Cinders & Sapphires (4 page)

“I suppose you’re right.” Georgiana half sighed. “We all have our places and must stick to them.”

“Yes…like pieces on a chessboard,” Ada said, a little sadly.

“Some of us are pawns, and some are queens.” Georgiana looked up as crows flew over, cawing. “I wonder how we all look to the birds—perhaps they can’t tell the difference from above.”

They walked on, Ada wrapped in her own thoughts as she looked out toward the gently curving hills and the shadowy woods. Georgiana broke the silence.

“I sometimes thought we’d never come home. After Mama died, it seemed impossible to imagine returning without her.” She sighed. “I suppose Papa must be very much in love with Mrs. Templeton.” Her voice had lost its enthusiasm.

“Of course he is,” said Ada, mirroring her sister’s tone. Her father had met his betrothed on his last trip to England. Ada saw how his face lit up when a lavender-colored envelope appeared with the post at breakfast. Unlike her sister, she had not been surprised when her father announced their engagement.

“Hmm. You wouldn’t think it, at his age.”

Ada’s eyes lit up as a real smile broke through.

“Georgie, you sound like an old lady!”

“Oh, I adore romance! But…I wish we didn’t have to live with strangers. I can’t bear the idea of it.”

Ada caught her sister’s eyes. “We have been over this, Georgie. We have no choice but to live with them so we may as well make the best of it.”

“I know,” Georgiana sighed. “It’s just such a strange homecoming. I never imagined Papa getting married. Least of all to someone with three children of her own. We’ll never have Papa to ourselves.”

“They might be delightful.”

“And they might be dreadful.” She went on, “But you have nothing to worry about. Sooner or later one of your many admirers will propose, and then you’ll be a married lady and I’ll be left here, alone, with the Templetons!” Georgiana laughed, and then coughed, putting a handkerchief to her mouth.

Ada could not bring herself to smile.

Georgiana looked curiously into her sister’s face, but Ada did not meet her eyes. Her thoughts had returned to Ravi, to her own shame.

They walked in silence across the lawn, their shoes leaving impressions in the grass, which was silvery with dew.

“It is a terrible thing the way Papa’s appointment in India ended,” Georgiana said in a low voice. “Oh, Ada, do you think he has really done something wrong? I don’t want to think it, but…”

Ada shook her head. It was almost a relief to put Ravi out of her mind for a moment. “I don’t believe he has done anything, any of the things they accuse him of. I won’t believe it. It would be too disgraceful. There has to be more to it than there seems.”

“He has said nothing to you?”

“No, nothing. But I can only think the best of him.”

“Of course,” said Georgiana. She sighed. “I do wish someone loveable would fall in love with me, or you, though, and there would be a real wedding.” She half laughed.

“You sound tired.” Ada looked at her keenly. “You’ve walked too far—and in this cold and damp, you’re not used to it.”

“Oh, I’m perfectly well!” Georgiana protested, though her face looked drawn. “I can walk as far as the trees, I’m sure.”

“No, absolutely not. Come on, now, if you want romance you will have to conserve your strength and not do yourself in! Back to the house, I insist.”

As they turned round, Ada looked up at the great stone bulk of Somerton Court, massive as a pyramid. They had been walking in its shadow all this time, she realized. Dark windows gazed back at her like secret eyes, and she thought she glimpsed a figure at one of them, dressed in the black and white of a maid. But it was gone the next moment she looked.

“Yes, back to the house,” Georgiana said with a sigh. “We must get used to our new home—and our new family.”

Dinner was finally over, and the housemaids had filed off to bed in the attic. The footmen were snoring in the hall. Only Mrs. Cliffe was still awake.

She walked from room to dark room, the gas lamp in her hand. Its light and the faint jingle of keys at her belt marked her path through the house. She paused by each ground floor window to try it. Satisfied that they were fastened, she moved on, toward the main stairs.

Though there was little light, she did not hesitate. With her eyes closed she could have told you where the outbuildings and the stables lay, she could have told you on which of the four floors and in which of the two hundred rooms she stood. Placed blindfolded in the attic or the cellar, she could have made her way unerringly back to the servants’ passage, taking her clues from the line of the wainscoting, the height of the ceilings above her, the creak of a floorboard, the pattern of echoes. She could feel Somerton around her even when she was not aware of doing so, sensing her place in the house, as familiar and secure as the stays she had put on every day since she was fourteen. For better or worse, her life was here.

On her way back to the parlor, she paused. A faint sound echoed down the stairs. It was music, the halting notes of a piano.

Mrs. Cliffe stood, thoughtful. Perhaps she should go upstairs and check that the music room was secure. On the other hand, if the young ladies wished to practice at this time of night, it was not her place to complain.

She walked on to the parlor. As she entered it, the clock was just striking eleven, and as she set the lamp down, there was a knock at her door.

Mrs. Cliffe hesitated only a second before turning back and opening the door.

“Good evening, Lord Westlake,” she said, her voice perfectly calm, despite the fact that there was no good reason for the master of the house to be in the servants’ quarters at this time of night. She stepped back to let him in and, with a glance up and down the servants’ passage, closed the door behind them. Then she turned to face her master, who stood awkwardly in the center of the room.

“Won’t you sit down, sir?”

Lord Westlake grimaced. “Rosaline,” he began. He hesitated. “Mrs. Cliffe. You must be surprised to see me here at this time.”

Mrs. Cliffe startled herself by wanting to smile. He was the same as always—oblivious. “Not really,” she said.

“I came to—well, I came to apologize.”

“Please, do sit down. It wouldn’t be proper for me to sit in your presence unless you do, and my feet are tired.”

Lord Westlake sat, hurriedly, in one of the easy chairs near the dying fire. Mrs. Cliffe lowered herself into the housekeeper’s chair.

“I cannot imagine what you have to apologize to me for,” she said.

“For this marriage, of course. It must be—I know it must be a shock to you.”

Rosaline stared into the fire. The embers were nearly cold.

“It has meant a lot of extra work for the staff, but that cannot be helped. It was the fault of the telegraph service.”

“You know what I mean,” he answered.

Rosaline considered denying it. But they had known each other too long to be anything other than honest.

“I think I know what you mean,” she said. There was a dull ache in her feet and she wanted nothing more than to be asleep in bed. It had been a long day. “But I assure you there is no need for apology. I understand the necessity for the marriage.”

“You better than anyone, I think. The estate accounts—”

“They are worrying.”

“They are bloody awful.” He leaned forward, scowling. “William has made a mess of things. I had no idea he was this incapable with money. If this goes on the estate will be bankrupt in a year.”

Mrs. Cliffe looked at her hands.

“I understand the late Mr. Templeton’s money was made in finance.”

Lord Westlake got to his feet abruptly.

“You must think me a cad. It isn’t like that. Fiona is a dear thing, and I think she has a real affection for me.”

“I am sure she has.”

“Besides, the girls need a mother. They will come out this year or next, and I feel I have not done right by them, keeping them in India all this time. I just hope I haven’t spoiled their chances. Ada at least has the looks and the charm to marry really well, with a force like Fiona behind her.” He frowned at the floor, then looked up to her. “Do you think I’ve done the right thing, Rosaline? Tell me honestly, as a friend.”

Mrs. Cliffe took a moment to find the right words.

“I think you have done exactly the right thing,” she said. “Somerton cannot be lost because of one man’s foolish spending. I never expected, nor hoped for anything more from you. You know that.” The look of gratitude in his eyes was overwhelming. “But I hope you will be able to do something for Rose.”

Lord Westlake sat down again. “Yes, Rose,” he murmured, looking at the floor. “I saw her in the hall. You can’t mistake her. She has turned out very well, it seems.”

“Yes, she has.” Mrs. Cliffe tried not to sound too eager but could not resist leaning forward. “She is intelligent, and good, and hard working. Everyone remarks how well-bred she is. Your Lordship”—she wanted to call him Edward, but she felt it would somehow not be fair—“if you could do something for her, give her a chance of advancement, perhaps an education, something that would help her improve herself—”

“But how can I do that, Rosaline?” Lord Westlake interrupted. “Can you imagine the questions that would be asked, the comments that would be made if I paid special attention to her? If the gossips didn’t leap to the right conclusion, they would certainly draw an even more unpleasant one—I am sorry, I’ve shocked you.”

“Not at all,” said Mrs. Cliffe through tight lips. She should have known better than to expect anything from him, she thought. And yet he was right, she knew it. She would never be free from the curse of her one great mistake, though the result meant she could never regret it.

She got to her feet. If she had learned one thing in her life it was that a servant could not afford love.

“Well, sir, it is late, and I don’t think we have anything more to discuss. It will be a long day tomorrow—may I ask if there is anything else you wanted to speak of?”

Lord Westlake shook his head as he got to his feet. As the door opened, he turned suddenly back to Mrs. Cliffe.

“Rosaline—don’t let us part like this.” There was a tenderness in his voice that nearly brought tears to her eyes. “I very much want to do something for Rose. But it is a delicate matter. Listen: Ada and Georgiana will need a ladies’ maid. How would it be if Rose took that post?”

Rosaline smiled. It was an advance in status, without doubt. “I know she would give satisfaction, sir.”

“Then that’s settled. Good night, Mrs. Cliffe.” He bowed, and she dropped a curtsy.

“Good night, sir.”

She watched him walk down the corridor, the circle of gaslight going with him. She was exhausted, she realized, heavy in body and mind. I must go to bed
,
she thought.

Just before she closed the door, there was a small snick in the darkness, like another door closing. But Mrs. Cliffe was so tired and her mind so full of troubled thoughts that she did not give it any notice.

“Well, Rose, congratulations!” Cook exclaimed as Rose came nervously into the kitchen the next morning.

“Thank you!” Rose still wasn’t sure if she was more frightened or more excited by the news of her promotion. “I just hope I can do it.”

“’Course you can,” Mary said, patting her on the arm. “You’ve always done our hair and our dresses when we go out. Even Lady Edith’s maid says how nice we look when you’ve been at work. And she’s French!”

“Now you’ll have a room to yourself, you lucky thing,” Martha sniffed. “Well, I wish I had a mother to put in a good word for me, that’s all.”

“Martha!” Cook rounded on her. “Rose deserves her new post and you know it.”

The bell jangled in the passage.

“That’s the hall. You’ll be wanted to help Miss Ward decorate the place. Off you go, both of you!”

Rose and Annie ran up the servants’ stairs and came out into the hall. Miss Ward was standing on a chair, pinning up wreaths of roses and honeysuckle. The hall smelled sweetly of flowers.

“Rose!” Miss Ward stepped down from the chair and came toward her, smiling. “I’m so delighted. I’ve heard of your promotion.”

She took Rose’s hands and pressed them warmly. Rose blushed and smiled, but Miss Ward’s expression changed and she looked down at Rose’s hands. “Oh dear, these are housemaid’s hands, aren’t they? I don’t know how the young ladies will feel about that.”

Rose snatched her hands back. They were red and rough, as all the housemaids’ hands were. She had never thought of it before. “Do you think they will mind?” she said, frightened. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Oh, nonsense, Rose, your hands are fine, and you’ll wear gloves anyway,” Annie said, giving Miss Ward a look of annoyance.

“Annie, you mustn’t call her Rose now that she’s been promoted,” Miss Ward said sweetly. “You must call her Miss Cliffe, just as you call me Miss Ward. Rose, you may call me Stella.”

“Oh, I don’t think—” said Rose, horrified.

“No, she’s right,” Annie said, though she looked angry. “There’s rules, aren’t there, and you’re a ladies’ maid now.”

“But I…” Rose trailed off, realizing it would do no good.

They climbed onto chairs and worked silently to pin the wreaths of flowers along and over the arch of the hallway. At the other end, Mary ran in and out, carrying plants from the hothouses to decorate the orangery, where the wedding ceremony was to be performed. Footmen came in and out, carrying chairs to set in rows for the guests, and an oak lectern for the priest to read from.

“Why aren’t they getting married in church?” Annie asked, pinning up a garland of white roses and pink ribbons.

“It’s not done for a second marriage,” Stella replied.

“Why not?”

“It just isn’t.” She looked down her nose at Annie. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand the etiquette.”

Rose caught Annie’s eye and made a wry face. Then Annie’s expression changed.

“And who’s he?”

Rose followed her gaze. James and Roderick were not alone; helping them set up the chairs was a handsome young man with black curly hair. When he spoke to James, Rose was struck by his educated accent.

“Oh, that must be Mr. Templeton’s valet,” she said, remembering that her mother had mentioned him to her. “Oliver Campbell, I think his name is.”

“He’s ever so elegant,” Annie said, smoothing her hair back as if unconsciously. “Maybe I should go over and introduce myself.”

“If you want to make a fool of yourself, go ahead,” said Stella with a smile that Rose found hard to make out.

“You’d better not, Annie,” she said. “Think how cross Mrs. Cliffe would be.” Hoping to take Annie’s mind off the handsome new arrival, she jumped down from her chair and looked up at the wreaths. The hall now looked like a bower of flowers.

“Doesn’t it look beautiful?” she said, feeling proud of their work.

Annie and Stella climbed down, and Rose could tell that, even though they didn’t say much, they were pleased.

As they paused with satisfaction over their work, there was a rumble and a roar that came closer and closer.

“They’re here!” James hissed across the room. “Make yourselves scarce!”

Rose hastily gathered up her things and ran for the door, followed by Annie and Stella. She couldn’t resist slowing to peek through the French windows. A huge, majestically gleaming motorcar was drawing into the courtyard. The man at the wheel looked up, caught her eye, and winked. Rose gasped and backed away. Annie caught her arm.

“Come on, Miss Cliffe,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

“You don’t have to call me that!” Rose ran up the stairs after her, leaving Stella behind.

“I do, though. And Miss Ward likes it, I’m sure.” Annie added: “Don’t get too high and mighty, though, will you?”

“Of course I won’t. You’re my friend.” Rose had shared a room with Annie since they were twelve, and she had a lump in her throat at the thought of that ending. “I’ll miss you.”

“Huh!” Annie sounded pleased, though. “You’ll soon forget us and make friends with Miss Ward, I’m sure.”

Rose glanced behind her. Stella was nowhere in sight.

“I hope I’m friendly, but I couldn’t be friends with her. She’s much older than me.”

“Nonsense, she’s no more than eighteen.”

“She can’t be!”

“She is.” Annie nodded knowingly.

“But she’s so sophisticated and confident, and…she looks twenty-five at least!”

Annie dropped her voice to a whisper: “She wears makeup.”

“She doesn’t!”

“She does. You’re
that
innocent, Rose!” Annie giggled, and that set Rose off.

“What are you two giggling about?” Stella caught up with them, looking annoyed. “Come on, they’ve gone into the drawing room and there’s still a lot to be done before the hall looks ready.”

“They’re here!” Georgiana rushed from the drawing room window, back to Ada. “Is my dress all right?”

“Yes, of course.” Ada sounded soothing, but her heart was beating fast too. This was it, the moment they met the people who would share their lives from now on. She wondered whether she should stand or sit. Which would look more dignified and casual—but welcoming? But it was too late. She could hear footsteps outside, her father’s voice and a woman’s—and other voices as well.

Cooper thrust the door open, bowed, and stood back. Ada smiled nervously as her father came in, followed by a tall, very handsome woman wearing a well-cut burgundy motoring dress that showed off her elegant figure. The furs of what looked like an entire den of foxes were wound around her neck, and despite the long drive her gloves were spotless.

“Mrs. Fiona Templeton,” Cooper announced in his most sepulchral tones.

Ada was startled. She had not expected her new stepmother to be so stylish—or so young looking. Was she young enough to give birth to another son? she wondered for the first time. No wonder William’s nose was out of joint.

Before she could gather her thoughts, Cooper went on: “Miss Charlotte Templeton.”

Into the room came a girl of Ada’s age. She had all of her mother’s style and did a good impression of having her beauty. Her hair was dressed with mischievous golden curls escaping from under her hat, and she wore sapphires around her neck that brought out the glint of her eyes. Ada smiled and moved forward, but Charlotte did not echo her smile.

“Master Sebastian Templeton,” Cooper went on.

Charlotte was followed by a young man in motoring clothes. He looked more like his mother than his sister did. He had her height and her strong, aristocratic features. Ada knew just enough about men’s clothes to see at once that his were of the best tailoring—better, perhaps, than his sister’s. There was genuine taste there, as well as the same sense of fashion.

Cooper glanced out into the corridor as if he were expecting another person, then backed out with a bow.

“I am delighted to bring my future wife to Somerton,” Lord Westlake said, with a warm smile at Mrs. Templeton. Ada could see that he genuinely cared for her. “This is Sir William and Lady Edith.”

Mrs. Templeton smiled politely. William growled under his breath, and Edith looked away. Mrs. Templeton seemed not at all concerned by their lack of enthusiasm. But Ada cringed at their lack of manners. She swallowed and stepped forward.

She had agonized over the greeting she would give her father’s new bride. She supposed it had to be warm and welcoming, to make Mrs. Templeton feel at home, without being overly familiar. They were, after all, strangers. “We are very happy to welcome you to Somerton, Mrs. Templeton,” she said, looking up at her. “And above all, to thank you for making Papa so happy. We wondered what you would like us to call you. Mother, or Mrs. Templeton, or—”

Mrs. Templeton laughed. “Lady Westlake, dear—after all that is my title, or will be in just a few days.” She patted Ada’s head absently and her eyes passed over Georgiana before she turned back to her betrothed. “They
are
a young-looking pair, aren’t they! One would never think they were nearly ready to come out.” She took Lord Westlake’s arm and drew him away toward the windows. “You must show me all the grounds, Edward. I’ve been so looking forward to it.”

Ada stood speechless. Sebastian looked about him with a faintly cynical smile.

“So this is Somerton!” he drawled. “I must say it’s a very stately pile. I’m not surprised mother fell so very much in love with Lord Westlake.”

“Very nice, for the countryside,” sighed Charlotte, moving toward her mother. She seated herself in an armchair, where the light played flatteringly on her features, and toyed with her necklace, her lips parted prettily as she gazed out of the window. Edith’s expression turned even sourer, and she turned away, cooing to one of her pug dogs, which was sprawled, panting, on the hearth rug.

Sebastian curled his lip as he looked at his sister. “Charlotte, that pose is so well rehearsed,” he said. “You’d make a delightful statue. Much nicer than the live version.”

He turned to Ada, who had turned quite pink, and bowed gracefully over her hand. “Whatever my mother’s preferences, I hope you’ll consider me your brother. I’m certainly in need of a new and improved sister.”

Charlotte frowned. “Oh, Seb, how ridiculous you are.”

Ada felt completely at a loss. Sebastian meant to be kind, she was sure, but she couldn’t imagine what she would do if he treated her with the easy insolence with which he treated Charlotte. She struggled for a way to break the awkward silence, but it was done for her.

“Hello, Mother!” came an annoyed shout from outside. “Where are you?”

Startled, Ada turned toward the door just as Cooper, looking harassed, thrust it open.

“Master—” he began, but he was forced to stand aside as a defiant-looking boy came through the door.

“Michael. Michael Templeton,” the boy finished. He strode over to fling himself down on the sofa, removing the motoring goggles still pushed up in his blond hair. He nodded roughly at Ada and Georgiana. “Michael Templeton. Is there anything to eat? I’m starving.”

Ada did not know whether to laugh or cry, especially when she caught the expression on Cooper’s face as he shut the door behind him.

“I—er—I’ll ring for some tea,” she said quickly. She pressed the bell, and secretly caught Georgiana’s eye. Georgiana made a slight, horrified face. They didn’t need to speak. It was clear that the Templetons were going to take some getting used to.