Sauce for the Gander (The Marstone Series Book 1)

by Jayne Davis

  “Is that amusing, Connie?”

  It felt strange hearing her name on his lips. “No, my lord, but I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Will. My name is Will.”

  “William Charlemagne Stanlake; I remember.” It felt even stranger saying his name.

  Will grimaced. “My father had—has—a rather inflated view of our family’s importance. I was the second son, my late brother’s name was Alfred. I also have three sisters.”

  Her lips curved. “Is one of them called Elizabeth?”

  “Indeed.” She had wit, then, this wife of his. “There is also Isabella…”

  She thought for a moment. “Queen of Castille?”

  “Yes. And Theresa.” What would she make of that?

  “Maria Theresa,” she exclaimed, after only a moment’s thought. “There are a number of them to choose from.”

  “Theresa would be named after whichever of them was the most powerful, I imagine.” He handed her the plate of sandwiches, took one himself, and then became aware that she was regarding him with that wary look in her eyes.

  “My lord, do—?”

  “Will.”

  “Er, Will, do you share your father’s reverence for rank?”

  “No. That’s not to say I’d give up the earldom, but rank alone stands for little. Some of the best men I know have no titles, nor any connection to the aristocracy, as far as I know.”

  That seemed to reassure her; he wasn’t sure why. They ate in companionable silence for a while, although she seemed to be doing little more than nibbling at her food.

  “How did you spend your time while I was away?” he asked.

  She set her half-eaten sandwich down. “I toured the house with Mrs Strickland yesterday,” she said. “Then the gardens, and this morning Mrs Curnow showed me the kitchen level.”

  “Then you wanted to see the sea.”

  “Yes, but…”

  “If you have a question, Connie, please just ask.”

  “My lord… Will… I asked Mrs Strickland to open up the small parlour on the other side of the hall. It would be more cheerful than the dining room. Those pictures…” She made a small moue of distaste.

  “You’re right,” he said. Game was good to eat, but he wasn’t fond of looking at paintings of dead birds while dining. “I’m sure my mother used to use that parlour, and the smaller room next to it was her own private place.”

  “So you wouldn’t mind if we close up the dining room again, for a while at least? Mrs Strickland said there are not enough maids to have all the rooms open properly.”

  “Not at all. You may make what arrangements you like, Connie. I will send to ask the steward to call here on Monday, and after that I will have a better idea of how many new servants we can afford.”

  Her earlier smiles had not returned.

  “Is there anything else bothering you?”

  She took a deep breath. “I asked Mrs Strickland to open up the other parlour yesterday afternoon, and again this morning when I found it had not been done.”

  “And we are taking tea here because she still has not done it?”

  Connie nodded.

  “Do you wish me to speak to Mrs Strickland?” he asked.

  “I think the… the question as to why it has not been done needs to come from me, or I will find it too difficult to deal with her in the future.” She looked down, fiddling with her tea cup, then met his eyes. “Could you be there to support me, if I need it?”

  “Of course, if you wish it.” It must be difficult to take over a house this size if she had only managed somewhere much smaller.

  “Thank you.”

  She looked a little more cheerful. Good.

  “There is one more thing. There is a locked door in the cellar, and Mrs Strickland claims the key is lost.”

  “Do I hear a ‘but’ to follow?”

  She smiled. “Indeed you do. I don’t think she’s telling the truth. She was… worried when I said we could break the door down if necessary.”

  Strickland again.

  “Shall we sort this out now?” he asked. If Mrs Strickland was going to cause Connie worry like this, she would have to be replaced. He’d never had any problems with her before, but he’d not been here often in recent years.

  “Please, if you don’t mind.”

  He rang for Barton, and asked for Mrs Strickland to be sent in.

  “Did you have a successful trip to Exeter?” Connie asked, when the footman had gone.

  “Yes. It was mainly dealing with some financial matters, but I had a look at the cathedral as well.”

  “Oh.” Her face lit up. “Is it as fine as Salisbury? May I see it?”

  Will laughed, pleased at her interest. “By all means. It has a tower, not a tall spire, but the inside is as impressive.” He gave a rueful smile. “I’m afraid I excused myself from the guided tour.” He described what he could recall, but wasn’t sorry when Barton finally reappeared. Connie asked too many questions he couldn’t answer.

  “I couldn’t find her, my lord.”

  “Have you looked?”

  “Yes, my lord. Even got Sukey and Mary to help. She’s not in the house.”

  “When she does reappear, tell her to report to me after dinner.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Barton bowed and left.

  “Perhaps she went for a walk,” Connie said, doubt clear in her voice.

  “We can ask her when she returns.” Will eyed the table—there was little food left, although he had probably eaten most of it himself. “Do you wish for more tea?”

  “Thank you, but no.”

  “Then if you don’t mind, I will see you at dinner. I want to take a look through the accounts.”

  “Very well.” She glanced at the table, and back at him. “I enjoyed having tea together.” She blushed as she spoke, and hurried out of the room.

  He had enjoyed it too, but duty called. In the library he took one of the account books from a drawer. His hand paused as he opened it, part of their earlier conversation coming back to him.

  Cellars.

  At the time he’d been concentrating on Connie’s worry about the housekeeper, but why would the woman lie about a locked cellar?

  A question for later, he told himself firmly, and turned to the columns of figures.

  Barton was standing outside the door of the dining room when Connie descended the stairs for dinner. He was dressed not in his normal blue coat and grey breeches, but in the same ornate livery she’d seen on the footmen at Marstone Park.

  He bowed, and ushered her to a seat at one end of the long table. She couldn’t see another place setting until she leaned to one side to peer around the huge epergne adorning the centre of the table. Her husband’s place—Will’s place—was set at the far end.

  So much formality?

  Will’s voice behind her made Connie start and look around. “Barton, why on earth have you laid the places like that?”

  “Mrs Strickland said—”

  “Well, move it, man.”

  Will took a seat next to Connie as Barton gathered up plates, cutlery, and glasses and set them out, then brought dishes and decanters over from the sideboard.

  “Barton, the livery—is that Mrs Strickland’s idea too?”

  A quick grimace crossed Barton’s face. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Well, unless you enjoy getting dressed up, don’t bother in the future. I’ll let you know if I want you tricked out like that. If you’ve brought in all the dishes, you may go.”

  Barton unbent enough to smile. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “May I help you to something, Connie?” Will asked, when the footman had gone.

  Connie regarded the array of dishes in front of her. A game pie stood next to a dressed salmon, a roast capon was surrounded by five dishes of vegetables, and there were several choices of jellies, tarts, and fruit. “It seems rather a lot for two of us.”

  “I suspect Mrs Curnow was pleased to be cooking for more
than the staff,” Will said. “I assure you I do not normally require such a display.”

  Connie felt her face heat. “I meant no criticism, my lord—Will.”

  “I know. Do try the pie. Mrs Curnow makes excellent pastry.” He added slices of pie and a variety of vegetables to her plate and his own.

  Mrs Curnow did make excellent pastry. Connie took small portions of all the other dishes as well, sparing a thought that the cook was one of the members of staff she need not worry about.

  Will offered her more wine when they had emptied their plates. “I intend to look over the estate tomorrow. Would you care to accompany me?”

  Yes, she would, if she could—this was to be her home, after all. “I’m afraid I do not ride.”

  “No matter. There is currently no mount suitable for a lady here in any case. There is an open chaise; I brought a mare for it back from Exeter.” He picked up his glass, gazing at the wine as he twirled the stem. “In future, there will only be the chaise, should you need to go to Exeter, or elsewhere. The coach will be returning to Marstone Park tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” That seemed strange.

  “Milsom will be on it, unless you need her until we can find a suitable replacement.”

  Fanny had helped with her hair at home, on occasion, but Sukey could probably do that here. “I don’t need her, no.” She let out a breath. “That will make things a little more pleasant.”

  “Indeed.” He glanced at her plate. “Shall we retire? I find the library more comfortable than the drawing room. We can see Mrs Strickland in there.”

  He didn’t move until she nodded, then he rose and pulled her chair back for her. He really had been consulting her wishes—a novel experience.

  Lamplight in the library reflected softly from the spines of the books. Connie settled into an armchair, placing her glass on the table beside it. Will poured himself some port from a decanter and took a nearby chair.

  The door stood open. Mrs Strickland knocked and walked into the room, her gaze flicking from Will to Connie and back. “You wished to speak with me, my lord?”

  Will turned, glass in hand. “No, Lady Wingrave wishes to speak to you.”

  “My lady?” The housekeeper faced her, brows raised in what could pass for polite enquiry. The thinned lips belied that impression, although Connie was sure Will couldn’t see her face from his position.

  “Several things, Mrs Strickland. You are aware that the coach is returning to Marstone Park tomorrow.” Connie waited until the housekeeper acknowledged her words with a nod. “Milsom will be returning with it. Ensure she is ready.”

  Mrs Strickland pressed her lips together, and Connie saw her take a deep breath. “My lady, who is to be your maid if Milsom leaves?”

  “I’m sure you can find someone, Mrs Strickland. In the meantime, Sukey can do whatever is necessary.”

  “She’s an under-housemaid, she won’t know how to keep your clothing properly, when it arrives.”

  Connie kept her expression neutral. “You do know such things, I assume.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you may instruct her as necessary.”

  The housekeeper’s lips tightened, and Connie felt a brief pang for subjecting Sukey to Mrs Strickland’s tutelage. But being a personal maid would be a better position for Sukey if she was a quick learner.

  “I also wish the two parlours I saw this morning to be opened up and cleaned. I gave you explicit instructions to do so yesterday afternoon, and again this morning, yet you have done nothing.”

  “My apologies, miss. I had other—”

  “What did you say?” Will’s voice was quiet, but forceful.

  The housekeeper’s face paled. “My lady, I should say.”

  “You should indeed. And Lady Wingrave runs this household, not you.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lord, but she does’t know—”

  “Mrs Strickland, how is it you think you know anything about Lady Wingrave’s experience of running a home?”

  That was a good point; Connie didn’t believe her manner had been too timid with either Milsom or Mrs Strickland, but both had attempted to dictate to her. Even a young woman trained in the ways of large houses might feel intimidated only a few days into her marriage.

  Mrs Strickland did not answer.

  “There is one other matter,” Will went on. “It appears you have mislaid the key to one of the cellar rooms.”

  “Unfortunately, yes, sir. I will have a search made for it now.” The woman’s voice sounded calm.

  “I suggest you look for it very carefully, Mrs Strickland. I wish to inspect the cellars—all of them—tomorrow, and if we have to break the door down, the cost of repairing it will come from your wages.”

  “Yes, my lord. Is that all, my lord?”

  Will looked at Connie, one brow raised.

  “Yes. You may go,” she said.

  Will went to the door and closed it behind the housekeeper, then turned to face Connie.

  “Thank you for… for supporting me, Will,” she said, before he could speak.

  “Connie, I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with her… her insolence and insubordination. That behaviour is not normal.”

  “It’s not your fault. I don’t suppose you ever needed to say much to her when you visited.”

  “No, indeed.”

  “She didn’t seem as worried about the cellars as she was earlier.”

  Will’s brows rose. “Odd. Well, we’ll see tomorrow what the fuss was about.”

  He said nothing more, but Connie didn’t feel she could discuss the matter further. As he said, they would find out more tomorrow. He’d already had to intervene in her dealings with the servants, and that was not a good start to her life here.

  “If you don’t mind, I will retire to my room now.”

  Connie hung her gown in the dressing room, thankful Milsom had not been waiting for her. As she brushed out her hair, her thoughts turned again to the set of contrasts that was her husband: a womaniser who had promised not to bed her for a month, a man knowledgeable about pagan monuments who could race through the rain, a man about town who enjoyed eating ginger cake on the cliffs.

  She knew some things about him. He did consult her wishes, although there were likely to be limits to that. He had supported her against the obnoxious Milsom and Strickland, and without any indication that he thought she should have been able to handle them herself.

  Should she have stayed in the library? Even if she still felt too shy to ask him about his childhood, they could have talked about books. She’d used the excuse that they didn’t know each other to extract that promise of a month; it was only fair that they should try to get to know each other. That would take some effort from both of them.

  Tomorrow, she thought, putting the brush down and climbing into bed.

  Chapter 19

  Left alone in the library, Will poured himself another glass of port and crossed to the windows. The earlier clouds had partly cleared, leaving orange streaks to the north west. He watched as the sky darkened, the first bright star showing above the trees.

  Connie. The image of her racing through the rain came back to his mind, her laugh, and her sparkling eyes. How long was it since he’d had such simple fun? Perhaps not so simple, he thought, trying to ignore the flush of heat as he remembered the way her wet skirts had clung to her legs.

  She was still unsure of herself—hardly surprising for one thrust into a new life so abruptly. But she’d handled Mrs Strickland well, being both reasonable and firm.

  The housekeeper’s behaviour had been odd indeed. Which room was locked—had Connie said? Childhood memories crowded in as he frowned at his reflection in the window. That last summer, the one before his mother had fallen ill, he and Alfred had been obsessed with the servants’ tales of priest holes and secret passages in the house. They’d even gone so far as to measure all the rooms in the cellars. Unless their calculations had been wrong, the cellars extended beyond the north
wall of the house. They hadn’t found a passage to the outside, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.

  The connection flashed into his mind—obvious as soon as he’d thought about it. He and Alfred had been avid listeners to stories of trains of pack animals at the dark of the moon, carrying loads of brandy, tea, and silks up from the beach at Ashmouth, goods hidden in barns and outhouses until they could be taken to their final destination. What better place to store smuggled goods than the cellars of an unused mansion, only a couple of miles from the village?

  Mrs Strickland had been absent that afternoon and was now much less worried about their threat to break the door down than she had been earlier. There was an obvious explanation.

  The only way to see if his supposition was correct was to watch—even if that meant sneaking around in the dark, as they’d wanted to as boys. Was he being over-dramatic and indulging his childhood fantasies? Perhaps, but he couldn’t dismiss his suspicions now that they had taken root.

  He stood at the window for some time, turning over plans in his head, until the sky had was dark and stars were visible. Warren was locking the front door when he passed through the hall. Upstairs, Will looked through the garments in his dressing room, pulling out his black breeches. His riding coats were dark, devoid of trim or embroidery, and he selected one that buttoned up to the neck to help hide his white shirt. A dark neckerchief hid his collar.

  If his suspicions were correct, someone might come to check he was still in his room. Leaving the clothing he’d removed flung over the back of a chair, he looked through the chests and cupboards in the room until he found some spare blankets. He rolled up two of them and positioned them beneath the bedclothes. Standing back, he thought it would look sufficiently like a sleeping form to fool anyone who didn’t approach too closely.

  Will put a loaded pistol into each coat pocket and, as an afterthought, added a sheathed knife. Picking up his boots, he lifted the latch on the door leading to the corridor and opened it a short way.

  He could hear nothing so he stepped out, closing the door quietly behind him. Another pause, then he crept along the corridor to a guest room at the far end of the house, which had windows looking north. One of the shutters was open, and the faint starlight made ghostly shadows of furniture under holland covers. He crossed the room, taking care not to make a noise, and eased the shutter open further.