The Lady's Maid
Page 5
‘I think perhaps rubies would suit you better.’
Josie frowned and her red lips pursed into an ominous pout. ‘You must never disagree with me on a point of fashion or taste. I know exactly what I want and need, and now I’m going to buttonhole my father and tell him to let Coggins go to Dorset.’ She moved towards the doorway, leaving a trail of gardenia perfume in her wake. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, a slow smile spreading across her face. ‘We’ll go too. I’ll tell Papa that I will represent the family at the funeral, as is only right and proper, and that you must accompany me. After all, it is your grandpa who is deceased and I can’t travel without a lady’s maid. This way I can escape the attentions of hateful Harry. It’s all coming together wonderfully well.’ She breezed out of the room leaving Kate to clear up a mess of discarded silk stockings, soiled undergarments and a dressing table littered with hairpins, pots of rouge, cut-crystal perfume bottles and combs.
Kate set everything in order before hurrying downstairs to take instructions from Toop, who had the footmen and maids lined up in the dining room while he inspected the covers on the huge mahogany table. Lady Damerell had adopted the relatively new fashion for dining à la russe, which consisted of several removes, rather than dining in the old style à la française, where all the dishes, both savoury and sweet, were put out at the same time. Cook had taken a while to come round to the idea and Toop had complained that there was insufficient cutlery to cope with the current fad, but Lady Damerell had insisted on ordering the recently invented fish knives and forks, which included special forks for oysters; and to confuse matters even more there were also different forks for salad and cakes, which according to her ladyship they simply must have. Sir Hector, it was said by his valet, had borne the cost of the silverware without complaint, and dinner parties at the house in Bedford Square had become more frequent. Hickson had put it about that Lady Damerell was now the most sought after hostess outside Mayfair, or would be if Sir Hector did not insist on retiring to the country while the London season was in full swing.
Even though she had been low down in the hierarchy below stairs, Kate had been aware of all this going on, and now she was seeing the revolutionary changes for herself as Toop went round to each place setting with his measuring stick, making minor adjustments until he was satisfied that everything was perfect. He spotted a glass that was not polished to diamond brightness and berated the senior footman soundly. He then detailed each of their duties, insisting that the guests should be served quickly and efficiently and in such a way that those waiting on the table were to all intents invisible. Kate was familiar with the military precision with which Toop instructed his staff but she had never actually served at table, and she was extremely nervous.
When the guests started to arrive it was Toop who ushered them into the square entrance hall with the cantilevered flight of stairs rising elegantly to the first floor. Huge urns of hothouse gardenias and clove-scented carnations filled the air, mingling with the perfume worn by the ladies and the liberal amounts of cologne used by their escorts. The newly installed gaslight fizzed and popped in the gasolier, Toop’s pride and joy, which was lowered to the floor daily and polished until the brass gleamed like gold.
Kate’s first task that evening was to take the gentlemen’s cloaks, hats and gloves while the senior chambermaid saw to the ladies. She stood at a respectful distance, keeping her gaze lowered as they shed their outer garments, only allowed to speak if anyone addressed a remark to her, which no one did until the last guest arrived. She averted her eyes quickly as she recognised Harry Challenor. Little thinking that he would remember her or if he did that he would say anything, she could hardly believe it when he walked past Toop and came to a halt in front of her. ‘Why, if it isn’t little Miss Nobody.’
She held her breath, hoping that he would go away if she did not respond, but the shiny leather shoes remained in her line of vision, stubbornly immovable. She knew that Toop was watching her every move and she kept her head down.
‘You can’t have forgotten me, Miss Nobody. We met this morning at the Soho Bazaar.’
She shot him a glance beneath her lashes. ‘Please go away. You’ll get me into trouble.’
He clicked his heels together and inclined his head in a formal bow. ‘Certainly. But at least tell me your name. I like to know to whom I’m speaking.’
‘Coggins, sir.’
‘That’s a damned ugly name for a pretty girl.’
Toop cleared his throat. ‘Would you care to follow me to the drawing room, sir?’
‘In a minute, my man. I’ve asked this young lady a perfectly reasonable question. Is there any reason why she should not answer it?’
‘No, sir.’
Kate could imagine Toop grinding his teeth in annoyance, and suddenly in spite of everything she wanted to laugh. She wished that Josie were here to share the joke. She raised her head and looked Harry in the eye. ‘My name is Kate Coggins, sir.’
‘Kate. That’s better. It suits you.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
He put the fancy box he was holding on a side table while he divested himself of his gloves, cloak and top hat, which he placed in Kate’s outstretched hands. ‘Thank you, Kate. I’m much obliged.’ He picked up the box and turned to Toop. ‘I’m ready to join the others now. Lead on.’
Toop marched off with his head held high, and having given Kate the full benefit of his charming smile Harry strolled after him. She was left holding his opera cloak and hat, and a pair of the softest peccary leather gloves she had ever seen. His garments had retained some of his body heat and smelt of lemon scented verbena, expensive pomade and just a trace of a Havana cigar. She could only guess that the box, which obviously contained expensive chocolates, was a gift for Josie. She suspected that Harry Challenor was living up to his reputation of being a confirmed lady’s man and a hopeless flirt, but she had glimpsed a hint of steel beneath the well-mannered charm. She could not help feeling that Josie had met her match.
Dinner passed without incident. The staff moved swiftly and silently, serving and clearing without mishap, and Kate was relieved not to have disgraced herself. Josie was apparently on her best behaviour, although she drank a little too much wine and instead of treating Harry with disdain she flirted with him quite outrageously. Kate had witnessed Josie’s sudden changes of mood so often in the past that she was not surprised by this about turn, but she could see that Lady Damerell was completely fooled by her daughter’s behaviour. She positively glowed with satisfaction, and Kate suspected that this was part of Josie’s plan. She wanted to lull both parents into a false sense of security so that when she asked if she might depart for their country estate earlier than planned they would willingly accede to her wishes. Despite the melancholy that gripped her heart, Kate had to smile to herself and secretly congratulate Josie on her cunning.
Flushed with the apparent success of her dinner party, Lady Damerell rose to her feet and invited the ladies to join her in the withdrawing room. Following Toop’s instructions, Kate went to serve them with coffee. She waited until they were seated, watching with a degree of curiosity as this was her first opportunity to see how the wives of wealthy men behaved when their husbands were not present. The ladies took their time arranging their voluminous skirts, each of them chattering nineteen to the dozen as if they had been suddenly released from the circumspect behaviour expected of them by their spouses. They reminded Kate forcibly of a flock of starlings coming home to roost.
Josie took a seat on the sofa beside her mother, clutching a box of Cadbury’s chocolates. ‘Look what Harry gave me, Mama. Do try one.’ She took the lid off the box and offered it to her mother. ‘Wasn’t that sweet of him?’
Kate almost dropped the coffee pot as she filled the cups set out on a silver tray. She glanced at Josie and looked away quickly as Josie winked at her, grinning wickedly. She knew then for certain that this was simply one of Josie’s ruses in order to get her own way.
Josie leapt to her feet and wafted the box in front of her. ‘Do try one, ma’am.’
Mrs Horton’s piggy eyes gleamed. ‘Just the one then, dear.’ She selected the largest and popped it into her mouth.
Josie handed the chocolates round to the other ladies, who declared that they could not eat another morsel while taking their time selecting their favourite centre. Kate served the coffee and then stood back, hands folded in front of her, waiting until her services were needed.
‘Might we hear wedding bells ringing in the near future?’ Miss Bourne asked, trilling with laughter. Unmarried herself but a notorious matchmaker, well known to the servants for complaining about anything and everything, she had apparently found no fault as yet but was determined to make at least one person blush.
Kate stared into space, hiding a smile. It would take a sharper person than Miss Bourne to embarrass Josie, who was patently enjoying the situation.
‘It’s a little early to speculate,’ Lady Damerell said hastily.
‘You were always one to speak first and think later, Miriam Bourne.’ Mrs Horton glared at her over the top of her lorgnette. ‘Spare the girl’s blushes.’
Miss Bourne bridled visibly. ‘Harry Challenor is a good catch. Any girl would think herself lucky to attract his attention.’
‘And I do,’ Josie said smugly. ‘But I don’t want to appear too forward.’ She took her seat at her mother’s side. ‘That’s why I think it would be politic if I were to go to the country soon, Mama. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so they say.’
Lady Damerell almost dropped her coffee cup, spilling some on her purple shot-silk gown. ‘I don’t know about that, my love.’
‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ Mrs Horton added, shaking her head.
The two ladies who had so far been silent nodded in agreement, but Miss Bourne sat upright, waving her spoon at Josie. ‘I think that is an excellent plan, my dear. Keep the young man dangling. There are many eager unmarried girls out there, and we all know that it’s the gentlemen who like to do the hunting. The excitement is all in the chase, as anyone here who has ever followed the hounds will know.’ She glanced round with a superior smile as if she was well aware that none of the women present had ever taken part in blood sports. ‘I,’ she added grandly, ‘used to hunt when I was a girl.’
‘But she never caught a husband.’ The more senior of the two who had so far not contributed to the conversation spoke in a stage whisper, which Miss Bourne affected not to hear.
‘That put you in your place, Miriam,’ Mrs Horton said, chuckling.
Josie turned to her mother with a pleading smile. ‘Mama? May I go to Dorset tomorrow with Coggins? Papa gave him leave to make the funeral arrangements and now I have a maid of my own it would be perfectly proper for me to travel with them.’
A worried frown puckered Lady Damerell’s forehead. ‘I don’t know what your father would say to that, my love. We’ll need the carriage when we travel next week. Can’t you wait until then?’
Josie’s lips trembled and tears welled out of her eyes. ‘But Mama, I’ve got my heart set on it, and I don’t want to stay here and look as though I’m chasing after a rich husband. You know how horrid some people can be.’
Lady Damerell held her hand to her head. ‘Oh, dear. Now I don’t know what to say. Where is Sir Hector? Why do gentlemen have to take so long over their brandy and cigars?’
‘You’d better do something to stop her crying before they join us,’ Miss Bourne said, glancing anxiously at the doorway. ‘No man likes to see a girl with red eyes and a blotchy face.’
‘There speaks the expert on men.’ Mrs Horton rose to her feet and swayed over to sit next to Josie on the sofa, which creaked beneath her weight.
Kate hurried forward to rescue the coffee cup and saucer from Lady Damerell, who looked as though she was about to collapse.
‘Fetch my vinaigrette from the drum table,’ Lady Damerell moaned. ‘I feel faint.’
‘Nonsense.’ Mrs Horton reached across Josie to poke her ladyship in the ribs. ‘Take deep breaths and pull yourself together.’ She gave Josie a nudge for good measure. ‘And you, girl. Stop that snivelling. I can hear the gentlemen coming. Do you want to ruin your chances?’
Josie stood up, almost tipping Mrs Horton off the sofa. She brushed her hand across her eyes and snatched the silver vinaigrette from Kate’s hand, thrusting it in front of her mother’s face. ‘Say yes, Mama, or I’ll go to my room and to hell with Harry Challenor. I hate being treated like a bitch ready for mating.’
‘Josephine.’ Sir Hector’s angry tones rang out as he strode into the room followed by Harry Challenor and the rest of the male guests.
Kate froze to the spot, her gaze fixed on Josie’s horrified face. Judging by the looks on the faces of the other ladies, it would take more than a silver tongue to get out of this one.
Lady Damerell rose shakily to her feet. ‘Don’t blame, Josie, Sir Hector.’ She pointed a trembling finger at Kate. ‘It’s that girl. She’s a bad influence on our daughter. I want her sent back to the country immediately.’
‘I say, that’s a bit harsh.’ Harry strode forward. ‘I don’t know what I’ve done to offend Miss Damerell but she’s not the first young woman to tell me where to go,’ he grinned ruefully, ‘and I doubt if she’ll be the last.’
Sir Hector held up his hand. ‘Generous of you, Challenor, but it won’t do. Josie, go to your room, and you, girl, go back to the kitchen. Both of you will go to the country tomorrow with Coggins. I won’t have such language in my house, Josephine. You will remain in the country if it takes a year or even two, but you will learn manners or you’ll remain there forever. By God, you will.’
Chapter Four
Dorset, September 1874
KATE STOPPED FOR a moment, setting her willow basket on the ground and leaning over the parapet of the bridge to look down into the fast-running waters of the River Frome. The first signs of autumn were mellowing the Dorset countryside: beech mast tumbling from the trees, hedgerows groaning with blackberries, and clusters of orange berries hanging from the rowans.
It was almost ten months since Josie’s fall from grace, and she was still in virtual exile. She had refused to apologise to Harry Challenor for her behaviour at the fateful dinner party, and as a consequence had missed the London season. What was even worse, Kate had been forbidden to associate with her, but if Sir Hector thought that this would prevent them from keeping each other company he would have been disappointed to learn that it had had the opposite effect.
Josie was under strict instructions not to mix with anyone from the village, but she had declared from the outset that rules were made to be broken, and she was a frequent visitor at the farmhouse where Kate now lived with her father, Sam and Molly. Robert had somewhat reluctantly agreed to take over the tenancy of the home farm, but to Kate’s relief it seemed to have been the making of him. Back in the house where he had been born, he was a new man, and his heavy drinking was a thing of the past.
Kate worked long hours but she had no desire to return to the miserable mews in London and the dire living conditions above the stables. She was content, but she worried constantly about Josie. Her banishment had only served to make her more rebellious and had encouraged her wild ways. She often came to the farm in order to escape from the strict regime instigated by her chaperone, Mrs Wardle, whom she described as a prison warder sent from hell to try to make her behave like a lady. Lady Damerell, no doubt influenced by the indomitable Hickson, had employed Mrs Wardle, a widow of good birth but reduced circumstances, to give her wayward daughter lessons in etiquette, deportment and the social graces that would stand her in good stead in the next London season. Infuriated and determined to get
her own way, Josie had delighted in making her chaperone’s life as difficult as possible. Instead of behaving like a well-bred young lady, she took every opportunity to roam around the countryside on Sheba, her bay mare, with Kate following more slowly on an aged pony that Josie had long since outgrown.
Josie loved nothing better than to gallop across the fields, urging her steed to take fences and hedgerows like a steeplechaser, while Kate’s mount trotted sedately or at most broke into a canter. Sometimes, if Kate was too busy, Josie persuaded Sam to leave whatever he was doing on the farm and accompany her on one of her escapades. The fact that he did so willingly was also a cause for concern. Kate was painfully aware that Sam’s childish devotion to Josie had matured into something deeper, and she feared for him. Josie would take his heart and, if it suited her, she would break it without giving him a second thought.
But despite all this, it had been an almost perfect summer. Kate plucked a dandelion head and tossed it into the water, watching it bob about and float downstream, a tiny golden boat heading for the open sea. Life, she thought, was good. The sun was pleasantly warm on her back and winter seemed far away. She turned her head at the sound of an approaching horse-drawn vehicle.
‘Good morning, Miss Coggins.’ Squire Westwood drew his horse to a halt, tipping his top hat and smiling.
‘Good morning, Squire.’ Kate bobbed a curtsey.
‘Are you on your way to market, Miss Coggins?’
‘I am, sir.’
Edmund Westwood steadied his horse with a light touch on the reins. ‘I’m going there myself. I could take you the rest of the way, if you so wished.’
Kate hesitated. It was little more than a mile to the market place in Dorchester and she was used to walking. Tongues would wag if she were seen driving with the squire. She knew that she ought to refuse politely and continue on her way, but she could not resist the temptation to arrive in style. She smiled up at him. ‘That’s very kind of you, sir.’