The Diary of Cozette (16 page)

He dropped between my legs to his knees, smiled and eased over me, entering me swiftly. For his youth, he was a most patient lover. His movements were slow and easy as he lavished attention to my breasts. My body heated as he pressed deeper, filling me with glorious pleasure. I lifted my knees, hooking my ankles about his waist.

His quiet moan preceded the momentum of his thrusts. Faster he rode me, as my body grew tight, my fingers digging into the flesh of his hips.

Together we tumbled over the dark abyss of passion, searing in its heat, resplendent in its afterglow.

“Shall I ever forget this night and the woman with such hauntingly beautiful eyes?” he whispered as he kissed me softly.

Surely, he spoke the truth. Fate redeemed itself this night, setting something aright in the world.

“You will charm your wife one day with such words, I’ve no doubt.” I brushed the hair from his forehead and smiled.

I was no longer fearful of the burden of Betsy’s trickery of the drunken man in the pub, rectified by the gentle, passionate heart of his son.

He left before me, careful to come back in through the front door. His smile was genuine as I later served him a glass of cognac for the midnight toast.

Lord Archibald raised his glass.

“May your hearts be full, your health well, and your new year…profitable.”

“Oh, Robert,” Mistress Archibald scolded but she was smiling.

“Happy Christmas to all.”

“Happy Christmas,” my handsome soldier replied. He held his glass high with the rest, but his gaze held mine from where I stood at the edge of the room. It was a happy Christmas, indeed.

~A.C.B.

I shall not have long to write, as there is much to do in setting up the house. My mistress, Miss Farrington, Jensen and I have only today returned from London.

Just three days after Christmas, Master Archibald assembled the staff in the parlor, along with the mistress, and told the sad news to us all.

A note had arrived from Mr. Coven back at Willow Manor. He told us very disturbing news. While taking a short ride on one of the horses he noticed a curl of thick smoke trailing up into the winter afternoon sky. As he neared, he realized that it was coming from the stables. He went on to describe the thick smoke rolling from the entrance to the stables and had to remove his coat to hold it over his face in order to ascertain what the cause of the fire was.

Apparently, the fire started by accident from a spark popped from a burning log onto the straw floor. He was able to contain it with water from the horse troughs and beating it with his coat. Unfortunately, Molly, the only horse in the barn, was tied to her stall and could not escape. She died of smoke filling her lungs and despite Mr. Coven’s efforts, he was not able to save her. I knew Mr. Coven would be devastated.

I was brokenhearted to hear of Molly’s passing. Her gentle brown eyes even now I picture in my mind, nodding her head gently as if to say hello.

Master Archibald ordered that we would begin at once to pack the house and return to Willow Manor. We would not be staying through the season this year under the dire circumstances. He wanted to assess the damage and meant to proceed with a full investigation into the incident, where he hoped he wouldn’t find Mr. Coven in neglect of his responsibilities.

Jensen volunteered once again to see to our safe passage if the master wished to travel on ahead to inspect the damage at Willow Manor. He agreed and by morning, he’d secured arrangements of a carriage.

I cannot see why Master Archibald would not absolve Mr. Coven of suspicion in this matter. Of his many attributes, responsibility is chief among them. He is one of the most responsible and caring men I know. Let not these words ever cross his eyes, for surely he would only have one more point with which to annoy me.

Upon our return, Miss Farrington told of how Mr. Coven explained that he’d taken Molly’s body by wagon down to a quiet spot in the valley and buried her there. He’d crafted a small memorial on her behalf constructed of her oat bucket and bridle.

While tending to the master bedroom this morning I noticed movement outside and looked out of the window. There was Mr. Coven standing in the meadow, his dark hair whipping in the fierce winter wind. His hands were stuffed into his pockets as he gazed down at the spot where he’d buried Molly. Few men would have the compassion to check a grave of a horse, to see that no animals had disturbed it.

As I thought of his kindness, it took me a moment to realize that his gaze had turned to the house. I could not tell from that distance if he saw me but I sensed, if only in my imagination, that we held gazes for a moment, companions in our grief.

Head bent against the wind, he turned then and trudged up the hill, appearing quite alone against the bleak, winter landscape.

Fortunately, Lady Archibald does not believe the fire is a result of Mr. Coven’s negligence. I believe she may have more faith in his character than does Master Archibald. We are sure to find out more perhaps from the master’s investigation into the matter.

I had thought I would be preparing the garret rooms for Jensen and Mr. Coven, but both declined, stating it was best until the investigation was complete that they should stay in the stables.

From this news, I gather that Mr. Coven himself may suspect foul play and deep inside, I too, wonder the same. Yet who would be so bold to invoke such devastation? I have my suspicions, but for now, keep them to myself.

~A.C.B.

I am scattered. My mind is filled with thoughts of François and how we parted. Despite his arrogance, I find that I miss the thrill of his passion. I had hoped there might be news, perhaps a card or letter from India, wishing me well at the holiday. Then again, perhaps I am the fool ignoring the true reason for Lord Deavereux’s attention? Adding to my concerns is my lack of proper sleep. More than once, I have dreamed of the fire and imagined Molly’s pitiful whinny, seeing Mr. Coven battling the flames and all the while, I see in the background a shadow standing by and not lifting a finger to assist. I do not know what it means, if anything. Dreams are perhaps only dreams and very little more.

I surmise François is yet busy with his travels and I am not happy to admit that a measure of jealousy burdens my thoughts with how many other women he may have introduced to his special Indian chair. It frustrates me that I allow such torture when I think of him. It would be far better for me to forget about him altogether; would that my body allowed it.

Of late, Mistress Archibald has spent more time in the stables with Jensen. She says she wants to understand the workings of the business and be of better help to her husband. Master Archibald has returned to work, but has hired a man from Southampton to investigate the fire. There have been no further incidents and it would appear that our suspicions are nothing more than an accident.

My mistress was in the kitchen this morning as I emerged from my quarters. She was already going over the events of the day with Miss Farrington.

“There’s tea and oatmeal this morning, Miss Cozette,” Mrs. Farrington greeted me.

I curtsied to my mistress.

“Good morning, Miss Cozette, remember that I’d like fresh flowers for the parlor today. Lady Graham is coming for a visit and she’s mentioned that she might bring her nephew, Mr. Thomas Rodin. You recall, the artist from Paris?”

“Yes mum. The lilacs are in bloom and very fragrant. The miniature roses are beginning to bloom as well.” I did not mind at all fetching flowers for display throughout the house. It gave me great pleasure to walk among the many colors and scents in the spring.

I ate and made haste with my duties, opening the shutters and sweeping the carpets using Mistress Archibald’s favorite tea leaves. I took particular care in gathering the right mix of colors in my floral arrangements, clipping grand bouquets of sweet-smelling purple lilacs and fern for arrangements throughout the parlor. The mistress enjoys the extra touches, but cautions that too much borders on ostentatious. As such she had me remove two of the arrangements in the parlor and take them to the piano room and library where they could infuse the house with their pleasant scent.

By the time the sun began to peek cautiously over the horizon, the wood furniture shone against the imported Prussian rugs, and the table was set for a proper, but simple, tea.

The mistress’s tea table was a monstrous oak piece with great feet that appeared like those of a lion. Its position in the room gave a captivating view of the arbor and the garden walk beyond. The arbor, pruned of its dry withered vines days before by Mr. Coven’s steady hand, sprouted new ivy beginning to curl its way up the wrought iron braces. Adjacent to the garden path was a small stone fountain, gurgling its welcome. The impish cherub seated at the top looked down with his stony grin as water flowed from the urn on his shoulder. The lawn, turned a rich, lush green, was framed with lilac bushes blooming with full heads in shades of lavender, white, and deep purple.

Willow Manor in spring is truly a feast for the eyes. Though it was my first time spent there, I knew it would be a favorite spot to escape and read or write.

Having been informed of Lady Graham’s love for roses, I picked a few from my mistress’s private garden of prize pink miniature roses and arranged them with baby’s breath in an extra teacup.

Lady Archibald informed us that she wanted everything perfect as she planned to invite Lady Graham to join the Ladies of Social Responsibility. It had long been her personal mission to convince the league members of Lady Graham’s importance. Many of the women in the guild did not admire her spontaneity or independence, finding her brash and noncompliant with social etiquette. The fact that her dead husband had arranged legally for her to have everything he owned was the only point the ladies found worthy.

“This is an important alliance, Miss Cozette.” Miss Farrington spoke as she handed me a tray laden with Mistress Archibald’s tea set she used only on special occasions.

My hands trembled frightfully, as I kept my eye to the fine hand-painted china teapot sitting stout among the cups and saucers.

Each piece matched the teapot, with wild roses in pale pink, brown and green painted on the sides. The handle of the teapot shone in bright gold and matched the handles of the cups and the rim of the saucers. Indeed, I’d never seen anything so exquisitely beautiful.

The sound of a tiny clink emitted from the tray and Miss Farrington’s gaze darted to mine, her eyes wide with concern. Seeing my astonished look, she held tight to the tray, not relinquishing her hold until she was sure I had it firm in my hands.

I nodded in affirmation that she could indeed let go.

“This is the mistress’s finest collection. She has seven, but this one she brings out only in the case of very special guests.”

She handed me the creamer and the sugar bowl from the protective confines of the sideboard pantry just off the dining room.

“It holds very special sentiment for Lady Archibald, so mind you, be careful and don’t try to carry more than you ought.”

I nodded. This was an insight into my mistress, a closed woman most of the time, she nonetheless holds my deepest respect in how well she cares for her staff and her home, and still has time to think of others.

Reserved and quiet, she has never raised her voice in anger. Yet for all her material possessions and poise, I have often thought there is a measure of loneliness that reveals itself when you look deep into those tranquil blue eyes.

Then there is my master, her husband, an odd man and quiet also. He is not cruel, though he speaks often in threats and warning, but his life seems preoccupied with his frequent business trips. Yet it is my observation, erroneous though it may be, that he returns with lavish gifts to bestow on his beloved wife. Rare works of art, pieces of sheet music for her piano, imported tea from far-off countries, yet it seems to me a facade that he would offer trinkets in place of his passion. In addition, it is in my opinion (though kept only to myself) that my mistress, like a garden left unattended, appears haggard, withering from neglect.

Not to say that she isn’t a most handsome woman, indeed she most surely is! Moreover, I have observed with quiet amusement Jensen’s avid attention to her every need, insofar as he is able to provide. A woman’s needs are as vital to her as a man’s are to him, or so it is my belief. It is my fervent hope that Master Archibald is not doing more than business on his frequent outings, but my instinct warns me that there is information he is not sharing with his good wife.

The tray carrying the service wobbled precariously as my foot caught the edge of the great rug in the parlor. A gasp from behind stole my breath and I knew that should any harm come to milady’s precious collection it would be grounds for my severance.

“Miss Cozette, be mindful please of your step,” she cautioned. “Need I remind you of how priceless these heirlooms are to me?”

My mistress’s voice was calm, but held a stern warning.

“These were a gift to my grandmother on her wedding day. She passed them on to me the day I married Master Archibald.”

She picked up a cup as I set the tray down and turned it as she gazed lovingly upon it.

“I can remember we drank our first tea as a married couple from this very set. It was a lovely cottage by the sea, just the two of us….”

Her voice trailed off and I caught a glimpse of the passion she must have known early on in her marriage. I averted my gaze to the floor, taught by Miss Farrington that servants do not involve their emotions openly with their masters.

I stood silent with my hands folded chaste in front of me and waited a breath before speaking, “My apologies, mum, for my clumsiness.”

“Miss Cozette, are you feeling well? Your eyes have a darkness beneath them and you seem ill at ease. Has something upset your digestion?”

I kept my gaze cast to the floor, wanting to tell her that I ached for François, his touch, his gentleness, his hands on my skin.

My gaze jerked to hers when she touched my arm. Her blue eyes were steady.

“You have no reason to fear me, Miss Cozette.”

“No, mum.” I curtsied, aware her hand remained on my arm. Her thumb brushed over the sleeve of my uniform and I watched from hooded lids as her perfectly manicured nails slid back and forth across my shirt.

“Bring me the polished silver from the cherry-wood case. Tell Miss Farrington that I will assist you this morning in how to set a proper table for tea.”

I glanced up meeting her gaze, and though her smile was warm, her expression was firm. This news took Miss Farrington by surprise. Her eyes grew wide as I relayed milady’s request.

“Of course you are excused from your morning duties. However, do not take advantage, Cozette. The mistress can be lenient, but she can be firm as well. If she is taking on this task, she likely has very good reason for doing so. Listen carefully, do not speak until you are spoken to and for heaven’s sake do not be cheeky with the missus. Is this understood?”

“Indeed, mum, thank you.” I curtsied and returned to milady summoning my courage with each step. Yet I could not help but be curious of why my mistress should be willing to instruct me herself, rather than to have the cook teach me.

Lady Archibald inspected each utensil, handing me random pieces for extra polish.

“Have you experienced a social tea, Cozette?”

She glanced up at me as she held up a teacup, studying carefully its fine bone china rim. I was puzzled why she would ask knowing my background and for a moment considered whether to laugh or simply answer her question. I chose the latter. “No, mum, I’ve never had the privilege.”

“But you do drink tea?”

I nodded, uncertain just how best to respond, finally choosing Miss Farrington as my ally. “If my chores are done to Miss Farrington’s standards, mum, she and I will, on occasion, share a cup in the afternoon.”

“Ah, well then, there is very little difference in a social tea. If you take away the attire, the oft-times drone of a lengthy story, and the amount of time it takes to plan the perfect menu.” She glanced at me with a soft smile.

A smile played on my lips, but I suppressed it in haste. I dared not answer that the social etiquette involved seemed to be of more importance than the people were. Of those I’d heard of, it was simply women dressed in finery worthy of gala proportion, sipping tea with their gloves on, and chatting about the weather.

My mistress offered me a secretive smile.

“My dear husband feels I don’t socialize enough. Though the Ladies League is one charitable group that I find most agreeable. I host these tête-à-têtes because it boosts our credibility within social circles. Frankly, I would rather focus our energies on the charitable works alone. But we do what we must, mustn’t we?” She smiled.

I kept my focus on the slight wrinkle in the tablecloth and pretended that her question was not directed toward me, but made as a statement in general.

“I don’t know what is the matter with me as of late. Perhaps Master Archibald’s absence these days is affecting my sleep, making me more critical of everything. Ah, but it is a glorious day for a tea, is it not?”

I darted a glimpse and met her gaze. Her eyes shimmered with unseen tears. I could not ignore the loneliness I saw in their depths. “I am quite certain that is the case, mum. Shall I see to the food preparations, then?”

I waited as she sauntered in no apparent haste to the window and gazed across the front lawn. “Mistress Archibald?” I had concern for her mental state. She seemed most melancholy.

She waved her hand to dismiss me and I curtsied and left with no more said between us. Later, when I had the chance I asked Miss Farrington why the mistress seemed in such a forlorn state, but she was quick to instruct me not to meddle in affairs that were not of my concern. Far be that from the truth—I wanted to remind my superior that Mistress Archi bald had stood up in my favor once, offering a new life from my dismal existence. How could I turn a blind eye from her unhappy demeanor? If I could help her as she had helped me, then I should not give up until I found a way.

~A.C.B.