Netherwood (45 page)

With Samuel gone and the arrival of the family now imminent, the household assembled front of house, forming two receiving lines down each side of the reception hall, men on one side, women on the other, with Mr and Mrs Munster opposite each other at the head. Daniel MacLeod wasn’t present; he was his own man, and had excused himself from this ritual many years before. Mrs Carmichael, who goodness knew had enough to be doing below stairs, was there though, standing next to the housekeeper, while Thomas Hardiment, the under-butler, flanked Mr Munster. Below them, the footmen, the under-footmen, the housemaids, under-housemaids, kitchen maids and scullery maids, grooms and stable lads all stood in obedient lines of decreasing importance, waiting to pay obeisance to their employers. They were as still and silent as waxworks, Mrs Munster having aired two more of her favourite, joyless aphorisms by reminding them that silence was a virtue and the best proof of wisdom was to talk little and listen well. It made for a tense half hour; the merest sniff would earn the culprit a metaphorical black mark that would stain their reputation for ever. Forgive and forget was not in Mrs Munster’s repertoire.

Into this eerily soundless tableau came a breathless Eve Williams, who burst through the door from the back stairs in something of a panic. Working alone in her pastry room, preparing the first of her fairy pies for tomorrow’s
soirée,
she
was unaware that the kitchen wing had emptied entirely. After all, since no one was speaking to her, how could they possibly direct her upstairs to the reception hall with everyone else? Reasonable enough, at least they all thought so. And Eve, accustomed by now to the absence of conversation, carried on with her batch of miniature veal and ham pies for a good twenty-five minutes after they’d left. It was only when she walked into the main kitchen with a tray ready for the oven that she realised she was alone, except for the little dog who eyed her from his basket as she stood in baffled alarm, looking all around her for evidence of human life.

‘Where’s everyone gone?’ she asked the dog, and felt irrationally betrayed when he didn’t reply. Her conclusion, reached in a matter of seconds, was that the house must be on fire and she’d been left to burn alive below stairs by the callous Mrs Carmichael and her mean-minded underlings. Pausing only to pop her cargo into the bottom of the range – well, she might be in mortal danger, but first things first – she flew out of the kitchen, throwing a black look at the turncoat terrier, and up the stairs, hurtling out through the green baize door like a human cannonball.

Her timing could not have been worse. Or, as it turned out, better. For just as she bowled into the reception hall from where she intended to make her escape from the inferno, the large double front doors were pulled open by two footmen and into the house walked the Earl and Countess of Netherwood with Tobias, Dickie, Henrietta and Isabella.

Eve froze. Mrs Munster gave her a swift look of utmost contempt and Mrs Carmichael smirked nastily and with evident relish. Then Lady Hoyland, espying her favourite
protégée
at the far end of the hall, swooshed past the field marshal, the generals and the ranks of mute and motionless foot soldiers to where Eve stood, alone and beetroot red. To the utter and enduring amazement of the audience, Clarissa clasped Eve in
a fond embrace, though rather gingerly in case there was flour on her apron.

‘Too, too lovely,’ the countess gushed. ‘What fun! I hope you like our little London dwelling. Has everyone been charming to you, my dear?’

She turned and beamed at Mrs Munster and Mrs Carmichael, into whose hands she assumed Eve had been placed. They returned two distinctly watered-down smiles, while trying to process the evidence they had before them: that this unlooked-for upstart cook was on hugging terms with the countess. And as if that wasn’t enough, the earl now bounded over and gave her an avuncular peck on the cheek, followed by Henrietta, who stood before her in a bias-cut skirt and an intricately embellished blouse and said, ‘What do you think? Your friend Anna made me into a Gibson Gal! She took no time at all!’ then twirled so that Eve could assess her costume.

Remembering the form, Lord Hoyland turned and addressed his assembled staff.

‘Splendid to be here, and to see that everything looks shipshape and Bristol fashion. Thank you all, now don’t let us detain you any longer.’ He turned to the cook and addressed her directly. ‘Mrs Carmichael, Tobias and I eschewed White’s today for one of your legendary lunches, so best be getting on with it, what!’

Mrs Carmichael bobbed a curtsey and said, ‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir,’ and made for the stairs.

Mrs Munster clapped twice, peremptorily, and the assembled household instantly dissolved into their various recesses of the residence. The earl strode purposefully into his study and Isabella raced up the main staircase, Lady Hoyland drifting after her calling that she mustn’t be giddy and mustn’t be late for luncheon. Henrietta and Dickie made for the rear door so that they might properly greet the London horses. Tobias, leaning languidly against a pillar, the better to display his new
linen sack coat and matching trousers, flashed a rake-about-town smile at Eve, who was still rooted to the spot.

‘I don’t suppose you’d fancy a spin through Hyde Park in the phaeton, Mrs Williams?’ he said.

She snorted with laughter. He was priceless.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘It was worth asking the question.’ He smiled, unabashed. ‘You do look lovely with that flush to the cheeks.’

‘Well, that’s as may be,’ Eve said, putting an end to the nonsense. ‘But you’re barkin’ up t’wrong tree. I’m not one of your foolish dairy maids.’ This was no way to speak to the Netherwood heir, she knew that. But he shrugged, smiled pleasantly and nodded his agreement.

‘No, indeed,’ he said. ‘But such a very great shame. Ah well, enjoy the rest of your day. See you anon.’

He sauntered off upstairs, whistling insouciantly, and Eve watched him go. There was no harm in him, she realised that now. She was sure he would never force himself upon an unwilling girl – no need, by all accounts, when so many of them seemed to be on tap. But, she thought, heading back down to the kitchen, he was so entirely lacking in decent, upright principles. Life and love for him were merely sport. Amos Sykes, with his badly fitting suit and his ready scowl, was more of a gentleman than Toby Hoyland would ever be.

‘
W
hy are you wearing your Norfolk jacket, darling?’ Dickie, his mouth full of asparagus and hollandaise, looked across the table at his mother.

‘Always ready for the shoot, aren’t you, Dickie, old son?’ said Tobias. ‘Never know when a pheasant might fly through the room. He has his gun under the table too.’

‘Dickie!’ said the countess. ‘We simply won’t countenance firearms at luncheon.’

Dickie, whose mouth was now empty, said, ‘He’s joshing with you, Ma. There’s no gun.’ He picked up another spear of asparagus and pretended to shoot Toby in the head, then dipped it in sauce, and pushed it, whole, into his mouth.

‘Even so, dear, your shooting tweeds are hardly the thing.’

‘Well, I expect he’ll change for dinner,’ said Lord Hoyland, in a tone with which he hoped to convey that the subject was too trivial to be given any more attention.

‘Don’t count on it,’ said Tobias. ‘I think his tweeds may need to be surgically removed. Do you remember,’ he said, beginning to laugh, ‘when he turned up at Buffy Mountford’s birthday bash in mud-spattered knickerbockers and woollen socks?’

‘And the butler thought he was a ghillie and sent him round the back,’ said Henrietta.

Dickie, amiable and easy-going, smiled obligingly. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘it turned out rather well. I had a slap-up dinner in the kitchens and an early night. Buffy Mountford’s more your thing than mine, Toby. A dandified ass.’

‘Dickie! No asses at the table,’ said his mother, provoking a small outburst of hilarity from everyone but herself. It was ever thus; the countess had never entirely shared her family’s sense of humour. There was a strong and regrettable seam of vulgarity running through the lot of them, in her view.

The plates, emptied now of their asparagus, were swept gracefully away by the footmen, and clean, hot replacements instantly set down. Munster arrived hard on their heels, bearing a dish of veal cutlets, which he adroitly served: one to each of the ladies, two to the gentlemen. Vegetables – carrots and kale from Netherwood – followed swiftly, the whole operation being designed to preserve as much of the heat in the food and the china as was humanly possible. Like his wife, Mr Munster rarely cracked a smile but his professionalism was never in dispute. Lose not a moment of time between the kitchen and the dining room, he told his footmen, else the cook’s labours will have been in vain and the dinner spoiled. Their progress, up the back stairs, through the green baize door and along the corridor to the dining room was therefore always performed in silence and at speed.

‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t be given two chops,’ Henrietta said, rather rudely, since Munster was still in attendance at the table when she spoke. ‘I’m just as hungry as Dickie and Toby.’

Lord Hoyland sighed. Here we go again.

‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ said the countess. ‘Think of your silhouette.’

Lady Hoyland, who barely ate enough to keep a bird alive,
was sure her oldest daughter would run to fat before they found her a husband. She was such a hearty, athletic girl, and though she looked well enough most of the time, one couldn’t let one’s guard down. Isabella, she was relieved to be able to say, had inherited her own slender frame.

‘I’m thinking of my empty stomach, in fact,’ said Henrietta. ‘I don’t want to spend half the afternoon longing for dinner.’

The earl signalled to Munster, who stepped forwards.

‘Serve Lady Henrietta with another chop, Munster, there’s a good fellow,’ he said. These family luncheons were increasingly tiresome, he thought. It was high time these overgrown fledglings began to leave the nest. And now Clarissa was put out at being overruled. He could see from her face that he was in the doghouse. Oh well, he’d been there often enough before, and at least he had Henry for company this time.

‘Papa,’ piped up Isabella, ‘may I be allowed to attend the party tomorrow evening?’

Little minx, thought Henrietta. She well knew that her mother wouldn’t permit it, so had directed the question at the earl, who found her almost impossible to refuse. However, he didn’t have time to reply before the countess issued a firm no.

‘Absurd question, Isabella,’ she said. ‘You’re twelve years old.’

‘Shame,’ said Toby. ‘She could have my place.’

His father eyed him balefully.

‘You’re jolly lucky to be allowed out of the nursery at all,’ said Henrietta. ‘I’m quite sure I wasn’t at your age. Who’s invited tomorrow anyway?’

Her mother perked up; this was the sort of table talk she enjoyed.

‘Just a handful,’ she said, preparing to count them off on her fingers. ‘The Abberleys will be here. The Fortescues. The Fitzherberts. I did ask the Devonshires, but they were previously engaged. The Campbell-Chievelys.’

‘So far so dreary,’ said Tobias rudely. His mother ignored him.

‘Oh, and Ambassador Choate and his wife have accepted,’ she said.

The earl, who had until this point been with Toby, said, ‘Really? The American ambassador?’

‘Yes,’ said Clarissa, a tad waspishly, since she still wasn’t really speaking to her husband. ‘And his wife and, I think, a young American woman who’s currently staying with them.’

‘Well, how very clever of you, dear,’ said the earl. ‘I shall bend his ear about Panama. Could be splendid investment opportunities there, boys.’ He nodded at Dickie and Tobias. ‘The Americans are picking up where the French left off.’

The countess sighed. ‘I do not want your obsession with business and industry to dominate the evening,’ she said. ‘Ambassador Choate will be expecting light relief.’

‘Oh tosh,’ said Teddy. ‘He’s a Yank. They abide by a different set of rules to us.’

‘What’s happening in Panama that’s so interesting?’ said Henrietta.