Summerset Abbey (6 page)

Hortense caught her eye in the mirror. “How do you mean, my lady?”

“She wasn’t brought up in service. I’m sure the poor girl would find some other kind of work outside Summerset more fulfilling. Perhaps you could get the others to watch her, too?”

“Of course, my lady.”

She watched as her maid expertly buttoned up the side of her underskirt, and sat back down to watch Hortense’s nimble fingers work their French magic with her hair. From the knowing look in Hortense’s eyes, Lady Summerset knew she had made herself quite clear without having to spell it out—make trouble for the newcomer.

What she didn’t tell Hortense was that the future of their entire family rested on getting rid of this girl, posthaste. And if her husband couldn’t do it, then she would have to.

*   *   *

As Victoria ingested the medicine that would help her breathe again, she couldn’t help but think about how much she hated, no,
detested
the sickness that rendered her helpless when she most needed to act. When she had tried to defend Prudence in her moment of need, a fit had overtaken her, leaving her as helpless as a child. How could she ever hope to be an adult when she couldn’t right a simple wrong?

When at last she could breathe again, she handed the nebulizer to Rowena.

“Very well played, girls.”

Victoria’s head jerked up at her uncle’s caustic tone.

“But I’ve already been manipulated into bringing the girl here,” he continued. “Don’t be fooled into thinking I can always be so easily swayed. Victoria, you should go to your room and rest before dinner. Rowena, please make sure the trunks are sent to the proper rooms.”

With his jaw tight, he turned on his heel and strode away without affording them another glance.

“Why didn’t you stop him?” Victoria asked, once she could speak.

Rowena stood and straightened the skirt of her black traveling suit. “You don’t understand. He has complete control of our estate until I am twenty-five.”

“You mean we have no money until then?” She frowned.

“Oh, we have plenty of money.” Rowena gave her a grim smile. “We just have no control over it, and we’re in
his
home. Do you really want to defy him in his own home?”

“If Prudence can’t stay with me, I would rather just go home,” she grumbled, taking Rowena’s proffered hand. She struggled upright, her muscles stiff from riding in the coach and her legs still trembling from the medicine.

Rowena sighed. “Oh, Vic. I think this might be the best place for us right now,” she said softly.

The girls stood hand in hand, staring up at the imposing front facade of the manor their father—and generations of Buxtons before him—had been raised in. The Bath stone facing had been weathered to a soft, warm honey color, which lent it the look of an Italian villa rather than an English manor. Gargoyles perched high above the front doors, guarding the entrance from interlopers. When the girls were small, their father had told them the gargoyles’ names were Gog and Magog, and made up stories of their adventures when the sun set and they were released from their guard duties.

As she had told Prudence, most people found the home imposing, but Victoria had always loved every inch of it. “Maybe . . . but what about Prudence?”

Before Rowena could reply, the front door opened and a modish young woman with golden brown hair appeared. She ran lightly across the gravel and gathered Victoria in her arms. “I am so sorry about Uncle Philip. You both must be so desperately sad.”

Victoria let herself be hugged, then stood back and eyed her cousin in shock. “Elaine! Look at you, all stylish and pretty.”

Elaine laughed. “I can’t believe it’s been over a year since we’ve seen each other!”

Victoria couldn’t stop looking at her cousin. Elaine had always been an appealing dumpling of a girl, with pretty blue eyes and a sweet smile, but her shyness had rendered her practically invisible. This freshly polished Elaine, with her hair piled in pretty curls around her face and her newly slender figure encased in a striped, slim-skirted afternoon dress, hardly seemed like the girl she’d played hide-and-seek with two summers ago.

Elaine linked her arms with Victoria’s. “Come, you must be exhausted. Why Papa didn’t just take the motorcar, I have no idea. He’s so old-fashioned.”

Rowena hung back. “I’ll stay here and make sure our things are unloaded properly. I’ll be up in a bit.”

Victoria’s throat tightened. She knew Rowena was going to separate out Prudence’s trunks to be sent to the servants’ quarters. Bewildered and heartsick, Victoria let her cousin lead her into the house.

As always, Victoria was struck dumb by the domed rotunda shape of the Great Hall’s entrance. It ran down the center of the house, a reminder of a feudal society where the lords and ladies greeted their visitors at the very end—the longer and more ornate the hall, the more important the occupants. At the end of the hall one could see into the grand salon. High above rose the coffered dome ceiling, the crown jewel of the hall, which was decorated with gilded rosettes and was the highest section of the entire building. There was a circular skylight at its zenith letting in light that danced and sparkled off the marble columns lining the room. Giant frescoes covered the upper walls, depicting angels floating above acts of violence and warfare.

“Mother is resting now, but said she will see you at dinner. You’re staying in the Rose Room again? I moved to the Princess Room, right near yours.”

Victoria let her prattle on. The long trip, her attack, and her worry over Prudence had exhausted her. She barely listened until she heard Prudence’s name spoken.

“Pardon?”

“I was saying that you could have your maid draw you a bath before dinner. It’s that girl, Prudence, right? The one you lived with? I didn’t know she was your lady’s maid.”

Victoria stiffened at the curiosity in Elaine’s voice. She didn’t want to talk about it, but Elaine clearly expected an answer. “She isn’t. She is just helping us for the time being.”

“Well, if she’s not your maid, who is she?”

Victoria didn’t want to tell her anything more.

“Oh, look. You’ve got electricity!” Victoria pointed to a row of lights along the main staircase at the end of the hall.

“Well, yes.” Elaine seemed momentarily taken aback by the change of subject. “Papa had it installed last summer on the lower levels. We don’t have it in the upper rooms yet.”

They climbed the stairs, turning left, away from the guest rooms that overlooked the Great Hall, and went back toward the south wing, where the family rooms were. A giant portrait of the Eighth Duke of Summerset, their grandfather, dominated the end of the hallway, casting an ominous pall over the long corridor. Victoria stopped short when she saw it, and a shudder ran through her body. Elaine paused and noted what she was staring at.

“Ah yes. Father moved it from the dining room. He said it gave him indigestion just looking at it.”

Victoria’s eyes widened and Elaine nodded. “Whenever I complained to my mother about my father, she said I should be grateful. He’s a thousand times better than the old duke was.”

“Frightening,” Victoria murmured, prompting Elaine’s laughter. Victoria hadn’t meant it as a commentary on her uncle’s skills as a father, but upon the painting itself. Like most of the Buxtons, the Duke had thick, black hair, a strong jaw, and green eyes, but whereas the living Buxtons’ eyes were as changeable as the ocean, the artist had caught the Duke’s eyes exactly as Victoria remembered them. Flat green, like a lizard’s, with no emotion whatsoever.

“I only met him a few times when I was very small and don’t remember him much at all. Was he as frightening as I recall?” she asked Elaine.

Elaine had drawn closer to her as they studied the portrait and now leaned in to whisper. “Worse. Mother used to take me to his rooms after he became infirm. It’s funny how she would never let my nurse or a governess take me, but always did it herself, and she stood right next to us the entire time. He really had as little use for us as we did for him, but Mother was determined to do her duty. I don’t think she ever went to see him other than that, which is odd considering how ambitious she was.”

Elaine slipped her arm through Victoria’s and they turned toward the Rose Room. “Don’t tell anyone, but that old man used to pinch Mother’s backside whenever she got too close.”

Startled, Victoria laughed at the mental picture and banished the disturbing portrait from her thoughts as she entered her bedchamber. It was actually a suite of three rooms, a small sitting room in the front with a large dressing room and bathroom on one side and the bedroom on the other. The room got its name from the border of painted blue roses running just under the highly detailed crown molding on the ceiling. An Empire dressing table and ornate mirror sat between two enormous windows on the back wall, while a pair of blue-and-white-striped chaise lounges sat in front of a small white fireplace. A soft Axminster rug softened the parquet floors, and fresh flowers from the conservatory stood on the tables.

Victoria unpinned her hat and took it into the bedroom. The blue and white color scheme continued into this room with the French blue coverlet and crisp white eyelet embroidered pillows. She’d spent many lazy summer days reading and dreaming in this delicately feminine space. If she couldn’t be in her own
room at home, there was no place she would rather be than here.

“Is there anything else I can do for you? I can ring the maid for some tea if you like.”

Victoria laid her hat on the vanity and faced her cousin. “That would be lovely, but first I want you to take me to the servants’ quarters.”

Elaine blinked. “The servants’ quarters? Whatever for?”

Victoria stared her down and Elaine had the grace to blush, letting Victoria know she had been right. Somehow Elaine knew more about Prudence’s situation than she was letting on. Did that mean her uncle had sent a telegram about it? She wasn’t sure what was happening at Summerset, but Victoria intended to find out.

P
rudence followed Mrs. Harper’s bony, disapproving back through a dark maze of hallways. “That’s the servants’ hall right there,” she said, indicating a long, narrow room where the only light came from small windows just below the ceiling. “The kitchen is on the other side, but you won’t need to go there very often unless your young mistresses require tea at odd hours.” A cacophony of pots and pans banging and raised voices sounded from the kitchen. “I will show you the kitchen later. They’re busy preparing dinner. Here is the sewing room.” She opened another door to the right. The windowless room had a long table in the middle, a sewing machine off to one side, and the shelves lining one wall were stacked with bolts of cloth. “You’ll find everything you need to mend your mistresses’ dresses and underthings.”

Prudence was surprised into replying. “Oh, I don’t know how to sew.”

Mrs. Harper looked down her long nose at Prudence. “Well, you’d best learn. Hortense is too busy with Lady Summerset and Lady Elaine to do your work, too.”

Suitably chastened, Prudence followed Mrs. Harper up a steep staircase. Gaslights lit the cramped stairwell and countless
feet had worn dips in the center of each step. How many servants spent their entire lives treading up and down these stairs?

After climbing for what seemed like forever, and passing several landings, they came out into a narrow, dark hall with doors on either side. The hallway smelled of mold, human sweat, and, oddly enough, vanilla.

“We call this petticoat hall. It’s for the female house servants. The men’s quarters are on the other side of the wing, and they are not allowed here. If you are caught fraternizing with the opposite sex, you will be dismissed without notice. You will receive thirty-two a year and will draw your wages monthly.”

Mrs. Harper paused in front of a door and took a large brass ring of keys out of her oversized pocket. She fiddled with it until she found the right key and then opened the door. Moving aside, she waited for Prudence to enter.

Swallowing, Prudence stepped inside a room that could not have been more than eight by eight feet. After the lovely home she’d just left, its starkness struck her heart like a physical blow. Old green paint flaked off the iron bed in the middle of the room, and the mattress sagged under the thin quilts. The one small window in the room was covered with coarse yellow burlap. Under the window stood a rickety chest missing several knobs. Its matching table sat next to the bed and held a chipped plain white bowl and pitcher for washing. Above the table was a small, cracked mirror. There was no closet.

On the bed lay two black-and-white-striped calico blouses and two plain black bombazine skirts.

“The cost of the uniforms will, of course, come out of your pay. I have a list of rules for you to be aware of. Please go over them as soon as possible. Mr. Cairn and I pride ourselves on how
smoothly this house runs and there is always a risk with a new servant.”

A chill ran up and down Prudence’s spine, one that had little to do with the cold draft coming from the window. What was she doing here in this cramped room with this sour-faced woman? This was not her life. Her life was with Vic, Ro, and Sir Philip in a warm, gracious home filled with the sound of music and laughter. But Sir Philip was gone and it had never been clearer to her that that life was over.