“Did you call to me?” asked Isobel in a kindly voices.
“I did, Miss,” the nervous girl managed.
“Why are you hiding behind the coach?”
“I come from the house, Miss,” the maid explained, indicating number seventeen Hill Street. “I don’t want old Filkins seeing me. There’d be the devil to pay if he catches me.”
“Maisie! Why ever are you out here?” inquired the footman with a wary glance at Isobel. “You’ll be skinned alive if Filkins sees you.”
“Well, go and make sure he don’t!” commanded Maisie who was instantly obeyed. “He’s sweet on me,” said Maisie by way of explanation.
Isobel had been patient until now, standing in the dusty street, waiting, while a chit of a maid took her sweet time getting to the point. “You wanted to speak with me?” Isobel prodded.
“Yes, Miss. It’s about Lady Tyndale. But, before I say anything, I’d like to know, Miss, why is it that you want to find her?” Maisie knew she had stepped beyond the bounds of appropriate behavior by questioning the Quality, but she stuck her little chin out to prove her determination.
“I want to help her. That is, if she is in need of help,” answered Isobel without reproof.
“Oh, but she is. We’re ever so worried about her.” Maisie pulled out a small scrap of paper. “She’s been writing regular like since the old Tartar, I mean Miss Newsome, cocked up her toes. But we haven’t heard from her in a few weeks. It’s not like her.” Maisie was clearly worried.
“Does she live far?” asked Isobel.
“Yes, Miss” answered Maisie and Isobel sighed. She would need to travel to find Laura, then. She had hoped she was in London. “All the way in Lambeth she is,” continued the maid.
Isobel could not help but smile. Lambeth was just south of the river Thames still technically in London, but for this young maid it was a goodly distance. “Do you have the exact address?”
Maisie handed Isobel the piece of paper she had clutched in her hand. “This is her direction, Miss. Mrs. Plimpton, the housekeeper wrote it down for you. I don’t know my letters.” This last was admitted with embarrassment. “I’d best be getting back, Miss.” Maisie hesitated before leaving. “You sure you mean Lady Tyndale no harm, cause she’s a real good ‘un is Lady Tyndale.”
“I truly want to help her,” Isobel assured the girl, reaching into her reticule. She handed the helpful maid a guinea. “Thank you, Maisie; I am grateful for your help.”
Maisie curtsied and rushed into the house through the servant’s entrance. Isobel heartily hoped that old Filkins was none the wiser. Isobel was assisted into the coach by the love sick footman and hastily explained to Lady Whitcomb what had occurred.
“Lambeth, well, it should not take too terribly long to get there.” Lady Whitcomb said as she examined the address. “Should we go now?”
“Well, Aunt, I wonder if it is a good idea for you to go along. While it is not the Devil’s Acre or the Rookery, it is not what you are used to, I fear.”
“Fiddle faddle! I am going Isobel and do not try and stop me!” Lady Whitcomb was at her most obstinate and would not be swayed, though Isobel did try.
“If we are to go to Lambeth, though I wish you would not, it would be best for us to bring Renfrew and Jem. Also, it might be prudent for us to change into less eye catching apparel.” Isobel cast a glance at her aunt’s crimson and royal blue ensemble. “I do not want to stand out.”
“Yes, a good idea, my dear. Something quite drab would do the trick.” Isobel fervently hoped her aunt owned such an article of clothing.
Upon returning to 65 Woburn Place, Aunt Maude immediately went to her room to search out something drab to wear. Before Isobel went to change, she meant to inform Renfrew of the situation. Just as she was beginning to give Renfrew instructions, however, she heard laughter coming from the parlor. Male and female laughter. She entered the open door of the parlor to see Lord Charles in his Bath chair with a large volume of some sort open on his lap. Lady Joanna was seated quite close to him, her chair touching the Bath chair. As she leaned forward, their shoulders brushed and Lady Joanna’s face betrayed a rosy glow. She pointed at something as she leaned over the volume. Charles pointed at something else and she playfully batted his hand away.
“No, that is not a proper dairy cow, I tell you,” insisted Lady Joanna, her voice bubbling with mirth. “This is not what you want!”
“Perhaps not, but it is a ridiculous looking beast, don’t you think? I should have tourists come for miles just to see my bizarre looking herd.” Lord Charles laughed and then winced at the pain in his lip.
“I hope I am not interrupting anything,” said Isobel acidly.
Lady Joanna jumped from her chair, almost upending it. “Miss Kennilworth!”
“You are indeed, Isobel. We are making Hidenwood into a dairy farm. We were just selecting the type of cow,” Lord Charles said, his swollen smile in place.
“I see,” said Isobel, completely mystified.
“I came to see you,” said Lady Joanna unnecessarily. “According to Renfrew only minutes after you had departed. And may I say how glad I am to see you up and about.”
“Thank you, Lady Joanna, but where is Miss Parrish?” asked Isobel looking about. “Please do not tell me that you and Lord Charles have been alone here all this time.”
“It has not been so awfully long, not quite an hour. And we have not been alone. Manning is there.” She pointed to the far corner out of the room. Isobel had to turn to see her maid who was sitting in a chair sound asleep. Her mending lay in her lap, a sharp needle dangling precariously between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand.
“I should really ring a peal over both of your heads, but I have not time. I must go out again. Lady Joanna, I am sorry to be rude, but perhaps it is time you go home. I would enjoy visiting you on another occasion,” said Isobel tersely.
“Come now, Isobel. We are doing nothing wrong. We had Manning in here and the door was wide open,” Lord Charles countered mildly.
“Manning was sound asleep and Lady Joanna was practically sitting in your lap, but truly I have not time to brangle with you.” She walked over to her sleeping maid. “Manning!” she shouted a scant few inches from her ear.
The abigail tensed, then her whole body jerked. She cried out as the needle in her right hand pricked the palm of her left. Her eyes flew open.
“Manning, I must change quickly. Please go and ready the mud colored round gown, I will be up presently. Lady Joanna, I hope to see you soon. I will have Renfrew call for your carriage,” Isobel added with an attempt at sounding agreeable. She did not wait for an answer but hurriedly left to find Renfrew.
The groggy and slightly bleeding Manning rose to do her mistresses bidding, her forgotten mending sliding to the floor. Lady Joanna, uncustomarily quiet throughout this whole exchange, rushed to help the flustered maid. They walked together to the door of the parlor and Manning exited. Lady Joanna turned to take her leave of Lord Charles.
“Lady Joanna, you will come again, I hope, for I could not choose dairy cows without your assistance. I fear Hidenwood would more closely resemble a menagerie than a dairy farm.” He bestowed his most charming smile upon the girl, which caused his swollen mouth a good deal of pain. Had he been able to see himself, he would not have bothered, the effect not being as charming as he had hoped.
Lady Joanna, taking in the gruesome attempt, replied pertly, “If you feel you cannot do without me, I suppose I might be constrained to help.” She tried for nonchalance, but could not suppress a pleased sparkle in her eyes.
“I am grateful for your largesse, My Lady,” said Lord Charles, feigning solemnity.
Lady Joanna curtsied with equal solemnity and turned to take her leave. She hesitated and turned back to Lord Charles. “You do not find me amusing, do you Lord Charles?” she asked.
“Certainly not. Exasperating more like,” replied Charles, his eyes dancing.
Lady Joanna sm
iled, apparently pleased by his answer.
“I regret that I cannot walk you to the door, My Lady,” he apologized, waving his hand at his incapacitated body.
“Has not that chair wheels?” asked Lady Joanna looking pointedly at the very things.
“Assuredly, it does,” agreed Lord Charles.
“Then I shall wheel you to the door, so that you may accompany me and have no such regrets.” Lady Joanna walked briskly to Lord Charles, gingerly lowered his raised leg and with only a little difficulty on her part and a fair amount of discomfort on his, wheeled Lord Charles into the entry way and up to the front door. Renfrew was nowhere about. Lady Joanna, opening the heavy door herself, took her leave of Lord Charles and walked into the late afternoon gloom, a bemused smile playing about her lips. Lord Charles had a matching, if not distorted, one.
*****
William, the coachman, having consulted a map, turned south on Woburn Place toward the Thames. The street would change its name several times before they turned onto the Embankment and reached the newly opened Waterloo Bridge. The ever darkening streets were congested and noisy. Despite the traffic, William kept a brisk enough pace.
Inside the carriage, Lady Whitcomb chattered and Isobel sat silent, both for the same reason. They were nervous. They did not know the area, they did not know Lady Tyndale’s circumstances, and they did not know what their reception would be. Griffin, who was also with them inside the coach, ignored the ladies and maintained a sullen silence. After Lord Charles had learned of their errand, he insisted they take Griffin with them as well, much to the valet’s displeasure. Refined ladies and gentlemen – and gentlemen’s gentlemen for that matter - did not go haring off to Lambeth! The mood lightened a bit as they approached the newly finished bridge. William paid the two shilling toll and the coach began to cross London’s famous river. There was enough light to see the Thames and all three inside the coach enjoyed the view. William was too busy fighting the bustling traffic to enjoy the sights, but Renfrew and Jem who sat beside him made many exclamations and pointed out boats and various landmarks.
Twenty minutes later, after negotiating the bridge the group found themselves on Waterloo Road. Moments later, William turned onto Webber St. and pulled up in front of number thirty nine. It was a narrow building, not new, not old, not especially clean, but not exceptionally dirty. There were curtains in all the windows and several candles flickered in the ever fading light. Shabbily genteel, thought Isobel, as she eyed the peeling paint and lifted the weathered knocker.
A tall, gaunt woman, probably in her forties, answered the door. She was dressed in a clean but worn muslin gown that was in fashion three seasons ago. An apron, cambric mob cap and wary expression completed the woman’s ensemble. Isobel felt that the phrase shabbily genteel applied to this woman as well.
“Yes?” she asked concisely.
“My name is Miss Isobel Kennilworth. I am a friend of Lady Tyndale. I have heard that she resides here and I wish to see her.” Isobel did not smile, but spoke pleasantly.
“I have not seen her in days. She owes me for the quarter.” Her speech was cultured, her manner barely civil.
“Do you mean that she is not in?” asked Isobel, retaining her poise.
“I mean that I have not seen her.”
Isobel gave the woman her haughtiest glare. The woman repaid Isobel in kind. Lady Whitcomb spoke from behind Isobel, squeezing past her niece to stare down the insolent woman. “We are here to see Lady Tyndale and see her we will. Now, allow us to pass!” Lady Whitcomb was at her most fierce and imposing, though she was dressed in an old gown of emerald green, assuring Isobel it was the drabbest thing she owned.
“As I said, she owes me fifteen pounds for the quarter,” she answered, unperturbed by Lady Whitcomb at her most dictatorial.
Isobel stared at her in shock and looked askance at her surroundings. “Fifteen pounds?”
“The place may not seem like much to you, but it is clean and it is respectable. That is more than can be said of most boarding houses hereabouts.” The shameless woman had her hand outstretched toward Isobel, palm upward!
Fuming, Isobel opened her reticule and extracted a five pound note. “I will give you five. If I find my friend is here and all is well, you shall have the rest. You may guard the door to bar our exit if you do not trust me.”
The woman grabbed the proffered note and stood aside. “Third floor. Second door on the right.”
Lady Whitcomb entered the narrow entry, which was meticulously clean as touted, and began to ascend the winding stairway. Isobel turned back to the carriage and addressed the men. “I will call you if you are needed. Please, take care. This street is very narrow.”
Isobel caught up to Lady Whitcomb and they climbed their way up to the third floor. Lady Whitcomb winded from her exertion, refrained from speech. Isobel was glad, for her stomach was aflutter at the prospect of the upcoming interview. They reached the second door on the right and Isobel knocked, receiving no reply. She tried again. Again, nothing. After a third and much louder attempt, the door across the corridor opened and a young woman peered out. She silently appraised the ladies knocking on Lady Tyndale’s door.
“Are you friends of Lady Tyndale?” asked the timid young woman, opening the door a wider. She was poorly dressed, but neat as a pin. Her hair was a lovely shade of auburn and her green eyes sparkled. She carried herself with a certain elegance, though she was very young, no more than nineteen, and her speech was refined.
“We are. We would like to see her. Do you know where she might be? I am Miss Kennilworth and this is Lady Whitcomb.”
“I am Serena Endicott. I believe that she is home,” she said quietly. “I think she is ill,” she added with a worried frown. “I tried to see her yesterday; she was supposed to care for my daughter while I went to work, but she would not allow me to enter. I am worried about her. She would not answer my knocks at all today and Mrs. Bigelow will not open the door for me.”
“Mrs. Bigelow is the whey faced bean pole that answered the door?” asked Lady Whitcomb.
Mrs. Endicott giggled. “That is she.”
“I will find Mrs. Bigelow and she will open the door for me!” declared Isobel. “I gave the woman five pounds for heaven’s sake.”
“She forced you to pay five pounds to enter?” Mrs. Endicott was wide-eyed.
“Not precisely. Evidently Lady Tyndale is tardy with her quarterly rent and I paid Mrs. Bigelow a portion of it.”
“Oh, but Lady Tyndale has already paid Mrs. Bigelow for the quarter. I know for I was there.”
“Did she indeed? Well, I am only grateful I did not pay the full fifteen pounds.”
“But Laura’s rent is only twelve pounds a quarter.”
“I shall go and fetch the estimable Mrs. Bigelow.” She turned to her aunt who was still winded from her three story climb. “Perhaps it would be best if you stayed here, Aunt Maude.” Lady Whitcomb simply nodded and Isobel strode off.
The voice of a crying child sounded within Mrs. Endicott’s rooms. “Excuse me, I must see to Charis.” She turned to Lady Whitcomb. “Would you care to come in and sit down while you wait?”
“How very kind,” breathed Lady Whitcomb. “I believe I shall.”
Mrs. Endicott led Lady Whitcomb into her small, slightly disordered sitting room and offered her a chair. The crying became more insistent and Mrs. Endicott excused herself. She returned in moments with a beautiful little girl with golden ringlets and huge blue, tear-stained eyes. Lady Whitcomb guessed her age at somewhere between two and three years old.
“Charis, this is Lady Whitcomb. She is here to visit for a while.” The little girl wriggled out of her mother’s arms, picked up a well-loved rag doll, and walked over to Lady Whitcomb, full of curiosity.
“Well, hello, Miss Charis,” said Lady Whitcomb. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Charis continued to stare at her with wide eyes. “Pwearsure. ‘Quaintance,” said the little i
mp, suddenly breaking into a smile and handing Lady Whitcomb her grimy doll.
“Why, thank you, child.” Lady Whitcomb was touched by the goodness of the offer, if not by the object itself. She took the proffered gift.
Suddenly the precocious little girl held out her arms to Lady Whitcomb. “Up, pwease!” Lady Whitcomb was unable to resist the child’s charm and complied.
“Charis,” cried Mrs. Endicott embarrassed. “I am so sorry, Lady Whitcomb.”
“No need to be sorry. I adore children.”
Outside in the corridor the voices of Isobel and Mrs. Bigelow could be heard as well as more knocking.
“Mrs. Endicott, if you would be so kind to assist Miss Kennilworth with Mrs. Bigelow, I would be happy to stay and look after young Charis here.”
“Oh, I could not ask you to do me such a favor, My Lady.” Mrs. Endicott knew her cherubic faced babe did not always behave like an angel.
“You would be doing us a favor. I am sure Charis and I will get along famously,” Lady Whitcomb assured her.
Mrs. Endicott objected a bit more, but was finally convinced, when the voices grew louder. Mrs. Endicott entered the corridor.
“You will open the door, Mrs. Bigelow, or I will call Bow Street and tell them how you cheated me out of five pounds.”
“Cheated you? I never!” protested Mrs. Bigelow.
“I happen to know that Lady Tyndale did in fact already pay you for the quarter.” As she said this Isobel inadvertently looked at Mrs. Endicott.
Mrs. Bigelow eyed her young tenant with narrowed eyes. “And I suppose you believe the ‘widow’ Endicott. Widow, my eye.” A cruel smile touched her lips as she saw Mrs. Endicott color.
“The key, Mrs. Bigelow. I have a strapping young footman below, who might be able to help me to convince you.”
“You dare to threaten me?” hissed the enraged landlady.
“Please, Mrs. Bigelow,” placated Mrs. Endicott. “We are concerned about Lady Tyndale. I fear she is ill.”
Her Grace in Disgrace (The Widows of Woburn Place) Page 19
