The Magnificent Masquerade (11 page)

Toby shrugged. "I don't see what being
sent down from school has to do with choosing a bride."

"Don't you? Are you truly surprised that I
don't find you deserving of that right? If I gave it to you, I can just imagine
what sort of bride you'd choose. Describe your choice to me, Toby. Go on,
describe her. Would she be someone like that lightskirt in Chelsea who bled us
for a thousand before she released you from her clutch? Or would you prefer one
like your so-delectable little opera dancer whom you found astride your friend
Nelson the moment they believed your back was turned."

Toby's eyes fell. "I admit my taste in women
was not quite mature in the past, but-"

"But it has matured since, is that what
you're going to say? Is that why you've-since only last month-undertaken the
care and feeding of a certain Miss Lolly Matchin of Castle Tavern?"

Toby reddened to the ears. "How did you
... ?"

"How did I learn of her existence? I
didn't spy on you, if that's what you're thinking. I received a letter from the
lady, complaining that you promised her some funds that you never delivered.
She thought I might be persuaded to make good on your promises. She was, of
course, mistaken. I have the missive in my desk, if you'd like to take a look
at it yourself."

 "No, I . . . " Toby sank down
on his chair again. "I don't doubt your word."

“Thank you. But I think you must agree that my doubts
concerning the maturity of your judgment are somewhat justified.”

"What I do for amusement," Toby
growled, "has nothing to do with the matter. I would not choose Lolly for
my bride, and you know it."

"That you choose to use her for your
amusement is fault enough." Edgerton stood up and looked down at his
brother threateningly. "I chose a bride for you, yes. It was a highhanded
act, perhaps, but the tradition has been followed by generations of parents and
guardians past and present, and with good reason. I make no apologies for it. I
did it because I want you to settle down. It is my hope that the
responsibilities of marriage will steady you, mature you, and fulfill you. I
chose Miss Jessup on a whim, I admit, but I see no reason to regret what I've done.
She has everything to recommend her: she comes of excellent stock-the
Birkinhaws have an old and honored name; she is healthy of mind and body; and
she's been reared with standards and values that are the same as ours. Now that
I've seen her I feel even more justified in my decision. She differs from what
I was led to expect, but that may be all to the good. Any man worth his salt
would be proud to have such a woman bear his name. If you're willing to pledge
to her your loyalty, affection, and protection, I shall give you the house in
Surrey, twenty thousand pounds, and my blessing."

He turned and strode to the door, but before
departing he looked back at the brother who'd slumped deep in his chair and was
morosely studying his boots. "But if you're not willing, then as far as
I'm concerned you may just as well go to the devil!"

Chapter Ten

Kitty ran straight from the dining salon to the
servants' hall, but by the time she got there the story of her indiscretion at
his lordship's table was already circulating among the staff. Several of the
housemaids, gathering round the hall awaiting their supper call, were
whispering in small groups but stopped their chatter as soon as Kitty appeared
in the doorway. A couple of footmen eyed her with interest, and the one called
Jemmy hooted at her gleefully. The three sculleries began to giggle at the
sight of her, and the cook snorted in disdain as Kitty crossed the threshold.
"Shame on ye," she said, shaking her head in disapproval.
"Makin' yerself a bad name, and ye ain't been 'ere one day."

"It ain't her fault," one of the
upstairs maids piped up. Kitty recognized her as the maid who'd been airing
Emily's room earlier that afternoon. "Mr. Naismith 'ad no right to use
"er at table. She's an abigail, ain't she? Not a servin' girl."

"No one's askin' you, Peg Craigle,"
the cook declared, turning to the fire and rotating a roasting chicken on a
spit. "If Mr. Naismith says she's't' serve, then she's't' serve. That's
all there is to it."

"And let that be a lesson to ye," Jemmy
said, crossing over to Kitty and tweaking her cheek.

Kitty slapped his hand in irritation. "Is
this matter everyone's business?"

"No, o' course it ain't," Peg said,
coming to her side. "What a way for you to start 'ere. Tish-tush, Emily,
don't be lookin' so grim. Makin' a fool o' yersel' upstairs ain't the end o'
the world."

Kitty met the other girl's eyes and gave a
reluctant laugh. The girl was quite right; the scene in the dining room would
be forgotten by everyone in a short while; there was no need to stew over it.
She looked at Peg's laughing Irish eyes and felt a surge of gratitude. This
girl might turn out to be a veritable friend in need. "Thank you,
Peg," she murmured quietly. Peg shrugged. "Come an' let me make
everyone known't' ye. Over there is Mrs. Duffy, but everyone calls her Cook.
The gennleman readin' the Times is Mr. Dampier, "is lordship's valet. An'
this 'ere's Lily, who always knows everything what goes on. An' here's Bess,
who does all the sewin', an'”

At that moment, Mrs. Prowne bustled in.
"Come on, everyone, let's sit down," she announced. "They're
still lingerin' over the pastries upstairs, so Mr. Naismith said to start
without 'im."

As if a bell had rung, people seemed to
materialize from all directions and the table places filled at once. It seemed
to Kitty at first glance that there were dozens of people gathering, but in
reality there were only sixteen. Kitty, hungry as she was, didn't take a seat,
for nobody had told her where she belonged. It was Peg who finally pushed her into
a chair and who introduced her to the personage seated opposite her. "Miss
Leacock, this is Miss Jessup's abigail, Emily Pratt."

 
Kitty
examined the other abigail with interest. She was a woman of middle age with a
pointed nose, watery blue eyes, and a head covered with corkscrew curls. The
most interesting thing about her, however, was her way of carrying herself. If
there were a single word with which to describe her, it would be
"ladylike." The way she sat in her chair, the way she looked down her
nose, the way she picked up her knife ... all these suggested the most
exaggerated gentility. In the setting of the servants' hall, it seemed to Kitty
that the woman was, to use an old saying her governess was wont to use,
"putting on airs."

Miss Leacock acknowledged the introduction with
a mere nod, but before she returned her attention to her soup, she gave Kitty a
look of thorough if disapproving appraisal. That's quite all right, Kitty said
to herself, I feel the same distaste toward you.

Kitty attacked the soup with more eagerness
than she'd ever shown for food in her life. And never in her life had mere
cabbage soup given her such pleasure. In a moment she forgot the humiliation of
the past hour and surrendered herself to the physical satisfaction that comes
when real hunger is assuaged.

But she was not to forget for long. Peg, who
was seated just below her on her right, leaned over to her. "It wasn't
right, y'know, no matter what Cook says," she whispered. "What wasn't
right?" Kitty whispered back.

"An abigail shouldn't be made't' be a
servin' girl. It's ... how shall I say? ... beneath ye."

"Then why did Mr. Naismith make me do
it?" Kitty asked the maid curiously.

The girl shrugged. "T' put you in yer
place, I suppose. Everyone's sayin' y're a bit uppish."

"Oh? Why do they say that?"

"I dunno, Emily. It's just a way you have.
The way ye walk, with that toss of yer braid. An' the way ye talk, too. Sorta
... proud, y'know. Like an actress on the stage."

"Goodness! You don't mean that I put on
airs, do you? Like Miss Leacock there?"

Peg blinked in surprise. "Like Miss
Leacock? Oh, no! Everyone expects Miss Leacock't' be uppish. She don't put on
airs. It's sort of natural with 'er, y' see."

Kitty bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud.
"Being uppish is natural to her but not to me, is that what you're
saying?"

"I's'pose that's whut I'm sayin'. But
don't feel bad, Em'ly. The way you are, well, I sorta like it, myself."

"Thank you, Peg, but I don't wish to
appear uppish. Do you think it would help if I kept my head down-?" But
Peg, like the rest of the servants, had turned to greet Mr. Naismith, who had
entered and was just taking his place at the head of the table. "Well,
that's done," he announced to Mrs. Prowne. "Not a flawless occasion, I
admit, but we got through it." He sighed wearily and reached for the
basket of bread. "I think this is an evening that calls for a bit of my
special wine. Go up and bring me a bottle, will you, Jemmy?"

"I’ope the mutton pates was satisfactory,
Mr. Naismith," Cook said, setting a bowl of soup before him. "Quite
satisfactory, Cook. Mr. Toby praised them particularly. In fact, the whole
dinner might have been satisfactory if a certain young person I shall not name
..." Here his eyes roamed down the length of the table until they reached
Kitty's face. Fixing his stare on her, he continued: ". . . if this
certain young person hadn't behaved in the rudest and most indiscreet fashion
I've ever witnessed. Howsoever, you can all be sure I shall not again make the
mistake of asking her to help serve."

"Then perhaps," Kitty muttered, her
cheeks burning in offended pride, "you should not have asked that “certain
young person’ to help serve in the first place!"

There was a shocked murmur from the listeners,
and Peg gave her a kick under the table. Mr. Naismith blinked. "What did
you say?" he demanded.

"I said that perhaps I shouldn't have been
asked to serve in the first place." Kitty's mind was racing with
excitement.

Here she was, acting the role of a servant in
the midst of a group of them who were born to their roles. If she was to be
convincing, she had to learn to think as they did. What Peg's words had
signified to her was that servants were each assigned a very distinct rank and
that their pride was affected if they were not given due recognition of that
rank. Taking what she believed was Peg's hint, she lifted her chin proudly and
said firmly, "I'm an abigail, after all, and not a serving wench."

The murmur grew to a gasp, but Naismith lifted
one lordly hand for silence. "Are you saying, you greenhead, that I had no
right to employ you at the table?"

Kitty ignored Peg's second warning kick.
"Yes, that's just what I'm saying."

"Now see here, girl," Mrs. Prowne put
in, "y're a great deal too free wi' yer tongue! Mr. Naismith has the
right't' ask any one of us fer assistance wi' any task 'e chooses."
"No, "e don't," Peg hissed under her breath. "He wouldn't
of ast La Leacock't' do it, would 'e?"

"You wouldn't have asked Miss Leacock here
to do it, would you?" Kitty -repeated aloud.

"Will you listen to the chit?"
Naismith demanded of the ceiling. "What have I ever done to have such
creatures forced on me?"

A babble of voices broke out at once. The cook
told the butler not to take on so. "Ye don't wish't' spoil yer digestion,"
she cautioned. Mrs. Prowne ordered Kitty to keep a civil tongue in her head.
Lily asked anyone who'd listen where this green girl had come from? Jemmy,
returning with the wine bottle, demanded to know what was causing the to-do.
And someone else wondered aloud why Mr. Naismith didn't sack her at once! Only
Miss Leacock seemed unperturbed and continued in her inimitable ladylike style
to sip her soup. The babble died down as Naismith slowly rose from his chair.
"I knew she'd be trouble the moment I laid eyes on her," he said to
the gods above. Then he looked at his staff sadly. "It is a shame and a
curse that I can't sack the girl. But she's employed by the Birkinshaws, not by
us. We must try to bear her presence for a fortnight. I know I can count on all
of you to cover her indiscretions and to make the best of a bad bargain."
And he turned and went toward the corner stairs. "Wait, Mr.
Naismith," Cook called after him, "ye ain't 'ad yer dinner. I roasted
the chicken wi' rosemary, just as ye like it."

"Sony, Cook," he said over his
shoulder, "but I've lost my appetite."

All eyes followed him as he tiredly climbed the
stairs and disappeared into his rooms. Then all eyes turned to Kitty,
devastating her with lugubrious disapproval. There was absolute silence as one
after the other resumed eating. Kitty felt as if she were back at school and
had been put in Coventry. Red-faced and embarrassed, she requested Peg to pass
the bread, but the maid seemed not to hear. "Why are you angry at
me?" Kitty whispered to her. "I only repeated what you said."

"I didn't mean ye to repeat it, ye
blabbermouth," Peg hissed back.

So much for our budding friendship, Kitty
thought ruefully, feeling utterly alienated and alone. It was then that she
noticed someone's hand holding out the breadbasket toward her. It was Miss
Leacock. Kitty gaped at the woman in surprised gratitude. At least one person
at the table had not put her in Coventry. Of all the servants at the table,
Kitty would have picked the snobbish-seeming Miss Leacock as the last person to
offer her a kindness. "Thank you, Miss Leacock," Kitty said, touched.

"Ye're quite welcome," Miss Leacock
said, picking up a piece of bread and daintily spreading it with butter.
"It might interest ye to know, Miss Pratt," she said in a voice that
was high and clear and in which each syllable was primly and perfectly
enunciated, "that I have served at the family table on occasion, although
I have not been asked for several years. Though some here may not realize
it," and here she threw Peg a withering glance, "it's an honor to be
chosen by Mr. Naismith to wait on the family, especially for a young person
who's new to the household."