The Autumn Bride

by Anne Gracie

  Below, the wheels of the carriage sounded on the cobbles.

  “Ready?” she said to the others. They nodded. “Then let’s go.” She could do this; she could.

  * * *

  “What if it goes wrong, Abby?” Jane sat in the corner seat of the chaise, hugging her basket nervously. She’d recovered rapidly from the fever, but still tired very easily, and when she was tired, she tended to become a little emotional.

  Abby hugged her and said soothingly, “It won’t. Just follow my lead.” All day Abby had maintained an outward air of calm and confidence, but now the butterflies in her stomach felt like birds trying to escape. The news that there was someone looking for them hadn’t helped. Could it be that man Mort? And if so, how had he traced them here?

  Jane’s basket emitted a long, unhappy yowl. Followed by a series of mews.

  “Oh, Jane, you didn’t bring that wretched stray and her kittens, did you? I told you—”

  Jane clutched the basket tighter. “I couldn’t leave them behind, Abby! They’ll pull down this building any day now, and what will happen to Puss and the kittens? The kittens are not yet big enough to fend for themselves.”

  Damaris added, “And from the situation you described at Lady Beatrice’s, there’s bound to be mice in the house, Abby.”

  Abby sighed. Even as a toddler, Jane had brought home stray animals. “Very well. The mother cat will probably run off anyway. Cats never do what they’re told. Just keep them in that basket until we find out whether Lady Beatrice likes cats or not.”

  The chaise turned the corner and rumbled to a halt at the front of Davenham House. William jumped down from the back of the chaise and let down the steps; then Featherby alighted and, with immense dignity, handed Abby and the three girls down.

  Abby took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. After a moment or two the door opened and the butler stood there. His chin was greasy, and a spot of gravy quivered on his waistcoat as if he’d been interrupted in the middle of a meal.

  “I wish to see Lady Beatrice Davenham,” she said crisply. Thank goodness she’d worn a veil last time.

  He glanced at her, at the girls standing behind her and at Featherby standing impassively by her side. “And you would be . . . ?”

  “Miss Abigail Chant—Chance,” she amended, deciding on the spot that another name would be safer. Someone was looking for a Miss Chantry and her sister. “I am Lady Beatrice’s niece, and these are my sisters, Miss Jane Chance, Miss Damaris Chance and Miss Daisy Chance.” She stepped forward, removing her gloves, hoping he didn’t notice how her hands were shaking, acting as if being granted entry were a matter of course.

  The butler stood squat and large in the entrance and bowed in an oily manner. “Lady Beatrice is not at home.”

  “Nonsense! She’s expecting us. Now step aside—Caudle, is it not?”

  He looked rather taken aback that she knew his name.

  “We’ve come all the way from Cheltenham, and my sisters and I are in need of rest and refreshment.”

  Caudle swelled up like a toad. “Lady Beatrice made no mention of this to me.”

  “I cannot help that. The arrangements were made some time ago. No doubt it slipped her mind. She has not been well, I believe.” Abby gave him a penetrating look—it was an expression she’d perfected in the schoolroom. “I intend to see to her care myself. Now, if you would be so good as to—”

  “Stand aside, please!” Featherby declared, pulling Abby to one side just as William, bearing the trunk on his shoulders, came barreling up the front steps. He headed straight for the butler like a runaway coach at full speed.

  Caudle yelped and leaped aside just in time. Before the butler could recover his wits, Featherby had whisked them all into the entry hall of the house.

  Shoving a valise, a bandbox and a yowling basket into Caudle’s nerveless grasp, Featherby whipped off Damaris’s cloak, draped it over the flustered butler’s arm and bowed to Abby in a smooth movement. “Miss Abby.”

  Abby wanted to hug him; instead she seized the moment. “Thank you, Featherby.” She hurried toward the stairs, saying over her shoulder, “Caudle, please arrange for the stowing of our luggage and see to some refreshments—my sisters and I are parched. I’ll just pop upstairs and let L—Aunt Beatrice know we have arrived.”

  “Stop!” A large woman in a stained white dress stepped in front of her, arms akimbo. “You can’t go up there.” Her hair straggled down from beneath a grubby cap in lank, ratty curls.

  Sighing inwardly, Abby tried to stare the large woman down. “And who might you be?”

  “Mrs. Caudle,” the woman replied in a belligerent tone. “Cook and housekeeper of Davenham House. And you can’t go up there.”

  “Why not?”

  “Lady Beatrice can’t be disturbed. She’s ill.”

  “Then as a dutiful niece, I must go to her at once.” Abby tried to dart around the woman.

  The cook moved sideways in a swift blocking movement. “She don’t want to be seen when she’s not at her best.”

  “Nonsense, I’m her niece, not a guest. I warn you, I don’t mean to be denied, so stand aside and let me pass.”

  “I’m under orders not to let—Ow!” The cook, hopping on one leg, bent to rub her ankle. She glared at Daisy, who had kicked her hard on the ankle.

  “Waste of time arguing with her kind,” Daisy told Abby. She jerked her head upward. “Go on, then.”

  Abby raced up the stairs. She hurried to Lady Beatrice’s bedchamber, knocked and entered.

  The old lady was lying in the bed, almost exactly as Abby had left her the previous night. She struggled to sit up, and Abby helped her.

  “So you came after all, Miss Burglar. I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “Yes. I’ve come. And I hope when you invited me you meant it,” Abby said, moving to the window to draw back the curtains and let in some light. “Because I’ve brought my sister and my friends and have claimed we’re all your nieces—even Daisy, who’s now terrified of you—and Jane has brought a cat and her three newborn kittens, and I’ve had an argument with your butler and your cook because they didn’t want to let us in or let me come up here, only Daisy kicked your cook, and so here we are.”

  She dusted off her hands—the curtains were filthy—turned and faced the bed. Lady Beatrice was smiling. “Nieces, you said? That’s good, because the whole world knows I have no daughters, but nieces, now, they can spring from all sorts of places.”

  “I suppose you have plenty of nieces already,” Abby said hopefully.

  “No, I never had any brothers or sisters, and my husband’s only brother had just one son, Max.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  Lady Beatrice waved an imperious hand. “Don’t worry about it. If I want nieces I’ll have ’em.”

  “And I told the butler our name was Chance.”

  “Why?”

  “Someone came looking for us yesterday. Someone bad, we think, meaning harm to my sister,” she said. “I thought a false name might be better just for a while, until we know what’s happening, and when I was introducing myself to Caudle, I started to say Chantry, and out popped Chance. I’ll tell you all about it—I promise, I did not mean to deceive you, and if you’re unhappy, of course we’ll leave—but since we’ve already arrived, shall we sort things out here first?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. But why Chance?” Lady Beatrice asked, apparently more interested in her choice of name than that her unknown guests were using a false name.

  “It was the only name I could think of that started with the same letters as Chantry. And the instant Chance came to me, I thought, well, we’d been talking about this being our chance to make something of our lives, and also we were taking a chance, so it seemed as if it were meant to be. But if you don’t like it—”

  “No, I like it. I like it very much. The Chance sisters. My chance for a better life too. Perhaps I should change my name to Chance, as well.”

  Abby opened her mo
uth to try to convince Lady Beatrice that it was a bad idea, then noticed the old lady’s eyes twinkling. “Oh, you’re funning me,” she said in relief.

  “Do you mind, my dear? It’s been so long since I’ve been so entertained.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Abby said warmly. She glanced around the room. It really was a disgrace. A tray with a bowl of gruel stood in the same place as it had last night. Abby paused and looked again more closely. It was in exactly the same place.

  She examined the contents. Gruel, even more dried up than before, and a cup . . . with a film of dried soup in the bottom. Those evil creatures! It was afternoon, but nobody had tended to their mistress since the day before. She clenched her fists. Any faint thought she might have had of working with these servants suddenly went up in flames.

  “Lady Beatrice—”

  “Aunt Beatrice. You’re my niece, remember?”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to sack your servants. They’re not only slovenly, dishonest and neglectful, which I knew already, but they’re also mean!”

  “I know. Go ahead and sack them, by all means, my dear.”

  “You don’t mind? You’re very trusting of a complete stranger who climbed in your window one dark night.”

  The old lady gave her a shrewd look. “I like you. Besides, I could hardly be any worse off than I was, can I?”

  “No, indeed, in fact you’ll be a great deal better off!” Abby vowed. “I’ll take the very best care of you, as if you were indeed my beloved aunt. We all will.”

  “I believe you, child. You’ve already done me a power of good.”

  Abby was puzzled. “In what way?”

  “I was so bored before you came along! Now I have gels in breeches climbing through my window at all hours of the night, bringing me soup and conversation and plotting to sack my butler. And gels kicking my cook—I want to meet this Daisy who’s terrified of me and yet can kick my cook! She’s a sizable grim wench, Mrs. Caudle!—and gels bringing me cats and kittens, and who knows what else? For the first time in . . . oh, forever, I want to see what the next day brings.”

  Abby looked at her in astonishment, then found herself grinning. “It’s going to be an adventure for all of us, isn’t it?”

  “It is, dear gel, it is,” Lady Beatrice said. “And I can’t wait. Now fetch me a cap and a shawl so I can look halfway respectable. And my lorgnette, which is in that drawer there. And fix these pillows, so I can sit up straight. I want to meet these new Chance nieces of mine.”

  * * *

  “Lady—I mean, Aunt Beatrice wants to m—see you,” Abby said when she returned to the entrance hall.

  “All of us?” Daisy asked nervously. “Only . . . I could mind the cats.”

  “All of us, you included, Daisy. The cats can stay down here for the moment.” She smiled at Jane. “Yes, I told her. Apparently she likes cats.”

  She looked over to where the butler and his wife had been joined by a footman and a slatternly-looking maid. They stood in a sullen, hostile huddle, glaring at her balefully. Abby thought of that untouched tray upstairs. “Are there any more servants in this house?”

  “No.”

  “Then I will speak to all of you in half an hour, after my sisters and I have, er, been reunited with our aunt. I have to say, I’m disgusted with the state she’s in, and her quarters are filthy!”

  “As is this whole house, from what I can see,” Damaris interjected. “There are dead leaves on the floor in the hallway, Abby, and cobwebs in every corner!” She pointed.

  “There’s not enough staff here; that’s the prob—” Mrs. Caudle began.

  Abby turned on her in a rage. “How dare you try to justify yourself to me! I have seen with my own eyes your appalling neglect of your mistress! You’ve taken advantage of her illness in the most iniquitous way, and you ought to be—” Her gaze took in all four of them. “You all ought to be flogged for the way you’ve treated her. I have no doubt you’ve cheated her out of money, as well as care, and I’m going to see that you get what you deserve!” She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “But first, my sisters are wanted upstairs.”

  Featherby and William stood quietly to one side of the hall, observing the procedures. “Mr. Featherby,” Abby said, stressing the honorific deliberately, “may I leave you in charge here?”

  He bowed. “Of course, Miss Chance.”

  “Come, girls,” she said, and stalked upstairs.

  They followed in shocked silence. When they were out of sight of those below in the hall, Jane whispered, “Abby, I’ve never seen you so angry.”

  Abby took a shaky breath and gave Jane a rueful smile. “Wait until you’ve met Lady Beatrice. You’ll understand why.”

  She knocked again and entered.

  “So these are my nieces.” Lady Beatrice scrutinized the girls lined up at the end of her bed. “This is Jane, the one you said was a beauty. Been ill, have you, young lady?” She glanced at Abby. “I thought you might be exaggeratin’, but you’re right; she is a beauty, even if she’s still a mite peaky from the sickness.” To Jane, she said, “We’ll have all the gentlemen making cakes of themselves over you, missy. Will you enjoy that, eh? Will you?”

  “Yes, Lady Beatrice,” Jane answered promptly. “It sounds delightful.”

  The old lady chuckled and turned her attention to Damaris. “And you’re the maker of that soup, eh? You’re not exactly plain yourself, my gel. The two of you together, one so fair and the other with such lovely dusky locks—oh, the gentlemen’ll be making cakes of themselves to be sure! They’ll be hard-pressed to choose between you.”

  “I’m not looking for a husband, ma’am,” Damaris said quietly.

  Lady Beatrice regarded her thoughtfully. “Don’t want to get married?”

  Damaris blushed and shook her head.

  “P’raps what you need is a good lover; then you might change your mind.”

  Damaris blushed deeper and Lady Beatrice chuckled. “Oh, this is going to be entertaining. Now, gel.” She leveled her lorgnette at Daisy. “You must be Daisy, who kicked my cook. Is that true, young woman—you kicked my cook?”

  Daisy’s chin came up at that. “Yes, I did,” she said defiantly. “And I’d do it again if I had to. That woman’s a nasty, greasy old cow!” And then she suddenly recalled she was talking to a titled lady. “Er, your ladyship,” she added in a mumble, and curtsied.

  Lady Beatrice watched the curtsy with a critical eye. “I’ll teach you how to do that properly later. There’s a trick to it if you have a bad leg. So, Miss Daisy, do I understand from Abby here that you made these clothes you’re all wearing?”

  “Yes’m,” Daisy muttered.

  “Jane, come over here and turn around so I can get a good look,” she ordered. Jane did a slow pirouette. Lady Beatrice scrutinized her outfit through her lorgnette.

  “Now Damaris.” Damaris did the same.

  “And Daisy.” Daisy, a sullen look on her face, turned in a reluctant circle.

  “Hmmm.” Lady Beatrice was silent for a moment. Then she said, “The sleeve of that spencer is coming unpicked.” She pointed to Jane.

  Daisy made an irritated exclamation and hurried over. “I told you it was only tacked in place and to be careful of how you moved,” she said, tugging Jane’s sleeve straight.

  “Sorry, Daisy, dear, I forgot,” Jane said.

  Daisy looked at Lady Beatrice. “My fault. I didn’t have time to finish it.”

  “Well, if you made all these clothes, my dear, all I can say is, you have talent. You have an eye for style and for what suits a woman.” She gave Daisy a narrow look. “And you, missy, have my permission to kick my cook as often as you want. My butler too, if you feel like it.” She winked.

  Daisy gasped, then grinned sheepishly.

  “Would you make something pretty for me?” Lady Beatrice hugged the shawl around her, but it failed to hide her worn and dirty nightclothes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve worn anyth
ing half so pretty as those dresses.”

  “I’d be honored to, your ladyship,” Daisy said. She eyed the old lady thoughtfully. “Something with a bit of pink, I reckon.”

  “But first, I think, a bath,” Abby said.

  “And a good cleanout of this room as well,” Jane added. “Make it all nice for you.”

  “And I’ll make you something tasty to eat,” Damaris said. “What about a soft-boiled egg with soldiers?”

  “A soft-boiled egg with soldiers?” the old lady repeated in a whisper. “I haven’t had that since—” She broke off, her mouth wobbling. Her face crumpled and she scrubbed at her brimming eyes. “Blast the dratted dust in here. It’s got into my eyes again.”

  Chapter Six

  “Varnish and gilding hide many stains.”

  —JANE AUSTEN, MANSFIELD PARK

  “Oh, Abby, I see what you mean,” Jane exclaimed as they walked downstairs again. “That poor old lady. It’s wicked, the condition she’s in.”

  “You were right; she stinks!” Damaris said. “How could anyone let her get into such a state? Especially when they’re being paid to look after her. No wonder you said they ought to be flogged.”

  “They deserve it and worse,” muttered Daisy. “You know, even though she stinks like the worst beggar down the docks, you can tell she’s still a real lady. And she even swears. I never thought a titled lady would be . . . like that.”

  “She’s nice, isn’t she? And funny.” Jane hugged Abby. “Oh, you were right about coming here, Abby. I have the best feeling about it.”

  “I hope there are eggs in that kitchen,” Damaris said. “If not, I’m going to the market. Did you see her face when I suggested a boiled egg with soldiers? If that woman tries to stop me getting into the kitchen . . .”

  “Don’t worry; I’m going to sack her,” Abby said. “Lady Beatrice said I could. I’m going to sack them all.” She’d never had to sack anyone before, and though she was more than justified, she was not looking forward to it.

  But when she got downstairs, there was no sign of the servants.

  “They’re gone,” Featherby said. “I, er, intimated that you’d be calling in the law shortly, and . . .” He swept his hand toward the door. “Gone in an instant. I hope you don’t mind, Miss Abby. I thought it best they be gone without fuss.”