Beth frowned. “Away from whom?”
George covered his head and didn’t speak until Beth shook him gently. “George, explain yourself. Who do you want to get away from?”
He slowly lifted his head and stared at her sullenly. His face had mottled to an unbecoming shade of red. “Jacob and David Allen.”
Beth frowned and smoothed her fingers over his hot cheeks. “Are they unkind to you? George, what’s been going on?”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t like it in the stables. They know it and push me around.”
Beth drew her son against her chest and rocked him. “You should have said something to me long before this.”
Something sharp stabbed her arm and when she investigated, she discovered straw, lots of straw, stuffed down the neck of his coat and under his waistcoat. Astonished, Beth pulled his coat off and gave it a quick shake. Dust, likely from a haystack in the stables, floated to the floor. She quickly removed his waistcoat too, and checked his best shirt was still decently clean. “Did they do this?”
He nodded, head hung low with embarrassment. Beth closed her eyes. She had not expected him to be bullied by the stable master’s sons. She would speak to Charles Allen about it and demand he make sure it never happened again. Up until now, she’d thought kindly of the Allens, but it seemed her trust had been misplaced.
George cuddled against her. “Are you really the new housekeeper?” he asked, voice wavering with misery.
Beth pulled him close to her and kissed the top of his dark head. “Yes. But there are some conditions.”
“What kind of conditions?”
“Nothing for you to worry about. I’ll manage.” She stared into his face, pained by the misery etched there. He hadn’t been this unhappy since his father had died. “Listen, George. I know our life has changed for the worse since Papa’s death, but bear with me just a little longer. I’ll make sure Jacob and David do not trouble you again. The housekeeper of Romsey commands respect. Things will turn around for us soon. I promise.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Beth smiled. “We just need to stick together. I had intended to start today, but I don’t want to leave you alone if you’re unhappy. If you promise to be very quiet you can come with me to the housekeeper’s rooms. Just this once, mind. There is much to be done.”
He nodded and then wiped at his face, leaving dirty streaks behind.
She pushed him toward the washbasin. “You’d better clean your face and your hands if you want to be with me.”
He hurried to do her bidding while Beth strayed to the window and peered outside. Allen was atop a gray mare trotting out of the stable yard, his two sons on similar mounts flanking him. Beth had trusted that George would be looked after while she’d been engaged with the countess. However, that didn’t look to have been the case. She’d pushed George into the company of the stable master’s older sons because she’d believed the fresh air and company would be good for him. However, George had been hiding his misery while she’d been sipping tea and luxuriating in the comforts of a proper lady. She’d failed to protect him.
George tugged on her sleeve. “Is this better?”
She turned, caught his face between her hands, and peered at him gravely. “Much better. As handsome as ever.”
His cheeks pinked with a blush and his shoulders hunched a little. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that out loud or I’ll never hear the end of it.”
She rubbed his back and he stood taller. “A mother is allowed to be proud of her son and I am so very proud of you. Your father would be too if he were still with us.”
Beth helped him redress and then led him out of their chambers and down the main staircase. It was only when she reached the midpoint that she realized her error. She should have taken the servants’ stairs. She hurried George along, glancing about anxiously until they reached the privacy of the housekeeper’s sitting room.
Once inside, she closed the door and strove to relax. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake like that again. She couldn’t risk losing this chance for security. The duchess had insisted on a trial period and had hinted that she would continue to interview any candidates that presented themselves during the next month.
The housekeeper’s sitting room was cozy and comfortable, but still far grander than her own sitting room had once been. Two well-cushioned chairs sat facing the hearth and a low table sat between. Room enough for two. Four in a pinch if she added the high-backed chairs currently placed around the small mahogany table pushed against the corner. A mahogany sideboard held a single bottle, sherry she assumed, and two glasses on a silver tray beside a set of china ornaments, seabirds of some description.
George glanced around curiously and then sat gingerly on the blue velvet chair closest to the hearth. “It’s quiet in here.”
Beth nodded and then advanced to the door set beside the hearth. With a deep breath she turned the handle and stepped into the housekeeper’s workroom. Again, dark mahogany furniture filled the space: three chairs, a tall cupboard filled one wall across the room, and a large desk dominated the space. The walls held sketches of the estate grounds and floor plans of the abbey itself.
She ran her fingers over the smooth, polished wood of the desk as she walked about it. These rooms, unlike many in the abbey, had been kept in good order but were bare of papers or character. She drew the drapes back from the windows and peered out toward the stables, noticing the Allens had disappeared from view. She’d deal with them tomorrow.
“So this is where you disappeared to, Mrs. Turner,” Lady Venables noted as she swept into the room.
Beth jerked around and dipped a quick, respectful curtsy. “My lady.”
“Her Grace has informed me of the news.”
Beth swallowed. Should she have formally handed her notice to Lady Venables? From her conversation with the duchess, she’d assumed the sisters had already talked the matter over in detail and agreed. “Her Grace has been very generous.”
“Well, time will tell.” She glanced around her. “I take it you’re starting today.”
Beth nodded. “I thought it prudent to get a head start. There is so much to do that it seemed unwise to delay.”
Lady Venables glanced down and twisted an emerald ring gracing her finger; a frown line grew between her brows. Beth squinted at the ring. The piece was not one she was familiar with, but it suited Lady Venables’s hand quite well. Beth’s tongue thickened as she overrode the urge to compliment her on the piece. It was not her place to notice such things anymore.
Lady Venables glanced up, frown firmly in place. “Well, then. I see there is nothing I can do to change your mind.”
“No, my lady. I am very happy to serve the Randalls in this capacity. I feel I can do a great deal more to repay the family for its kindness.”
Her former employer sighed heavily. “A pity. I thought we were becoming great friends. I had a matter I wanted your advice on, but it is too late now.” With one last look, Lady Venables turned on her heel and let herself out, shutting the door firmly behind her.
A pang of disappointment filled Beth. She had enjoyed her time with the countess. The lady was kind, often quite funny in her own quiet way, and had never made Beth feel inferior. They shared many of the same opinions, she’d discovered, and she could at times predict the lady’s reaction to new situations quite accurately. However, becoming the housekeeper put an entirely different cast on their relationship. She had no reason to speak to the countess unless the matter pertained to Romsey Abbey. Whatever the countess had considered asking advice about would forever go unsaid.
Seeking relief from her disappointment, Beth sat at the desk and opened the drawers. Each one was completely empty. She would need to speak to the butler to discover what had become of the housekeeper’s account book and other papers pertaining to the position before she could make an accurate assessment of their situation.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Come.”
The door rattled and then the new first footman, John, came in, bearing a tea tray. “I thought you might require sustenance.”
“Oh, thank you, John. That is very kind.”
“Think nothing of it, Mrs. Turner.”
He left, only to be replaced by the head maid carrying a small vase filled with aster. “Thought you might like something pretty on your desk. Mrs. Callinan always liked roses, but I noticed you pick these for your bedchamber.”
Beth smiled at the tiny blonde. “Thank you, Annie. I do prefer them.”
Annie would be the person she most relied upon in the coming months and years. She hoped they could work together well enough. She placed the vase on the corner of the empty table. “Is there anything else you might need, Mrs. Turner?”
“Nothing for the moment, thank you.”
The new second footman came next before Beth had had a chance to pour a drop of tea, carrying a bucket full of coal. When he went out, Beth had to wonder who else might come trooping through her door. She should have considered that the servants reporting to her would attempt to curry favor with the new housekeeper.
Out of the corner of her eye she spotted George watching her from the other room. She tipped her head in the direction of the plate of biscuits and he snagged two before retreating.
Another footman arrived with a large desk blotter; an upstairs maid appeared, ink bottle in one hand, quill in the other. After an ongoing procession of servants bearing gifts, the first footman returned. “Cook is asking for the store cupboard to be opened.”
Beth smiled. “I’ll be there momentarily. You can take the tea tray away now.”
She poked her head into the other room to see what George was doing and found him dozing in one of the chairs. He’d had a trying day so she eased the door closed and headed for the kitchens at a brisk, businesslike pace. The cavernous rooms were quiet, new servants sitting about the long table idly, waiting for work to do. Beth reached for the keys. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Roach. Are you settled in well enough?”
The older woman’s glance dropped to the keys in her hands and a scowl crossed her features. “Well enough, but I’ll never get used to having to ask for the store cupboard key. Never had to in my other positions.”
Mrs. Roach had come on a recommendation from one of Her Grace’s many friends. She seemed competent enough to keep the kitchen running smoothly and she’d already won Her Grace and the little duke over with her baking skills. Yet the duchess was hesitant to trust the new servants completely. The last ones, the servants that Beth and Mrs. Roach were replacing, had liberated quite a few precious commodities as they had made their escape on the night of Oliver’s return. She didn’t blame the duchess one bit for being cautious. “Well, I imagine it won’t be for long.”
Beth hurried to open the locked door and stood to one side as the cook and her assistants took out what they needed to make the evening meal into a feast. Even the servants, from what she’d observed, ate very well at Romsey. Later, she would dine in the upper servants’ hall. Another disappointment with her new role was that George would spend his evening meal alone from now on. She wouldn’t allow him to keep company with the stable master’s sons anymore without being there to watch over him. She’d have a tray sent up to his bedchamber or he could dine in the housekeeper’s sitting room and return to his studies as soon as he finished eating.
Since Cook was surly about the key issue and took more time than necessary, forcing Beth to cool her heels in the hot kitchens, she was delayed over half an hour. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand and hoped George hadn’t woken during her absence. She should have left him a note to explain where she’d gone. Tonight, after dinner, they would work out a system and decide where he would spend his evenings and his days. She didn’t like the idea of him prowling the estate alone.
Eventually, Mrs. Roach agreed she had everything she needed and Beth hurried to the sitting room and George.
Luckily, George was still asleep. But he had company. Oliver Randall sat in another armchair, staring into the hearth’s flames.
Chapter Five
A FLOORBOARD CREAKED and Oliver immediately raised his head from his contemplation of the flames. “I did not wish to disturb him.”
Elizabeth’s wary gaze flowed over him like a hot touch on his bare skin.
She dipped a quick curtsy. “Good afternoon, Mr. Randall. Can I be of assistance?”
He stood and moved toward her, keeping his steps light so as not to disturb the sleeping boy. Elizabeth backed from the room quickly and when he passed her, she pulled the door to the sitting room until it was almost completely closed.
Unless they were at dinner, they had rarely been in close proximity and never alone like this. For a moment he was tongue-tied, so he focused on her appearance. Today Elizabeth was dressed in a somber style. Plain gown, hair confined tightly at the back of her head. She appeared almost as prim as Lady Venables, except in a gown of far lower quality. He frowned at it, wondering why she had retained such an inferior gown when he’d seen her wear far better.
She folded her arms over her chest, drawing his attention to the possibilities of the body beneath the gown. Elizabeth was still as slim as he remembered from a decade before. However, her breasts were fuller and pressed against the constricting fabric enticingly. He took a pace forward and her dark brows drew together over pale blue eyes framed by thick lashes. When she took her lip between her teeth, he broke out in a sweat. He took stock of his health, half afraid he was relapsing into illness again, and then dismissed his concerns. “I did not know you had a child.”
A small smile tugged at her lips, her eyes grew unfocussed as if in thought. “George turned eleven last spring.”
“The date.”
Her gaze sharpened at his demand and her head tipped to the side as she told him the particulars.
Oliver stored the detail away for later consideration. “Do you have other children here?”
Elizabeth’s mouth firmed. When she didn’t answer, Oliver concluded he’d blundered into a delicate area. If they had died or been sent away to live with distant Turner relations he wasn’t aware of, she might be upset over the loss. By her pained expression, there must have been more than just George at one time.
He glanced toward the door where the boy slept. “In appearance, he is more like you than him. That must please you. If I recall correctly, he had possessed a pair of unevenly matched ears. At least the boy will be saved from being teased about them.”
Elizabeth sank into the chair behind the desk, eyes downcast as if she agreed with him but wouldn’t speak of it.
Oliver continued his assessment. “The boy’s face and build most resemble yours. He has none of the rude bulk of him either. To make an informed evaluation of his temperament would require him to be awake; however, he does appear in good health.”
Beth sat forward, clasping her hands before her on the desk. Her knuckles turned white. “How long were you watching my son?”
Oliver lowered himself to the edge of a chair. It creaked slightly and he determined it should be replaced. “The proper study of a subject can take a moment or a lifetime.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “For all your brilliance you still cannot answer a direct question simply. I ask again, what brings you to here?”
He met her gaze, still struggling to see her as the mother of Turner’s child. “The boy escaped my notice.”
She licked her bottom lip and then splayed her bare fingers over the desk surface. Oliver noticed the absence of a wedding band on her left hand and wondered when and why she had stopped wearing it when she had proudly displayed one on her delicate fingers a dozen years before.
Her fingers tapped. “And how exactly did he come to your notice?”
He would not admit how. To do so would confirm that he was, at times, unobservant. “Where did you walk to today?”
Her brows rose. “Were you watching us?”
Oliver nodded.
“The existence of the boy surprised me. I dislike surprises.”
Elizabeth’s thick eyelashes fluttered as if she’d considered rolling her eyes and at the last minute thought better of it. Puzzled by her behavior, he settled into the creaking chair, resting one elbow on the chair arm as he studied her. Since many people had commented that they disliked his scrutiny, he accepted his behavior might make her uncomfortable. However, it wasn’t in his nature to rest until a puzzle was solved. His curiosity about the boy would only grow if he did not satisfy it now.
Eventually, she drew in a breath, a jerky inhale, and shrugged. “I went to see Mrs. Clayton. She’s become a friend.”
Oliver sorted through his memory, brought Mrs. Clayton’s image to the forefront, and then dismissed her. “She has a daughter.”
Elizabeth looked up. “Mary Clayton married and moved away. Mrs. Clayton rarely sees her nowadays. I think she’s rather lonely and likes to be visited.”
Oliver nodded slowly. “That is the way of things. People’s own concerns must take precedence over past emotional ties.”
A muscle in Elizabeth’s jaw clenched as she pressed her lips together. She shook her head. “Not for everyone, sir. Now, if there is nothing else, I have much work to do.”
Oliver sat up. “I’ve angered you. How?”
This time, Elizabeth did roll her eyes. “Whatever could you say to upset a woman?” She stood, rounded the desk, and yanked the door open to the hall. The next moment, she yelped. “How long have you been standing there?”
Curious, Oliver turned his head slightly and spied Miles Colby, his brother’s valet, standing at the door with his arms full of a tea tray. Oliver turned away, forcing his shoulders to relax. His discussion with Elizabeth was not going as well as he’d hoped. There should be a handbook written on how to deal with feminine creatures of her confusing nature.
“I was just about to knock and ask the new housekeeper if I can be of any assistance on her first official day,” Colby said. “But I fear I may not be the first to come courting your good opinion.”
Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls - Book 3) Page 4