“Mary! Have you finished Lady Ada’s room yet?”
“Lady Ada?” Mary shook her off. “Have a heart, I’ve been scrubbing the steps all morning. My knees are killing me. Then there’s the drawing room to get ready—” She headed off down the stairs, her cap askew and her mousy hair escaping.
“Then I’ll begin on Lady Ada’s room, is that all right, Mrs. Cliffe?” Rose called after her mother as she hurried along the passage.
“Yes, Rose, and after you’ve done that you need to—”
She broke off as Martha, the scullery maid, came bursting through the back door, practically shouting, “The luggage is here. And they’ve brought a tiger!”
Rose and her mother exchanged a glance and ran back along the passage to the back door. Rose burst out onto the cobbles, not sure whether to believe Martha. She was the greatest gossip in the world, but on the other hand the noise outside seemed to warrant a tiger at the very least.
In the courtyard, the station horse was pulling at his reins madly while the driver tried to calm him. Bandboxes and trunks were piled high upon the wagon. Tobias, the stable boy, looking sweaty and nervous, was handing the luggage down to James.
“Oh, Martha, that’s a rug!” Rose said with relief, as she saw the tiger, rolled up with its tail between its legs. But there was still something in the dead, glaring glass eyes that made her flatten herself against the wall while James carried it in. It smelled of India. She reached her hand out to touch the fur, half expecting the fiery colors to burn her.
If colors were music, she thought, this would be a wild dance. She could almost hear its rhythms in her head. Her fingers itched to try it out on the piano. But there was no time for that; instead she sang under her breath so she would remember the tune. If only she could have a quiet evening to herself to write the music down. But then she would have to steal a pencil and some paper, and there would be all the trouble of hiding it from everyone. Maybe it was better this way.
“You wouldn’t believe how much luggage they’ve sent,” James was saying as he unloaded. “And there’s more coming up from the station!”
The servants were clustered in the passage around the unloaded luggage.
“Look at all them hatboxes! How many heads have they got between them?” Martha exclaimed. “And what’s that?” She made a face as she looked at a thing like a huge metal flower fixed to a wooden base, which teetered on the top of the pile.
Rose gasped. “It’s a gramophone.” She couldn’t believe what she was looking at. Sir William and Lady Edith didn’t care for music, and they had never troubled to get one.
“A what? A grampus?” Martha said.
“No, a gramophone. It plays music,” Rose replied.
“How?”
“Oh, don’t ask me. Maybe that electricity does it.” Rose looked at it longingly. Of course she would never be allowed to touch it, probably not even to dust it. It was far too expensive to be entrusted to a mere housemaid. But how wonderful it would be if she could carry music around with her, to listen to any time she pleased.
“Have you felt the weight of Lady Ada’s trunk?” Martha was round eyed. “Must be packed with sapphires and rubies at least. I’ve heard some of them Indian jewels are cursed—”
“Martha!” Her mother’s reproving voice silenced them all. “That’s none of your business. Back to work.” Martha scurried off to the kitchen. “James, Roderick, get Lord Westlake’s luggage up to his room.”
“What about the unpacking?” James asked. “Is His Lordship traveling with a valet?”
“I’m not sure. Communication has been very difficult.” She looked at the butler. “Mr. Cooper—perhaps you would be kind enough to unpack just this once? You used to valet for His Lordship. You’ll know how he wants things.”
Mr. Cooper nodded his bald head, saying, “As this is an emergency, Mrs. Cliffe, I am glad to be of service.”
“Thank you.” Her mother looked around at the luggage. “Annie and Rose, you’ll have to take care of the young ladies’ luggage. The footmen will carry it up when they’re done with Lord Westlake’s.”
Rose bent down to inspect the nearest trunk. She wanted to see what kind of unpacking lay ahead. On the brass clasps there was a monogram picked out in brass studs: FT. “Who’s FT?” she said. “Those aren’t family initials.” She scanned the luggage. “And, look, those bandboxes. They’ve got the same mark on them. Whose are they?”
“You’re right. Blow it!” Roderick said. “They’ve sent the wrong luggage.”
Rose immediately ran to the door. “Tobias, don’t let the man go!” she called. “He’ll have to take it all back—” She fell silent as the station wagon rattled away, to reveal a girl with very fair hair and neat, almost doll-like features, carrying a small leather suitcase. She glanced around at the courtyard, with a careful, assessing gaze and began picking her way across the cobbles toward the door.
“Who’s she?” Rose whispered to Annie, who was peering round the door with her.
The girl wore a pale green traveling gown and primrose-yellow gloves, and the feathers in her hat nodded as she crossed the threshold. The dress was not in the latest style, but to Rose, whose own wardrobe consisted of two uniforms, flannel petticoats, and a spare apron for best, it was an elegant dress. She couldn’t be a lady, though. A lady would have entered through the front door, not the servants’ entrance.
With her chin lifted delicately the girl examined the open-mouthed servants as if she were a duchess considering a selection of unpromising scullery maids.
“Why was no one at the station to meet me?” she demanded.
The servants looked at each other blankly.
“Miss—excuse me—who are you?” Mr. Cooper said.
The girl frowned.
“My goodness! I understood that things would be slow in the countryside, but I did not expect quite such ignorance.” She handed Mr. Cooper her parasol and went on down the servants’ passage.
Rose’s mother recovered herself first.
“She can’t go that way! The master will see her.” She darted after her, and Rose followed, just in time to see the girl rustling up the steps into the main house. The cook came out of the kitchen as she passed, and stared after her in astonishment.
Rose caught the door on the back swing, and she and Martha and James and even Mr. Cooper pressed themselves to the gap, watching and listening. The girl had stopped in the center of the hall, right under the chandelier, looking up and around her. Portraits of Lords Westlake from centuries past lined the walls, and statues brought back from the grand tour of Italy and Greece loomed in the corners like naked guests turned to stone by the basilisk gaze of the house’s former masters. Rose half expected the girl to be turned to stone too for her presumption, but she remained stubbornly flesh and blood.
“Show me to Mrs. Templeton’s rooms at once,” she commanded. “Why do I see no evidence of preparation for the wedding? Please tell me you have at least begun the cake!”
Mrs. Cliffe folded her arms. “You have made a mistake. This is Somerton Court, home of the Earls of Westlake. We expect Lord Westlake any day now, from India. There is no wedding, and we know nothing of any Mrs. Templeton.”
The girl’s mouth twitched with a slight, disbelieving smile.
“You mean,” she said, “you did not receive the telegram?”
“Telegram?”
“Lord Westlake will be followed by his betrothed, Mrs. Fiona Templeton, and her children. I am Stella Ward, Mrs. Templeton’s ladies’ maid. Lord Westlake and my mistress intend to marry as soon as possible after they reach Somerton.”
“Marry?” echoed a man’s furious voice from above them.
Rose gasped and looked up. On the main stairs, one hand upon the polished oak banister, below the painting of Cupid and Psyche, stood a young man with red, curling hair and a sizeable belly. It was Sir William, Lord Westlake’s nephew, and until Miss Ward’s announcement, his undisputed heir.
&nbs
p; “Hey, I’ve just come from the breakfast room. Sir William’s in a right temper!” James was grinning as he came down the steps carrying the empty tray. Rose, who had heard about the master’s ludicrous tantrums, couldn’t help grinning back. “He threw the deviled kidneys across the room. That little dog of Lady Edith’s was eating ’em when I came out.”
“Glad you can laugh.” Cook clattered the plates back into the sink. “A waste of good food, I call it. Annie, where have you got to with that salt?”
“That Miss Ward’s something, isn’t she?” Annie came running back in with the salt. “Here, do you think her hair’s all natural? It’s that blond!”
“And have you seen her waist? It’s tiny, like a lady’s.” Martha brought her hands out of the washing up to show her.
“Will you stop splashing everywhere and get on with the work?” Cook demanded. “I don’t care about Miss Ward’s waist, all I care about is she’s brought a lot of hard work and trouble with her.”
“Why is it trouble?” Rose asked.
“Don’t be dim, Rose! Fancy London folk like that, they’re going to want to make changes. If we’re not up to scratch, Her Ladyship’ll have us out on our ears. And I don’t want to try and find another position at my time of life!” She thumped the bread dough down on the table.
“You think they’d sack us?” Rose was shocked. She had lived at Somerton ever since she was seven and her mother had moved from the village to take up the post of housekeeper. It was impossible to imagine being forced to leave. Even though she knew she had no right to it, really, she had come to think of the great house as her home.
“Yes, so you’d better get a move on, hadn’t you? You should be up there helping your mother get the rooms ready, not dawdling down here gossiping!”
Rose ran upstairs to begin the mountain of work ahead of her. So there were big changes ahead! It was exciting, and a little frightening, too. Usually life at Somerton ticked along quietly enough. Sir William and Lady Edith were usually in London, and so long as Cooper made sure that the income from the Somerton estate went to their London address, they were happy. But now there would be new people, and perhaps some of them would play music, or bring musicians to play for balls. She longed to learn the piano properly more than anything. But her mother would never hear of it; lessons were far too expensive and it would be what she called “getting above her station.” Rose sighed. Sometimes it seemed as though everything she wanted to do, everything she found fascinating, was somehow “above her station.”
Rose came running up the servants’ stairs with hatboxes piled high in her arms, to the sound of bumps and thumps as the footmen maneuvered the trunks into the bedrooms. With no hand free, she backed out through the servants’ door into the east wing. Doors had been thrown open on rooms that had not been used for ten years, and the quarters seemed to blink in the sudden sunlight. She could smell polish and hear the swish and slap of Annie sweeping the carpets in the white rooms. She glanced into the music room as she hurried past. The piano had been uncovered and James and Roderick were unrolling the carpet. The house had never been so noisy.
“That’s the last of Mrs. Templeton’s luggage,” Rose announced, as she carried the boxes into the blue boudoir.
“Finally!” Annie looked up from making the bed.
“That’s enough cheek, Annie.” Rose’s mother surged in, a crease between her eyebrows the only sign of the stress she was under. “Help her with the bed, Rose, and then go and see if Miss Ward needs any help with Miss Charlotte’s room.”
“This trunk for Lady Ada’s room?” James demanded, pushing open the door. “Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Cliffe, didn’t see you there.”
“Yes, take it to Lady Ada’s room, and the other one to Lady Georgiana’s. Is the gramophone Master Sebastian’s? Take it up to the Chinese bedroom. That thing, too, whatever it is.” She nodded at a slender vase decorated with Arab-looking gilding, from which a long, snakelike pipe coiled.
“It’s a Turkish pipe,” James said with some pride.
“Yes, well, don’t break it.” Mrs. Cliffe did not look impressed.
“I think it’s going to be exciting to have young men in the house,” Annie announced, plumping the pillows. “Don’t you, Rose?”
“If you’ve any sense, you’ll stay well away from that kind of excitement.” Her mother’s voice was sharp. “And you, Rose, hear me?”
“I wasn’t thinking of—”
“Well, don’t.” She added, “We’re here to work for the gentry, not become familiar with them. They’re different to us, and if you forget it, you’ll be sorry indeed.”
“They’re not that different to us,” Annie pouted. “If Rose put on a fancy dress and a nice hat, she could pass for a lady, I’d bet.”
Rose was not prepared for her mother’s reaction. Mrs. Cliffe turned on Annie angrily.
“Listen, Annie, we all have a place. We’re born to it, and we need to stick to it. You step out of your place, and you’ll regret it. The gentry can be as friendly as they like, but if you make a mistake, it’s you who’ll be out on your ear—not them.”
“What’s up with her?” Annie scowled after Mrs. Cliffe as she left. “She’s scratchy as a cat.”
“She’s just worried we won’t get it all done in time,” Rose said. But as she ran off to Miss Charlotte’s room, she wondered if that was the whole truth. Her mother had been on edge since the news of Lord Westlake’s return.
She found Miss Ward by the window, holding up a diaphanous beaded dress. A half-open monogrammed trunk stood nearby, clouds of tissue paper rising from it.
Rose couldn’t think of anything to say. The whole house had been speaking of nothing but Miss Ward ever since she had arrived. How small her waist was, whether the color of her hair was all natural, the elegant cut of her gloves, her London way of speaking. If her maid was so impressive, Rose found herself wondering, what must Mrs. Templeton be like?
“Er…Mrs. Cliffe sent me to see if you need any help,” she said.
“About time! These belong to Miss Charlotte. Hang them up.” Miss Ward thrust an armful of satin at Rose, who staggered to the mahogany wardrobe and hung the dresses carefully inside, adding sachets of lavender and violet to the hangers as Miss Ward passed them to her. She glanced around the bedroom. It had been transformed. A huge cheval glass had been set up to catch the best light, and a pretty chintz armchair was next to it. The trunks, standing here and there, half unpacked, gleamed in the afternoon sun, and the studded brass initials CT burned like gold. Silver-backed brushes and combs, ivory jewelry cases, and cut-glass perfume bottles stood on the dressing table. Dazzling light blazed from them as if the room were coated with precious stones.
Rose guessed by the size and style of the dresses that Miss Charlotte was around her age. “Is Miss Charlotte out yet?” she asked shyly.
Miss Ward took her time before replying, arranging a pearl-encrusted fan in its velvet-lined case.
“Not officially, but she has been attending balls and parties with her mother for a couple of months now. She’s a great hit with the gentlemen. Lord Fintan was quite taken with her, and the Duke of Brentfordshire’s youngest son danced with her three times at the last hunt ball.” She glanced out of the window. “But I suppose there will be a change of pace now. What is the society like here? What do you do for amusement?”
“Well…we have a little piano in the servants’ hall, and we sometimes have dances and there’s always the village….” Rose trailed off, feeling for the first time that her life lacked something. “I suppose it must seem quiet to you, after London. It must be so exciting there.” Rose had forgotten the dresses she was clutching.
“Of course it is.” Miss Ward nodded. “The countryside is all very well for Saturday to Monday, but London is the center of fashion and society. There’s the theater, and balls and parties every night.”
“With music?” Rose’s eyes shone.
“Of course, how would the ladies and gentlemen d
ance otherwise? Then Mrs. Templeton belongs to one of the new ladies’ clubs, so she often lunches there. I really don’t know how we shall accustom ourselves to living here.” She tucked a strand of her hair over her ear and practiced pouting in the mirror. Rose watched, wide-eyed. If she had ever primped in the mirror like that, her mother would have given her a strict lecture on vanity.
“It must be wonderful being a ladies’ maid,” she found herself saying. “I mean…you’re like a lady yourself.”
Miss Ward caught her eye in the mirror and smiled.
“It’s hard work, but worth it. And a ladies’ maid always attracts more followers than a housemaid. We live close to St. James’, so there are always handsome young guardsmen to walk out with.”
“You’re allowed followers?”
“Well, not officially. But a girl has to amuse herself somehow.” She winked, and Rose found herself smiling.
“Well, I hope you won’t be homesick,” she said warmly. “Just tell me if you need help finding things.”
Miss Ward finally turned from the mirror and smiled at her. It was a warm enough smile, but her eyes remained assessing.
“That’s so nice of you. I’m sure we’re going to be great friends.”
She lifted the last hat out of the box and to Rose’s shock set it on her own head, tilting it and glancing up under the brim of flowers.
“Are you—are you allowed to do that? Doesn’t Miss Templeton mind?”
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” She tilted her chin, admiring herself in the mirror. “It’ll be mine soon enough, anyway. Miss Charlotte never wears a hat more than once or twice. Truth be told, she hasn’t the face for a fashionable shape like this, but she keeps on trying.”
Rose came to the mirror, arranging the hat until it framed Miss Ward’s face perfectly. “Very elegant! You may make a ladies’ maid yourself one day,” said Miss Ward with a laugh.
“I couldn’t. I’d never know how to do things.” Rose was a little frightened by the idea; ladies’ maids always seemed so grand to her.
Cinders & Sapphires (At Somerton) Page 2
