‘Don’t let the mistress see you do that.’
Surprised, Beth swung round to see an older woman carrying a lighted lamp and wearing an apron over her gown. ‘Whyever not?’
The woman frowned, lifted her chin, looked down her nose and answered, ‘Dessert is eaten from a plate with a fruit knife.’
‘Oh.’ This must be Mrs Roberts. Beth recognised the woman’s disdainful tone as one used by Edgar’s mother and, she presumed, learned from her. ‘Are you my housekeeper?’ she asked.
The woman’s neck stiffened. ‘I am Mrs Collins’s housekeeper.’
‘I am Mrs Collins,’ she explained patiently.
‘You are not my mistress.’
Beth decided to ignore her disrespectful attitude and speak to her husband about her later. Until yesterday she had been a housekeeper herself and would have been soundly chastised for such a response. However, she considered that charm was the better part of valour and managed a smile. ‘This must have been a busy day for you.’ She stretched out the hand that held her bundle. ‘Will you show me to my chamber?’
Mrs Roberts did not take the bundle; nor did she return Beth’s smile. ‘It’s at the east end of the landing, overlooking the backyard. You’ll find hot water in the kitchen. As soon as you’ve washed I need you to help with dinner.’
This was too much and Beth hoped she did not show her mounting anger. Perhaps she should speak to her husband now? It was not that she minded the work, even on her wedding day. Mr Collins was a farmer and she expected to be involved in domestic tasks. But this woman’s insolence needed checking. He had left church on horseback so he ought to be home. ‘Where is my husband?’ she demanded. ‘I should like to see him now.’
‘Don’t ask me. Dinner is on the hour. I’ll need help before then, or we’ll keep the mistress waiting.’ Mrs Roberts turned her back and walked away. Her footsteps echoed in the cavernous hall.
Astounded afresh by the housekeeper’s rudeness, Beth watched her disappear through a door. After a few seconds, she gave an exasperated sigh and followed her. The kitchen was low-ceilinged and three times the size of the one she had worked in before. It was warm. A cooking range of blackened hotplates, bake ovens and water boiler took up one wall and a dark wood dresser stood opposite. A large deal table took up the centre space. She was in time to see her housekeeper go outside and close the outer door behind her. Beth finished her apple slowly wondering why, apparently, no one had told Mrs Roberts about her. She drew a jug of hot water from the brass tap in the boiler next to the fire grate and struggled with it and her bundle up the stairs.
There was only one east chamber but it couldn’t possibly be hers as it was far too small for the mistress of the house and sparsely furnished. She dropped her bundle on the narrow bed and went back to the main landing but all other doors were locked. Puzzled, she returned to the small chamber, sat in a wide chair by the empty fireplace and determined to make the best of it. She had many questions for her husband when he arrived and undaunted she took off her cloak and prepared to wash.
Sitting in front of a small spotty looking-glass to tidy her hair, Beth reflected that Edgar had said she was pretty. Well, ‘pretty enough’ were his actual words. Pretty enough to marry she supposed, even though she was aware he would have wed her if she had not been pretty. She smoothed back her thick fair hair and thought she would buy combs and ribbons so that she could be more adventurous in the way she pinned it up. She wondered what clothing allowance he would give her and where she might go to spend it.
The market town of Settle was not far away, though the road was rocky and steep and the carriage had had to negotiate a narrow stone bridge with great care. A carriage went from Settle to Skipton and the post from there could take her to Leeds. She dreamed for a moment of visiting drapers’ shops she had only heard of. Until she had a new Sunday gown, the one she was wearing would have to be kept in the cupboard for best and her old housekeeper’s gown used for everyday. However, she resolved to strive to always look as pretty as today for Edgar and pinched her cheeks to raise a little colour.
The sound of horses’ hooves on the farmyard cobbles sent Beth scurrying to the window. A rider appeared in the twilight and his dark cloak flapped as he reined in his horse. Steam streamed from the horse’s nostrils and there were flecks of white in its sweating flanks. Edgar, she guessed. Neither he nor his mother had made any effort to welcome her so far. A shiver of apprehension ran down her spine. She was his wife now and nothing could change that so she had to make the best of it. Surely life at High Fell Farm could not be any worse than at Blackstone? Could it?
‘Roberts!’ her husband yelled as he slid from his horse and left the reins trailing. Roberts came hurrying into the yard to stable the horse. Edgar was home and this really was the beginning of her new life as a wife. She took one last glance at her appearance, turned down the lamp and went out onto the landing to wait for him at the top of the stairs. She stepped forward from the shadows as he reached the top step.
‘Good God, girl, you gave me the fright of my life!’ He raised the lamp he was carrying to light up her face. ‘What the blazes are you doing lurking up here? Shouldn’t you be helping Mrs Roberts?’
As he moved closer she could smell strong drink on his breath. Of course he needed spirits to keep warm when he rode out on the fell. She bent one knee and bowed her head deferentially, then gave him her widest smile ‘I – I was waiting to – to greet you, sir.’
‘You were?’
Clearly he was taken aback. He looked from her to one of the wide wooden doors on the landing and back to her with raised eyebrows and his mouth widened into a lascivious grin.
‘I had not expected a Blackstone girl to be so eager for the bedchamber.’
As she realised what he was thinking a blush rose in her face and neck and she protested, ‘Oh no, sir! I mean, sir, I mean I—’
‘That comes after dinner,’ he interrupted with a smirk. He moved the lamp closer until she could feel the heat on her flushed skin and then he trailed the flexible tip of his riding crop over the bodice of her gown, tracing the curves of her breasts and waist. She tried to maintain her smile but could not. ‘At least you’re something to return home for.’ His eyes glittered harshly in the same way as his mother’s and another shiver of apprehension trickled down her back. Then suddenly he gave her bottom a quick swipe with his crop. ‘Off you go to the kitchen, then,’ he ordered and, rattling a key, disappeared into his chamber.
Chapter 2
He hadn’t hurt her, but he had shaken her already jittery nerves. She was aware of how little she knew about a gentleman’s needs and how unsure she was of her household responsibilities. It was several minutes before she was composed enough to go downstairs and into the kitchen. She welcomed the opportunity to learn her household’s routines and resolved not to upset Mrs Roberts further by introducing her own ways too soon. In any case, she had to be sure to meet Edgar’s expectations of how his home must be managed.
He did appear to be devoted to his mother and probably wanted her to run his household in the same way that she had. Also, this was a gentleman farmer’s household and different from Mrs Barden’s aspiring but frugal ways. Beth was uncertain what the future held for her, but optimistic that she would be able to adjust. She resolved to watch and learn to fit in as best she could. When she was more settled in her role she might suggest changes, although even as she thought of this she realised that Mrs Collins was not likely to be a woman who considered change easily.
As she walked down the old wooden staircase to the cavernous hall she saw Mrs Collins sitting at the head of the dining table with a place set, presumably, for Edgar on her right and one for Beth on the left. She hurried past her, bobbing a curtsey as she did, and went into the kitchen, not quite knowing what to expect.
Mr Roberts was sitting at the table drinking from a metal tankard and his wife was slicing at the cooked and drained leg of mutton and piling the chunks of steaming mea
t onto a large oval platter.
‘Not before time,’ she muttered without looking up. ‘Take the meat in and come back for the potatoes and turnips. Offer them to the mistress first and then Master Edgar.’
She was to wait at table! She had done this at Blackstone when the Board of Governors had visited and knew how to present the food so that those at table may help themselves. Edgar had joined his mother at the table. Beth, grateful at least to be doing something that pleased surly Mrs Collins, stood patiently, holding hot dishes while her mouth watered. She placed the serving dishes on a sideboard to fill her own plate later. After her third journey with a sauce boat of thick onion gravy, Edgar emptied the stoneware ewer of ale into his metal tankard and brandished the heavy jug at her.
‘Re-fill this before you sit down,’ he ordered.
She made a final trip to the barrel in the scullery. There was no sign of a scullery maid and Roberts and his wife were already sitting at the kitchen table eating their dinner as she hurried past them carrying the full ewer. When she sat down at the third place set at the table Beth was so hungry she would have eaten boiled rat if it had been set in front of her. She had taken liberal helpings of food not caring if they thought her greedy and filled her own metal tankard to the brim.
Neither her husband nor his mother noticed; or if they did, they did not comment. Edgar was too busy with his own food. He ate well as she would expect of a country gentleman who spent his time outdoors. His mother took less and finished before either of them. Beth thought Mrs Collins might take the opportunity to open a conversation but she merely watched her son without expression. Eventually he dropped his cutlery with a clatter and pushed his plate away.
‘When will you be ready to leave, Mama?’
‘The horses should rest. We shall set off the day after tomorrow.’
Edgar looked cross. ‘They do not need a whole day. My hunter thrives on a good gallop and Milo’s carriage horse is strong.’
‘But I am not,’ his mother argued.
Edgar looked as though he did not believe her. Neither did Beth for, in spite of her advancing years, Mrs Collins seemed physically strong. Beth guessed than she had not led her ladylike life for all her years.
‘Besides, Milo is kicking his heels in Settle waiting for me.’
‘And is he more important to you than I?’
‘Of course he is not, Mama. But we owe him, both of us. After all, he told us about the girl’s dowry.’
Beth considered briefly how Milo knew about her. Mr Barden had consulted the vicar at Blackstone about her future and she supposed Milo, as a fellow clergyman, was acquainted with him. Certainly, this match had happened quickly after Mr Barden had informed her that she must marry or be sent out to find paid work.
Edgar continued. ‘You have Milo’s carriage at your disposal. Roberts will drive you and bring you back.’
‘Will you not need his carriage for your journey to Leeds?’
‘We prefer horseback. It’s quicker.’
‘Shall I accompany Mrs Collins to Settle, Edgar?’ Beth asked. If she were to ride in a carriage she ought to have a more presentable cloak and a market town would surely have a draper or gown-maker.
Mother and son turned to stare at her with similar looks of surprise. Edgar picked up his empty plate, handed it across the table to her and said, ‘Your work is here. Clear these pots and bring in the pudding.’
She took his plate automatically and wished she hadn’t. He was effectively dismissing her from the table and the conversation. She stacked it on her own plate in front of her and Mrs Collins added, ‘Did they teach you nothing in the Barden household? Do that on the sideboard.’
Her son responded. ‘A manservant would know better how to behave. He would be of greater use to me, Mama.’
Beth pressed her lips together to prevent a retaliation. They were not so grand that they could afford a footman to wait at table. Silently she cleared the table of dirty pots and carried them out on a heavy wooden tray that she deposited thankfully on the kitchen table.
Roberts was already eating his pudding. His wife took one look at the laden tray and snapped, ‘Take those straight into the scullery.’
She stacked them in the shallow stone sink and returned to collect the pudding. She felt Edgar’s eyes on her the whole time she unloaded the tray onto the sideboard. She served the pie as she had done the meat, holding the heavy dish in front of them while Mrs Collins and then Edgar helped themselves. She had placed a jug of cream on the table but when she came to pour it on hers, the jug was empty. She sighed and rose to her feet to fetch more, only to be stopped by Edgar’s mother.
‘For heaven’s sake, girl, be still,’ Mrs Collins said irritably.
Beth looked down and tried to quell her anger. She was not a girl. She was Edgar’s wife and deserved to be addressed with the dignity that her position deserved. She took courage from that and said, ‘My name is Elizabeth, Mrs Collins.’
Mrs Collins pursed her lips and flared her nostrils but did not answer. Edgar glared at her and said, ‘Be quiet.’
Beth glared back. ‘I shall not. I am not a servant, I am your wife.’
‘And you will do well to remember that,’ Mrs Collins snapped. ‘You have my son’s name and his home for shelter. It is more than you deserve as an orphan of questionable breeding.’
Beth was hurt by this. She did not know who her mother and father were but they had provided for her education and she protested, ‘One of my parents must have had a family with means.’
‘And neither of them wished to own you!’
The hurt turned to insult, but curiosity for knowledge of her family overcame her emotion and she asked, ‘Were you acquainted with them, madam?’
‘That is enough! You at least should be aware that girls like you are best considered as orphans.’
Beth stifled a sigh. They didn’t know any more than she, or indeed Mr Barden. She wondered what Mrs Collins might do to her if she ignored her demands. Take her back to Blackstone? She hardly thought so for Mr Barden would want the dowry back and how would she pay for Edgar’s manservant then?
Beth did not begrudge them her dowry for it would never have been hers to spend anyway and the farmhouse obviously needed an indoor servant to fetch and carry. Edgar had not answered her when she had asked him about their forthcoming journey. But there would be time enough to speak with him about her wardrobe when they were alone tonight. Beth felt the colour rise in her cheeks at this thought and she began to feel nervous again. She wanted to get it over with so she would know what Edgar expected of her.
Edgar noticed her discomfort. ‘See, Mama, she has humility.’ He continued to look at her, his eyes darting back and forth as he took in her appearance and added, ‘I think I’ll go straight to my chamber after dinner.’
‘But Edgar, I want you to read to me tonight.’
‘It is my wedding night, Mama.’
‘My dear boy, your marriage is a necessary inconvenience. You do not have to treat her as your wife.’
‘Milo says I must lie with the girl for the marriage to be lawful.’
Beth expected Mrs Collins to admonish her son for such conversation at the dinner table. Instead she turned down the corners of her mouth and said, ‘But no one will question her and we have the dowry. Surely there is no need?’
Beth looked from mother to son astounded by this exchange. Neither even glanced in her direction, and continued speaking as though she were not present.
Edgar sounded impatient. ‘This is a legal necessity, Mama. I do not take pleasure in going against your wishes but I shall do my duty no matter how distasteful.’
Beth could not stay silent any longer and gasped, ‘Sir, you offend me!’
Edgar scowled at her. ‘And your interruptions offend me. If you cannot be quiet, I shall be obliged to beat you.’
Beth was horrified. She had done nothing to deserve such chastisement and she responded firmly. ‘I am not a servant, sir. I a
m your wife.’
‘You are a nobody,’ he said. ‘Be satisfied with your situation here. I have my duty and it is to take my rightful place in society. That does not include you.’
‘Indeed it cannot,’ Mrs Collins added. ‘She has no breeding so we must find reasons to keep her hidden.’
‘I shall need to tell his lordship about her at some point, Mama.’
His lordship? Beth hid her surprise and lapsed into silence to listen.
‘Not unless he asks and he has not even met you yet. The lawyers’ letters have secured an invitation for the shooting only. Make sure that his lordship notices your excellence in the field.’
‘They have told him who I am. He will surely wish to speak with me.’
Mrs Collins appeared doubtful. ‘He has stubbornly refused to acknowledge me, and my mother was his sister. You must be sure to note carefully where he places you at the dinner table. It will indicate his thinking. Speak only of the day’s sport.’
Beth kept her eyes on the table. Mrs Collins was the niece of a lord? No wonder she had so many airs about her. ‘Surely there will be ladies present?’ Beth queried lightly. ‘They may have little experience of sport.’ Her intended irony was lost and rewarded only by impatient glances. She was not deterred and went on, ‘A wife’s presence is desirable on such occasions.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! You would be an embarrassment to my son. You do not have the accomplishments of a gentlewoman.’
Then why, she thought, did Edgar not choose a different bride? Sadly, Beth realised, a gentlewoman with such capabilities, from a family with status and means, would never have considered a match with a Dales sheep farmer.
The Lost And Found Girl Page 2
