Jacob was the man who chopped wood, stoked the fires, planted and cared for the vegetable patch, and cleaned out the stable. He also milked the cow, fed the barnyard animals, and worked to keep his pet chickens alive whether they produced eggs or not. Jacob and the housekeeper fought a domestic war, nothing like the one going on in the Peninsula, but they argued daily.
"Just chop their unproductive heads off and give them to me plucked and cleaned for the stewpot if you please, Jacob,” Olly often admonished.
Jacob had sought work at the vicarage a short while after Mrs. Oliver was made housekeeper for the Reverend and Mrs. Manning. Since then, the two had a running battle. Companionable adversaries, they would not know what to do with their time otherwise.
"And would ye like me to twist the stringy necks off the geese, too, Mrs. Oliver,” Jacob retorted with a straight face. He was not nearly as fond of the honking geese as he was of the clucking chickens. The geese made a mess of the compost heap next to the garden. However, both women depended upon Jacob's help—now more so, ever since Clarissa's father was away with both church and government business since he also became a peer. No other man they could have hired worked as hard as Jacob for such an inconsequential wage. For the past decade, he had lived above the stables and was happy to remain employed by the vicarage.
Now pacing around her father's crowded study, Clarissa grumbled to herself after Mrs. Oliver left. Money, money, money! If money was not the root of all evil, it is surely the cause of most of our discomfort and anxiety!
She kicked one of the loose pillows lying on the rug and awakened the cat curled up on the chair. With an irritated meow, Tabitha jumped down, opened her mouth wide in a yawn, and stretched. She moseyed around until she found a different spot in the sun and lay back down. Clarissa eyed the striped feline. “It's all very well for you not to worry, Tabby. Look at you. All you have to do is look pretty and purr. I have none of your attributes to fall back on,” she muttered.
Launching herself back into a chair again, Clarissa clutched a worn pillow to her chest. It seemed ridiculous to her that her father came into the family's title without a penny to rub between his fingers.
Roland Manning had gone into the church as was traditional for the youngest son of a peer. Their father was deceased, but Roland's brother, Harold, nevertheless, left home to serve in the King's army in 1805 when the French invasion of English shores seemed imminent. Then Harold died, not from battle wounds, but from a raging fever contracted in the army here in England. Reverend Roland Walter Manning became heir to the barony, what was left of it.
Unfortunately, Clarissa's grandfather left a substantial debt when he passed away. The debts were partially cleared up by the sale of the family's estate and its contents. Being both honorable and conscientious, Roland, the new Lord Bosworth, tried valiantly to make payments against what was owed in order to keep himself and his family out of debtor prison. His wife and daughter had pinched pennies from his pitiful church stipend. Such things as new gowns, or even a new bonnet, were seldom easy to come by.
Clarissa's mother, Gwendolyn, had been born to a well-to-do country squire and was never plagued by money worries until she married Roland Manning. “How could Grandfather have been so extravagant?” Clarissa asked her mother a dozen times after hearing Roland's father had decimated the Bosworth's family fortune. Gwendolyn had no answer to give.
Lack of funds had plagued them soon after Roland and Gwendolyn married. Having to scrimp or do without, and never robust, the vicar's wife became more delicate after their daughter was born. Gwendolyn struggled against chronic weakness, but never fully recovered during those years.
Nature finally won the battle. When Clarissa turned seventeen, her mother seemed to fade away rather rapidly. Clarissa blamed her death on the scarcity of herbal tonics or lack of effective medicines. But in truth, these were not completely to blame. Weary of the life she had hoped for and never been able to enjoy any longer, lacking stamina, weak and tired all the time, Gwendolyn had simply given up.
Pausing to gaze out the double windows at a bright spring day, Clarissa often wondered how she and her father would have survived without Mrs. Oliver to clean, cook, run the household, and look after them after Gwendolyn died last year.
Clarissa was now obsessed by money. Increasing the family's income would swell the coffers needed to pay off her grandfather's past debts and help carry on the work of the vicarage. Unfortunately, there were few careers open to well-bred young women without money or backing—unless it was those willing to hire out as companion to some cantankerous old dowager, or accept a stultifying position as governess. Her father, a poorly paid cleric and a debt-ridden member of the peerage, Clarissa herself could not come up with any way out of their money woes.
"First of all, Miss Clary, you're too young for those positions,” Mrs. Oliver had chided when they talked about it. “And secondly, the Reverend, would never hear of it."
"I know, Olly. Mama always said a governess lived a miserable life because she was stuck in Purgatory—not fitting in above stairs or below stairs. ‘Twas like floating between Heaven and Hell,’ Mama said."
"Miss Clarissa! Such language!” Olly scolded.
Clarissa had giggled at her own outrageous words. “I suppose it would not be a comfortable place to be left."
"Besides, you know very well that ladies do not earn wages.” Mrs. Oliver sniffed again noisily.
Clarissa had no wish to teach. Neither was she anxious to marry. What other choices were there for her from which to choose? Very few. Still, she dreamed of being a published authoress, penning wonderful novels about handsome heroes and beautiful heroines like the famous Miss Fanny Burney, or perhaps, Charlotte Smith, and Mrs. Radcliffe. Better yet, she would like to live one of those romantic adventures! Ah well ... perhaps, someday....
Dismissing her daydreams, she took another look outside. Clarissa saw the sun was shining through the new leaves on the maple trees lined up like soldiers beyond the garden gate.
The weather is fine, so I suppose I should walk down to the apple orchard if only to please Olly.
Clarissa paused, noticing that the housekeeper left that old bonnet on a chair. She picked it up and was about to put it on and leave the vicarage by way of the garden, when she heard a series of loud, frantic raps on the front door.
Who could that be? It was mid-day, after lunch, and not time for tea.
No one was expected at the vicarage. Her father was away conducting a funeral in a distant village and was expected to stay on for the parish's vicar who was on holiday for another week. Surmising Mrs. Oliver must be busy in the kitchen since she didn't respond, Clarissa strode down the hall and pulled open the front door.
She stared in surprise for a moment at the woman standing on the doorstep. “Jane!” She gave a squeal of delight. “Oh, Jane! How good to see you!” Warmly, she hugged her friend. “Come in, come in!"
"It is lovely to see you, too, Clarissa,” Jane replied. “I hope I have not come at a bad time."
"Bad time? Silly! Of course not! I am thrilled to see you! Your visit will make my day. It's been so long since I've seen you, and I am longing to hear your news!"
Clarissa poked her nose over Jane's shoulder and spied the fancy carriage parked in the country lane. Attuned to Jane's moods, she noticed her friend seemed agitated, twisting the handles of her reticule around her fingers and fussing with them while she stood nervously in the entrance foyer. Clarissa gestured to Jane to follow her to the small, cozy parlor. “Do sit down, Jane. It is a bit early for tea, but I can ask Olly to bring you some refreshments."
When her friend had settled into a chair, Clarissa smiled down at her. “How did you get here?” Clarissa's tilted her head, glancing toward the parked carriage. “My, my that's quite a fancy rig you came in."
"Oh, Clary, no, I wish nothing to eat. Instead, I want your help."
"My help?” Clarissa repeated the words, her eyebrows lifting, obvious puzzlemen
t crossing her face.
Jane fussed silently, removing her gloves then folding her hands together in front of her chest. Clarissa noticed her friend's knuckles looked white, clenched against the dark blue of her pelisse.
"Oh, Clarissa! I am in such dire trouble!"
Chapter Four
"What happened, Jane?"
"I-I scarcely k-know how to begin."
The two friends were quite different in temperament and appearance.
Where Clarissa Manning was outgoing, easy in company, and loved people and animals, she, unfortunately, leaned toward unconventional behavior for a well brought up young lady. Outspoken, brazen, and sometimes feisty when needed to be, Clarissa was much more worldly than her good friend.
Jane had always been shy, unsure of herself, self-effacing, and with no real gumption to fall back on. Without a mother to guide her when Ann Hornsby died birthing her daughter, Jane lacked in sophistication. She seemed younger than she was, although she was six years older than the reverend's spirited daughter.
For Jane, it was disastrous when her father died and his small pension died with him. The small amount of money he managed to put aside for Jane's dowry, instead, had covered his burial expenses. Jane had no suitors or proposals of marriage to sustain her. She was timid and too backward to flirt, and by far too well educated for the local swains’ untutored, rowdy ways. At five and twenty, Jane found herself all but on the shelf. An orphan without close family, it meant she must earn a living. The only position for which she was qualified was as a governess.
"I came to ask another favor of your father, Clary,” Jane said. “I need ... I mean ... I was going to ask him for a new ... character."
"What in the world for?” Clarissa's eyebrows rose again in query. “What happened to the position Mama got for you? With Lady Sutcliff?"
Jane had been more than grateful when Clarissa's mother located employment for Jane. She went to work in Lady Sutcliff's town house in London two years ago. There she had three small children to teach.
"Lady Sutcliff forwarded my character to the Marquess of Chester. I am now employed at Trury Priory."
"I had no idea you left Lady Sutcliff."
"It was not because of any wrongdoing on my part, Clary,” Jane replied quickly. “Her two boys are now enrolled in Eton. Lady Sutcliff thought it best if Mary took her lessons with a group of girls close to her age. Mary goes daily to the home of a friend of Lady Sutcliff who has a tutor for her own three girls."
"Oh! What a shame for you, Jane! So, Lady Sutcliff did not need you any longer."
"It was heartbreaking for me to leave,” Jane went on. “I was very happy there, and Lady Sutcliff and Lord Sutcliff were very kind to me."
"Well, it was considerate of her to find you a new position."
Jane did not look one bit happy about it.
"I think you had best tell me everything, right from the beginning, Jane.” Clarissa gently pushed her friend's stiff shoulders back against the soft cushion. “What is wrong at the marquess's?"
"Oh, Clary, it-it is so ... frightening. I don't know what to do about it!"
Jane was making a rag of her fine linen handkerchief. “When Lady Sutcliff announced I was to work for the Marquess of Chester, it ... well, it overset me almost immediately. You see, he's ... well, very important."
"Who is he?” Clarissa asked, puzzled. “I've never heard of him."
"He's closely connected to the Regent and, I believe, he breeds and races horses.” Glancing down at her white-knuckled hands, Jane tucked them under the folds of her gown. “Lady Sutcliff ... admires him quite openly. She says he is stunningly handsome and rich as well."
"Oh, Jane! He sounds fascinating!” Clarissa gushed. “But do go on. What is the marquess's wife like?"
"He is not married,” Jane replied. “Well, not now, at least. He is a widower. I am governess to his young daughter. She is ... er ... Lady Beatrice is...."
Clarissa heard her friend's hesitancy. “How old is she, Jane?"
"She just turned eight, but...."
"But what?"
"Well ... she is quite ... arrogant and spoiled and ... a bit slow-witted if I may say so. I've tried, but I am unable to teach her much of anything."
Clarissa let that remark pass and inquired further about Jane's new employer. Her eyes were alight with interest about the marquess and his estate. “You say you are at Trury Priory? Where does the Marquess of Chester live?"
"It is an enormous house, more like a castle ... and very, very old,” Jane supplied. “I might be happy there were it not for...."
Again hesitating, Jane clamped down on her lower lip, unable to stop it from trembling.
"Oh, do tell me, Jane! Is it the marquess? Has he made life difficult for you? He must be mean or autocratic if he would menace an unsophisticated female like you."
"Oh no, Clary! It is not the marquess who is the difficulty.” Jane faltered. “It is his friend. His name is Frederic Black."
Clarissa perched her backside on another shabby wing chair facing Jane and listened.
"And like a lecher and a blackguard, he is aptly named."
"A blackguard? Wait a moment, Jane—"
Jane's interruption all but wailed from her lips. “Ohhh ... you don't know him, Clary! He ... he frightens me something awful! I have to leave there, but there is nowhere else I can go.” Jane's fingers anxiously plucked at the folds of her gown.
Clarissa dragged the chair across the small space, its legs grating on the hardwood floor as she drew it closer to Jane. “What does he do that is so terrible?"
"Well, he drops into the schoolroom at odd hours to—to visit he says. Especially in the evenings when I am there alone."
"Perhaps, he craves good company, Jane—someone like you—erudite and intelligent. Someone he can converse with sensibly instead of listening to boring ton twaddle. You are infinitely bright, you know, my friend."
Jane's pale eyebrows rose unconvincingly when her gaze met Clarissa's. “Not likely, Clary. The night before last, he—well, he tried to kiss me."
"Oh, my!” Clarissa sat up straight. “And ... and well, Jane, did he?"
"Yes! Oh Clary, it was very wicked of him."
"What did you say to him, Jane? After he kissed you, I mean."
"I told him to go away and leave me alone."
For a fleeting moment, Clarissa was jealous. Jane was embroiled in a romantic liaison at the Priory and all she, Clarissa, had to look forward to was the usual, unexciting, day-to-day life at the vicarage.
Clarissa allowed a frown of perturbation to wrinkle her brow. “If it were me, and I didn't like what he did, I would have boxed his ears! But what happened then, Jane?"
"Well, nothing, Clary. He left."
Clarissa's brow smoothed a bit. “There must be more to tell. Perhaps you had better spew out the rest, Jane."
"He frightens me, Clary. I never know when he might show up. That's why I had to tell someone. Neither the marquess nor Mr. Black came to London with us yesterday. Otherwise, I may not have been able to get away and come here. You see, Lady Beatrice woke with a terrible toothache. In fact, it was so painful her nanny told His Lordship's steward, Mr. Griggs, that she thought the child should see a dentist."
"Ah ha! You came here now from where? From London?"
"Yes, I accompanied Lady Beatrice and her nanny, Mrs. Pritchett, to Town to see the tooth puller. The girl had an abscessed tooth so he extracted it. Mrs. Pritchett insisted that Beatrice remain in bed today because of it. We are staying at Warner House, His Lordship's town house. Mrs. Pritchett is very protective of Her Ladyship. She would rather attend the child herself rather than let me lift a finger, so I asked her permission for use of His Lordship's carriage and driver so I might visit you. Mrs. Pritchett ... well, she seems to be the one in control of Beatrice. It is certainly not me. The girl rarely listens to what I say, but I dare not complain."
Jane's expression had tightened into a semblance of dislike,
fear, and foreboding. “I did explain to Mrs. Pritchett that you were a good friend, and that I had not seen you in almost two years. So she allowed me to come."
"Ah, yes, the marquess's fancy carriage that I saw outside."
"Yes. But I am afraid I cannot stay much longer, Clary. I need to be back before dark."
"But tell me more about Mr. Black, Jane."
"Well, he is often at the Priory.” Jane's lips pinched into a straight line, her expression distinctly agitated. “I almost suspect he lives there with the marquess. The men seem to be good friends. His Lordship invites house guests whenever he is in residence at the Priory. He entertains with lavish house parties, a plethora of titled and beautifully dressed guests, although I don't know their names. Several are ladies—one especially I saw was rather beautiful—a fair-haired woman."
Jane puckered her forehead again, exasperated enough to throw up her hands and allow her irritation to show. “Oh, why me, Clary? Why in the world does Mr. Black bother with me, plain Jane Hornsby, when the marquess's female guests are right there to party with? They are all so lovely, so witty, and very wealthy."
If Jane showed some backbone, Clarissa thought, perhaps there was a way she might suggest how to rid herself of the pestering Mr. Black in a thrice.
In the meantime, Jane calmed. She had always felt better when she talked over problems with Clarissa. Her best friend in the world was young, but Clarissa demonstrated clever ways to wiggle out of a number of troubling predicaments. Jane's lips curved in the tiniest of smiles, and she allowed herself to pull in a deep breath and wait for her friend's advice.
Belatedly, Clarissa realized she should not have spent time wondering how the rich and famous lived, but instead, began solving what bothered her friend. Still, she could almost visualize those lavish parties. If only she were there, she could make copious notes for her novel.
"Really, Jane, you must learn to be stern and order Mr. Black to cease and desist from bothering you,” Clarissa corrected her friend.
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