Authors: The Ladys Companion
“That’s for you to discover.” He got up from the table and stretched, before starting toward the coat tree. “Mrs. Skerlong, do you think I should keep stalling or try to fetch this little one’s trunk?”
Susan laughed. “So that’s how it is! Seriously, Mr. Wiggins, it can wait if the snow is too deep.”
“I’ll get it today,” he said as he buttoned his coat. “Promised I would last night, as I recall.”
Promises don’t mean much, she thought. “Suit yourself, sir,” she said.
Again that look. “I always do, Miss Hampton,” he said as he nodded to the housekeeper and left the kitchen.
Mrs. Skerlong gazed a long moment at the space he had occupied by the door, then turned back to the stove. “I disremember a time when he has said so much at once,” she commented, careful not to look at Susan. “He likes you.”
Susan shook her head. “If that’s liking, I wonder why he didn’t give me any good advice on how to deal with Lady Bushnell.”
“Why should he? That’s your domain. You’re the lady’s companion.”
I am indeed, Susan thought. Now what? She pursed her lips and watched Mrs. Skerlong’s efficiency over the stove. The cat twined itself around her ankles, purring and offering her advice on where to scratch next by gently butting her fingers with his head. “Oh, you are a spoiled gentleman,” she said as she obliged him. Would that people were so easily managed, she considered, but that is another cup of tea.
“Mrs. Skerlong,” she asked suddenly, “does Lady Bushnell take midmorning tea?”
“She does. Cora usually carries it in.”
“Let me do it this morning. I have to meet her sooner or later, and it may as well be sooner. She must know I am here.”
Mrs. Skerlong looked doubtful. “Lady B does like order and tidiness, and you could fit three lady’s companions in that dress. You might wait until Davey returns with your trunk.”
“That could be days!” she protested. “And each day I will grow more afraid.”
“He said he would have your trunk today,” Mrs. Skerlong reminded her. “Don’t you trust people’s word?”
“No, I suppose I don’t,” Susan said quietly. “But if you please, I would like to meet Lady Bushnell.”
“Very well, then,” the housekeeper replied. “If you’re sure. Lady Bushnell usually spends the mornings in her room.”
She felt less sure as she stood outside Lady Bushnell’s door and knocked. This dress is a fright, but I know my hair is neat, she thought as she waited and knocked again.
“For heaven’s sake, just come in!”
Oh, dear. Susan took a deep breath and opened the door. Lady Bushnell sat at a small desk by the window, with a ledger open before her. She was hard to see, because the strong light from the window was behind her, but Susan had no trouble recognizing posture as uncompromising and well-bred as her own, and the profile of a chin that looked even more stubborn than the bailiff’s. I have stumbled into a nest of strong characters, she thought as she hesitated at the door.
“Come closer,” said the woman, setting down her writing pen. “Over there, please, then tell me who you are.” She spoke crisply, the voice of command.
Susan did as she was bid, then approached Lady Bushnell, who had clasped her hands in front of her on the desk. What she saw was a woman no bigger than herself, with a wealth of white hair pulled back and arranged much as her own. There any resemblance ended with all the finality of a slammed door. The woman before her was immaculate, with snapping green eyes that almost glittered under hooded eyelids and a gentle rose complexion that young women would perish for. The set of her lips was formidable, and Susan felt her stomach quiver. This was not a woman who would take easily to the reality of old age and its attendant frailties.
“Well?”
Susan never knew a one-word sentence to have such a nuance. Aristotle could have written a treatise on it. “I’m Susan Hampton, your companion,” she said simply. “I would like to know what I can do for you.”
Susan could see a hundred cutting remarks cross Lady Bushnell’s expressive face. I wonder where you will begin, she thought.
“I suggest that you pour me some tea,” she said.
Susan did as she asked. Mrs. Skerlong had put two cups and saucers in the tray, obviously in the forlorn hope that Lady Bushnell would like to share a cup with her newest employee. She did not. Susan poured the tea, handed it to Lady Bushnell, and stood before her with her hands behind her back, her fingers clenched tight together.
Lady Bushnell sipped her tea, never taking her eyes from Susan’s face. She set down the cup and cleared her throat. Susan could feel the hair rising on the back of her neck.
“Joel Steinman has taken complete leave of his senses. When my pea-brained daughter-in-law searches for your replacement, I will suggest to her that she try another agency.”
Susan blinked. Do I say “Yes, mum” and hang my head, burst into tears, or do I look her in the eye and tell her what I think? “You won’t need another agency,” she heard herself say. “I have come here to stay, Lady Bushnell.”
There was a long pause. It gave her cold comfort to see that Lady Bushnell had not expected that answer, or the well-bred cadence of diction that matched her own.
“Even if I do not want or need you?”
“You’ll need me, ma’am, particularly if you do not wish to be visited by other lady’s companions who won’t be as good for you as I will be,” Susan said, wondering where the words were coming from. Only please, please don’t ask me what a companion does, because I am sure I could not tell you.
“And what will you do for me?”
Oh, no. Susan felt her mind go blank, except for one thought.
“I will never, ever steal your spoons,” she said, her voice firm.
There. Susan let out the breath she had been saving, and dug her stockinged feet into the thick carpet. She probably mistook it, but for the smallest moment, there was a different glimmer in Lady Bushnell’s eyes. It was quickly gone, but Susan hoped.
“Have you ever stolen anything, Miss Hampton?” The question was as frosty as the air outside.
Susan considered the question. “Why, yes, I have,” she replied, smiling at the memory. “When I was ten I stole my perfectly odious cousin’s marzipan Father Christmas and ate it. I considered it my duty, because my cousin was quite fat.”
Lady Bushnell looked down at her desk and pushed the ledger away before she turned her gaze on Susan again. “Did someone steal your clothes, Miss Hampton?”
Susan thought there was the slightest quaver in her voice. She felt some of the strain go out of her shoulders. “No, Lady Bushnell. This is a loan from Cora Skerlong. Unless Mr. Wiggins can engineer a road through the snow, my trunk is destined to remain at the inn in Quilling for the present, I fear.”
“David will fetch it,” Lady Bushnell said. “Unlike you, he has the virtue of being useful about this place.”
“I can be useful, too, Lady Bushnell,” Susan said.
“I cannot imagine how.” Lady Bushnell turned in her chair to face Susan and folded her hands in her lap. “Estimable woman that she is, my daughter-in-law has so much time on her hands that she feels obliged to meddle in my affairs. I had a trifling accident on the stairs eight months ago and must use a cane now.” She indicated the delicately carved stick beside the desk. “What will Emmeline do but send me lady’s companions.” Lady Bushnell made a face as though the words were distasteful. “If I cough, the companions tattle on me and bring all manner of solicitations and unwanted advice from Emmeline! What do you think of that, Miss Hampton?”
“I think you are fortunate that someone loves you as much as that,” Susan replied. “It has been my experience that people who are ignored are not held in much affection.”
“Your experience!” Lady Bushnell snapped. “Oh, please! You can’t be a day over eighteen.”
“I am twenty-five,” Susan said, her voice even. “My father is Sir Rodney Hampton, England’s worst gambler. He has frittered away the family estate, our house in London, and my entire dowry, until I am obliged to earn my own way. I have no place to go if you turn me off here, so I am determined that you will find me entirely satisfactory.”
“Do you wish me to feel sorry for you because your improvident family has sent you into the ranks of the lower class?”
I did not think a slap would hurt that much, Susan thought, taking a step back as though the widow had struck her. This is a poisonous old woman. She tried to regard Lady Bushnell calmly, even as the last bit of her own pride dribbled away. Or it is a proud woman who has lost children and husband and sees her independence slipping through her fingers.
Lady Bushnell was silent then, sipping her tea. When she finished, she turned her attention back to the ledger on her desk. Susan stood there in the middle of the room until it became obvious to her that she had been dismissed. Her face burning, she gathered up the tea tray and went to the door, her heart so low in her toes that she felt as though she were kicking it with every step.
“I intend to write Joel Steinman and tell him that I am turning you off. There will be no more lady’s companions, and so I will tell Emmeline face-to-face if I have to. What do you think of that, Miss Hampton?”
For the first time since her father stole her pearls, Susan felt tears prickle the back of her eyelids. It is all I should have expected, she told herself as she stood there with her hand on the doorknob. No one wants me here. I was defeated before I came.
“Well?”
“That is your right, Lady Bushnell,” she replied, struggling to keep her voice even. “It frightens me a little, but I expect I’ll manage.” She opened the door. “The innkeep in Quilling told me last night that there are good people around here. I suppose he was only referring to the village. Good day, Lady Bushnell. I’m sorry you’ll never know how well I would have suited.”
To her immense relief, the kitchen was empty when she brought back the tray. She sat down because her legs wouldn’t hold her anymore. She put her arms on the table and rested her head on them, her mind turning like a whirligig. There’s nothing I can sell to get some cash for a ride back to London. And even if I get to London, I can’t knock on Aunt Louisa’s door. I just can’t.
She sighed and waited for the tears to come, but they did not. I suppose I have finally gone beyond tears, she thought, and what a relief that is. She rested her chin on her hands, Well, I was right when I told Cora that I was going to be the final lady’s companion.
The cat nudged her ankles and she sat up, looking about her to make sure that no one had seen her sprawled all over the table like a barmaid. She got to her feet and stood there a moment until she felt entirely steady. Her boots were still by the stove, so she retrieved them and put them on, enjoying their warmth. I can at least spare Mr. Wiggins a trip for nothing, if I’m not too late, she thought as she snatched a shawl from the coat tree.
It was going to be a chilly walk back to Quilling, she thought as she left the house and went to the cattle byre. The barnyard was muddy, and she hated to think what was happening to her beautifully polished boots. She pushed open the door, smiling in spite of her misery at the pleasant odor of hay and cows. Who can be too unhappy around cows? she asked herself as she hurried down the central passageway, looking for the bailiff.
He was sitting in one of the loose boxes, regarding a cow in labor. He looked up at her and then returned his attention to the cow. Susan leaned on the railing.
“I’m so glad you haven’t gone to Quilling for my trunk yet!” she said. “I can spare you the trip.”
“Change your mind, Miss Hampton?”
She shook her head. “No, but it’s been changed for me. Lady Bushnell . . . Lady Bushnell says I won’t suit. She turned me off. I’ll leave in the morning.” She didn’t trust herself to say anything else just then, and truly, he didn’t seem too interested. She looked at him a moment more, remembering a time in her life when everyone was interested in her. “Thank you for whatever you did, Mr. Wiggins. I’ll not trouble you any further.”
She turned to leave, but paused when the bailiff stood up, brushing the hay off his leather breeches.
“Where will you go?”
“I don’t know.”
He came to the railing and rested his elbows on it, looking directly at her again with that unwavering gaze of his that she was familiar with, in spite of their brief acquaintance.
“Miss Hampton, I could loan you the fare back to London.” He smiled. “I have that much, at least.”
She shook her head. “That’s kind, but I have no way of repaying you, Mr. Wiggins.”
“Marry me, then.”
Susan couldn’t have heard him right, but she was suddenly too shy to ask him to repeat himself. She swallowed, and stared at him. Maybe if I do not say anything, I’ll discover that I was just hearing things. He looks perfectly rational, except that he has hay on his shirt. Absently, she reached out and plucked it off.
“God knows I can’t afford a special license,” he continued, “but I know a family you could stay with in Quilling until after the banns are cried. My house isn’t big, but it’s big enough.”
He stopped talking then, waiting for her to say something. Susan tried to remember everything her mother and aunt had told her about proposals, but she couldn’t think beyond the fact that this was the nicest offer anyone had ever made her. It was impossible, of course, but she was moved past words. She just patted his arm, resting so close to her shoulder on the railing.
“Mr. Wiggins, yours is the very first proposal I ever had, and I do not think anyone will ever make me a kinder offer . . .” she began finally, unable then to look him in the eye.
“But no, thank you,” he concluded for her.
She nodded, embarrassed.
“It was a foolish notion,” he murmured, “but I thought to help you. I suppose I overstepped my bounds. I do that sometimes.”
“Oh, no!” she said, putting her hand on his arm again. “That is not my objection! Mr. Wiggins, you don’t know anything about me! Suppose I turned out to be a . . . a thief, or a wine bibber, or . . .”
He laughed softly and moved away from the railing, away from her hand. “You’re nothing of the sort, and I have never been safer, Miss Hampton!” He scuffed his boot in the hay and looked down at the cow, who was regarding him with mild interest as her insides heaved. “I’ve never been so impulsive.” He shook his head at his own temerity.
He chose a light tone, and she matched it. “I didn’t think you were given to sudden starts, Mr. Wiggins. Please don’t worry about me. Perhaps I could accept that loan from you. I . . . I think Mr. Steinman would make it good.”
“Joel will do me right,” Wiggins said, coming to the railing again.
“You know him, don’t you?” she said, forgetting her own troubles for a moment.
“Quite well. I remember that arm of his . . .” He shook his head. “You don’t need to hear those stories. Yes, I know him, and he owes me a debt beyond payment. I’ll get my shillings back, if you need to borrow them, Miss Hampton.”
“I do, sir. Let us shake on it.”
They shook hands over the railing. Susan hitched the borrowed shawl higher on her shoulders and turned to leave the bailiff to his business.
“But what will you do in London?”
She looked back at Wiggins, who still regarded her over the railing. “I will have to crawl back to my aunt and my father and give up any hopes I had of a future of my own.” She spoke softly, but she knew he heard her.
“Then my offer still stands, if you ever need it, Miss Hampton. I know what it’s like to be in bondage,” he said just as quietly, then squatted on his heels again, facing the cow.
Such a day this has been, and it is not yet afternoon, Susan thought as she left the cattle byre. I’ve been turned off a job, offered marriage, then forced to swallow huge lumps of pride. I suppose I can swallow more and return to Aunt Louisa. She turned her face up to the sun and smiled. And if things get too onerous in London, I can nourish myself with the knowledge that someone in the Cotswolds will always come to my rescue, even if it’s just a bailiff. At least I’ve been asked.
She ate a quiet lunch in the kitchen with Cora and Mrs. Skerlong, accepting their condolences over the briefness of her employment with a degree of equanimity that surprised her. Perhaps I do long for the safety of Aunt Louisa’s tyranny, where everything will be done for me, if I surrender my personality, she admitted to herself as she drank the last of her tea. And according to these hardworking people, what is so terrible about a fashionable roof over my head, food cooked by a French chef, and warm surroundings? In time, I might believe them, too.
Mrs. Skerlong warned her that Lady Bushnell had taken up her usual afternoon haunt in the south-facing sitting room, so Susan did not slow her steps as she passed that room. She went thoughtfully up the stairs, ready to compose a letter to Joel Steinman that she could send to him once she was back in London. By the time I am back in London, she reasoned, I should have so little pride left that I can throw myself on his mercy without a qualm. It is a theory I shall likely have to test, at any rate.
She went into her room and admired its compact, comforting utility, sorry that she would be leaving it so soon. She stopped and frowned at the bed. There was another dress, this one of blue so deep that at first she mistook it for black. She picked it up, admiring the mother-of-pearl buttons and rows of little tucks all across the bodice, and the deep flounce from knee to ankle that spoke of another decade. She held the dress up to her, knowing that it couldn’t ever have belonged to Cora Skerlong. She laid the dress back onto the bed and picked up the shawl of Norwich silk lying next to it. A note fell out of the rich blue and yellow folds.
It was one sentence only: “In the interest of fairness, I will give you a probationary period, as I gave all the others.” Clutching the note, Susan spread out her arms and flopped back on the bed. “Yes!” she told the ceiling with fierce exultation. “Will anyone want to work so hard for thirty pounds a year as I shall?” she asked. “Surely not my father!”
She made herself comfortable on the bed, thinking of the bailiff again. He seemed to rub along well enough with Lady Bushnell. He will have to tell me something about her, Susan told herself. I will bother him until he gives me some idea of how to please her.
She knew she should devote her mind to the matter at hand, but the mutton stew and brown bread from lunch were nicely muddling up her insides and making her drowsy. She was still tired from last night’s trip through the snow, for all that the bailiff had declared that she was tougher than she looked. She undid the sash and let Cora’s big dress sprawl around her. I could turn over inside this dress, she thought, and closed her eyes. I wonder if Mr. Wiggins is still sitting on his heels beside that cow. He is a patient man. I wonder why it is that I always seem to think of him before I go to sleep? I will
not
think of him first when I wake up.
***
Susan knew she wouldn’t have thought of Mr. Wiggins first when she opened her eyes, except that she had the oddest dream of trudging behind him as they climbed up and down hills, balancing her trunk on the back of a cow. I must not eat so much mutton, she told herself as she lay in bed, her hands pressed to her middle. The softness of the light outside told her that the afternoon had already taken that turn into evening.
She exchanged Cora’s dress for Lady’s Bushnell’s, exclaiming over the excellence of the fit as she viewed herself in the mirror. This dress looks better than I do at the moment, Susan decided as she pulled from her hair the few remaining pins that had survived her nap. She brushed her hair and soon had it tamed into submission and wound neatly about her head again. I will do, she told herself as Cora tapped on the door to announce that dinner was ready. She was still in her stockinged feet, but the dress was long enough to cover that minor deficiency.
Susan dined in the kitchen with the Skerlongs, content to let the cat curl up at her toes as she ate oyster soup and fricassee and wondered where Mr. Wiggins was. She must have looked toward the door once too often, because Mrs. Skerlong smiled at her.
“He’s with the cows, Miss Hampton,” she said.
“I was afraid he might have gone to Quilling for my trunk this evening,” Susan explained.
The housekeeper shook her head. “I did take the liberty of telling him your good news when he came in to eat before milking.” She laughed and began to gather up the dishes. “He said he’d get your trunk tomorrow, and put it on rollers, in case he had to take it back in a few days!”
“No, Mama,” Cora said decisively, shaking her head. “Miss Hampton told me that she is to be the final lady’s companion. You’re here to stay, aren’t you, Miss Hampton?”
“I do hope so,” Susan said. “And I wish that you would please call me Susan.”
“We couldn’t possibly,” the housekeeper declared. “None of the other lady’s companions went so far.”
“And they’re not here, are they?” Susan countered. “Please call me Susan, and give me some good advice on Lady’s Bushnell’s likes and dislikes.”
Mrs. Skerlong went to her chair by the stove, and Susan followed, sitting on her footstool. The cat leaped onto her lap and nudged her fingers to remind her of her duty. Absently, she rubbed the animal behind the ears.
“You want to talk to David Wiggins, my dear,” said the housekeeper as she threaded her darning needle. “Cora and I only came here this last year ourselves when the old housekeeper died. What I learned, I learned from David. The bailiff’s known her for years, from back when they soldiered together on the Peninsula.”
“Oh, surely not,” Susan said, picking up a skein of yarn at Mrs. Skerlong’s indication and starting to roll it into a ball. “Ladies don’t soldier.”
“I guess they do if they want something more exciting from their husbands than letters, my dear!” said the housekeeper, smiling as Susan blushed. “Old Lord Bushnell was quite a man, from every indication. Lady B stuck to his side like a burr up hill and down dale through all of Spain and Portugal.” She shook her head. “And when the old man and their daughter died in that last trip over the mountains to France . . .”
“I’m wearing her daughter’s dress?” she whispered, her eyes big.
“You are—and don’t think it doesn’t surprise me!” The housekeeper focused her attention on the sock in her lap for a moment. “Lady B took the bodies home, and gave up following the drum. The new Lord Bushnell had served in another regiment. He took over the family title and the Fifth Foot.” Mrs. Skerlong rested the darning egg and sock in her lap. “He insisted that she stay in England with her daughter-in-law at the family estate about twenty miles from here, toward Bath. And there it stood. I don’t think there was a battlefield in Spain or Portugal that Lady Bushnell didn’t know.”
“I wouldn’t have imagined it,” Susan murmured, putting down the ball of yarn. “She looks so refined and elegant.”
“And probably did on the back of a donkey, too,” Mrs. Skerlong said. “The aristocracy ain’t like the rest of us. Begging your pardon, Miss Hampton . . .”
“Never mind,” Susan said. “I’m certainly not in Lady Bushnell’s class. But to travel like that . . .”
“You wouldn’t follow your husband from bivouac to bivouac?”
Susan looked around, startled. “You are much too quiet, sir,” she protested to the bailiff as he stood behind her, milk pails in hand. She regarded him, wondering if she should feel disconcerted, especially since she had turned down his amazing proposal only hours ago. There was nothing in his face of embarrassment, so obviously his impulsive offer was not a concern to him now. I will take a light tone, she decided. “How can we gossip if you sneak up like a Mohican?”
“Quite easily, I think,” he replied, handing the pails to Emma, who apparently had been waiting for them. The girl took them to the room off the kitchen, and Susan heard the sound of milk being poured into a larger container. “I could have rolled a cannonball in here, and you wouldn’t have heard me, the two of you sitting there like conspirators!”
Mrs. Skerlong expressed her opinion cheerfully in pungent words that made Susan blink, then smiled at the bailiff, obviously used to him. “Susan wants to know about Lady Bushnell.”
“She’s keeping me on sufferance for a little while longer, and I must discover how to please her,” Susan explained. “Oh, sir, can you help?”
The bailiff nodded. “If you don’t mind discussing this in the cattle byre.” He looked at Mrs. Skerlong and rolled his eyes. “I disremember why I told Tim the cowman he could spend the month with his old mam in Bristol. I haven’t squeezed so many tits since I left off soldiering.”
Susan coughed and looked long at the stove, held her breath and tried not to laugh out loud. Aunt Louisa, if you could hear these two, she thought, remembering her aunt harrumphing and “my wording” when Papa unleashed the occasional vulgarity.
“You’re kind to old Tim ’cause you’re such a good-hearted bastard, David Wiggins,” Mrs. Skerlong replied as she threaded her needle again.
“Only don’t let it get about,” he replied, unruffled by the housekeeper’s commentary on his parenthood. “Those your boots, Miss Hampton?”
She nodded, hoping that her eyes didn’t look as merry as she felt. “Yes, sir.”
“Kate, loan her your coat. Let’s see if her curiosity extends beyond the cattle byre and into the dread succession house. If I have to talk, she has to work, too.”
When her boots were on, he helped her into Mrs. Skerlong’s coat and took her hand as they crossed the barnyard. “Wind’s picking up,” he explained when she drew back in surprise at first. “You’d blow over in a strong gust, I’m thinking.” He stopped and put his face up to the wind, breathing deep. “It’s coming from the west; I’m also thinking the snow will be melting tomorrow.” He took a firmer hold on her hand. “Just remember to look out for east winds, Miss Hampton.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied dubiously.
“And for God’s sake quit sirring me,” he said. “Call me Mr. Wiggins if you must—although that makes me feel forty . . .”
“Aren’t you?” she interrupted, suddenly quite pleased with herself. I have not felt like making a joke for ever so long, she thought as he stopped again.
“Miss Hampton, do you see that mound of cow muck over there?” He pointed with her hand in his.
“Yes, s . . . Wiggins.”
“Another remark like that and Wiggins will see that you’re the first lady’s companion in it! I am thirty-three. It may seem like forty to you, but let’s keep that straight.”
She laughed, then shrieked as he steered her toward the mound. “You wouldn’t!”
“Well, no,” he agreed, turning her into the cattle byre. “Mrs. Skerlong would probably make me clean your boots.” He released her hand and she followed him down the corridor between the stalls, thinking to herself what a pleasant walk he had. You look like someone who knows how to walk and walk, she thought.