The Purloined Papers (21 page)

Chloe grimaced as she glanced into the larger bedroom. It was hardly bigger than its bed, with no space for a wardrobe. Pegs held two gowns. Rolls of stockings rested on a shelf overhead. The previous owner had probably been buried in the rest of her wardrobe.

The second bedroom was worse.

“Goodness!” exclaimed Chloe. “This floor looked larger from outside.”

“I thought the same, but the sloping roof leaves only this center space usable. That is typical of this sort of cottage. Moorside is larger, but you could not afford it.”

She returned downstairs without a word, but her face showed strain. The lines on her forehead deepened when she saw the tiny servant’s room. “I was right. Sally must act as my companion.”

“That wouldn’t work.”  He turned her to face him. “Think, Chloe. Sally is a lovely woman, and I love her as much as you do. But a companion would accompany you into drawing rooms. Sally would not be accepted. Manners, voice, even the way she moves, proclaim her a servant. Those habits are too ingrained to change.”

Chloe nearly revealed her full plan, but stopped in time. Andrew would be appalled if he knew that she intended to claim widowhood. He hated deceit. “Then I need room for two servants,” she said instead. “Sally is skilled at cleaning and can deal with tradesmen. She will make an excellent housekeeper. But she cannot cook. She started in service at age eight and has never worked in a kitchen.”

“Considering your price constraints, that won’t be easy to find,” he warned.

“Is this really the best Exeter has to offer?”

“It is the best you can afford. Exeter has a population above thirty thousand souls, so there are several places available right now. One is twice this size, located a mile east of town. But it is also twice the price. There are two houses in Exeter itself that you could afford, but neither has a garden.”

“So I would have to buy all my food.”

“Exactly, which would increase your living expenses. And they have other defects. The larger house is falling to bits and would need considerable repair. The smaller is sound, but the neighborhood is mean. No one would hire a teacher from there.”

She bit her lip. “What do you mean by
falling to bits?
”

“It needs a new roof before you could even move in. I did not look closely at the rest, but I suspect the foundation is crumbling. And there isn’t a room that doesn’t have problems – a damaged wall, a ruined floor…. It is also unfurnished.”

Her heart sank. “That would not work. Perhaps I should consider smaller towns than Exeter. They might be less expensive.”

“That is possible.”  He hid a frown, for he would never find work in a village. If he had the funds, he could contribute a little under the table so she would have a comfortable cottage, but he would never receive enough in time. “Plymouth might work. With so many naval ships based there, people move in and out quite often.”

“That sounds good.”

“Come along, then. I’ll drive to Plymouth on Monday.”  And his first job would be to seek employment. He had sailed aboard too many ships to harbor illusions about how sailors behaved ashore. He wouldn’t allow Chloe to live there unless he was close at hand.

* * * *

Andrew and Chloe arrived at Seabrook just behind the male Truitts. Martha was flying down the stairs when they reached the door. Her father caught her in his arms.

Mr. Truitt was the hearty sort – almost uncomfortably so. But he clearly doted on Martha. She, in turn, seemed more relaxed with him than with her mother, perhaps because he wanted only her happiness, whereas Mrs. Truitt was already seeking ways to take advantage of Martha’s increased consequence.

George appeared colorless in the best of times. Despite being taller than his father by several inches, he shrank to insignificance beside him, his slender frame contrasting with the elder’s solidity.

“I was beginning to think you would never come,” Martha said with a laugh. “I swear you think none of your employees can work unless you are looking over their shoulders.”

“Not at all, Rosebud.”  He patted her back. “But some problems require the owner’s eye.”

“Everything is fine now?” 

He nodded.

Andrew hoped to slip upstairs unnoticed – he badly needed sleep, which was possible now that he’d mailed his resignation – but Martha spotted them.

“Captain, I don’t believe you’ve met my father.”  She ran through the introductions. “And this is Miss Seabrook’s companion, Miss Fields,” she finished, gesturing to Chloe.

Chloe curtsied.

“Any connection to Sir Nigel Fields?” he asked, noting her black gown.

“His daughter.”

“My condolences. His passing must have been quite a blow.”  He grasped her hand between his. “We belonged to the same club. Though I did not know him well, he seemed a good man.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

Andrew knew that Chloe was uncomfortable, and not just from Truitt’s attention. She wanted to question Sally, and Laura would be feeling neglected by now. So he interrupted as Truitt inhaled. “Please tender my apologies to my sister, Miss Fields. I would not have pulled you from your duties if we hadn’t needed your help.”

“She will understand, but I should return. If you will excuse me?”

“Of course,” said Andrew.

The others agreed.

Andrew relaxed as she escaped upstairs. Martha followed, leading her father to his room. George stayed behind, so Andrew drew him toward the library.

“I trust no new problems arose at the office,” Andrew said when they’d settled into chairs.

“No. And the emergency turned out to be a misunderstanding rather than a problem.”  He shrugged. “It could have been straightened out in an hour if Father had listened to me instead of traipsing off to visit the customer.”  He was clearly unhappy.

“A common complaint of children, I believe.”  Andrew sipped wine. Away from Truitt, George’s face acquired more color. Andrew suspected the two had argued most of the way from town. Truitt probably clung to his own power, refusing to turn over part of his empire to his heir. It happened in the aristocracy as well, resulting in instances of men acceding to titles with no understanding of the properties that went with them.

George drained his glass in an apparent attempt to control his temper. But it exploded anyway. “Damn the man,” he muttered. “He is so set in his ways that he won’t listen to anyone. You wouldn’t believe the confusion I found in his office. I don’t know how anyone can run a business surrounded by such chaos. And he demands the final say in any decision – which worked when the company was a struggling concern with half a dozen employees, but it interferes with business now that it is so large.”

“I presume he does not agree.”

“He won’t listen. He even ignored my evidence that a few minor changes could improve efficiency, lower costs, and increase profits by at least ten percent.”

“Impressive. Are you sure?”  Half of Martha’s dowry was shares in Truitt and Company, so mismanagement could cause trouble. William was counting on the income those shares should bring.

“Of course I’m sure. I’ve studied how our competitors operate. But he won’t listen. He doesn’t understand that times have changed since he founded the business. Nor does he consider what might happen when he dies. Too much information remains locked in his head.”

Andrew let him talk, pressing for details and sifting his words. In the end, he had to agree with George’s assessment. Not that there was a thing either of them could do about it. But it was good to know that Martha’s brother was intelligent.

Friday

Chloe headed for the breakfast room, more lighthearted than she’d been in years. Perhaps the feeling grew from a solid night’s sleep. Or maybe last night’s unexpected freedom was responsible.

The evening had started innocuously enough. Andrew’s morning scold had seemingly worked. When Laura joined the company before dinner, she’d set her megrims aside. After a gracious greeting for Martha, she’d joined Miss Sullivan, listening to the girl’s chatter as if they were bosom bows.

At first Chloe had feared that Laura was trying to damage Miss Sullivan’s friendship with Martha, but she’d soon decided that Laura was trying to make friends in her own heavy-handed fashion. Miss Sullivan was a poor choice, though. Laura’s previous attacks left her suspicious, and the two had nothing in common. So Miss Sullivan had remained aloof.

Laura had not been pleased. By the time Miss Sullivan escaped, she was ready to explode. Chloe had been frantically seeking the words that might calm her, when Andrew had stepped in to compliment her appearance and praise her effort to set Miss Sullivan at ease.

Chloe sighed at the memory. Andrew had meant well, but he was as heavy-handed as Laura. He had no idea how to handle a self-centered child, for his own experience ran to raw recruits who could choose only between following orders and being flogged.

But Laura had said nothing. That in itself was ominous, for it hinted that she was seeking a more dramatic reprisal than a sharp retort in the drawing room.

Thus it was no surprise that her dinner behavior had made Wednesday night seem tame. Again Andrew had stepped in, this time backed by Grayson, Rockhurst, and William, who had made it clear that the family would not tolerate her megrims.

Laura had retired to her room and stayed there.

The rest of the evening had been delightful. Lady Grayson had produced a forfeit ball in the drawing room. It was well used, its one hundred dimples so badly faded that it was hard to read the numbers. Instead of drawing up a new list of forfeits, they’d used one the Seabrook sisters had made in childhood. Its entries included such nonadult penalties as
hop across the room on your left foot
and
slide down the banister without getting caught by Fitch
. Fortunately, no one had rolled that last number. Everyone had been laughing by the time the gentlemen joined them.

While the other guests played crambo, Chloe had helped Lady Rockhurst write clues for Sunday’s treasure hunt, then joined the singing in the music room. With Laura gone, all the guests had enjoyed themselves.

The evening had ended with the almost-forgotten luxury of Sally brushing her hair, stroke after sensuous stroke as she sat dreamily at the dressing table.

“The servants don’t like Miss Laura by half,” Sally reported. “I warned you not to accept that post.”

“I needed it,” said Chloe. “And my savings will buy my own cottage.”

“You could have bought a cottage two years ago by selling those pearls your mama gave you.”

“No. It may come to that one day, but until I exhaust all other income, I won’t consider it. Besides, Miss Seabrook wasn’t that difficult until recently.”

“Don’t you pretend with me.”  Sally set down the brush so she could braid the hair for the night. “Mr. West told us what she said to you. Never have I seen one of the quality so uncaring of propriety. Even Master Peter doesn’t use language like that.”

Chloe blushed to recall Laura’s outburst in the carriage. It was bad enough that Andrew had overheard it, but knowing that the Seabrook staff knew…

“Bedlam is where she belongs, and where she’ll be one day,” grumbled Sally.

Chloe stopped her tongue before she could claim the incident had been an aberration. There was no reason to defend Laura. “Miss Seabrook will not be my concern much longer,” she’d said instead.

“And a good thing, too. Why, the tales in the servants’ hall about that girl—”

“I’m sure they are unpleasant,” agreed Chloe quickly. “Miss Seabrook rarely shows consideration for others.”

“The staff would love to send her back to the army in place of the captain. Preferably tonight.”

“Is he leaving?”  Ice suddenly formed in her stomach.

“Now that he’s recovered. His regiment recalled him two weeks ago – or so Mr. Jinks says. If not for this party, he would be gone by now. He’s headed for India, or some such place.”

But he wasn’t recovered, thought Chloe in panic. His leg was unreliable. If she hadn’t caught him, he would have tumbled down the steep steps at Rose Cottage only yesterday. What if it collapsed during a battle?

No wonder Andrew had stiffened when she’d changed her mind about living near Exeter. He’d promised to help her, and now that promise was interfering with his duty.

She suppressed a stab of pain, for she’d known he wouldn’t stay. Nor could she continue expecting him to help. Duty always came first, so she must execute her plans herself.

“…fixing up the old wing,” Sally was saying as she tied off the braid. “Everyone is excited at the prospect.”

“What was that?”

“Lord Seabrook is rebuilding the old wing. When the captain drew up the plans, he included a larger servants’ hall, more convenient offices, and a modern kitchen with one of those fancy stoves. Cook is near to bursting with excitement.”

“I didn’t know the captain had studied building design.”

“He didn’t – Lord Seabrook has to find a builder to adapt the plans, but his ideas are very good. Or so Mr. Fitch says, and he should know. He’s seen them.”

Chloe nodded. There was so much she didn’t know about Andrew. That alone should keep her dreamer under control.

Sally continued chattering brightly as she turned down the bed and sponged a smudge off Chloe’s one mourning gown. The Seabrook staff was grumbling about the airs adopted by Lord Grayson’s couriers, who considered themselves even higher than Lord Seabrook’s valet; they chuckled over Lady Rockhurst’s daughter Sarah, who often slipped into the kitchen for snacks; and they approved of Martha Truitt. It felt like old times, when Sally had kept Chloe informed of everything that happened at Fields House.

Falling into old habits was dangerous, she reminded herself now, for that life was gone. While she’d enjoyed the evening of genteel graciousness, she was better off alone.

Like now. The guests remained abed, except for a few gentlemen who had gone shooting with Lord Rankin. William didn’t shoot, so had asked his neighbor to lead that particular expedition.

After cleaning the public rooms, the servants had retired to break their fast. So she had the house to herself. The empty rooms felt huge, their ornate ceilings soaring high overhead. She could run or dance across the carpet without discovery or any fear of tripping over furniture. Such spaciousness offered a heady freedo—