Diamonds & Deceit (14 page)

Agnes flounced down into the kitchen. “
Lady Rose
ordered tea,” she said, mimicking Ada’s voice. “Some lady! I’m not rushing. Who does she think she is? When just a few months ago she was as humble as we are!”

Annie, who was mending at the kitchen table, looked up. “Now you see what I mean?” she said. Clearly she wasn’t the only person put off by Rose’s airs.

“I think she has a cheek,” Jane agreed, tossing her head. “She’s nobody. Not a proper born lady like Lady Ada, not even a gentlewoman like Miss Charlotte.”

Annie stood, smoothing down her skirts. “There, that’s Miss Charlotte’s buttons sewn on. I don’t mind putting myself out when it’s for a real lady.”

She went out into the shadowy corridor, trying to ignore the stab of guilt when she thought of the old Rose, who had always stood up for Annie when Martha or James teased her. She pressed her lips together. There was no sense in being weak. Miss Charlotte had told her that, very kindly and companionably. One had to be strong if one wanted to rise in this world. As Miss Charlotte had pointed out, Rose had turned her back on her old friends very quickly, and deserved all she got in return.

The rain rattled on the skylight. Céline was standing just outside the laundry cupboard, folding shifts. Annie walked past her, then jumped as Céline caught her arm. She looked up in surprise—and flinched at the anger in Céline’s eyes.

“Now just you listen to me, you silly little girl from ze country.” Céline spoke in a low, furious voice. “How dare you come here and stir up trouble for my mistress. You should be ashamed! Some friend you are.”

Annie jerked her arm away. “Some friend
I
am? And what about her, turning me away like a beggar?”

“Don’t be so silly. She did it for your own good.” She fixed Annie with a hard gaze. “Why are you hanging around here anyway?”

“Miss Charlotte told me I should stay.” Annie raised her chin. “She’s a real lady, unlike some.”

“Lady Rose is a lady if society says she is.”

“Miss Charlotte says—”

“Oh, Miss Charlotte. I see she has engaged you to spread poison about Lady Rose.”

“I’m engaged as a lady’s maid!”

“Are you indeed?” The sarcasm in her voice cut Annie to the core. “Well, I am pleased for you. But that doesn’t make it better that you should be speaking against your friend. It’s not easy for her either, you know, to be so suddenly a lady. Didn’t you ever think
she
might need
your
friendship? You only think of what she can give to you.”

Annie’s gaze faltered, and she looked down. Rose’s lady’s maid was so forthright; Annie was surprised to find herself feeling uncomfortable. She tried to rally some defiance. “What does it matter to you anyway?” she muttered.

Céline folded the shift again, twice, then three times, smoothing away the creases, before replying. “I have my own plans. They are none of your business. But let me tell you, if you continue to stir up trouble for Lady Rose, I will stir up big, big trouble for
you
.”

“I should like to see you try!” exclaimed a voice.

Annie turned to see Stella standing at the end of the corridor. She had a triumphant smile on her face as she came toward Céline.

“I hate to ruin your illusions of rising to be lady’s maid to a Duchess, but I don’t believe the Duke of Huntleigh is interested in Lady Rose.”

“What makes you say that?” Céline did not sound troubled.

“Oh, never mind. Just that he’s more likely to marry someone else.”

“Miss Templeton?” Céline sniffed. “I doubt it.”

“What Miss Templeton wants, Miss Templeton gets.” Stella paced slowly toward them, smirking. “This is her third season, as we all know—she’s on the shelf after this. She wants a proposal and she wants one from the Duke of Huntleigh. If you want to know what I think—”

“We don’t, Ward.”

Annie’s head jerked up at the new voice that cut into their exchange. Charlotte Templeton stood on the servants’ stairs, a little above them. Her face was flushed slightly, but the look she gave Stella was icy.

Stella and Céline straightened at once.

“Miss Templeton,” Stella said, sounding terrified.

Miss Templeton ignored her. She walked down the stairs and smiled at Annie. “Bailey, have you finished my mending?” She held out her hands, and Annie wordlessly placed the dress in them.

Stella’s eyes went from the dress to Charlotte and Annie. “But that mending—that’s my job, Miss Templeton.”

“No, Ward, it is my lady’s maid’s job,” Charlotte said.

Céline’s eyes widened.

Stella’s color changed from red to pale. “Your—but—I—” she began.

Annie stood clutching the hem of her apron, feeling like a rabbit before an oncoming train. This was more than she had bargained for. She hadn’t thought Miss Templeton would rid herself of her old maid quite so viciously and publicly. She could feel Stella’s furious gaze burning into her.

“I’ve placed your reference and month’s wages on your dressing table, Ward,” Charlotte went on. “I may be
on the shelf
, in your view, but I still have my standards, and one thing I cannot abide is a servant who does not know her place.” She smiled sweetly. “And now, where
is
that tea?”

“I have delivered the message you entrusted to me, my lady,” Céline said the next morning as she helped Rose dress.

“Oh!” Rose wished she had not. She felt foolish and small for writing to Alexander. The image from the photograph album had stayed in her mind. Alexander and Charlotte had been standing so very close together in the photographs. They’d shared a whole season together. They had talked, and danced, and laughed, and no doubt exchanged secrets. Had more happened? She was not sure she wanted to know.

Rose turned to see that Céline was holding a piece of brocaded silk in crimson and gold.

“Now, my lady, if you’d like to look at this sample, which has come from Worth—”

“I wouldn’t much, Céline,” Rose sighed.

“Or perhaps this one—” Céline flipped the page of her fabric sample book to show a swatch of dove-gray chiffon.

“I am not really in the humor.”

Céline looked at her in surprise. “But my lady has given some thought to her dress for Mrs. Verulam’s costume ball?”

“To be honest, I was thinking of not going at all.”

Céline stood very still, her face expressionless. Rose tried to lighten the mood. “You may have the afternoon off, Céline. It’s a beautiful day and there’s no sense in your spending it moping around inside with me.”

“My lady,” said Céline. “I must ask you to go to this ball.”

Rose raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

“I would like you very much to go to this ball and allow me to dress you as a daughter of the Earl of Westlake should be dressed.” Céline’s voice trembled.

Rose’s cheeks flushed slightly with annoyance. Were all the servants going to be insolent to her? She had thought better of Céline. She spoke hastily. “I think you’re being familiar. I dress quite properly. But you seem to want me to stand out. I don’t say your dresses are not elegant, are not—” She hesitated. “My goodness, whatever is the matter? Céline, are you crying?”

Rose leapt to her feet and reached for her handkerchief. She pressed it into the maid’s hand and ushered her to a chair. Céline dabbed the tears away. “Whatever is the matter? I am sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean to—”

“Please, my lady,” Céline said, “You don’t know what damage you will do to me—to my dreams—if you keep on as you are doing. You are acting like a housemaid still—excuse me, but it is true. But you are not a housemaid. You are a very beautiful young lady, and I could dress you so that society would be dazzled as if a meteor had landed in their midst—”

“But I can’t think of anything worse—didn’t a meteor land in Russia a year ago and many people were killed?” Rose was glad to see her lady’s maid’s lips curve in their usual mischievous smile. She went on, “It’s Charlotte who’s going as the Firebird, not me. I really don’t want to dazzle.” She paused. “But am I to understand that it matters to you what I wear?”

“Of course it matters, my lady!” Céline exclaimed. “My reputation—” She hesitated.

“Oh?” Rose was half amused, half insulted. “So I’m your shop window, am I?”

“In a sense, my lady—yes.” She looked down, then up again with a bright, fierce gaze. “My lady, I don’t intend to be a maid all my life. I want to have independence, and I know I can earn it through my skill. I don’t mean to leave you, but perhaps a little shop, a
boutique
…”

“You want an atelier!” Rose exclaimed.

“Yes, but…it all depends upon you,” Céline said. “This ball will be the culmination of the season. Queen Alexandra will be there!”

Rose began to understand. Queen Alexandra, the widow of King Edward and mother of the current king, was a known arbiter of style. If she admired a dress, everyone would rush to buy it.

“If society sees I have dressed Lady Rose Averley more than becomingly, stunningly—I can succeed. But if you do not allow me to do that…” Céline bowed her head. “I have a chance, my lady, and you are it. I hope you don’t object to my speaking so boldly.”

“You wouldn’t be yourself if you were not bold, Céline.” Rose’s amusement had subsided, and she was now admiring. Goodness knew Céline would need boldness if she were going to try to set herself up in business. “Well, I was thinking how useless my life is, but if I can be of use to you, if I can give you the help you need…well, why not? I will be your mannequin, Céline.” Rose smiled. She would not allow Alexander’s rejection to stop her having pleasure or helping others. “I
will
go to the ball.”

“Thank you, Thompson.” Lady Emily Maddox looked up to acknowledge the tea that the butler placed at her side. “You may leave us.”

The butler melted away and Emily turned her attention back to the young woman perched on the edge of the chesterfield in front of her. Although she was clearly not at her ease in the opulent drawing room, she met Lady Emily’s gaze with a hard, bold confidence. Miss Ward, thought Emily, was the kind of woman who set a great deal of store by revenge. She liked her already.

“Do please go on,” she said, lifting the teapot. There was the music of Assam flowing, and the gentle shiver of china against china as she handed the cup and saucer to Miss Ward. “So Miss Templeton dismissed you unjustly.”

“It was more than unjust, my lady. I was privy to all Miss Templeton’s secrets. I carried messages for her, arranged assignations. Of course my conscience protested, but I did it out of a misplaced loyalty to her.” She sipped the tea—the porcelain, thin as a rose petal, glowed as the light shone through it—and her eyes met Lady Emily’s. She lowered the cup. “I can be very loyal, my lady.”

“I am sure you can,” murmured Emily, adding silently,
When it suits you.
“So you were only following her instructions when you carried this letter to the Duke of Huntleigh.”

Stella set cup and saucer down. The clock distantly chimed four. “Yes, and now I bitterly regret it.” There was certainly passion in her voice, but Lady Emily doubted it was the passion of remorse. “Apparently the duke had no idea that Lady Rose was once a servant. And Miss Templeton has no more obstacles in her way.” Her eyelid twitched though her voice was perfectly calm. “I expect it was her plan all along.”

Emily looked down at the cup and saucer in her hands. They fit together so well. Just as she had once thought she and Alexander fit together so well. That had been an illusion, most rudely shattered by Charlotte one terrible Saturday-to-Monday at Gravelley Park two seasons ago.

They had come for a jolly house party—she and Laurence travelling together, Alexander arriving after one of his jaunts to Europe, and Charlotte with Sebastian in tow—poor old Sebastian, always down on his uppers. A few other young people, some games of tennis, riding, croquet, and theater games. And dancing to the gramophone and the piano in the evenings. Emily had danced with Alexander several times that season, and had fancied herself in love with him—no, perhaps she really
had
been in love with him. At least, his dry voice, with the laugh hidden deep inside it, had made her feel all shivery, whenever she heard him speak. They had flirted. Laurence hadn’t approved, but he’d had other things to occupy him—namely Charlotte Templeton.

That Saturday night, Emily, lying awake, had heard whispers and giggles and the padding of bare feet along the corridor. She had heard enough so that when Charlotte appeared late for breakfast the next day, and when Emily heard whispered arguments between them the day after that, Emily guessed at what had happened. Charlotte must have allowed Laurence to go a little too far, and now she was frightened and desperate for him to propose. But Laurence had never reacted well to pressure of that kind. He had pulled away—and that afternoon, over a game of cards, Emily had watched helplessly as Charlotte exerted all her skills of flattery and flirtation to tease Alexander out of Emily’s clutches and into her own.

Emily still flushed with humiliation and rage as she remembered that afternoon. It was not that she wanted Alexander back. That was two years ago and much had changed. But she still remembered the pain Charlotte had caused her. Hatred, in her experience, endured much longer than love.

Emily set the cup and saucer down on the silver tray and looked up at Miss Ward with a pleasant smile. “Well, I do think you have been very badly treated in all this. And by chance, dear Leblanc has just given notice—she wants to get married, of all things. May I offer you employment as my lady’s maid?”

Miss Ward smiled. Lady Emily wasn’t surprised. Their needs matched precisely, and it had been obvious from the start that this was why the woman had come. She must have heard of Leblanc’s departure on the servants’ grapevine. Gossip did travel so.

“I would be honored, my lady.” Miss Ward put a hand into her reticule and drew out something grasped in her fist. She opened it to display scarlet petals, as if she had crushed a rose in her hand. “And now that that is quite understood, I think you may be interested in these.…”