Читать книгу A Penniless Prospect - Joanna Maitland - Страница 11

‘What on earth possessed you to agree to his offer?’ snapped Annie in exasperation, sinking on to the bed. The attic chamber was small, but better furnished than the average for servants. There were still some privileges attached to the position of lady’s maid.

Before Jamie could reply, they were interrupted by the noise of heavy footsteps on the stairs. ‘That will be the truckle bed for you, I suppose. Open the door and help them with it, Jamie.’

Jamie did as she was bidden, biting back the retort which had risen automatically to her lips. Annie really was beginning to treat her like a younger brother, rather than as a lady. And if she wanted to be safe, she would just have to become accustomed to it.

‘Can’t understand why you wants a lad like him in here, Miss Smithers,’ grumbled the young footman, dragging the bed through the narrow doorway. ‘He could just as easy sleep out by the stables.’

‘No, thank you, Tom. Lady Hardinge has agreed that he should be with me until he’s settled.’ She was unbending a little more than she normally would to an inferior. ‘Will you keep an eye on him, when you can, Tom? You know better than I who might be unkind to him.’ The smile she gave him transformed her normally stern countenance.

Flattered by such a show of confidence from one of the highest servants in the household, Tom grudgingly agreed to look out for Jamie when he could. ‘But out in the gardens he’ll be on his own, for I’ll not be able to go out there much. He’ll be all right with old Mr Jennings. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Caleb, now, is a different kettle o’ fish. Nasty piece o’ work. Got a vicious temper, he has. Jamie’ll need to keep out o’ his way.’

‘Who is Caleb?’ asked Annie.

‘Undergardener. Came after you left. Mr Jennings is getting too old for all the work, so his lordship wanted someone younger, ready to take over when the old man retires. Mind you,’ he added with a chuckle, ‘Mr Jennings ain’t the kind who’ll give up easily. Yon garden is his pride an’ joy an’ he’s like to rule it ’til he drops.’

‘Thank you for the warning, Tom. I’ll try to make sure Jamie keeps out of Caleb’s way as much as possible.’

As the door closed behind Tom, Annie set about unpacking Jamie’s belongings. Jamie watched helplessly as Annie inspected her few clothes with pursed lips.

‘We must sort out some more boy’s clothes for you. You can’t possibly work in the garden in those you have on. As for these’—she picked up a plain green gown and held it disdainfully at arm’s length between finger and thumb—‘I’ll put them among my things. Though how anyone could think I would de-mean myself to wear such a monstrosity, I cannot imagine.’ She dropped the offending garment on the chair.

It was that single gesture that brought home to Jamie just how impossible her situation had become. She had fully intended to revert to being a girl as soon as she reached Bath, but now she was buried on a private estate, miles from anywhere, and irrevocably cast as a gardener’s boy. Could she carry it off? What if she were discovered?

Looking down at her filthy hands and travel-stained clothes, Jamie concluded that, even if she were found to be a girl, no one would ever guess she was a lady. She had needed a hiding place for a few weeks, until she came of age. What could be better?

As Annie continued to scrutinise Jamie’s meagre wardrobe, muttering darkly, Jamie began to giggle. The giggle grew uncontrollably until she was laughing in great gusty whoops, gripping her aching sides. In the face of such infectious hilarity, Annie too began to laugh until they both collapsed in a helpless heap on the bed, wiping tears from their eyes.

‘Oh, Annie,’ gasped Jamie at last, ‘however did we get into this? And how shall we ever get out of it again?’

‘I don’t know, I’m sure. I doubt if I shall ever find another place after this, that I do know.’

‘Of course you will. If I were rich, I’d take you like a shot. Perhaps when I come of age—’

‘If you were rich, Jamie, we wouldn’t be in this fix. And what self-respecting abigail would have anything to do with a lady who looks like a—’

‘A dirty little scarecrow? Yes, well, perhaps with the right sort of dresser I could be improved.’ Jamie made a face. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think that it’s high time I found some more boy’s clothes for you, so that you can start your apprenticeship. Let’s see how happy you are with this silly play-acting after a week’s hard work.’ Annie’s sharpness failed to conceal her real concern.

‘Annie, dear, don’t worry. No matter what they give me to do, I won’t give myself away, I promise you.’

Annie grunted. ‘Well, see that you don’t.’ She made for the door, warning Jamie not to leave the room until she returned.

While Annie was gone, Jamie reassessed her own position with some care. She must not be discovered, for that would mean disaster for her—and the work-house, or worse, for Annie Smithers.

Jamie refused to dwell on the risks they ran. Instead, she thought hard about the handsome Earl, in an attempt to identify what it was about him that affected her so. She could not decide. He was an enigma. She found it impossible to reconcile his relative kindness to her with his behaviour to poor Annie. He must have given Lady Calderwood reason to believe that Annie was not fit for a position of trust, considering how rapidly she had been dismissed. It was monstrous! She said as much, yawning widely, when Annie came back into the room with a large pile of worn, but serviceable, working clothes.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ retorted Annie flatly. ‘I have no way of knowing what he might have said to Lady Calderwood and, since he has seen fit to re-engage me at Harding, I really have very little to complain about. It could have been much, much worse. As for you, young lady—’ Jamie yawned again ‘—you need to go to bed. Did you not sleep last night?’ Jamie shook her head. Annie made to turn down the covers on the bed.

‘I can’t sleep there, Annie. That’s your bed.’

‘It wouldn’t be right for a lady to sleep on that little truckle there,’ protested Annie, tight-lipped. ‘It will do very well for me.’

‘And how will you explain it to anyone who happens to come in and finds you there, while your little brother lies in luxury? Come, Annie, you know it won’t do. I shall be perfectly comfortable here.’ With that, she lay down on the truckle bed and closed her eyes. In less than a minute, she was asleep.

Countess Hardinge closed the book-room door quietly behind her.

Her son strode across the room to embrace her and place an affectionate kiss on her cheek. ‘That was remarkably swift, my dear,’ he said. ‘I take it they are settled? Thank you. I’m only sorry I could not explain properly when we arrived, but with both of them listening…’

He relaxed as she nodded, lingering for a moment in his embrace.

‘I understand now why you brought them, Richard—or Smithers, at least—but it seems such an unlikely route to recovering our losses. Can we really afford to spend our time on a mere abigail—situated as we are?’

He stood back slightly to look more carefully into her face, noting her worried frown and the anxiety in her eyes. ‘It is nothing like as bad as you fear, my dear,’ he said gently. ‘We are still comfortable enough. And we shall come about.’ Gently he drew her to the best chair by the fire. ‘Come, sit down,’ he murmured. ‘Let me fetch you a glass of madeira.’

Lady Hardinge let out a long sigh as she sank into the chair. Her son could feel her eyes on him as he filled a single glass from the crystal decanter.

‘I should pour one for yourself too, Richard,’ she advised, before he had even turned round.

That sounded ominous. He looked questioningly at her, but her eyes had closed. Something really serious was on her mind, but surely it couldn’t be money this time? They already knew exactly how much was missing. And now that he had given up his gambling and his opera dancers, they should be able to manage—just—on the income from the estate.

That left only one other possibility—another impassioned plea that he set about finding himself the wife that they had long ago agreed he must have.

As he placed her glass on the little table by her elbow, he attempted to deflect what might be coming. ‘I have been thinking about what we said before, Mama, and I have concluded that you are right. I do need to marry soon. So, I have decided to offer for Emma Fitzwilliam. After all, we have known each other for nearly twenty years, so there would be few surprises. She may not be witty or clever, but she is nothing like as fickle and flighty as most of her sex. I imagine we could rub along pretty well together.’

His mother sighed again. Her features registered some inner turmoil, but she did not respond to his sweeping slight on womankind.

Richard realised he was making a poor fist of his explanations, but he was in too deep now to withdraw. And besides, his mother was the very one who constantly urged him to marry. She…no, that was not quite fair. His mother wanted him to fall in love and then marry. On that count, Emma Fitzwilliam most definitely did not qualify.

He swallowed hard. ‘May I take it that you approve my choice, Mama? After all, the Fitzwilliam estates march with ours, and she will inherit them some day. Her dowry will be handsome. She has, besides, all the attributes a man must seek in a wife: beauty, breeding, a conformable nature—’

‘She may have all the required qualities, Richard,’ interrupted Lady Hardinge at last, ‘but you do not!’ She ignored her son’s gasp of protest. ‘Family tradition requires that you give the Hardinge betrothal ring to your bride as a token of your deep love for her—’

‘Oh, tosh, Mama! Forgive me—but people like us do not marry for love, especially nowadays. Marriage is a matter of business. It would be a union between two families—the Hardinge title and the Fitzwilliam wealth. You’re not still hoping for a love match, are you, my dear?’ He softened his words by smiling warmly at her.

‘The head of this family must marry for love,’ she replied firmly. ‘That rule has held true for all the Hardinges, for centuries. Your father believed in it— and so do I. You know that. And you know, too, that disaster struck on the only two occasions when the tradition was flouted.’

Richard did not reply.

‘Richard?’

‘Yes, Mama,’ he said softly, ‘I do know what happened to them, but I don’t believe in the curse for a moment. It was just coincidence that both of them died, without an heir, before they reached forty. It happens in other families too. And they don’t have a curse to blame it on.’ He sat down and tossed off his glass of madeira in a single swallow. ‘Clearly, there is only one solution—I must instantly fall head over ears in love with a lady of vast fortune. It is the obvious way to reconcile the needs of the estate with the family tradition.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘If only life were so simple.’

She turned slightly, looking him full in the face. ‘I am sorry, Richard.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s not your fault, Mama. Papa was taken in by that blackguard, Calderwood, when he was too ill to know what he was doing. You could not have prevented it—even if you had known.’

He sat for some moments, grimly contemplating the dregs of wine in his glass. ‘Well,’ he returned at length, ‘if I am to abide by your rules, I must have earned a temporary reprieve. I cannot guarantee to fall in love with an heiress, so marriage will have to wait—until the money has been recovered!’ He smiled impudently. ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.’

His mother could not conceal a slight twitch of her lips at his words. But there was no amusement in her voice. ‘If you take that attitude, you’ll make no match at all, far less a love match. I know that, after Celia, you feel—’

Richard allowed his stony expression to show her how little he appreciated any mention of that name from his past.

His mother rapidly changed tack. ‘Think, Richard. You are already one-and-thirty. You have no brothers. You really must marry soon.’

She was beginning to wring her hands. Gently, he enclosed them in his own, letting her gain strength from his warmth. ‘Does my marrying for love mean so much to you, my dear?’

‘Not just to me. To all of us. Especially to you.’

A taut silence fell. Richard could see the strain on his mother’s face, but he was not prepared to pursue this subject further, even with her. ‘Come, my love. Let me take you upstairs. You will wish to rest and change before dinner.’

Lady Hardinge gave her son a smile of silent understanding as he led her out of the study and up the staircase to her bedchamber.

When Richard returned to his desk, he remained some moments toying with his pen and staring into space. So much of his ordered world turned upside-down by those few words from his mother. Words he had long tried to avoid—the Hardinge family’s love matches. A fairy story, surely? And out of the question for a man like him. Yet he knew it would now be impossible for him to carry out his hastily devised plan of offering for Emma Fitzwilliam. Fate? He could not decide whether the luck was for good or ill.

Next morning Jamie rose with the lark, ravenous. She was astonished to discover that she had slept for fifteen hours.

‘I am ever so hungry, Annie,’ she said, as she gave herself a perfunctory wash and began to change her clothes. This was her first day of freedom, and she meant to enjoy every moment of it.

Annie eyed her balefully. ‘There will be plenty to eat downstairs. But first, we must see to your appearance.’ She forcibly removed the garments Jamie was holding. ‘No, not those. Breeches and gaiters, a smock and an undershirt. Here.’

Jamie wrinkled her nose at the thick, rough smock. It looked thoroughly uncomfortable. Just touching it made her itch.

‘It can’t be helped, Jamie. You chose to be the gardener’s boy. It’s a good thing you’re a bit thin. Boys of that age usually are. But we’ll need to bind your breasts, just the same.’

Jamie blushed scarlet, but it seemed to make no impression on Annie, who was busily rummaging in the clothes press. Jamie gasped a protest as her old calico petticoat was pulled out and efficiently ripped into bandages.

‘Not fit for a lady anyway,’ Annie pronounced. ‘If you ever become a lady again, I can provide you with better than this and with gowns more becoming than yours.’

Annie seemed to be in her element. She certainly knew how to manage a young lady, even a slightly unwilling one. In no time, she was wrapping the strips tightly round Jamie’s upper body.

‘Now, put on the rest of the clothes and let us see how you look.’

There was no point in protesting any more. Annie was right. Jamie had to be able to pass muster as a boy. They were both at risk if she failed.

She stood in the centre of the room while Annie inspected her minutely. ‘Not bad,’ the abigail conceded, ‘but why did you do that to your hair? Boys don’t wear it like that nowadays—it’s much too long.’

‘I was trying to leave myself enough so that I could be a girl again. It’s just about long enough to be put up.’

‘I’ll tidy it up a little, at least.’ Annie fetched her comb and scissors. As she freed Jamie’s hair from the restraining ribbon, the dark red curls fell forward, framing Jamie’s pale face. ‘Why, how different you look, miss, much prettier than that severe bun you always wore at Calderwood.’

Jamie smiled shyly up at her, surprised by the half-compliment. ‘Mama always insisted I wore it so, in order to tame my “appalling red mop”, as she called it. She never permitted me to cut it.’

‘She never permitted anything which would make the best of your looks, if truth were told.’

Jamie laughed. ‘But I have none. I’ve always known I’m plain.’

‘Oh? Look here.’ Annie forced Jamie to sit down in front of the brown-speckled mirror and then arranged her curls becomingly around her heart-shaped face. ‘Now, tell me you’re plain.’

Jamie was astonished. Annie really sounded as if she meant it. But then, when Jamie did look, she suddenly saw herself through new eyes. Against the frame of titian hair, her pale complexion glowed and her deep green eyes sparkled. The plain pasty-faced dowd had disappeared. In her place, there was a pretty, red-haired—boy!

‘Good grief!’ Jamie hastily began to drag her hair back from her face to tie it up again. ‘They’ll never believe I’m a boy if I look like that,’ she said, unconsciously immodest.

‘True,’ said Annie, with a short laugh. ‘Here, I’ll tidy it up for you. Then you’ll do, I think.’

Annie trimmed the ends of Jamie’s hair and combed it back severely from her face, tying it very tightly with a piece of twine. ‘Gardener’s boys don’t use ribbon,’ she observed sagely.

The winter sun was dipping low in the sky when Jamie finished her first day’s work. She sat on her heels, stretching her aching back and looking ruefully at her grime-encrusted hands. Her body might ache, but her heart was singing. She was safe from the Calderwoods now, and surely she could remain hidden at Harding for the few weeks she needed?

She finished tidying the bed, packing all the weeds into her buckets for the compost heap and the bonfire. Mr Jennings would have no cause to complain about her ability to sort out the perennial weeds from the rest.

It was only as she passed the gardener’s hut on her way to the compost heaps that she heard the raised voices. She herself was the subject of a heated discussion between Mr Jennings and another man. She allowed herself to dawdle a little.

‘But this bit o’ the garden’s always been left ter me,’ protested the unknown voice vehemently. ‘B’ain’t no call for nobody else, least of all a witless boy. No knowing what harm he might do.’

‘The boy knows what he’s about,’ commented Mr Jennings calmly. ‘He’ll do no harm. And we can be doing with another pair of hands here, what with spring planting coming.’

‘Don’t need no extra hands here,’ said the unknown. ‘I’ve allus done it all m’self, ever since I been here. Why change it now? For a half-wit?’

‘That’s for me to decide, Caleb, not you.’

Caleb! Jamie shivered. The man was obviously angry about her arrival, even though he had never set eyes on her. It made no sense at all—for what threat was a garden boy to him? Still, she had been warned about his vicious temper. He sounded like the kind of man who would enjoy bullying a simpleton. She must keep out of his way.

The heated voices were still audible as Jamie moved slowly away. ‘Let me have the minding of the boy, at least. I can’t be a-running of the garden if’n I dunno what he might do next.’

‘No.’ Mr Jennings’ voice was curt and decisive. ‘I’ll be responsible for the lad myself. If you want him to do work for you, you must come to me.’

‘But that’s—’

‘That’s the way it’ll be, Caleb, an’ no buts. That’s the way his lordship wants it. You should know better by now than to cross him.’

‘But—’

‘Let it be, Caleb. That’s the last word.’

Jamie hurried away. The men would come out of the hut in a few moments and must not find her hanging around.

From the comparative safety of the compost area, she watched the hut door. It was fully five minutes before it opened and Caleb emerged. She crouched down a little, busying herself with her work.

Caleb was a huge man, almost as tall as Lord Hardinge, but of much heavier build. He had immensely broad shoulders with massive arms and hands. He seemed to be carrying a lot of surplus weight—he had the belly of a drinker and a nose to match, its purplish colour easily distinguishable even in the fading light.

Jamie tried not to think about how she could handle a confrontation with this brute of a man. He—and his temper—must be avoided at all costs. She must make herself indispensable to Mr Jennings and perhaps allow him to see that she was afraid of Caleb. Given Lord Hardinge’s explicit orders, that might serve to keep her apart from the undergardener. She prayed that it would.