Summerset Abbey (22 page)

The new guests joined the party and there were curtsies, bows, and hand kissing. Elaine took the girls to one corner and persuaded a reluctant Rowena to join them. Victoria added another ornament to the tree. It was hard to breathe with Kit so close to her, and every time she looked down, his eyes were upon her.

“I think we should move the ladder, don’t you? We’re getting quite a cluster in one spot.” His voice belied a trace of humor and Victoria saw he was right. She had about twenty ornaments in the same small area.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I don’t think anyone will notice. They are far too busy flattering one another. Look.”

He indicated the corner where her aunt Charlotte held court, and she saw he was right. The women all clustered together, fawning over Aunt Charlotte and Lady Edith Billingsly and gossiping about those who had yet to join the party. He took the box with him and Victoria carefully turned around and climbed down, very conscious that he had a view of her backside the whole time.

He pointed to the boxes still on the table. “Shall we continue our work? I think we make a good team.”

She looked at him sharply. Was he making fun of her? It was so hard to tell. On the other hand, she did like spending time with him, more the fool she. “We may as well. The others certainly aren’t going to finish it.”

They worked for another half hour or so, ignoring the bell’s continual ringing and the butler introductions. To Victoria, Summerset seemed more like an enchanted palace than a real stone-and-mortar home. Her father had always spurned Christmas at the abbey in order to spend the holiday in their London home, and though they always decorated and held parties, it was nothing on this scale.

Evergreen boughs encircled the Great Hall from the front door to the drawing room on the end. Huge bows of red velvet with gold thread gathered the boughs every five feet or so. Tall white beeswax candles stood on every available surface and hundreds of tiny silver snowflakes were strung across every arch, reflecting the candlelight, causing twinkles all over the walls and even glancing off the frescoes lining the hallway. The tree was one of a hundred that were being groomed inch by inch for generations of Buxton Christmases. The house itself had ten decorated Christmas trees. The one in the Great Hall, the one in the drawing room, one for the servants in the servants’ hall, and one in each of the family’s private bedrooms. Victoria hadn’t even decorated hers yet, but she enjoyed the fresh citrusy scent that hung in the air.

“I have a surprise for you,” Kit suddenly said close to her ear. “Can you get away in about twenty minutes?”

Victoria looked around the hall. About a hundred people now milled about the room, drinking wassail, port, and mulled wine. Her sister was in the corner with Elaine, Sebastian, Colin, and a half dozen other young people about their age. Victoria wondered whether they were the Cunning Coterie. Prudence, of course, hadn’t been invited.

She gave him a quick nod. It was madness, of course, but no one would miss her, and after he’d practically ignored her for the past two days, she was curious as to what his surprise could be. Instinctively, she felt she shouldn’t trust this strange young man, but when she remembered their hushed conversation in their secret room, she couldn’t help but be intrigued.

“Meet me in the library,” he murmured, and then sauntered away. Having signaled for one of the footmen standing at attention nearby to take away the ladder, she finished by hanging a few more ornaments near the bottom of the tree.

Then she went to the punch bowl, where a servant poured her a glass. She walked through the room, looking above the guests’ heads so they wouldn’t try to engage her in conversation. The women were lovely in their fine jewels and their gowns trimmed with feathers, fur, and crystals. Rowena wore a black lace dress with short sleeves made of cormorant feathers and had a matching black headdress sitting on her shining dark hair. A lump came to Victoria’s throat and with difficulty she turned her eyes away from her sister’s beauty.

The gentlemen, fine in their dark dress attire, were dressed to set off the gowns of their more extravagant, colorful wives. Her uncle stood on one side of the room, conversing with a group of distinguished-looking men. Occasionally, he and his wife would exchange strangely congratulatory glances, as if applauding each other on the success of the party. And so far the tree-trimming party was a success. After, there would be a twelve-course meal for the family and friends and then music in the music room. Tomorrow the serious festivities would begin with Summerset’s renowned double ball. First, the Great Hall would be emptied of most of its furniture for the servants’ ball. When the family had done their duty by their servants, they would retire to the fabulously decorated ballroom for their own ball, while the servants were allowed one more hour of dancing in the Great Hall. Not a minute more nor a minute less. No one dared challenge Lady Summerset’s traditions. Many of the guests would leave the day after in order to be in their own homes for Christmas, but at least two dozen would be staying at Summerset until New Year’s Eve.

Without seeming to hurry, Victoria moved gracefully to the stairwell and handed her cup to a servant who had been hired from town to supplement Summerset’s own staff, many of whom were torn between readying themselves for the one night a year they were allowed to make merry and preparing for their own duties. Once she’d slipped out of the Great Hall without detection, she hurried through the darkened corridors to the library.

The library itself was a work of art, and few decorations were needed. Very little could improve upon the spectacular blue and white plasterwork of the walls and ceiling that was designed to frame a dozen classical Roman frescoes. The seating, tables, and cushions were all a neutral white, to emphasize the colors of the paintings. Victoria and Rowena spent little time here as children, even though they loved their own library at home. Though many of the books that lined the walls were quite good, they were mostly antique collectibles, not the sort that would fire the imagination of a child’s heart.

On a low table in front of the white marble fireplace, Victoria noticed two large, leather-bound volumes. One of them had been left open, half on top of the other. She frowned and walked over to them. Things were not left out of place at Summerset. Once she saw what they were, however, she understood.

Like the others on the shelf, both oversized scrapbooks had the Summerset crest embossed on the dark, shining leather. They were separated by year and most were created one page at a time by loving mistresses, though many were created by servants when the lady of the house, such as Lady Summerset, had no taste for the task.

She’d seen books just like these on display downstairs, laid out so people could look at Christmases past, as it were. The scrapbooks went back almost four hundred years and were considered the finest record of their kind in the United Kingdom.

She frowned and peered more closely at the dates. Why were these left here and not on display with the rest of them? Both were consecutive years, 1890 and 1891. Perhaps they were not considered old enough for display. She knelt next to the books, wondering whether she had stumbled upon someone’s absentmindedness or someone’s secret. The most important thing she’d learned about secrets was that you never knew when one was staring you in the face.

Coincidence or secret? She pulled the open book closer to her. Here was a picture of the entire Summerset staff and family, posed in front of the manor. She smiled as she spotted Cairns, who’d actually had hair twenty-three years ago. Mrs. Harper hadn’t changed at all. She recognized many of the staff and wondered about people who would give their entire lives to serve another family instead of having one of their own. She read through the list of names written in minuscule letters to the right of the picture, along with their title. Many of the surnames were familiar and she wondered how many families, like hers, had been here since the very beginning of Summerset.

Then she saw
Iris Combes
—
Nanny,
and she bent her head closer to the picture. Victoria spotted Nanny Iris just to the left of the family, her rich, dark hair shining in the sun. She was flanked on the right by Victoria’s grandmother, a small, quiet woman who had always reminded Victoria of a mother wren from her Beatrix Potter books. In the center of the photo, just to her grandmother’s right, was the old earl himself. It must have been before the slow degradation of his body began, because he showed no sign of weakness, just a predatory arrogance that made Victoria shiver. His sons stood behind him in his proverbial shadow. Uncle Conrad appeared alone and beaten, but her father, recently married to his small, fairylike bride, beamed next to him. From the plumpness of her mother’s face, she could tell that her mother was already pregnant with Ro. She ran her fingers along the side of the picture, wondering how different life might have been had her mother survived her birth. This wasn’t the first picture she had seen of her mother, of course, but every new picture was a gift, for her mother always looked happy. But then, everyone agreed her mother had possessed a gift for happiness.

Blinking back the tears, she looked away. The last thing she wanted was for Kit to find her crying in front of an old scrapbook. Keeping her eyes resolutely away from her parents, she turned instead to Nanny Iris, who had her hands on the shoulders of a young girl who looked to be about three. Victoria’s breath caught. Halpernia. The little girl whose passing the year Rowena was born crippled her father and forever changed her family. She had the Buxton hair, and no doubt her eyes were a sparkling green under the thick fringe of curls on her forehead. It was odd to think that Rowena, Elaine, Colin, and she would have an aunt only a few years older than themselves, had she lived.

Moving closer to the picture, she frowned. Who was Halpernia clinging to? It wasn’t her mother, nor Nanny Iris, but a young woman who looked tantalizingly familiar. The answer came to her so swiftly, it caused a pain between her eyes. Prudence’s mother! Her fingers ran down the right side of the book until she found a name that had been crossed out in such a way that the letters were completely illegible, but Victoria didn’t need them. Prudence had several pictures of her mother displayed around the house in London, and Miss Tate had been an important part of Victoria’s life. This was definitely Alice Tate.

She turned back to the photo. Alice wore a maid’s uniform, but there was no doubt about the little girl’s feelings for her. Why was this maid allowed to hold the hand of the proverbial princess of the house? Why was she standing so close to the family instead of back near the line of maids?

Victoria looked at the door, wondering where Kit was. Perhaps he had been detained? She needed to get back before she was missed, but before she left, she checked the other two books. After flipping through pages of christenings and births, she found the yearly staff and family picture and it was exactly what she suspected. Though there was a short, three-sentence entry concerning Halpernia’s death, Alice Tate no longer appeared in the annual photograph.

She was putting the books away when a newspaper clipping fluttered out of the back of one of the books. Her heart raced as she realized what it was . . . an article on Halpernia’s death. She looked in the back of both books, but it was the only one. She carefully folded the clipping again and stuck it down inside the top of her corset.

If Halpernia and Prudence’s mother were somehow related, then Victoria was going to find out how. Prudence deserved some answers.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

“
T
his would go a great deal faster if you would sit still,” Prudence said the next afternoon. She kept the hairpins clenched between her teeth, which was a good thing because she was sorely tempted to stick one into Rowena’s scalp. Rowena fidgeted, wiggled, and otherwise squirmed in her chair like a naughty child. Prudence had already helped her into a dark maroon lace gown with the black silk insets. Though the other women would be decked in their most brilliant dresses, the Buxton girls continued to honor their father by wearing only dark colors. Of course, everything looked lovely against Rowena’s porcelain complexion and dark hair. Prudence tugged on a rebellious curl just enough to cause a sharp tinge of pain and Rowena glared at her in the mirror. “I just can’t believe I have to change again. What would happen if I wore my tea gown to tea and to dinner? Would the meal be ruined? And how many parties do we have to have, anyway? It seems to take an infernal number of parties to celebrate one holiday.”

“Someone’s in a bad mood and pray remember, it wasn’t my idea to come here.” Prudence punctuated her words by jabbing a pin into the coiffure she was constructing.

Rowena lowered her eyes. “You would make a horrible lady’s maid, Pru, you know that?”

Prudence snorted. Again, this wasn’t her idea, but she didn’t say it aloud. There were so many things she didn’t say aloud to Rowena any longer. Prudence had vacillated for weeks between being furious with her friend and concerned for her, but now she was just furious. And resentful.

“Oh, would you two stop it?”

Victoria, whose hair was already finished, sat on the edge of Rowena’s bed, careful not to wrinkle her black silk gown with its customary Poiret Oriental lines. Black didn’t become Victoria the way it did Rowena. It made her pale skin almost translucent, and her eyes even larger in her thin face. Even with carmine-colored lip rouge on her lips, Victoria still looked like a child playing dress-up.

Prudence looked at her and frowned. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked bluntly. She was tired of playing the lady’s maid while her friends got to dress up in fine clothes and eat delicacies that the entire kitchen had slaved over for the past week. Tonight was the first night she would get to dress nicely and here she was, making sure they were ready first. She wanted someone to fuss over her for a change.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Victoria snapped. “I’m just tired of listening to the two of you argue all the time. You sound like fishwives. I understand this situation is intolerable, but we need to make the best of it until Easter, when we can all go home. Right, Ro?”

Rowena paused a moment too long before saying, “Right.”

“You’re all done.” Prudence dropped the combs and brushes carelessly on the dressing table. “Now I need to go get ready.”

Victoria stood up. “Not so fast. How can you get ready without your dress?”

Prudence frowned, not quite understanding. “My dress?”

Rowena gave her a tentative smile and turned toward Victoria, who had sprung off the bed and scurried to the closet. “Victoria has a surprise for you.”

“It’s your turn to get ready. You have a dance tonight, too, you know.” Victoria’s voice, which just a few moments before had been petulant, now held a note of anticipation. She came back out of the closet holding a ball gown of a deep emerald-green silk. The lines of the dress were clearly Oriental inspired, with short kimono-style sleeves ending in gold tassels.

Prudence gasped. “Where did you get that? I would have remembered had we packed it.”

Rowena smiled; it was a sad smile, but at least it was a smile. “I had it made up a couple of years ago in Paris but it was sent here by mistake.” Rowena slid her fingers down the silk luxuriously. “I’ve never had a chance to wear it.”

Prudence bit her lip. Would it be right to wear it with Sir Philip so recently . . .

“Don’t even think of Papa!” Victoria said, so fiercely that Prudence jumped. “Papa would want you to be happy and look nice and go dancing. So stop it.”

Rowena nodded, tears caught in her green eyes. “It’s true, Prudence. Just wear the dress and be happy for a bit. Lord knows you deserve it.”

Rowena’s voice sounded weary and Prudence finally nodded.

Victoria clapped her hands and soon had Prudence standing at attention while she dressed her from head to toe.

Prudence could hardly believe it when she looked in the mirror. The green of the dress deepened the green of her own eyes, and the tight waist made her as slender as a reed. The girls had piled her hair into a mass of curls on top of her head and secured it with a peacock-green silk scarf tied like a tiara around her head. The ends of the scarf trailed down her back, which the cut of her dress left daringly bare to just under her shoulder blades. “What is the servants’ ball like, do you know?” Prudence finally asked.

“I can tell you,” Elaine said from the doorway. “I was wondering what was taking you both so long, now I know!”

The girls fell silent as they put finishing touches on Prudence’s hair.

“Oh, please don’t let me ruin your fun. Prudence looks positively beautiful.” Elaine, stunning herself in plush pink lace, circled Prudence, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Thank you, miss,” Prudence said rather stiffly.

“I’m serious! You’re almost as pretty as Ro. You know what would be a deevie idea? If we snuck her into our ball with the rest of us, right under Mother’s nose. She’d never be able to tell.” Elaine held up her hand as the protests rained down on her. “Fine, I won’t, but it would be funny, you have to admit. The servants’ balls are usually great fun. They start out formal, with Father dancing with Mrs. Harper, and Mother dancing with Cairns, and then the rest of us join in if we choose to. Most of the houseguests dance once or twice before retiring to the drawing room to wait for our supper. They do this to show how modern they are.” Elaine snorted, then shrugged. “I don’t know what happens after that, because we go to dinner to be served by the town servants and then the servants’ ball ends about the time ours begins.”

Victoria nodded. “I hear the Welbecks’ servants’ ball is so grand they have to hire fifty waiters from London just to fill in.”

Elaine nodded. “That’s why Mother has hers on the same day we have a ball for our guests. The orchestra will play for the servants in the Great Hall and then move to the ballroom for us.” She shook her head, still looking at Prudence. Prudence was beginning to feel less like a young woman than a goose in a butcher’s window. “I still can’t get over how posh you look. I know I sound the snob, but you look more like Rowena’s sister than Victoria does, really.”

Prudence watched Victoria startle at this and then grow quiet, but Rowena laughed, a sad little laugh that made Prudence hurt. “We’ve heard that more than once. Father said it was because we spent so much time together.”

“Are we ready? Is it time?” Victoria asked suddenly.

Impulsively, Prudence held out her arms to both Rowena and Victoria. She desperately wanted things to go back to the way they used to be. Victoria came to her, her blue eyes shining, but Rowena hesitated and her eyes avoided Prudence’s. It was Elaine, unaware of the undercurrents in the room, who gaily linked arms with Prudence.

Rowena made a motion with her arm to the door and the girls left the room.

They were almost down the staircase when Rowena put her hand to her throat. “My locket. I forgot the locket Father gave me.” She looked behind her at the girls, who still had their arms linked.

Irritated, Prudence pulled her arms from the other girls and took a step back. “You go on down, I’ll just grab it and meet you there.”

“Oh, I can get it,” Rowena protested. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t be silly. I put it away last. I know right where it is.” She hurried back to Rowena’s room, feeling very much the maid, no matter how luxurious her gown.

After snatching up the locket, she headed downstairs, thoughtful.

“I was hoping I’d run into you.”

Prudence startled as Lord Billingsly’s deep voice sounded from behind her. The dark dinner jacket he wore sat in tailored perfection across his shoulders. His hair had been slicked back, but several unruly curls had sprung forward onto his forehead. His dark eyes smiled at her and then widened as they gave a surprised sweeping look over her dress and hair.

She felt her skin heat and she couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“And why would that be, Lord Billingsly? You wish me to fetch you something, perhaps?” She kept her tone pert, trying not to show how his presence affected her pulse, now skittering in her throat.

His eyes flickered for a surprised moment, before a smile curved his mouth. “No. I have my own valet for that, as you well know. Why are you being difficult? Perhaps I was looking forward to chatting with you.”

“Rule number one,” Prudence answered.

His brows raised. “Pardon?”

“Rule number one is the reason I’m being difficult. Instead of being welcomed as a dear family friend or even as a respected stranger, I was handed a list of rules and shown to my room in the servants’ quarters. Rule number one is never let your voice be heard by the ladies and gentlemen of the house. And rule number two: Answer politely when spoken to.”

The moment the words came out of her mouth, she regretted them. He was being light and teasing as the occasion warranted—after all, it was a festive dance during which the classes mingled in an extraordinary way—and instead of taking advantage of it, she was being as prickly as a hedgehog.

For a moment it looked as if he wasn’t going to speak, but then he nodded. “While I’m sorry for your treatment, I must say, I rather like that rule,” he said.

Her head went back in surprise. “Excuse me?”

His lips twitched. “Rule number two, answer politely when spoken to, indicates a polite conversation, which is exactly what I had in mind. Are you looking forward to tonight’s festivities, Miss Tate?”

He was giving her a way out of her surliness, and gratefully, she took it. “Indeed, I am, Lord Billingsly. Even the servants should have a good time now and then.” There, she’d done it again. Her situation and position rankled and there was just no way to get around it.

He held out his arm for her to take. “I can see that polite conversation is going to be difficult this evening. Perhaps we would be better off just dancing.”

Prudence drew in a deep breath and took his arm. “I would like that very much, Lord Billingsly.”

His eyes, dark as coal, twinkled down at her and she tried to match his gaze, if only to show that he hadn’t rattled her at all, even though his presence both thrilled and dismayed her.

His eyes softened. “If we were to speak, instead of just dance, my number one concern is to find out how you’re getting along, really. Are you being mistreated?”

She turned from him and began walking down the stairs, forcing him along with her. “And if I were, Lord Billingsly? Exactly what would you do about it? Call out Lord Summerset? Circumstances and birth have brought me to this situation, and I am dealing with it the best I can. I will stay with Rowena and Victoria until Easter, and then after that . . .” She faltered. Her mind blanked as they reached the last step of the staircase.

“And then after that? What are you going to do after that, Prudence?” His voice was low under the sound of merrymaking and she could hear a note of disquiet.

His use of her first name further confused her. They stared at each other, the moment spinning out between them for an eternity. She resisted the pull she felt toward him. In Sir Philip’s house she might have been deluded into believing that all would be well. She might have teased him in return. She might have told him about the books she was reading, or her journals. She might have done a million things, but she wasn’t in Sir Philip’s house, she was at Summerset and it was a whole different world. An entire class system stood between them.

“Rowena! Don’t let my dear boy make you late for the festivities. Whatever would your dear aunt say?”

Prudence twirled around toward the voice and lost her footing on the stair. Lord Billingsly caught her before she could fall, his arm going around her waist. She felt the heat linger for a moment as she steadied herself.

“Oh. You’re not Rowena.”

A small, older woman stood several steps above her, her hand holding a pair of pince-nez glasses to her face. Her elaborately dressed hair framed a pointed, inquisitive face, but the dark eyes that regarded Prudence were sharp and so much like Lord Billingsly’s that she knew immediately who the woman was. Prudence dropped her eyes and studied the richly detailed carpeting between them. “No, my lady.”

“Then who are you?” The woman’s voice was a bit querulous.

This was a woman who didn’t like to be taken by surprise. “My name is Prudence Tate, my lady.” Prudence sank into a curtsy.

She spotted Victoria on the other side of the hall, waving as the orchestra swept into the first tune. She turned back to Lord Billingsly and his mother. “If you will excuse me. Victoria and Rowena are waiting.”

She gave another curtsy. She knew she was being rude, but she absolutely didn’t want to engage in small talk with Lady Billingsly, who was almost as frightening as Lady Summerset.