Читать книгу Secrets and Lords - Justine Elyot - Страница 4

Edie Crossland pulled another bramble from her skirt, then put her bloodied finger to her mouth, looking up with dismay at the gathering clouds. Her feet were sore and she’d had enough of it.

It was not that Edie was unused to walking. Her footprints were sunk into the paving stones of Bloomsbury and Holborn many times over, mixed with millions of others. But the London streets hardly compared with this new terrain. The grass verge of the road was bumpy and thick with weeds, and sometimes it disappeared so that Edie was forced back on to the narrow track that led out of Kingsreach from the station.

She could have been sitting up on the box of a pony and trap sent from the Hall, making this trip in relative comfort, carpet bag stowed safely at her feet. But she had not wanted her first view of Deverell Hall to be contaminated by the inane chatter of some fellow servant. So she had deliberately omitted to send them advance warning of the train she would be on, as she had been asked to do. When questioned, she would shrug and assume the letter was lost in the post. These things happen.

Words she did not particularly care to dwell on, given the context in which she had last heard them. The nagging, dark feelings overcame her again and she stopped for a moment, swallowing the bitter taste that came to her mouth.

As if in answer to a silent prayer for distraction from the misery of a stroll that now felt like a death march, there came a distant roar, like an approaching swarm of bees, from somewhere behind her. It was not thunder, although that looked likely, nor could it be attributed to any of the livestock in the surrounding fields. She was far enough away from the railway now to rule out a train.

It grew louder and louder and all she could do was look over her shoulder, transfixed with a vague fear that seemed to go hand-in-hand with her earlier brooding. Her legs weakened just as a gleaming silver fender appeared at the bend of the road, then the cream-coloured body of a motor car. It zoomed past her, expelling great gaseous clouds that made her splutter in their wake.

Of course, she thought with relief, they must have such things in the countryside too. But she had not seen one near the station or anywhere on the streets of Kingsreach until now. It must be heading for Deverell Hall. But to whom did it belong? Maybe to … But no. That was unlikely.

A fat drop of rain landed on her back. She had not thought to bring an umbrella. Sighing, she lowered her head, with its meagre protection of a cheap straw hat, and began to hurry, cursing the fashion for narrow skirts as she shuffled along.

* * *

A further half an hour passed before Edie’s first glimpse of Deverell Hall, and by then she was so thoroughly drenched and utterly miserable that a fairy palace would scarcely have impressed her.

The turrets were bare outlines against the black sky, every finer detail obscured by the driving rain. Edie perceived a great many windows and a prospect that would normally have delighted her. The road led downwards amidst lush green woodland until the landscape opened up, neatly planned and bordered, and the pale ribbon of driveway brought the eye to the stately entrance of the house. She saw fountains at the head of the drive and a hint of some formal gardens to the left side of the building. It was very much as she’d imagined and yet somehow less real.

‘It’s because of the weather,’ she told herself. ‘I never thought of it in the rain.’ In her imagination, Deverell Hall was impervious to the elements.

The sighting gave additional impetus to her journey, although she was fading with weariness, wetness and hunger now. She dragged her aching feet onwards, under the arching trees, for another half a mile.

As she emerged, another blast of engine noise made her jump to the side of the driveway, just in time to be splashed to the knee by the same cream-coloured car. Its driver, a dark-haired man in an expensive coat, cigarette in the corner of his mouth, did not pause even to look at her as he hurtled onwards and away from the estate.

She half-turned after him to remonstrate, but was surprised to see another car coming in the opposite direction, towards her. This one was less flashy, sleeker and quieter. All the same, it made a harsh coughing sound as it slowed down and came to a halt behind her.

A fair-haired man in a uniform wound down the window and stuck his head out.

‘You the new girl?’ he asked.

She nodded, too wet and cold to speak.

His stunningly blue eyes crinkled sympathetically at the edges.

‘You’re pretty much there, but hop in anyway. I’ll take you the rest of the way in style.’

She hesitated, tightening her slippery grip on her bag handle.

‘Come on,’ he insisted. ‘Don’t stand there like a statue.’ He opened the passenger door.

The first flash of lightning over the roof of Deverell Hall made her mind up for her. She scampered over to the other side of the car and climbed carefully inside and pulled the door shut. ‘I’m going to get the leather all wet.’

The man laughed, a glint in his eye. ‘It’s seen a lot worse.’ He put out a hand skinned in a tan driving glove. ‘Ted Kempe,’ he said. ‘His Lordship’s chauffeur. Delighted to make your acquaintance.’

‘Edie,’ she said, putting her own hand in his larger one, enjoying the warmth of the small squeeze he gave her fingers. ‘Edie … Prior.’ Close one, she thought. She had almost forgotten her new name.

‘That’s right,’ he said, unnerving her for a moment, sounding as if he was in the know about her and her situation. ‘I heard Mrs Munn mention you at breakfast. The new housemaid.’

‘Yes. And quite a house. There must be a legion of us.’

‘You’ve never been here before?’

‘No, I was interviewed up in London.’

‘Oh, a London girl, eh? You didn’t fancy getting a job up there then? Most of us here are local.’

‘I … needed a change of air,’ said Edie, feeling leagues out of her depth. She looked away from the shrewd blue gaze of her new colleague, but only succeeded in looking straight into the reflection of his face in the window. He watched her and, for an uncomfortably long moment, said nothing.

‘We all need those from time to time,’ he said eventually. ‘Well, Edie, you’ll be wanting to get out of those wet things. Better get you to the house.’

The way his look lingered over her after the mention of ‘wet things’ made the back of Edie’s neck prickle.

He was thinking of her peeling down her clinging damp stockings, unbuttoning the water-stained blouse. Her underwear was silk, not suitable for a servant girl, but she had not quite been able to bear the thought of wearing coarser fabrics next to her skin. Not yet.

No sooner was that thought in her mind than it was succeeded by other, even more disreputable imaginings. How would it feel to have the chauffeur’s leather-gloved hands on her, disrobing her, moving slowly and smoothly over the curves of her body?

Stop it. Just stop it.

Mercifully, he put his foot on the accelerator and drove, his attention diverted to the road.

‘I don’t know what your last place was like but you’ll find the servants’ hall here a very tight-knit bunch,’ he said. ‘A bit like a secret society. It’s hard to get in, but, when you’re accepted, you become a member of the family.’

‘Oh dear, that sounds rather intimidating. I suppose I shall be sized up. I hope I’m not found wanting.’

He gave her a sideways smirk.

‘Can’t imagine why you would be,’ he said gallantly. ‘Never mind the others, but keep the right side of Mrs Munn. She’s the power behind the Deverell throne. If she doesn’t take to you, you’ll never prosper here.’

‘Gosh, you really aren’t inspiring me with confidence, you know.’

He drew up at the huge front steps, pulled the handbrake and turned to her, frowning in confusion.

‘You sure you aren’t some kind of governess or something? I’ve never heard a parlourmaid talk like you do.’

Edie held her carpet bag tighter. ‘And how’s that?’ she asked with a nervous laugh. She had to watch her little quirks and mannerisms of speech. If possible, she must pare her conversation down to the bare minimum necessary for communication.

‘Ladylike,’ he said. ‘Are all the London slaveys like you?’

‘No, not at all. Well, perhaps some of them.’

He smiled. ‘I might consider moving to London, then.’

Edie’s wet clothes suddenly felt too tight, especially around the chest, and her toes curled inside her boots. He was flirting with her. And he was rather attractive, even if he was only a chauffeur.

‘Oh,’ she said, tongue-tied, looking all around her for extra luggage that did not exist. ‘Well. Thank you for the, for, you know, driving me.’

‘A pleasure,’ he said. ‘No, don’t open the door yourself. You’ll do me out of a job.’

He got out into the rain and ran around the front of the car to the passenger side.

Edie, toting her carpet bag, put her feet out of the door, preparing to stand.

‘Now remember, Miss Prior,’ he said, leaning down and speaking softly, ‘if you ever need a friend in this place, Ted Kempe’s your man. Do you promise you’ll remember it?’

She nodded. ‘I promise.’

‘One more word,’ he said, looking over his shoulder as if he expected a legion of eavesdroppers to have materialised from the sheets of rain all around. ‘Watch Sir Charles. Don’t let him …’ He shook his head. ‘Just watch him, all right? Servants’ entrance is round the back.’

Edie had almost made the ridiculous mistake of walking up the front steps.

‘I’d see you inside, but His Lordship’s ordered the car up to take him into Kingsreach. Good thing he sits in the back – you’ve left the passenger side all wet.’

She shot Ted one last breathless nod and a smile, then ran around the side of the building, looking for the way in.

It took a long time to find, given the vastness of the edifice. Edie looked in at every window on her way round, but saw only empty room after empty room until she arrived at the rear of the house. A kitchen garden lay a few hundred yards off, beyond a low wall. Surely the kitchen must be close to that.

She scrambled along a gravel path, desperate now to be out of the rain. A crash of thunder accompanied her descent into a basement area that belched heat up the stairs she squelched down. In the corner a large door stood invitingly open.

Shelter, at last. She stood with her back to the wall, blinking raindrops out of her eyes. Once they were gone she realised she was not alone in the room. The clatter of steel and crockery that filled the room stopped instantly. Two girls, their faces crimson from their endeavours within the hot room, and neither of them much above fourteen, stood against a huge Belfast sink, staring at her.

‘Are you the new girl?’ one of them asked.

Edie nodded.

‘Filthy weather,’ she said, hugging herself.

‘Mrs Munn thought you weren’t coming. You never wrote. She’s been cursing your name all morning,’ said the stouter of the two girls.

‘You’d better go and find her,’ added her companion.

‘How shall I do that?’

Both girls shrugged and turned back to their washing up.

Tight-knit, that was what Ted had said. Meaning ‘unfriendly’ apparently.

Here, in this dark scullery, Edie’s splendid plan did not seem so splendid any more. It had seemed so easy when she had huddled with Patrick and his sisters, evening after evening, discussing and fine-tuning. Now that she stood here, in Deverell Hall, it had immediately assumed a new character with an objective that appeared insurmountable. Failure seemed so likely that she thought about leaving then and there.

A red-faced woman in a dusty cap and apron appeared in the inner doorway and brandished a rolling pin at her. ‘Whatever have we got here? A drowned rat from the garden?’

‘I’m Edie Prior, the new parlourmaid.’

‘Well, what are you doing skulking in here with these two ne’er-do-wells, then? Mrs Munn’s got no hair left, she’s torn that much of it out over you. Come on.’

Edie hurried after her, through a cavern of a kitchen that seemed to swarm with bodies rushing this way and that, and out into a cool, tiled hallway.

‘I’m Mrs Fingall, the cook,’ said the woman. ‘You’ll want to keep civil with me, because I’m the one as feeds you.’

‘Oh, I hope I’m always civil,’ said Edie.

The cook stopped and stared at her, hands on hips. ‘You jolly well do, do yer?’ she said. She knocked on a door. ‘Mrs Munn’s office,’ she said confidentially.

Edie was relieved to be out of the heat and clash of the kitchen, which she had found unnerving. All the same, perhaps she had just left the frying pans – literally – for the fire.

‘Come in.’ The voice was low and calm, giving the lie to what everyone had said about the occupant tearing out her hair.

‘Miss Prior, the new parlourmaid,’ said Mrs Fingall, jabbing her in with two fingers between her ribs.

An angular woman sat at a desk, poring over a ledger.

She looked up at Edie, expressionless.

‘Thank you, Mrs Fingall. Would you fetch Jenny, please?’

Edie wondered why she had never considered the reality of the role she had thrown herself into. She had to converse with people, convince them of her background in domestic service. The best she could do was mimic her friend Josie McCullen, who worked as a daily girl in a house in Pimlico. She had shown Edie how to black-lead a grate and polish silver, but how to be another person … that was a rarer skill.

‘Why did you not write?’ asked Mrs Munn. ‘I’d have sent Wilkins to meet you with the trap.’

‘Oh, did you not receive my letter?’ muttered Edie, finding the barefaced lying more difficult than she had expected.

‘No, I did not. You were interviewed by Mrs Quinlan from the London residence?’

‘Yes.’

‘I suppose you were hoping for a job in Belgrave Square.’

‘I am perfectly happy to work here.’ As an afterthought, she added, ‘ma’am’, finding the word so odd that she had to suppress an embarrassed smile.

Mrs Munn was right, though – Edie had assumed that her application to work for the Deverell family would result in a place in their London residence. The fact that the only opening was at Deverell Hall had been the first snag in the plan. It was only thirty miles from London, but it seemed that a huge ocean stood between Edie and her familiar urban world.

Mrs Munn picked up a piece of paper and sneered at it.

Edie, recognising the character her friend’s mother had written for her, felt her heart skip.

‘Your last place seems to be a respectable house, if not one of the best in society. You will find the scale of things here somewhat different. It may alarm you at first, but if you keep a cool head and attend to your duties first and foremost, you will soon settle.’

A timid knock at the door interrupted Mrs Munn’s flow.

‘One last thing,’ she said, before bidding the knocker enter. ‘There must be no communication beyond that which is strictly necessary between you and the gentlemen of the house. Do you understand me? None whatsoever.’

‘Of course, ma’am. By “gentlemen of the house”, do you mean …?’

‘His Lordship’s sons. The elder in particular.’

‘I see.’

Mrs Munn raised her eyebrow. ‘I hope you do.’ She looked past Edie at the door. ‘Come in, Jenny.’

Jenny was a mouse in human form and parlourmaid’s black-and-whites. She hid in a corner while Mrs Munn instructed her to show Edie her room and help her with her uniform prior to a grand tour of the house.

The servants’ staircase seemed to go up and up for ever. Conversation – a desultory affair – died out after the first flight and, from then on, nothing was heard but puffing and the echo of boots on stone.

‘You’re a London girl, then?’ said Jenny, once they were at the very top of the building, in a low-ceilinged, dark room containing four beds and little else.

‘Yes,’ said Edie, moving instinctively towards the window, against which the rain beat so dismally that little could be seen outside.

‘Most of us here are from Kingsreach and hereabouts. We’ve grown up on Deverell land. You don’t know anything about us.’

Edie turned to the plain little creature, surprised at the edge of resentment in her voice.

‘We’re all of us in the same boat, aren’t we?’ she said. ‘Service. What does it matter where we learned to wax a floor, so long as we wax it well?’

Jenny shrugged and pointed to some folded clothes on the bed furthest from the door. ‘Uniform,’ she said. ‘Hope it fits. You’ve got a lovely figure.’

‘Thanks,’ said Edie. She tried a smile, but the wistful look on the girl’s face caused it to misfire.

‘He’ll have an eye for you,’ said Jenny.

‘An eye for me? Who will?’

‘Charlie Deverell. He tries it on with all the pretty maids.’

‘Well, he won’t try it on with me,’ said Edie stoutly, moving behind a screen and unbuttoning her blouse.

‘Yes, he will. You’re ever so pretty. Even prettier than Susie Leonard, and she had to leave in disgrace when he got her into trouble.’

‘Heavens!’ Edie’s fingers paused on the faux-pearl buttons. This must be what Mrs Munn was driving at before.

‘He denies it was him, but everyone knows it was. Susie didn’t even have a sweetheart. And I’ve seen her with the baby – got his eyes, she has, and his dark hair.’

Dark hair. The man driving the car.

‘Well, I’m no fool and no flash Harry is going to seduce me,’ said Edie briskly. She allowed room for a little pause, removing her skirt in the silence, before changing the subject. ‘What do you think of Lady Deverell? She’s new to the house, isn’t she?’

‘Not so new. Been here a year now.’

‘Is she nice?’

‘My ma always says if you can’t speak well of someone, don’t speak of them at all.’

Edie laughed uncomfortably, her face flushing hot.

‘She’s awfully glamorous, though, isn’t she?’ she said, putting the black dress on. It was a little tight under the bust but, apart from that, a snug fit. ‘I saw her on the stage in London, in one of Mr Bernard Shaw’s plays. She was quite magnetic.’

Jenny sat down on the side of one of the beds.

‘London,’ she said, as if intoning a magic spell. ‘I’d so love to visit the theatre one day. I mean, I’ve seen the Kingsreach Players, everyone has, but the proper theatre. All red and gold, with balconies and plaster cherubs. That’d be smashing.’

‘Well, I suppose you will one day,’ said Edie, trying to steer the conversation back to her preferred subject. ‘But Ruby Redford won’t be treading the boards.’

‘Hush, you’re not to call her that! It’s Your Ladyship and Lady Deverell now. She hates anyone mentioning her past. She’s a bit sensitive about it. Well, more than a bit. You’re best off forgetting it, if you’ve seen her on stage. Not that you’ll get to speak to her much. She don’t have much to say to the servants.’

‘Really? I thought she might be a good mistress to have – since she’s closer to, to our class than most of the gentry.’

‘The opposite. Everyone says the first Lady Deverell was a real smasher, kind and sweet. She gave extra half-holidays when the weather was nice sometimes, and she always asked after your family. This one don’t even acknowledge you. Like I say, she’s funny about her past. She thinks talking to us like we’re people shows her up, I reckon. But we all know that that’s the mark of a someone who ain’t a real lady. But I mustn’t talk like this.’

A flicker of fear had crossed Jenny’s pale face.

‘Not when I don’t know you. You won’t repeat any of this, will you? Do you promise? Not to a soul?’

‘Of course not. What has passed between us is in strict confidence. You may be sure I will observe it.’

‘Gaw, you London girls talk proper, don’t you?’ Jenny’s momentary anxiety had turned to a curious admiration.

‘Oh, not really, I studied my mistress and her daughters at my last place and tried to imitate them. It’s a habit. I expect I shall grow out of it here.’

Jenny stood again, seeing that Edie had tied her apron and pinned on her cap.

‘Well, might be for the best,’ she said. ‘You’ll get teased for it downstairs. Come on. I’m to help you find your feet today. What would you like to see first?’

‘Well, I hardly know. Should we do a wing at a time?’

‘Good idea. Let’s start with the West Wing.’

They sallied forth, black-and-white neatness in duplicate, to the servants’ staircase.

‘The West Wing’s used for visitors and children. We spend less time on it, especially since there aren’t any Deverell children just at the moment. The ground-floor rooms aren’t used at all.’

The West Wing was indeed, though splendid, a little neglected; its carpets threadbare and its wainscots dusty in places. The unused downstairs apartments were empty of furniture – huge, high-ceilinged bunkers with ornate plaster mouldings and pictures behind dust sheets.

Edie found it quite sinister and was glad to cross the courtyard to the East Wing, which contained the family rooms.

On the upper floor, the younger son and daughter of the house kept their suites.

‘This is Sir Thomas’s rooms,’ said Jenny, briefly opening a door into a neat and unusually plain chamber. ‘We needn’t go in.’

‘Who is Sir Thomas?’

‘Lord, you really don’t know nothing, do you? He’s the younger son. He joined the Army and did very well for himself at first, but after getting shot in the war, he wanted out. Lord Deverell had to buy him out, even though he was injured. Walks with a limp now, always will.’

‘Does he have another occupation now?’

‘No, nothing.’ Jenny shook her head. ‘He can’t settle. They say Lord Deverell’s at his wits’ end with him.’

‘What is he like?’

‘Well, I don’t know him, really. He keeps himself to himself. Spends a lot of time at the races, or out with the dogs.’

They reached the next door.

‘Whose rooms are these?’

‘Lady Mary’s, but I wouldn’t be opening them if I didn’t know she’d gone out. She gets wild if anyone disturbs her in her room.’

Jenny opened them with a furtive, mysterious air then stepped a little way into the light, airy chamber. Everything seemed to sparkle in there. Edie thought, with a sickening pang, of her room at home in London. She had the same cut-glass scent bottle on her dresser. The silver-backed hairbrush looked familiar too, even if Edie’s was not monogrammed like Lady Mary’s. Fresh cut flowers stood on the bedside table and the chest of drawers, and a tangle of stockings and scarves were strewn all over the bed.

‘I suppose she was trying to decide what to wear tonight,’ said Jenny with a laugh. ‘She’s fearful fussy. Ask Louise, her maid. She leads her a merry dance, she does.’

‘A hard taskmistress?’

Jenny whispered, ‘A spoiled little madam,’ and then put a hand to her mouth, giggling guiltily.

‘What is happening tonight?’

‘Didn’t Mrs Munn say? A big dinner, some visitors from London. I don’t know who they are but I think they’re supposed to be important.’

Another surge of panic rose through Edie’s stomach.

‘Will I have to serve them?’

‘I shouldn’t think so, not your first day.’

She exhaled gratefully.

‘I wonder if Lady Mary will announce an engagement soon,’ Jenny prattled on. ‘They say she’s got ever so many admirers in London. But, like I said, she’s fussy.’

‘Neither of the sons are married?’

Jenny sighed. ‘No, and it don’t look likely neither. One’s a womaniser and the other’s a recluse. Come on, shall we go downstairs?’

The windows were bigger on the floor below and the fittings notably more elaborate.

‘Sir Charles’s rooms,’ whispered Jenny, her hand on an antique gold door handle.

‘Should we?’ Edie was suddenly nervous. ‘What if he’s in there?’

‘He went to town,’ she said. ‘With Lady Mary. Come on.’

‘There could be a woman in there.’

Jenny let out a peal of merry laughter. ‘You ain’t met him yet and you’ve got the measure of him already. Come on.’

She opened the door.

No woman was hidden behind it. The rooms were magnificent, crimson and gold, but the style was decidedly masculine and his valet had not yet cleared away his shaving things from the basin in the little bathroom. Edie felt possessed by a sense of the man who used these rooms; the scent of his cologne, mixed with a faint aroma of smoke, crept into her and took up residence in the corners of her consciousness. A dressing gown hung carelessly on a bedpost and his slippers were in the middle of the floor.

‘Who is his valet?’ Edie wondered aloud. ‘Should he not have tidied these things?’ She was proud of herself for remembering that aristocratic men all had valets. Although the social circles she moved in at home were mixed, they rarely involved lords and ladies.

‘He is between valets at the moment,’ said Jenny. ‘His last one resigned a few days ago. He is sharing with Sir Thomas until they can hire a replacement.’

‘Why did the last one resign?’

Jenny pinched her lips and shook her head.

‘I don’t know.’

But Edie thought that Jenny was concealing some further knowledge.

Moving towards the other side of the room, Edie saw a book on Sir Charles’s bedside table and was consumed with curiosity to know what kind of thing this man enjoyed reading.

‘Oh!’ she said, picking it up. ‘The Moon and Sixpence. I have read this.’

‘Put that down,’ exclaimed Jenny, rushing over. ‘Don’t touch a thing.’

‘We shouldn’t be in here, should we?’

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘Come on.’

She dragged Edie out by her elbow, but Edie was already wondering to what extent Sir Charles might identify with the book’s hero, his namesake, a man who abandons his established life to pursue an impossible dream.

‘His Lordship,’ she said, flapping her hand at another door without opening it, following up a moment later with ‘Her Ladyship’.

‘Oh, can we not go in?’

‘Her Ladyship is in. No, we cannot.’

‘I would so like to see her rooms.’

‘Well, you can’t. So there. Come on, let’s go to the ground floor. Like reading, do you?’

She opened a smaller door at the end of the corridor. It led on to a large gallery, looking down into a treasure trove of bookcases.

‘Oh, a library! Oh, this is huge. How wonderful.’

It occurred to Edie that perhaps she should not be displaying such raptures in her role as a housemaid. But surely housemaids might like to look at a book or two now and again?

‘Do a lot of reading, do you?’ asked Jenny, leading her down the steps to the main room. ‘You can’t have been very busy in your last place.’

‘Oh, I was, but I read on my days off, you know.’

‘Must have been nice for your family.’

‘They didn’t mind.’

Edie barely registered Jenny’s disparaging tone, too engrossed in the endless spines of gold-embossed leather that lay behind the glass doors of each cabinet.

‘At least they had the shelves turned into cupboards,’ said Jenny with a sniff. ‘I hated dusting all those perishing things. Lord Deverell thought we were going to ruin them just by touching them so he locks them away now.’

‘He is a keen scholar?’

‘No, not really. I suppose they’re worth a few bob, that’s all.’

Edie shook her head. The idea of valuing books for their monetary worth was quite beyond her. At home, in her room, her books lay in piles, higgledy-piggledy, with dog-eared pages and dusty jackets, but they were the landscape of her life, to be kept round about her, not shut away in cages.

She was reluctant to leave this wonderland, but they had to move on regardless, to a breakfast room in modern pinks and pale greens, then a comfortable sitting room and a brace of cold gilt state rooms, until they were at the central part of the house.

The splendour of these rooms left even Edie open-mouthed – as huge as the British Museum galleries and several times more ornate. She craned her neck up at pricelessly painted ceilings and then let her eye move downwards to works of Tudor and Stuart art, interspersed with gold leaf twining all over everything. The impression was sometimes sumptuous, sometimes intimidating. It was nothing like a home. How did people conduct their daily business in rooms like these? Reception rooms opened on to more reception rooms; then there were morning, drawing, breakfast and dining rooms, each with a different colour scheme and each groaning with antiques that would need careful dusting and cleaning, over and over again.

Seeing everything with a maid’s eye, Edie came to resent all the magnificence, much as her artistic senses were impressed. But really, who needed all this?

Out of the wings, Edie and Jenny now ran across several of their colleagues, all working hard to get the grandest rooms of the house into a fit condition to receive guests. Flowers were being arranged, feather dusters wielded and, in the dining room, a French polisher attended to a scratch on the table.

‘They’ll cover it with a cloth,’ whispered Jenny, whisking Edie past. ‘But Tilly Gresham got in terrible trouble for it all the same.’

A tall, thin, fastidious-looking man in a dark suit and white gloves appeared to be directing the carrying up- and down-stairs of a number of ornamental urns.

‘Jenny,’ he said. ‘Is this the new girl?’

‘Yes, Mr Stanhope, Edie Prior.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Prior.’

‘Likewise,’ said Edie, unsure whether or not to curtsey. She decided against it.

‘Well, I’m sure you have work to do,’ said Stanhope after an awkward pause. ‘On such a day as this. And if not, I’ll be asking Mrs Munn why not.’

‘Don’t mind him,’ muttered Jenny, leading them to the back stairs. ‘He gets himself a bit worked up when there’s a big do. He’s the butler, if you didn’t know.’

They descended to the depths of the house once more, where Jenny collected a trug of cleaning materials before showing Edie to the room where Mrs Munn had ordered them to work.

They passed along endless yards of corridor, under the baleful eyes of the Deverell ancestry, up and down the back stairs and through that busy, bustling series of reception rooms before arriving at the well-named Green Drawing Room.

It was very green, and very golden, and very velvety and very cold – in style rather than temperature. Everything in it was heavy and sharp-cornered. When Edie considered her family drawing room in Bloomsbury, with its cheerful patterns and fringed shawls all over the place, it could not have been more remote.

‘Do people come in here to relax?’ she asked, looking over a two-hundred-year-old spinet in the corner of the room.

‘People hardly come in here at all,’ said Jenny vaguely, sorting through rags and polishes. ‘It’s not much used. Here, I’ll wax the wooden furniture and you can polish the mirror there.’

Edie accepted a rag and a tub of metal polish and made a start on the heavy ormolu-framed square mirror that stood over an unused fireplace.

They worked silently and diligently until Edie was drawn to the window by the sound of a car drawing up in the drive. She would not have admitted it to herself, but she was hoping for a glimpse of Ted.

The car was not the one she had ridden in earlier, though. It was that same sleek, cream-coloured monster that had twice passed her on the road.

The rain had abated and its driver got out on to wet gravel, looking up at the house windows as he did so. Edie took a swift step back, her heart pounding. Why did she not want to be seen? Because this must be Charles, the rake of the Deverell’s, and she had no wish to draw his attention to her.

He was pristine in a pinstriped blazer over light-coloured waistcoat, shirt and trousers. His dark hair was immaculately cut and he was clean-shaven. He didn’t wear a hat, and Edie approved of this, for she had no taste for the current fashion for straw boaters on men.

His eye was soon drawn away from the house, and he went to the passenger side to open it for a young woman.

‘Who is that?’ asked Edie, and Jenny came to look over her shoulder.

‘Lady Mary. Oh, don’t look. Sir Charles will see you.’

‘She is fearfully lovely.’

‘Yes. Come away.’

But a creeping fascination had overcome Edie, who noted that Mary was exceptionally fashionable and glamorous in a calf-length beige skirt, a lace-collared blouse and a loose belted jacket. Her hat was low on her brow over dark, shiny bobbed hair and she wore three long strands of pearls.

Jenny tried to tug her away but to no avail. Edie watched Charles take Mary’s arm to help her up the steps, then – disaster! He looked directly at her window. Her throat tightened and she tried to move away but she felt held there by the keen penetration of his gaze. It only lasted a moment, before Lady Mary slapped him on the elbow, as if in reproof, and he turned back to her, laughing.

But a moment was enough. Edie had been noticed, and now she felt like a marked woman.