by Stella Riley
‘He is … singular. What you might call a law unto himself.’ Ralph considered revealing Rockliffe’s best-known trait, but decided against it. She would doubtless discover that for herself quickly enough. And if Rockliffe ever found out that she had spent an evening alone with the Earl of Sherbourne in a remote country inn, she’d discover something else entirely. ‘He is also, as one might expect, extremely influential.’
Elizabeth eyed him meditatively over the rim of her wine-glass. Then, setting it down, she said, ‘That isn’t very helpful. Perhaps you didn’t mean it to be.’
A gleam of something she couldn’t identify entered eyes that were suddenly more gold than hazel. ‘You malign me.’
‘No. I don’t think so. After all,’ she added, without first stopping to think, ‘you’ve already admitted to possessing a quantity of bad habits.’
He was surprised into laughter. ‘Touché, Mistress Brandon.’
Both his laughter and the reminder of who she was supposed to be discomposed her for a moment and she murmured, ‘Perhaps – though I shouldn’t have said it.’
‘Why not? Or do you never do things you ought not?’
‘No.’ Elizabeth saw the trap and stepped away from it. ‘I don’t.’
‘What a pity.’ He lounged back in his chair and trapped her eyes with his. ‘You do not know what you are missing.’
Both posture and tone suggested that he would be happy to teach her. An odd sensation flickered somewhere deep inside her and she swallowed hard, thinking, Is he teasing or flirting … or is he, God forbid, actually a rake? Whichever it is, I need to stop this conversation right now.
‘And therefore I am not missing it,’ she said firmly. And before he could answer, ‘But we were talking about the Duke of Rockliffe.’
‘You were,’ he agreed amicably. ‘I was attempting not to. However --’ He stopped as his valet materialised in the doorway. ‘Well, Frayne? Is the inn on fire?’
‘Thankfully not, my lord. But the news isn’t good.’
Ralph’s eyes narrowed. ‘Go on.’
‘The rain still hasn’t let up and the river’s been rising for several hours. A few miles from here, the St Neots road crosses a bridge. The word in the tap-room is that heavy debris has been washed downstream and smashed into one of stanchions. The bridge being old and already crumbling, the local squire sent men to find out if it’s safe to use. They said it isn’t – so he’s ordered them to block it so carriages can’t pass until it’s been repaired.’
Elizabeth watched Lord Sherbourne’s mouth set in a hard line and though his voice remained soft as ever, she heard steel in it as he said, ‘I cannot be delayed here that long. There must be an alternative route.’
‘Not without turning back towards Huntingdon, apparently – and the general view is even that may be impossible with the road as it is.’ Frayne spread his hands helplessly. ‘I’m sorry, my lord. But it looks as if we’re stuck here.’
Ralph drew a harsh breath and nodded. ‘Very well. Thank you, Frayne.’
The valet withdrew and the frowning hazel eyes returned to Elizabeth.
She said carefully, ‘This is … unfortunate.’
‘Unfortunate?’ The smile he gave her was sharp as a blade. ‘What a perfectly delightful euphemism. It makes it all sound so much better, doesn’t it?’
~ * * ~ * * ~
CHAPTER SIX
Arabella started to recognise the hitherto unforeseen snags of her new situation on the following morning when she tried to deal with her hair. Having never previously done much more than plait it, she swiftly discovered that getting the unruly mass to behave needed more hands than she had. In the end, after struggling fruitlessly for nearly half an hour, she bundled it into a knot at her nape, anchored it with every hairpin she possessed … and hoped for the best.
Downstairs, there was no sign of either the earl or the children but she eventually found a maid dusting the parlour. The girl smiled at her, dipped a curtsy and said, ‘Good morning, ma’am. If you was wanting breakfast, you’ll find it in the kitchen.’
‘Thank you. Would you point me in the right direction … er …? I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.’
‘I’m Rose, ma’am. It was my sister, Violet, who served you and his lordship dinner last night. If you’ll just come with me, I’ll introduce you to Cook – Mistress Phelps, that is.’
‘I don’t mean to interrupt your work, Rose --’
‘That’s all right, ma’am. Mistress Featherstone – that’d be the doctor’s lady – said we was to make you feel welcome and help you settle in.’ The maid gave a conspiratorial grin. ‘No use expecting his lordship to do it.’
Somewhat taken aback both by this frank remark and the tone of amused affection in which it was uttered, Arabella followed Rose from the room saying, ‘Have you and your sister worked for Lord Chalfont for a long time?’
‘Oh no, ma’am. Violet and me have only been here a fortnight. Afore that, none of the young women in the village would take work at Chalfont – the old lord being what he was. But now his young lordship has been here a while, everybody can see he’s a very different kind of gentleman. And Mistress Featherstone told him straight that, with you coming, he’d have to get extra help in – which turned out lovely for Vi and me.’ She breezed into the warmth of the kitchen. ‘Martha, here’s Mistress Marsden. She’ll be wanting a cup of tea and whatever else you’ve got, I’ll be bound.’
Still reeling slightly from the torrent of information she had been given en route from the parlour, Arabella smiled weakly and said, ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mistress Phelps – and I’m sorry to be putting you to extra trouble by being so late down.’
Martha Phelps, a plump comfortable-looking woman in her late fifties, dried her hands on a cloth and smiled. ‘It’s no trouble – so don’t you go apologising, ma’am. Bound to take you time to get into the way of things. You just sit there and I’ll put the kettle on. Rose, cut some bread, will you? And Violet – lay a place for Mistress Marsden.’
Violet gave the new arrival a brief but openly evaluating glance. She said, ‘Bet none of this is quite what you were expecting, is it?’
‘Why do you say that? ’ Arabella sat at the table and looked around at the spotlessly clean but sparsely equipped kitchen. ‘Actually, I’m not sure what I was expecting.’
‘More staff, a less shabby house and somebody more like a titled gentleman than his lordship,’ came the brisk reply. ‘If you’ll forgive me saying so, ma’am, you sound like a lady – and you’ve the manners of one, too.’
‘Thank you.’ Deciding to establish her credentials as fast and briefly as possible, Arabella said pleasantly, ‘My father is a vicar and my mother has high standards. But our family is not affluent and I have two younger sisters at home.’ She shrugged. ‘One of us needed to take suitable employment and, as the eldest, that one was me. But I won’t pretend that I’ve run a large household before because I haven’t. I know I have a lot to learn … and I’m hoping I may count on all of you to help me.’
Mistress Phelps set a cup of extremely strong tea at her elbow and went back to toasting bread. She said, ‘That’s honest, at all events. You can stop looking down your nose, Vi – since it’s clear Mistress Marsden isn’t looking down hers.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ agreed Arabella, sipping her tea. ‘Where are the children?’
‘At the vicarage,’ replied Rose, setting butter and honey within reach. ‘Mistress Hassall, the vicar’s lady, gives lessons for three hours every week-day morning. They’ll be back here a bit after noon; Martha feeds ’em, then turns ’em loose till tea-time.’
‘They don’t have any sort of routine?’
‘Not so far. His lordship wouldn’t know where to start and we’ve all got enough to do in the house.’
Arabella nodded and drew a long breath. ‘How long have they been here?’
‘Nigh on as long as his lordship.’ Mistress Phelps put a plate of only slightly-
burned toast in front of Arabella. ‘Before that, they was running wild about the village, stealing food and sleeping in one of the barns – Ma Clack having tossed ’em out after the old earl died and the money stopped coming.’
Arabella looked up from buttering the toast. ‘And their mothers?’
‘Both the boys’ mothers were women the old earl picked up in Newark – tavern wenches, most like. They left their mistakes on his doorstep and disappeared off back where they came from. Little Ellie’s mama was different. She was a village lass who came here as a maid. No more’n seventeen, she was and pretty as a picture,’ said the cook grimly. ‘She died when the baby came.’
‘And that was when girls wouldn’t work here no more,’ added Rose.
‘I … see. And you say all three children ended up homeless?’
‘That’s right.’ Violet sat down on the other side of the table. ‘Nobody’d take in all three and young Tom wouldn’t let ’em be split up. At first, a few folks tried to help … but having blankets pinched off the line and loaves left to cool vanishing from window-ledges soon got on everybody’s nerves. So they was left to their own devices until his young lordship found out about them.’
‘He needn’t have done anything,’ said Mistress Phelps. ‘They wasn’t his responsibility. But he took ’em in and they’ve been here ever since. They live on the old nursery floor and eat down here with us.’
‘Not with Lord Chalfont?’ asked Arabella, trying to establish a clear picture.
Mistress Phelps laughed. ‘Bless you, no, ma’am. His lordship’s the gentlest, sweetest gentleman in all creation – but his head’s in the clouds most of the time.’
‘He tries, though,’ offered Rose. ‘Ridley – he’s the land-agent – says his lordship don’t know one end of a plough from the other but he rolls up his sleeves and works alongside the men when extra hands are needed.’
‘Which is most of the time,’ added Violet. ‘And he hasn’t put the rents up – which everybody thought he would, knowing he’d inherited nothing but debts.’
‘When he treads mud into the house, he always apologises,’ said Rose.
‘And remember that terrible suet pudding?’ Mistress Phelps shuddered. ‘It was awful but he actually ate some of it … then he smiled and thanked me.’
Arabella was beginning to understand why these three women regarded the earl with such protective indulgence. It was also clear that whatever his lordship had been doing before inheriting the title had done nothing to prepare him for occupying it. Pushing her half-eaten toast aside, she said, ‘Where was his lordship before he came here?’
‘Foreign parts,’ said Mistress Phelps darkly. ‘Don’t know where – just not in England.’
‘And what was he doing there?’
‘He’s never said.’
The three women exchanged glances. Then, in hushed tones, Rose said, ‘There’s the harpsichord. He spends hours there most nights working on it. But the room’s always locked so none of us have ever seen what he’s doing.’
Although this endorsed what the children had said the previous evening, Arabella thought repairing a harpsichord a very unlikely pastime for a gentlemen and wondered if it was merely a smokescreen for something else. The trouble was, her imagination wouldn’t stretch to what he might really be doing. Rising, she said, ‘Thank you for breakfast, Mistress Phelps – and to all of you for helping me understand a little about how the household works. I take it that there are no other servants?’
‘There’s my husband, ma’am,’ said Mistress Phelps. ‘He does the outside work and anything heavy. He’s cleared out the room across the passage so you can use it as an office. You’ll find the household ledgers in there – and pen and paper, if you’re needing them.’
‘I would like to write a letter to my mother, telling her that I’ve arrived safely. But later, would one of you have time to show me around the house?’
‘I’ll do it.’
Arabella blinked. Of the three of them, Violet was the last one she had expected to volunteer. But she said, ‘Thank you. That would be kind. Shall we say in half an hour?’
* * *
The freshly-painted office was small but it contained the basic essentials. Arabella sat down at the somewhat scarred desk and, drawing a long, bracing breath, prepared to write a very careful letter to Aunt Maria; a letter which, without exactly lying, gave the impression that Lord Chalfont was a good deal older than he actually was and made no mention of the fact that the children were the illegitimate offspring of the previous earl.
It wasn’t easy but she eventually accomplished it to her satisfaction and set it aside, intending to ask someone – probably Mr Phelps – to take it to the village for posting. Then she went in search of Violet and said, ‘I’d like to see the nursery rooms but it might be best to let the children show me those. So perhaps you and I can tour the bedchambers and reception parlours? It seems quite a large house.’
Violet nodded and reeled off numbers. Then she said, ‘Pardon me for remarking on it, Mistress Marsden, but it don’t look to me as if you’re used to doing your own hair.’
Surprised into laughter, Arabella said ruefully, ‘That obvious, is it?’
The girl grinned back. ‘I doubt it’ll last the morning.’
‘So do I – and it took ages. That’s why I was so late. But at home I had my – my sisters to help. The youngest has a talent for it.’
‘So have I,’ replied Violet composedly. ‘And I’ll dress it for you, if you like.’
This was even more surprising.
‘You have no idea how tempting that offer is – but I’m not here as a guest and I’m sure you already have enough to do. It would be wrong of me to cause extra work.’
‘I wouldn’t mind.’ She paused. ‘I’d like to train as a ladies’ maid and practising with you would be a good way to start. I reckon you know how a proper ladies’ maid goes on – what she does and so forth.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Arabella slowly. ‘My cousin has one. Her family is much better-placed than mine … but she and I spend a lot of time together. Her maid is very good at her job – though a bit too bossy at times.’
‘So you could help me learn – in return for me doing your hair?’
‘Yes. If you’re sure it won’t cause trouble with your sister or with Mistress Phelps.’
‘It won’t.’ Violet held out her hand. ‘Do we have a deal, then?’
Still somewhat bemused, Arabella accepted the hand and shrugged. ‘It would seem so.’
* * *
After a tour of scrupulously clean bedchambers furnished with balding rugs and moth-eaten hangings, some of them also bearing signs of mildew and damp, Arabella had a fairly clear idea of the previous earl’s neglect and the financial straits of the current one. However, she refrained from remarking on it and instead, praised Rose and Violet for their diligence. Then she informed Mistress Phelps that, as of the following day, she wanted the children to take their noon-day meals with her in the dining-room.
Rose and Violet burst out laughing.
‘Oh dear,’ said the cook. ‘Are you sure, ma’am? They’re little savages at table.’
Arabella hid her inner qualms behind an air of determination.
‘Then it’s time that was remedied. But the dining-table is enormous. Last evening, his lordship and I were virtually shouting at each other down the length of it. Do you think Mr Phelps might be able to remove some of the leaves – if Lord Chalfont won’t mind?’
‘Lord Chalfont won’t notice,’ grinned Violet. ‘When we said his head was usually off somewhere else, we weren’t joking.’
‘In that case, do it. I will begin familiarising myself with the household accounts and, when the children have eaten, perhaps someone could let me know? I want them to show me their own rooms. Oh – and one other thing.’ She stopped on her way to the door. ‘I asked the children to call me Miss Lizzie so perhaps you might all do the same? Ma’am makes me feel like my grandmother
.’
Arabella soon discovered that accounts ledgers were not her greatest strength but she persevered until boisterous young voices alerted her to the return of her charges. Mentally girding herself for a struggle, she closed the books and straightened her spine. This, she told herself, was a matter of starting as one meant to go on; kind but firm.
It was Ellie who came to fetch her.
‘Are you coming to see our own special rooms, Miss?’
‘Right away. I’ve been looking forward to it all morning.’
Behind their small sister, Tom regarded her with suspicion and Rob with curiosity.
Tom muttered, ‘I’ll bet you’ve seen ’em already.’
‘No. Since they’re your rooms, that wouldn’t have been polite,’ she replied pleasantly. ‘Shall we go?’
The nursery suite proved light and spacious; two bedrooms, leading off a large area that had once been used for both lessons and play. There were a couple of battered desks, an ancient sofa and several balding rugs but everything was clean and looked comfortable. Shelves held a couple of dozen books, most of which appeared to be on the verge of falling apart and there were a few toys here and there … board games and a doll with no hair, most noticeable amongst them. Arabella wondered how much chance there was of better curtains and cheerier covers for the children’s beds – and then had an idea.
Families kept things. Hers certainly did. The attics at Brandon Lacey were stuffed with long-gone-by items that no one had ever bothered to throw away. Pieces of furniture, old pictures, trunks full of out-dated clothes. She remembered her brothers squabbling over Great-Great-Grandfather Gabriel’s buff coat and back-and-breast from when he’d fought under Oliver Cromwell. If this house was the same, there was no saying what she might find upstairs. And even if there was nothing useful, the children would enjoy the hunt.
She said, ‘This is nice … though I think we could make it even nicer. I’ll speak to his lordship about it. In the meantime, I suppose you need some new books, don’t you?’
