Joanna Maitland

by Rakes Reward

  Marina closed her eyes, trying vainly to shut out the noise and the overpowering smells. She had never imagined that London could be so full of raucous sounds—the cries of hawkers, each trying to outdo his neighbour, the shouts of draymen anxious to make their way through the bustle of traffic, the ring of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels, the underlying hum of a huge, pulsating city. At home, she had been used to the sounds and smells of farmyard animals, the cries of wild birds, and the howl of the wind across the moors. Nothing like this. She resisted the temptation to hold her nose or put her hands to her ears. If she was to live in London as companion to Lady Luce, she would have to become accustomed. She might as well start now.

  Armed with this new resolution, Marina sat up and looked out of the window. She had no idea where she was, but the streets seemed to have become a little quieter. They were certainly more genteel than before: fewer hawkers, more gentlemen’s carriages. The houses had large windows and imposing entrances, some flanked by columns like a Greek temple. This was much, much grander than anything she had known in Yorkshire.

  While Marina was studying the architecture on one side of the street, the carriage drew up at a house on the other. She had arrived! The footman, more deferential now, had jumped down to open the door on the far side and stood ready to help her out. As she stepped down, the front door was opened by a stately old man in black who was almost completely bald. What little hair he still possessed was white as snow and sat round his pate like a frill of cream round a pink pudding. He looked like something out of a fairy tale, Marina decided, though he should have been wearing a wizard’s robe rather than a butler’s uniform.

  ‘Welcome to London, Miss Beaumont,’ the butler said in an expressionless voice. ‘Her ladyship is waiting for you upstairs in her drawing room. Will you come this way, please?’ He turned and began to lead the way towards the imposing staircase.

  Not now! Not yet! Marina looked down at her travel-stained clothing and her darned gloves. She needed time to make herself presentable before she was introduced to Lady Luce. The Dowager would take one look at her in this state and send her back to Mama by the first available coach.

  Marina took a deep breath and paused just inside the door. ‘I am sure her ladyship does not wish to meet me until I have rid myself of the dust of the journey,’ she said in a voice that surprised her with its steadiness. ‘Have the goodness to bring me to a room where I may wash and change my dress first. The footman may bring my valises.’ Marina looked back to where the footman was extracting her luggage from the carriage.

  The butler stopped short, then turned back and stared at her in apparent amazement for a few seconds. Finally, he coughed and resumed his earlier vacant expression. ‘As you wish, miss. Will you come this way? Charles, bring Miss Beaumont’s bags up to her room straight away.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Tibbs,’ replied the footman quickly, hoisting both bags with one arm so that he could close the front door noiselessly behind him.

  Marina smiled to herself, a very little. She had just learned her second lesson. And so had Lady Luce’s servants.

  Chapter Two

  Marina looked round her small, sparsely furnished bedchamber. She supposed she should be glad that she had not been banished to the attics, with the servants. As a lady’s companion, she would be neither servant nor gentry, but something indeterminate in between. She must maintain her distance from the servants. Lady Luce and her guests would, in turn, maintain their distance from the companion. Marina would be alone.

  The butler had informed her, in a somewhat fatherly manner, that she had been given a bedchamber on the same corridor as her ladyship’s so that she would be within easy reach, should Lady Luce have need of her services at any time. Marina had deduced that she was to be at her ladyship’s beck and call, twenty-four hours a day.

  She shrugged her shoulders. What else had she expected? Her own grandmother had been equally exacting—and more than a little querulous towards the end of her life. Marina would just have to summon all her reserves of patience and understanding, and set about ministering to another old lady’s whims.

  I shall pretend she is my own grandmother, Marina promised herself as she changed her gown. I learned forbearance then. I can surely do the same for another demanding old lady, especially as, on this occasion, I am being paid for my trouble.

  She smiled at the thought of the money she would send to her mother the moment she received her first wages. Mama had said Marina would need to provide for her wardrobe, but surely she could manage with what she had brought from Yorkshire? A companion did not need many gowns to accompany her mistress when she took the air, or to wind her lady’s knitting wool. Marina had long ago decided to confine herself to what she already had. Her first duty was to her own family.

  She considered her image in the glass that had been thoughtfully provided. It would do. Her grey gown, though creased from its time in her valise, was clean and neat, and set off with a fresh white collar. She looked like a lady, not a servant, she decided, with a small smile of satisfaction. Her dark brown hair had been neatly rebraided and pinned to the back of her head. Her newly washed complexion glowed with health. Her head was bare—she might be almost at her last prayers but, at twenty-three, she was not yet condemned to the spinster’s cap—and she wore no jewellery except the mourning ring that had been on her finger almost since the day she had learned of her father’s death. She nodded at her reflection in the mirror. Lady Luce would see, in her, the model of a demure, biddable lady’s companion, well worth the wage she was to be paid. The Dowager would have no reason to send Marina back to her family. That must be avoided at all costs, for Mama desperately needed every penny Marina could spare.

  And now she must go down to meet the lady who would have the ordering of her life for months, perhaps years to come.

  Marina took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and made her way out into the corridor. Tibbs, the butler, was hovering not far away, waiting for her.

  ‘This leads to her ladyship’s chambers,’ he said, indicating a door near the head of the staircase. ‘No one else sleeps on this floor, except when her ladyship has guests. Though now there is yourself, miss,’ he added, apparently as an afterthought.

  ‘Does not the Earl stay here when he is in London?’ Marina asked.

  ‘No, miss. Her ladyship and her son…’ He coughed. ‘His lordship has his own house in town. He always stays there.’

  ‘I see,’ said Marina. It was understandable that a grown-up son would not wish to live under the eye of his mother, even for a day or two. The butler seemed to have been about to say something about the pair, something that had sounded for all the world like the beginning of backstairs gossip. Marina, not being a servant, should deliberately shut her ears to it. And yet she found herself wondering about the Earl and his relationship with his mother. Was she too demanding for his comfort? Elderly ladies often were. And a gentleman’s patience could be quickly exhausted.

  The butler led Marina down to the floor below and to a room at the front of the house. With a grand gesture, he threw open the door and announced, in stentorian tones, ‘Miss Beaumont, your ladyship.’

  Marina passed through the door that Tibbs was holding and heard it close quietly at her back. This sumptuous straw-coloured drawing room seemed to be empty. She could see no one at all. But surely…? The butler had seemed in no doubt…

  Marina hesitated by the door.

  ‘Don’t just stand there, girl. Come into the light where I may see you.’ The sharp voice came from the depths of a chair by a large window overlooking the street.

  Marina moved forward to find the source of that peremptory command. Only when she had reached the far side of the room could she see that the voice had issued from a tiny figure who was dwarfed by the chair she sat in. Lady Luce was richly dressed in plum-coloured silk, but in the style of more than forty years earlier, with wide skirts and an abundance of fine lace at her throat and wrists, and a powde
red wig on her head. Although her skin was dry and wrinkled, the delicate lines of her bones showed that she had once been very beautiful. Now she resembled nothing so much as a miniature exotic fruit, so shrivelled and fragile that it might shatter if it was touched.

  ‘Good gad, they’ve sent me a beanpole,’ Lady Luce exclaimed.

  Marina could feel herself blushing. It had been a matter of regret throughout her adult life that she had inherited her father’s height and build. Her slight figure made her seem even taller than she actually was. Compared with Lady Luce, she must seem a veritable giantess. Marina curtsied. ‘How do you do, ma’am?’ she said calmly, trying to manage a smile for the tiny—and extremely rude—Dowager Countess who was to be her employer.

  The Dowager did not immediately reply to Marina’s polite greeting. She was looking her up and down, her sharp old eyes missing nothing of her new companion’s dowdy appearance. ‘Thought one of the Blaines would be better turned out,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t give a gown like that to a scullery maid.’

  This was not a good start to their relationship. The Dowager must be instantly disabused of the idea that Marina was ‘one of the Blaines,’ or that she could afford to be better dressed. Marina knew she must set matters straight between them, even if Lady Luce sent her packing as a result. She had no choice.

  ‘I think you must be labouring under a misapprehension, ma’am,’ Marina began. ‘My name is Beaumont, not Blaine. I am only distantly related to the Viscount’s family, through my grandmother, but she was not acknowledged by them, not after her marriage.’

  ‘Hmph,’ snorted the Dowager. ‘Nothing “distant” about it. Your mother and the new Viscount are first cousins, are they not?’

  ‘Yes, but not—’

  ‘You’re a Blaine,’ said the Dowager flatly. ‘The old Viscount’s father was a tyrant and a blackguard, but that don’t change the bloodline, not in my book. Your grandmother was daughter to one Viscount, and sister to the next. You’re a Blaine, all right.’

  It was clearly going to be difficult to argue with Lady Luce, perhaps even to get a word in, Marina decided. But, on this delicate subject, she must try.

  ‘Forgive me, ma’am,’ she began again, ‘but you must understand that the Beaumonts have never been acknowledged by the Viscount’s family, not even when my grandmother’s brother succeeded to the title.’

  ‘That’s because he was just like his father,’ interrupted the Dowager, with a grimace, ‘which was only to be expected, since all the Blaine men—’ She broke off to scrutinise Marina’s face for a moment and then said, ‘I see you know nothing about your noble relations, young lady. Well, I may choose to enlighten you—perhaps—one day. But there are other, more pressing matters. For a start, we must do something about that frightful monstrosity you are wearing.’

  Worse and worse, thought Marina, but before she had a chance to say a word in defence of her wardrobe, the Dowager was laying down the law on dress, just as she had on the subject of blood.

  ‘It is fit only for the fire,’ pronounced Lady Luce. ‘Or the poorhouse. Though, even there, I dare say the women would turn their noses up at it. Have you nothing fit to be seen, girl?’

  ‘I do have one evening gown, ma’am. Apart from that, I have very few gowns, all similar to this one. What spare money we have must be spent on my brother’s education. Harry is at Oxford,’ she added, with sisterly pride, ‘and he is destined for the Church.’

  ‘Don’t approve of spending every last farthing on boys,’ said Lady Luce quickly. ‘You educate them, and where does it get you? Eh? Take your every penny and fritter it away. If it’s not land drainage, or enclosures, or something equally unnecessary, it’s fast living and loose women.’

  ‘Harry does not—’

  Marina’s protest was cut short by another disapproving snort. ‘Not your brother. Don’t know the first thing about him. He may be a pattern-card of rectitude, for all I know. But the sons of noble families…’ Lady Luce shook her head. Her message was clear. The sons of noble families were not to be trusted with money. Presumably that also applied to her own son?

  ‘A lady has to be independent enough to lead her own life, in just the way she wants,’ said Lady Luce, warming to her subject. ‘Especially once she is widowed,’ she added meaningfully.

  At last, Marina understood. Lady Luce’s unusual views on female independence were clearly to be applied to her own case, and probably to that case only. It was unlikely she would care about the plight of Mama, or any other gently bred widow who had fallen on hard times.

  ‘You give ’em an heir and your duty is done,’ said Lady Luce. ‘Least a husband can do in return is to provide for a comfortable widowhood. But husbands seem to think that the heir should have charge of everything, even his mother!’ She stopped, looking up at Marina once again. ‘And just what do you think you are laughing at, young madam?’

  Marina had not realised she had begun to smile at the old lady’s spirited defence of her own interests. ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am,’ she lied quickly, ‘I was thinking only that you reminded me of my own dear grandmother. I miss her greatly.’

  ‘Balderdash,’ said Lady Luce roundly. ‘You were thinking that I was talking dangerous nonsense, but that I could be forgiven my revolutionary views because of my great age. Well? Were you not?’

  Taking a deep breath, Marina said, with sudden resolution, ‘Yes, ma’am, I was. I admit it. But I see now that your arguments should not be dismissed on such spurious grounds. You are obviously a redoubtable opponent, for woman or for man, and your great age has nothing to do with the case.’

  Lady Luce gasped. For a second, Marina held her breath, thinking how foolhardy she had been to speak so. The Dowager would ring a peal over her head and then despatch her post-haste back to Yorkshire. But nothing of the sort happened. Her ladyship stared sharply into Marina’s face, now mercifully straight, and then said, with a crack of laughter, ‘Yes, you’ll do. Once we have done something about your wardrobe, of course. I shall see to that tomorrow. You are not fit to be seen as you are. Turn round.’

  Obediently, Marina turned her back.

  ‘Again,’ said the Dowager.

  Marina turned to face her once more.

  ‘Sit down, girl,’ said Lady Luce, nodding towards a low stool at the side of her chair. ‘It’s giving me a stiff neck trying to look up all that way.’

  Marina allowed herself a small smile as she obeyed. The Dowager’s bark was extremely frightening, but Marina now fancied that her ladyship’s bite was a little lacking in teeth, like a pampered old lapdog, yelping and snapping uselessly at every visitor.

  ‘Now, Miss Beaumont. Tell me about yourself,’ began her ladyship. She was obviously pleased to see that Marina, once seated on the stool, was shorter than she was. ‘What do they call you?’

  ‘Marina, ma’am,’ replied Marina, puzzled. How could Lady Luce have agreed to employ a companion when she did not even know her given name?

  ‘Marina. Hmm. Unusual name, is it not?’

  ‘I am not sure, ma’am. I was named for my father’s mother, I believe.’

  ‘Foreign, was she?’ Lady Luce’s voice betrayed her distaste.

  ‘I understand so. I never knew her. My father’s family had served in the army for generations. All the women followed the drum.’

  ‘Your mother, too?’ Lady Luce’s voice had a clear undertone of disapproval now. She probably felt that such behaviour was not appropriate for a niece of the Viscount Blaine.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. But after the Peace of Amiens, my father decided that his wife would be better in England, since my brother and I were so small. We settled in Yorkshire.’

  ‘And your father? What was he?’

  ‘He was a captain in the 95th Rifles, ma’am. He died nine years ago, at the battle of Ciudad Rodrigo, along with my uncle.’

  Lady Luce nodded in understanding. Marina wondered whether she, too, had lost loved ones in the wars. Many titled families had.

>   ‘But your mother was provided for?’ Lady Luce clearly had no qualms about enquiring into the most intimate detail of her companion’s circumstances. And she would doubtless persist until she received her answer.

  ‘No, ma’am. At least, not well.’ That was true, though it was not the whole truth. ‘My mother supplemented our income by taking pupils.’ Seeing her ladyship’s look of surprise, Marina added, ‘My mother is very well educated, ma’am. Her father was a great scholar. He educated his daughter exactly as he educated his son.’ She smiled fondly. ‘Unlike my mother, my uncle had no inclination for scholarship. He was army mad, almost from his cradle. A great disappointment to my grandfather.’

  ‘Hmph,’ said Lady Luce. It was not clear whether she approved or not. ‘And who was he, this scholar grandfather of yours?’

  Marina was beginning to dislike her ladyship’s sustained questioning very much, but she did not think she could refuse to answer. ‘He met my grandmother when he was the Viscount Blaine’s private secretary, I believe, ma’am.’

  Her ladyship smiled suddenly. ‘And he was remarkably handsome, too, was he not? Tall, with fine features and dark hair, and a beautifully modulated speaking voice?’

  ‘Why, yes. Grandmama did describe him in much that way,’ Marina replied. ‘Did you know him, ma’am?’

  Her ladyship continued to smile, a rather secretive smile, and a faraway look came into her eye. ‘Aye, I knew James Langley. All the girls were mad for him, I remember. Handsomest man we had ever seen…but quite unsuitable…quite.’ She looked sharply at Marina as if looking for some resemblance. ‘Your grandmother kicked over the traces for his handsome face, did she, eh?’

  Marina blushed and nodded dumbly. Her ladyship’s salty turn of phrase was not what she was used to in Yorkshire with her very proper mama.

  ‘And her father cast her off as a result?’