by Tamara Gill
At the moment, nothing mattered but the joy of putting food on the table and new clothes on the back of Mrs Leslie, senior. Nothing else counted with her. Certainly not the good opinion of the Earl of Blackwood, that most handsome, most amiable, most intelligent, most intriguing of men.
Chapter Four
The arrival of the warm spring weather, with its portent of the greater warmth of summer, always caused a stir of excited anticipation at Blackwood Chase. It meant delightful tea parties and larger assemblies of the local gentry on the great sweeps of lawn around the house and down by the river, which wound its semi-natural course through the Earl's estate. Spring and summer even provided some diversion and relief for the domestics incarcerated in the great house, as these outdoor events required diligent service by a whole troop of maids and table servants, and, though the work was hard, to be out in the open air was a joy for those usually cooped up within the maze-like confines of the great house.
The tea-party arranged by Lady Clara and Lady Harriet, originally planned as nothing grander than a tête-à-tête with their great friends Lady Arabella Simpson and Lady Phoebe Thompson, somehow swelled into a garden assembly for the sons and daughters of most of the big houses in the vicinity. Mr Collins had to plan for the event with military precision, while Mrs Templeton organized the domestic troops and Mrs Bell press-ganged extra help from the village and further afield for the baking, cooking, and dishwashing.
The day of the event was one of those beautiful clear, still spring days which seemed to stand as proof that the nature of things was inherently good, and which made it very difficult to imagine that anything at all unpleasant could occur. Constance was assigned to wait on one group of tables under the awnings which had been tied between the great oaks that spread their fresh greenery along the banks of the river. Her crisp new white and pale blue uniform was as fresh as the blossoms colouring the trees and bushes of the park, her hair, or what was visible of its wealth beneath her white cap, shone like bronze in the early afternoon sun, and her whole complexion, enlivened by the physical activity of serving, was as beguilingly perfect as anything visible among the young ladies who sat at the scattered tables, whispering and giggling in the throes of gossip.
Many of the young men, in between being gallant to the young ladies, managed to steal an admiring look at the flame-haired servant, as did some of her male colleagues, and if she hadn't been beneath the notice of these gathered feminine flowers of the aristocracy, she might have excited some serious envy. As she darted amongst the tables, dispensing cake, and pouring tea and lemonade, the only young lady monitoring her movements was Lady Amelia.
Lady Amelia heartily despised Constance, for 'profiting by Lizzie's death', as if she'd been somehow responsible for Lizzie's unfortunate sickness and demise. She hated everything about the new servant, particularly what she dubbed 'her sickening alacrity’, though it was the lack of this that she continually complained of in all of the other servants. But the new servant seemed less than quick on her feet when it came to refilling Lady Amelia’s own teacup today and she was growing increasingly irate.
Finally, Constance came to the table, her red lips in a dazzling smile, her green eyes flashing, bearing her teapot as if – Lady Amelia thought - it held the nectar of the gods and could only be poured out to the truly deserving.
“Constance! If you please!”
Constance, noting Lady Amelia's sharply raised chin and grim expression amidst the mass of smiling aristocratic youth, reined in her smile and approached the table where her young mistress sat, with Lady Phoebe Thompson close on her right.
“Would you be kind enough to pour some tea for us here Constance, we're quite parched.”
“Certainly, my Lady.”
“I don't know how service is in the wild lands north of Hadrian's Wall but down here, in England, where you now find yourself, we expect servants to be attentive to our needs, and to come quickly when we require them.”
“I'm fully aware of that, your Ladyship, and I do apologise but there are a lot of very thirsty young people here and, perhaps because of the breeze, I didn't quite hear you call.”
“How dare you talk back to me that way! You, mutton-headed fool! You Scots slattern! You'll speak when you're spoken to and not before!”
Constance, straightening herself, and regarding Lady Amelia's flushed face, with its burning dark hazel eyes freezing the chatter of the group around her, coolly returned her look.
“If that's to be the case, then I'm forbidden from asking you if there is now enough tea in your cup.”
Constance's look and cool tone cut right through the shallow layers of Lady Amelia's bristling ego like a scalpel; the girl leapt to her feet, her face as red as a turkey’s crest.
“Why you filthy skivvy, you, you dolled-up Gin Lane tart! One more word from you and I'll fling this tea in your block-headed freckled Highland face!”
“Amelia dear, please sit down, she's just a servant.”
This hissed injunction from Lady Phoebe, usually such an unquestioning ally of Lady Amelia's, enraged the girl even more.
“I will NOT TOLERATE being spoken to in this manner by a poxy serving-girl! Get back to the house at once! I shall speak to my father about you and he'll have you shipped back to your highland sheepfold quicker than a snap of the fingers!”
Constance stood, ramrod-backed in the hush that had fallen on the whole party, then turned and walked away, pausing only to leave her teapot at the serving table. She walked straight across the lawns, around the back of the house, and straight to Mrs Templeton's office. Mrs Templeton, beaming pleasantly, beckoned her in and told her to sit down.
“I am very sorry to have to cause you and the household any inconvenience, Mrs Templeton, but a new circumstance forces me to tender my immediate resignation.”
Mrs Templeton could not have been more surprised if Constance had slapped her in the face.
“But Constance... what?... this is... quite astonishing! You were so eager to work here, as eager as I was to employ you on behalf of his Lordship. What on earth has happened to make you change your mind?”
“I don't wish to talk of it, Mrs Templeton, and, again, I really am profoundly sorry, but I'm forced... it's a matter of honour to me that I tender my resignation. I'll be leaving early in the morning - I'll go and pack immediately.”
Constance stood up, held out her hand and, when Mrs Templeton offered hers, she squeezed it warmly, turned and left. The still astonished Head Housekeeper simply stood there, murmuring the phrase 'a matter of honour' with a wrinkled brow.
~~~~~
Through the tiny window of her room, tucked up in the attics of Blackwood Chase, Constance could see that it was still the most beautiful day outside, the birds' song drifting up from the venerable old trees in their fresh green spring growth, a puff of pure white cloud drifting past her window, high and happily alone.
'I wish I were that cloud, happy to drift, needing nothing and no one' she thought, going on with arranging her few threadbare things in her cheap canvas valise. 'I'm alone, and off, drifting again. But I have no choice. I will not, cannot tolerate being spoken to by that chit of a girl as if I were less than a dog. Impossible!'
Impossible, and yet how she'd miss the great house, even after such a brief time within it. Mrs Templeton, Mr Collins, Anne, Rosemary, Bob, and the other servants, or some of them at least - they were essentially good solid people. Among these regretted figures, the one which loomed largest remained unnamed in her thoughts, although his image came insistently to the forefront of her mind.
He was tall, dark-browed, manly, handsome, and, somehow, possessing a warmth, a certain... aura... which other men signally lacked. His Lordship, the Earl.
Chapter Five
That evening, as Constance lay, half-dressed, trying fitfully to sleep on the bed of her tiny attic room, the Earl trotted into the stable-yard on his horse. He was feeling unusually cheerful after a very pleasant afternoon visiting Lord M
elgrove to discuss the latest agricultural innovations, and he was also still basking in the glow of having that nagging servant problem solved by the hiring of Mrs Leslie – it had been over a week now, and things had been quiet on that front since the day she had started.
All that was needed now to complete a most satisfactory day was a glass of brandy, or perhaps port, by the study fireside while Mr Collins informed him of any important titbits of news related to the business of the house.
“What! Edward! You're not serious! Can this be so?”
The Earl's warm glow of satisfaction had suffered a drastic drop in temperature at the news which his Head Butler had delivered to him, in his usual dry, measured tones. If Napoleon himself had somehow escaped, once again, from his island captivity and was storming London, Collins would still relate the news in those same unaffected tones.
“Mrs Leslie? The new upstairs maid, the new maid my three doggedly insistent daughters bewailed the lack of for so long? The one we held out such hopes for, due to her previous experience as a governess? Leaving? After... how many days?”
“Ten my Lord.”
“And why, what reason does she give?”
“She hasn't quite specified the details to Mrs Templeton, or to me, but it is, apparently, a most serious 'matter of honour’.”
“Good God man. 'A matter of honour?' What? Is she fighting a duel with another housemaid? What in blazes is the matter with her? Couldn't you press her on this 'matter of honour’?”
“The combined verbal dexterity – if I may put it so immodestly – of myself and Mrs Templeton, could not budge the lady your Lordship. For a... housemaid, she's quite formidable. But they breed them so in Scotland I believe.”
Perry drained the glass he'd been anticipating with such pleasure on his ride home, got up and, sighing, trying to imitate the unflappable composure of his Head Butler, walked slowly to the window, and peered out at the still, mid-May evening.
“Well Edward, I flatter myself that I also possess a modicum of 'verbal dexterity’. Bring the lady down to me and I shall see if it can elicit some reason for this sudden flight from a post she was, by all accounts, so keen to get.”
“Your Lordship... cross-examine a housemaid?”
“I won’t overdo things Edward, but I'll be damned if I won't find out why on God's earth the girl has taken it into her head to so abruptly quit my employ. I mean – she may not be the last! She may be the herald of a mass exodus of servants from Blackwood Chase.”
Mr Collins smiled, pleased to see the Earl's irritated bafflement cooling into irony.
“This exodus must be nipped in the bud this evening. That is: I must know her reason so it can be dealt with immediately. I really can't have servants streaming away through my doors and windows. Can I? Apart from which, I have absolutely no intention of submitting myself to the combined nagging of my wonderfully spoiled daughters to find a replacement.”
“Most assuredly not, your Lordship.”
“Good, we are, once again, in agreement, send her to me... in twenty minutes.”
~~~~~
It was almost a full hour before Mrs Templeton had persuaded Constance to go to the library and 'merely talk' to his Lordship. Constance only agreed after something that the housekeeper said had pricked her conscience sufficiently. Yes, Mrs Templeton was right - she did owe her employer at least some kind of explanation, however vaguely worded.
As Constance followed Mrs Templeton down the stairs to the library, her heart beating unaccountably fast, she assured herself that she would simply repeat, more or less, what she had told the housekeeper and Mr Collins. It was a private matter, exacerbated by her concerns for her mother-in-law etc. etc. And then, she would curtsey to his Lordship, leave, and never see him or Blackwood Chase again.
But when she was shown into the library, she was hard pressed to hold onto her presence of mind.
It was the first time that she had seen him at such close quarters. If he’d looked impressive at a distance, passing her, going about his business in the house, his physical presence was almost completely overpowering now, so close, as Mrs Templeton brought her before him, his tall dark figure leaning back against the front edge of his desk. When he looked at her, his eyes seemed to sink deep into her flesh, his voice itself, its manly timbre, seemed to play all over her skin, as if seeking entry.
'Stop it Constance! Pull yourself together! What are you, a quivering field mouse!' She returned his look as bravely as she could, and was still being brave when Mrs Templeton, unnoticed by either of them, left the room.
“Please Mrs Leslie, sit down.” He drew one of the chairs away from the fire for her – a far too sumptuous object for a servant, she thought – and himself returned to his leaning position against the desk. Despite his apparent composure, her senses detected a certain... agitation... But how so? He, an Earl, an adviser to the King and Prince Regent, and she... an unemployed housemaid? What could he conceivably have to be agitated about? “Mrs Leslie, I am sorry to have you brought down here so late, and without warning, but I am very, very, concerned about your departure. I... we... pride ourselves here on maintaining a household on rational principles, which are fair to all. We expect a lot from the people who work here, but we also give much in return. Respect, security, good wages, as much personal leisure as such a large household permits. I'm always curious to know why someone, someone as hard-working and so highly recommended as yourself, suddenly chooses to leave... Not just curious, but, under present circumstances, anxious, to know what you find so irksome, so wrong with all of us here.”
~~~~~
'God damn it Perry, you're talking to a human being, a female one, a very female one, not a committee of the House of Lords!' His internal voice castigated him, and he almost winced at how pompous he’d sounded.
He felt himself a little overheated, felt his face flush – what was it about this woman? He watched her, waiting for her reply, hoping that she had not noticed his heightened colour. She was, he noted, also flushed, but seemed to be making a determined effort to ignore that fact as she responded.
“In my short time here, I've been very happy, your Lordship, happier than I've been anywhere, but unfortunately, circumstances force me to give notice and leave without delay.”
'Well, she'd do better in the House than you would Perry, for a certainty.'
That damnable internal commentator would not give him any peace, it seemed. He looked down at her, unsure what to say next, and found himself distracted by what a fine, full, and shapely figure she had, which the plainness and shabbiness of her dress couldn't hide. But it was her eyes, a bright green, alive with hidden glints of light like the waters of a quick-flowing, tree-shaded, river which arrested him, set so perfectly equidistantly in the beautiful pale oval of her flawless face. And the mouth! - the fruit-like fullness of her bow-shaped lips, so finely outlined above the softly pointed, lightly dimpled chin - it seemed to have a life all of its own, as it shifted with her expressions!
'For God's sake man. You have a job to do. Get on with it!'
“But... Mrs Leslie, I've been told that there's some 'matter of honour' involved. Could you please enlighten me? I swear that whatever you tell me will be held in the strictest of confidence. If there is a problem – a serious problem within my household - you will surely do me the honour of telling me what it is? It is, I believe, a fair, a just request, and I don't ask it lightly.”
~~~~~
Constance sat, her gaze fixed on his eyes, which were a deep sea-green, as near black and beguiling as the deepest depths of the northern waters. His broad chest and shoulders were bent so solicitously toward her, and, she couldn’t help but notice that the quickness of his breathing was agitating his whole, so well-proportioned frame. No, she thought, he certainly didn't seem to be asking it lightly. But what could she say in reply? Should she tell him the truth of it? Would that be wise?
Perhaps not, but she found that she wanted to, that to lie to this man, ev
en to obfuscate the truth, was beyond her. He would not, she expected, be at all happy to hear the details of his daughter’s behaviour, but she hoped that he was a good enough man to accept it as truth, rather than denying it.
So, taking a steadying breath, and trying desperately to ignore the fact of just how attractive the man before her was, she told him of her treatment by his daughters, and without repeating the wording of the insults which Lady Amelia had used, painted a graphic picture of the scene which had played out at the garden party that afternoon. She waited, unsure of what to expect, as he took in her words. His natural paleness had taken on an extra pallor as he’d listened.
When she had finished speaking, he stood up abruptly and walked to the fireplace, where, leaning against it a moment, he turned. His voice, when he spoke, was deep, and full of what sounded almost like pain. It resonated within her, to her very bones. She had no doubt, in that instant, of his sincerity.
“Mrs Leslie – I am truly sorry for this. Please believe me when I say that I had no idea that you were being subjected to this kind of treatment. Oh, I know, we all know, that my daughters, and Amelia especially, can be sharp-tongued with the staff. But... to this degree... it simply staggers me. I am... appalled, ashamed on their behalf. I am ashamed on my own behalf.” He sat down heavily in the remaining fireside chair. “I understand completely now and... I accept in full your desire to resign. But... and I have absolutely no right to ask you this... But... could you bring yourself to stay on here just a few days – a week at most, I hope – to give us time to find someone to fill your place? I'll pay you a full month's salary in advance, a full month, regardless of whether you stay only a day or two, or more. I insist. Will you?”