Gifford's Lady

by Claire Thornton

  'That is so,' he agreed.

  'You must employ dozens of individuals—in different capacities,' she said tentatively.

  'Hundreds, I imagine,' said Raven. 'I'm not closely acquainted with the day-to-day management of the property.'

  'You aren't?' Abigail was startled. 'Oh, of course. You've been at sea,' she added, relieved at this obvious

  explanation for what she would otherwise have been inclined to consider a dereliction of his duty.

  'I'm sure I wouldn't escape your censure if I didn't have that excuse,' Raven murmured, a touch of humour in his voice.

  'Censure? Oh, no! Though I do feel a landlord has a responsibility to his tenants...b-but all this is neither here nor there!' Abigail exclaimed, flustered. 'You have distracted me!'

  'From henceforth I'll be quiet,' Raven promised. 'Though may I just point out we're standing in the sun. Perhaps we should haul off into the shade before you continue.'

  'Of course.' Abigail's skirts swished as she turned smartly about and marched into the shade of the next tree. She was trying to throw herself on Raven's mercy and he was making fun of her! Indignation overcame her natural nervousness. She would not allow him to make a game of her delicacy.

  'Sir,' she said briskly. 'I'm seeking places for a cook, a lady's maid and a footman. It seemed to me that you might either have such positions available upon your own estates, or you might know of another employer who is trying to fill such posts.'

  'You're trying to find new employment for Miss Wyndham's staff?' Raven exclaimed.

  'Yes, sir.' Abigail took advantage of his startled silence to press her case. 'Mrs Thorpe is an excellent cook. Her roasts and soups are particularly good. Her eggs au miroir was one of Miss Wyndham's favourite dishes. She is also adept with jellies, trifles and syllabubs.' Mrs Thorpe's Achilles' heel was her pastry, but

  Abigail decided not to tell Raven about that. 'And, as I mentioned first, her roasts are substantial and excellently dressed,' Abigail emphasised.

  Mrs Chesney had told her that Raven was a hearty trencherman, who preferred plain, wholesome fare to fancy sweets.

  'Now, Bessie Yapton,' she continued, not sure whether Raven's silence was a good or a bad omen. At least he was doing her the courtesy to listen carefully to her petition. 'Miss Wyndham's maid. I know you probably don't have a place for a lady's maid, sir, but you may have an older female relative who is seeking someone suitable?' She looked at him enquiringly.

  'Older?' Raven prompted her, fascination in his gaze.

  'Not necessarily,' said Abigail hastily. 'Bessie knows her trade well. But Miss Wyndham was not at the forefront of fashion for some years, so Bessie is not totally familiar with the latest modes...styles of hairdressing, for example. But she kept Miss Wyndham's clothes in perfect condition. Her needlework is very fine. For mending, you understand,' Abigail hastened to assure him. 'I don't mean she gives herself airs with a tambour frame when her mistress needs her. She is hard-working, honest and loyal.' Abigail hesitated a moment, frowning. 'Did I mention that Mrs Thorpe is also hard-working, honest and loyal?' she asked.

  'I believe that was implicit in your testimonial,' Raven said gravely.

  'Good!' Abigail took a deep breath. 'Now Joshua,' she said resolutely. 'The footman. He is not very sharp-

  witted, but he is good-natured and hard-working. Miss Wyndham gave him a splendid livery. He's so proud of it and he's always taken very good care of it. I don't think he would be suitable for a position of responsibility, but he would be a very impressive addition to any large hallway you might have in any of your houses. With a big sweeping staircase. I always thought Joshua was wasted in our little house. He's also very patient and gentle. He used to carry Miss Wyndham between her bedroom and drawing room every day. She always enjoyed that.' Abigail sighed. 'I didn't realise how comfortable our life was until now it's gone,' she said sadly. Then she smiled hopefully at Raven. 'Do you think you may be able to help?'

  'To find places for a cook, a lady's maid and a footman?' he said. 'I have no idea, but I will certainly enquire. The man in the best position to help you is my uncle, Malcolm Anderson. He has managed all my family's affairs for years, first on behalf of my father, and now for me. I'll ask him.'

  'Thank you so much!' Abigail exclaimed. 'I hate to impose on you like this, but you're the only person I know who might be able to help. Admiral Pullen is very kind, but he lives in lodgings. He doesn't need a cook, and he wouldn't know what to do with a lady's maid or a footman!'

  'Surely it's Mr Johnson's responsibility to take care of his aunt's staff,' Raven said drily.

  'Oh.' Abigail stared at him blankly. The idea had never occurred to her. 'Oh...yes...I suppose so. But I d-don't think...that is, it is obviously easier for me to

  deal with the matter because I know them all so much better than he does,' she said, recovering her poise.

  'What about you?' Raven asked.

  'Me?' Abigail squeaked, alarmed by the question. 'Oh, no, sir! I assure you. You mustn't think I w-want you to do anything for m-me! No, indeed.' She smoothed down her black skirts in an agitated gesture and started to walk off through the gardens.

  She'd dreaded the possibility Raven might think she was asking help for herself. Miss Clarke's horrible insinuations that she was throwing her cap at Raven still rang in her ears. As if she would do such a thing! The mere suggestion was mortifying. If he hadn't been such a handsome, attractive man, she could have laughed off the notion without a second thought. But, of course he was handsome and attractive, and it was absolutely essential he should understand she wanted no favours from him—that she had no inappropriate expectations of any kind.

  Raven's long legs easily kept up with her hurried pace. He let her continue at her breakneck speed for a little while, then he put his hand on her arm, obliging her to slow down.

  'It's too warm for so much exertion, he said apologetically.

  'It is m-most important,' said Abigail breathlessly, swinging round to face him. 'You should understand that I d-do not at all wish you to...to be of pecuniary or... or employ able... employ... find me a job!' she finished, inelegantly but unambiguously. 'No, indeed!'

  'I'm sorry I insulted you,' Raven said stiffly.

  Abigail heaved in a deep breath. She was very hot and very agitated. 'You did not,' she said. 'Of course you d-didn't. I did not mean to offend you, either. Perhaps I am a little sensitive on the subject. But I assure you—I am perfectly capable of fending for myself.'

  'I know you are,' said Raven. 'May I ask—if you won't consider it an impertinence—how you intend to do so?'

  Abigail winced at his pointed phraseology. 'Oh, please, don't be angry with me!' she begged, impulsively laying her hand on his arm. 'I'm sure you understand. Mrs Thorpe and Bessie, they are quite...quite mature. They are afraid it may be hard to find another place. They are not old!' she added hastily. 'But not in their first youth either. And Joshua—he needs someone to speak for him. But I—'

  'Don't,' Raven finished for her, as she struggled to find a less antagonistic way of repeating what she'd already said.

  'Sometimes, perhaps I do,' she said honestly. 'But in this situation...' She realised she was still clutching Raven's sleeve and quickly withdrew her hand. 'Oh, dear.' She'd creased the blue cloth and she tried to smooth it with quick, nervous gestures. Then she realised that stroking Raven's arm was totally improper and snatched her hand away.

  'I'm sorry. I didn't mean... A g-governess.' She switched topics desperately. 'I like children. I think they like me...that is, Mrs Chesney's grandchildren like me,' she said conscientiously. 'I have taught two of them their letters. And I have many...that is, some

  of the necessary accomplishments of a young lady. I play...I play...I play the pianoforte a little.' She blushed, uncomfortable at singing her own praises. 'I can sketch...a little. In short, I think I would suit a genteel family with not too many ambitions for their daughters. I c-cannot speak French or Italian,' she concluded, rather
defiantly.

  Raven's lips twitched and he glanced away across the gardens. When he looked back at Abigail his expression was perfectly sober.

  'You wish to become a governess?' he said gravely.

  'I think it might be a rewarding occupation,' she said cautiously. 'Of course, I don't have much experience. But I believe...I hope Mr Tidewell will provide me with a reference. If you know of anyone looking for a governess, of course I would...but that did not seem very likely to me. And you are not in a position to recommend me,' she continued more confidently. 'You do not know if I have the accomplishments I've just claimed. And even if you did—it would seem very odd if you sponsored me. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I don't think a gentleman's recommendations would help my cause.'

  'A cogent point,' said Raven. 'But what will you do—where will you live—while you are looking for a suitable position?'

  Abigail hesitated. 'Mrs Chesney...the very first night when you sent for her—she asked me to stay with her until I can find a suitable place. In her part of the house, of course,' Abigail assured him earnestly. 'I wouldn't be in your way at all. In fact, you won't even know I'm there,' she finished optimistically.

  'That would be a pity,' said Raven.

  'Oh.' Abigail blushed. 'I don't mean to be tiresome,' she said a few seconds later. 'But would you...do you suppose you could ask Mr Anderson about Bessie and the others soon? They are so worried.'

  'Yes, I will,' he assured her.

  'Thank you.' Abigail sighed with relief and then smiled radiantly at him. 'It's such a weight off my mind,' she said. 'I know you cannot promise anything, but at least I've asked.'

  Malcolm Anderson was already ensconced in the drawing room when Gifford returned from his walk in Sydney Gardens with Abigail.

  'Good God!' he exclaimed. 'I didn't expect you for another two days.'

  'I'm yours to command,' Anderson replied, in his dry Scottish accent. 'I have but to receive your summons and I fly to your side. Actually, I was on the point of leaving London for Oxfordshire when I received your letter, but one should always curry favour where one can.'

  Gifford grinned and shook his uncle's hand. Malcolm Anderson had managed the Raven family affairs for nearly twenty years. Malcolm's older sister had married Gifford's father and, since Malcolm was a younger brother with no prospects of his own, he had rapidly shifted his loyalty to his sister's new family.

  He'd worked hard to protect and extend the interests of the Raven family, but he'd also done well on his own account. Gifford suspected Anderson would resist

  any attempt to relieve him of some or all of his responsibilities. If Gifford did stay in England it was a situation which would need to be handled with some delicacy.

  But that was for the future. In the meantime, it was Miss Wyndham's bereaved staff who needed to be handled with delicacy.

  'We need a place for a cook, a lady's maid and a footman,' he said to his uncle, and proceeded to tell him what he'd heard about them from Abigail.

  'You summoned me to Bath for this?' Anderson enquired, when Gifford had finished.

  'No,' Gifford admitted. 'Somewhat foolishly, it hadn't occurred to me that Miss Summers would be so concerned with the servants. It was her situation I thought you might be able to help with.'

  'Really?' Anderson leant forward, his shrewd eyes sharp with curiosity. 'Why?'

  'She is not without friends in Bath,' said Gifford, remembering the admiral and Mrs Chesney. 'But unfortunately they lack resources. You, on the other hand, have an infinite number of resources available to you, and a very creative way of making the best use of them.'

  Anderson grinned. 'You have a fine knack of evading the question, lad. What do you have in mind for your Miss Summers?'

  'She's taken a notion to be a governess,' said Gifford. 'But she's adamant she doesn't want any assistance for herself—only for the rest of the household. So you might as well start with them. We'll call upon

  them tomorrow morning and you can arrange everything.'

  Anderson laughed. 'I could make some suggestions now,' he said. 'You could convey them directly to Miss Summers if you wish. I'm sure she'd be very impressed with you.'

  Gifford threw his uncle a sideways look. 'I'm not trying to impress her,' he said edgily. 'Besides, this place is a hotbed of scandal. I've done my best over the past few days to avoid giving the gossips any more ammunition. We'll tell Miss Summers you came to see me about family business and I took the opportunity to mention her worries about the staff.'

  'As you wish.' Anderson's eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline, but he didn't comment any further on his nephew's behaviour.

  Chapter Five

  'What's he doing here?' Charles demanded belligerently, gesturing towards Admiral Pullen.

  'Admiral Pullen is one of the executors,' said Mr Tidewell calmly. 'Miss Wyndham wished that he should be present.'

  'And them?' Charles waved towards the servants sitting uncomfortably around the seldom-used mahogany table.

  Mr Tidewell had decided the dining room was the most convenient place in which to reveal the contents of Miss Wyndham's will.

  'They are also present at Miss Wyndham's request,' Mr Tidewell replied. 'If you will be patient a little longer, sir, I'm sure all your questions will be answered.'

  Despite her nervousness, Abigail had to suppress a quick smile. Mr Tidewell's dislike of Miss Wyndham's great-nephew was evident, though he concealed it beneath professional courtesy.

  Abigail expected nothing for herself, except perhaps a small token of gratitude, but she did hope that Miss Wyndham had remembered Bessie Yapton and Mrs

  Thorpe, though the matter was less pressing than it had been a few days before. Mr Malcolm Anderson, Raven's uncle, had already offered places to both women and to Joshua. Bessie and Mrs Thorpe would be leaving to take up new positions on Raven's Oxfordshire estate the very next day. And Joshua had been offered a place at the town house in Berkeley Square.

  Abigail was so happy for them, and so relieved she no longer had to worry about their future.

  Mr Anderson had also asked if there was anything he could do to help her. His manner had been so disinterestedly kind yet also practical that she'd found it surprisingly easy to confide her plans to him. When she'd blushingly said that she thought she had many of the skills necessary to be a governess he'd asked her to show him examples of her embroidery and painting. Then he'd asked her to play upon the pianoforte. She'd even shown him the household accounts she'd kept for Miss Wyndham, to demonstrate her facility for practical mathematics.

  Mr Anderson had complimented her briefly, but sincerely, upon her accomplishments, and said he would make enquiries on her behalf. Abigail sensed he was a man of his word. She didn't plan to depend upon his services, but she did feel less anxious about her future after speaking with him.

  'If everyone is ready?' Mr Tidewell glanced around the dining room. 'Thank you.'

  To Abigail's relief, Miss Wyndham had left forty pounds each to Bessie and Mrs Thorpe. She'd also bequeathed some of her clothes to the two women. They

  had the option of selling the garments, or of keeping them for their own use.

  A few moments later, Abigail was dumbfounded to discover that she was to receive Miss Wyndham's finest gowns. Dresses of silk and satin more costly than anything Abigail had ever worn before. Silk and cashmere shawls. Three pelisses. Two riding habits.

  Abigail was speechless with shock as Mr Tidewell's precise voice described in careful detail each of the garments Miss Wyndham had left to her. Riding habits? Abigail had never known Miss Wyndham to ride in the whole time she'd been her companion. But now Abigail was the overwhelmed owner of one riding habit of peacock blue, and another of burgundy red. And so many other fine clothes...

  She pressed her fingers against her trembling lips and glanced around the table at her companions. She saw that both Bessie and the cook were nodding with satisfaction.

  'Good,' said Bessie. 'We talked abo
ut which would be the best gowns for you,' she told a bemused Abigail. 'Miss Wyndham and me. They were very old-fashioned, of course, but I've already made most of them over into the current mode for you. Miss Wyndham enjoyed that. We looked at all the latest fashion plates. And she liked to make suggestions for the alterations...' Bessie's voice failed and her eyes filled with tears.

  Mrs Thorpe patted her hand comfortingly.

  Abigail's throat grew tight with emotion. The idea that Miss Wyndham and her lady's maid had taken so

  much trouble on her behalf was almost unbearably poignant.

  'Can we get on!' Charles demanded impatiently.

  Miss Wyndham had left Joshua ten pounds and his splendid footman's livery. She also spoke kindly of his diligence and honesty.

  Charles Johnson drummed his fingers on the dining room table and muttered with dissatisfaction. Mr Tidewell peered at him over the top of document he held in his hand, then continued reading at the same measured pace.

  'To Miss Abigail Summers I bequeath my pianoforte...'

  Abigail's mouth dropped open. She'd expected a token. Perhaps a small ornament or personal item. But she'd already received all the finest of Miss Wyndham's clothes. And now the pianoforte...

  Abigail knew the instrument was one of the only two pieces of furniture which Miss Wyndham had actually owned. All the other pieces had been leased with the house.

  'To my nephew Charles Johnson, I leave my bed...'

  Mr Tidewell read the closing sentences of Miss Wyndham's will, and then laid it upon the dining room table and folded his hands on top of it.

  'Go on, man! Go on!' Charles snarled.

  'There is no more,' said Mr Tidewell placidly.

  'What the hell are you talking about?' Charles plunged forward and snatched a corner of the will, dragging it out from beneath Mr Tidewell's hands.