Edie almost fell over her feet in her haste to get away. A very quick examination of the corridor around her yielded no curtained alcoves in which to hide, nor was it possible to get to the staircase in time. The handle was already turning.
Perhaps one of these other rooms would be unoccupied?
But before she could try one, the door was open and in the corridor in front of her, resplendent in paisley silk dressing gown, was …
But she could not let her jaw drop, could not make any kind of exclamation.
Now she had to use all of her own dramatic powers, or everything was lost.
She stiffened and widened her eyes, making them stare out of her face at the man who stood in front of her.
‘Good God,’ he said. ‘What’s this?’
She said nothing, maintaining her tense, glassy-eyed posture as she walked slowly towards him.
A streak of lightning almost made her jump, but she mustn’t. She must appear oblivious to all around her.
He took a step closer, his head on one side. Edie saw a gleam of recognition brighten his grey-blue eye.
‘It’s the new girl, isn’t it? The parlourmaid?’
Edie stood her ground and stared as if looking straight through him.
‘The old sleepwalking gambit, eh?’
He snapped his fingers in her face.
She did not flinch.
‘Looks like stronger measures are called for,’ he said, and he took hold of her arm and brought his face, dark with wicked intent, so close to hers that she could smell Lady Deverell’s perfume on him. He was going to kiss her! No, he could not …
She pretended to come to her senses, letting her limbs loosen and her breath rush from her in great gasps.
‘Oh,’ she exclaimed. ‘Whatever is this? Where have I come to?’
She tried to shake herself free of him but he was not having it, and he marched, dragging her along with him, to the nearest empty room, into which he unceremoniously pushed her.
‘Please,’ she remonstrated. ‘Please let me go back to bed. I didn’t mean to be here, I swear it.’
He took his hand from her and folded his arms, glowering darkly down at her.
‘I don’t know who you are or what you saw,’ he said in a low, menacing tone. ‘But, whatever it was, you’ll do well to forget it. Do you understand me? Not a word to anyone.’
‘I promise, sir, I won’t … I didn’t … anyway. I don’t know what you mean, I’m sure.’
‘Hmm, I’m sure,’ he said, looking at her assessingly, his eyes all over her, making her flush hot and drop her gaze to the ground.
‘I’d better get back,’ she said, half-turning.
He put his fingers under her chin, gently holding her in position, shaking his head and tutting his disagreement with this proposition.
‘You are the new parlourmaid, aren’t you?’
She nodded, constricted somewhat by his unyielding grip on her face.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Edie. Edie Cr–, uh, Prior.’
‘Edie Cruuur-Prior?’ he repeated, tauntingly. ‘Unusual name.’
‘Just the Prior. I changed my name when my mother remarried. I forget, sometimes.’
He regarded her for a silent stretch of time, during which Edie committed his face to memory – its angles and shadows, the prominent nose, the full, sensual lips, the gleaming eyes, the lustrous dark hair, the cruel, handsome whole of it.
He looked utterly heartless to her, and glitteringly magnetic at the same time.
She was more afraid than ever.
‘You know who I am, of course?’
‘You’re Sir Charles, I think, sir.’
‘That’s right. I’m Charles Deverell, Lord Exley, heir to the estate. How’s life in service so far, Edie?’
‘Tiring,’ she said, tripping over the words in her anxiety. ‘I’m tired. I should sleep.’
‘Yes, they treat you like working dogs down there, don’t they? My hounds have a better life. But I’ll give you a little tip, Edie. Be a good girl, and you might find that there are perks to your job.’
His fingers brushed up her cheek, so lightly that the caress in them could almost be attributed to the air.
‘Are you a good girl, Edie?’ he whispered.
Weakness rinsed through her limbs. She had no reply to offer.
‘Tired,’ she whispered, her lips quivering.
He seemed to take a step back, though in reality he did not move. The seductive intensity in his eyes broke and he smiled, half-laughing.
‘Yes, you’re right, it’s late and I don’t have much more in me, much as I’d like to test the proposition.’
‘You and Lady Deverell–’
He held up a finger.
‘I’ve told you. Seal your lips. Well, until I want to unseal them, that is.’
That dazzling grin again, unsettling as a punch to the solar plexus.
‘I suggest,’ he continued, ‘that you take the three wise monkeys as your template while you’re working here.’
See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.
‘I understand, sir.’ She looked towards the door and he relented.
‘Run along then, Edie Cruur-Prior. Perhaps I should speak to Mrs Munn tomorrow about having a lock put on your dormitory door. But only if I can have a key.’
She turned and fled, running through the corridors and up the staircases, losing her way half a dozen times, until the low-ceilinged corridor that housed the staff dormitories appeared at the head of the uncarpeted back stairs.
All three of her roommates were deep in sleep, making the most of time away from dishpans and dustpans. A flash of lightning lit the room and she noticed how red and coarse Peggy, the young scullery maid’s, hands already were, and her only fourteen years old.
Edie inspected her own hands, pale and unblemished. How long would they remain so?
Her stomach was in knots and her head whirling when she lay down and tried to sleep through the thunderous rain. This had been a terrible idea. She had knowledge she did not want now, about Lady Deverell, and she had played directly into the hands of Sir Charles, who might now hound her with seduction attempts.
Which she would, of course, repel.
Of course.
He was attractive and all that, but he was dangerous. Far too dangerous, a giant ‘Keep Away’ sign in masculine form. She couldn’t afford to take risks.
But he chased her into uneasy sleep, as if the warmth she had felt radiating from his dressing-gowned post-coital body had seeped into her pores and remained there, a vestige of his presence tormenting her from a distance.
In her dreams, his fingers brushed her face again, and then they went further, snaking into her hair, luring her closer, until their bodies touched and then their lips. If dream kisses were like real kisses, then how did people ever stop? The richness of the sensation turned her inside out and left her helpless and overwhelmed.
***
A hideous clangour shook her out of Charles Deverell’s dream arms and ripped his dream lips from hers. The other girls were already out of their beds, yawningly splashing their faces in the basin or pulling on uniforms.
She took twice as long as they did to get ready and had to rush breakfast. She did not have time to talk at all until she and Jenny were in the corridor with their feather dusters and their tins of wax, ready to set to work on the skirting boards.
‘What does Sir Charles generally do all day?’ she asked.
Jenny gave her a furious look.
‘I want to know so that I can avoid him,’ Edie explained.
‘Oh, I see. He goes out a lot, motoring in that new monster of his. Plays tennis with Lady Mary. Walks his dogs.’ She looked up as if the ceiling might give her more information. ‘Not much, when you think about it. What I’d give to live his life.’
‘Does he have nothing more to occupy him at all?’
‘He has some dealings with the estate and some of Lord Deverell
’s landed tenants. There’s a manufactory outside Kingsreach that he sometimes goes and … does things … at. I don’t know. It ain’t my place to know, is it?’
‘I suppose not. And … Her Ladyship. Has she a great many interests?’
‘Lord, why are you asking me? She is always going out to lunch. And she works for a lot of charities, sits on committees, all that kind of thing.’
Boredom has thrown them together. Boredom and disaffection.
And passion. But Edie did not want to think about passion.
She had no choice but to do so, however, when she and Jenny entered the morning room to clean it and found Sir Charles there again, as he had been yesterday. Was he here because he knew she would be?
Edie kept her head down, passing behind his chair in the hope that he might not notice her.
But the hope was vain.
‘Our Lady Macbeth,’ he said, putting down his newspaper.
Edie, whose hands already shook, was almost overcome with panic. What on earth would Jenny think of this? She made no reply and rubbed harder at a greasy fingermark on one of the window frames.
‘You’ll have to remember your taper next time,’ he added. ‘Won’t you?’
There was a silence. From the corner of her eye, Edie saw Jenny’s horrified countenance. Presumably she would have to answer, now he had asked a question.
‘I’m not sure what you mean, sir,’ she said.
‘Hmph. Have it your way.’ The newspaper rustled again and no more was said.
***
‘What was all that about?’ asked Jenny furiously, once they were out of the room.
Edie, enjoying the sensation of being able to breathe again, shook her head.
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Lady Macbeth?’
‘I don’t know Shakespeare.’
‘I bet you do, with all your London theatre-going. What’s he on about?’
‘I’ve told you,’ said Edie, and she couldn’t keep a rising note of antagonism from her voice. ‘I don’t know.’
Jenny was put out and conversation was scarce for the rest of the morning. At lunch, Jenny sat with all the other girls at the opposite end of the table, whispering and casting glances over at Edie.
Her heart sank. She was friendless here.
Until Ted strode in, put his peaked cap down on the end of the table and snagged one of her slices of bread and butter.
‘Hey!’
‘Cut yourself another,’ he said. ‘I’ve just driven all the way back from town at a steady forty miles per hour. I’ve earned my daily bread.’
He sat down beside her, warming her with his presence and his cheeky smile.
‘You’re still here then,’ he said.
‘Somehow,’ she replied with a grimace, then she whispered. ‘I’m not sure how long I’ll last.’
‘When’s your day off?’
‘Wednesday.’
‘Well, I hope you’ll last till then. Cos I’d like to take you out.’
‘Oh!’ Edie blinked rapidly. Was this a proposition? Was he expressing romantic interest in her? She was so inexperienced that she hardly knew if his intentions were amorous or merely friendly.
She decided to assume the latter.
‘Well, perhaps a walk out into the country would be nice,’ she said. ‘Or … something of that kind.’
‘His Lordship’s got a shoot on that day. I won’t be needed. I’ll see what’s on at the picture palace, shall I?’
‘Well, I suppose so,’ she said dubiously.
‘Don’t knock me out with enthusiasm, girl.’
She saw Mrs Fingall beaming approval as the others muttered and looked daggers. It seemed she couldn’t please Jenny and her friends – Ted and Sir Charles were a rock and a hard place, apparently. But which was which?
‘Mrs Munn, I think Edie knows her way around now,’ said Jenny as the housekeeper came to join the meal. ‘May I go back to working alone?’
‘Does that suit you, Edie?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Edie sighed. It didn’t, not really. She still had so much she wanted to learn from Jenny. But if she wanted to believe stupid things of her, then that couldn’t be helped.
‘I’m not entirely sure you’re ready, but I’ll give you a chance.’
* * *
Edie was assigned to the seldom-used upper rooms of the East Wing and she spent the afternoon alone amongst the treasures, having no company but her thoughts. She listened constantly for footsteps on the stairs or in the passage, dreading an unexpected rendezvous with Sir Charles, but apparently he was out.
Looking through the window, she saw Lady Mary with a tennis racquet and wondered against whom she would be playing. Lady Deverell came out a few moments later, similarly equipped, and Edie was transfixed, watching the pair disappear around the corner towards the courts.
Lady Deverell and her stepdaughter. Was their relationship cordial? What if Lady Mary found out about her brother? What if anyone found out? Lady Deverell would be ruined, that was for sure.
Perhaps Sir Charles loved her and would stand by her … but that surely couldn’t be the case if he was trying his luck with every pretty housemaid that came along.
No, she was his plaything and he might even have her ruin in mind. It was despicable. He was despicable. He ought to be stopped – but how?
Carrie was once more indisposed at supper time, so Edie, much against her will, was detailed to serve the family.
She kept her eye on Lady Deverell, waiting for her to steal a look at Sir Charles, but she did no such thing for the duration of the meal, unless addressed.
What a wonderful actress she was. Edie found herself as full of admiration as of distaste. Eventually, however, she realised why Lady Deverell was not attending to her stepson. She was watching her.
She had noticed, without seeming to even look in their direction, how Sir Charles touched her under the table when she served the soup and spoke low words into her ear. Although he kept his face expressionless, the messages were inflammatory.
‘Will you sleepwalk again tonight?’ he murmured.
‘No, sir,’ she whispered back, trying not to slop soup over the edge of the ladle.
Then, when she refilled his glass, ‘Sleepwalk to my rooms. First floor, East Wing.’
At the spooning of the green beans, ‘I will expect you.’
She did not dare reply, certain that everyone must see how her cheeks burned and her bosom rose and fell. She kept a very tight grip on all the serving implements and managed not to drop or spill anything, but it was a severe test.
And now, with Lady Deverell watching her every bit as avidly as Sir Charles did, she felt like a hapless pawn, forced into untenable positions wherever she went. This is what it is to be poor, she thought. This is what life is like for so many girls. Poverty robs one of choice.
And if, after yet another day of soul-sapping drudgery, a pretty girl sought out a little pleasure and glamour in the arms of a rich, handsome man, who could blame her? What else awaited her in life but scrubbing and death? Poor Susie Leonard had only done what thousands before her had. Did she regret it? Would Edie?
* * *
She lay awake, her mind a kaleidoscope of confused and conflicting thoughts.
She knew what she had come here for, but now it seemed she had been shown a further purpose.
She got out of bed, once she was sure everybody else was asleep, and tiptoed to the stairs. She stopped several times and thought of turning back, but her need for knowledge and understanding drove her on until she arrived in that fateful East Wing corridor and stood, trembling from head to toe, at the chamber door.
No, she could not knock. What if this was, after all, the wrong door? And, despite how she had planned to proceed, there was no guarantee at all that she would not find herself, very swiftly, in serious danger, all her plans in smithereens.
She took a few deep breaths. This was lunacy. She would find herself on the morning train bac
k to London the very next day, driven by a purse-lipped sad-eyed Ted, her reputation in ruins, her name a byword for scandal.
She stepped back. She would return to her room.
The door opened and she almost screamed, her knees giving way so that she staggered.
Sir Charles looked out at her through the crack, then he held out his hand.
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he whispered. ‘Come on. Don’t just stand there.’
‘It’s not what you think,’ she whispered back. ‘It’s a mistake. I’m not …’
‘That kind of girl? Of course. Come in now. Or do I have to come over there and get you?’
She stepped forward and he took hold of her wrist, quickly and firmly, and drew her inside the bedroom.
‘Well, Lady Macbeth,’ he said, cupping her cheeks in his hands, standing far too close.
‘No,’ she said, trying to shake her head free and failing. ‘Don’t touch me.’
‘Don’t touch you? You’ve come to my bedroom in the dead of night and you’re asking me not to touch you?’
‘Please. Not yet.’
‘Oh.’
He dropped his hands from her and cocked his head to one side, examining her through narrowed eyes.
‘What have we here?’ he mused.
Edie felt as if his fingers were still on her skin, still pushing through her hair. She burned in the places he had touched.
‘May I sit?’
He waved a hand towards a sofa in the corner.
‘I’ve brandy in the bedside cupboard if you’d like …’
‘No, no.’
He sat down beside her and took her hand in his, despite her attempts to pull it away.
‘So, then – what is it you want to say to me?’
She couldn’t speak at first, her courage ebbing away, but when he began to stroke her fingers, she found her nerve and blurted it out.
‘I don’t think you should be doing … what you’re doing … with Lady Deverell.’
He squeezed her fingers tight and let out an incredulous little laugh.
‘I fail to see how it’s any of your business … what was your name again? … Edie.’
‘Actually, I think it is my business. I think it’s everyone’s business because we all have to live in this house and if Lord Deverell finds out …’
Justine Elyot Page 5
