Amanda Scott (9 page)

“I see. You ought not to be doing such a messy chore in your livery, you know, and in future, if you rub the frame of the glass well with garlic or onion, you will not have so much to clean.”

He grinned at her. “I’ll be sure to tell Mr. Bagshaw, ma’am. No call to attend to it now though, if you’ve need of me. I’ll just be putting this rag away, and then I’m yours to command.”

“Not just now, Elbert,” Anne said gently. “I have no commands for you, so you will do better to finish the task Bagshaw assigned to you. First, however, you must go and put on an apron to protect your livery, and I suggest that you take off your jacket, too, so that it does not become soiled.”

He stared at her, but her gaze remained steady, and after a long moment, he bowed and moved toward the door. In the same gentle tone, Anne said, “Ask Mrs. Burdekin to provide you with some powder blue, Elbert, and a woollen cloth to polish the glass after you have cleaned it with that damp cotton rag you have. And please do not forget to rub the frame with garlic afterward.”

“Yes, madam.” His cheeks now as red as the housemaid’s, Elbert fled.

Anne waited until the door had shut behind him to say, “What is your name, please?”

“Jane, your ladyship. Jane Hinkle.” The maid’s voice was low-pitched and well modulated, and Anne surmised from her careful speech and increasing air of confidence that she had been well trained and was an upper housemaid, not one of the menials. That she was still nervous was also clear. “I-I’m sorry, madam,” she said when Anne did not immediately reply.

“Why are you sorry, Jane? Did you encourage his attention?”

“Oh, no, madam.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I would never do such a thing, for I was raised strict. Please, ma’am, believe me.

“I do believe you,” Anne said, remembering the indignant protest she had overheard. She regarded the maid thoughtfully.

“Please, madam, I hope you will not think it necessary to complain of this incident to Mrs. Burdekin or Mr. Bagshaw. They will not be so willing to take my word, I fear.”

“Why not?” Anne asked, surprised, since Jane Hinkle seemed at first appearance to be more sensible and dignified than most young maidservants, and certainly more worthy of belief than Elbert.

“I-I am rather new to Upminster, madam, and Elbert was born on the estate. They are bound to take his word over mine.”

“And would he speak falsely to them?”

“H-he would say that I provoked him,” Jane said. “He said as much to me, so no doubt he believes it to be the truth, but indeed, madam, I did no such thing.”

“I think I will have a word with Mrs. Burdekin,” Anne said.

“That won’t help,” Jane said with a sigh. Then, clearly recalling her place, she bit her lip and looked worriedly at Anne.

“But surely, since it is Burdekin’s duty to see to the maids’ welfare, she ought to be told when these things occur,” Anne said.

“She is Mr. Bagshaw’s cousin, madam. Indeed, save for myself and one or two other maids, all the servants here at Upminster are either sons and daughters of other servants or of tenants on the estate. And Mr. Bagshaw, ma’am, holds firm by the notion that any such encounters between maids and menservants are provoked by the maids. I value my position, madam. I do not want to lose it.”

Anne nodded. “Very well, Jane, then I suggest that henceforth you make certain to have one of the under-housemaids accompany you while you attend to your duties. Two can work more quickly than one, after all, and attend to twice as many rooms as one alone.”

“Yes, madam.” But Jane gave her the doubtful look she was quickly growing accustomed to seeing on the servants’ faces whenever she made a suggestion.

She said, “I believe you have made the acquaintance of my personal maid, Maisie Bray.”

“Oh, yes, madam. She spoke most kindly to me.”

“Since you are both new here, perhaps you can be friends.”

“Oh, but Miss Bray is too far above me, madam. She will not wish to associate with one so inferior to herself.”

“Nonsense,” Anne said bracingly. “You are not a scullery maid, Jane.” But when Jane only shook her head, Anne realized that in the strict hierarchy of the servants’ hall, Maisie would have to make the overtures. She dropped that subject but did not leave Jane before sending for an under-housemaid to assist her, so that when Elbert returned he would not find Jane alone.

Less than a quarter hour later, having changed to footwear more suited to the outdoors, and put on a dark blue wool cloak, Anne was hurrying down the grand stair toward the entrance hall when she encountered her husband on his way up.

“Good day to you, sir,” she said, controlling with difficulty the wave of shyness that threatened to overcome her, and knowing from the sudden heat in her cheeks that she was blushing deeply.

“Hello,” he said, looking surprised, almost, she thought, as if he had altogether forgotten her presence in the house. He recovered rapidly, however, adding, “I trust you slept well.”

“Yes, sir, very well. A-and you?” The heat in her cheeks increased when she remembered their rather sudden parting.

“Quite well, thank you.” If he was embarrassed by the same memory, he did not show it. In fact, she thought she detected a twinkle in his eyes, and the sight of it did much to relieve her tension. That it also stirred tingling warmth deep inside her, she strove to ignore. He said, “Have you found something to occupy you? I suppose I ought by rights to take you out and about, or somehow see to it that our neighbors are made aware of your presence here so they can make you welcome, but indeed I cannot spare the time for that just now. My brother’s affairs, as you must have guessed, are still in a tangle, and I no sooner seem to unravel one knot than another forms in its place.”

“Perhaps I can be of help, sir.”

“I doubt that very much. I merely wanted to make plain to you that my duties are to blame if I seem to be a neglectful husband.”

“Then you must attend to them,” Anne said. “In my experience, news travels quickly whether one wishes it to or not. Indeed, even if your people have not spread the word, Sir Jacob Thornton will no doubt do so when he returns from Derby. The neighbors nearby must be aware of my presence in any case, and even if they do not call at once, I shall find plenty to occupy me here in the house.”

“Excellent,” he said, smiling. He was two steps below her, so she was face to face with him, and she was struck once again by the way his smile altered his generally stern features, softening them and making them less formidable.

She was encouraged to say, “Perhaps you might take one moment to advise me, sir. I have encountered a small problem, and although at Rendlesham I would know precisely what to do, apparently such matters are dealt with differently here.”

“What is the problem?”

“I walked in upon a footman who had cornered a housemaid and was attempting to force his attentions on her.”

Lord Michael chuckled. “The minx had probably been flirting with him.”

“She said she had not, and I believe her.”

“Well, don’t bother your head about it, my dear. Bagshaw sees to it that such matters never go too far. We do not keep immoral servants at Upminster Priory.”

Anne knew she ought simply to accept his advice and let the matter drop, but a stirring of annoyance pressed her to say, “The footman was Elbert, sir. It does not suit my dignity to have my personal footman making a nuisance of himself to the housemaids.”

“Then tell him so. If you are going outside,” he added, evidently just becoming aware of her appearance, “Elbert will no doubt be attending you, and you can say what you like to him.”

Having a sudden suspicion that she would be unwise to tell him that she had set her personal footman to rubbing garlic on looking-glass frames, she said, “I told the maid to ask an under-housemaid to assist her, so there will always be two of them together.”

“That’s fine then,” he said, but it was clear that his thoughts had shifted to other, more important matters, and she was not surprised when he excused himself in the next breath and hurried on up the stairs.

An elderly hall porter, hastening to open the front door for her, suggested in a paternal way that she ought to have an attendant if she was going outside, but Anne dismissed his words with a kindly smile, saying, “I shan’t go far, you know. I just want to look over the gardens and perhaps speak with the gardeners. I shall be perfectly all right, thank you.”

She wandered happily from one garden to the next, exploring the tangled, overgrown maze and peering inside a rustic folly before making her way toward the lake and the pathway around it. She noted a number of chores to be done in both kitchen and flower gardens, and she itched to hire an army of men to weed and scythe the vast lawns, but the parkland bordering the lake path was lovely and lush, and no doubt provided excellent coverts for pheasant and grouse. She soon realized that the lake had been formed by damming a brook, and when she found the dam, she followed the brook as it tumbled merrily on through the shady woods. When the thick trees ahead parted to reveal the River Derwent, she saw at once she was no longer alone. The young duke stood atop a huge boulder where the brook met the Derwent, casting his line upriver.

She waited until his fly lit on the rippling surface of the water before she said in a tone loud enough to carry to his ears over the sounds of the water, “Catching anything?”

The boy’s concentration was fixed on the fly, and at the unexpected interruption he started, turned sharply and lost his balance. One moment he stood atop the boulder. The next, his mouth agape in horrified dismay, he vanished beyond it.

With an exclamation that was half laughter, half distress, Anne snatched up her skirts and ran to the riverbank. At first she did not see him, but then he bobbed to the surface, sputtering and coughing, a short distance from the riverbank.

Seeing her, he waved his arms frantically and cried out in panic, “Help me, I can’t swim!”

When he disappeared beneath the surface again, Anne realized with a sharp stab of terror that the river was carrying him away.

F
ORTUNATELY, ANNE WAS ON
the south side of the brook, and her stout shoes made it possible for her to scramble along the riverbank in pursuit of the struggling boy. Casting her heavy cloak aside, she tried to keep one eye on him, while with the other, she searched the bank ahead for a pole or stick long enough to reach out to him.

When she realized the current was drawing him away from the shore, she shouted, “Kick your feet and keep your eyes on the bank ahead! Don’t fight the river. Let it carry you as you make your way toward shore farther downriver.”

“But I can’t swim!”

“You’re doing fine,” she yelled. Clearly he had some small notion of what was required of him, but he was certainly not a skilled swimmer, and she knew he would not last long without help. Not a soul was in sight. “Kick!”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. Kick your feet, paddle your hands, and keep your eyes fixed on the bank ahead. You don’t want a mere female to have to jump in and save you, do you?”

She was still running, slipping and stumbling over rocks, wrenching her way past bushes and shrubs, half in the water, half out. The river was running higher and faster after the previous day’s storm, and she had all she could do to keep ahead of Andrew as the current carried him downstream. Her shoes were soaked. Bushes and branches seemed to reach out to scratch and bruise her arms, and each time she grabbed at a boulder, another fingernail broke, but she ignored her pains and kept her attention focused on the boy. She saw that he had collected himself and actually had made some progress toward shore, but though she took courage from the fact, she could see, too, that he was tiring rapidly.

At last she spied a dead tree limb that looked long enough and yet light enough to serve her purpose. Snatching it up, she swung it toward Andrew only to see it fall short. Recklessly, without any thought now for her own safety, she tore ahead and, holding her skirt high, leapt to a flat boulder jutting well out into the river. As the swirling water swept him toward her she saw that the branch would still fall short by a foot or more. Inching her way right into the river, she leaned forward as far as she dared.

Scrabbling wildly, Andrew grabbed the tip of the branch, and when his full weight caught it, Anne’s feet went right out from under her. Slipping and sliding, holding onto the branch now with both hands, lest she lose it altogether, she was able to catch one foot in a crevice where two stones came together, but by the time she managed to drag the boy to shore, she was as wet as he was. Dragging themselves onto the flat rock together, both lay on their stomachs, trying to catch their breath.

“Why the devil didn’t you run for help?” he gasped.

“You’d have drowned by the time I’d found anyone.”

“I never thought you could do it alone.”

“You did the most important part,” she said. “Luckily, you
can
swim a bit, even though you didn’t think you could.”

“I’ve watched some of the lads,” he muttered, breathing more normally, “but it’s dashed harder than it looks.”

“Why didn’t you get one of them to teach you?”

“They were just servants’ or tenants’ brats,” he said. “Wouldn’t be suitable. Subject never came up with the few real friends I’ve got. They’re at school, mostly, and they already knew how to swim before I was allowed to go out and about with them.”

Realizing from this glib explanation that he had never admitted even to his friends that he could not swim, Anne was tempted to point out that his pride had nearly cost him his life, but what little she had seen of the young duke warned her that he would not take criticism well. So, instead, after a pause for thought, she said, “My father says a good landlord must know his tenants well. He always encouraged my brothers to be friendly with ours, for he says they will be better served by friends than by men they keep at a strict distance. No doubt things are different for dukes though, and you were quite right not to ask one of yours to teach you. I should think, however, that teaching a person to swim would foster quite a strong loyalty to him.”