Elizabeth Mansfield (8 page)

When the arguments had proved ineffective, Ethelyn had resorted to shouts, demands, threats, and even a shocking and most uncharacteristic flood of tears. Finally she’d taken to her bed, accusing Camilla of driving her to death’s door. But Camilla, through it all, had remained adamant. Once she’d breathed the whiff of freedom … once she’d realized that escape from the repressive confines of her sister-in-law’s domination was possible … once she had permitted herself to believe that a new life was within her grasp, she couldn’t turn away from the joyful prospect.

Patiently, and with a quiet steadfastness that was as surprising to Ethelyn as it was irritating, Camilla tried to bring her sister-in-law to a calm acceptance of the inevitable separation. She explained that her decision to move to London was not a sign of depravity. They would choose a house in a quiet neighborhood. They would not indulge in hectic socializing but would keep very much to themselves. But they
would
avail themselves of the many cultural and artistic activities that London offered—the museums, the libraries, the opera, the shops and the parks. Pippa needed more intellectual stimulation than she could find in the country. “And I myself,” she added gently, “need to get away from these surroundings which remind me so much of … of death and mourning.”

Ethelyn remained unconvinced, but she was powerless to force her sister-in-law to accede to her will. Camilla was, after all, twenty-nine years old and possessed of more-than-adequate means. What Ethelyn would have found consoling would have been to remove Philippa from her mother’s guardianship. She’d even consulted the family solicitor about the possibility. But there were no legal grounds on which they could build a case. Ethelyn, being female, had no stronger claim to the guardianship than the child’s mother. If only she’d thought about it before her brother had died, she could have persuaded him to place the guardianship in Oswald’s hands. Now, of course, it was too late …

Ethelyn had never set foot in London in her life and therefore despised the place with the unshakable conviction of prejudiced ignorance. She’d heard enough lurid tales and gossip to convince her that it was as iniquitous as Sodom, and she warned Camilla that she would never, as long as she lived, set foot in her sister-in-law’s London establishment. “So you needn’t expect any visits from
me!
” she warned. “Although I shall be willing to welcome you here. I shall expect you for all the important religious observances, of course, and for the warm-weather months as well.” She fixed an eye on Camilla coldly. “And when you’ve realized that I am right about the unsuitability of those surroundings for your daughter, you will, of course, send her promptly home to me.”

Camilla, who had chosen London as the locus of their new home for precisely the reason that Ethelyn never would visit there, merely lowered her eyes and kept silent. She’d won the war; there would be little harm in letting Ethelyn believe she’d won a small part of this last battle.

When they realized they’d been victorious, Camilla, Pippa and Miss Townley gathered behind the closed door of Camilla’s bedroom and hugged each other in unrestrained elation. The future was suddenly wide open with exciting possibilities. “What wonderful adventures we’ll have!” Pippa exclaimed, whirling about the room deleriously. “It will be like living a
novel
!”

Her mother tried to restrain the child’s imagination from running riot. “It certainly will
not
,” she said, trying to frown. “We shall live in quiet modesty, just as we always have.” But her imagination was scarcely less riotous than her daughter’s, and she concluded her reprimand by lifting the child in her arms and spinning her about until, laughing and breathless, they both fell dizzily upon the bed.

While waiting to hear from Hicks that a house had been found and made ready for them, the three hurled themselves into a frenzy of packing. Besides their clothing and personal effects, there were some paintings, household articles, pieces of furniture and a great number of books which Camilla had purchased over the years that, if Ethelyn should not object, she wished to take with her. The next few days were spent going over lists of these items with her sour-faced sister-in-law and setting aside those things which Ethelyn agreed could be removed. Later, Miss Townley and Camilla packed the articles carefully with their own hands, and often with Pippa’s assistance. It was the only activity which seemed to ease their impatience to be gone.

For Pippa, the waiting was almost unbearable. With typical childish avidity, she chaffed at the delay as day followed day without a word from the butler. “Why doesn’t he write?” she asked nightly, when her mother tucked her into bed. “Why does it take so long to find a house?”

After several days, Camilla decided it was best to make it clear to the child that buying a house was not a task that could be easily concluded in a short time. “It’s only been a week, dearest,” she said soothingly. “We’ll hear from Hicks before long.”

“Yes, but
when
? A day? A week? A fortnight?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps even longer.”

Pippa winced. “
Longer
? Oh, no! I don’t think I could
bear
it!”

“But why not, my love? You’ve lived here all your life in perfect contentment. Why does the prospect of spending a few more weeks under this roof seem suddenly unbearable to you?”

“I don’t know,” Pippa answered thoughtfully. “Perhaps it’s because I never expected any sort of change before.” She gave her mother a sudden, mischievous grin. “Now that I have the prospect of adventures, I just can’t wait for them to begin to happen!”

“Oh, my
dearest
,” Camilla admitted, enveloping the girl in a warm embrace, “neither can I!”

***

It was midmorning of the very next day that Mrs. Nyles, the fuzzy-haired cook, stood in the kitchen doorway staring interestedly at a trio of travelers who seemed inordinately disappointed at the news that Mr. Hicks had gone. The three, who’d introduced themselves as Betsy and Daniel Hicks and their friend Collinson, were gaping at her as if she’d announced the end of the world. “Ye’ve come a long way, I wager, and all for naught,” the cook murmured sympathetically, tucking a crimped lock of hair under her cap. “Come in an’ have a spot o’ tea with me. It’ll cheer ye som’at to rest yerselves a bit.”

Betsy, the elected captain of this ill-fated expedition, tried to push aside her feeling of despair as she nodded gratefully. Mrs. Nyles seemed a woman of hearty good nature, and she and her companions
needed to sit themselves down and think. They’d foolishly squandered all their money and were now stranded in the middle of Dorset with no resources and no plan. Why had they never even
considered
what to do if the first plan failed?

Mrs. Nyles ushered them into a huge, square kitchen, brightly lit by the October sunshine streaming in through a row of windows in the south wall. The wall adjoining the windows contained two large ovens and an immense fireplace, and in the corner opposite was an open stairway which they surmised led up to the main part of the house. The cook led them to a long table in the center of the room and, as soon as they were seated, turned to two young kitchen maids who were lolling near the fire and ordered them into action. As the maids set plates and cups before the visitors, Mrs. Nyles took a seat beside Betsy and looked her over interestedly. “Did ye wish t’ see Mr. Hicks fer some partic’lar reason?” she asked, turning away only to slice a loaf of bread which one of the maids had set before her.

“Oh, yes,” Betsy admitted, eyeing the large loaf, the wedge of cheddar cheese, the platter of cold, sliced ham and the basket full of warm raisin buns which the maids set on the table, “he’s my husband’s uncle, y’ see.”

“His uncle, eh? My, my.” Mrs. Nyles leaned toward Daniel and looked at him closely for a family resemblance. “Now you mention it, I mind as how he sometimes spoke of a nevvy he had as was a sailor. Is that you?”

Daniel cast Tom an uneasy glance, but Betsy covered quickly. “No, no,” she said hastily. “Ye’re thinkin’ of his … er … brother.”

“Right,” Daniel said, nodding earnestly. “My brother. He’s at sea.”

“Ah, yes. Well, Mr. Hicks’ll be sorry he missed ye, I’m sure.”

“Not nearly as sorry as we are,” Tom muttered.

Mrs. Nyles looked at him curiously. There was nothing she liked better than an opportunity for idle gossip. “Did ye have somethin’ special ye wanted to see him about?” she asked, pouring out the tea.

Tom hesitated, but Betsy nodded frankly. “We was hopin’ he could find us places here at Wyckfield Park,” she admitted, hoping desperately that the friendly seeming cook could be of help. “I’ve had some years as a … a housemaid, y’ see, and these two strong fellows could be of all sorts of use—”

“Ye weren’t expectin’
Mr. Hicks
to find you places here, were ye?” The cook snorted in scornful amusement. “Ye’re way out, if that’s what ye come for.”

The two kitchen maids, lingering about behind her and eyeing the two men covetously, giggled loudly.

Mrs. Nyles turned round. “What’re ye doin’ hangin’ about here?” She swung her arm at them, catching one a good cuff at the hip. “Get about yer duties, both of ye!” The maids scurried off under Mrs. Nyles’s glare. When they’d vanished, she sighed and shook her head. “Impudent snips! They’d rather stand about gossipin’ than do anythin’ else. If there’s anythin’ I can’t abide, it’s a lazy tittle-tattle.”

“But, Mrs. Nyles, I don’t understand why you all laughed,” Betsy said, confused. “Mr. Hicks
is
the butler here, ain’t he?”

“He
was
the butler. But her ladyship—Lady Ethelyn Falcombe, y’ know—wouldn’t never take on nobody of
his
recommendin’.” She turned in her chair and leaned toward Betsy in eager confidentiality. “She never could abide him, y’ know. If it wasn’t fer the young Lady Wyckfield, Lady Ethelyn would’ve let him go years past.”

“Are you saying that he’s been given the
sack?
” Tom asked.

“In a manner o’ speakin’ he has.”

“It’s a fine kettle o’ fish we’re in,” Daniel groaned, dropping his chin on his hand gloomily.

Tom studied the cook with a puzzled frown. “What do you mean, ‘in a manner of speakin’? Has
Mr. Hicks been sacked or hasn’t he?”

“He still works fer the younger Lady Wyckfield. He’s gone to find her a house in town. She’s movin’ away, y’ see.”

“And he won’t be comin’ back here?” Betsy queried.

“Not him. Swore he’d never set foot in this house again, he did. It was a reg’lar to-do he had with her ladyship afore he left, I can tell ye.”

“Then we are in the soup an’ no mistake,” Betsy said, stirring her tea dispiritedly.

“Perhaps not.” Tom eyed the cook speculatively. “Are you saying that Mr. Hicks is setting up a household for Lady Wyckfield in London? Won’t he have to hire a number of servants to staff it?”

Mrs. Nyles’s eyebrows rose delightedly. “O’
course!
” she exclaimed, clapping a hand to her forehead. “What a
codshead
I am! He’ll need t’ find parlormaids, an’ a groom, an’ footmen, an’ a cook, an’ all manner of help.”

“That’s right,” Daniel chortled in relief. “He’ll have a real
need
fer us.”

“But Dan’l,” Betsy murmured, frowning worriedly, “London … ?”

Daniel blinked. He’d completely forgotten the necessity for hiding. Would they be safe among the crowded masses of the city where, it was said, all roads cross? He looked over at Tom questioningly.

Tom shrugged. “I’d be willing to chance it, if you are,” he murmured in an undervoice. “Now all we have to do is find the wherewithal to get there.”

Daniel sagged in his chair. Life was one problem after the other. “That’s the facer, ain’t it?”

Mrs. Nyles looked from one to the other. “What’s worryin’ ye now?” she asked in her direct, curious way.

“We used all our blunt to get here,” Betsy explained. “How are we to get to London without a shillin’ in our pockets?”

“Is
that
all that troubles ye?” She got to her feet and, smiling broadly, went to the fire for the kettle. “Ye can catch a ride with my Henry. He’s the coachman, y’ see, an’ he’s settin’ off this very afternoon to deliver some boxes fer Lady Wyckfield to the new house. She got word this mornin’ that Mr. Hicks has found a place on—where did she say?—Upper Seymour Street, if I remember rightly.” She poured the boiling water into the teapot, feeling quite pleased with herself. “There, y’ see?” She beamed at them, clapping Daniel on the shoulder with enthusiasm. “Ye haven’t a care in the world. Now ye can drink yer tea without wearin’ them long faces.”

With the seemingly insoluble problem so easily dispensed with, the three travelers set upon the food before them with hearty appetites. Mrs. Nyles smiled encouragement and pressed them to refill their plates as often as they wished. It was not often she could welcome congenial visitors to her table, and she revelled in the opportunity to reveal tidbits of household gossip to strangers who hadn’t heard the tales before. With an innate sense of the dramatic, she began to regale them with a detailed account of Lady Ethelyn’s eleven-year battle with Mr. Hicks. She started with their initial encounter (a scene which Mrs. Nyles had been privileged to witness with her own eyes) when they’d taken an instant dislike to each other, and, providing her amused and fascinated listeners with almost verbatim accounts of the numerous altercations which followed, was just approaching her rendition of the final confrontation when her voice suddenly faded. With mouth open, she gaped up at the stairway in the corner of the kitchen. Her three guests, surprised at her change of expression, turned in the direction of her stare.

Coming down the stairs, her eyes fixed on a long sheet of paper in her hand, was a youngish woman whose appearance set Tom’s pulse racing. She was slim as the stem of a seaweed, with a slightly pointed chin and a pale complexion. A mane of silky, light-auburn hair was carelessly tied in a knot at
the top of her head, but many strands spilled over her forehead in what Tom felt was enchanting disarray. Her face was smudged with dust, as was the voluminous apron which covered her dress. With her attention focussed on the paper she held, he couldn’t see her eyes, but the hand which held lightly onto the bannister to guide her down was as graceful as a gull. “Mrs. Nyles,” she was saying in a soft, musical voice, “I wonder if you’d mind going over this list of equipment with me. Hicks writes that the kitchen in the London house is sadly lacking in—
oh!
”