Читать книгу The Captain's Disgraced Lady - Catherine Tinley, Catherine Tinley - Страница 14

Chapter Six

‘We call this the Blue Drawing Room,’ Mrs Wakely tittered. ‘As you can understand, for everything is blue, even the rug!’

Juliana suppressed a yawn. How she disliked this ritual, touring people’s houses so they could crow about their wealth, furniture and—in Mrs Wakely’s case—rugs. She had done it many times around Brussels and Vienna, and knew the behaviour expected of her. She was to exclaim and compliment, and agree with her hostess, all the time understanding that she, who had no property or wealthy relations, was to be grateful even to visit such a wonderful dwelling. This occasion, Juliana recognised, was slightly different, for Mrs Wakely knew Glenbrook Hall was nothing compared to Chadcombe. Juliana was quite enjoying the reflected glory—and Mrs Wakely’s feeble attempts to seem humble, yet crow about her fortune.

‘As you see, it has blue hangings and the sofas and chairs are all done in blue. The fireplace, you will notice, is white.’

‘A most pleasant room, Mrs Wakely.’ Charlotte was all politeness. Juliana did not know how she could stand it. Since their arrival, Mrs Wakely had maintained an incessant flow of inconsequential chatter, interspersed with impertinent questions.

Thankfully, after tea, Harry had been taken off by Mr Wakely to inspect the stables, so Juliana did not have to endure the company of either man. Mr Wakely, on their arrival, had raised his quizzing glass to inspect both ladies with uncomfortable intensity, before pronouncing them to be ‘fine young ladies’, in a voice that made Juliana shiver slightly.

‘...you think, Juliana?’ Realising belatedly that Charlotte was addressing her, Juliana started.

‘Yes, delightful,’ she said generally. It seemed to fit, for no one reacted with surprise.

Mrs Wakely rang the bell. ‘The portrait gallery is next and I confess I do not know much of the family history, so I have asked our housekeeper, Mrs Campbell, to be ready to explain it to you.’

They stood, listening with seeming interest to Mrs Wakely’s description of the pleasant view out of the window, until the housekeeper appeared. Mrs Campbell was a stout, kindly-looking woman in her sixties, with a lined face and iron-grey hair contained in an orderly bun. Her black dress was neat and tidy, and she wore a large bunch of keys at her waist.

‘Mrs Campbell,’ said Mrs Wakely imperiously, ‘please take us to the portrait gallery, and explain everything to my guests. The same way you explained it to me when I first became your mistress.’ She turned to Charlotte. ‘Lady Shalford, you will know what a trial it is to find good staff and how one must establish dominance over them from the start—especially the “old retainer” types. One would not want to be cheated by dishonest staff!’

Juliana’s jaw dropped in shock. What an insulting thing to say, and in front of her own housekeeper! Mrs Campbell’s face remained expressionless, but Juliana knew from the brief flash of pain in her eyes that Mrs Wakely’s cruel arrow had found its mark.

Charlotte, she saw, was equally taken aback. ‘I know how important it is to find—and to keep—good staff,’ she said softly. ‘I declare I would be lost without my own housekeeper at Chadcombe.’ She smiled gently at Mrs Campbell.

Juliana spoke up. ‘I would be delighted if you would be so kind as to show us the portrait gallery, Mrs Campbell.’ She smiled broadly at the housekeeper, hoping to signal her outrage at Mrs Wakely’s rude behaviour.

Mrs Campbell looked at her fully for the first time. Her eyes widened briefly, then she schooled her features into impassivity. ‘Thank you, miss.’

Juliana followed as Mrs Campbell led them through two interconnected rooms. Why had the housekeeper looked at her with such surprise? Was she so unused to receiving kindness? Juliana could not imagine how difficult it must be to work for a mistress as coarse and unfeeling as Mrs Wakely.

Unhooking the bunch of keys from her waist, the housekeeper unlocked the door to the portrait gallery, then stood aside while they entered.

It was a beautiful room. Long, narrow and sunlit, with polished wooden floors and plain walls, hung with portraits amassed over three centuries. A single rosewood table stood halfway down and there was another door at the far end of the room. There was an air of peace, tranquillity and quiet tastefulness about the whole house, which did not match Mrs Wakely in the slightest.

Juliana was forced to admit she liked Glenbrook Hall. It was a pretty estate, with farms, mature woodlands, landscaped gardens and a long sweeping drive. The house was a modest building of warm granite and large windows, with high ceilings, elegant fireplaces and tasteful design. It was also immaculately maintained—Juliana laid the credit for this at the feet of Mrs Campbell and the other staff, for it was clear Mrs Wakely had no knowledge or understanding of running a country house.

‘How long have you lived here, Mrs Wakely?’ she asked, curiosity finally getting the better of her. Besides, she was unable to resist the temptation to make her hostess feel a little uncomfortable.

‘Almost six months,’ replied Mrs Wakely. ‘I do declare it took a while for us to get used to it, rattling around in this big place. I much prefer a compact house, with only the rooms I need—though, of course, it is gratifying when guests are impressed by how large the house is.’

Juliana blinked. Mrs Wakely continued, undaunted. ‘I have plans to change the house and to get rid of all this old furniture. We need to modernise it—the family had such old-fashioned taste! I was thinking of making everything golden. I have seen beautiful new furniture that has come from France and Mr W. and I have talked about redecorating. Of course, this war is very inconvenient—they say it will make importing what we want more difficult. Lady Shalford, you must come back next year and see what changes we have made.’

Charlotte made a non-committal answer. Juliana hoped she would never be back, for she dreaded to think what Mrs Wakely’s ‘modernising’ would do to this lovely house. And to describe the conflict with Napoleon as ‘inconvenient’ was nothing short of insulting to the soldiers and their families, as well as to the relatives of those who had been lost in war—like Juliana’s own father.

It also showed a lack of sensitivity to those who lived near the battlefields. This time, the armies had moved close to Brussels and Juliana dreaded to think of what might happen to her friends and acquaintances who still resided there.

‘Mrs Campbell, who are these people?’ In an attempt to divert her hostess from pressurising Charlotte, Juliana stopped randomly in front of a family portrait. It looked like a Reynolds, and showed a man, woman and child in an outdoor setting, Glenbrook Hall in the distance.

‘Ah, that is my master and mistress, and the young master,’ said Mrs Campbell warmly.

‘Indeed?’ said Charlotte with interest. ‘He was a baron, I understand?’

‘He was. Lord Cowlam, though the line died out with him.’

Charlotte looked perplexed. ‘But, his son...?’

‘When Napoleon started attacking all over Europe, nothing would do for the young master but that he must volunteer. Master Jack was always headstrong, especially after his mother died. He was killed in Spain, I believe, or France. The master went into a decline after that.’

‘How sad!’ Another of the thousands of families affected by war and by Napoleon’s thirst for glory. Juliana looked at the portrait carefully. They all looked so happy. The man was smiling broadly, his blue eyes brimming with energy and joy. The woman was beautiful, with soft brown eyes and an air of serenity. Juliana liked to think of them happy together in this house. She looked at the child. He had his mother’s brown eyes and was looking innocently at her.

‘When did the Baron die?’ Charlotte, Juliana saw, was also intrigued by the sad tale.

‘Nearly two years ago, milady.’ Mrs Campbell spoke with heavy sorrow. ‘We never expected him to live on after Master Jack died. In the end, it was twenty years, though he was never the same. We did our best to look after him, and to look after the house and the estate, but we couldn’t replace what he had lost.’

Mrs Wakely was frowning at the direction the conversation had taken. ‘But, as I always say, good comes out of bad, for if the old Baron’s son had lived, then Mr W. and I would not have inherited.’ Juliana frowned, noticing Mrs Campbell’s distress at her mistress’s words. Really, the woman had no tact or sensitivity!

‘Indeed, Mrs Wakely,’ Charlotte said coolly. ‘And has your inheritance been confirmed?’

‘Er...well, you know how these things are... Lawyers will be forever putting obstacles in the way of justice.’

‘Obstacles?’ queried Juliana, exchanging a wicked glance with Charlotte. This sounded interesting.

‘Yes, you know the sort of thing...’ Mrs Wakely waved a plump arm vaguely. ‘Other claimants that nobody can find. They will turn out not to exist, I am sure of it. And then the lawyers will give me my full inheritance and allow me to redecorate.’

‘So it is you, and not your husband, who is related to the Baron?’ asked Juliana, though she already knew the answer.

‘I am, indeed, and it has been verified. My grandmother and his grandmother were first cousins, you know. And I was never so shocked as on the day I found out that I was gentry! For—this will surprise you to know, milady—’ she laid a plump hand on Charlotte’s arm ‘—I was not raised as such. When I got the letter I was so shocked I could barely take it in and I had to ask my dear friend Mr Wakely to explain it to me!’

Charlotte ridded herself of Mrs Wakely’s touch by the simple expedient of raising her own hand to touch the plain gold locket around her neck. ‘So you and Mr Wakely were not married at that point?’

‘We were not—he was a regular customer at the tavern where I worked. The inn, I mean, not “tavern”! Tavern sounds altogether too common! A very high-class, select inn, it was, milady. Anyway, I had no idea he was harbouring such warm feelings for me. He had kept his love for me secret, for fear of rejection, you know!’ She sighed dramatically. ‘But he helped me through all the dealings with the lawyers—and it was with him that I shared my joy at becoming an heiress.’

‘Ah,’ said Juliana, ‘I begin to understand.’

Mrs Wakely beamed. ‘It was so gratifying to find myself in such a position—heiress to a fortune and then to discover my dear Mr Wakely wished to marry me. I count it the happiest day of my life.’

Juliana and Charlotte exchanged knowing glances. ‘Gratifying to be sure, Mrs Wakely. So you are not long married?’

‘Seven months—and at a time in my life when I had finally accepted my fate as a spinster.’ She nudged Juliana hard in the ribs. ‘So do not give up hope, miss. You may yet find a man who will take you on!’

‘Of that, there can be little doubt!’ A man’s voice rang out behind them. They turned to see Mr Wakely, Harry a step behind him, walking through the long portrait gallery towards them.

Mr Wakely laughed at his own witticism. Bowing to Juliana, he added, ‘For one so beautiful to remain unwed and untouched would be a sin.’

‘Miss Milford is indeed pretty,’ said Mrs Wakely, rather huffily.

Crash! The sound of metal on wood reverberated around the room as the housekeeper’s keys fell to the floor, making them all jump. Really, it was surprising just how loud a bunch of iron keys could be.

Mrs Campbell bent to pick them up, apologising profusely as she did so.

‘You stupid, clumsy oaf!’ barked Mr Wakely, his face white with anger. He turned to Charlotte. ‘Lady Shalford, I do apologise! What must you think of us?’

‘Oh, dear Lady Shalford, I do hope this does not prevent you from visiting us again,’ added his spouse, two spots of bright colour on her cheekbones, ‘For as the only notable landowners in the district, I had hoped we could become fast friends!’

Charlotte seemed lost for words. Juliana, her anger building at the rudeness of the Wakelys towards their housekeeper, immediately thought of at least ten things she wished to say. Unfortunately, she realised, none would do. How frustrating it was to be a gently bred lady when one wished to swear like a sailor!

Rescue came from an unexpected source. ‘Come now, Mrs Wakely,’ said Harry, a glint in his eye, ‘you must know there are many estates in our corner of Surrey. Chadcombe, to be sure, is by far the largest, but the Squire’s residence and Monkton Park are at least the same size as Glenbrook Hall and quite possibly larger.’