Ashworth Hall (4 page)

He still looked a trifle mystified, but the anxiety was clearing from his eyes.

“We need to take Gracie as your maid. Is your mother at home at present?”

Caroline had fairly recently remarried, most unsuitably—to an actor seventeen years her junior. She was extremely happy though she had lost several of her previous friends. She had made numerous new ones and traveled a great deal since Joshua’s profession took him out of London at times.

“Yes,” Charlotte said quickly, and then realized she had not actually spoken to her mother for over a fortnight. “I think so.”

“I don’t think there is any danger,” he said seriously. “But I am not sure. Certainly we shall not take Daniel and Jemima. If your mother cannot care for them, we shall leave them with Emily’s children in her town house. But you can call Aunt Vespasia tonight.”

Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould was Emily’s great-aunt by her first marriage, but she had become ever closer in friendship to both sisters—and also to Pitt, frequently involving herself in those cases which concerned high society, or social issues in which she had a crusading interest. In her youth she had been one of the outstanding beauties of her generation. Now in age she still preserved a timeless elegance and the bearing and dignity of one of England’s great ladies. She also had a tongue she no longer felt the need to curb, because her reputation was beyond damaging, and her spirit accepted no artificial bounds.

“I shall,” Charlotte agreed. “Right away. How many days did you say?”

“You had better prepare for five or six.”

She swept out, her head already whirling with ideas, problems, domestic details, plans and difficulties.

She picked up the telephone and had little trouble in establishing a connection with Vespasia’s house in London. Within three minutes she was talking to Vespasia herself.

“Good evening, Charlotte,” Vespasia said warmly. “How are you? Is all well?”

“Oh yes, thank you, Aunt Vespasia, everything is very well. How are you?”

“Curious,” Vespasia replied, and Charlotte could hear the smile in her voice. She had intended to be tactful and approach her request obliquely. She should have known better. Vespasia read her too well.

“About what?” she said airily.

“I don’t know,” Vespasia replied. “But once we have dispensed with the trivia of courtesy, no doubt you will tell me.”

Charlotte hesitated only a moment. “Thomas has a case,” she admitted, “which requires that we both spend several days in a country house.” She did not specify which one, not because she did not trust Vespasia absolutely, but she was never totally sure if the telephone operator could overhear any of the conversation.

“I see,” Vespasia replied. “And you would like a little counsel on your wardrobe?”

“I am afraid I would like a great deal!”

“Very well, my dear. I shall consider the matter carefully, and you may call upon me tomorrow morning at eleven.”

“Thank you, Aunt Vespasia,” Charlotte said sincerely.

“Not at all. I am finding society very tedious at the moment. Everything seems to be repeating itself. People are making the same disastrous alliances they always have, and observers are making the same pointless and unhelpful observations about it. I should welcome a diversion.”

“I shall be there,” Charlotte promised cheerfully.

Charlotte then telephoned her mother, who was delighted to have the children. She hung up the receiver and went upstairs briskly to start sorting out petticoats, stockings, camisoles—and of course there was the whole matter of what Pitt would take. He must look appropriate as well. That was most important.

“Gracie!” she called as soon as she reached the landing. “Grade!” She would have to explain at least the travel plans to Gracie, and what would be expected of her, if not yet anything of the reason. There were hundreds of things to be done. The children’s clothes must be packed, and the house be made ready to leave.

“Yes, ma’am?” Gracie appeared from the playroom, where she had been tidying up after the children had gone to bed. She was twenty now, but still looked like a child herself. She was so small Charlotte had to take up her dresses, but at least she had filled out a little bit and did not look so much like the waif she had been when she first came to them at thirteen. But the biggest change in her was her self-assurance. She could now read and write, and she had actually been of marked and specific assistance in more than one case. She had the most interesting master and mistress on Keppel Street, possibly in Bloomsbury, and she was satisfyingly aware of it.

“Gracie, we are all going away this coming weekend. Daniel and Jemima will go to my mother’s in Cater Street. Mrs. Standish will feed the cats. The rest of us are going to the country. You are coming with me as my maid.”

Grade’s eyes widened. This was a role she was untrained for. It was socially several stations above household, and she had begun life as a maid of all work. She had never lacked courage, but this was daunting, to say the least.

“I shall tell you what to do,” Charlotte assured her. Then, seeing the alarm in her eyes, “It is one of the master’s cases,” she added.

“Oh.” Gracie stood quite still. “I see. Then we in’t got no choice, ’as we!” She lifted her chin a trifle. “We’d best be gettin’ ready, then.”

2

T
HE CARRIAGE,
which like the clothes had been borrowed from Aunt Vespasia for the occasion, arrived at Ashworth Hall late on Thursday morning. Charlotte and Pitt had sat in the back, facing forward. Gracie and the policeman, Tellman, had sat in the front, facing the way they had come.

Gracie had never ridden in a carriage before. Normally she used the public omnibus if she needed to travel at all, and that was extremely rarely. She had never been at such a speed before, except once when she had, to her terror and amazement, ridden in the underground train. That was an experience never to be forgotten, and if she had any say in the matter, never to be repeated either. And it did not count, because it was through a black tunnel, and you could not see where you were going. To sit in a comfortably upholstered seat, with springs, in a carriage with four perfectly matched horses, and fly along the roads into the countryside was quite marvelous.

She did not look at Tellman, but she was acutely conscious of him sitting bolt upright beside her, exuding disapproval. She had never seen such a sour face on anybody before. From the look of him you would have thought he was in a house with bad drains. He never said a word from one milestone to the next.

They swept up the long, curving drive under the elm trees and stopped in front of the great entrance with its magnificent front door, the smooth, classical pillars and the flight of steps. The footman jumped down and opened the door, and another footman appeared from the house to assist.

Even Gracie, a servant, was given an arm to balance her as she alighted. Perhaps they thought she would be likely to fall without it, and they might be right. She had forgotten how far down it was to the ground.

“Thank you,” she said primly, and straightened her dress. She was a lady’s maid now, and should be treated as such. She should accept such courtesies as her due … for the weekend.

Tellman grunted as he got out, regarding the liveried footman with conceded disgust. However, Gracie noticed he could not help looking up at the house, and in spite of his best intentions, there was admiration in his eyes for the sheer magnificence of the Georgian windows, row upon row, and the smooth ashlar stone broken by the scarlet creeper which climbed it.

Charlotte and Pitt were welcomed inside.

Tellman went as if to follow Pitt.

“Servant’s entrance, Mr. Tellman,” Gracie whispered.

Tellman froze. A tide of color swept up his cheeks. At first Gracie thought it was embarrassment, then she realized from his rigid shoulders and clenched fists that it was rage.

“Don’t show up the master by making a fool o’ yerself, goin’ w’ere it in’t your place!” she said under her breath.

“He isn’t my master!” Tellman retorted. “He’s a policeman, just like any of us.” But he turned on his heel and followed Gracie, who was walking behind the footman as he showed them around to the side—a considerable way in a house the size of this one.

The footman took them in through the smaller entrance, along a wide passage, and stopped at a doorway where he knocked. A woman’s voice answered and he opened the door and showed them in.

“Tellman and Phipps, Mr. and Mrs. Pitt’s personal servants, Mrs. Hunnaker,” he said, then withdrew, closed the door behind him and left them alone in a neat, well-furnished parlor with easy chairs, a pleasant piece of carpeting, two pictures on the walls and clean antimacassars on the chair backs. Embroidered samplers hung above the mantelpiece, and there was a brisk fire burning in the wrought-iron grate surrounded by painted tiles.

Mrs. Hunnaker was in her fifties with a long, straight nose and thick gray hair which was extremely handsome, lending her face a certain charm. She looked like a well-bred governess.

“I expect you’ll find it strange,” she said, regarding them closely. “But we’ll make you welcome. Danny’ll show you your rooms. Men servants use the back stairs, women the front. Don’t forget that.” She looked particularly at Tellman. “Mealtimes are breakfast in the servants’ hall at eight o’clock. Porridge and toast. You will eat with the servants, naturally. Dinner is between twelve and one, and supper will be before the guests’. If your lady and gentleman want you at these times, Cook’ll keep you something. Ask, never take. Likewise, if your lady and gentleman wants a cup of tea, or a little something to eat, ask Cook if you can prepare it. We can’t have every servant in the house coming and going willy-nilly or we’ll never get a decent meal served. Laundry maids’ll wash for you, but expect you to do your own lady’s ironing.” She looked at Gracie.

“Yes, ma’am,” Gracie said obediently.

“Doubtless you’ve got all your own needles and threads, brushes and the like.” That was a statement, not a question. “If you need anything from the cellar or the pantry, ask Mr. Dilkes, he’s the butler. Don’t go outside unless someone sends you. As far as the other guests are concerned, speak when you are spoken to, but don’t let anyone put on you. If you can’t find anything as you want, ask someone. It’s a big house and folks can easy get lost. I hope you’ll be very comfortable here.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Gracie bobbed a half curtsy.

Tellman said nothing.

Gracie kicked him unobtrusively, but hard.

He drew in his breath with a hiss.

“Thank you,” he said tersely.

Mrs. Hunnaker pulled on a bell cord, and a maid answered almost immediately.

“These are Mr. and Mrs. Pitt’s servants, Jenny. Show them the laundry, the stillroom, Mr. Dilkes’s pantry and the servants’ hall. Then take Phipps to her room, and have one of the footmen take Tellman to his.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jenny bobbed a curtsy obediently and turned to lead them.

Gracie had never before been addressed by her surname, but she realized it was probably the way in a large house. Charlotte had warned her that visiting valets and ladies’ maids were sometimes known by the names of their employers. If “Pitt!” were called out by any of the senior servants, it would be she, or Tellman, who was wanted. It would all take a lot of getting used to. But it was a wonderful adventure, and she was always eager for new experiences.

Tellman, on the other hand, still looked as if he had sucked on a lemon.

The room she was shown was very pleasant, if somewhat smaller than her own in Keppel Street, and certainly not nearly as cozy. There was nothing of a personal nature in it. But then it was probably not occupied very often, and never by one person for more than a week or two at a time.

She set her bags down, opened one up, then remembered that of course she would have to go downstairs and unpack all Charlotte’s things first, hang them up and make sure all was well. That was what ladies’ maids were for. She wondered if Tellman had remembered that was what he was supposed to do too. There was no way she could help him, because she had no idea where his room was.

She found Charlotte and Pitt’s suite of rooms in the main house after asking one of the upstairs maids. She knocked and went in. There was a large bedroom with a rose-colored carpet. Huge windows overlooked a large lawn with towering blue fir trees, and to the left was a flat-topped cedar which was the loveliest thing she had ever seen. It spread wide and delicate, almost black-green against a windy sky. The curtains were splashed with roses and had wonderful swags and drapes and cords in crimson.

“Oh blimey!” she said in a gasp, then caught herself just in time. There was someone in the dressing room. She went past the round table with a bowl of chrysanthemums on it and tiptoed to the door. She was about to knock when she saw Tellman, standing and watching as Pitt unpacked his own cases and hung up his clothes. Of course, Tellman had probably never even seen a gentleman’s evening clothes like these before, let alone learned how to care for them. Still, it was shocking that in a house like this Pitt should be doing it himself. What would people think?

“I’ll help wi’ that, sir,” she said briskly, pushing the door open. “You should be downstairs meeting all them people wot you’re ’ere to look after.” She gave Tellman a meaningful glance, in case he imagined that was a leave for him to go as well.

Pitt turned around, hesitated a moment, glanced at Tellman, then back at Gracie.

“Thank you,” he accepted with a wry smile, and with a nod at Tellman, he left.

Gracie turned to Charlotte’s three large trunks and opened the first. On the top was a magnificent evening gown in oyster-colored satin, stitched with pearl beads and draped with silk chiffon. A glance at the side seam of the bodice told her it had been very rapidly and very skillfully let out at the back. No doubt it belonged to Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould. Gracie knew every one of Charlotte’s few dresses, and this certainly was not among them. She lifted it up very carefully, a warm rush of gratitude filling her that Lady Vespasia should be so generous to save Charlotte’s self-esteem in this company—most especially before her sister, who had married so well. As far as money was concerned, that is. No one could match the master for being a person that really mattered in the world.

She found a hanger and arranged the gown so it lay properly and turned to put it in the wardrobe.

Tellman was staring at her, mesmerized.

“What’s the matter wi’ you?” she said briskly. “In’t yer never seen a lady’s gown afore? Get on ’anging up them suits an’ then you can go an’ find out where the irons are, and the upstairs stove for makin’ tea, an’ the bathroom an’ like. I don’ suppose yer know ’ow ter draw a bath?” She sniffed. “Don’t suppose yer got a bath? An’ ’ot water for the mornin’s? An’ polish for the master’s boots? They’ll ’ave ter be done every night.” She looked at the disgust in his face. “Not that yer’ve got much ter do, not like as I ’ave! Gentlemen only changes once or twice a day. Ladies change up ter five times. But yer’ll ’ave ter make sure shirts is clean … always! I’ll give yer ’ell ter pay if yer let the master down by sending ’im out wi’ a shirt wot in’t perfick.”

“He’s not my master,” Tellman said between his teeth. “And I’m not a bleedin’ nursemaid!”

“You’re not any bleedin’ use!” she snapped back at him. “And we’ll ’ave no language in ’ere, Mr. Tellman. It in’t done. D’you ’ear me?”

He stood still, glaring at her.

“If yer too proud ter do yer job proper, then yer a fool,” she said tartly, turning back to the trunk and taking out the next gown, one in autumn gold taffeta. This was plainer, one of Charlotte’s own, but very becoming to her auburn coloring. “Pass me one o’ them ’angers,” she instructed.

He passed it grudgingly.

“Look, Mr. Tellman,” she said, putting the dress on the hanger carefully, then handing it to him to hang in the wardrobe and moving to the next garment, a day dress in deep blue gabardine. Below that was a morning dress, and another, and another. There were three more dinner dresses and several morning and day dresses in the other trunk, plus blouses, camisoles and other underwear, and of course plenty of petticoats. But she would not take them out until Tellman had gone. It was none of his affair what a lady wore beneath her gowns. “Look,” she started again, “you an’ me is ’ere ter ’elp the master do ’is job an’ protect whoever it is wot’s in danger. To do that right, we got ter look like we come ter this kind of ’ouse reg’lar an’ knows wot we’re doin’.”

She handed him the next gown and fixed him with a strict stare.

“You may think it’s terrible beneath yer ter be a servant, an’ by the curl o’ yer lips yer do ….”

“I don’t believe in one man being servant to another,” he said stiffly. “I don’t wish to insult you, because it isn’t your fault you were born poor, any more than it’s mine I was. But you don’t have to accept it as if you deserved it, or treat other people as if they were better just ’cos they have money. All this bowing and doffing turns my stomach. I’m surprised to see you do it like it comes natural.”

“Think too much o’ yerself, you do,” she said philosophically. “Got more prickles than one o’ them little beasts wot five in ’edges. Seems ter me yer got two choices. You can be a good servant and make a fair job of it, or yer can be a bad one an’ make a mess of it. I think enough o’ meself ter make the best of it I can.” She grunted, then went back to the second trunk and began to take the dresses out of it and lay them carefully on the bed before looking for more hangers.