A Kiss in the Dark (3 page)

“I shall let you get some rest, then.”

“Oh, rest! Small chance of that. I can still feel the wheels of your carriage moving under me. Beau
would
encourage John Groom to set a reckless pace. But there, we were all young once.”

Cressida escaped to her own room, where she found a mouse of a girl in a mobcap and white apron unpacking her trunks. “Tory told me to do for you until your woman is up and about,” she said apologetically.

“Thank you. What is your name, my dear?”

“Jennet.”

“Is that your first or last name?”

“Yes, milady.”

“I beg your pardon?” Cressida said in confusion.

“Just Jennet, first and last. That’s all they call me.”

Miss Wantage usually exaggerated to no small degree, but it seemed that in the case of Jennet, she was telling the truth. Jennet was a simpleton. “What is your papa’s name?”

“I don’t have no pa, nor never had. My ma’s name is Mary. She’s upstairs maid at the big house.”

“Mary Jennet?”

“Yes, milady. And I’m Jennet.”

“I see. Well, I shall wear that jonquil gown for dinner this evening, just Jennet.”

“That’d be the yaller one, milady?”

“Yes.”

There seemed no point quizzing such a witless girl about the cottage, so Cressida went below to speak to Muffet. His usual slug-like complexion had deepened to livid with frustration.

“She has barred me from my own kitchen!” he declared, then, recalling to whom he was speaking, apologized. “Pardon me, missy, but it is more than humankind can bear, to be spoken to in such a way by a
servant.”

Muffet had been deCourcy’s butler so long that he considered himself one of the family. He never could remember to call his mistress “milady,” but continued to address her as missy, as he had in years gone by.

“You are referring to Mrs. Armstrong, I take it? What, exactly, is the trouble?” Cressida asked.

“I asked to see the silver; she said it had been polished well enough to please Lord Dauntry, and she didn’t need checking up on, thank you very much. She was chopping up carrots. I told her you had a particular aversion to carrots. ‘She’ll like mine,’ the hussy said. We must send for Mrs. Hammond at once, for we’ll have no peace from that harpy.”

“Oh, dear, could you not get along with her, Muffet? It is only for the summer. You know I want Mrs. Hammond to remain at Tanglewood to look after things there.”

“Then you must speak to her, missy, and let her know who is in charge here.”

"Yes, it might be best to get it settled in the beginning,” Cressida said, and rang for Mrs. Armstrong.

Before long, her red face and white hair appeared at the door of the saloon. “You wanted me, milady?” she asked, sparks flashing in her blue eyes.

“Yes, Mrs. Armstrong.”

“I’m called Tory, milady. Everyone calls me Tory.”

“Tory. We seem to have a little problem here.” Cressida had been virtually in charge of running Tanglewood since she was in her teens, and had learned a little something about handling recalcitrant servants. She would try oil first, and if that did not work, then she would issue a decree.

“Muffet has been with me forever. You know how old retainers become set in their ways,” she said, smiling and inviting her listener’s understanding.

“Croker never had to check up on the silverware at the castle.”

“What was your position there, Tory?” she asked pleasantly.

“I was in charge of the entire upstairs—eighty bedrooms, with a dozen girls under me.”

“I see, a very responsible position. The next step up would be housekeeper. This summer will be good practice for you. Getting along with the butler is a very important part of housekeeping.”

Tory’s blue eyes looked sharp at this news. “If it’s about them carrots—”

“Muffet is only looking out for my welfare. Between us, we shall keep the peace, eh, Tory?” She gave a conspiratorial smile.

Tory thought a moment, then said, “I’ll give him the keys to the wine cellar. Her ladyship—-Lady Dauntry—said you must use what is in the cellar here until you make arrangements for yourself.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, about your groceries, milady. I hope old Muffet won’t be trying to tell me where to buy
them,
and me born and bred here on the coast.”

“Muffet does not interfere with the meals. You and I shall handle that. We shall meet each morning after breakfast to decide on menus. I quite depend on you to tell me where the best food and bargains are to be had.”

“Just ring for me whenever you’re ready, milady. And if you’ve any fault to find with how I run things, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me yourself, and not old Muffet.”

“That is my custom.”

Cressida saw that from henceforth Muffet would be known as Old Muffet. She foresaw plentiful rows to come, but for the moment she wanted only a glass of Lady Dauntry’s sherry to calm her nerves.

“What time will you be wanting your dinner, then, and how many of you will there be?” Tory asked before leaving.

“Just two of us. Miss Wantage is not feeling well enough to come down. We dine at seven-thirty.”

Tory’s face puckered in dissatisfaction. “They dine at seven at the castle. I put the roast in—”

“Seven this evening, then, and in future, seven-thirty.”

“I’ll make a note of it, milady.”

Tory bustled out, feeling she had got the better of that round. Cressida sighed and poured herself a glass of sherry, for she did not feel like facing Muffet again so soon.

The carrots were not served at dinner. Asparagus and peas took their place. Cressida read this as a sign of Tory’s eagerness to please and made a mental note to thank her in the morning. With a long evening to be got in, Beau decided to give Cressida her first lesson in sailing. Within an hour her head was reeling with unaccustomed jargon. Beau spoke of “luffing” and “tacking” and “wind on her beam” and something called the “Beaufort scale,” which appeared to feature largely in this sport. He drew little sketches of the
Sea
Dog,
fully rigged, with arrows denoting the wind coming at it from various directions, and other twisting arrows showing how each sail should be set.

“You want a light trysail, for a heavy one will be impossible to handle during a gale, with your storm jib tossing about,” he said, tapping one of the sails on his drawing.

“Perhaps I shall buy a rowboat or have a canoe sent from America,” Cressida said.

“You will get the hang of it in no time,” Beau assured her. “If I can do it, anyone can. I hardly ever tip her nowadays. Of course, you must learn to swim before we go out, for there is no counting on a cork jacket to get you to shore if a howler should capsize us in mid-Channel. We might drift about for days,” he said merrily.

This ominous speech quite determined Cressida that she would buy a good wide rowboat. But she was interested in learning to swim. She had her costume already made up, and with the privacy the cove provided, she need not fear being watched.

She was about to suggest a game of cards when the door knocker sounded. Although she would not have admitted it for a wilderness of monkeys, the knock was music to her ears. There was such a thing as too much solitude. Her spirits were further improved when she recognized the firm accents of Lord Dauntry in the hallway. Perhaps he had come to give her the cottage!

Her smile could not have been more charming when he was shown in. Cressida observed the exquisite tailoring of his jacket and the broad shoulders beneath it, the intricacy of his immaculate cravat, and noticed how becomingly even a small smile softened the severity of his visage.

Dauntry stopped a moment at the doorway, impressed in spite of himself by the baroness. Cressida, as he thought of her, really was a charmer. Society’s spoiled darling looked most alluring with that tousle of crow black curls caressing her cheek and her green eyes glowing with pleasure. Even in the country, she was turned out in the highest kick of fashion, in a jonquil gown that reflected a golden glow on her ivory complexion. He mentally preened himself at her joy in seeing him. He had expected pouts and sulks, and he’d intended to tease the baroness a little.

He made his bows and was shown a seat. “We were just about to have tea,” she said, pulling the bell chord to summon Muffet. “Beau has been telling me all about the Beaufort scale.”

“Three cheers for Admiral Beaufort,” Dauntry replied, apparently familiar with the scale. “I don’t know what we did before Frank analyzed the wind velocity for us. He deserves a medal. Do you sail, ma’am?”

“I am learning,” she said. She was not one to make little of her accomplishments.

Beau did that for her. “I am trying to teach her. Ladies don’t seem to have the knack for it. Sid threatens to send off to America for a canoe.”

“That should be interesting.” Dauntry did not care for that “Sid.” A man’s name ill-suited this paragon of womanhood. She should be a Belle or a Melissa—some sweetly flowing name. He had nothing against Cressida as a name, despite Shakespeare’s poor treatment of the character. “False Cressida” he had dubbed her. A giddy girl, a jilt who played with men’s hearts for her enjoyment. He might have been describing Lady deCourcy. “Mama sent me down to see how you are going on, Lady deCourcy,” he said.

She gave him a saucy smile, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. “Were
you
not curious to see how we are going on, milord? You are a little old to have to be told by your mama what to do.”

So she was condescending to flirt with him! This should be interesting. Her anticipatory eyes told him she expected a bantering reply. This being the case, he ignored her taunt. “I had no doubt you were happy with your bargain, once you had seen the dower house,” he replied blandly.

“Yes, by Jove,” Beau said. “This is something like. Mind you, Sid won’t be happy until she gets us turfed out and moved into that little doll’s house next door.”

Cressida looked expectantly at her guest, who brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. Was that why she was flirting and smiling so sweetly? She would catch cold at that. He was no unlicked cub to be led by a lady’s smiles. “I trust the servants Mama sent down are working out, Lady deCourcy?” he asked.

“A few conflicts have arisen, but I straightened them out.”

“Tory is a bit of a tyrant. I make no doubt you can handle her,” he said with a civil smile, but the glint in his eye revealed his knowledge of Tory’s managing disposition.

“I have always found tact goes a long way,” she replied demurely. “Except, of course, with the witless.” A kindling spark shot from Dauntry's eyes. “I am referring, of course, to Jennet. Has the girl no Christian name?”

“Her name is Janet. Janet Jennet. An unfortunate choice, as she seems unable to distinguish between the two.”

“So kind of you to send her to me,” she said, still smiling, but he read the sting in her words. She meant he was palming his inferior servants off on
her.

“Mama handled those domestic arrangements. We will be happy to have Janet back at the castle if you are unhappy with her. I understand she is an excellent worker despite her mental deficiency. Are there any other complaints you would like to air while you have my ear?”

“Complaints? I was not complaining, milord. It would be too demanding to expect to actually have the use of the house I hired, with the pretty little shutters and the balcony overlooking the sea. I was looking forward to having tea parties on that balcony, but never mind.”

“The balcony was a mistake. It receives such a high wind, it would carry you away.”

“I should think that alone would be enough to change your mind,” she said curtly.

His lips twitched in amusement. “I do not think only of myself. Society would never forgive me if I caused the loss of its premier Incomparable.”

This flattery was accompanied by a bow. Cressida tossed her curls and turned her attention to the grate. By the time the tea arrived, Dauntry and Beau had fallen into a discussion of luffing and tacking, leaving her to amuse herself. It was not the manner in which she was accustomed to being treated when a gentleman called on her, and an occasional glance from Dauntry suggested that he was aware of his ill manners. “I did not come to pay court to you, miss,” that look said.

The tea tray, when it arrived, held only tea. “Ask Tory to send up some of that gingerbread she made this afternoon, Muffet,” Cressida said.

Muffet bowed and left. Within five minutes Tory herself appeared at the doorway. She sidled into the room edgeways, like a crab. Her face was an even brighter shade of red than usual.

“I’m sorry about the gingerbread, milady. It’s gone.”

Cressida just blinked in astonishment. She had no objection to the servants sharing her food, but surely, with so few servants, a large gingerbread could not be gone this soon. “All of it?”

“I threw it out,” Tory said. “It didn’t rise enough. Sure I wouldn’t serve it to the backhouse boy. I’ll bake you up a fresh one tomorrow. Meanwhile, there is a bit of plum cake in the larder, if you like.”

“That will be fine, thank you.”

Tory bustled out, leaving a mystery behind her. What had she done with the gingerbread? It had been good enough to serve that afternoon. Surely a cake did not fall hours after leaving the oven? Cressida was no cook, but she had spent enough hours in her mama’s kitchen as a child to know the crucial time for a cake falling was before it was fully baked.

Muffet brought in the plum cake, and the tea party continued. Dauntry had only one cup of tea, made politely banal conversation, then said he must be off.

“Another parish council meeting?” Cressida inquired with a quizzing smile.

He didn’t bat an eyelash, although he certainly knew she knew he had lied to her that afternoon. “A social engagement, actually,” he replied. “The Forresters are having a rout party this evening. Lady John asked me to invite you. As you had already informed Mama of your wish for solitude, I told her you had come here to rusticate and did not wish to be disturbed.”

“How very kind of you,” she replied in a thin voice.