And even though he seemed to be acceding to her wishes, she had the uneasy feeling that he had bested her yet again.
7: The Lady's Maid (August)
The new housemaid arrived, and Mrs Cumber declared herself pleased with her. Although it was regrettable that Barbara, with fifteen years’ service, had been let go, at least they had the proper number of servants again.
Then Mr Huntly retired Palcock, the coachman. He was too old and infirm to do his job, he declared, and he could not be trusted to drive Mrs Huntly in safety. Since Annie had not been anywhere except to church since her arrival at Willow Place, she could not feel this was a strong argument, but the male servants were for her husband to command, so she made no comment. Billy, the groom, was promoted to coachman in Palcock’s stead, and the gardener’s boy was appointed to the rôle of groom. Mr Huntly made no further changes, but the remaining servants were unsettled, all the same, Annie could tell.
One day, an unusually smart carriage rolled up the long drive to Willow Place, and two ornate cards were sent in to Annie where she and her husband worked side by side at their desks.
Annie squeaked in excitement. “Lavinia! It is my old friend Lavinia.”
“The viscountess?” he said in sudden interest. “Two cards? Is the viscount with her? Mrs Cumber, bring up a bottle of the best Madeira, at once. Or Canary… will he want Canary, do you suppose? Bring both. And some fruit… are any of the peaches ready yet from the hot houses? Whatever you have, and some of those cakes we had at supper last night, the gingery ones.”
Mrs Cumber glanced at Annie, and she gave a tiny nod. Mrs Cumber, at least, knew that the mistress of the house gave the orders for refreshments, not the master.
“Please tell Mrs Herbert Huntly that she is welcome to join us, if convenient,” Annie said.
Mr Huntly’s eyebrows snapped downwards. “His lordship and her ladyship are here to see you, Mrs Huntly, not Judith.”
“Lavinia will want to meet my sister-in-law,” she said firmly.
He grunted, and thankfully made no further protest.
Lavinia had not changed a bit, bouncing into the peacock chamber in a flurry of silk ribbons and tears of joy. She had always been of a petite, delicate form, and her large hat with its many feathers only served to emphasise her smallness. Flinging her arms around Annie, she hugged her with cries of delight. Six years ago, at the advanced age of four and twenty, she had attracted the attention of a diffident lawyer by the name of Wilbraham Willerton-Forbes. Within a six-month, two of his distant kin had died, unexpectedly propelling his father from a quiet life as a rural attorney to the peerage as the Earl of Morpeth. Wilbraham, as the eldest son, had therefore become a viscount, but just as diffident as he had ever been. He shuffled in behind his wife, standing awkwardly in the doorway and fiddling with the fob dangling from his waistcoat until such time as Lavinia should remember his existence and perform the introductions.
This done, and the Madeira poured, they settled down to catch up on all their news, Lavinia bombarding Annie with questions, barely giving her time to answer before hurtling on to the next, while the two men laboured to find an interest in common. Mr Huntly tried politics, but the viscount knew little of affairs of state. Lord Dillington asked about sport in the parish, but Mr Huntly preferred his fish and game on his plate, cooked to a turn, and rode only when a distance was too far to walk. Neither had much to say about the weather or the roads or the latest crimes or the prospects for the harvest. Eventually, however, they discovered that they had both trained in the law before fate pronounced them gentlemen, and they fell into an agreeable discussion of complex tort cases.
When Judith appeared, the conversation became general again as Lavinia wanted to know all about her husband and the tragedy that had befallen him.
“He was drowned, Lady Dillington,” Judith said. “He was on the same ship that took the life of the Duke of Falconbury in February.”
“The Minerva?” Lavinia said, sitting up straighter in sudden interest. “Why, then you will have met my brother-in-law. Pettigrew Willerton-Forbes.”
“No, indeed. I know no such person.”
“He is a lawyer. All the Willerton-Forbes men are lawyers, but he is working at present for the Benefactor. You know of the Benefactor, naturally.”
“Is that another ship?” Judith asked, bewilderment written on her face.
“A ship? No, no. It is a person who is giving one thousand pounds to the nearest kin of everyone who drowned on the Minerva. Pettigrew is administering the funds — distributing them to those entitled to them, and so forth. Has he not come to call upon you?”
“No, indeed. No one has given me a thousand pounds,” Judith said. “It would be most welcome, I assure you, for my husband left me with nothing to support me, and nothing for his daughters, either. A thousand pounds would be very acceptable.”
“That is most odd,” Lord Dillington said. “I was sure that Pettigrew told me he had all but finished his distribution of funds, except for one or two odd cases who cannot be identified or those who, like the duke, refuse to receive him.”
“You must write to him, Mrs Huntly,” Lavinia said. “Annie, I depend upon you to make sure Mrs Herbert Huntly writes to my brother-in-law at once to claim her thousand pounds, and mark it ‘Urgent’ so that he will open it at once. Dillington, you must furnish Mrs Huntly with the address in London. You must have what is due to you, Mrs Huntly. It would be an outrage if you should not.”
And nothing would do for Lavinia except to call for paper and pen and ink at once, and stand over Judith while she wrote, dictating most of it herself. Then she sealed the letter and took it away in her reticule to ensure it was left at the nearest post office that very day.
“A thousand pounds,” Judith said reverently, after the viscount and viscountess had left. “That would set me up very well.”
“It is a prodigious sum,” Mr Huntly said. “I find it hard to believe that any rational person would give away so much money. A thousand pounds for every next of kin — why, it is a fortune!”
“Whether the Benefactor is rational or not, if he gives Judith a thousand pounds I shall be delighted,” Annie said stoutly.
~~~~~
Annie found the hot weather that prevailed at this time something of a trial. Mr Huntly was most insistent that she be preserved from the deadly effects of the night air, and no amount of remonstrating would change his mind. She suffered greatly through the heat in her bedroom, and regularly woke to find herself far too hot. Often, the only remedy was to creep through to her dressing room and sit beside an open window until she was cool enough to sleep again. Then she would find herself unwell the next morning.
If her husband was unsympathetic to her need for fresh air, he was all consideration for any weakness in her health, and himself brought a breakfast tray to her in bed, pressing her tenderly to eat and drink some small amount, if only to please him. She suspected he guessed the real reason for her indisposition, but he said nothing, and she hugged her secret to herself until it should be more certain.
Several times as she sat in the window seat at night she saw again the man in the white shirt lurking just inside the shelter of the shrubbery. Once she thought he waved to her, and she ducked hastily back into the room. If it was unsettling to see a man in the garden, it was downright unnerving to know that he had seen her and was insouciant enough to wave. But Mr Huntly seemed unconcerned about it, and the man seemed unthreatening. There had been no reports of thefts or unexpected encounters, and the maids, who would be the first to sound the alarm against any male interloper, made no complaints of such a nature, so Annie decided he was harmless. Perhaps he was, in fact, the gamekeeper simply patrolling his domain, but where he came from or how he got into the grounds she could not guess.
One day, Annie returned to her dressing room for her usual afternoon rest to find a strange woman there.
“What are you doing here?” she said sharply, for although her few ex
pensive jewels were safely locked away, there were silver-backed hairbrushes and brooches and decorative hair combs lying about for the taking.
“Preparing your gown for this evening, madam,” the woman said, with a deep curtsy. “I am Honeywell, your new lady’s maid, madam.”
“My new—? I already have a lady’s maid, with whom I am perfectly satisfied. You may leave whatever you are doing and send Betty to me at once.”
“Betty has left, madam. The master engaged me to take her place.”
“Did he indeed!”
Annie spun on her heel and flew down the stairs to the hunting room. Ransome the steward was there, standing in front of the desk, twisting his hat in his hands, while Mr Huntly glared at him from his chair behind the desk. He looked up and frowned as Annie strode in.
“I am engaged at present, Mrs Huntly.”
“Mr Ransome, you may wait outside while I discuss a matter with my husband.”
Mr Huntly’s frown deepened. She noted that he did not stand as she entered, as he should have done. It was not a good sign but she was too angry to be circumspect. Ransome slipped silently from the room, the door closing behind him with a click.
“You have dismissed my maid.”
“I have. It was done for the best. There was a slyness about her that I did not like, such as bringing you tea despite my orders, and sneaking books out of this room that I had not approved.”
“You had no right,” Annie said, shaking from head to toe with rage.
“I beg your pardon, madam, but I have every right. This is my house, let me remind you. My house, my servants.” He rose to his considerable height, and moved round to her side of the desk. It was a deliberate attempt to intimidate her, she was sure, but if so, it was a failure. She raised her chin a little higher to look him in the eye.
“The male servants you may dismiss as you please, and although it would be a courtesy to allow me to manage the female servants, as is customary, I will not question your decisions there. But Betty is my maid, chosen by me, her salary paid for out of my own pin money. You have no right to dismiss her. If she has transgressed, then naturally I will reprimand her, but you cannot dismiss her.”
His eyes flashed with rage, but his voice was dangerously calm. “May I remind you where your pin money comes from? From my purse, at my discretion, and—”
“That is not true!” she cried. “My pin money is laid down in my settlement. It is mine by right, under the law. Mine, Rupert, to do with as I please, and it pleases me to engage my own lady’s maid. I will not have any other, do you hear me? I will not—”
He grabbed her wrist so abruptly and crushingly that she yelped in pain, but his voice was still low. “Stop this at once! Calm yourself, or I shall have to—” He stopped, and she could see him considering his options. What could he do to her? Beat her? Lock her up in the coal cellar? But she no longer cared. All the little resentments that had gathered for weeks exploded in a great conflagration. She was on fire and her anger would not be quenched.
With a heave, she freed herself from his grip. “I am going to find Betty. She cannot have got far, for I saw her not an hour ago. I want her back, Mr Huntly.”
She turned and swept out into the great hall. That was a mistake, for Ransome waited there and half the servants, presumably alerted by Honeywell. They scattered into the shadows as Mr Huntly followed in her wake, clearly determined to have the last word.
“You will not have her back, and that is final,” he hissed, with icy control. “This is my house and you are my wife and you will obey me, do you hear?”
Despite its low tone, his voice echoed around the vast empty space. With the servants vanished, only the ancestors gazed down impassively on the quarrel from the walls high above.
Annie was too incensed to consider her words. “I shall not. I have obeyed you too often, and you have consulted my wishes too seldom. You permit me no freedom, not even to manage my own household or to order my days. You tell me what to eat and drink, when to rise and when to sleep, what to read and what to play. You refuse all invitations, reject all callers, refuse to allow me out of your sight. And now the final insult — you will not even allow me to choose my own maid, the last little link to my home and my family. Betty understands me and cares for me as you do not, and you will not part me from her.”
“How dare you! You insolent little hussy, how dare you speak so to me? What were you before I married you? You were nobody!”
“But I was happy!” she cried.
For an instant, his face changed. She saw shock there — had she really said that? She could hardly believe it herself, and if she could have taken those words back, she would have done. Not the rest of it, for there was nothing there that was untrue. But to imply that she was unhappy as his wife — that was different. It was not entirely true. She chafed at his restrictions, but she had always hoped that in time he would mellow and slacken his grip on her, and in many ways he was a tender, loving husband.
He wavered, and perhaps on another day, in a different setting, he might have softened and made some conciliatory move. But he had too much pride and could not back down. The hope of reaching an accord flickered briefly and was gone. She knew then that he would never forgive her.
When he spoke, his voice was icy calm. “I cannot allow such behaviour to go unpunished. It is your duty as a wife to obey your husband, and if you will not do so willingly and joyfully, then you must be taught to do so. It will bring me no pleasure to chastise you, and such a task will lie heavy on my heart but—”
A flash of black bombazine was the only warning, as Judith burst into the hall from the service corridor. “Annie! Oh, Annie! Betty is still here, so you need not—”
“You keep out of this!” Mr Huntly spat back. “No one can interfere between man and wife, and I will not have her defy me. I will not! She must be chastised.”
“No!” Judith cried, grabbing his arm. “No, Rupert, I beg you, you must not!”
“How else will she learn? She must go to the punishment room.”
He grabbed Annie’s wrist again, and began to pull at her. Annie screamed, and strained to escape, but this time he held her tight. Judith screamed too, and hurled herself onto him, kicking and pulling at his fingers where they gripped Annie’s arm.
Into this mêlée, the hall clock boomed out the hourly chime. With an exclamation of annoyance, Mr Huntly released Annie so abruptly that she staggered and almost fell.
“Now I am late for the Vestry meeting,” he said petulantly. “Wife, I will deal with you when I get back. And as for you…” He turned to Judith. “I want you and your brats out of this house before I return. You have been hanging on my sleeve for too long, subverting my orders and turning my wife against me. I never want to see any of you again.”
So saying, he snatched up his hat and gloves from the console, and stormed out through the front door.
For a long, long moment the only sound in the great hall was the dying chimes of the clock. Then Judith collapsed to her knees in a fit of noisy weeping. “Oh God! What have I done?”
Annie shook violently, but she was too shocked to cry. Kneeling beside Judith, she put her arms around her and the two women clung together, seeking what comfort they could from each other. Eventually, Mrs Cumber appeared.
“She mustn’t be here in the hall when the master returns,” she said to Annie in urgent tones. “We must get her out of sight…”
Between them, they persuaded Judith to her feet, and then down the corridor to the old butler’s room, now the housekeeper’s sewing room. There they sat, each as wretched as the other, as Mrs Cumber came and went with tea and cakes and then, when that did not answer, a decanter of brandy. As the hours passed, she brought reports that Mr Huntly had not yet returned from his meeting.
“What time will he be home?” Judith said, her weeping now reduced to an occasional sniff.
“Before four, usually. Sometimes earlier.”
“What will you do
, Annie? Have you anyone you can go to? Have you enough money for the stage to go back to your uncle?”
“I shall not leave,” she whispered. “What is the point? He would find me easily enough.”
“What will he do to you?”
“Who knows?” She could not even think about it. It was not real… none of it was real. This was not happening. Her husband had his peculiarities, but surely he loved her. He would not hurt her… would he?
“You cannot stay here for him to beat you!” Judith cried. “You must not!”
“He will not hurt me,” Annie said, with more confidence than she felt. “I… I am with child, and he would not—”
“Oh, Annie! I knew it!” Judith hurled her arms around Annie and hugged her fiercely. “I guessed… we all guessed. A new bride… everyone in the house knows, and certainly Rupert must. He has been so solicitous of you. No, he will not injure you in any way— especially not now.”
“It is his right,” Annie said slowly. “It is my duty to submit.” She shivered.
Judith hugged her and wept, but had no real comfort to offer.
So Annie sat, her mind empty. Somewhere in the dark corners of her mind lurked a terrible, formless fear… of what? Pain, she supposed. Deliberate pain inflicted on her by a man who professed to love her. The punishment room, and whatever lay within it. And beyond that, fear of the future, the long, dreary years of superficial politeness tinged with terror lest she misstep and rile him to anger again. How could she live like that? Yet she must. Somehow she must.
It was the clock striking five that awoke her from this cloud of inertia. Five o’clock! Mr Huntly was not home, she had to dress for dinner, and Judith—
“Why are you still here?” she said, wondering why this had never occurred to her before. “He told you to leave.”
The Apothecary (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 3) Page 7
