Diamonds & Deceit (13 page)

Georgiana watched as Mrs. Cliffe took a last glance around her room. She wondered what the housekeeper was feeling. This had been her home for most of her life, her sanctuary, her private world. The golden light shining from the well-polished oak desk, the glint of the china locked carefully away behind glass, the cushions of the rocking chair shaped to fit her body. The patient tick of the clock. Mrs. Cliffe had to be finding this parting so hard, thought Georgiana. And yet she didn’t seem unhappy. In fact Georgiana thought she herself was more anxious.

Mrs. Cliffe cast a last, lingering glance around. She nodded slightly, as if to herself, and gave a slight sigh. Georgiana moved a step closer.

“That’s all, my lady. I think Mrs. McRory will find everything in…order.”

“I’m sure she will,” Georgiana said warmly. She hesitated. “You will leave me your address, won’t you? In case—” She almost said,
In case I should need you
, but swiftly corrected herself to, “In case Mrs. McRory should need anything.”

“Of course, my lady.” Mrs. Cliffe set down her valise and wrote her address in the housekeeper’s book. Georgiana watched over her shoulder. It was a smart street in London. She felt relieved that Mrs. Cliffe had been able to secure a good situation.

“You will let Jackson take you to the station, won’t you? I would be so pleased if you would.”

“That would be an honor, my lady. It will be my first time in a motorcar.”

“Mrs. Cliffe, however will I manage without you?” Georgiana blurted out.

Mrs. Cliffe turned to her with an affectionate smile.

“You’re doing very well, my lady.” She paused. “Just remember, always have confidence. Remember, you are the mistress here, the chatelaine, and never allow a servant to sidetrack you. Act with authority, care for the staff, and you will be respected.”

Georgiana smiled her thanks for the advice.

She followed Mrs. Cliffe to the door and up the stairs, wondering where all the servants were. No matter what they thought of her past life, it was unacceptable of them to let her go without a word. She hoped they had said their good-byes privately. It would be too bad to let Mrs. Cliffe go without knowing how much she was appreciated.

They crossed the hall, between marble statues and below the classical frieze that circled the dome above them. Georgiana followed Mrs. Cliffe out of the front door, blinking in the sudden bright afternoon sunlight.

The staff were all outside, lined up as if to bid farewell to a duchess. Georgiana felt a lump come into her throat. Mrs. Cliffe paused on the top step. Georgiana, standing behind her, could not see her face, but when she spoke Georgiana could hear the smile in her voice.

“Thank you all so much,” she said quietly. Then she walked down the steps with as much dignity as a queen to the waiting motorcar. Jackson stepped forward to open the door for her.

Mrs. Cliffe hesitated, and Georgiana came up to her. She had been going to say good-bye, but suddenly her heart felt too full for her to speak. She put her arms around Mrs. Cliffe and hugged her. “We will all miss you so much,” she said.

“I will miss you too,” Mrs. Cliffe said warmly.

Something metallic was digging into Georgiana’s hip. She drew back and both she and Mrs. Cliffe looked down.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Mrs. Cliffe said with a slight laugh. She unhooked the great bunch of keys from her belt and handed them to Georgiana. They were unexpectedly heavy. Georgiana’s hand closed around them, and the warmth from Mrs. Cliffe’s palm stayed in her hand, like the lingering touch of a ghost, as she watched the car drive away into the distance. No matter how orderly Mrs. McRory was, it would be impossible to replace Mrs. Cliffe. The old days were gone forever.

But my dear Daisy, said the good vicar, only consider the difference in your station. Is it right of you to give in to this
love? What consequences will flow from such a
mésalliance
?

Rose, who was sitting on the sofa reading, started and let the book slip as a man’s voice echoed up from the street below. A second later she knew it was only a passerby. Rain pattered against the window. She sighed. Nobody would visit in this weather.

She couldn’t understand what had caused Alexander’s behavior at the concert. At first she had felt utterly humiliated, certain that Ada was right about him. But now, days later, she was not so sure. She couldn’t have imagined the connection between them. She could only conclude that he was offended by what she had said about his paintings. And in that case it was up to her to make amends.

She stood up quickly. What she was about to do was unconventional, she knew it, but it was also the right thing to do. Of that she was certain.

She went upstairs to her room, sat down at her writing desk, and hastily, before she could change her mind, wrote a letter. She addressed it to the Duke of Huntleigh, not to Alexander Ross.

It may seem strange for me to write to you directly, but I wanted to let you know how grateful I am to you for giving me the chance to see the
Rite
. I am only sorry we did not have more chance to converse. I would have apologized for my thoughtless words about your painting. I should never have said anything if I’d known that you were the artist. Please believe me when I say that for me they remain the best paintings in the exhibition.

She hesitated. She couldn’t take back what she had said—she believed it. Her pen hovered over the letter, but in the end she simply signed her name and sealed it. But at least she had thanked him.

The letter sealed, she was faced with a new problem. She did not know where the Duke of Huntleigh lived, and as a single young lady she could hardly ask. She thought at once of Ada. Ada would know, or be able to find out, his address. But as she sat with the envelope in her hands, she remembered the contempt with which Ada had spoken about Alexander. She would never willingly take it to him. Her face fell as she remembered how she had carried Ada’s love letters to Ravi. So much had changed since last year.

But if she could not ask Ada to deliver the letter, who could she ask? There was one possibility.

She found Céline in her room, trimming a hat. Rose paused at the door, which was ajar, and smiled. Céline looked perfectly happy, humming to herself as she tried different feathers against the felt. Rose gave a small cough, and Céline started and looked up. She jumped to her feet at once.

“My lady. I apologize, I did not see you there.”

“There’s no need to apologize. It was a pleasure to see you so engrossed in your work.” Rose glanced at the hat. “Is that your own? It is very stylish.”

“I hope not too stylish, my lady. I don’t wish to appear above my station.”

“No, indeed. It’s simply elegant. You have real taste, I expect you know that.”

Céline blushed and smiled. “Thank you, my lady. I enjoy clothes, fashion…I have a passion for them.”

“It’s wonderful when you can find employment in following your passion,” Rose said with a small sigh. She was thinking of her music. Céline’s questioning expression brought Rose back to earth and she remembered the letter she held.

“I…wondered if you would do me a small favor,” she began. She wished she were not blushing. It was not as if it were a love letter she wanted delivered. “I have a note I would like delivered i n con fidenc e.”

“You can trust me, my lady,” Céline said.

“Thank you. I’m sure I can.” Rose came forward, and handed her the letter. Céline looked at the name on the front. Although she hid it well, Rose sensed her surprise.

“It really isn’t anything dreadful,” she said in confusion. “I simply wanted to thank him personally for inviting us to his box the other evening. The performance was so powerful.…” She was aware she was rambling, and stopped, her blush speaking for itself.

“I can certainly take this note to him, my lady.” Céline bobbed a curtsy. “I am acquainted with his valet and will be able to make sure he sees it.”

“Thank you so much.” Rose impulsively pressed her hand. “If I can ever help you, you have only to ask.”

Rose turned and left the room before she could turn any redder. Returning to the drawing room, she met the countess and Ada just outside in the corridor.

“…Ada, I have given some thought to your costume for Mrs. Verulam’s ball,” the countess was saying. “I think you should go as a Greek goddess.”

“If you wish—but which one?” Ada sounded weary.

“It really doesn’t matter, the point is the white drapery. I think it important to keep the wedding in the forefront of Lord Fintan’s mind at all times.”

Ada half laughed as Rose approached. “I see you have great confidence in his affection for me.”

“Affection is one thing, but distraction is another—and men are easily distracted, especially at the last ball of the season, when women will be trying to dazzle even more than usual. Besides, white suits you. You play the ingénue to perfection.” The countess turned away, then back, to add, “Of course if you would allow us to place a notice in
The Times
, in the usual way, it would all be settled and there would be no need for any of this.”

“And then I could go to the costume ball as a Hindu goddess with six arms and a necklace of skulls around my neck if I so desired, I am sure,” Ada murmured. The countess frowned.

“There’s no need to be saucy. Believe me, I would rather be organizing the wedding of my own daughter, but since you are the one who is to be married, I am certainly not going to allow any member of my family to have an engagement that is not exactly
comme il faut
. The cheaper papers have been gossiping already about your alliance, and if anything
should
happen to prevent the wedding, it would be most unpleasant.”

She walked away, and Ada sighed and exchanged a long-suffering glance with Rose. Neither of them had to speak to express their feelings.

“I do wish this rain would stop,” Ada said, going into the drawing room and crossing to the window. She pulled back the curtain to reveal the waterlogged street.

Charlotte looked up from the sofa where she was glancing through a photograph album. “Yes, there ought to be a law against it raining during the season,” she said with a yawn.

Rose could see the pages as Charlotte turned them. It was a country house album, she realized, showing groupings of ladies and gentlemen at tea and croquet against the backdrop of a Jacobean mansion with ivy trailing from its heavy redbrick walls and dancing against the backdrop of its leaded windows. The words inscribed in fountain pen next to the mounted photograph read: Gravelley Park, 1911.

Charlotte glanced up at Rose. “Would you ring for some tea, Rose? You are closest to the bell.”

Rose hesitated. Recently she thought she had noticed a certain change in the staff’s behavior toward her. Somehow, if she ordered tea, it arrived late and cold. The footmen were a little less quick to open doors for her than they were for Charlotte and Ada. More than once a housemaid had failed to turn her back as she entered the room, or continued brazenly dusting. But all this, she thought, was surely in her imagination. She rang the bell.

There was a silence broken only by the rain stuttering on the glass and the lazy flick of Charlotte turning pages. A few moments later, the door opened and the housemaid entered.

“Some tea, please, Jane,” Rose said.

Jane’s curtsy was very brief, barely a shrug. She went out again.

“The exhibition on Heddon Street was quite shocking,” Charlotte went on. “I adored it. Alexander explained all about the need for a truly modern art to represent our truly modern age.”

“I’m delighted you and Alexander seem to get on so well,” Ada said dryly.

Rose glanced toward the photographs again. With a brief, unpleasant shock she saw that some of the faces were familiar. There were Emily Maddox and Laurence, the two of them almost like twins, with the same sharp, shrewd expression. Then, grouped toward the back—and it was a strange grouping, like a set of chess pieces on a board—Charlotte and Alexander. They looked at the camera as if with secret smiles, seeming to say:
We share something you never will.

“You certainly should be,” Charlotte replied without looking up.

“What does that mean?” Rose spoke around the lump in her throat.

“Only that I’m saving some poor other girl from a fate worse than death. Alexander’s dangerous. You have to know him to be able to handle him.”

“And you think you know him.” Rose couldn’t keep her voice light.

“Well, we
have
known each other for such a long time,” Charlotte said. She turned another page in the album. “That season was so delightful,” she murmured. “Such a pity you weren’t able to enjoy it, Rose. But then I’m sure you managed to have a little fun in whatever way housemaids do.”

Rose turned away abruptly. She itched to slap Charlotte, but ladies didn’t do such things. Rose looked at her reflection in the mirror, her large eyes, her hair piled elegantly upon her head, the rich shimmer of her kimono-style tea gown. She had a sudden violent desire to rid herself of all of it. She would never truly fit in, so why even try? If only she could be neither a lady nor a housemaid, but just herself, Rose.

“By the way, he was so surprised to learn that you were a housemaid,” Charlotte added.

“You told him?” Ada’s voice was sharp.

“It’s no secret, is it?” Charlotte’s eyes were wide and blue. “Everyone knows. At least, now they do.”

Rose could see both of them in the mirror. Ada was anxious, glancing back at her as if she were afraid of her reaction. Rose was simply puzzled. Hadn’t Alexander known, then? Suddenly she remembered Ada’s stammered words at Madame Lucille’s show. What had she been trying to say? Surely not…surely she had not been trying to warn her that Alexander might change his mind if he knew the truth about her background? She felt cold all over.

“What on earth has happened to that tea?” Ada said, obviously trying to change the subject. She crossed and rang the bell.

This time it was the second housemaid who arrived. She cast a glance toward Rose that was almost scornful. Rose could not respond. There were tears in her eyes and she thought that if she spoke they might fall. Could it be true that Alexander was as bad as Ada thought him?

“Agnes, Lady Rose ordered tea some time ago,” Ada said warningly.

“Oh! Beg pardon, madam.” Agnes bobbed a curtsy and disappeared.

“I can’t think what holds them up,” Charlotte murmured after long minutes had passed. “I’ll go down, shall I?”