Lady Pamela (7 page)

“Amanda?”

She saw that Patience had wound down, and was waiting for some reply.

“My goodness,” said Lady Detweiler. “It sounds most exciting. Now, dearest, remind me, I seem to be so forgetful these days. ‘Marchers’ you say? And it belongs to which of the dukes?”

* * * *

Lord Torrance smiled reassuringly at the middle-aged lady who sat facing him across the wide oak desk of his study. Her expression was a study in restrained dismay.

“Now, your grace, I weren’t expecting–”

“Mrs. Throckmorton, I understand that Marchers House is not in the condition one might hope. But if you wish some additional consideration, I would be quite happy–”

“The wages are not the problem, milord, indeed not. Most generous, I should say.

But...”

He hardly blamed her for hesitating to accept the position. She had only to look about the room to appreciate the potential scope and difficulty of her duties. Both he and Josiah had worked three long days to clean the study; still, the moth-eaten draperies could not be hidden, nor the musty smell of leather-bound books, un-dusted and un-aired for a decade. The rat droppings had been removed, of course, but the duke now saw that a questionable pile of dead leaves and grass lurked in one darkened corner. A nest of some kind, he supposed. How had that escaped their attention? Evidently, it had not escaped the notice of Mrs. Throckmorton, who had sent worried looks in that direction since entering the room.

In sum, not a propitious environment in which to interview prospective housekeepers, its only virtue being that every other room in the house was worse.

“You would have charge of hiring the scullery maids and footmen, of course. As many as you need. And the linens and such will need to be replaced, as you see.”

“ ’Twill be dear, to do the thing right. I don’t harken much to inferior stuffs. Only cost you more, in the end.”

“I quite agree,” Benjamin told her. “I’ll not interfere with such choices as you feel are required.”

“Well...”

The study door opened and Josiah entered, holding a large silver platter in both hands. In the center of the platter was one large, vellum envelope.

“Yer graceness,” said Josiah.

Did Mrs. Throckmorton’s back straighten just a fraction, her mouth twitch with disapproval? The duke’s attention was drawn, however, to the envelope, which bore his name, and the Marchers address.

What was this?

After murmuring a quick “If you will excuse me a moment?” to Mrs. Throckmorton, Benjamin tore open the envelope. He found, to his astonishment, that he had received an
invitation
. To a ball, no less, hosted by one Lord Farley Marthwaite, and held in less than a sennight’s time.

How on earth had this happened? The duke had introduced himself nowhere in London, spoken to no-one. Benjamin’s thoughts turned to his unannounced visitor several days before. Was the invitation Lady Pamela’s doing? No, he couldn’t believe that. Lord Torrance’s presence at Marchers was hardly confirmed on the basis of one polished brass candlestand, and besides, who was this Lord Marthwaite, anyway?

The valet, after a perfunctory bow, had begun inching toward the door.

“Josiah,” said the duke.

“Eh?” replied his valet. He continued inching.

Mrs. Throckmorton’s back was now rigidly straight.

“Do you know anything about this...this
letter
?” The duke’s suspicions had been raised; Josiah was looking unusually pleased with himself. But how–?

“Don’t know nobbut.” Josiah spat, in the general direction of the brass urn to the side of the fireplace. His aim was off, and a bit of tobacco juice dripped onto the floor.

With a poorly stifled gasp, Mrs. Throckmorton rose to her feet. “Lord Torrance,” she said, “if I might inquire,
who
is this individual?”

The valet sputtered; Benjamin hid a smile.

“Mrs. Throckmorton, allow me to introduce you to Josiah Cleghorn,” he replied. “Josiah is my valet.”

“Your valet!”

“Indeed,” said Benjamin. “He is a trifle rough at the edges, perhaps, but I assure you that Josiah is someone in whom I place complete confidence–”

“He’s entirely unsuitable.”

“Me lord!” began Josiah, looking from the duke to Mrs. Throckmorton in indignation.

“–and you may as well,” finished Benjamin.

“I see,” said Mrs. Throckmorton, and then, addressing herself to Josiah– “Well, Mr. Cleghorn, you will
not
spit inside this house while I am the housekeeper. Is that quite clear? ’Tis a vile habit. Now if you will be so good as to show me to my rooms...?”

She marched out of the study without a backward glance, the valet still sputtering, and Benjamin was hard put not to laugh. He had acquired a housekeeper, indeed.

* * * *

Lady Pamela perused the day’s stack of invitations, discarding several, nodding to a few, and keeping others for further deliberation.

Amanda yawned. “Anything of interest?” she asked Pam, then–“I suppose not. Dreadfully boring time of year. Why is everyone so enamored of sopranos, d’ you think? ’Tis nothing but one
musicale
after another. Even a tenor would be a welcome change.”

“The duchess is holding a
salon
. And Lady Wilberforce wishes to form another Improving Society...”

“Lawks.”

“She sends her appreciation for my support in the past.” Pamela frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t recall ever attending one of Samantha’s groups. What can she mean?”

“A trap, no doubt,” replied Lady Detweiler. “Meant to snare forgetful young ladies of the
ton
.”

“Surely not.”

“Not a single, benighted ball in the lot?” asked Amanda.

“Well...” Pam looked through the invitations again. “Here you are. Lord Marthwaite begs my attendance
et cetera
.”

“Hallelujah.”

Lady Pamela looked at her and laughed. “Since when have you become such an afficionado of balls? Or are you pining for another waltz with Lord Burgess?”

Amanda sniffed. “After that most recent episode? And painful, I might add. I think not.”

“If he continues to step on your poor toes, why do you continue to waltz with him?”

“Pah,” said Lady Detweiler. “Dearest, I’m sure you have nothing respectable to wear to the Marthwaite’s. I believe we should organize a new gown.”

* * * *

They spent the remainder of the afternoon visiting
les grands magasins
of Regent’s Street, with their first object being no less than an hour in the shop of Pamela’s modiste. Madame Gaultier would attend Lady Pamela in her own home, of course–and had done so on numerous occasions–but there were times, thought Lady Detweiler, when one simply needed to brave the
crowd. New fashions came and went by the week in London, and how else was one to stay
au courant des affairs
?

With Amanda’s active encouragement, Madame Gaultier was currently outfitting Lady Pamela in a splendid ball gown of ivory lace and watered silk. Lady Pam had demurred, had protested, had argued without pause that something less remarkable would do very well, but she was ignored.

The gown was to be cut
en grecque
, and showed Pamela’s neat figure to advantage, without overwhelming her with tassels, ruching, or
rouleaux
. The small cap sleeves were trimmed with tippets of the lace, but the skirt lacked ornament, which best displayed–to Amanda’s eyes–the fineness of the fabric.

Madame
agreed.

“Trez been, trez been,” she told Pamela. “All eyes should turn, vouz sayz, to the bodice.”

The bodice was fitted, high-waisted, and embroidered with tiny seed pearls and beads of crystal. These sparkled with Pam’s slightest movement and would be enchanting, suggested
madame
, in the waltz.

The neckline of the bodice had been the occasion of more argument and, eventually, a compromise. It showed a pleasing degree of
decolletage
, somewhat less than Amanda had suggested, but more than Lady Pamela had of late preferred.

“I’m well past twenty,” she told Lady Detweiler. “ ’Tis no longer any need to show my wares.”

Amanda heard the hint of bitterness in that melancholy proclamation. “Nearly on the shelf, to be sure,” she rejoined, and turning to Madame Gaultier– “What of it,
madame
? Shall we dress her in crimson velvet to the chin?”

A ball gown of the first stare was serious business to Madame Gaultier, whose sense of humor was lacking in all matters of fashion. She was scandalized by this suggestion, and it was some time before Amanda could persuade her that it had been but a poor jest.

* * * *

Lady Detweiler had less trouble persuading Lady Marthwaite to hold a ball, a real ball, and not another ‘intimate dinner party and
soirée
,’ which had been the woman’s first design.

“Oh, but dearest,” Patience had protested, “a small group,
très exclusif
, and the duke as guest of honor–”

Lady Detweiler had paused, seeming to consider this. “Perhaps you are right,” she told Lady Marthwaite. “But such a gathering might find their advantage in keeping the duke to themselves, don’t you think? Whereas, at a ball,
everyone
would know that you were the first.”

So it was done, and Patience had written out the duke’s invitation that very morning. Amanda, however, could not be sure that anything would come of the event. She was satisfied that Lady Pamela would attend the ball, but would the duke? By Lady Marthwaite’s account, he was living in Marchers itself, and Marchers–it seemed–was in dire need of repair. What was the duke doing there? Was he overseeing an army of help?

She considered paying a visit to the duke’s townhome, to assess matters firsthand, but quickly abandoned the idea. Lord Torrance knew her too well as Pamela’s friend from their time at Luton. He might think that she was interfering.

She
was
interfering, of course. That was her task. But the duke might not appreciate that Amanda had only Lady Pam’s best interests in mind. Not to mention his own.

So it was to be Fortune’s dice, and Lady Detweiler could do little more but wait for the roll.

* * * *

“I took the liberty,” Josiah was saying, “of sending to the manor for your evening clothes.”

“Hmm?” said Benjamin. He heard the valet mention ‘clothes,’ but his attention was taken by the sight below him in the entrance hall. Mrs. Throckmorton was instructing Mary and Bess–two housemaids, the first of his new employees–in the art of scrubbing a fine marble floor.

Benjamin had been on his hands and knees, examining the second floor balustrade for dry rot. His examination was painstaking, as the floor of the entrance hall was a good eighteen foot drop, and the balustrade’s strength a grave matter of safety. He’d been keeping an eye on the three women as he worked.

“It mus’ be clean, you see, before the wax is applied,” said the housekeeper. Mary and Bess had been giggling at the start of the lesson; they were now silent and nodding, with eyes wide.

“A pail of
warm
water, not hot, then mop it up. Fresh water, every time. No sense in puttin’ the dirt back, now is there?”

“No, mum,” chorused the girls.

“And mind the corners.”

“Yes, mum.”

Benjamin smiled. He had taken care to observe the housekeeper’s first interactions with her new staff, and on the whole he was pleased. Mrs. Throckmorton seemed stern, but she was straightforward and fair with the duties she assigned, and had taken the well-being of the two young girls to heart.

“They’ll need better clothing,” was the first request she had made of the duke.

“A maid’s garb? But, of course–”

Mrs. Throckmorton shook her head. “Not jus’ the outfit, mind. Can’t have these two around town, the duke’s servants, wearin’ rags.”

“Rags?”

“Aye, rags. I’ve ordered a cotton daydress for the both of them, a pilgrim’s cloak, and leather half-boots.”

“Ah.”

These were the most basic items of wear for a London winter, and Benjamin considered what it must have meant for Bess and Mary to have gone without them. He had seen London only sporadically as a young man, before his remove to Virginia, and although aware of the abominable conditions faced by the town poor, he had never known someone attached to this knowledge. The housekeeper, it seemed, had. Benjamin felt ashamed of his own ignorance. ’Twould be beyond anything to live as a duke when one’s servants could not boast of the shoes on their feet.

“Provide them with whatever is needed, Mrs. Throckmorton,” he told her.

“Aye.” The housekeeper nodded, seeming satisfied by what she saw in his face.

So
two
daydresses were eventually purchased for each maid, together with several pair of heavy woolen socks, and shawls to accompany the cloaks. These allowances had earned both Mrs. Throckmorton and Lord Torrance high standing in the eyes of Mary and Bess, who cheerfully did all that was asked and more.

And soon, Mrs. Throckmorton had reminded him, there would be footmen to clothe, coal boys, gardeners, and a butler, as well as additional maids. She would leave the choice of the butler up to his grace, of course, but–

Josiah was still speaking to him, realized Benjamin. Corsham Manor?

“I don’t know much about these fancy English romps, mind you,” added the valet. “But I think the charcoal jacket, an’ them grey pants, t’ do fine for that ball.”

Ball? What was the man saying? The duke moved to the next balustrade, and examined it closely for worm.

“And I’ve ordered a carriage to be brought round tomorrow at the eight o’clock.”

“Carriage? What are you talking about?” the duke asked his valet. “What ball?” He had received an invitation several days ago from someone whose name he did not now remember, but surely Josiah didn’t think he had any intention of attending a
ball
.

’Twas still a mystery to him of how he had been invited in the first place. Perhaps one sent invitations to all the grand homes of the
ton
, habitable or otherwise.

Josiah was unmoved by his master’s confusion.

“Lord Marthwaite’s ball,” he replied. “Tomorrow night.”