The Maid and the Footman

by Don Jacobson

  “We will need to keep our eyes and ears open, Wilson. It appears that Cecil House may not yet be free of intrigue. I am going to place you back in harness. You will be my eyes and ears below stairs. I will observe above.

  “With luck the danger is past…but we cannot be certain until we get everybody safely away from Town.”

  Chapter XVII

  December 1, 1815, Gold Suite, early evening

  “Oh, botheration,” exclaimed Kitty Bennet as she sent her wineglass flying. “This is insupportable, Annie. If I cannot manage to feed myself in the privacy of my chambers, how can I be expected to join in polite company for dinner at Burghley Hall?”

  Reynolds smiled to herself as she sopped up the dregs of the claret that had dyed the snowy tablecloth bright carmine. She removed the cover before the wood beneath was damaged.

  The patient complains loudly…but honestly, she has only been able to feed herself these past several days. Before she awoke, I was spooning broth into her mouth. Then while her ribs and arm pained her, and Dr. Campbell had her on small drafts of laudanum, she was only good for porridge and soft eggs served in bed until we were certain she would not choke.

  Since Miss Bennet has been up and about, though, she is discovering her limitations. What did she call her problem? Oh, that is correct—she says without her left eye, she has no depth perception.

  “This is the first time you have tipped your glass, Miss Bennet. Our strategies about how to reach out while at table have been working up to now. I think you are distracted,” Annie commented.

  Kitty sighed and looked up at her with a beaming smile. The young maid had joined Lydia and Lady Mary in her circle of close confidants.

  “Annie, it seems that Sir Richard is quite smitten with me. Why, I do not understand. He could have his pick of any woman in the kingdom.

  “But, with some very pretty words and strong expressions of affection, he asked me this afternoon if we could enter into a courtship. I told him that if he would wish to know me better and explore our prospects, who was I to argue with one of Britain’s heroes?”

  Annie stepped around the table to face her.

  “Well, it is about time! That man has been dancing around his feelings for you since he brought you home from the park.”

  Kitty feigned outrage and replied with raised eyebrows, “Why, Miss Reynolds, the second sons of Earls have no need for mundane things such as feelings when considering a match! Other factors like connections and dowries come to the fore.”

  “Oh, yes indeed; you are so correct, Miss Bennet. The men of the ton have a big scale. They ask all their potential brides to seat themselves on it to be weighed against their families’ expectations.

  “General Sir Richard Fitzwilliam, KCB and first Baron St. Jean was not thinking about your dowry or your connections when he spent a sennight sleeping in a chair out in the hall. If your sister, Mrs. Lydia, had not insisted that he pay attention to his own needs, I imagine he would be out there still.”

  In full play now, the young woman looked over at the footman standing off to the side. Planting a hand on one hip, she saucily importuned him, “Oh, Mr. Wilson…would you please invite the General in for a bit of dinner. I am certain he must be simply famished.”

  A deep rumbling chuckle started up in the big man’s chest. He adored Miss Reynolds’ impertinence.

  He replied, “Well, Miss Reynolds, I am afraid the General is off on important business. Something about a meeting in Gracechurch Street.”

  Miss Bennet dipped her head and blushed a delicate pink.

  

  The evening was unseasonably cold, even though it was still just autumn. Anne shivered when the frigid air hit her face and bare arms as she stepped through kitchen door into the mews carrying the stained tablecloth. She needed to get the spread into one of the soaking tubs in the laundry shed before the spilled wine set and ruined it.

  She could hear the kitchen clock striking ten as she pulled the wood peg holding the shed’s door closed. The air inside was warmed by the latent heat of the last tub of laundry waiting for the first load of the next morning. Not wishing to lose that little bit of comfort, Annie pulled the door closed behind her.

  There was no need for her to light a candle. Having begun her own career in service as a laundry maid here at Cecil House, Anne knew the layout of the shed and the routine of the maids who toiled over the house’s linens and clothes. The soaking tub was the last one down in the corner of the shed nearest the stables.

  Having pushed the dirty cloth into the wash water using the long wooden paddle, she quietly made her way back toward the entrance. She stopped though, with her hands raised to push the rough-hewn wood panel, when she heard the kitchen door close followed by the sounds of a man’s careful footsteps crunching in the sand that had been spread atop slick cobblestones to prevent iron-shod hooves from slipping.

  T’is quite late for someone to be leaving the house. I had to make certain that Mrs. Hastings knew I was going to the laundry shed so she could caution Mr. Hastings lest he lock me out.

  Something warned Annie that while her mission had been innocent, there were few other benign explanations for anyone from Cecil House to be outside at this late hour.

  Quality would not have the courage to brave the streets at this time of night. Servants are already all abed or getting ready to doss down. The night footman would be at his post near the front door. Who can this be, and why is he outside?

  As she stood frozen next to the closed door, the footsteps went a few feet past and stopped near the corner of the shed. Within seconds, the flare of a lit match glowed through the cracks between the warped boards making up the walls of the shed. In another few, the acrid smell of burning tobacco was carried through those same gaps. The match guttered out.

  Almost immediately another set of footsteps approached…this time along the alleyway running between the stables and the main house. The heavy tread of leather-soled boots became louder until they stopped at that same corner where the smoker waited.

  What Anne heard next stunned her…chilled her beyond the weather…and frightened her as she had never been in her seventeen years of life.

  A strange voice spoke first.

  “Well, tell me. Have you found anything? Our masters are getting angry and impatient.”

  The next voice was familiar to Anne in every way.

  “Oi…ya thin’ ah bin takin’ a vacation? ‘is Lordship don’ bring nuthin’ ‘ome from White’all. Ah bin through ‘is study. Thut were tricky. Ol’ lady ‘astings near caught me. ‘ad ta do a jig ta git out’n that scrape.”

  Jonas Winters!

  “Listen boy, you took my gold. I expect results. There must be something.”

  “Ah swear da, ah found nuthin’. Ya tol’ me ta look for them dispatch boxes. If ‘e ‘ad ‘em, ‘e musta left ‘em wit ‘is da, the Marquess.”

  “That damnable Fitzwilliam. If he had just turned the other way, Wadkins would have finished the governess and recaptured the child. That would have forced Cecil to agree to our demands for the documents to save his whelp’s life.

  “Ya c’aint blame me for that drunk’s mistake. Ah di’ mah part. Tol’ ya when they be leavin’, whur they go and ‘ow long they be gone. As fur as ah’m concerned, ah earned ma pay.”

  The Voice continued softly using a threatening tone, “Listen, my son, if you hope to come through this alive and have me acknowledge my siring you, you have to stop thinking about your own pocketbook. You must start considering the role you are playing to help eradicate those Jacobin tendencies that ripped apart the Continent for five and twenty years.

  “And for what? To establish the rights of men? Pfaagh…those filthy masses have no idea what it is to rule. They follow men on horseback and scream “liberty, equality, fraternity” as if they are my equals! How about the rightful rulers, those ordained by God these past centuries? Those men know how to wield power. They are my equals.

  “We need to
succeed in our mission. We must know what Britain will do as we re-establish the Old Order across Europe.”

  Annie barely breathed as she listened to this dissertation. Her muscles, tensed from standing still, began to cramp. She knew that if she made a sound or attempted to change her position, her life would be forfeit. The conversation continued.

  An abashed Jonas replied, “No disrespect meant, zur. I do wan’cha ta name me yur boy. But, whut kin we do? They’s pullin’ out in three o’ four days to Burghley ‘ouse up in Nor’amptonshire.”

  The Voice responded, stronger now, “Do you think they suspect anything? Did that big footman, the one who was with them that day, say anything about what he saw?”

  Jonas replied making a dismissive sound, “Wilson? ‘e’s an oaf. Brains were scrambled t’in th’ army. ‘e’s ‘alf crazy, and when ‘e’s not, ‘e’s a dumb as a post.”

  Anne heard a gloved fist smacking into another gloved hand.

  “There’s nothing for it. We have to snatch the girl…and do it right this time.

  “We will try it tomorrow night. Do you still have that sleeping draught I gave you? You have to find a way to make sure she takes it. We cannot have her screaming when you bring her out.

  “Do it toward the eleventh hour once the family has retired. I will be waiting in the alley with the carriage.”

  With that the men parted ways; one to head back down the alley and Jonas to return to Cecil House.

  Anne stood motionless for five minutes until she felt safe enough to leave the shed and make her own way inside.

  I have to find Henry. He will help me protect Margaret!

  Chapter XVIII

  Annie wound her way through the kitchen and up to the first floor, keeping quiet as a dormouse. She assumed that Jonas had retired to his cell beneath the eaves, but she could not be too careful.

  The conversation she had overheard had shaken her very soul. For the past month, she had been strangely comforted in the knowledge that the attack was a random act. To now know that the assault on Miss Bennet and the attempt on Miss Margaret was part of a greater threat to England’s security—and that it was not yet over—stretched the limits of her comprehension.

  People in my station are hardly citizens of Great Britain. Oh, the gentlefolk like to talk up how ‘every man and woman must play their part’ to defend the nation. But that translates to ‘fill the ranks of the army’ and ‘wash those clothes’. The games they play with the lives of others are insane.

  As she moved down the darkened hallways toward the foyer and great staircase, she passed by the closed doors of the library. The dull sound of men’s voices vibrated through the panels. Although she could not hear the words distinctly, she immediately recognized the measured cadence of General Fitzwilliam followed by Henry’s deeper baritone reply.

  She knocked on the door, bringing the conversation to a halt.

  Henry opened the door. Looking down at Anne, a great smile illuminated his features. His welcoming look washed away the past half hour of tension. In relief, she addressed him, “Oh, Mr. Wilson. Thank God it is you. I have been so frightened. I need to talk with you.”

  Fitzwilliam stepped up next to Wilson, great concern marking his face, “Is something amiss with Miss Bennet, Annie? Must we send for Dr. Campbell?”

  Annie immediately replied, “No…no, my Lord. Nothing is wrong with Miss Bennet: nothing at all.

  “However, there is much that is wrong here at Cecil House.”

  Both men quickly glanced at one another. Wilson shook his head at the General, silently asserting that he had told Annie nothing. Fitzwilliam gave an imperceptible nod and turned away from the door curtly saying, “Please join us in the library.”

  A knot once again formed in Annie’s stomach, and she looked to Henry for more information.

  “It will be all right, Miss Reynolds,” Henry said in voice just above a whisper, “The General is directing some inquiries resulting from the attack in the Park. I have been assisting him.”

  Henry led Annie to a sofa near the fireplace and settled her on it. He would allow the General to ask the questions…but the man had better be careful with his Anne.

  Richard settled into a leather-upholstered armchair opposite the maid.

  “Would you care for some sherry, Annie, to settle your nerves? Wilson, please do the honors and bring me a whiskey. Pour yourself a measure, too.”

  Henry went to the sideboard where the crystal decanters stood. He poured a half-glass of Madiera for Anne. After serving her, he grabbed the whiskey and two heavy-bottomed tumblers and carried them across the room. He poured amber liquid into each glass and handed one to his General. Then he settled his long frame into a matching armchair.

  Fitzwilliam flashed him a tired grin, “That is why I like you, Sergeant. Your hands are so large that when you pour me two fingers, it really is three.”

  All quietly sipped their drinks. Then the General placed his nearly empty glass silently on the table and regarded young Annie with his steel grey eyes hooded beneath thick, dark brows.

  “Tell me what has so frightened the niece of Mrs. Reynolds, who, dear as she is to me, is a woman I would characterize as the Derbyshire Boadicea!”

  Halting at first and then becoming steadier, Annie related her experience in the laundry shed. She hewed tightly to the timeline so that the General could understand the nature of the encounter. He interrupted her once or twice to clarify points in his mind. He restrained Wilson who made to rise when Anne identified Winters as one of the parties.

  When she had completed her story, the General stood and walked over to one of the tall windows opening out onto the street fronting the house. He stared out into the darkness his left hand fisted behind his back. Anne and Henry watched as his hand alternately clenched and relaxed.

  After about five minutes, the man heaved a great sigh. He rubbed both hands down his front, smoothing his waistcoat and his topcoat. Turning back to the waiting servants, he strode toward them shooting his cuffs. Clearly he had reached a decision.

  He stood facing the fireplace, its flames filling his craggy face with illuminated planes and pitch-dark shadows. Here was General Sir Richard Fitzwilliam, revered commander of Wellington’s foot.

  “This is a dangerous situation. We know that the unidentified man you heard speaking to Winters is at the center of the plot to winkle out Whitehall’s plans.

  “Britain has long been kept safe by the Channel. For 750 years, since William the Conqueror managed it, nobody has been able to invade. The Channel has allowed us to keep our distance from European dynastic politics—at least once we got over our own fascination with possessions in France.[xxxv]

  “Napoleon hoped to reverse the favor in ’05, but Nelson saved us by destroying the Combined Fleet at Trafalgar.

  “Later, we always were able to play off one or more of the great powers against him to keep his eyes focused elsewhere. If it was not the Austrians, it was the Russians and so on.

  “Now they have built this “Holy Alliance” which is supposed to restore the Old Order back to their thrones and power. Even though France is on the outside, Louis XVIII and Talleyrand will find their way in. Frankly, there is not a chance it will work or last.

  “Until it does disintegrate, however, any combination of the great powers will constitute a major threat to us. Even though we are now at peace with our American cousins, they are thousands of miles away while France is still just over twenty.

  “Castlereagh and the government are playing a very long game. While we possess the strongest navy in the world, we cannot interdict three or four states in case of war.

  “It will be to our interest to focus their attentions elsewhere…Spain, Poland, the Italian states, even the Ottoman Empire.

  “The longer it takes for them to understand that we plan to be outside of their little club, the better it will be for us.

  “While we are not in danger of invasion from any of these states, if they do seek
to revive Bonaparte’s Continental System, it will endanger our economy and, with that, the very fabric of our society.”

  He paused and looked intently at Reynolds and Wilson. Both were clearly involved and interested in his dissertation. Yet, that just had been background for context.

  “Now we come to the crux. I am certain Winters and his master want to force Lord Tom to raid the Marquess’ dispatch boxes and hand off critical documents that would be carried to Vienna.

  “Thanks to Annie, and what a stroke of fortune that was, we know their plans and their timing.

  “As I see it, we have two courses of action before us.

  “First, we let them snatch Miss Margaret and then exchange her for counterfeit papers.

  “There is much that is appealing about this. We could completely misdirect our adversaries. They would never question the authenticity of the information because they would never imagine that Cecil would endanger his little daughter by supplying false texts. Britain would move far ahead of the conservative monarchies…and may stay there for years.

  “But, this plan has two major flaws.

  “First, we could not be certain they would not harm the girl.

  “Second, for their plan to work, they would also need to kidnap the child’s caregiver. Since they are doing this at night, Miss Annesley would not be there. Rather it would be one of the staff that has been sitting with her, either Sarah or Annie.

  “Winters would drug the child’s evening drink, and then, after enough time had passed, he would enter the room and probably force the maid to carry the girl out to the carriage.

  “If I were betting on this, they would then kill the maid and leave her body in the mews as a warning to Lord Tom that they were serious about their threats.

  Annie closed her eyes, moaned and collapsed back into the sofa. Henry jumped up and was seated by her side in an instant. He cradled her gently against his chest as she first shook and then, after turning her face inward, began to weep.

  Wilson shot a venomous look at the General.

  “Stay Sergeant. I am not suggesting that I would willingly sacrifice either Miss Small or Miss Reynolds. I am laying our options on the table so we can understand the implications.