Читать книгу Secrets and Lords - Justine Elyot - Страница 6

Carrie, the indisposed housemaid, was better and so Edie was not called upon to serve the family at dinner that night.

Instead she sat in the kitchen with the cook, the scullery maids and various low-level male staff, drifting in and out of their conversation while she stitched at a rent she had made in her sleeve.

‘You’re accident-prone, you, aren’t yer?’ remarked Mrs Fingall, tiring of some talk about how Lady Mary had reacted to a mail delivery that morning.

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Edie. ‘I’m fearfully clumsy. Have been from a child.’

‘Perhaps service ain’t for you,’ suggested the cook. ‘All that precious china up there. Clumsy people ought to keep away from it. Gawd, ain’t you never sewed before? You’re making a hash of that too. Here, let me.’

She sat beside Edie and took over the operation, her sausage fingers surprisingly deft with the needle.

‘Little bird tells me,’ she said in a low voice once the youngsters had started joshing each other about sweethearts, ‘that one or two fellas round here is sweet on you.’

‘Oh, no,’ protested Edie, wanting to get up and run away, but trapped by the thread that Mrs Fingall held taut.

‘I’m sure you’ve been warned about our Sir Charlie,’ she carried on. ‘So I won’t repeat what’s already been said. But Ted’s a lovely lad. A real prize. Do you think you could look kindly on him?’

Put on the spot, Edie could not pluck one single word from the air.

She swallowed and shook her head, then nodded, then shook her head again.

‘Oh, I am not here for … for that kind of thing,’ she whispered.

‘Of course not. And quite right too. Just, you know, if you ever was so inclined … you could do a lot worse.’ She winked.

A bell rang and Edie glanced up at the complicated system of pulleys and levers that hung on the far wall.

‘Sir Thomas for you, Giles,’ Mrs Fingall called out.

The footman leapt up from the table and dashed away.

‘I’d get to my bed if I were you, dear,’ said Mrs Fingall, cutting the thread with her teeth and tying a final knot. ‘They’ll be finished at dinner soon and they won’t need you for anything more.’

‘Yes, I think I will,’ said Edie, eager for some solitude.

Alone in the attic, she looked out of the window and thought about how far she was from home, in more senses than the strictly geographic. She had never realised how easy her life was, nor how free she had been compared to most women. And not just the servants either. Lady Mary was discontented, straining against the yoke of her father’s expectations for her. Most women lived in prison. She had heard it said but had never understood it as fully as she did now.

She sat on the bed, pulled her knees up to her chin and thought of Sir Charles. It was different for him. He could do as he liked and nobody called him to account. It made her angry, made her want to seek him out and slap his face.

But, of course, that was impossible.

What about Lady Deverell? Was she the most imprisoned of all, forced to play a role for the rest of her life, even though she had fled the stage? If only she could ask her. If only things could be simple.

The thunder of feet on the back stairs drove her to undress quickly and slip into bed, where she feigned sleep before she could be questioned on anything further.

‘Sir Charles wants her,’ she heard Jenny say.

‘Do you think she’ll fall for him?’

‘They all do, don’t they?’

A sigh.

‘If only he’d fall back,’ said Verity. ‘But he never does.’

‘Surely Lord Deverell’d kick him out if he got another girl in the family way.’

‘Maybe. Remember how it was when they found out about Susie?’

There was a collective shudder.

‘You could hear the shouting right across the lawns.’

They fell silent then and Edie waited, curled up on her side, until each body creaked into its bed and the candle was snuffed.

As the girls drifted into sleep, Edie thought back to Mrs Fingall’s words at the trestle table. Could she think of looking kindly on Ted?

Ted.

It would not do to be mooning over a chauffeur. He was lovely, of course, but no doubt he was the same with all the girls. He was a natural flirt, that was all.

Besides, there was to be none of this lovey-dovey frippery for Edie Crossland. She had not spent the last seven years wedded to the Women’s Suffrage movement to be swept off her feet by a fellow in a peaked cap who dropped his aitches. It was inconceivable.

No, he was a helpful friend, and that was as much as he could be. Love was the silly trap into which so many good women fell. It was not going to catch her.

And why was sleep staying so stubbornly away tonight? An hour ago, as she toiled up the back staircase, she had been fantasising about her old bed with its pile of pillows and patchwork throw. Every limb ached, her feet were blistered and her eyelids were gritty with the day’s exertion, and yet her mind would not let her be.

It persisted in going back over the emotions of the last forty-eight hours, so that she swirled in a vortex of fear, exhilaration, curiosity, humiliation, attraction.

The narrow bed was less than comfortable, and the air of the high-up room was thick and humid. She needed to clear her head.

Slippers and dressing gown on, she stole out of the stifling dormitory and down the uncarpeted back stairs, as quietly as she could. At first, she had no notion of where she might wander, but it soon occurred to her that she could find Lady Deverell’s room and stand, albeit divided by the door, in the close presence of that fascinating woman.

She had had the opportunity to drink her in at yesterday’s dinner, but today had brought disappointingly few glimpses of the red-haired beauty. She had watched her cross the lawn in her riding habit, head low and stride determined. How much better, though, to perhaps see her, through a keyhole, in repose. The mask she wore every day would be stripped away and she would see the woman behind it, unadorned and unshielded.

Edie slunk on silent feet along the confusing maze of corridors she had negotiated earlier in the day, trying to remember which had led where.

A wrong turn took her to the library, and she was at once thrilled and soothed by its familiar bookish smell, naturally drawn to the shelves where she squinted to make out the gold lettering on the spines. But the night was too cloudy and the light from the arched stained glass windows too dim as a consequence.

There would be no reading in here tonight.

She found at length the right staircase and the corresponding corridor and walked along it swiftly, taking no notice of portraits and busts that might otherwise interest her, until she was in the wing that housed Lady Deverell’s private rooms.

Did she sleep with Lord Deverell? He had a private bedroom and dressing room at the far end of the same corridor. She knew this was a usual arrangement in the grandest of the old family houses, but it struck her as strange. Did they make appointments for love? Or were the separate rooms a mere formality, an age-old habit they did not possess the modernist urge to break?

Here was her door.

And, oh.

What were these noises coming from behind that door? Surely Lord Deverell was in London? He must have returned straight after the gathering, Ted driving him through the night back to his wife’s side. He must be in the grip of passion.

Edie put her hands to her furiously heating cheeks, guilt-ridden at her snooping now. She should not be here. She should go back to bed immediately.

And yet she found she could not come away from the luxurious moans and sighs that poured through the keyhole.

The act of love. That thing she despised and feared, and yet was fascinated by. She had read Freud and found it terrifying, throwing the book aside in repulsion. No man would make her want to do such a thing.

But what was such a thing? She had never seen it, and reading about things was not always the same, loth as she was to admit the treacherous fact.

Lord Deverell, she knew, was a man nearing his sixties, while his new wife was barely forty. Did she desire him, truly? Surely everybody knew it was a transaction – his wealth and status for her fleshly charms and charismatic glamour.

But love?

Perhaps it was. And, if so, what did love look like? She bent to the keyhole, all the while in a kind of horrified trance, her body driving her towards actions of which, in the light of day, she would strongly disapprove.

At first, she saw that the room was in dim light, the gasoliers on the wall turned down low. The huge four-poster bed could be seen only from an angle that hid the heads of the occupants, but she could see the lower portion, and two pairs of feet protruding from the covers. The larger pair lay between the smaller, and the sheets and counterpane rose up from them into an arch – an arch that moved, quite vigorously and in a rhythmic pattern that matched the low grunts emitting from the unseen upper half.

If this was love, it seemed awfully brutal, thought Edie with dismay, and really little more than animalistic. The creak-creak-creak of the bed springs masked some words being spoken, but then a female voice grew louder and higher, and they became distinct.

‘Yes, you awful, awful beast of a man, have your way with me.’

Edie grimaced. It sounded so savage, almost as if she hated her husband. Perhaps she did.

And then tears came to her eyes as she matched the violent, half-delirious voice with the mellifluous tones she had heard on stage, playing Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing. This was what she had come to – loveless coupling with an old man who had bought her.

‘Oh, Ruby Red, you’re mine, you are,’ vowed a deeper voice, snarled up in pain by the sound of it.

‘I’ve told you, don’t call me that!’ objected Lady Deverell, and then her words were muffled, as if he had placed a hand across her mouth.

‘I’ll call you what I damn well like, you bitch.’

Edie drew in a great breath, almost nerved to hammer on the door and drag that dreadful man off his poor wife. But then she heard the most unexpected sound, a high-pitched melting into pleasurable surrender, still coming from behind the obstructing door but none the less clear for it; then falling, sobbing, into a deep sigh.

‘That’s it,’ hissed Lord Deverell, almost inaudibly – but by now Edie’s ear was honed and she caught every syllable. ‘You love it, don’t you? You love what I do to you. Oh, God.’

And now it was his turn to tumble into that dangerous uncontrollable place his wife had just visited.

He made the most terrible, frightening sounds, like a man raging into battle, and Edie saw his feet stretch straight out, every muscle tense, then relax.

The feet flexed and moved, all four together, while the coverlet tent collapsed. The voices lowered to murmurings and languid kissing.

Edie, feeling horribly sick, stood straight, wanting very much to run outside and get some air, regardless of the lashing rain, which had begun again.

She heard Lady Deverell from behind the door say, ‘Oh, darling, must you?’ and then – oh, heavens! – the Lord’s reply, very close to the door.

‘I promised Mary. She’ll garrotte me if I disappoint her again.’

Was that Lord Deverell? Suddenly she was not at all sure. But it could not be …

Edie almost fell over her feet in her haste to get away. A very quick examination of the corridor around her yielded no curtained alcoves in which to hide, nor was it possible to get to the staircase in time. The handle was already turning.

Perhaps one of these other rooms would be unoccupied?

But before she could try one, the door was open and in the corridor in front of her, resplendent in paisley silk dressing gown, was …

But she could not let her jaw drop, could not make any kind of exclamation.

Now she had to use all of her own dramatic powers, or everything was lost.

She stiffened and widened her eyes, making them stare out of her face at the man who stood in front of her.

‘Good God,’ he said. ‘What’s this?’

She said nothing, maintaining her tense, glassy-eyed posture as she walked slowly towards him.

A streak of lightning almost made her jump, but she mustn’t. She must appear oblivious to all around her.

He took a step closer, his head on one side. Edie saw a gleam of recognition brighten his grey-blue eye.

‘It’s the new girl, isn’t it? The parlourmaid?’

Edie stood her ground and stared as if looking straight through him.

‘The old sleepwalking gambit, eh?’

He snapped his fingers in her face.

She did not flinch.

‘Looks like stronger measures are called for,’ he said, and he took hold of her arm and brought his face, dark with wicked intent, so close to hers that she could smell Lady Deverell’s perfume on him. He was going to kiss her! No, he could not …

She pretended to come to her senses, letting her limbs loosen and her breath rush from her in great gasps.

‘Oh,’ she exclaimed. ‘Whatever is this? Where have I come to?’

She tried to shake herself free of him but he was not having it, and he marched, dragging her along with him, to the nearest empty room, into which he unceremoniously pushed her.

‘Please,’ she remonstrated. ‘Please let me go back to bed. I didn’t mean to be here, I swear it.’

He took his hand from her and folded his arms, glowering darkly down at her.

‘I don’t know who you are or what you saw,’ he said in a low, menacing tone. ‘But, whatever it was, you’ll do well to forget it. Do you understand me? Not a word to anyone.’

‘I promise, sir, I won’t … I didn’t … anyway. I don’t know what you mean, I’m sure.’

‘Hmm, I’m sure,’ he said, looking at her assessingly, his eyes all over her, making her flush hot and drop her gaze to the ground.

‘I’d better get back,’ she said, half-turning.

He put his fingers under her chin, gently holding her in position, shaking his head and tutting his disagreement with this proposition.

‘You are the new parlourmaid, aren’t you?’

She nodded, constricted somewhat by his unyielding grip on her face.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Edie. Edie Cr–, uh, Prior.’

‘Edie Cruuur-Prior?’ he repeated, tauntingly. ‘Unusual name.’

‘Just the Prior. I changed my name when my mother remarried. I forget, sometimes.’

He regarded her for a silent stretch of time, during which Edie committed his face to memory – its angles and shadows, the prominent nose, the full, sensual lips, the gleaming eyes, the lustrous dark hair, the cruel, handsome whole of it.

He looked utterly heartless to her, and glitteringly magnetic at the same time.

She was more afraid than ever.

‘You know who I am, of course?’

‘You’re Sir Charles, I think, sir.’

‘That’s right. I’m Charles Deverell, Lord Exley, heir to the estate. How’s life in service so far, Edie?’

‘Tiring,’ she said, tripping over the words in her anxiety. ‘I’m tired. I should sleep.’

‘Yes, they treat you like working dogs down there, don’t they? My hounds have a better life. But I’ll give you a little tip, Edie. Be a good girl, and you might find that there are perks to your job.’

His fingers brushed up her cheek, so lightly that the caress in them could almost be attributed to the air.

‘Are you a good girl, Edie?’ he whispered.

Weakness rinsed through her limbs. She had no reply to offer.

‘Tired,’ she whispered, her lips quivering.

He seemed to take a step back, though in reality he did not move. The seductive intensity in his eyes broke and he smiled, half-laughing.

‘Yes, you’re right, it’s late and I don’t have much more in me, much as I’d like to test the proposition.’

‘You and Lady Deverell–’

He held up a finger.

‘I’ve told you. Seal your lips. Well, until I want to unseal them, that is.’

That dazzling grin again, unsettling as a punch to the solar plexus.

‘I suggest,’ he continued, ‘that you take the three wise monkeys as your template while you’re working here.’

See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

‘I understand, sir.’ She looked towards the door and he relented.

‘Run along then, Edie Cruur-Prior. Perhaps I should speak to Mrs Munn tomorrow about having a lock put on your dormitory door. But only if I can have a key.’

She turned and fled, running through the corridors and up the staircases, losing her way half a dozen times, until the low-ceilinged corridor that housed the staff dormitories appeared at the head of the uncarpeted back stairs.

All three of her roommates were deep in sleep, making the most of time away from dishpans and dustpans. A flash of lightning lit the room and she noticed how red and coarse Peggy, the young scullery maid’s, hands already were, and her only fourteen years old.

Edie inspected her own hands, pale and unblemished. How long would they remain so?

Her stomach was in knots and her head whirling when she lay down and tried to sleep through the thunderous rain. This had been a terrible idea. She had knowledge she did not want now, about Lady Deverell, and she had played directly into the hands of Sir Charles, who might now hound her with seduction attempts.

Which she would, of course, repel.

Of course.

He was attractive and all that, but he was dangerous. Far too dangerous, a giant ‘Keep Away’ sign in masculine form. She couldn’t afford to take risks.

But he chased her into uneasy sleep, as if the warmth she had felt radiating from his dressing-gowned post-coital body had seeped into her pores and remained there, a vestige of his presence tormenting her from a distance.

In her dreams, his fingers brushed her face again, and then they went further, snaking into her hair, luring her closer, until their bodies touched and then their lips. If dream kisses were like real kisses, then how did people ever stop? The richness of the sensation turned her inside out and left her helpless and overwhelmed.

***

A hideous clangour shook her out of Charles Deverell’s dream arms and ripped his dream lips from hers. The other girls were already out of their beds, yawningly splashing their faces in the basin or pulling on uniforms.

She took twice as long as they did to get ready and had to rush breakfast. She did not have time to talk at all until she and Jenny were in the corridor with their feather dusters and their tins of wax, ready to set to work on the skirting boards.

‘What does Sir Charles generally do all day?’ she asked.

Jenny gave her a furious look.

‘I want to know so that I can avoid him,’ Edie explained.

‘Oh, I see. He goes out a lot, motoring in that new monster of his. Plays tennis with Lady Mary. Walks his dogs.’ She looked up as if the ceiling might give her more information. ‘Not much, when you think about it. What I’d give to live his life.’

‘Does he have nothing more to occupy him at all?’

‘He has some dealings with the estate and some of Lord Deverell’s landed tenants. There’s a manufactory outside Kingsreach that he sometimes goes and … does things … at. I don’t know. It ain’t my place to know, is it?’

‘I suppose not. And … Her Ladyship. Has she a great many interests?’

‘Lord, why are you asking me? She is always going out to lunch. And she works for a lot of charities, sits on committees, all that kind of thing.’

Boredom has thrown them together. Boredom and disaffection.

And passion. But Edie did not want to think about passion.

She had no choice but to do so, however, when she and Jenny entered the morning room to clean it and found Sir Charles there again, as he had been yesterday. Was he here because he knew she would be?

Edie kept her head down, passing behind his chair in the hope that he might not notice her.

But the hope was vain.

‘Our Lady Macbeth,’ he said, putting down his newspaper.

Edie, whose hands already shook, was almost overcome with panic. What on earth would Jenny think of this? She made no reply and rubbed harder at a greasy fingermark on one of the window frames.

‘You’ll have to remember your taper next time,’ he added. ‘Won’t you?’

There was a silence. From the corner of her eye, Edie saw Jenny’s horrified countenance. Presumably she would have to answer, now he had asked a question.

‘I’m not sure what you mean, sir,’ she said.

‘Hmph. Have it your way.’ The newspaper rustled again and no more was said.

***

‘What was all that about?’ asked Jenny furiously, once they were out of the room.

Edie, enjoying the sensation of being able to breathe again, shook her head.

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Lady Macbeth?’

‘I don’t know Shakespeare.’

‘I bet you do, with all your London theatre-going. What’s he on about?’

‘I’ve told you,’ said Edie, and she couldn’t keep a rising note of antagonism from her voice. ‘I don’t know.’

Jenny was put out and conversation was scarce for the rest of the morning. At lunch, Jenny sat with all the other girls at the opposite end of the table, whispering and casting glances over at Edie.

Her heart sank. She was friendless here.

Until Ted strode in, put his peaked cap down on the end of the table and snagged one of her slices of bread and butter.

‘Hey!’

‘Cut yourself another,’ he said. ‘I’ve just driven all the way back from town at a steady forty miles per hour. I’ve earned my daily bread.’

He sat down beside her, warming her with his presence and his cheeky smile.

‘You’re still here then,’ he said.

‘Somehow,’ she replied with a grimace, then she whispered. ‘I’m not sure how long I’ll last.’

‘When’s your day off?’

‘Wednesday.’

‘Well, I hope you’ll last till then. Cos I’d like to take you out.’

‘Oh!’ Edie blinked rapidly. Was this a proposition? Was he expressing romantic interest in her? She was so inexperienced that she hardly knew if his intentions were amorous or merely friendly.

She decided to assume the latter.

‘Well, perhaps a walk out into the country would be nice,’ she said. ‘Or … something of that kind.’

‘His Lordship’s got a shoot on that day. I won’t be needed. I’ll see what’s on at the picture palace, shall I?’

‘Well, I suppose so,’ she said dubiously.

‘Don’t knock me out with enthusiasm, girl.’

She saw Mrs Fingall beaming approval as the others muttered and looked daggers. It seemed she couldn’t please Jenny and her friends – Ted and Sir Charles were a rock and a hard place, apparently. But which was which?

‘Mrs Munn, I think Edie knows her way around now,’ said Jenny as the housekeeper came to join the meal. ‘May I go back to working alone?’

‘Does that suit you, Edie?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Edie sighed. It didn’t, not really. She still had so much she wanted to learn from Jenny. But if she wanted to believe stupid things of her, then that couldn’t be helped.

‘I’m not entirely sure you’re ready, but I’ll give you a chance.’

* * *

Edie was assigned to the seldom-used upper rooms of the East Wing and she spent the afternoon alone amongst the treasures, having no company but her thoughts. She listened constantly for footsteps on the stairs or in the passage, dreading an unexpected rendezvous with Sir Charles, but apparently he was out.

Looking through the window, she saw Lady Mary with a tennis racquet and wondered against whom she would be playing. Lady Deverell came out a few moments later, similarly equipped, and Edie was transfixed, watching the pair disappear around the corner towards the courts.

Lady Deverell and her stepdaughter. Was their relationship cordial? What if Lady Mary found out about her brother? What if anyone found out? Lady Deverell would be ruined, that was for sure.

Perhaps Sir Charles loved her and would stand by her … but that surely couldn’t be the case if he was trying his luck with every pretty housemaid that came along.

No, she was his plaything and he might even have her ruin in mind. It was despicable. He was despicable. He ought to be stopped – but how?

Carrie was once more indisposed at supper time, so Edie, much against her will, was detailed to serve the family.

She kept her eye on Lady Deverell, waiting for her to steal a look at Sir Charles, but she did no such thing for the duration of the meal, unless addressed.

What a wonderful actress she was. Edie found herself as full of admiration as of distaste. Eventually, however, she realised why Lady Deverell was not attending to her stepson. She was watching her.

She had noticed, without seeming to even look in their direction, how Sir Charles touched her under the table when she served the soup and spoke low words into her ear. Although he kept his face expressionless, the messages were inflammatory.

‘Will you sleepwalk again tonight?’ he murmured.

‘No, sir,’ she whispered back, trying not to slop soup over the edge of the ladle.

Then, when she refilled his glass, ‘Sleepwalk to my rooms. First floor, East Wing.’

At the spooning of the green beans, ‘I will expect you.’

She did not dare reply, certain that everyone must see how her cheeks burned and her bosom rose and fell. She kept a very tight grip on all the serving implements and managed not to drop or spill anything, but it was a severe test.

And now, with Lady Deverell watching her every bit as avidly as Sir Charles did, she felt like a hapless pawn, forced into untenable positions wherever she went. This is what it is to be poor, she thought. This is what life is like for so many girls. Poverty robs one of choice.

And if, after yet another day of soul-sapping drudgery, a pretty girl sought out a little pleasure and glamour in the arms of a rich, handsome man, who could blame her? What else awaited her in life but scrubbing and death? Poor Susie Leonard had only done what thousands before her had. Did she regret it? Would Edie?

* * *

She lay awake, her mind a kaleidoscope of confused and conflicting thoughts.

She knew what she had come here for, but now it seemed she had been shown a further purpose.

She got out of bed, once she was sure everybody else was asleep, and tiptoed to the stairs. She stopped several times and thought of turning back, but her need for knowledge and understanding drove her on until she arrived in that fateful East Wing corridor and stood, trembling from head to toe, at the chamber door.

No, she could not knock. What if this was, after all, the wrong door? And, despite how she had planned to proceed, there was no guarantee at all that she would not find herself, very swiftly, in serious danger, all her plans in smithereens.

She took a few deep breaths. This was lunacy. She would find herself on the morning train back to London the very next day, driven by a purse-lipped sad-eyed Ted, her reputation in ruins, her name a byword for scandal.

She stepped back. She would return to her room.

The door opened and she almost screamed, her knees giving way so that she staggered.

Sir Charles looked out at her through the crack, then he held out his hand.

‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he whispered. ‘Come on. Don’t just stand there.’

‘It’s not what you think,’ she whispered back. ‘It’s a mistake. I’m not …’

‘That kind of girl? Of course. Come in now. Or do I have to come over there and get you?’

She stepped forward and he took hold of her wrist, quickly and firmly, and drew her inside the bedroom.

‘Well, Lady Macbeth,’ he said, cupping her cheeks in his hands, standing far too close.

‘No,’ she said, trying to shake her head free and failing. ‘Don’t touch me.’

‘Don’t touch you? You’ve come to my bedroom in the dead of night and you’re asking me not to touch you?’

‘Please. Not yet.’

‘Oh.’

He dropped his hands from her and cocked his head to one side, examining her through narrowed eyes.

‘What have we here?’ he mused.

Edie felt as if his fingers were still on her skin, still pushing through her hair. She burned in the places he had touched.

‘May I sit?’

He waved a hand towards a sofa in the corner.

‘I’ve brandy in the bedside cupboard if you’d like …’

‘No, no.’

He sat down beside her and took her hand in his, despite her attempts to pull it away.

‘So, then – what is it you want to say to me?’

She couldn’t speak at first, her courage ebbing away, but when he began to stroke her fingers, she found her nerve and blurted it out.

‘I don’t think you should be doing … what you’re doing … with Lady Deverell.’

He squeezed her fingers tight and let out an incredulous little laugh.

‘I fail to see how it’s any of your business … what was your name again? … Edie.’

‘Actually, I think it is my business. I think it’s everyone’s business because we all have to live in this house and if Lord Deverell finds out …’

‘He won’t.’

‘He’s your father. And she’s your father’s wife.’

Charles was silent for a moment, then he tapped Edie’s fingers.

‘Do I detect the heady scent of blackmail, Edie? Because I can assure you that you don’t want to get on the wrong side of me. You don’t want that at all.’

‘No. No, you’ve completely misunderstood me. I’d never blackmail anyone.’

‘Good.’

He was so close to her. Their thighs touched, his in silky robes, hers in a coarse linen gown. He smelled off-puttingly masculine. His scent wound itself into her resolve, weakening it and strengthening it at the same time.

She liked having her hand wrapped in his. She liked it so much she wasn’t sure she could stand his letting go of it. He was some kind of sorcerer, casting a malign spell on her … why hadn’t she known one could feel like this?

His forehead brushed hers. If she wasn’t careful, she would let him kiss her before the time was right. She had already accepted, at the very depths of her, that the kiss was inevitable. But she could at least put it off until she had stated her case.

Pull yourself together, Edie.

‘So you refuse to stop … consorting with your stepmother?’ she said sharply.

He burst out laughing.

‘Consorting? What kind of housemaid are you? You’re the quaintest little thing. It’s rather appealing.’

‘Please. I’m quite serious.’

‘You are, aren’t you? I’m fascinated by you. Why is this of such concern to you? And why do you think you can come to my rooms and dictate whom I allow into my bed? I should smack your bottom and send you on your way.’

Edie clenched her fists tight, including the one that lay in his hand.

‘You wouldn’t understand my reasons,’ she said. ‘But I see I can’t persuade you.’

‘Oh, you haven’t even tried,’ he said in a low voice, bringing his lips perilously close to hers. His breath smelled of mints and the traces of post-prandial brandy. ‘Go on. Persuade me.’

She wanted to know what his stubbled cheek would feel like on hers, quite badly.

Not yet.

‘I’ll make a bargain with you,’ she said, clinging on to the remnants of her self-control.

‘Oh, will you, by Jove?’ His voice was so wickedly low, right in her ear. ‘A deal with the devil? A Faustian pact? Out with it, then. Don’t ask me to kill any kings for you though, eh, Lady Macbeth.’

‘If you’ll leave Lady Deverell alone … I’ll … let you …’

Dear God, do I mean this? Will I?

‘Let me…?’ His breath, hot, fanning her neck.

‘Kiss …’

Too late. It was already happening. They were kissing, and she had received no undertaking from him that he would stay out of Lady Deverell’s bed.

And now, kissing, a thing she had wondered about often in a vaguely anthropological kind of way. An act seemingly devoid of biological function. The other beasts did not kiss so why did humans? How could the meeting of mouths create a bond or inflame a desire? And what of the secretions inevitably exchanged in the course of such activity? Was it not rather unhealthy?

No, no, it was not unhealthy, it was superlatively lovely. Heavens, how lovely. And the desire was kindled so quickly that one stood no chance of repelling it. Within seconds it had seized one, taken one’s body and laid it wide open to the ravages of passion.

Edie had never expected the ravages of passion. She had thought they only existed in the questionable novels the maids enjoyed.

Anyway, it wasn’t passion, exactly, was it? More a sort of revelry of the senses. Such revelry that her attempt to keep a grip on herself by means of mental commentary soon failed and she was defeated.

His Lordship’s lips …

They pressed her onwards, whisking her up inside until she quivered like a helpless creature caught in a net.

When he broke off, she had to gasp for breath.

‘Have you ever been kissed before?’ he asked.

She noticed that he held the back of her neck with one hand – how had it got there? Worse, her own hands were gripping the lapels of his robe as if to stop him getting away from her.

‘Of course,’ she lied.

‘I’d find it hard to believe you hadn’t. But you’re trembling so violently – as if you’ve been attacked. You’re afraid, aren’t you?’

‘No.’ Again, it was a lie.

‘Don’t fib. What are you afraid of?’

‘All right. I haven’t ever kissed anyone before. You were right. And I’m only kissing you so that you’ll keep away from, from Lady Deverell.’

His hand tightened, a little painfully, on the scruff of her neck.

‘Really?’ He had taken mortal offence. She should have phrased it differently. ‘You’re only thinking of our dear Ruby Redford? This is an ordeal for you, then?’

‘No, it’s not an ordeal. As it happens, it’s rather pleasant. But I don’t care for you, sir, nor do I have any feelings of love or anything of that kind. You’re attractive, I’ll allow, and that makes this easier, but I’m not offering you my heart. I don’t even like you.’

Sir Charles stared, apparently dumbfounded for a change.

Edie had a creeping sensation that she had said too much, been too blunt. She squirmed in his grasp, assessing escape opportunities.

‘Who the devil are you?’ he whispered. ‘Housemaids don’t go saying this kind of thing to their lordly protectors. Don’t you understand, this is an honour.’

‘Was it an honour for Susie Leonard, too?’

‘Jesus.’

He let go of her and sat back as if struck.

‘I don’t know what your game is, Edie,’ he said slowly. ‘But I’ll find out.’

‘I’ve told you what it is. If you’ll leave Lady Deverell alone, I’m willing to grant you certain liberties.’

‘Don’t you … aren’t you … girls just don’t do this kind of thing.’

‘This girl does. This girl isn’t going to be made a fool of for love. My body is mine to use as I wish, and if it can save … some heartache for somebody … then why not?’

‘I never heard anything more preposterous in my life.’

‘You don’t accept my offer? Then I’ll go back to the dormitory.’

She stood.

‘No, you bloody well won’t.’ He patted the seat beside him. ‘Sit back down now.’

She wavered. She did not want to leave now with her objective unmet. But perhaps it would be best all round, after all, if they could agree to forget this encounter and continue as before. Something told her Charles would not accept this and she would be back in London before the week was out.

She sat down.

‘Perhaps we should draw a line under this night,’ she suggested warily.

‘Perhaps we shouldn’t. Perhaps I can’t.’

‘Can’t you?’

‘You can’t leave a man with so many unanswered questions,’ he said. ‘It’s cruel. And besides … I want you.’

Her throat tightened, a convulsion of fearful excitement overwhelming her senses.

‘You can’t have me unless you stop what you’re doing with her.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I do.’

‘You say you don’t want me, but when I kissed you …’

He put out his hand and brushed his knuckles against her neck and up under her hair.

‘Don’t pretend you didn’t want it,’ he whispered.

She couldn’t deny it, and neither could she prevent the way her heart hammered and her blood rushed.

But she could save herself. She could at least do that.

‘You can’t have your cake and eat it too,’ she said, wrenching herself away from his touch and standing. ‘Leave Lady Deverell alone and I’m at your disposal. But until then, goodnight.’

She whirled around and ran for the door, suspecting he would give chase.

She was right, but she made it to the corridor while his enraged cry of ‘Edie!’ still rang in the air. She didn’t dare look back but, by the time she had reached the servants’ back staircase, nobody was at her heels and she was able to lean back against the wall for a moment and let the giddy swaying of her head settle.

What on earth had she just done? And what would happen now?

He wouldn’t say anything, she decided. It wasn’t in his interests to have her sacked and besides, as a housemaid she should be beneath his notice.

Slipping back into bed, she could not help but think of how differently things could have been. She could have been in Sir Charles’s bed, in his arms … what would that be like? When kisses went further … Oh, she could not think of it.

She had offered a man her body.

What was a body after all but flesh and blood and bone? It was nothing. To offer it to somebody was nothing. Wrongdoing came from the heart and the mind, the intention to do harm. To experience physical pleasure with another – this was surely not wrong, for who suffered from it?

She should not be feeling guilt or shame about this – she had sworn that she would not be held down by those old foes of her sex. But she couldn’t help it. It was so much easier to argue a position than to embody it. How could she have known that these interloping emotions would ruin the purity of her mission? Before she drifted into sleep her pillow was wet with tears.