It is my belief that those who divide the world into “those who have something to offer me” and “those who do not” will often find themselves at the mercy of others, because they are likely to be wrong as often as they are right.
In short order, Ned and I returned to #24 Grosvenor Square.
“Hello, Higgins. Is my husband home?”
“No, ma’am,” Higgins greeted me with his usual neutrality, but his eyes sparkled as he helped me with the child cart. “If you’d like, I’ll take Young Master up to his nursemaid. She’s been expecting him, and Polly is waiting to help you freshen up. Mrs. Brayton wants your company.”
Each time I stepped out of doors, a fine rain of coal silt settled on my garments. I had read somewhere that the quick-growing population of the city burned a staggering amount of coal each day, and this accounted for London’s murky veil of smoke and fog. Whilst under the canopy of trees in the park, it was bearable, but a traveler on main streets was subjected to the worst of the dark residue that combined with the copious horse droppings and running streams of human waste to make a stink such as I had never endured in my life. Fortunately, Polly was always at the ready to brush the soot off my dress and shake the dust from my bonnet.
But when I arrived in my room, I could see that the lady’s maid had other plans today. My claret silk dress was hung up and neatly pressed.
The abigail answered my curious look by saying, “You’re to go on calls with Mrs. Brayton. Morning calls.”
“But it’s three in the afternoon!”
Polly giggled without any malice. “I know! Morning calls start at three. Ain’t it funny?”
Polly started unbuttoning my brown muslin. “Mrs. Brayton’s been pacing the floor, waiting for you. You’re to go to Lady Grainger’s house straightaway.”
I understood that Lady Grainger was dear to Lucy, but a visit to her home would surely mean another encounter with one or more of the Ingrams. That was an experience I would prefer to avoid.
Polly began to lift my brown muslin over my head.
“Stop,” I said. “Please stop. I would rather stay here. In fact, I’ll go and tell Lucy—”
“Oh no, Mrs. Rochester. Mrs. Brayton insisted that you was to go with her to Lady Grainger’s house.”
“But we saw the woman only last night!”
“Aye.” Polly lifted the muslin off me and carefully lowered the silk over my head. Since I am not tall, it was easy for her to do. “She sent word asking that the both of you visit first thing. See, Lady Grainger thinks the world of Mrs. Brayton. Considers her like a daughter, almost. I heard there was some nastiness last night, and, well, I can imagine that Lady Grainger don’t want that to fester. Wants to pinch out that candle right fast. If anyone can put things to right, her ladyship can. A cunning old bird, she is, if you don’t mind me saying.”
I dampened down my dismay that news of last night’s snub had already reached down into the servants’ quarters.
“And she can do that?” I wondered. “I mean, is it really possible that Lady Grainger can force her family to bend to her will?”
“I hope so. I dearly do.” Polly’s fingers flew along the buttons of my dress. I watched her in the mirror and noted the concentration on her face. “Mrs. Brayton cried herself to sleep last night. Oh, she’ll put on a good face for you, ’cause she’s like that, but she told me what that nasty cow, Dowager Ingram, said. How she snubbed you. This has to be nipped in the bud, quick-like. Before all of London sniffs it in the wind.”
Seeing my downcast expression, Polly paused and her hands rested gently on my shoulders. “No one blames you, Mrs. Rochester. No one. Lady Grainger’s maid, Dorsey, she’s told me how those Ingram women have caused all sorts of mischief among Lady Grainger’s staff, even accusing her cook of thievery—and saying the butler has been overly familiar. Can you imagine? That younger girl, she’s been helping herself to Lady Grainger’s garden, hacking away, taking whatever flowers strike her fancy, while the Dowager and that older one keep serving milk to Lady Grainger’s dog so it’s always getting sick on the floor. Don’t matter that Lady Grainger asks her not to. She don’t care one bit. Have you ever heard the like?”
Polly bustled around, smoothing the bedclothes and tidying my meager wardrobe.
“I am truly sorry to hear the Ingrams have caused such distress. Especially among Lady Grainger’s staff,” I said as I put on my nice pearl ear fobs.
Because of my former position as governess—which occupied an intermediate social position between the gentry and the household servants—I understood the delicate web of relationships common to the belowstairs staff. At their best, servants covered for one another’s failings, putting the needs of their masters first. At their worst, staff would blame and snipe, in vain attempts to curry favor with their employers. Any accusation of one cast a shadow over all, as suspicion ran riot, debilitating and serious as an outbreak of milk fever.
“But what does Lady Grainger say when her staff is treated so poorly?” I slipped on my kid gloves while Polly busied herself tucking sprigs of lavender into the bureau with my chemises.
“She ain’t happy, but the Ingrams are family. The mother and her girls come to London all the time. There’s a boy, too, but he stays back at Ingram Park, I’ve heard. Oh, but their father, Lord Ingram, was a crafty one. On his deathbed, he made Lady Grainger promise to take care of his sister and her three children. Deathbed promises are stronger than iron chains.”
“Ah yes, I know.”
My mother had exacted a similar promise from her brother. Then on his own deathbed, my Uncle Reed made the same request of his wife, but alas, Aunt Reed seethed over the obligation. Caught between her word and her virulent hatred for me, she had ultimately been the one who shuffled me off to Lowood, a bleak, poorly run school.
Yet, against all odds, I had survived and completed my education, allowing me to work as a governess. This remembrance brought a fresh appreciation for Polly’s status. Despite my family’s respectable status, had it not been for Lowood, I, too, might have gone into service.
Polly straightened and rubbed her lower back. “The missus told me that the Dowager delivered a cut sublime to you. Blimey, it must have been an awful shock.”
I shrugged. “It might have been if I cared about society. As it stands, my concern is for Lucy. It grieves me to know she was hurt by the slight. I wish I knew how to remedy the situation.”
“Well, Lady Grainger, she’s one to reckon with. If anyone can make those nasty Ingram women act right to Mrs. Brayton, Lady Grainger can.”
“At least she can try,” I said, as I adjusted my nice bonnet.
Polly’s smile was as weak as watered-down tea. “Aye, she can certainly do that.”
Chapter 17
Lucy was waiting for me in the entry hall. When I arrived, she put Rags on the floor and turned to me with open arms. In her embrace, I felt the strength of our friendship.
“I am so sorry,” I started.
“Hush.” She put a finger to my lips. Although the red rims of her eyes affirmed that she’d spent time crying, her lovely dress of rose pink with white stripes did wonders to revive the cheerful bloom in her cheeks. “You have done nothing to warrant this. Ever since I learned about Evans, I have suffered from a vehemence of emotion that has overruled my sensibility. Last night, the slight you endured hit me hard. I felt helpless. But I know better. In the cool light of day, I have decided that this will not do—and Olivia Grainger supports me in this. While you were at the park with Ned, she and I exchanged a volley of notes. A street urchin made a nice fistful of coins today.”
“Good for him,” I said sincerely.
“Yes, and I think he brought me luck. I have news about Evans. His nanny Mrs. Wallander writes that she has received the funds I sent for their travel. Her daughter’s fever has finally broken, and the girl seems to be on
the mend. Mrs. Wallander and Evans will be leaving Brussels this week. Can you believe it, Jane? Given the time it took for the letter to reach me, he could be here any day!”
“I am so glad for you,” I said, and although I am not as inclined to physical gestures as Lucy, I could not help myself—I hugged her. Hard. I knew Lucy had always wanted a child and that Evans was the answer to her prayers. As we separated, I added, “Have no fear. You will be a splendid mother. I know you will. So . . . we go to challenge the Ingrams?”
“No,” she said with a sweet smile. “We go to face them. Olivia had specifically counseled all of the Ingrams in advance that we would be attending the opera. The women had given Olivia their word to receive us politely. Naturally, she was furious with her sister-in-law and nieces’ behavior. My friend has told them in no unclear terms that they will treat both of us with civility.”
I still had no desire to mingle with them, but I understood that such a meeting would be important to Lucy, so I took her hand and we moved forward.
Once inside her carriage, I said, “Tell me more about your friend Lady Grainger.”
“As you will see, we are near neighbors, but that is not why or how we met. It happened when we were both in want of a dog. Her Mags is a sister to my little Rags. By happenstance, we arrived at the same time to look at the litter, and as a matter of course, it was easy to strike up a conversation.” Lucy drummed her fingers on the coach seat as she talked.
“And her interests?”
“She is a keen gardener. Not that she digs in the soil, but she stands over Benjamin, her young manservant, and directs him. Lady Grainger’s garden runs along the side of Bayswater, the length of that hedge.” To illustrate her point, Lucy parted the carriage curtains and pointed to a massive wall of boxwood bushes. “Lord Grainger installed that lych-gate at the back. I believe he thought it would provide easy access for wheelbarrows full of flowers. Soiled flowers.”
My face admitted my confusion until she clarified, “Women of low virtue.”
I absorbed this and reflected on how sad it was that for many families marriage is but a business transaction, a barter devoid of love.
“Perhaps if Olivia had given her husband a child, he might have felt more kindly toward her. Instead, he was happy for the wealth she brought him and the home she made. Otherwise, she was of little consequence to him.”
I knew that Lucy regretted not being able to give her husband a child. Was that why she and Augie lived apart? Had he thought of her as a disappointment? I hoped not, for her sake.
As the carriage pulled up to Lady Grainger’s front door, I closed my eyes and used the fragrances as a guide to imagine the riot of colors: the crimson red of roses, the light purple of lavender, the delicate pink of snapdragons.
“You and Olivia will find much common ground. She is well read and compassionate, an original thinker without prejudices. Her life revolves around her garden and Mags, who means the world to her. With no children of her own, she dotes on Mags. She’s a very, very spoiled pup.”
“And then there is you,” I said.
Lucy’s smile lit up her eyes. “Yes, I daresay I am closer to her heart than her Ingram nieces. She has told me as much.”
“Little wonder at that,” I murmured.
“Well said.” Lucy reached over and gave my fingers a squeeze, the warmth of her hands radiating through our kid gloves. “And the curtain rises.”
Chapter 18
Stanton, the Dowager Lady Grainger’s butler, a tall man with a widow’s peak and a Romanesque profile, met us at the door and escorted us upstairs to the drawing room. There the Ingrams sat in a row, like rooks on a fence, and every bit as cheerful. Our hostess wore a mobcap and a dark blue at-home dress that had seen better days. It occurred to me that Lady Grainger cared little for the trappings of society. Like Lucy, she did what she needs must to blend in and move among those of the ton, but she did not allow society to dictate to her. Nor did it provide the yardstick by which she measured others.
The Ingrams were dressed in the latest fashion, or so I judged their gowns to be, based on the fashion magazines Lucy and I had combed over when deciding what I should wear to the opera. Lady Ingram and her daughter Blanche were dressed in very similar “morning” dresses, both of an appealing shade of medium blue.
Although Lady Grainger seemed to ignore her wardrobe, her domestic touches told me that her home mattered to her a great deal. I took special note of our surroundings, a harmoniously appointed sitting room done in deep maroon with gold touches. The walnut étagère, low table, chairs, and occasional tables gleamed. On every surface sat lush ferns, each perfectly suited to its pot, with fresh shades of green that contrasted nicely with the stately dark furniture. In glazed pots along an east-facing window, exotic orchids burst into saucer-sized blossoms. The effect enchanted me. I had never seen an interior that combined the salutatory benefits of the natural world with that of the restrained dimensions of the man-made. Lucy’s home was lovely, but Lady Grainger’s revived my weary soul, making me realize she and I were really very much alike in our tastes.
Everyone stood to greet us. Lucy and Lady Grainger exchanged hugs and cheek kisses before presiding over my reintroduction to the Ingrams, who gave me the barest nods of acknowledgment but otherwise played their parts. This change of heart could have been attributed to the King’s accolades or Lady Grainger’s admonishment. I did not know which, nor did I care. Instead, I rejoiced that now Lucy would be free to continue her life as she had before—and that Evans would not suffer because his new mama had taken me for a friend.
Thus having achieved a sort of détente, we took our seats in a circular pattern while our hostess called her dog to her side. Into the room raced a small bundle of white fur, all wriggles and waggles. Mags licked her mistress, excited as she was lifted onto the woman’s lap. Taking into account the coloration, size, and personality, I could make no distinction between this dog and Lucy’s Rags. I watched Lady Grainger stroke the pup’s head methodically.
“Welcome to my home, Mrs. Rochester. Your husband visited earlier,” said Lady Grainger. “Squire Rochester was on the way to the club with Mr. Douglas when he stopped in to apologize to Blanche and her mother.”
“Did he indeed?” I said, thinking that perhaps the new acceptance I was enjoying could be the result of my husband’s having made amends.
“Or more correctly, he tried to. I believe Blanche and Silvana will now owe him an apology. Certainly Blanche does.” She cast a pointed look in the direction of the mother and daughter, who squirmed in their seats uncomfortably.
“Yes, Aunt,” said Blanche, in a tone of resignation.
“You see,” said Lady Grainger, “Blanche is a bit under the weather. She hasn’t been feeling well lately, so her temper must be excused. Isn’t that right, Blanche?”
“Yes, Aunt.”
“But you are better?” asked Lucy in a kind voice. “I hope?”
“Somewhat,” said Blanche. She enjoyed the attention, and she knew she needed to be polite, but she found it taxing to put aside her sense of injury. It had become familiar to her, and she relished it.
“And how are you, Miss Mary?” asked Lucy, politely.
“Fine.” Mary had changed her dress from her walk in the park.
“Your nose is a bit pink, dear,” said her aunt. “Are you coming down with a chill? I warned you not to walk outside without a wrap.”
“I am fine,” she repeated, sending a quick glance my way.
I decided to hold my tongue. I couldn’t blame her for not wishing to discuss the scene I’d witnessed earlier.
“How is Rags?” Lady Grainger asked Lucy, after she rang the bell for tea.
“Mischievous as always. He is enjoying our young visitor, the Rochesters’ son, Ned. No matter how fast his nursemaid acts, the boy always leaves a trail of crumbs for Rags. Speaking o
f sons, dearest Olivia, I’ve had wonderful news just this morning I wanted to share with you.”
Lucy summarized the letter that had recently arrived from Evans’s nanny.
“Evans?” Lady Ingram arched an eyebrow. “Is that the name of your husband’s bastard?”
Chapter 19
“Silvana! You promised!” Lady Grainger shook a finger at her sister-in-law, but the scolding was interrupted by a loud rapping at the front door. We paused as we heard it open.
Stanton fairly bounded up the stairs, carrying in his hand a silver plate, bearing a thick ivory card. The Lady Grainger picked it up and started searching for her quizzing glass. Stanton came to her rescue. “The Marchioness Conyngham wants to know if you are at home, Lady Grainger.”
“Oh!” Blanche’s hand flew to her mouth and her eyes grew large. Although Lady Ingram said nothing, she lifted her chin higher and assumed a more pleasant look on her face. Even Mary seemed to rouse from her stupor, turning toward her mother to gauge the older woman’s reaction. Only Lucy’s slight frown told me that rather than being thrilled, she found this visit worrisome.
“Please tell her I am.” Our hostess shifted her slender form nervously, causing Mags a little inconvenience. “What an honor . . .”
I reviewed what I’d seen and heard about the Marchioness and her designs. Was this merely a social call or was something more sinister in play? I wondered about her objective, but just as quickly, I chided myself for being too dramatic. Of course the Marchioness might simply have been moved to visit Lady Grainger after seeing her at the opera last night. That was not terribly remarkable.
Or was it?
We took to our feet and waited respectfully while the heavy woman clumped her way up the stairs. When she arrived, I was further surprised to see that Marchioness Conyngham was escorted by none other than Phineas Waverly, his tipstaff again tucked under one arm.
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