Hope's Betrayal (10 page)

"Yes,
Ma'am."

Once Mrs Brown
had waddled away, Huntley slapped his forehead and sagged against the wall.
"You can't get your modiste to dress her!"

"Why ever
not, dear? Be reasonable. My secretary can't go around looking like a sack of
potatoes, can she?"

"Reasonable?
You talk about reasonable—you left reasonable way behind. And yes, as it
happens, I'd rather she was plainly dressed."

Hope
interrupted. "A maid's livery is fine."

"Now look,
George, you are such a bully sometimes. You've intimidated the poor girl."

"Intimidated!
Mother you have no idea."

*****

Lady Ryevale
rang for the maid to show Hope to her chamber. A girl appeared: thickset with a
heavy jaw and rebellious wiry hair which refused to sit neatly beneath her cap.
Hope recognised her as the maid who had tended her in the garret.

"Ruby."
She grinned, pleased to see a familiar face.

The maid looked
confused. "Miss…?"

"You
remember me, don’t you? Hope."

Lady Ryevale
cleared her throat. "Ruby is correct. She must call you Miss Tyler from
now on."

The idea sat
oddly on Hope's shoulders, but she nodded.

"This way,
Miss Tyler."

Ruby lead on up
the sweep of the marble staircase. The steps felt cool through Hope's thin
slippers, giving a cold welcome. In a borrowed dress several sizes too big, the
hem heavy with seawater, Hope felt small and out of place.

"This way,
Miss."

On the second
landing Ruby peeled off to the left along a corridor lined with marble busts
and costly bronzes. Hope noticed the Chinese carpet and tried to walk to one
side, lest her feet dirty it. The maid stopped outside a set of double doors.

"This is
you then, Miss."

Opening the
doors, Ruby stepped back. Bewildered, Hope stared at her.

"This is
your room, Miss Tyler." Ruby rolled her eyes. "Tis politeness that
you go in first."

"Oh, thank
you."

Hope peered
inside. Dazzled by the crystal chandelier and rich furnishings, she recoiled.

"It's too
grand. The attic room will do just fine." 

Ruby's mouth
twitched. "This is where her ladyship told me to bring yer, Miss
Tyler."

"Oh, please
call me Hope."

Ruby grinned but
shook her head. "Oh no, Miss. You’re a cut above me now, although I'm
right glad at your good luck. Go in."

Hesitant, as if
stepping into the lion's den, Hope crossed the threshold. She found herself in
a large, airy room the luxury and opulence of which she had never seen before.

Heavy drapes in
cream brocade, swaged a tall window, the fabric matched the bedhangings and
wallpaper.  Against one wall stood a huge bed which could have slept a whole
family and still had space, with a veritable drift of pillows, downy-soft and pristine
in white, linen pillowslips. There was a lady's desk and a dressing table. Hope
stared at the chandelier and nearly fell over— such things were for ballrooms,
never in her wildest dreams had she imagined one in a room for sleeping!

She turned to Ruby
for reassurance, and found her grinning like an idiot.

"So you
like it then, Miss?"

"It's,
it's…wonderful. But there must be some mistake? This can’t be for me?"

"Aye but it
is. Lady Ryevale was most explicit in her instructions—the small chamber just aside
hers."

"This is a
small chamber?" Hope's hand flew to her mouth. "Heaven preserve
us."

Ruby chuckled.
"Come now, Miss, best make the most of it."

The enormity of
her ladyship's largesse struck home. All this given on a whim and, as suddenly,
could be taken away. With a new sense of wonder, Hope remembered her own mother
was high-born and used to such luxuries. How much harder then, after sleeping
in linen sheets, to live the life of a fisherman's wife?

"You
alright, Miss Tyler?"

"Quite.
Thank you, Ruby. I've taken up enough of your time, do return to your
duties."

"Well, if
you’re sure, Miss."

"I am. And
Ruby, I'd like to call you my friend."

Ruby blushed and
backed out of the room.

Alone at last,
Hope placed her bundle of possessions on the bed. It looked pathetic—a square
of cloth knotted around an old dress and her mother's gold locket. Hope took it
out, cradled it in her hand and kissed the pendant, then slipped the gold chain
over her head.

As the richness
of her surroundings sank in, Hope thought to check her own appearance. She drew
out the stool from the dressing table and sat. A vagabond stared back, with
tangled hair, pale face and a dress several sizes too big. For several minutes
she sat staring at the reflection. Whatever had possessed Lady Ryevale to even
let her in the house? With a sigh, thinking she would never understand some
people, Hope reached for the washbasin and rubbed the damp flannel over her
face. Refreshed, she set about tidying her hair.

A silver brush
lay on the dressing table. Hope picked it up, amazed by its weight and the
delicate filigree work. This brush was worth more than her family earned in a
year. Carefully, she put it down and ran her hands through her hair, making a
mental note to ask for a horn-comb at the earliest opportunity.

She worked the
worst of the knots loose with her fingers, then licking her palms, flattened
the more rebellious curls and retied her plait. Once finished, with a sinking
sensation she realised she had no idea what to do next. Should she wait here to
be summoned, or go downstairs? In a confusion of indecision, she remained
perched on the edge of the stool so that her skirts didn’t dirty the satin.

Ten minutes
later, came a tap on the door. Then another tap. With a start, Hope realised
someone was waiting for her to respond.

"Come."
She called in a shaky voice.

Ruby’s head
appeared around the door. "Lady Ryevale has asked if you'd join her in the
morning room."

"Yes, of
course." Hope rose, "only I don’t know where that is."

"No worries
Miss Hope, I'll show you."

Some minutes
later, dazzled by an interminable maze of corridors and stairs, Hope found the
doors to another grand room opening before her. Hope took a moment to get her
bearings. She stared around a large room overlooking the sea; pale blue walls
mirrored the sky and with a white ceiling and gilt plasterwork it was like
having a sunny day brought inside. Lady Ryevale sat waiting on a chaise longue,
wearing a gown of pale-pink silk, trimmed with the finest French lace. Hope's gaze
fell on the lace and to her mortification, her ladyship caught her staring.

"More of
your wares?”  she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Hope hesitated,
but Lady Ryevale smiled warmly and indicated for her to take the seat opposite.
With trepidation, Hope crossed a wide expanse of carpet and sat. A thousand
thoughts tumbled through her head, with the result that she was struck mute and
stared at her hands.

“How do you like
your room?”

“Very well.”
Then she remembered the costly silver brush. “Oh, but someone left a silver
toilette set out, shall I give it to the maid?”

Lady Ryevale
looked at her oddly. “But it’s there for you to use. Don’t you like it?”

Hope bit her
lip. “Oh, it’s beautiful…exquisite even…but I had thought….well, I assume…well.
I'd rather something more ordinary. It would be expensive to replace.”

Lady Ryevale
frowned. “Miss Tyler, are you trying to tell me I can't trust you?”

“Oh no, I never
have, nor ever will…steal…but you don’t know me.”

“I know that you
are loyal, and brave—and deserve better than your lot.”

“But to trust me
with something so valuable? Not many would.”

“I like to think
I am a good judge of character. Are you saying I am wrong?”

“No.” Hope bit
her lip.

“Good. That’s
settled then. The brush set is yours to use for the duration of your
employment. Understood?”

“Yes, Lady
Ryevale.”

“Excellent, so
now to business. I summoned you here to outline your duties.”

 Hope listened.

“I will get
straight to the point. I require help with the business of running the estate.
Your duties will not be onerous, mainly taking notes, writing letters and the
sort….”

Hope stared back
blankly.

“….and also keep
me company, play cards, backgammon, chess…that sort of thing. You will have
board, food and clothing. Now despite what my son thinks, I am no fool. I shall
be watching and you will be on a trial period of one month. If you prove
satisfactory, after that you will be allotted a small allowance in addition to
your wage. How does that suit?”

Hope stared at
her hands folded in her lap—the skin chaffed and raw, her nails broken—and
thought how she was not fitted to this work. “It sounds very well, but…”

“Now, Miss
Tyler, one of the reasons I have taken to you, is that you speak your mind, so
please honor me with honesty. I know you can read, and read well, so what
troubles you?”

“I will do my
best, your Ladyship, but my knowledge of cards is limited—and as for chess and
backgammon—I don’t play.”

“Oh, is that
all! Then I shall teach you.”

“And my dress,
it’s hardly appropriate for company such as yours.”

“And that’s why
I’ve asked Mrs Locke to come and measure you.”

“I don’t know
what to say—such kindness.”

“That’s quite
alright, Miss Tyler. Now, if you would be so good as to ring the bell, you can
start with how to take tea in polite society.”

“Would that be
contraband tea?” Hope asked innocently.

Lady Ryevale
positively beamed. “I can see you and I will get along famously.”

*****

The next day,
Mrs Locke arrived from the village and was shown up to Hope's room. Not at all
the plump matron Hope had expected, but an elegant woman with a lively manner
and an abundance of blond hair. Dressed in a dimity gown cut to show off her
trim figure, Mrs Locke extended a gloved hand in a friendly manner.

"Mrs Locke,
dressmaker, at your convenience."

Hope cleared her
throat. "Miss Tyler, a-hem."

When Mrs Locke
smiled, her eyes lit up. "Now my dear, there's nothing to be frightened
of."

"Really?"
Hope's voice squeaked; sailing across the Solent at night was less intimidating
than a dressmaker with her perfectly dainty gloves and slippers.

"You are
expecting me?"

"Yes."

"I won't
bite dear." Mrs Locke eyed her sympathetically. "I can see why her
Ladyship said it was urgent. Let's get started then. First things first. Your
measurements."

Hope folded her
arms across her chest.

"Now then
my dear, I can't measure you like that. Hold you arms out, thus."

Reluctantly,
Hope extended her arms as shown. Mrs Locke tut-tutted.

"Nor like
that I'm afraid. That gown is just too big. You're going to have to
undress."

Hope froze.
Somehow she had imagined a modiste would simply measure over the top of her
gown, the thought of revealing the shoddy state of her borrowed chemise, filled
her with horror. With determination she crossed her arms over her chest again.

“I don’t want to,”
even to her ears, she sounded like a peevish child and cringed.

“Come now, Miss
Tyler.” The modiste spoke kindly enough, “It’s not my job to judge, I merely
want to take a couple of measurements, it will be over in minutes—not in the
least painful.”

“I suppose.”

"Besides,"
she regarded her with a sad expression, "you wouldn’t want to get me into
trouble with Lady Ryevale would you? If I make a poor job because I couldn’t
measure you, what will she think of my skills? Not much, that's for sure."

"Oh, I
hadn’t thought of that."

 With chirpy
resonance Mrs Locke continued. “Now Miss Tyler, her Ladyship’s instructions are
to measure for a full set of clothing: outer as well as inner wear, so if you
would be so good as to remove your dress.”

"Perhaps,
if you could help me with the buttons?" Hope said shyly.

"Of
course." Mrs Locke chatted as her nimble fingers made short work of the
fastenings. "There, now go behind the screen to remove the dress."

"Very
well."

Mrs Locke called
after her retreating back. "I believe you and I are acquainted with each
other's work."

"What do
you mean?" The dress, several sizes too large, slipped easily down past
her hips.