The Mysterious Maid-Servant

by Barbara Cartland

  “The point is, Talbot,” Henry Somercote interposed again, “Julius thinks you are an inexhaustible cornucopia or shall we say a bank whose reserves are completely at his disposal.”

  “I agree it cannot go on,” the Earl stipulated firmly.

  Giselda’s eyes were on his and he knew that she was puzzled as to how this should concern her.

  “Henry has told me,” the Earl continued, “that Julius, in order to make good his financial deficiencies, has pursued every heiress in London and has now followed one here to Cheltenham.”

  “You should see what she looks like,” Henry Somercote interrupted. “I have seen many plain women in my life, but I have no doubt that, if there was a competition for sheer ugliness Emily Clutterbuck would win it.”

  For the first time, Giselda seemed to relax a little and there was a faint smile on her lips.

  “Clutterbuck?” she queried. “What a surprising name!”

  “She is the daughter of Ebenezer Clutterbuck, who is a moneylender,” the Earl said in a harsh tone.

  He suddenly struck the bedclothes with his clenched fist.

  “Dammit!” he swore. “I have said it before and I will say it again – I will not have anyone called Clutterbuck in the family, nor will I countenance a cursed bloodsucking usurer sitting at my table.”

  “What can you do to prevent it?” Giselda asked quietly.

  She rose from the chair as she spoke and tidied the lace-edged sheet the Earl had crumpled.

  Then she patted up the pillows behind him whilst Henry Somercote watched her with amused eyes.

  “Do not fuss!” the Earl commanded. “I am trying to explain to you your part in this drama.”

  “Mine?” Giselda enquired.

  “Yes, yours,” the Earl replied. “I presume you can act?”

  Giselda looked bewildered and even Henry Somercote turned enquiring eyes towards the Earl.

  “I intend to teach Julius a lesson he will not forget,” the Earl said grimly, “and at the same time, Giselda, solve the problem with which you presented me a short time ago.”

  She stared at him wide-eyed and the Earl went on,

  “The only way to save Julius from the clutches of Miss Clutterbuck is to divert his attention to another heiress, who of course, must be equally rich, besides being attractive.”

  There was silence for a moment in the bedroom.

  Then Giselda said in a hesitating tone,

  “I-I do not – think I understand what you are – suggesting.”

  “I am telling you that you will be the heiress whom we will hold out as bait under Julius’s nose to stop him pursuing this Clutterbuck woman.”

  The Earl turned to look at Captain Somercote.

  “You, Henry, will inform Julius how rich and important this alleged heiress is, and now I think of it, she had best come from the north – Yorkshire is a big county and as far as I know Julius has never been there.”

  “But such an – idea is – impossible – ” Giselda stammered.

  “There is no such word as ‘impossible’ in my vocabulary,” the Earl said loftily. “Half the visitors to Cheltenham come from outlying parts of the country. Newell said so only yesterday in your presence. Therefore a rich heiress from Yorkshire will be merely one of the hundreds of people who wish to consult the doctors and drink the medicinal waters of the Spa.”

  Henry Somercote rose to his feet.

  “By Jove, Talbot, you are a genius at improvisation! I have always thought so and so did the Duke! Do you remember how you turned the tide of that battle near Vittoria, when I was quite certain we were completely cut off by the French?”

  “If we could beat the French, we can beat Julius at his own game!” the Earl reflected.

  “But – how can we make him think – ” Giselda began helplessly.

  “Leave everything to me,” the Earl said. “You will be dressed as befits the part and all you will have to do is to make yourself pleasant to Julius and let him think, in a very discreet way of course, that you are not averse to his paying court to you.”

  “Oh – I am sure I could not do it.”

  “You will do it and you will do it well!” the Earl asserted positively.

  “It certainly is a most intriguing idea,” Henry Somercote said. “Where is she to stay?”

  There was a moment’s pause as if the Earl was thinking.

  “Here! I am damned if I am going to lose my nurse – and I am not going to miss all the fun and excitement.”

  He laughed before he added,

  “In which case I suppose we should ask the permission of Mine Host.”

  “I am quite certain that Colonel Berkeley will enjoy every moment of the drama,” Henry Somercote remarked.

  “What will I enjoy?” a voice asked from the door and all three people in the bedroom turned their heads as Colonel Berkeley appeared.

  “Talk of the devil!” he said, “or am I cast in the part of the Demon King?”

  His words were obviously addressed to Henry Somercote, but his eyes were on Giselda who rose to her feet as he advanced slowly into the room.

  “You are just the man we want, Fitz.” the Earl callecout. “We need your approval and your assistance in a proposition which is very much up your street.”

  Colonel Berkeley had stopped beside Giselda.

  “Will somebody introduce me?” he asked.

  “Giselda, this is your host, Colonel Berkeley. Fitz – Miss Giselda Chart!”

  Giselda curtsied.

  “You are even more attractive than I thought when I had a quick glimpse of you,” Colonel Berkeley said.

  The colour rose in Giselda’s cheeks.

  He looked at her for a long moment and her eyes fell before his. He seated himself astride an upright chair, his arms crossed on the back of it.

  “Now, tell me what is going on,” he enquired, “for it is obvious that all three of you are conspiring.”

  “That is exactly what we are doing,” the Earl replied.

  Briefly he repeated what he had already said to Giselda and Colonel Berkeley laughed.

  “Talk about the Cheltenham theatricals!” he said. “My dear Talbot, I shall have you writing plays for me before I have finished!”

  “There is no lead for you in this play,” the Earl retorted. “Everything centres around Giselda. She has to convince Julius that she is the heiress he will be told she is and thus make him stop pursuing Miss Clutterbuck and concentrate on the Yorkshire millions which he thinks might fall into his pocket.”

  “Forsaking the substance for the shadow,” the Colonel remarked. “Well, it certainly, my dear Talbot, has the making of a good first act. More important, though, is what will happen in the other two.”

  “The most important thing is for the play to be staged before Julius commits himself,” the Earl corrected.

  “I agree with you there,” Henry came in. “When I left London everyone was expecting the engagement to be announced at any moment.”

  “There is just a chance that Julius is shrewd enough to think that, if he can frighten you, Talbot, by proposing such an alliance, you will pay his debts. He has done this before,” Colonel Berkeley remarked.

  “That is something I have no intention of doing!” the Earl countered sharply.

  “Then Giselda will have to be very convincing,” Colonel Berkeley replied.

  He looked at her again in a manner that made her feel shy.

  It had not escaped her notice that he had referred to her by her Christian name. Then she thought humbly she was only in the position of a servant and she could hardly expect these gentlemen to address her in any other way.

  “Come on, Fitz,” the Earl prompted, “this is where we need your expert advice!”

  “Very well,” Colonel Berkeley said in a more serious tone. “If Giselda is to be an heiress, she had best be a widow. That will dispense with relatives, who would undoubtedly try to keep Julius away from her and also with the chaperonage she would otherw
ise require if she is to stay in this house.”

  “Better make her a distant relative,” Henry Somercote suggested. “Otherwise you know the inference that might be put on her being a guest at German Cottage.”

  The three men looked knowingly at each other, but the Earl was well aware that Giselda did not understand.

  “If I am to be a widow,” she said, “he might ask questions about my – husband.”

  “You can be too affected by the thought of his death to wish to talk about him,” the Colonel said. “And for God’s sake, don’t forget that you will need a wedding ring.”

  There was a sharpness in his voice which both the Earl and Henry Somercote knew came from the bitterness he felt at being illegitimate.

  The case that had been heard in the House of Lords four years previously in 1812 had caused a tremendous sensation. Every possible piece of evidence was brought by his mother to prove that Fitz had been born in wedlock.

  But the House of Lords still ruled that the Colonel’s younger brother, Moreton, was in fact the sixth Earl of Berkeley.

  The judgement had made the Colonel behave in a wilder and more flamboyant manner than he had done before. The publicity, the agonising ordeal suffered by his mother and the details of the sensational hearing that had dragged on for nearly four months had left him resentful and at the same time defiant.

  He would not admit that he had been humiliated, but the scars were to remain with him all through his life.

  “Giselda will require not only a wedding ring,” the Earl said, “but also clothes.”

  “Yes, of course,” Colonel Berkeley said in a different tone, “and that is where I can help you. Madame Vivienne, who dresses my theatrical productions is a genius. She will also keep her mouth shut, which is important. Otherwise the whole of Cheltenham will know that Giselda is being fitted out with a trousseau.”

  “What about the servants? Especially if she stays here?” Henry asked.

  The Colonel looked at him disdainfully.

  “You do not suppose that any servants in my employment would dare to gossip about one of my guests or indeed anything that goes on in this house?”

  He paused to add impressively,

  “The outside world may talk about me, but I assure you that what occurs in any house I own is completely private, except that there are always inquisitive fools who are prepared to believe the worst.”

  “There is to be no guessing about Giselda,” the Earl said firmly. “Send for this Madame Vivienne and she must be dressed as befits an heiress. At the same time quietly and respectably as would be expected of a widow from Yorkshire.”

  “Have you thought of a name for her?” Henry enquired.

  There was a silence as all three men seemed to be thinking.

  Then the Colonel spoke first,

  “Barrowfield will do. I remember there was a character of that name in one of the first plays I ever acted in, and he, or she, I cannot remember which, was supposed to have come from Yorkshire.”

  “Very well,” the Earl agreed, “Giselda can be Mrs. Barrowfield, widow of a Yorkshire Squire who made millions from wool.”

  “Her mother can have been a distant cousin of mine,” the Colonel said, “and that will eradicate any complication over names.”

  Suddenly, as if the full implication of what was being planned swept over her, Giselda said in a frightened little voice,

  “Please – I am afraid – of doing this. Supposing I let you down? Supposing I am – discovered?”

  “Then Julius will marry Miss Clutterbuck,” Henry replied before anyone else could speak, “and there will be no great harm done one way or the other. Mrs. Barrowfield can disappear back to Yorkshire.”

  He had taken it upon himself to answer Giselda’s plea, but she had been looking at the Earl and he knew she appealed to him for protection and reassurance.

  “You will do it splendidly! And really you will have very little to do. Julius will come to call on me, I am quite certain, once Henry has told him that an heiress is staying in the house. You will be introduced and somehow – we must play this by ear – he will suggest that he accompanies you to the Spa and he may after a few casual meetings invite you to dinner.”

  He realised as he spoke that the very idea made Giselda afraid and he told himself all that really mattered was that this solved her problem as well as his own.

  “I have an idea,” the Colonel said. “Knightley has in his charge a collection of jewellery I use in my productions.”

  He looked at Giselda and added, as if he sensed her nervousness at wearing anything valuable,

  “The stones are only semi-precious – garnets, amethysts, and I believe there is a small string of pearls. It would seem strange for an heiress to possess no jewellery of any sort.”

  “Yes, of course,” the Earl agreed. “Really, Fitz, it will be impossible to put on this production without your help. How soon do you think Madame Vivienne can equip Giselda so that she can take the stage?”

  “Immediately, I should think,” the Colonel replied lightly. “And because I realise it is urgent, Talbot, I will go and see her myself and tell her to come here with all possible speed. She is sure to have a few gowns ready, enough at any rate for Giselda to make her first appearance.”

  He smiled as he added to Giselda,

  “That is the important moment! You have to evoke the interest of the audience and hold it for the rest of the play.”

  Giselda made a convulsive little movement and he added,

  “No first night nerves! I never allow my players to suffer from them. All I ask is that they should know their lines and do exactly as I have instructed them to do.”

  “It is not knowing my lines that makes me so nervous,” Giselda sighed.

  “Leave everything to me,” the Colonel answered in an almost caressing tone. “I will produce you, Giselda, and I can assure you I am very experienced at it.”

  “I – think I would – rather leave that to – his Lordship,” Giselda said in a low voice.

  The Earl could not help feeling a sense of triumph that she preferred to rely on him rather than on the Colonel. But if it was meant to be a put-down the Colonel was not prepared to take it as one.

  “Of course,” he agreed. “This is Talbot’s play and I must not spoil his sense of the dramatic. At the same time I hereby appoint myself as Stage Manager and quite frankly, without being conceited, I am an extremely good one.”

  “We all know that,” the Earl said, “but you are not to frighten Giselda. I am quite certain she has never done anything like this before and it will not be easy for her.”

  “Who knows, we may have another Mrs. Jordan or Harriet Melon on our hands,” Colonel Berkeley remarked.

  “Or even a Maria Foote!” Henry Somercote remarked slyly.

  The Colonel looked at him and he added,

  “I saw her in A Roland for an Oliver and I thought she was superb!”

  “She is very beautiful,” the Colonel said complacently as if he was responsible for it.

  “Giselda will make an adequate Mrs. Barrowfield,” the Earl said, “and that is all we require of her at the moment. Hurry, Fitz, and find Madame Vivienne for me and you, Henry, see if you can discover where Julius is staying.”

  “He is staying at The Plough, and Miss Clutterbuck is at The Swan.”

  “Then let us hope we can keep them apart.”

  Henry Somercote leant against the foot of the bed.

  “What exactly do you want me to stay to him?”

  The Earl paused for a moment and then replied slowly,

  “Tell him you have been to see me and that I am in good health. Then rave about the charming and delightful widow who is also staying at German Cottage.”

  He paused a moment to say,

  “Now I think of it, Giselda had better say when she gets the chance that she was accompanied from Yorkshire by an elderly aunt who was unfortunately taken ill and forced to stay in London, but will be joining
her later.”

  “A good idea!” the Colonel approved. “Always make your characters have a reason for everything they do. It is part of the credibility that should be present in every play.”

  “And then?” Henry prompted.

  “Suggest, casually of course, that you are calling on me later this evening and that he should accompany you – ” The Earl broke off to turn to the Colonel. “Could Madame Vivienne have Giselda ready by then? Surely she will have at least one gown that will fit her?”

  “I imagine there will be dozens,” the Colonel replied. “Each one on Giselda more becoming than the last. Leave everything to me, Talbot! I am going straight away to find Madame Vivienne and I will also speak to Knightley before I leave the house.”

  “I will come with you,” Henry said. “I feel sure there are a number of details in this important production that we should discuss together.”

  “I will give you a lift,” the Colonel smiled. “I have my phaeton outside.”

  “Thank you,” Henry replied. “The trouble about this town of yours, Colonel, is that there is too much walking.”

  “All the doctors will tell you that it is good for your health,” the Colonel replied.

  “And I am quite certain you are thinking out some way by which you can charge people for every footstep they take,” Henry laughed.

  The two men went from the bedroom and the Earl waited, his eyes on Giselda.

  He knew she was apprehensive. He knew too by the expression in her eyes that she could hardly believe this was not some fantasy that would never be put into action.

  She moved towards the bed and stood holding on to the carved post at the foot as if she needed support.

  “Do not be afraid, Giselda,” the Earl cautioned her gently, “I will write you now a cheque for the fifty pounds you need so urgently for playing your part in this deception.”

  “It is too much!” she replied. “I am sure it is too much”

  “If you think that, you can ask the Colonel what he pays the amateurs who act for him,” the Earl replied. “You will find that he gives them as much as that a week and since I envisage this masquerade may continue for ten days or more I am really getting you on the cheap.”