Necropolis (Royal Sorceress Book 3) (10 page)

She smiled. It was clear that Lord Mycroft had used Madame Hampton to insert an agent into someone’s household before, if only because of how little time it had taken to arrange the whole business. Gwen had expected it to take longer, somehow, but Madame Hampton had simply recalled Gwen’s predecessor and seen to it that the girl would find another place in a different household, clearing the way for Gwen. Gwen suspected that Lady Standish would be annoyed by the timing – they were about to leave for Russia, after all – but there would be no help for it. Besides, she was getting Gwen’s services practically free of charge.

But not without bed and board
, Gwen thought. She was entitled to a place to lay her head, food to eat and a day of rest, although she’d been warned that the last of these might not be honoured, not when Madame Hampton was more interested in making money than taking care of her girls.
And I won’t be staying for long
.

“You need to pay attention,” Madame Hampton snapped. Gwen realised, guiltily, that Madame Hampton had been talking while Gwen hadn’t been listening to her. “Lady Standish will not be happy if you fail to listen to her commands.”

“Yes, My Lady,” Gwen said, grimly. It was going to take all of her patience to endure weeks of servitude to Lady Standish. At least she’d be in a position to take revenge afterwards, if it was as bad as Irene feared. “I understand.”

“Glad to hear it,” Madame Hampton said, darkly.

She picked up a long dark coat and draped it over her arm, then rang the bell. When the foreman arrived, she directed him to bring the carriage around to the front entrance and make ready for departure, then she put a few more questions to Gwen as they waited. It was a shame, she mused out loud, that Gwen couldn’t cook, but it was perhaps unsurprising if she claimed to have worked for someone like Lord Carmichael. He’d had a separate cook to ensure that he received meals precisely how he liked them, rather than trusting it to his daughter’s maid. Gwen’s fictional duties had mainly revolved around his daughter.

“Just remember to keep your eyes downcast at all times,” Madame Hampton added, as she led the way out to the carriage. “And do precisely as you are told.”

Gwen winced inwardly as she followed Madame Hampton into the carriage and sat down. She had never been very good at doing what she was told, something her mother had bemoaned regularly when Gwen had been a young girl. But she had obeyed Master Thomas, right up until she’d realised just how far he was prepared to go to stop the Swing. She’d been too horrified to trust or obey him any longer.

“It’s harder to get good horses these days,” Madame Hampton said. She lifted her eyebrows as the carriage jerked into life. “I trust you know how to ride?”

“Yes, My Lady,” Gwen said. She recalled her cover story and smiled. “My Lord taught me so I could ride with his daughter.”

Madame Hampton’s lips thinned again as they moved out onto the street, where there were only a handful of carriages making their way down the centre of the road. Gwen wasn’t too surprised. The army was calling up horses as well as men, paying bounties for every horse that was brought into the army barracks and signed over to military authority. Unsurprisingly, horse thieves were having a field day. No one was checking ownership papers too closely, no doubt in the belief that anyone stupid enough to lose a horse didn’t deserve to keep it. In the long run, she suspected it would cause no end of problems, but for the moment there seemed to be nothing anyone could do about it.

She forced herself to relax as the carriage headed towards Lord Standish’s residence. As an important government minister, he was entitled to a small house in Pall Mall as well as a larger mansion on the outskirts of London. Gwen remembered, suddenly, that her brother David lived in Pall Mall, when he wasn’t with his wife in their own manor. If he saw her ... she shook her head. David was too straight-laced to recognise his sister in maid’s clothing, even though they’d practically grown up together. Imagination had never been one of his strong points.

But he’s been working for Lord Mycroft
, she reminded herself, as shouts from outside suggested that the carriage had almost run over someone in the street.
He might be having his mind expanded
.

The carriage lurched again, then came to a halt in front of a large stone building. It was much smaller than any aristocratic hall, but – located at the heart of London – it would be much more expensive than almost anything smaller than a castle outside London. Gwen recalled her father’s complaints about the cost of owning a home in London and smiled at the memory, recalling the time she’d asked why he wanted to live in the city. Her father had spluttered and then explained that London was the capital of the British Empire. As a businessman, even though he might try to hide his occupation, he couldn’t afford to be anywhere else.

Madame Hampton stepped out of the carriage with all the dignity of her station, waited for Gwen to climb down in a ladylike manner, then strode up to the door and knocked, sharply. Gwen, who had expected her to use the tradesman’s entrance, blinked in surprise, then schooled her features into respectful dispassion as the door opened, revealing a man wearing a butler’s outfit. He was the blackest man Gwen had ever seen, his white teeth glittering as he smiled at them. There was a fashion for negro butlers, Gwen recalled, after the Royal Navy had brought a number of former slaves to London. It was one of the many pointless fashions that occupied her mother’s time.

“Madame Hampton, here to see Lady Standish,” Madame Hampton said, briskly. “I have brought the new domestic.”

“Come in,” the butler said. His dark eyes flashed over Gwen, missing nothing. “Her Ladyship is in the study.”

Gwen kept her face impassive as they walked down a long carpeted corridor, wondering just how much the butler had seen in her. Servants were trained to read faces and body language in ways few aristocrats could match, just so they could tell when their masters and mistresses were in good moods. It was quite possible that the butler – Romulus, according to the file – had realised that something wasn’t quite right about her. Or that he merely thought she wasn’t up to the standards expected of anyone working for the family. Gwen had known butlers who were worse snobs than their masters.

Romulus stopped in front of a door and knocked, sharply. “Madame Hampton, My Lady,” he said. There was a long pause, then he opened the door. “Please, enter.”

Under other circumstances, Gwen suspected she would have rather liked the study. Three of the four walls were lined with bookshelves, while the fourth was decorated with maps and paintings of the vast domains ruled by the British Empire. Many of the books actually looked interesting, which was more than could be said of the books in her father’s study. But she didn’t dare look at the bookshelves when Lady Standish was in the room. Her Ladyship was already rising to her feet, her expression unreadable. Gwen hastily bobbed a curtsey, then looked down at the floor. She couldn’t look up until Lady Standish wanted her to look up.

“This is Gwen,” Madame Hampton said, after the two women had exchanged insincere greetings. Madame Hampton fell some way short of being Lady Standish’s social equal and that rankled both of the women. “She is experienced in some matters, inexperienced in others, but you will find her suitable.”

“I should hope so,” Lady Standish said. Her accent was pure aristocracy, without even a trace of anything from outside London. Even Gwen’s mother hadn’t had so perfect an accent; hell, even the
King
didn’t have such an accent! “Let me see the file.”

There was a rustle of paper as she took the file and skimmed through it, then stepped forward until she was standing right in front of Gwen. “Look up, girl,” she ordered. “Let me take a look at you.”

Gwen looked up, careful not to meet Lady Standish’s eyes. She was tall, not much older than Gwen’s mother, with a thin disapproving face, dark red hair shading to grey and an air of absolute certainty that probably irritated everyone who saw her. This was not a woman, Gwen noted, who was likely to have any doubts about herself or her decisions. If she was right, it was all her own work; if she was wrong, it was someone else’s fault. Gwen had met plenty of men and women who shared the same reluctance to admit they could be wrong. Almost all of them came from the aristocracy.

Lady Standish wore a long black dress, as if she were in mourning. It was loose enough to hide the shape of her body, Gwen noted, but it was surprisingly tight around the woman’s neck. Fashion, Gwen recalled vaguely, fighting down the urge to roll her eyes. She’d banned fashionable outfits at Cavendish Hall, at least for the students, just to prevent it from causing arguments and bad feelings. But Lady Standish wouldn’t hesitate to wear whatever she pleased, setting fashion rather than following it.

Gwen recalled Lord Mycroft’s brother’s lessons as she covertly scrutinised the older woman, grimly aware that Lady Standish was doing the same to her. This was not a woman used to any form of physical exertion, she deduced; there were no marks on her hands that suggested any form of work, even writing with a pen and ink. On the other hand, her dress would hardly require a maid to don, suggesting that Lady Standish was more practical than she liked to appear. Her hair was pinned up neatly, though, which
did
suggest a maid. Gwen decided that Lady Standish had once been very proud of her hair and lavished more attention on it than she did on her clothes.

“You worked for Lord Carmichael,” Lady Standish said, finally.

“Yes, My Lady,” Gwen said. Her heartbeat started to race. If Lady Standish was anything like her mother, she would notice any discrepancy and home in on it like sailors homed in on brothels. “I worked for him for two years.”

“Unfortunate,” Lady Standish observed, coldly. “He would not have taught you anything of how to act in polite society.”

“No, My Lady,” Gwen agreed. Irene had taught her that it was always better to agree with her mistress, at least as long as she was playing the role of a maid. “I was charged with looking after his daughter.”

“And he had no wife,” Lady Standish said. She sniffed, rudely. “A man with such a title should always marry again, even if he has a child. She should not have been raised by a man and a man alone.”

Gwen felt an odd flicker of irritation on behalf of Heather Carmichael. It was true enough that she’d been raised by maids and tutors after her mother had died, but that was true of almost all aristocratic girls. Sons could expect their fathers to play a large role in their education, daughters were lucky if their mothers visited them more than once or twice a week. Gwen’s own mother had spent more time with Gwen, but then Gwen’s reputation had scared away most of the servants.

“Yes, My Lady,” she said, instead.

“You looked after his daughter,” Lady Standish said. “What did you do, precisely?”

Gwen took a breath. “I took care of her, My Lady,” she said. The files had been very detailed on this point. “I was her companion. I escorted her to the schoolroom, accompanied her when she rode out in the countryside and supervised her meetings with other aristocratic children.”

Lady Standish’s eyes flared. “And did you chaperone her?”

“
My Lady
,” Gwen protested. “She was
thirteen
!”

“Old enough to have a marriage arranged for her,” Lady Standish observed. She didn’t seem to take any offence at Gwen’s tone, but it wasn’t too surprising. Gwen would have been barred from going into details. “Did you chaperone her?”

“Her father did not arrange any meetings with potential suitors, My Lady,” Gwen said, feeling sweat trickling down her back. It was uncommon for a girl to be married off at thirteen – the reforms following the Swing had made it illegal – but Lord Carmichael might have organised it, just so he could get back to his work without a daughter underfoot. Or, perhaps, so he could marry again without fearing the daughter’s opinion of her stepmother. “If he had, I would have accompanied her, I am sure.”

“No doubt,” Lady Standish said. She took another step forward, and another, until she was almost close enough for her nose to press against Gwen’s forehead. Gwen had to fight to avoid taking a step backwards. “Your duties will include serving as a chaperone for our ward. You will not take orders from her that would leave her alone in a compromising position. Do you understand me?”

Alone with men
, Gwen thought. She understood, all right. Judging from the reports, Raechel Slater-Standish was incredibly driven to spend as much time away from her family as possible. It was an impulse Gwen understood very well. Hell, she shared it. She’d barely given her family a backwards glance when she’d moved into Cavendish Hall ... and they, too, had practically allowed Master Thomas to adopt her without even trying to fight. They’d come to regret that, afterwards.

But, without magic and with a sizeable bank account of her own, Raechel could easily get into a great deal of trouble. A young buck might manage to seduce her, then get her pregnant, just to force her to marry him. And, when he did, control over her money would pass to him. Lady Mary’s extensive report had noted that Raechel’s control over her own money was dependent on her remaining unmarried. Her family’s will specifically stated that it was only hers for as long as she remained single.

“I understand, My Lady,” Gwen said, recalling one of the more unpleasant cases Lord Mycroft’s brother had told her about. A young lady had been kept unmarried by her family because, as long as she was unmarried, they controlled her money. “Your orders take precedence.”

“If the situation becomes unpleasant, you are to drag her out,” Lady Standish continued. “And you will report to me as soon as she is back home and safe.”

Gwen winced. This time, she knew it showed on her face.

If she’d been a real maid, the orders would have been nightmarish – and trying to carry them out would have been worse. Raechel could make her life miserable in a hundred tiny ways, from leaving messes for Gwen to clear up to simply badmouthing her to Lady Standish. And, if she did manage to slip off with a young man, Gwen would get the blame. At best, she’d be in real trouble and have her pay docked. But, at worst, she would be summarily fired.