by M C Beaton
Then she sanded and sealed the letter with a slight feeling of relief. She packed her servants’ clothes into that bandbox and then went to bed for a few hours sleep.
The early morning light, dull and gray, suited her mood as she crept from the posting house. As it was only a short way out of town, she had hopes of seeing the gates of some mansion on her road.
Soon she could see the gray buildings of Carlisle in front of her in the morning haze. And then on her right she noticed a lodge house and two tall gates topped with stone griffins.
Anxious not to annoy the gatekeeper by waking him so early, she climbed over the wall and then made her way up a long drive. She was wearily wondering if in fact it led anywhere at all when she rounded a bend and saw a large stone house in front of her. It had a comfortable air of prosperity. Smoke was rising from several of the chimneys.
Lucy made her way around the side of the house, wondering now whether she could expect to be lucky again. Neither her mother nor her mother’s friends would dream of hiring an itinerant housemaid for one moment.
She heard a clatter of dishes from the basement and went down some stone steps to a stout door with a bell on a rope beside it. She rang the bell, hoping the servants were all awake.
The door was answered by an urchin, coatless and in his bare feet. Lucy asked to speak to the housekeeper and was told to walk inside. Another servants’ hall, another row of curious faces. There appeared to be a large number of servants. The housekeeper rose and came to stand before her. She was a thin, gaunt woman with a harsh face.
“Come with me,” she said, and led the way up the backstairs to her parlor on the half landing.
“I am Mrs. Moreton,” she said. “State your business.”
“I am looking for employ,” whispered Lucy, feeling intimidated.
“As is every felon on the north road. In what capacity?”
“As housemaid, an it please you, ma’am.” Lucy dropped a curtsy.
“Well, go on,” said Mrs. Moreton. “He tricked you, didn’t he? Went back to his regiment, did he?”
Lucy thanked all the men of the British army for their notorious unfaithfulness. To tell a good lie, she had to mostly believe it herself, so she threw her heart into her story. But as she talked of her love for this mythical soldier, she thought of the duke, and as she thought of him, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.
“I thought so,” said Mrs. Moreton. “Men were ever thus. Fiends all of them. The master, Mr. Camden, is not married and so he gives me a free hand with the girls. I shall put you on trial. If you do your work well, I shall keep you. If you slack or slouch for one minute, then you will be sent on your way.”
Lucy scrubbed her eyes dry and then searched in her reticule. “My references,” she said.
“Pooh! My own eyes are my references. Girls can have all sorts of references and yet be slack at their work. Mr. Camden is entertaining a party of house-guests and so I could do with an extra pair of hands. You have your uniform?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I will show you your room. Get changed and present yourself in the servants’ hall as quickly as possible.”
As Lucy changed into her print gown and tied on her cap and apron, she relished the idea of the hard work to come. She did not mind slaving now. All she wanted to do was blot any memory of the Duke of Wardshire from her mind.
The duke’s servants had never seen him in such a rage as he was that morning when he awoke and found Lucy Bliss had fled. He had been generous towards her, he had treated her with courtesy and kindness, and this was how she repaid him. He had thrown open the windows of his room in the morning, and the fresh breeze that had blown in had lifted the letter from Lucy, which she had slid under his door, and deposited it behind the coal scuttle. So the duke was left to think she had simply run off again without having the decency to let him know.
He told his servants that he would search for her himself. First he asked the landlord for the address of the nearest large house, and having been told it was Bramley, home of a Mr. Camden, he rode there, bitterness in his heart. He demanded to see Mr. Camden and was ushered up to that gentleman’s bedchamber.
Mr. Camden was a white-haired, jolly-looking man, already propped up against his pillows when the duke arrived and interested to learn what had brought the great duke calling on him.
The duke realized quickly that this was someone he could trust, and so he told the fascinated Mr. Camden all about his engagement to Lucy Bliss and their adventures. “So the blunt fact is, sir,” said the duke, “that Miss Bliss prefers the life of a servant to that of my wife.”
“Amazing,” said Mr. Camden, shaking his head in amazement. “Probably totty-headed. Got inbreeding in the Bliss family?”
Despite his anger, the duke smiled. “Not that I know of, but I am become doubtful of my own sanity. Would you be so good, sir, to ask if a housemaid called Lucy—she will keep her first name, I am sure—has been engaged this morning without making it look as if it is any concern of mine?”
“Gladly.” Mr. Camden rang the bell beside the bed. “We’ll have Mrs. Moreton in here. Looks like a dragon of a woman but got a soft heart. Might have engaged a girl on the doorstep if she was spun a hard-luck story.”
A footman came in and was told to fetch the housekeeper. The duke waited impatiently, persuading himself that he only wanted to know she was safe.
Mrs. Moreton entered and stood waiting. “Ah, Mrs. Moreton,” said Mr. Camden. “This gentleman is writing a scholarly treatise on servants’ conditions in England.”
The duke blinked.
“So,” went on Mr. Camden, who was enjoying himself immensely, “perhaps you can tell him about conditions here.”
The duke fretted while Mrs. Moreton, looking all the while at him as if she thought it an odd occupation for a gentleman, outlined the number of staff, the wages, holidays allowed, sleeping accommodation, and the state of the kitchens.
“Taken on anyone new?” asked Mr. Camden when she had finished.
“A new housemaid. This morning. She’s on trial.”
“Where did she come from?”
“Just turned up. Usual story. Tricked by a soldier. You know, sir, these fiends promise the girls marriage and then go back to their regiments.”
“And this Mary Jane or whatever her name is…”
“Lucy, sir.”
“Ah, Lucy. Yes, strong, sturdy type?”
“No, sir, very slight but wiry. I think she will do. Pretty manners, and that’s rare enough these days.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Moreton, that will be all.”
When the housekeeper had left, Mr. Camden looked at the duke with the bright inquisitiveness of a robin. “What would you like me to do?”
“She is safe here,” said the duke bitterly. “If that is what she wants, let her have it. Should she become ill or show any signs of leaving, inform me by express. I shall, however, have to inform her parents where she is, and they will probably come and fetch her. In the meanwhile, please do not let anyone know of my interest in her.”
Lucy heard that evening of the duke’s visit, for although his name had not been given to Mrs. Moreton, the butler who had announced him was eager to tell them all about how the duke had looked and what he had worn, and for one glorious moment her heart surged with hope. He would take her away, he would say he loved her.
But that hope died as Mrs. Moreton began to complain that dukes ought to behave like dukes and not go writing things about servants.
“Did he ask for the names of the staff here?” asked Lucy anxiously.
“Didn’t ask anything. Mr. Camden, he did all the asking. Asked me if we have taken anyone on recently, and I said only you.”
So the duke knew she was here, thought Lucy, and yet had gone away. That was that. She had wanted so many times to make him disgusted with her, and now she had succeeded. And when she eventually left to go to stay with Belinda, she would be near Sarsey and w
ith the vicar, and the duke could order the vicar to turn her out. She would need to go back to her mother and endure a lifetime of recrimination.
It took the duke less than two days to return to Sarsey. He found his home full of guests and bustling with preparations for Belinda’s wedding. He went to the library and asked Mr. and Mrs. Bliss and Belinda and Mr. Marsham to be sent to him.
Mr. Marsham had been visiting Belinda, so soon all were present and demanding to know where Lucy was.
“She has run away from me,” said the duke harshly. “She is working as a housemaid.”
Mrs. Bliss turned pale. “You must be funning. A daughter of mine as a servant! And you have not married her? And yet she has been with you.”
Mr. Bliss said coldly, “Please explain carefully what happened, Your Grace.”
And so the duke told them as best as he could. He said that he and Mrs. Bliss between them had driven Lucy into servitude as she could not bear the idea of being married to him, nor could she obviously bear returning to her mother.
Belinda began to cry, and Mr. Marsham comforted her.
Mrs. Bliss found her voice. “The shame of it,” she wailed. “Have I not had enough to bear with the guests here wondering why it is Belinda who is wedding a vicar and not a duke wedding Lucy? And they do not like the idea that the grand wedding gifts they sent or brought should go to such an undistinguished pair.”
“What are you going to do about your daughter?” demanded the duke.
“I am casting her off,” panted Mrs. Bliss. “She may be ruined, but she is not going to ruin me. All my friends will be at the wedding.”
“Then I will go for her,” cried Belinda.
“No,” said Mr. Bliss quietly. “I will fetch her. All is not lost. No one but your servants and ourselves know you went off with Lucy to Gretna Green. I have made sure Mrs. Bliss told nobody. If you constrain your servants to silence, Your Grace, then Lucy’s reputation can be saved.”
“You may take my traveling carriage and servants,” said the duke. “I will come with you.”
“No,” said Mr. Bliss sadly. “You had better let me go alone. It is only a few days to Belinda’s wedding. With any luck, we will be back by then.”
“I have her belongings with me,” said the duke.
“She left all her clothes!” screamed Mrs. Bliss.
“Servants do not need much,” said the duke. “Mr. Bliss, I suggest you set out tomorrow at first light.”
In the posting house outside Carlisle, a maidservant found Lucy’s letter behind the coal scuttle half an hour after the duke had left. She gave it to the landlord. The landlord, anxious to impress so important a client as the Duke of Wardshire, rode into the Royal Mail office in Carlisle and paid for the letter’s postage.
The letter reached the nearest large town to Sarsey, Barminster, where it was decided to send a post boy out with it to the duke, rather than keeping it to go out with the usual bag in the morning.
And so it was that the duke, immured in his library and refusing to see any of his guests, was disturbed late at night by his secretary, who handed him Lucy’s letter, wrapped round which was a covering letter from the landlord to say that it had been found shortly after the duke’s departure.
More recriminations, he thought wearily as he broke open the seal. He read and reread the letter. A warm glow started up somewhere inside him. It was all so very simple. She did not want a loveless marriage, and fool that he was, he had never told her he loved her.
He went in search of Mr. Bliss, finally having to enlist his servants to help him find him. Mr. Bliss had become expert at hiding from his wife and was finally found out in one of the succession houses, sitting among the plants, reading a book.
Silently the duke showed him the letter, and Mr. Bliss’s face brightened. “So may I suggest,” he said, “that you go yourself?”
“Immediately,” said the duke with a grin.
“And will you be back in time for Belinda’s wedding, or do you still plan to go to Gretna?”
“I still have that special license,” said the duke, “and if she will have me, then it will be a double wedding.”
He then went in search of his secretary and told Mr. Lewis to make preparations for a double wedding and to inform the bishop, and the overworked Mr. Lewis bit back a groan. It was understood that Mrs. Bliss should know nothing of his plans. The servants were to be gathered together and told again that they must not breathe a word of his journey to Gretna with Miss Bliss. Then the grooms and coachman and footmen who had been relaxing after the grueling journey south were told to make ready to go back again.
All the long journey, the duke saw Lucy’s face dancing before his tired eyes. What if he told her he loved her and that did not do the trick? But he would bring her home anyway. Horses were changed, posting houses came and went, the fatigued servants swore and grumbled as the carriage hurtled over northwards, the duke answering their grumbles by saying that if the mail coach could travel from London to Edinburgh in thirty-four and a half hours, then they could make it to Carlisle in considerably less time.
Chapter Ten
Lucy had found the work at Sir George Clapham’s very hard, but the work at Mr. Camden’s was double because of the house party.
His guests were all gentlemen, a fishing party, noisy, often drunk, often muddy, and ever-demanding. Bedrooms would be scrubbed and dusted and then the gentlemen would return from fishing, trailing mud over the floors and calling for hot water and hot drinks. The servants were not allowed to go to bed until the guests had retired, and that was often at two or three in the morning, but they were expected to be up at six to recommence their labors.
Lucy guessed the staff were normally a happy and easygoing lot of people, but with lack of sleep and work, nerves were stretched to breaking point. Did Mr. Camden ever think of the slavery that went on in his house? wondered Lucy. So many fireplaces to clean out, so much black lead, which, as usual, got everywhere, and no luxury of a hot bath. She was told to remove the black lead from her skin with a little butter.
And all the time, misery ate into her. She often thought she should have had the duke on any terms. But now he had gone. Belinda would be married and she would not be there, for the presence of a ruined sister would cast a shadow on Belinda’s day of happiness.
But she was so very tired that during a brief morning break when Mrs. Moreton appeared in the servant’s hall and snapped at her, “Present yourself in the drawing room immediately,” she felt near to tears.
“I did the drawing room with Betty,” wailed Lucy. “We worked and worked. They had drunk toasts the night before and hurled their glasses in the fire, and we spent ages cleaning out the broken glass and scrubbing wine stains off the fender. We—”
“All I know is that you’re to go to the drawing room immediately. Mr. Camden’s orders,” said Mrs. Moreton.
Lucy trailed wearily after her. So far, she had not even seen the owner of this house. Mrs. Moreton opened the door of the drawing room and pulled Lucy inside. Mr. Camden—she supposed it must be he—was sitting in his dressing gown and slippers. He had a guest who was seated opposite him but hidden by the high wings of an armchair.
“Leave us, Mrs. Moreton,” said Mr. Camden. “So this is the girl, hey?”
“Yes, this is the girl, and if there are any complaints about her work, then I should hear them.”
“No, no, Mrs. Moreton. Off you go.”
The housekeeper reluctantly withdrew. “Step forward, miss,” said Mr. Camden, getting to his feet. “You may take my chair. You have a visitor.”
Lucy went forward and found herself looking at the Duke of Wardshire. She let out a little cry, but Mr. Camden pushed her down into the chair he had vacated and said bracingly, “No hysterics, please. I’ll leave you to it, Wardshire.”
Lucy looked at the duke, wide-eyed. “What a mess you do look,” he said. “What is that black stuff on your cheek?”
“Black lead,” said Lucy
. “I have been cleaning fireplaces.”
He smiled at her in a way that made her tremble. “I got your letter,” he said softly. “I did not get it right away or I would never have left here. The landlord found it and sent it on. Did it never occur to you that I might be in love with you?”
“No,” whispered Lucy. “Are you?”
“So very much. Now will you have me?”
“Oh, Wardshire, with all my heart.”
He stood up and went over to her and scooped her up and carried her back to his chair and set her on his knees. “What fools we have been,” he said huskily. “And what a dreadful cap.” He took it off and threw it on the fire. “Can you love me a little, Lucy, or would you prefer this life of drudgery?”
“I do love you,” said Lucy with a catch in her voice. “That was the real reason, I think, that I did not want to marry you.”
He bent his head and kissed her, a long, searching kiss which finally told him that everything he had hoped and prayed for was true. “What now?” asked Lucy shyly, when she could. “Do we go to Gretna?”
“No, my love, we return to Sarsey at all speed so that we may be married at the same time as Belinda. I still have that special license. We will be married and go away somewhere where we can be quiet together. I shall give that poor secretary of mine a holiday. His last problem was that your sister was determined to lead that dog of hers up the aisle. She had even made a white satin coat for the beast. Now, we had better be on our way. But kiss me again first.”
Mrs. Moreton hovered anxiously outside the drawing room door. She admired hard workers and had taken a liking to Lucy. She hoped the girl was not in any trouble, but the silence from inside the drawing room was unnerving.
She steeled herself and opened the door. Lucy was lying in the arms of a tall, handsome man whom Mrs. Moreton recognized as the Duke of Wardshire. He was kissing Lucy fiercely and one of his hands was on the girl’s breast. Lucy let out a moan and Mrs. Moreton sprang into action.
