“Oh. I’ve not been to town,” the new maid replied. “I haven’t even had my third half day yet, nor my quarterly pay, so’s I’ve been just resting up in my room.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Molly Sue remarked. “I’m so sorry. I forgot. Of course you haven't been to town, but you can go on your next half-day after we get our quarterlies, and see the sights.”
“I hear it’s not much of a town anyway,” Betty shrugged off the suggestion that she was missing out on something. “Just a village, really.”
“I guess that is true,” the older maid admitted, “but it’s our village and it has everything that we really need. There's a notions shop, a milliner, a greengrocer, a butcher, and a bakery where they make the best sweet rolls. There is even a little newsstand that sells books sometimes.”
At this, Evelyn turned her full attention to the chattering maids. “Yes, books,” Molly Sue said in reply to her questioning look. “I guess you and the Duchess don’t have enough books to read.”
“Oh, the Duchess and I have plenty of books to read. It is just that sometimes I would like books of my own to read just for my quiet time alone.”
“Is she terribly hard to work for?” Molly Sue asked. “The last companion said she was extremely particular.”
“Not really,” Evelyn said. “In fact, in many ways she's very sweet, very kind. You just have to understand her. Older people do have their particular ways. She has an amazing sense of humor, and says some of the most astonishing things. I rather like her. She reminds me of a neighbor we had when I was a child.”
“Well, that’s a miracle and a wonder,” Molly Sue said. “I guess that means you might be staying for a while.”
“I hope to,” Evelyn replied. “But what were you talking about just now?”
Molly Sue frowned for a moment, as if try to remember what they had been talking about. “Oh, those handbills.”
“Yes. You said they were all over town.”
“So they are,” Molly Sue commented. “They are all about Mr. Rutley from over at Hillsworth posting a reward for anybody who heard, or seen about, his nephew.”
“Has the nephew gone missing?” Evelyn inquired.
"Oh, yes,” said Molly Sue. “Several years ago, really. They say that he went out fishing and all they found of him was his hat and his broken fishing pole on the bank of the millstream. It was in full spate that day, so they think maybe he fell in and got washed away, but nobody ever found his body.”
“How very strange,” Evelyn said. “Did they not make a search at the time?”
“Oh, yes, of course they did. They made a huge search, with dogs and everything. But they still didn't find him. Some people think that maybe Mr. Rutley did away with him so’s he could get the estate.”
“That’s certainly a chilling thought,” Evelyn said. “What do you think happened?”
“I really have no idea,” Molly Sue said offhandedly. “That was before I hired on here. I was still living at home, which is up on the other side of London. Then my momma took me to the hiring agency to look for a position, and, well, I’ve been here ever since.”
“Do you like working for the Duchess?” Evelyn asked.
“I guess I like it well enough,” Molly Sue said. “I never worked anywhere else, so I don’t really know, but I’m not unhappy working here.”
“That’s a blessing,” Betty said. “I was very unhappy where I was working before. I went to the agency and asked to be placed somewhere else, ‘cause the youngest son kept cornering us. And how do you say, ‘Excuse me, Mr. Youngest Son, I’m not interested,’ ‘cause you don’t dare smack his face for bothering you. Now, that'll get you turned off in a hurry with no references. One of the girls did, cause...”
“That does sound like a miserable experience,” Evelyn cut in.
“Indeed, it does,” Molly Sue agreed. “I’ve heard that that happened in some of the big houses but nothing like that ever happened here. Well, maybe a little bit.”
“What do you mean, maybe a little bit?” Evelyn asked.
“Well the companion before you, she was somehow connected to the gentry, some kind of a daughter of a younger daughter, something like that. She thought she was better than all the rest of us, so when the Duke came over to have dinner with his mother, she’d get all dressed up in her best clothes and make sure that her bosom was showing just a little bit more than was proper. It didn’t take the Duchess long to show her the door.”
“Oh dear,” Evelyn said, “Perhaps that explains...” and then she caught herself before she could say anything she might regret.
Mrs. Smith cut in. “You had all best hope that Mrs. Henshaw doesn't hear you gossiping when you should be working. It will be dusting the attics for you for sure if you keep that up for she does not like idle chatter. Mrs. Swinton, was there anything else you needed from the laundry? Molly Sue, you’ve been told about gossiping before and no matter how many handbills are posted up in town you have no need to be talking about the Duchess or about the neighbors. Get along with all of you now, I have work to do, even if you don’t.”
As she walked away, Evelyn could not help but wonder why the handbills would be so important. Perhaps it was because the late Duke had been so interested in Hillsworth. Perhaps that made it of interest to everyone, or perhaps it was the mystery about the nephew’s disappearance.
When Evelyn entered the Duchess’ room she found Her Grace leafing through a stack of papers. Some of them were handbills and broadsheets, as well as a newspaper or two.
“Here, my dear,” said the Duchess, “could you read these out for me? The print is baffling to my eyes today.”
“Of course,” Evelyn said. “I would be glad to. Where would you like to start?”
“Why don’t you start with the handbills?” the Duchess said. “I always ask the footman who does the weekly purchasing to pick up the latest ones so that I will know what’s going on in the neighborhood.”
Evelyn obligingly picked up the stack of handbills and began reading them out. “Lost: Two piglets last seen foraging in local wood.”
The Duchess laughed. “That would be Mr. Jenkins. He always lets his pigs run wild. My guess is that the foxes got them.”
“Are there a great many foxes nearby?” Evelyn asked.
“There used to be a great many,” the Duchess said, “But during my father’s time we hosted fox hunts and that thinned them out. Of course, there is no telling what has occurred of late. My son does not care for hunting.”
“Does he not?” Evelyn commented. “I suppose he has other interests.”
“As nearly as I can tell,” the Duchess replied candidly, “his primary interests are his neckcloths, the fit of his coats, and, of late, he has evinced a desire for a new carriage.”
“Is that a disappointment to you, Your Grace?”
“Not entirely. He should take pride in his appearance. How else can one tell a Duke from a laborer? But I could wish that he focused his attention a little more on politics and what is going on in the world. Read on, Mrs. Swinton. Let us find out what else is going on in our small neighborhood.”
Evelyn picked up another handbill. “Reward for all kinds of snakes,” she read. ‘Garter snakes, puffers, adders, all kinds of snakes. The more deadly the snake, the greater the reward.’ That doesn’t sound like very much fun,” Evelyn commented.
Her Grace shook her head. “Indeed not,” she said. “I cannot imagine why anyone would be collecting snakes.”
“The fellow seems to be some sort of scientist,” Evelyn commented, picking up another handbill.
“Perhaps this would be of greater interest to you, Your Grace,” said Evelyn. “This seems to be a handbill posted by your neighbor, Mr. Rutley.”
“What in the world is he up to now?” the Duchess exclaimed.
“Reward,” Evelyn read, “5,000 pounds for word of The Earl of Hillsworth, 10,000 for his return. Tell him his estate misses him.”
“Well, inde
ed,” the Duchess chuckled, “after the boy has been missing for more than five years. Now he's looking for his nephew. I suppose he is getting tired of living on the proceeds from the estate and would like to get his hands on the principle.”
“Does this happen often?” Evelyn asked.
“No, but it does happen now and again that an heir goes missing. Frequently foul play has been afoot, but I suppose that Leroy Rutley is tired of living in poverty. It would not surprise me if he was helping to collect snakes.”
Evelyn laughed and reached for another handbill. “Oh my goodness,” she said, “The strange things one does learn in the world.”
Evelyn ruffled through the pleas for the return of missing livestock, suggestions for winter woolens, and similar items, looking for something that might be of more interest to the Duchess. “Here is a news broadsheet,” she said. “Oh my, the village is getting a new constable.”
“Are we indeed?” the Duchess looked interested. “Well, we should have him to dinner. Please take a letter, Mrs. Swinton.”
Evelyn obligingly got out the writing things and quickly took down an invitation to dinner, addressed it to the constable’s office in the village, and sealed it with the Duchess’ own seal.
“Send that out with the post, my dear,” the Duchess said. “It will be good to have a new face at dinner. Now if you would kindly also invite dear Blanche and her parents, as well as my son, we should have a pleasant meal.”
Chapter 14
Darrius sat at the table wishing he was nearly anywhere else. His mother looked pleased with herself, having not only managed to obtain the attendance of the new constable, but also that of the local magistrate and his wife.
As usual, Darrius sat at his mother’s left, while the new constable sat at her right. Next to the constable was Mrs. Swinton, while to Darrius’ left was Blanche. To Blanche’s left sat her father, then her mother. On the opposite side of the table, the magistrate sat next to Mrs. Swinton, and his wife sat on the other side of him.
It was not, he thought, a poorly balanced table, but the presence of such plebeian locals rubbed at him. Still, he supposed, it was a way to become acquainted with the young constable. His mother certainly could not go down to the village and strike up a conversation with him as she might have done in her younger days.
“So kind of you all to come,” his mother was saying, “We are very dull here with so few visitors.”
Mrs. Clark, the magistrate’s wife, said, “How can you say so? It is so beautiful here. Surely you must find many things to amuse yourself.”
“I will admit,” said the Duchess, “that since Mrs. Swinton has been my companion, it has been a great deal livelier. She has found many things to amuse me. We have been reading through George’s collection of old travel logs.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Clark looked a little blank. “I would not have thought that would be very entertaining.”
“I find it so,” the Duchess said equably, “especially when Mrs. Swinton does such a divine job of connecting the old events with happenings as we read them from the newspaper.”
“Oh,” said the magistrate, “I suspect that would be entertaining, to say nothing of instructive. Perhaps you should give the young constable the benefit of your observations.”
“I am sure,” Mrs. Swinton observed, “that our small doings would be of little interest to Constable Morris.”
“But we are grateful,” the Duchess added, “that the constable has taken time out of his busy schedule to dine with us tonight.”
“It is my pleasure,” Constable Morris said. “I had no idea that the position came with visiting privileges.”
“It is certainly unusual,” Lady Carletane observed.
“Nonetheless, it is supremely thoughtful,” Lord Carletane observed.
“Well,” said Magistrate Clark, “it is to be hoped that this is not a matter of currying favor.”
“No such thing,” the Duchess protested. “I am sure that it is difficult for a young person to move to a new area where he knows no one. By offering our hospitality we make it a little easier for this nice young gentleman.”
At this point they were interrupted by the servants bringing in the soup course. A fine aroma of chicken flavored with some unidentified spice arose from the bowls. The young constable waited until his table companions picked up their spoons, then copied their selection.
He has no idea even of which spoon to use, Darius thought to himself. Whatever was my mother thinking?
However, the Duchess seemed quite pleased with herself and beamed upon all the company with equal joviality.
“Mrs. Swinton and I,” the Duchess said, picking up the conversation where they had left off, “are matching the handbills with old legends and stories from the neighborhood. Do you recall when the young Earl over at Hillsworth disappeared?”
“Ah, yes,” the magistrate said. “That is still on our books as an unsolved case. He quite vanished, leaving only his hat and a broken fishing rod. The uncle is left in charge of the estate.
“Dear me,” said Lady Carletane, “Why do you suppose he is looking for his nephew now?”
Lord Carletane clicked his tongue at his wife. “My dear,” he said, “that comes perilously close to talking business at the dinner table.”
“Well,” said Lady Carletane, “I didn’t bring it up.”
The Duchess chuckled, a throaty genuine laugh. “No indeed. I brought it up. But you are right, Lord Carletane, it is very much like talking business at the dinner table. How rude of me! What would you like to talk about?”
“Well, for one,” said Lord Carletane, “I would like to know how your cook comes up with these lovely broths. This is such a simple dish, and yet it is delicious.”
There were murmurs of assent all around the table and spoons were busily employed dipping up the golden-colored liquid.
In short order, the servants took away the empty bowls, and brought in the meat and vegetable course. In country fashion, they were placed on the table and passed around, rather than serving as a full seven-course meal.
It was a simple meal that night. This late in June, a large butchering was not advisable, so the meat offering was a pair of plump hens flanked by a mound of fluffy dumplings.
The magistrate took a large bite of dumpling and hummed his approval. “Mmm,” he said. “Just the right amount of sage and something else I can’t quite identify.”
“Our cook is a master hand with the spice jar,” the Duchess said. “I have given up asking him what is in each dish but simply let him surprise me with the delicious selections.”
“Very wise,” said Lady Carletane. “I can quite see why you would not want to be continuously asking what is in each dish, especially when the results are this good.”
“Indeed,” said the Duchess, “it is much better simply to enjoy it.”
However, Miss Notley simply sat looking at the dumplings. She did not even attempt to taste them.
“Is there a problem?” Darius asked politely.
“No, no,” said Miss Notley. “I’m sure it is quite delicious but my stomach is upset. I’m afraid I cannot eat a single bite.”
“Try it,” Darrius urged. “The cook is a genius. However, if this is not something that you can eat, we will send down to the kitchen to ask if he will prepare something different for you.”
“Oh, no,” said Miss Notley in a faint voice. “I could not possibly put him to such trouble. I will simply sit here and watch the rest of you enjoying your meal.”
“Nonsense,” said the Duchess. We can certainly send for something that you can eat. Can you not at least have a bit of the chicken?”
“It has come to my awareness,” said Miss Notley, “That meat comes from living creatures that have feelings, relatives, and babies. I simply cannot eat anything that comes from flesh.”
Darius looked at her, brows raised in astonishment. “When did this come about? For you were enjoying roast beef only a week or so ago.”
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“I found a book,” she said “And it spoke of the lives of the animals that we have on our farms.”
“Very well,” said Darrius. Trying to maintain civility he beckoned to the butler. “Please, can you find something that Miss Notley can eat?”
The butler bent his head in a proper bow, and said, “I will speak with the cook, Your Grace.” And he immediately left the room.
“Now I have put the servants to extra trouble,” Blanche said. “I am so very sorry, Darrius.”
“Not to worry, my dear,” said the magistrate sententiously, “That is what servants are to do. They are to wait upon our pleasure.”
Before I Was Yours, My Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 9
