The General's Granddaughter

by Dorothy Mack

  “Shall we put all the young people in the first-floor apartments, then?”

  “Yes, that will be fine. If we put Miss Arabella in the apartment above her mother, she’ll be able to use the back staircase when she wishes to run down and speak to Lady Townsend.”

  “Will they all have servants with them?”

  “Yes, but none save Lady Townsend’s dresser will sleep in the guest apartments. We’ll just distribute the others in the regular servants’ quarters. And the coachman and grooms will be housed in the stable wing, of course.”

  “How fortunate that this house is large enough to accommodate such an invasion,” Sarah said with a gleaming smile, which brought an answering twitch to Grace’s lips for a time.

  “You have chosen a fitting word, more fitting than is quite comfortable,” she said with serious intent. “I do not like to gossip about my betters, but yours is the responsibility for this enlarged household and you should be warned that the whole family has not been together under this roof in a number of years. There are personality differences and … and —”

  “You mean they don’t all like one another even though they are closely related?” Sarah had no qualms about stating plainly what loyalty or delicacy forbade Grace to utter, but she did not pursue this interesting topic for lack of time.

  They had been walking back toward the servants’ hall as they discussed the housing arrangements. Sarah stopped about twenty feet from the kitchen entrance. “Are we likely to find Mrs. Hadley in hysterics?” she whispered, placing an urgent hand on Grace’s arm.

  The maid laughed. “No, no,” she said soothingly. “Cook is a somewhat temperamental personality, but she likes an audience when she creates. I had to leave to seek you. She will have calmed down by now and will already have set several plans in motion. I’m afraid Sir Hector will not be of much help in selecting menus. He doesn’t take much interest in food these days, though he’ll not begrudge the cost of setting a hospitable table. Most of the planning will fall on your shoulders — and Cook’s, naturally — but Mrs. Hadley doesn’t like to have to deal with the family,” she added in warning tones. “You will have to do that.”

  There was a rather frightening list of things that she was going to have to do, Sarah thought worriedly as she got ready for bed that night, and the most important item on the list, disclosing her identity to her grandfather, was yet to be accomplished. She had confidently assured Lord Eversley that she would end the intolerable situation immediately, but this intention had been placed beyond her power to fulfil. The urgent necessity to initiate the preparations for houseguests had occupied her hands and attention for several hours, and when at last she had felt able to turn her attention to her own problem, she had run into the stone wall of her grandfather’s refusal to see her. The general was resting, she was told by Somers, guarding his master’s door on the first occasion when she had applied for admission. She had gone away, leaving a message that she wished to speak with Sir Hector at his earliest convenience. There had been no convenient moment evidently by the time the servants had retired for the night. She had made one last attempt to gain admittance to her grandfather’s room a half-hour earlier, to be told by his faithful Cerberus that the general was asleep. She really had no option but to continue the masquerade.

  Resolutely she closed her mind to the embarrassing possibilities inherent in the situation tomorrow should she still not have met with her grandfather before the descent of the family upon the house, or the advent of the real housekeeper. There was no way of knowing what time this vital personage would arrive. If the woman were not to run off in screaming hysterics at the unexpectedly increased responsibility into which she was to be unceremoniously pitchforked, then she herself must continue to supervise the monumental task of getting the household in full readiness for guests to ensure a smooth transfer of the housekeeping reins.

  Sarah got into bed with her head stuffed full of the chores to be done on the morrow, but as her tired muscles relaxed at last into the comfort of the mattress, a picture of Lord Eversley rose before her eyes, complete from the shining abundance of raven hair to the equally refulgent top boots he had worn. This same mental picture had reappeared repeatedly during the harrowing day just completed, but on each occasion she had banished it to go about her vital business. This time, she allowed herself the luxury of dwelling upon the surprising person of her grandfather’s only friend. The surprise was because, on first learning of his existence, she had assumed he would be of her father’s generation, since his father had been her grandfather’s friend originally.

  From the instant she had crossed over the threshold of the general’s room today, she had been engulfed in the aura of power and dominance the visitor emanated. At first this aura had been distinctly threatening, evoking a corresponding mustering of defences on her part, but by the time she had finished telling him her story, she had felt the initial hostility had been replaced by something perhaps a degree warmer than neutrality. Her resentment had also vanished, to be replaced by — what?

  Sarah considered the question carefully and admitted at length that she envied the man his natural assurance, and what was odder yet, she envied even more the woman who had this confident strength at her disposal like a shield. How comforting it must be to be married to such a man, to have him always there to protect one from the buffets of fortune. “The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” came unbidden into her head, and she laughed at her own dramatic nonsense, calling herself a craven coward. This unflattering self-assessment had no power to disturb her rest that night, however, for she drifted off to sleep on the thought.

  Considering the ominous portents of disaster for the day, Sarah awoke with a positive feeling of wellbeing to the third morning of sunshine in a row. Taking this for a good omen, she hopped out of bed and completed her simple toilette in an expeditious fashion, suppressing a spurt of distaste as she donned the same black-and-white gown again. Thanks to the inordinate amount of space required for the bronze-green bonnet and matching spencer in the portmanteau, Lottie had been able to include only two lightweight dresses, neither of which was suitable garb for a housekeeper. She gobbled a hasty breakfast, set the maids to the various cleaning tasks still to be done, and spent an hour conferring separately with Mrs. Hadley and Millbank about a dinner menu that would contain enough flexibility to accommodate all or some of the expected guests at a time to be determined eventually by the hour of their arrival. This was no easy accomplishment, but Sarah had already grasped that, for all her unending complaints and displays of temperament, the Beech Hill cook had a tremendous capacity for hard work, and the strength of character to keep her minions productively occupied in the kitchen and scullery.

  The masculine staff had diminished over the last few years as Sir Hector had become increasingly reclusive, but Joseph, the young footman who had opened the door to her, was very reliable and quick to learn. It was probable that they would have to bring in some extra help temporarily, but thankfully, that was Millbank’s problem, not hers.

  Sarah had barely had an opportunity to set her foot outdoors since she had arrived. She had not been near the stable area or the orchards or seen what the gardens or succession houses had to offer at this fallow time of year. She intended to quiz Grace on the availability of flowering plants to brighten up the guest apartments as soon as she had spoken with her grandfather — that is, if she did not find herself packing her bag for immediate departure afterward, she reminded herself soberly, trying to ignore the queasy sensation in her stomach as she set off for her crucial talk with Sir Hector.

  Well, at least she wasn’t packing, she thought ten minutes later as she went in search of Grace, but she could not derive a substantial measure of comfort from that bare fact. Her step had lost something of its spring as she relived the scene in Sir Hector’s antechamber. Short of physically overpowering his faithful attendant — a wild idea that actually crossed her mind at one point — she had been able to discover n
o way to gain access to her grandfather. Somers’ frozen courtesy had never faltered under her increasingly pressing demands to be admitted for five minutes only, but he had been as unmovable as Gibraltar.

  “Those are my orders, Mrs. Boston. The general does not wish to see anyone at present,” he repeated in the face of her increasingly vehement assurances of the vital nature of her business with Sir Hector and her sincere belief that he would wish to see her if he knew. Not a flicker of emotion had passed across the inscrutable facade presented by the valet, and she had been forced to give up for the time being, swamped by panic-ridden visions of herself forced to greet her unknown relatives under a false identity. Almost as disconcerting was the idea of meeting the new housekeeper with a declaration that she was the housekeeper. She closed her eyes against a still-more-agonizing vision of herself trapped forever in Sarah Boston’s identity, condemned to remain indefinitely in her role as housekeeper, and bumped into Grace in one of the corridors.

  In the end, the only indignity Sarah was spared that day was a meeting with the rival housekeeper, who did not put in an appearance, after all. Sarah would have been duly grateful for this small blessing had she been given the tiniest breathing space in which to contemplate a blessing, but such was not the case.

  By mid-afternoon, the guest rooms were prepared, a supply of towels was warming, and appetizing smells were issuing from the kitchen wing. Sarah had even snatched a half-hour to mix up some gingerbread against a delayed dinner when the first sounds of an arrival were reported. None of her importunities to Somers having been effective in gaining the crucial audience with her grandfather, she had no choice but to meet her father’s family in the guise of a housekeeper. It took several repetitions of Lottie’s maxim that the Almighty never sends us trials without also supplying the strength and courage to overcome them before she could quiet her racing pulse and assume a suitable composure for greeting Mr. Horace Ridgemont and his family.

  Sarah stood inside the great hall with a clear view of the party ascending the steps as their shoulders appeared in turn. First to come into sight was an elegantly groomed man of middle years who bore a striking resemblance to her father on a smaller, more finely drawn scale. Unprepared for the rush of emotion that caught her by the throat, Sarah swallowed against dryness. For the past year, she had shied away from any dwelling on their lack of family connections. She had never consciously speculated about the personality or appearance of members of her father’s family, but now, seeing her Uncle Horace for the first time, she had to put forth a stern effort to keep the polite little smile suitable for a housekeeper from spreading all over her face.

  Her uncle had no such problem. He was gazing at her with a slight pucker between straight black brows, a look of mingled curiosity and suspicion in his eyes as he removed a handsome brown beaver hat. Sarah hastened forward, dipped a nominal curtsy. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ridgemont. I hope you had a comfortable journey.”

  “As comfortable as traveling can be at this time of year. I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.”

  “No, sir. I am Sarah Boston, the new housekeeper.”

  This information failed to remove the mistrust from his searching eyes, but he nodded and turned his head to speak to the woman standing just outside the entrance doors peering back down the steps with an anxious air. “Madeleine, this is my father’s new housekeeper, Mrs. Boston.”

  The woman coming reluctantly into the hall was an unlikely match for her husband’s trim, distinguished person. Her figure was frankly matronly, and Sarah could think of no better description for her brown pelisse and hat then “serviceable.” Greying mouse-coloured hair was tightly crimped about a face distinguished mainly by its apple-cheeked roundness. The round blue eyes that briefly met Sarah’s held none of the reservation that had been in her husband’s, and little interest. Her faintly anxious look was explained in the next moment as Sarah followed her gaze to the entrance where two young men had just appeared, one — the younger, Sarah judged — helping the other to ascend the last few steps.

  Mrs. Ridgemont broke away from her husband and Sarah to hover over her son, who, having reached the flat surface, had let go his brother’s arm and was now leaning heavily on a cane, his breath coming a little fast. “Are you all right, my dear? Are you in much pain?” his mother asked.

  “I’m fine now, mama, really. It’s just that stairs are still a bit difficult.”

  Sarah was struck by the sweetness of the young man’s expression as he smiled at his worried mother. She had been doing some rapid thinking as the situation became clear to her, and now she said, addressing herself to her elder cousin, “We had allotted the first-floor apartments to the younger generation, but it will only take a few moments to prepare the suite in the northeast corner of this floor for you, sir. It would spare you the awkwardness of the stairs.”

  “Oh, yes, William do sleep here on the ground floor,” urged Mrs. Ridgemont before her son could reply. “Your ankle will never get stronger if you abuse it climbing stairs.”

  “Thank you, I will be glad to stay on this floor.” Mr. William Ridgemont smiled gratefully at Sarah, who then turned to his father, who was looking a bit impatient by now.

  “We have prepared your usual suite, sir. If you and Mrs. Ridgemont will follow me, I will —”

  “Perhaps I had better go along with William to his rooms in case he needs any help,” Mrs. Ridgemont suggested, hanging back.

  “Cecil can do anything his brother requires,” Mr. Ridgemont said. “Come along, Madeleine.” He proceeded toward his usual apartment without further delay, and Sarah was relieved to see his wife set off in his wake after her son echoed his father’s sentiments in soothing tones.

  It was apparent that Mrs. Ridgemont would have preferred to be with her injured son, but she said everything that was proper, commenting favourably on the appearance of the rooms and expressing appreciation for the flowering plants Grace had located. She accepted Sarah’s invitation to have refreshments sent up to the withdrawing room immediately and went into the bedchamber to put off her hat and pelisse. Promising to send up the abigail as soon as the men servants should have brought up the baggage, Sarah took her leave to begin preparation of the northeast apartment for its unexpected guest.

  To her surprise, her uncle accompanied her to the door that led to the back stairs. “I am going in to see my father in a moment. How is his condition, Mrs. Boston?”

  Sarah hesitated. “I have only been at Beech Hill for three days, Mr. Ridgemont, and have only seen Sir Hector briefly on two occasions, both times in his bed. Lord Eversley told me on the second occasion that he and the doctor had been very concerned that his condition had worsened greatly of late, but that he thought him somewhat improved yesterday. Not knowing when last you saw your father, I fear I cannot guess how much of a change for the worse you will discover.”

  “He was not bedridden when I was here eight months ago,” her uncle answered abruptly. “Thank you, Mrs. Boston, I’ll go and see for myself if Eversley has cause for this urgent summons.” He nodded dismissal, and Sarah proceeded downstairs to see about linens for her cousin’s bed and set tea preparations going forward.

  As she entered the northeast bedchamber a few moments later, accompanied by a maid carrying sheets, she thanked providence that this apartment had received a thorough dusting and polishing the day before. She poked her head into the antechamber to see that both her cousins had removed their outer clothing and were comfortably established, Cecil in a green velvet wingback chair near the fireplace, and William on the sofa, his injured foot resting on a footstool that had been dragged over to the sofa. He started to rise on spotting her in the doorway.

  “Please don’t get up, Mr. William. You’ll need to rest that foot after a long carriage trip,” she cautioned, noting a drawn look about his mouth though his blue eyes were eager and friendly. She glanced to Cecil, whose dark eyes held a familiar gleam, and her manner stiffened a little despite her efforts to k
eep her voice pleasant. “Annie will light the fire in the grate as soon as we finish in the bedchamber, and I’ll show you to your suite, Mr. Cecil. There will be refreshments in your parents’ apartment when you are ready.”

  “Cecil will take care of the fire in here. I’ve already made a lot of extra work for the staff, I fear,” said Mr. William Ridgemont apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I heard your name earlier.”

  “I am Sarah Boston,” Sarah replied, struggling to keep the increasing abhorrence she felt for the name she had saddled herself with out of her voice.

  “I’ll be happy to light Mrs. Boston’s fire,” drawled Cecil Ridgemont, rising from his lounging position, his wiry grace and slim straight carriage giving promise of development along the lines of his father’s mature elegance when he had outgrown a youthful penchant for the less-restrained styles of fashion. Sarah met his amused male glance with the blank civility she had perfected over the past year and excused herself to help Annie in the next room.

  Never in her life had she been more grateful to call an end to a day, Sarah acknowledged some six or seven hours later as she all but fell into her bed. She had been on the move since early morning, but physical exertion alone could not account for the almost pathological weariness that dragged at her limbs and set a supply of silly tears behind her eyelids that threatened to spill over at intervals. It would not be so upsetting if she could only think of the seven people whose acquaintance had been thrust on her today as passing strangers, but that was proving impossible. These people were her family, and the deception under which she had been forced to meet them would forever stand in the way of normal relations. When she was unmasked, as was inevitable unless she abandoned her quest and disappeared from their lives, they would all suffer some degree of embarrassment and resentment over the position her duplicity had placed them in, and this would remain a barrier to the development of amicable relations.