what says he’s the Duke o’ Pelham. He says if his man, Fergus, comes along, he can vouch for his identity.”
“We will all go,” said Rainbird. “It must be the duke himself, for he is not yet returned.”
All the momentous things that had happened in the servants’ hall, all the changes in their future plans had kept everyone over-excited. The ladies would not consider being left behind.
So, to the Horse Patrol officer’s amazement, it was a whole household of servants who walked behind his horse as he led them through the rain-washed streets to the round-house. Far above the twisted, jumbled chimneys, the thunder gave a last menacing grumble, and the stars shone in a clear sky.
The Duke of Pelham thought he would never get free, even after the arrival of his servants. Everyone was shouting explanations. Miss Jenny Sutherland had so far forgotten herself as to run from one servant to another, hugging them and calling them “the best of people,” and telling them that Palmer had indeed been cheating the duke.
When he was finally borne out of the round-house at the front of the little crowd, it was to find that Rainbird had every intention of going straight to Palmer’s lodgings and confronting him.
“When you identified me, I immediately ordered Palmer’s arrest,” said the duke wearily. “Leave the matter to the authorities. I found all the money he had stolen from me.”
“I found it!” said Jenny hotly. “You would never have found it by yourself. Oh, do let us go, Pelham, and see the end to the story.”
She was hanging on his arm and smiling up into his face. His heart gave a lurch. “Very well,” he said weakly. He turned to Rainbird. “But immediately we get home, I want an explanation from you.”
Palmer lived in lodgings off Oxford Circus. But by the time they got there, the agent had already fled. A man wholived in the attics above his office, who had heard the shot and alerted the constable, had run round to Palmer’s lodgings to tell him that an impostor calling himself the Duke of Pelham had been arrested. From his description of the “impostor,” Palmer knew the game was up. For if the duke had shot open the office door instead of waiting to see him in the morning, then it was certain the duke had somehow found out about his, Palmer’s, trickery.
“Let us try the coaching stations,” cried Rainbird.
“No, leave it be,” said the duke. “The authorities will find him if he can be found.”
They meekly obeyed him this time, and they all set out on foot for Clarges Street.
It was a silent group. Rainbird knew he was going to have an unpleasant interview; Fergus dreaded the duke’s possibly refusing to give him a post that would allow him to marry.
Jenny was blushing all over as she thought of her own behaviour in Palmer’s office. All that time in the roundhouse, the duke had not said one word of love, only raged up and down demanding their release.
“Everyone into the front parlour,” said the duke when they reached Number 67. “And let’s get to the bottom of this.”
Jenny stood back a little. He seemed to have forgotten her existence. She felt she should go home and yet knew she would not sleep unless he smiled at her just once more or showed some sign that he cared for her, if only a little.
At first the duke found it hard to make out what it was all about as everyone started to talk at once. They were going to buy a pub; the chambermaid was crying out that she was the cook’s daughter; the footman was screeching that Lizzie had betrayed him; and Fergus was beseechinghim for the post of gamekeeper or some other employment that would allow him to marry as soon as possible.
But at last, they all quietened down, and he heard the story from the beginning. “But why did Palmer claim he paid you low wages—even if they were in fact higher than the ones you actually got? He could have fleeced me for more,” said the duke at one point.
“It was because, I think,” said Rainbird, “that he did not wish to bring the running of this house too much to your attention. He could explain away the low rent for the house, for this house is reported to be unlucky, and people were too superstitious to pay a good rent for it. But if you noticed that you were keeping a whole staff of servants all year round at reasonable wages, then you might have inquired further. Palmer enjoyed the power he had over us. He enjoyed our misery and seeing us starve. That was more important to him than any money. He cheated you in this respect out of a matter of habit.”
“He was certainly taking enough from me in other ways,” said the duke, “but never too much. Most of the gold I—we—found had been accumulated over the years, I think. He was clever enough not to be too greedy. You are not the only servants who were paid low wages, although none fared as badly as you. I had meant to review all the wages when the Season was over. I shall give you a sum of money towards your pub to make up for what you have suffered. Now, is there any more?”
There was. Another half hour passed while Rainbird explained his theatrical career, and Fergus begged to marry Alice.
“This is all too much,” said the duke, clutching his golden curls. “Yes, Fergus. I shall find you something close to me, for I do not wish to lose you.” He turned to Angus MacGregor. “So it appears you and Mrs. Middleton are to have the running of this pub. Do you think you can be successful? Is the building in good repair?”
“I havenae seen it, your grace,” said Angus. “Mr. Rainbird bought it for us. We were not planning to leave you until the end of the Season. We have not had time to go to Highgate.”
“You may go now, if you wish,” said the duke. “You may all consider yourselves free. But I would suggest we all get some sleep.”
But that word “free” had made all their dreams—with the exception of Joseph’s—a reality.
“Why not now?” said Mrs. Middleton boldly. “I could not sleep. We could go now. See, it is light already.”
“Miss Sutherland,” said the duke, looking at her tired face, “please go. Tell Lady Letitia I shall call on her.”
“Take me with you,” said Jenny suddenly to Mrs. Middleton. “Take me to see this pub.” Jenny was afraid to let her time with these servants end, for fear it would mean an end to her time with the Duke of Pelham.
“Miss Sutherland, Lady Letitia will be alarmed to find you not in your bed. She may even be looking for you.”
“I could tell her I had gone out driving with you, Pelham …” said Jenny.
“At six in the morning?” said the duke. “Nonsense.”
“Oh, I see,” said Jenny sadly. A scarlet blush coloured her face and she looked at her hands.
The alarmed duke realised in a flash that Jenny thought he had kissed her for a whim and now wished to forget about the whole thing. And he didn’t.
He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to make sure he had her all to himself before another man in London saw her. But dukes did not go to Highgate with their servantsto look at a pub after a night in the round-house. Dukes did not …
Jenny’s lip trembled.
“This is idiotic,” he said, “but I suppose we could leave a note for your aunt explaining the situation. Yes, we will all go to Highgate!”
That redoubtable female, Mrs. Freemantle, arrived home at dawn as usual and stood on the steps of Number 71, swaying slightly, and waving drunkenly to the party of young men who had escorted her home. She unlocked the door, tripped over the threshold and stretched her length in the hall. The tiles of the floor were beautifully cool and she was just closing her eyes to settle down for a short nap when she saw a letter lying just beside her head. She picked it
up and rolled over on her back, cracked open the heavy seal, and squinted up at it.
“Pelham,” she murmured. “Gone to a pub in Highgate with Jenny … calling later to ask permission to pay his addresses … drat, this must be for Letitia.” She tossed the letter on one side and closed her eyes. Her feet, encased in bronze kid Roman sandals, were sticking out onto the doorstep; her turban had fallen from her head. A light breeze moved through the coarse hairs of her scarlet wig.
But before she could drift off to sleep, the full impact of what she had just read blazed in letters of fire across her brain.
“The deuce!” she screamed, leaping to her feet. “Letitia! Letitia!” She staggered to the stairs and managed to run up four of them before swaying helplessly like a person on a tightrope and falling back down again.
By crawling on her hands and knees, hauling herself up the staircase as if scaling a mountain in the Alps, shefinally reached the second floor. She drew a great breath. “Letitia!” she shouted.
Lady Letitia came out of her bedroom, looking dazed and alarmed.
“Pelham’s going to marry Jenny,” said Mrs. Freemantle, and then hiccupped.
“Of course he is,” said Lady Letitia soothingly. Mrs. Freemantle, who had been on all fours, slid forward onto her face and went to sleep.
“Oh dear,” said Lady Letitia. “I do not know how Agnes can consume such quantities of wine and stay alive. I shall get the coffee-pot before I try to get her to bed.”
She returned to her room for a wrapper and then made her way downstairs to find the street door wide open and a letter addressed to herself with the seal broken drifting across the tiled floor on the morning breeze.
Lady Letitia carried the letter down to the kitchen, stoked up the fire, swung a kettle on the idle back, and then rested one hip on the kitchen table and read the letter.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said. She ran from the kitchen and up the stairs again, calling “Agnes!” at the top of her voice.
When they arose that morning, Mrs. Freemantle’s servants grumbled to find the kettle boiled dry and a hole burnt in the bottom of it.
