by Allie Borne
“Yes, so was I. Allow me to escort you, Dear Wife,” Charles grinned, plastering a false bravado upon his countenance. She must think I am little better than a gutter snipe, his thoughts tortured him. Bringing her here, to this country squire’s estate, when she deserves a town house, surrounded by London’s elite. The home she has been prepped for that the whole of her life.
Shaking his head free from his dubious thoughts, Charles turned to Linnie and stated, “I had Bernard prepare chicken and mash. I knew you always enjoyed it as a ch-a young lady,” he quickly corrected himself.
Smiling wanly, Linnie dipped her head slightly in acknowledgement and glided silently into the candlelit dining room. Despite its boarded window, the room was really quite majestic in its appeal. The flickering lights danced merrily, warming the rich mahogany surfaces, which seemed to grin and wink at the young couple as they entered the room.
After seating Linnie and pulling up his own chair, Charles tried valiantly to steer the conversation into a friendly, if safe topic-area. “How do you find your room accommodations? Are they comfortable?” He felt like biting his tongue in two as soon as the words escaped his lips.
Looking up, quickly concealing her disconcertment, Linnie settled into the practiced shelter of a socially polite facade. “Yes, the room is clean and functional.” Then she paused, unable to stop herself from asking, “Where will you be sleeping tonight, Charles?”
The inquiry seemed to catch them both off guard, leaving several interpretations of the query hanging in the air. Will you be sleeping with me? Is it possible for two people to sleep in that bed? Is this your way of avoiding me? Do you still want me? Are you sleeping in the attic or somewhere else? Are you sleeping with someone else? Linnie’s cheeks grew red and flushed as they stared across the table at one another and simultaneously considered her loaded question.
Knowing women a bit better than the average man, Charles approached this trap cautiously. “Where do you think it would be best for me to sleep, Linnie? I had not fully considered our options in the matter.”
Linnie’s heart sank a bit. Why could he not just say, “With you, Linnie. I shall always sleep with you.”
“Well,” she returned in her best woman’s charity-society voice, “It seems the choices are limited at the moment. There is the option of sharing the guest bed or, I suppose you could sleep on the cot in the attic.”
Charles, nodded, waiting. Sighing, Linnie lifted her chin and blinked rapidly to prevent her burning eyes from betraying her. “Well,” she continued, “I have had a trying day, and, I suppose, so have you. Sleeping separately would allow us to rest and not be so cramped on the small bed.” Her voice was steady but her eyes pleaded with Charles to contradict her.
Biting into his tough piece of chicken, Charles felt the bitterness spread across his tongue and throughout his body. She is rejecting me, now that she has seen I am without decent means. The girl I knew, who saw people with her heart and not her ton-like sensibilities, no longer exists.
Looking at her meek and prudish expression, Charles felt his desire wither. Covering his hurt with a cold, hard exterior, he replied blandly. “Yes, I agree. I need my rest. There is much to be done before winter sets in. I have to ride to the neighboring manor on the morrow. I shall leave at dawn and return at dusk. Please feel free to engage John for any task you might need completed.”
In truth, he had not planned on leaving for at least a day or two, until Lindsay was more settled. However, her cold reception of him tonight left him feeling the need to flee. Still, Charles felt he owed her some sort of explanation for leaving her so soon, on what was supposed to be their honeymoon.
“The Bonnevilles have some farm equipment and materials that I am interested in obtaining. The negotiations and transactions will require my attention over the next few weeks.”
“I see,” Linnie spoke quietly. Feeling as if her insides had just been sucked out, she was unable to respond further.
Eating for several minutes in silence, Charles was relieved when Mattie, his high-spirited tabby entered the room and brazenly rubbed her side along Lindsay’s skirts. Linnie bent to pick up the orange cat as if it were a lifesaving anchor in a sea awash with uncertainty. Mattie purred as Lindsay petted her repeatedly, stroking down her length.
Finally, the meal ended. Lindsay bit the inside of her cheek to keep from breaking down and crying, or begging Charles to stay with her. Leaving her at the door to the guest bedroom, Charles bid her good night, bent to kiss the top of her hand chastely and wasted no time climbing the stairwell to the attic.
Lindsay turned quickly into her room. Shutting and leaning against the door, she took a deep ragged breath. Feeling a bit more centered, she looked around the darkened room with a sinking heart. As her hurt and anxiety drained, exhaustion and ire seeped into every bone and muscle.
How dare he treat her like a bothersome house guest! How dare he ignore her on this, her honeymoon! Grasping her pillow, she flung it against the door. Picking it up, she screamed every obscenity she knew into the down softness. Regaining her composure, Lindsay briskly undressed and prepared for bed.
Climbing beneath the chilly covers, Lindsay was relieved to discover that the bed felt soft and clean. Still, she could not seem to relax and fall asleep. Rolling back and forth, she finally gave up and sprawled, flat on her back to stare blindly at the ceiling above. How had she found herself in this horrible predicament? Married to her childhood antagonist, living in some Godforsaken back woods relic, unloved, uncared for, unneeded. Hiccuping, Lindsay’s bold blue eyes gave up their flood of tears. Sobbing into her pillow, Linnie finally fell asleep, both physically and emotionally spent.
In the attic, Charles paced. “What am I doing? I know she needs her space, but this is my house! She is my wife.” Multiple times he strode towards the door and then stopped himself, unsure of how best to proceed. Finally overcome with self-righteous indignation, Charles marched down the narrow stair in his stocking feet. Raising his fist to pound on the guest chamber door, his arm arrested mere inches from the wood. Was that Lindsay crying? Linnie did not cry. She railed, ranted, and raved. She did not weep.
This time, it was his scheming that had caused them so much turmoil. How could he have been less than honest with her? She must truly hate him. Trading Linnie’s trust for her father’s gold had left him feeling as if he had committed an irreversible wrong. How could she trust and respect him if he did not tell her of his impressment? Staying his hand on the door knob, he reminded himself, How could she hold her head up in society if her father spread his viscous rumors about my legitimacy? He would not push her past endurance tonight.
Accepting the fact that Lindsay needed time to adjust to her new situation, Charles slowly plodded the steps to the attic. Settling on his narrow cot with a copy of Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus, Charles mused, “I too have made a deal with the devil. Let us hope that neither my soul nor Linnie’s will be the price,” he noted as he drifted off to sleep.
~ ~ ~
Lindsay woke at dawn to the sound of her husband’s foot steps making their way down to the front door. Rubbing her eyes, she blinked blearily. It was not until she splashed water upon her face and held a cold, wet, towel to her eyes for several seconds that she could see.
Sighing resignedly, Lindsay bucked up in true Beaumont fashion. Her grandmother and father had always met life head on, dealing with set backs pragmatically, and she planned to do the same. Charles may not love her and her new home may be in shambles, but all was not lost. For once, she was mistress of her own abode and whatever his short comings, Charles was a responsible member of the gentry. They would make this house presentable and she-she would make it a home.
Then, maybe, just maybe Charles could learn to love her as she had always loved him-fool that she was. Like her mother’s family, she also seemed doomed to love in vain. Sighing once more, to rid herself of her melancholy, Lindsay circled around the foot of her bed to kneel at her cedar trunk.
Pulling a large white handkerchief from the bottom of her trousseau Lindsay set it upon the bed and dug for her most worn house dress. The yellow cotton print, embellished with tiny red roses still felt a bit too overdressed for her simple surroundings, but it was what she had. Brushing her ebony locks vigorously, she swiftly twisted the mass of frizz into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. Once secured with a dozen or so hair pins, Lindsay covered her hair with the cotton handkerchief and tied it below the bun.
“I would have been better off to have traveled to Italy and taken the veil,” she murmured into her looking glass. “At least all of this cleaning, solitude, and abstinence among a dusty old abode would have come with the added perk of a shaved head.” And yet, despite herself, she was pleased at the image of simple efficiency before her. Picking her forgotten journal up off of the floor, Lindsay reviewed her notes for each room.
Were she a clever wife, she would begin with the master suite, but she had no intention of sweetening up her husband. Besides, she much preferred to be a clever homemaker. Linnie would start with the downstairs rooms and landscaping. She would quite die of humiliation if she had to greet guests with the house looking like this.
Coming down the stairs, Lindsay decided to walk through the dining room to the small adjoining room. She was relieved to discover there a neat and tidy serving room complete with a worn but sturdy wooden table and shelves filled with serving implements. Walking through the door on the far wall, Lindsay found herself out of doors. Stepping timidly along a rickety wooden walkway, She came upon the sunken kitchen.
“Now this place is a relic.” Betsy and Bernard turned from their porridge preparation to look at Lindsay inquiringly. “However do you make do?” Lindsay asked in a congenial manner.
Bernard, his sense of loyalty to his former master roused, stiffened perceptively. “Your breakfast will be served in the dining room, momentarily, Ma’am.”
“Yes, of course, Bernard, but first, I was hoping to speak with Betsy about the kitchen and laundry-to see what it is we might need.”
Bowing slightly, Bernard hobbled his way up the stairs with a heavily laden tray. Turning her bright eyes upon a more susceptible victim, Lindsay began her interrogation. “Now, Ms. Thomas, you and I both know that this kitchen is somewhat...lacking in modern conveniences. If you were to send away for those items that would make this space more effective, what might they be?
“Well, I mightn’t be thinkin’ of such things, as it is not my place to find the present location lackin’, but...if I were required to update the space, as you say, then I s’pose I’d be startin’ by buildin’ a connection from the main house to the kitchens. I’d plaster and white wash the walls-add shelves and cabinets for the spices. I’d tile the floor and replace the stove. The pots and pans are in good shape, but the utensils and serving dishes need replaced. Oh, and some glass and curtains in the window might not be amiss neither.”
“Thank you, Betsy! You are a font of wisdom. You would not happen to know anyone who might be skilled at completing painting, plastering, and simple construction, would you? With just you, Bernard, John and me to tackle the grooming, cooking, cleaning and repair, I think we shall never make progress. I would like to start by hiring a gardener, a maid, and a carpenter. Do you know of anyone local in need of work?”
After a searching look at her employer, Betsy nodded, “Aye, and I might Missy, but let me be straight with you. The folks around here haven’t the time or blunt to be waistin’ by workin’ ‘ere and not gettin’ paid. They’d all need a week’s pay up front and a place to stay, too, I’d wager.”
Lindsay had never before had control of anything more than her pin money and found, while she knew the value of a book, a perfume, or a reticule, she was abysmally ignorant, when it came to wages and day-to-day living expenses. With a bold stroke of daring, Lindsay nodded, “Thank you, Ms. Thomas,” and headed for the attic.
After climbing three flights of rickety stairs, Lindsay was out of breath and patience. “Oooh!” she screeched, vexed at finding that her new husband had left the tiny chamber door locked. With eyes narrowed, Lindsay contemplated the door before her. “You should know better than to keep me out by locking a door, Charles,” she said to the empty landing.
Turning a full one hundred and eighty degrees, she stomped down the narrow staircase and directly to her trunk within her room. Digging for what seemed ages, she finally recovered her precious pick set and returned to her roost on the landing. Within five minutes the door stood ajar and Lindsay was at the tiny desk. Bending over the treasure, Lindsay ran her hands across the black leather bindings before opening the broad, flat ledger.
Only a few pages of entries greeted her and she felt relieved for that. Lindsay’s tutoring had focused on the lady’s arts, leaving her knowledge of accounting sorely lacking. Pouring over the figures and symbols, Lindsay soon discovered that the house had been inherited free of debt, as it is entailed, but free of any active profit as well. Charles had entered several small ‘+’ amounts for she knew not what but the reason for his lack of progress on the house was apparent. Her dowry would be enough to hire help and replace the windows, of that she was certain.
Yet, Charles had said that he had gone to the neighboring manor to purchase farm equipment, had he not? She had some pin money saved up, but she doubted it was enough for three new employees. Frustration soared. Why had Charles not sat down with her to discuss a plan, so they might both use their time more wisely (and so she could give him a piece of her mind)? Yes, that was it, exactly. Charles was avoiding her and the consequences of his actions.
“Well, he might be cutting off his nose to spite his face, but I will not let him leave me to flounder. I shall use my pin money to hire a carpenter and enlist the help of John. Betsy and I will simply have to work methodically, to stay ahead of the construction. Thus decided, Lindsay shut the ledger, returning it to its former position on the desk and then spent several minutes convincing the lock to slide back in place behind her.
Lindsay had seen that Charles had paid both Bernard and Betsy for one quarter of the year’s service. By dividing that figure by three, and lessening slightly, she had estimated a monthly wage for her new employee. By means of her last tour of the house, she was certain that bell pulls had yet to grace this antiquated abode. Completely abandoning her well ingrained manners, Linnie leaned over the main stairwell and belted out, “Bet-sy!”
“Yes’m?”
“May I speak with you in my chamber, please?”
“Yes’m.”
Returning to her chamber and pulling out her reticule, Lindsay sat on the corner of her bed and waited. “How may I assist you, M’Lady?”
“Do you know of a handy man we might hire to help about this place?”
“I wouldn’t be knowing about any man but my seventeen year old nephew is good with ‘is hands and is free o’ work at the moment. Seeing as if you ‘ave the money to pay him.”
“And a place for him to stay, I know, Betsy. This is what I would like from you. Move Mr. Andrews into the guest room to the right of the stairwell. I know, I know, there is no bed, so, for now, move the cot from the attic.” Lindsay silently dared Betsy to say anything indicating Charles’ preference for sleeping there, but she merely nodded.
“Then, move your nephew into the area above the stables. He can take over the care of the horses, for the present, then report to me each morning after breakfast. If you will simply tell John the direction, I will dispatch him to fetch, what did you say his name was?”
“Bobby, Mum,”
“Very well. Will this be a suitable arrangement, do you think?”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Please clean the guest bedroom as well as you can, then assemble the least damaged dresser, wash basin, and chair. When Bobby arrives, feed him and John their noon meal and then set Bobby to work on mending the furniture and moving the cot. John can move his personal things from the stable and ready the space for Bo
bby. Have you any clean linen?”
“No, Mum, I normally do wash on Thursdays.”
“Well, some will need to be done early, I fear, with more persons in the household we shall require another maid as soon as possible, but for now, we will have to make do. Let us just air out the linens and sprinkle them with rose water for today. Have you any rose water, Betsy?”
“Ay, Mum, but we’ll need to make more this fall.”
Once Betsy had left, Lindsay realized that she had locked the attic room. Sighing, she turned to retrieve her pick set and trod back up the stairs. Upon entering the attic room, Lindsay collected the ledger and trudged down the stairs. Placing the ledger safely in the bottom of her trunk and locking it, she returned to the attic to gather her husband’s things. “His trunk will not fit in the tiny bedroom,” Lindsay sighed. Taking out a night shirt, a change of clothes, and his personal items, she returned to their temporary chambers.
If she could clean out the study at the back of the billiard’s room, now that would be a sensible act. She could show Charles that she cares and is willing to forgive without risking getting her heart broken by fixing up an overly personal space, such as the master bedroom. Besides, she thought, the study requires little to get it in working order, other than a lot of scrubbing, that is.
After dispatching John upon his errand and straightening her tiny chamber one last time, Lindsay headed down to find Bernard. “Bernard!” she called in the entry way. No answer. Following her instincts, Lindsay coasted through the dining room and walkway to the small vegetable garden at the back of the kitchen. There, silent, serious Bernard knelt, stooped over his sagging tomato plants, weeding for all he was worth. Slipping on the coarse gloves she had seen resting on the back stoop, Lindsay knelt and joined in pulling up the errant, seeding grass.
Bernard glanced up and then looked up again, shocked at who had joined him in his toil. “M’Lady, whatever are you doing? I am not so old yet as to be derelict in my duties.”
“Oh, so it is ‘Lady’ now, to remind me of my station? Sincerely, Mr. Bullworth, I am more than pleased with your efforts. Clearly you are a rare and excellent butler. It is I who wish to be of use. As you can see,” she said, pulling off the too large leather glove, “these hands are unused to work. I intend to change that. With your help, I intend to become a necessary and useful member of this household.”
