The Swan Maid

by Dilly Court

  ‘I am very respectable,’ Lottie said stiffly. ‘And Lady Aurelia hired me, so if Mrs Manners doesn’t like it she knows what she can do.’

  ‘Ho, like that is it? You’re going to be trouble, I can see that. What’s your name, girl?’

  ‘It’s Trouble with a capital T.’ Lottie picked up one of the heavier carpetbags. ‘But you may call me Lottie. Now, where do I take this?’

  ‘Follow me, and less of the cheek. You’d best mind your manners in the servants’ hall. You’ll find it a bit different from working in a hostelry.’ Hansford picked up the bags and led the way along a wide corridor, coming to a halt at the top of the main staircase. ‘This is her ladyship’s room. Open the door for me, there’s a good girl.’

  Despite his condescending tone, Lottie did as he asked without any argument. She could hold her own with ostlers, coachmen and male travellers who thought that inn servants were easy game, but for now she would bide her time. She opened the door and stepped inside to the room of her dreams. Furnished in the French style with ornate gilded furniture upholstered in blue toile de jouy fabric, the room was light and sunny. Aubusson rugs placed in appropriate places made pools of delicate colour on the highly polished oak floorboards, and the scent of flowers vied with the lingering fragrance of Aurelia’s perfume. It was a heady mix and to Lottie it seemed a boudoir fit for a princess, let alone the wife of an army colonel.

  Hansford dumped the baggage on the floor with a sigh of relief. ‘I dunno how one woman could need to bring so much with her, but it’s the same wherever we go, whether it’s on a campaign abroad or moving between Bath and Chatham.’

  ‘Do you always travel with them?’ Lottie asked curiously. She had noticed that Hansford walked with a limp. ‘Are you a soldier too?’

  ‘I was, until I was wounded in Afghanistan. I was the colonel’s batman in India when he was a captain seconded to the Bombay Sappers. He kept me on as his orderly, even when I was unfit for service.’

  ‘I see,’ Lottie said slowly. ‘He sounds like a good man.’

  ‘The best.’ Hansford wiped his hands on his apron. ‘You’ll be expected to unpack and put everything in its place, but I expect you know that.’

  Lottie stared at the pile of luggage. ‘I’m used to working hard. This will seem easy by comparison.’

  ‘Better you than me, that’s all I can say.’ Hansford made a move towards the doorway. ‘Is there anything you want to know before I go?’

  ‘There’s just one thing,’ Lottie said hesitantly. ‘Who is Lady Petunia? Is she related to the colonel?’

  Hansford’s twisted lips curved into a semblance of a smile. ‘You want to know who Lady Petunia is. You’d best follow me. I’m sure the unpacking can wait for five minutes.’

  Lottie could not resist the opportunity to see more of the house and its grounds, and she was eager to discover who it was whose charms outdid those of the beautiful, spirited Lady Aurelia. She followed Hansford as he retraced his steps down the back stairs and through a maze of passages until they were outside in a large yard facing the stable block and coach house. He strode on, making surprising speed despite his uneven gait, and Lottie had to run in order to keep up with him. They passed through the kitchen garden where an aged gardener was tending to the rows of leafy vegetables, and at last they came to a low building surrounded by a brick wall. Lottie was used to the smell of horse dung, but the odour emanating from the pen was far worse. She covered her nose with her hand.

  ‘You’re having me on, Mr Hansford.’

  He stopped with his hand on the gate. ‘It’s just Hansford, miss.’

  ‘All right, Hansford. Then it’s just Lottie from now on.’

  He might have been grinning – it was hard to tell – but he unlatched the gate and ushered her into a straw-filled pen. ‘Permission to enter, Colonel?’

  ‘Permission granted, Hansford.’ A straw hat appeared from the depths of the sty, followed by a corpulent body, and then, as the colonel straightened up, a large black pig emerged.

  Hansford closed the gate. ‘Her ladyship has arrived, sir.’

  ‘By Jove! Is it that time already?’ Colonel Dashwood bent down to stroke the sow’s head. ‘Sorry, old girl. I’ll have to leave you now.’ He looked up and frowned. ‘Who’s this, Hansford? Lady Petunia doesn’t usually like visitors, but she doesn’t seem to mind this young person.’

  Hansford pushed Lottie forward. ‘This is Lady Aurelia’s new maid, sir.’

  ‘What happened to Merriweather? The old girl hasn’t turned up her toes, has she?’

  ‘I believe not, Colonel. Apparently she is unwell and has remained in Bath.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that.’ Colonel Dashwood looked Lottie up and down. ‘Pretty girl. Best keep her away from the barracks, Hansford. What’s her name?’

  Lottie stepped forward. ‘My name is Lottie Lane, sir.’ She tickled the pig behind the ears.

  ‘Well, well, Lady Petunia approves. You’ve got a way with animals, Lottie Lane.’

  Lottie stared at the pig in wonder. So this was Lady Aurelia’s rival. ‘I worked in a coaching inn until yesterday, Colonel,’ she said, controlling her desire to laugh with difficulty. ‘I’m more used to horses, but she seems like a nice pig.’

  ‘Lady Petunia is a Black Berkshire. She’s more intelligent than a dog, and most people, if it comes to that.’ Colonel Dashwood produced an apple from his jacket pocket and handed it to Lottie. ‘Give her this. She’s partial to an apple or two.’

  Hansford cleared his throat. ‘Lady Aurelia is in the drawing room, sir. Shall I tell her that you’ll be with her as soon as you’ve changed your clothes?’

  ‘Eh? What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?’

  Lottie held the apple on the palm of her hand and Lady Petunia took it with surprising gentleness. ‘She has very good manners, Colonel.’

  ‘Of course she has. Lady Petunia is a thoroughbred, and better behaved than most of the nobility. I’d have her in the house, but Mrs Manners wouldn’t approve.’

  ‘I’d best get back to my work,’ Lottie said, hoping that the smell of the pigsty was not clinging to her garments. It was bad enough to know that she stank of the alehouse, without adding animal odours as well.

  Colonel Dashwood’s blue eyes twinkled beneath his thick white eyebrows, which matched his bushy white moustache. He was obviously a good many years older than his wife – old enough, Lottie thought, to be her father – but despite his portly frame and weather-beaten features, he had a kindly expression. During her eight years at The Swan, Lottie had learned a great deal about human nature, and her instincts told her that here was a man she could trust. She even liked his pig.

  ‘I’ve laid out your uniform, Colonel,’ Hansford said tactfully. ‘You have a regimental dinner to attend this evening, if you recall, sir?’

  ‘Dash it, I’d quite forgotten.’ Colonel Dashwood patted Lady Petunia’s head. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, old girl. I must leave you now.’ He followed Lottie from the sty. ‘Make sure you fasten the gate securely, Hansford. She got into the vegetable garden yesterday. Figgis was very upset.’

  ‘I will, don’t worry, sir.’ Hansford stayed back to make sure that Lady Petunia would not escape again, and Lottie followed the colonel into the house. To her surprise he retraced the route that Hansford had taken and entered through the scullery.

  ‘Where’s Hansford?’ he demanded, lowering himself onto a wooden stool. ‘I want him to help me off with my boots. Mrs Manners will have a fit of the vapours if I bring pig muck into the house.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Hansford? Where is the fellow?’

  Lottie hesitated, wondering what was expected of her. It would not be the first time she had helped a gentleman off with his boots, but she was not at the inn now. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Hansford out in the yard, deep in conversation with Tilda. ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  Colonel Dashwood puffed out his cheeks and his moustache bristled. ‘Where is Hansford? This is
n’t a task for a slip of a girl like you.’

  ‘Let me try, sir. I see a lady in black bombazine coming this way. Could it be Mrs Manners?’

  ‘Pull off me boots, girl. What are you waiting for?’ Colonel Dashwood held up one chubby leg, turning red in the face with the effort.

  Lottie grasped the toe and heel of the muddy boot, gave it a twist and a tweak and tugged hard. It slipped off as if the colonel’s foot had been greased. She used the same technique to pull off the other boot.

  ‘Well done,’ Colonel Dashwood said, wheezing a sigh of relief. ‘Hansford couldn’t have made a better job of it.’ He rose to his stockinged feet. ‘Take them into the boot-room. Hansford will clean them up.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Lottie slipped out into the yard just as Mrs Manners entered the scullery. She did not want to meet the housekeeper until she had had a chance to change, and she loitered outside until the sound of voices died away. She tried hard not to stare at Hansford and Tilda, who made an unlikely pair, and she looked up into the blue sky, watching the swifts dart and dive about like airborne acrobats.

  Hansford turned his head to look at her. He broke off the conversation and strolled across the cobblestones, followed by Tilda. ‘I’ll see to them.’ He took the boots from Lottie. ‘You’d best clean yourself up too.’

  ‘You’ve got pig muck on your boots and the hem of your skirt.’ Tilda put her head on one side. ‘And your clothes smell something awful.’

  ‘I know. You don’t have to tell me.’

  ‘She’ll go mad,’ Tilda said, shaking her head. ‘Mrs Manners can’t stand slovenliness.’ She exchanged glances with Hansford. ‘Tell you what, Lottie, as you’re new here I’ll help you out this once. Leave your boots with Hansford, and I’ll find you a uniform to wear. You can sort your clothes out later.’

  ‘We have to keep Mrs Manners happy,’ Hansford added. ‘She’s a tartar when she’s roused.’

  ‘Why does the colonel keep her on?’ Lottie asked curiously. ‘Even he seems to be scared of her.’

  ‘Who knows?’ Hansford walked off towards the stables.

  ‘Come on.’ Tilda opened the scullery door. ‘We’ll get you something from the cupboard where Mrs Manners keeps the uniforms.’

  The linen cupboard was situated at the end of a wide passage next to the housekeeper’s office. It appeared to be locked, but Tilda jiggled the door and it opened. She glanced over her shoulder and grinned. ‘Hansford was meant to fix this, but it’s handy being able to get a clean uniform or apron without having to grovel to Mrs Manners.’ She selected a black cotton dress and held it up against Lottie. ‘That looks about your size. You can change in the broom cupboard. I’ll keep a lookout for Mrs M.’

  Minutes later Lottie emerged from the stuffy cupboard. ‘It fits.’

  ‘I knew it would,’ Tilda said smugly. ‘You can wash your duds in the scullery when we’ve finished clearing away the supper things. They’ll dry overnight in the laundry room.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Lottie held out her hand, but Tilda ignored the friendly gesture.

  ‘I only done it to please Herbie. He seems to think you’ll be good for her ladyship. She led poor old Merriweather a real dance, I can tell you.’

  ‘Herbie?’ Lottie stared at her, confused.

  ‘Hansford to you. We’re stepping out together, in case you hadn’t noticed, so hands off.’

  ‘It’s a promise,’ Lottie said firmly. She could see that Tilda thought she had won a great battle, although it was hard to understand the attraction. Hansford was a good twenty years Tilda’s senior, and his best friend could not in all honesty call him good-looking, but Tilda seemed to think him a great prize.

  ‘That’s settled then, but don’t expect me to keep getting you out of trouble, because I got better things to do.’ Tilda stalked off towards the kitchen, leaving Lottie to find her own way back to Lady Aurelia’s bedroom, but as luck would have it she turned a corner and came face to face with Mrs Manners.

  ‘So you are the new lady’s maid.’ Ermintrude Manners looked her up and down. ‘I wasn’t consulted about your appointment.’

  Lottie bobbed a curtsey, not knowing what to say or do in such circumstances. It was hardly her fault that the housekeeper had been overlooked.

  ‘I suppose you understand your duties while you are in this house?’

  ‘I think so, ma’am.’

  ‘You address me as Mrs Manners.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Manners.’

  ‘That’s better.’ Mrs Manners frowned thoughtfully. ‘I suppose you will have Merriweather’s old room, although I am loath to surrender it to someone like you.’

  ‘I can sleep anywhere, Mrs Manners. I shared a room at The Swan; I don’t mind doing so again.’

  Mrs Manners flinched visibly. ‘Yes, I heard that you’d been working in a common coaching inn. Well, we’ll have none of your lewd behaviour and bad language in this house, so be warned.’

  ‘I never swear and I don’t allow men to take liberties,’ Lottie said angrily. ‘I’m a respectable young woman.’

  ‘So you say, but what were you doing in such a place at all, I might ask?’ Mrs Manners held up her hand. ‘No, don’t answer that. Come with me and I’ll show you to your room. I just hope you will live up to your boast, Miss Lane.’

  They climbed the back stairs to the top floor where Lottie discovered she was to have a room of her own. It was large enough for an iron bedstead, a deal chest of drawers, a washstand with a tiled top and splashback, and a small cupboard. The floorboards were scrubbed to snowy whiteness and rag rugs gave the room a homely atmosphere. A dormer window looked out over the front garden, with glimpses of the road between the beech trees. It was not beautiful like Lady Aurelia’s boudoir but it was airy and comfortable.

  ‘It is not what you are used to?’ Mrs Manners’ sharp voice brought Lottie back from a delightful dream of sleeping on her own for the first time in her life.

  ‘No, it’s far better than anything I have had before. It’s a delightful room.’

  ‘Delightful? I’d hardly put it like that. Anyway, it’s yours for the duration of your stay in Chatham, although I doubt if that will be for long.’ Ermintrude Manners was about to leave the room, but Lottie barred her way.

  ‘I don’t understand. Why do you say that?’

  ‘You don’t look the type who could stand the life of a camp follower, or the sights and sounds of the battlefield, with gunfire, and mangled bodies lying on the ground and soldiers dying in agony and calling out for their mothers.’

  ‘Have you ever been on a campaign, Mrs Manners?’

  ‘Certainly not, but I’ve heard the soldiers’ tales and I’m very glad that I live here, in this lovely house, where I am safe from such horrors. Think hard before you get involved with Lady Aurelia, Miss Lane. Think very hard.’

  The mention of Lady Aurelia’s name brought Lottie back to the present with a start. She had almost forgotten that she had duties to perform other than making herself comfortable in her new quarters. ‘I should be unpacking Lady Aurelia’s cases,’ she said urgently.

  ‘So you should. I was wondering when you were going to remember why you are here.’ Mrs Manners moved a little closer to Lottie, sniffing the air. ‘I suggest you purchase some cologne, Miss Lane. You have a very distinctive odour, and it is not pleasant.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Manners, I’ll do that, of course.’ Lottie backed out of the room. ‘Excuse me, ma’am. I have a lot to do.’

  Chapter Five

  Lottie had barely finished unpacking the large trunk when Lady Aurelia breezed into the room. ‘Heavens, did I bring all that luggage with me?’ She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘I thought I brought only the bare essentials.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my lady. I would have been quicker, but I’m not entirely sure where everything goes.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Aurelia said airily. ‘I’m sure it will come in time, but for now I need you to find a suitable evening gown for me to wear. The re
gimental dinners are so tedious, but one must attend. I shall need you to accompany me, Lottie.’

  ‘What do I have to do, my lady?’

  ‘Very little. You take my cloak and wait for me in the anteroom. It’s only a short walk to the officers’ mess, and I usually make my escape from the proceedings when the ladies leave the gentlemen to their port and cigars. Between you and me I find the other wives a complete bore.’ Aurelia kicked off her shoes and threw herself down on the satin coverlet.

  Lottie gazed at the gowns she had unpacked and laid out over the back of a chair. ‘I’m sorry, my lady, but I don’t know which one to pick.’

  ‘I feel crimson,’ Aurelia said lazily. ‘Magenta is my favourite colour. I intend to be a peacock amongst the dowdy hens.’

  It was not hard to find the shimmering silk taffeta gown amongst the paler muslins and satins. Lottie held it up and the creases seemed to iron themselves out as if by magic. Bugle beads glistened on the bodice and she could imagine how it must look by candlelight. ‘It’s beautiful, my lady, but the waist is so small. I’m not sure I could fit into such a gown.’

  ‘Then it’s lucky you won’t have to.’ Aurelia snapped into a sitting position. ‘You’ll have to lace my stays tightly, or I might have a problem myself.’ She yawned and reclined once again amongst the embroidered pillows. ‘I won’t be able to eat a thing, so you must ask Cook to send a tray to my room when we return. She knows what I like. Wake me up at half-past six, Lottie. I think I’ll take a nap.’

  When Lottie first arrived at the officers’ mess, she had not realised that the Dashwoods’ house was adjacent to the barracks. It was a warm evening and Aurelia refused to wear her cloak, leaving Lottie to carry it for her. Colonel Dashwood had changed into mess dress and applied a liberal amount of bay rum to his thinning hair and an additional splash of cologne, which left a perfumed trail in his wake as he escorted his beautiful wife into the building. Lady Aurelia had been less liberal with the scent bottle, but the sunlight played on her golden coronet of curls, and turned the beads on her bodice into molten glass. Her waist, accentuated by the swinging bell of her crimson skirts, was whittled away to a hand span, and her low décolletage was complemented by a ruby and diamond necklace with matching earrings. Lottie basked in her reflected glory. She felt a sense of pride, like an artist who had created a masterpiece for the rest of the world to admire and praise, and it did not matter that her own gown was plain and downright dowdy.