Читать книгу Rags-To-Riches Wife - Catherine Tinley - Страница 14

Crash! Tray, dishes, pastries and sweetmeats tumbled to the floor in a clatter of china, cutlery and food, the debris spreading far and wide. Jane could not understand why the visitor had said her name, but her attention had been completely diverted to the horror now adorning Miss Marianne’s best carpet.

It was a servant’s role to be unnoticed, unobtrusive. A shadow. Never to be seen unless the quality chose to interact with you. Since beginning her training as a scullery maid at the age of eight Jane had understood that to do what she had just done was the worst possible error she could ever make.

‘I am so sorry, my lady,’ she muttered, bending to gather some of the debris.

One of Miss Marianne’s prized Chamberlain Worcester plates was broken in two. Jane could not even begin to think how much the delicate china was worth. If any of the other girls had caused this calamity they would get a rare telling-off, and possibly even a warm ear from Mrs Bailey.

Just because the housekeeper happened to be her mother it did not excuse Jane from this culpability. What would this gentleman think of her? Of Ledbury House?

Lady Kingswood, issuing soothing reassurances, had already rung the bell for another maid, and shortly afterwards Sarah arrived—still with faint bloodstains on her sleeve.

Jane groaned inwardly. Of course it would have to be Sarah.

Together they swiftly gathered up the tumbled food, cutlery and crockery, while Lady Kingswood and her guest engaged in stilted empty conversation.

Oh, please, let us be done here, for I cannot bear to be in this room a moment longer!

Miss Marianne would think her stupid and clumsy. And what if she was so displeased she consigned Jane to work below-stairs?

Part of Jane’s mind was aware this was neither rational, nor likely, but the other part—the part currently overcome by fear and anxiety—could not at that moment be logical.

Thankfully, before long they were done. Jane would return later, to sweep the crumbs, but for now at least all the noticeable debris had been scooped up into her and Sarah’s aprons. Jane stood, bobbed a curtsey, and left alongside Sarah without a backward glance.

As they descended below-stairs in silence she could sense Sarah’s glee at her misfortune.

Oh, Jane was well aware the other servants thought she saw herself as better than them, but it was not true—not really. Being highly educated, and being a lady’s maid as well as daughter to the housekeeper, meant she had never been able to form friendships with any of the maids near her own age. But it was not that she saw herself as above them. Why, she had even served tea today in order to be helpful.

It was more that she could not be comfortable with their conversation—which focused mainly on village scandals, family gossip—and their fixation on flirting with any eligible lads in the district.

And moments like this is when I pay for it.

Sarah was clearly delighted that, having deprived the other housemaids of the pleasure of serving the handsome gentleman, Jane should have suffered such a spectacular calamity.

Jane maintained a stony silence and walked on.

Robert’s sense of disquiet was growing by the moment. Already uneasy about being sent on this wild mission by his uncle, he had felt his discomfort increase when he had realised Lord Kingswood was absent.

Apart from his mama and his aunt—and the occasional society of a courtesan or ladybird—Robert did not often find himself in the company of women, and had no idea how to respond to the archness, flirtation and simpering often displayed by the young ladies of his acquaintance.

Thankfully, Lady Kingswood had so far displayed none of these tendencies, and he had dared to hope he could communicate his delicate tale without sounding like an utter fool.

Until the maid had decided to trip over nothing and fling pastries and plates across the room.

He had glanced down at her, absently noting her pink cheeks and mortified expression. Strangely, it had made him feel a little easier, knowing that someone in the room was even more agitated than he.

She is very pretty, he had noted, surprising himself with the thought.

Another maid had arrived to help, and this one had immediately sent him a sideways bold glance.

Robert had looked away.

‘I do hope your postilion is being looked after,’ Lady Kingswood had offered politely, after murmuring reassuring words to the two maids.

‘Your groom came out to meet us,’ he had confirmed. ‘I have no doubt they are even now discussing horseflesh and poultices and whatnot.’

She had smiled. ‘Grooms and coachmen share a common language. Do you ride?’

‘I do.’ Wistfully, he had pictured the green hills around Beechmount Hall. ‘I am fortunate to live close to some of England’s finest countryside.’

‘My husband is a fine horseman.’ Lady Kingswood had not disguised her pride. ‘Such a pity he is not here today.’

‘Indeed.’

There had been a short silence.

Thankfully the maids had now completed their task and departed, the second one once again trying to catch his eye.

Robert kept his gaze firmly and politely on Lady Kingswood.

The door closed behind them and Lady Kingswood’s demeanour instantly changed. Bringing her hands together, she narrowed her eyes. ‘I must tell you, Mr Kendal,’ she asserted, ‘Miss Bailey is very dear to me, and I should not wish her to become embroiled in anything unsavoury or anything that might bring her harm.’

‘Then she exists and you know her!’ Seeing her startled expression, he made haste to explain. ‘My uncle—that is to say, Mr Millthorpe—was very clear that he wished to speak to Miss Bailey and that she would come to no harm by it. I think,’ he added reflectively, ‘that he sent me in order to reassure Miss Bailey and those close to her on that very point.’

‘And do you know why he wishes to speak with her?’ There was a decided crease on Lady Kingswood’s brow.

‘I do not—not for certain, at least. I confess until this moment I was not convinced Miss Bailey even existed, or that I would find her here. My uncle is elderly and in poor health. While this was decidedly not a deathbed request—for he enjoys reasonably good health—he made it clear he wishes to meet Miss Bailey before he leaves this earth.’

This elicited a response—a flicker of something in the Countess’s eyes. Recognition? Memory? Then it was gone, and so quickly he might have imagined it.

He coughed politely. ‘Mr Millthorpe is aged, and somewhat eccentric, and likes to try to make me do his bidding.’ He grimaced. ‘That sounds wrong. I have great affection for him. But I confess that although we have lived in the same house for most of my life, he still manages to surprise me on occasions.’

Lady Kingswood nodded politely, clearly believing it would be indelicate for her to comment on this.

‘So,’ he offered, leaning forward. ‘Might I enquire a little about Miss Jane Bailey? Does she live nearby? Might you be able to give me her direction? I confess I am curious about her. Is she a woman in her middle years, perhaps?’

The Countess tilted her head to one side. ‘I shall consider the matter, Mr Kendal. But tell me: what led you to believe you might find news of her here, at Ledbury House?’

A decided rebuff. He had travelled all this way and might yet fail. He would have to tread carefully with Lady Kingswood. If she denied him, Robert would be obliged to return to Yorkshire empty-handed.

‘Ah! That I do know. My uncle indicated that he had commissioned a Bow Street Runner to investigate the whereabouts of Miss Bailey. While he would tell me nothing of his motives, he was most proud of his methods.’

‘A Bow Street Runner!’ She shook her head in bemusement. ‘Mr Kendal, I shall be frank with you. I have never met you before, and I am unsure whether I should trust you with the information you seek. You have made it clear your undertaking is not simply to speak with J—with Miss Bailey, or to pass on information. Instead you wish to take her hundreds of miles away to the wilds of Yorkshire, with only yourself to accompany her.’

The wilds of Yorkshire? It was hardly deepest Africa! But Robert noted she seemed genuinely concerned for Miss Bailey’s safety.

He nodded. ‘I see that. But I know not what further reassurance I can provide, save my word as a gentleman.’

Her lip curled. ‘Both Miss Bailey and I are aware that supposed “gentlemen” do not always behave honourably.’

Robert blinked, noting this for future reference. Politeness prevented him from asking the Countess for more details.

He cast around his mind, but no further strategy came to him save honesty. ‘Then we are at a standstill. I know not what I can say or do to convince you. Certainly on a practical level I can undertake to hire a maid to travel with her—perhaps one of your own maids?’

For some reason, an image of the pretty pink-cheeked maid suddenly filled his inner vision. Cease! he told himself sternly. Now is certainly not the time for dalliance.

For some reason this seemed to amuse her.

She thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Mr Kendal, I shall make you an offer. Come back tonight for dinner, at half past six, and we can discuss this further. I hope you understand I need time for consideration?’

‘Indeed, and I am grateful that you have not sent me away with a flea in my ear.’ He rose. ‘I thank you for your time, and I shall indeed return.’

He bowed, smiled, and departed.

‘Oh, Lord!’ Jane cradled her head in her hands. ‘I am so sorry, Mama!’

Miss Marianne might understand, but Mama had such high standards for both of them Jane felt she had let them both down.

Mrs Bailey was still removing her bonnet and shawl. ‘What on earth happened, Jane? Sarah could not wait to tell me that one of the Worcester plates had broken and that it was not her fault!’

‘It is true.’ Jane’s tone was rueful.

She gave her mama a brief summary of the disaster in the drawing room.

‘The gentleman has not yet left, but when he does I shall be sure to go directly to my mistress and apologise.’

‘I should think so! But why were you there? And what on earth made you do it? You are not normally clumsy.’

‘Ah, that I must tell you... Mary cut her head, so I decided to take the tea. Then the gentleman said my name, and it was so unexpected that I dropped the tray.’

Jane, still lost in mortification, could not even describe the disaster properly.

‘He said your name? What on earth are you talking about? Honestly, Jane, sometimes you baffle me with your incoherence.’

‘Sorry, Mama. There is truly little more to tell. I was not particularly listening to their conversation—you have always encouraged me to develop the skill of not attending to business that does not concern me. Then suddenly he said, “Her name is Jane Bailey”.’ She nodded furiously. ‘Yes, I know! I am puzzled too. I have been racking my brains, but I cannot think of why he might be here, or why any gentleman might be seeking me.’

As she spoke, a bell on the wall rang—Jane’s bell—swiftly followed by the housekeeper’s bell. Miss Marianne wanted them both!

They glanced at each other, then wordlessly rose, making for the drawing room.

The gentleman had gone—Jane ascertained as much from the second footman as they went through the hall. Strangely, Jane felt a pang of—something—at this news. But of course he was gone—which was why they were now summoned to their mistress.

‘Enter!’

The Countess’s voice rang out in response to Mrs Bailey’s gentle scratching on the door. Jane was conscious that her heart was beating rather quickly. Despite all her years of service to Miss Marianne, and knowing of her kindness and her loyalty, a servant’s greatest worry was always that of being dismissed.

Lady Kingswood was seated in her favourite armchair, looking pensive.

Jane glanced automatically towards the carpet, instantly spotting various crumbs and tiny shards of china—clear evidence of the recent mishap.

‘Oh, my lady, I apologise! I do not know what came over me, for I am not normally so clumsy.’

Miss Marianne snorted. ‘Well, if you do not know, Jane, I most certainly do. Lord, when he said the name of the woman he was seeking I almost collapsed in shock. If I had been holding a tray I have no doubt I, too, would have dropped it. No—’ she waved a hand ‘—I do not wish to hear any further apologies. It is forgotten!’

Jane smiled weakly.

See? You need not have worried, the rational part of her brain offered complacently.

Her still racing heart and moist palms could not agree.

Mrs Bailey was frowning. ‘Might I ask, my lady, who is this gentleman? And what is his interest in my daughter?’

‘I confess I do not fully understand it myself.’ She picked up a card. ‘His name is Mr Robert Kendal and, in essence, he says he has been sent here by an elderly relative of his to fetch Jane to visit the old man in Yorkshire before he dies. Although his death is not imminent. The old man’s, I mean.’

She was looking closely at Mama, as if waiting for her to say something.

Mama remained silent.

‘But why?’ Jane was mystified. ‘I know no Mr Kendal, nor anyone with the name Kendal, and I have never seen this gentleman before.’

That I am sure of, for I would not have forgotten a gentleman so handsome!

‘Mr Kendal himself seems not to know why you are sought, Jane. In fact, he hoped I could enlighten him.’ Lady Kingswood’s eyes danced. ‘I suspect he thinks you may be the result of a youthful adventure on his relative’s part. He pictures you as middle-aged.’

‘Youthful adventure? What—? Oh!’ Jane gaped.

Mrs Bailey was bristling with indignation. ‘Well, I shall tell him straight! My Jane is no man’s by-blow, for me and my Ned were married fair and square! And my own parents were as respectable as they come! Youthful adventure, indeed!’

‘Of course, Mrs Bailey!’ Lady Kingswood’s tone was soothing. ‘I suspect Mr Kendal knows very little about either of you, and so he has reached his own conclusions.’

‘Well, if he thinks I shall allow my Jane to go off with him to visit some unknown elderly gentleman—’ Mama broke off, as if an idea had just come to her. ‘Did you say Yorkshire?’

‘I did. Does that mean something to you?’

‘Did Mr Kendal specify which part of Yorkshire?’

‘Er—the West Riding. A place called Ardendale or something.’

Mrs Bailey gasped. ‘Ardendale...or Arkendale, perhaps?’

‘Yes—Arkendale!’

‘And his relative’s name?’

‘Mullinthorpe? Melkinthorpe?’ Lady Kingswood was frowning with the effort of trying to remember.

‘Millthorpe?’

‘That’s it! Millthorpe!’

Mrs Bailey put a hand to her chest. ‘Mr Millthorpe! Never again did I think to hear that name!’

Jane rose, touching her mother’s arm. ‘Who is he, Mama?’

‘If it is him, and not some other relative—’ she looked directly at Jane ‘—he is Ned’s father. Your grandfather!’

‘My grandfather?’ Jane almost squeaked in shock. ‘But why is his name not Bailey? And I thought he would have nothing to do with Papa—with any of us—after Papa married you?’

‘So Ned always said. As a servant, I was not good enough for the Millthorpe name, apparently. Ned defied him by changing his name to Bailey—which was from his mother’s side.’

Jane’s mind was reeling. ‘Then—my grandfather may be still alive and wishing to meet me?’

‘So it would seem.’

Jane’s knees felt strangely soft, as if the bones were melting. She had not thought of Papa’s family in years.

My grandfather! What is he like? Do I look like him? Has he, perhaps, forgiven Papa?

An image of a tender deathbed reunion filled her mind. She shook it away—there was nothing to suggest what Mr Millthorpe’s motives might be in trying to find her.

‘And who, then, is this Mr Kendal? A servant?’ Mama’s tone was sharp.

‘No, definitely a gentleman.’ The Countess tilted her head on one side, remembering. ‘He referred to Mr Millthorpe as “Uncle”, yet clarified that he is not truly his uncle but a distant relative. I did wonder if there was some connection with your husband’s family...’

‘Hmph! The whole thing smacks of Mr Millthorpe’s desire to manage everyone around him. That was Ned’s abiding memory of his father. Even now, with my poor Ned long gone, his domineering father seeks to control him through my Jane!’ Mama wiped a tear away with the corner of her apron.

‘Mama!’ Jane touched her arm. ‘Of course I shall not go, if you do not wish it.’

Mama never cried. After that day—the day of Papa’s death—Mama had been careful to keep her grief to herself. Jane had come upon her suddenly on a couple of occasions, and seen her mother wipe away tears, but never had she allowed herself to cry in front of Jane. For her to do so today was shocking, and Jane felt the force of it.

Mama continued, her voice tight with pain and anger. ‘Mr Millthorpe was cold and cruel. He pushed away his only child—and why? Because Ned had the misfortune to fall in love with me: a servant. I have never met the man, but my impression is that he thinks of me—of all servants—as vermin, to be used and discarded. He has no heart, no conscience. He must have known Ned would struggle, yet he never made any attempt to reconcile with him.’

Jane, her mind too disordered to operate clearly, nevertheless felt the force of Mama’s pain. And Papa’s.

Lady Kingswood’s brow creased. ‘How awful! I remember, of course, that your husband had died not long before you came to us, and that he was a gentleman, but I do not recall hearing any more about his family.’

‘I did not speak much of it.’ Mama pressed her lips together. ‘Again, I should like to know, who is Mr Kendal and what is his role in all of this?’ She eyed her mistress. ‘What have you told him about Jane?’

‘Not a word,’ Lady Kingswood assured her. ‘He knows I am acquainted with Jane, but has no notion that he himself has already met her!’

Jane, still in something like shock, voiced her bemusement. ‘My grandfather is alive! Why would he wish to see me? What if he is still angry with Papa, and wishes to punish him—or me...?’ She shuddered. ‘I cannot put myself in any man’s power.’ Cold fear trickled through her belly as Master Henry threatened to resurface in her memory. ‘What is to happen next?’

‘Well,’ said Lady Kingswood diffidently, ‘I thought you both might like to meet him yourself before he knows who Jane Bailey is.’

‘Thank you, Miss Marianne. I declare that is sensible.’ Mama was all gratitude. ‘But how shall we contrive it?’

‘I have invited him to dinner. Lady Cecily is returning later—please prepare her room, Mrs Bailey—and I have sent a note to Reverend Burns to make up the numbers. It is only right that we should attempt to discover more of his character, and of Mr Millthorpe, before you decide whether Jane should go with him.’

Mrs Bailey shook her head. ‘I am not sure she should go anywhere near the old man, no matter how personable this Mr Kendal may be.’

Jane listened with trepidation, and more than a little confusion. At this moment she had no notion of what she wanted, beyond a sneaking suspicion that she would very much like to see Mr Kendal again...