All three of them flung their final item into the water at the same time. ‘I win,’ Jack and Mary screamed dancing around in excitement.
‘I believe it was a tie, we are all winners. Now, who wants to wash up and who to dry?’
Leaving her offspring to wallow happily in warm, soapy water she returned to the kitchen with a pail and scrubbing brush. They should be occupied long enough for her to scrub the table. The floor had already been swept, scrubbing that would have to wait until tomorrow. She stopped dead, the water slopped on to her already soaking feet.
Good heavens! They were supposed to be leaving tomorrow, but somehow in the pandemonium she had decided to stay. In this house she would be needed, her children could play without fear of disturbing anyone, and she would never find employment that paid as well anywhere else. If it weren't for her employer being such an unpleasant man she would feel she had landed on her feet.
By teatime the kitchen was greatly improved, not as clean as it would be in the future, but quite good enough to start preparing the evening meal. The larder was empty, but she had seen a house cow and barnyard foul on the way in and there must be a kitchen garden as well.
‘Come along, children, we are going on a hunting expedition. You two will need a large basket and a basin. I shall need a basin and two jugs. We are going on a dangerous adventure and will need to be prepared. Which of you will be the first to be ready?’ There were several wicker trugs piled higgledy-piggledy in the boot room, and basins a plenty back in their correct places on the shelves.
Armed with the necessities to collect eggs, milk, cream and vegetables she led the way outside. There were not the makings for bread; the flour bin was empty and there was no fresh yeast. Tomorrow she would make a list and send the stable boy into the village to buy what she wanted. Tonight they would make do with whatever she could find.
A rheumy eyed gardener greeted her with a gummy smile. ‘Well then, madam, you come to Jethro for some nice tatties and such?’
‘I have indeed. See, we have all got baskets, these are my intrepid helpers, do you think you could fill them with something nice for supper?’
With her two filthy urchins skipping along beside him, Jack, as usual chattering non-stop, the ancient gardener took them down the brick path. Every so often he stopped and pointed and they eagerly rummaged and dropped things into their baskets. Knowing they were safe she turned her attention to the chickens.
A second, equally decrepit, old man appeared from what was obviously the dairy. ‘Here, missus, I've got a dozen fresh eggs for you and a jug of milk. I reckon there's a bit of butter, and some cream if you want it.’
‘Thank you, that's exactly what I've come to find. I'm Mrs Reed, the new housekeeper. I shall expect fresh milk and eggs to be bought the kitchen door first thing every morning in future.’
He doffed his cap, and beamed. ‘I'm Fred, that other is me brother, Jethro. It'll be a rare treat doing for a lady again after all this time.’
In less than one half hour Emma returned to the kitchen with Jack and Mary, all their baskets full to bursting with fresh produce. Jack was beside himself with glee.
‘I'm the best hunter, Mama, I've got strawberries and beans and salad leaves.’
Mary dropped her burden on the table. ‘I have freshly dug potatoes, a bunch of mint and some parsley and, four ripe peaches from the hothouse. What do you have, Mama?’
‘I have eggs, milk, cream and butter. See how clever we are? We have enough here for a veritable feast.’
Whilst Mary took Jack into the scullery to wash his hands and face Emma began to prepare an evening repast for her employer. She would take the tray through to him, the dining room was in no fit state to use, and then feed herself and the children.
*
Rupert retreated to his study baffled by what he'd seen. He was convinced he'd got a candidate for Bedlam under his roof. What in the name of Hades had been going on in the kitchen? He shrugged and resuming his usual seat, stared morosely out of the window. His eyes narrowed. What had happened to his well-ordered grounds? The last time he'd looked the lawns had been well manicured, the drive weed free and the hedges clipped. Now the place was in disarray.
This had not happened overnight, it took years to achieve this air of neglect. He slumped back in his chair clutching the full glass in his hand. What was the point in keeping things as they should be when there was no longer anyone to share it with him?
When there was a sharp rap on the door he slopped his precious brandy in his lap and swore loudly. ‘Come in,’ he roared. It must be that mad woman come to complain there was nothing to eat.
*
Emma all but dropped the tray when she heard his barked command to enter. Straightening her shoulders she pushed open the door with her hip and walked in carrying his evening meal.
Ignoring his fulminating stare, she stared pointedly at his boots which were resting on the table upon which she needed to place his tray. Slowly his feet were removed and he sat up.
‘I do apologise, sir, that I have no fresh bread to accompany your meal. I shall send for provisions tomorrow. However, I hope you will be satisfied with what I've prepared.’
She deftly whipped off the napkin that had been covering the repast. ‘There is an omelette, new potatoes with parsley and butter and fresh beans and salad leaves. There are strawberries and cream and baked peaches for dessert.’ He was leaning forward staring at the meal. ‘I'm afraid I have no idea where you keep the key to the wine cellar. I would have asked your butler, but he has mysteriously disappeared like the rest of your staff.’
‘Mrs Reed, you are indeed a miracle worker. From an empty pantry you have produced a meal fit for a king. Foster will be skulking in his pantry, bang on the door and demand that he fetches me a bottle of claret.’
She curtsied neatly and whisked from the room. He hadn't disagreed with her suggestion that she send for provisions, maybe he was more sanguine about her staying now that she had proved her value by producing a delicious meal.
When she carried a similar meal into the butler's domain he stared at it wide-eyed. ‘Is this for me, Mrs Reed? I'd no idea you were cooking. Has the master got the same?’
‘Indeed he has Mr Foster. He is desirous of having a bottle of claret to go with it, I should be happy to take it to him if you will tell me where I can find it.’
He dropped the cloth over his food. ‘Certainly not, I shall fetch it myself. You feed your little ones, I shall take care of the master. He's not had a decent meal since the last housekeeper left six months ago.’ He nodded and seemed somehow to grow taller. ‘It's my task to fetch and carry for the master until we have more servants. You take care of the kitchen, Mrs Reed, leave the serving to me.’
‘Mr Bucknall gave me a month's wages in lieu of notice, as I'm not intending to leave, do you think it would be in order to spend it on necessary provisions?’
‘An excellent notion. I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you are here. For the first time since the fire I believe we might have turned a corner. That the master is finally able to move on.’ He looked longingly at his supper getting cold on the tray. He continued as he moved into the corridor. ‘Losing his wife and baby all but destroyed him, he used not to be a recluse. This was a happy house, house parties, garden parties, full of sunshine and laughter.’
Emma did not like to disabuse the old man, her arrival had not promoted change of any sort in Mr Bucknall. All she had done was prepare them all a decent meal, she had not been employed as cook, but was quite happy to take on that role until someone else could be appointed.
Jack and Mary had devoured their supper by the time she returned to the kitchen. It was a matter of moments to make herself an omelette with the remaining eggs. ‘Would you like any more potatoes? They are quite delicious, it's a long time since I've had vegetables as fresh and tasty as these.’
It was after six o'clock before dessert was finished. There had been sufficient coffee to grind an
d prepare a jug for her employer. Mr Foster came in carrying the tray from the study. ‘Clean as a whistle. The master's eaten every scrap, and so, Mrs Reed, shall I.’
‘Have you not eaten yours yet? Please, Mr Foster, eat it before it is unpalatable. I shall take the coffee through.’ She smiled at her children. ‘You may get down from the table, my loves. Fred said you may go and see the new calf. Do you think you can find the dairy on your own?’
They vanished before her final words were finished. Smiling, she picked up the tray, checking the silver coffee pot, creamer and sugar bowl no longer looked dingy and unloved, and headed for the study. The early evening sunshine poured in through the rotunda above the central entrance hall making an intricate pattern on the black and white tiles. Unfortunately it also showed up the cobwebs, dirt and lack of polish.
She paused to gaze around. This could be a lovely house again given the proper attention. However, it would need a dozen indoor servants just to begin cleaning and several footmen would be needed to reach the lofty ceilings. Would Mr Bucknall agree to employ so many? She had found comfortable accommodation in the housekeeper's apartment, but she had yet to discover clean linen to make up the beds.
As her hand was raised to knock he called for her to enter. The door had been left ajar, her boots must have been audible on the bare boards. On entering she could not see him, he was not in the armchair as before. It was gloomy in the study, not just because the windows were filthy, but the shutters were half drawn and allowed little sunlight through.
‘I have your coffee, sir, shall I put it on the side table?’
He spoke from behind her, she almost dropped the tray. ‘No, give it to me, I shall have it at the desk.’
‘Very well, Mr Bucknall. I do apologise for spilling the cream but something startled me and caused me to stumble.’ It was impolite to criticise one's employer, but the words were out before she could stop them.
His hands appeared and removed the tray from her grasp. It was only then she noticed he wore a black leather glove on his right hand. ‘I must thank you for the meal, I did not employ you to cook but am pleased you did so. I shall not require anything further tonight.’
Her eyes were drawn to his. For a moment she was pinned by his fierce grey stare, then he looked away and she was free. He really had the most remarkable face, the scars down his right cheek hardly detracted from his looks.
In the few precious minutes she had to herself before her children came back and demanded her attention, she could not help but think about the man she was now committed to spending her foreseeable future with. Before he had been burned he must have been an Adonis, for even with the damage he was still the most handsome man she'd ever seen. He reminded her of a bird of prey, an eagle perhaps, with those piercing grey eyes.
This would not do; whether he was the ugliest man in Christendom or the most handsome, it was nothing to do with her. She was his housekeeper, a mere servant, he was so far above her in status that he would not even notice her existence. As long as he got his meals on time, his household ran like clockwork, she was certain he would not give her a second thought.
No matter that before her marriage she had been the daughter of a wealthy and respected industrialist, for her father had disowned her when she'd eloped with John. He had been a charismatic young lieutenant, irresistible to a girl who'd led a sheltered life, in his scarlet regimentals. She had been visiting an elderly aunt in Bath when she had met him at the pump room.
Within a matter of weeks she had been head over ears in love. She had reached her majority that year, so had no need to seek her father's permission, and throwing caution to the winds, she had forsaken everything she'd known to follow the drum.
She sighed. Many was the time over the years she had regretted her impulsive action, John had not proved to be a satisfactory husband. Money slipped through his fingers like quicksilver, and with two small children to take care of it had not been an easy marriage. But nothing had prepared her for the disaster that his death had brought. Penniless, and pursued by ruthless officers looking for a mistress, she had fled back to England. Since then she had barely kept the family together.
Stansted Manor would be their home now; however curmudgeonly her employer she would not allow herself to be driven away. She would make this a happy place again then maybe Mr Bucknall would start to take a pride in his appearance and find himself another wife. Why on earth did the idea of a second Mrs Bucknall make her heart skip a beat?
*
Rupert sipped his coffee, letting the dark, aromatic brew soothe his irritation. There was something about this woman that got under his skin, made him aware that he was living little better than an animal in it's filth. For the past three years he had closed himself off from the world, let his house and his health deteriorate as he wallowed in his grief and self-pity.
This woman had turned up with her two noisy brats and turned his world on end. He was no longer a man any woman would want, wealth did not compensate for hideous deformity. It was inexplicable that a servant could somehow make him feel ashamed of his appearance, ashamed that his once beautiful home was now in disarray.
He closed his eyes and, instead of seeing flames and hearing screams he saw a golden haired woman with sparkling blue eyes. He choked on his coffee, spluttering and coughing as he tried to get his breath. Whatever Mrs Reed was, she was not lowly born, not a true servant, but a lady fallen on hard times.
Why had he agreed to employ her? He must have been in his cups when he'd sent her the letter and included the money for her coach fare. He could not have a gentlewoman under his roof looking down her nose at him, making him mend his ways. She must go in the morning. He had no wish to move on, he liked the way he lived, however reprehensible it might seem to her.
Chapter Three
It was late before Emma had the kitchen ready for the morning. The children had been asleep for hours exhausted by their long walk from the village and all the running about they'd done afterwards. The last thing Jack had said to her before he fell asleep was that he liked it here and wanted to stay for ever. Mary had not been as enthusiastic; she was a nervous girl and had not taken to Mr Bucknall. Emma was of the same mind as her sensible daughter.
She looked round the huge room; the table was clean, the smart modern range cleaned out and ready to light first thing. The extra potatoes she'd cooked were mashed with butter and cream ready to make potato pancakes for breakfast.
Her accommodation was in the basement, where a housekeeper should be; she supposed there were rooms in the attic available, but she preferred to have the children within earshot in case they woke whilst she was busy. The house was quiet, she held her candlestick high, she was certain there were both rats and mice lurking in the house. What they needed were a couple of cats to rid themselves of these vermin.
She yawned as she trudged to her rooms. She was as fatigued as the children had been, but pleasantly so; hard physical work seemed to suit her and took her mind away from what might have been if John had not perished. He had inherited a small estate in Essex, they were intending to move there when he gave up his commission. This option no longer existed for on his death the estate, and all its monies, went to a distant cousin.
Why this should be so she was not sure, had thought that Jack would inherit in his father's stead. However, when she had applied to the lawyers who are dealing with the matter she had been told in no uncertain terms that the will had clearly stated the estate should go to the next adult male heir and not a child.
Once she was secure in her employment, had managed to put by sufficient funds to do so, she would employ her own legal gentleman to look into the matter. This was likely to be some time in the future, it was still quite possible Mr Bucknall would insist that she left his employment.
When she checked the little ones they were sound asleep on either side of the large bed; she had made up the small truckle that would normally be used by a maid servant. Quietly she removed her garment
s and, by the flickering candlelight, sponged off as much of the accumulated dirt as she could. She had no other change of raiment suitable, fortunately she did have a clean apron and cap. The soiled ones were already washed and hanging in the scullery to dry.
Before she settled down for the remainder of the night she pushed up the window. The room was filled with the glorious sound of nightingales singing in the nearby woods. Her spirits lifted, she leant on the windowsill and listened until her eyes began to droop. It seemed barely a moment before the dawn chorus filled the room and dragged her back to wakefulness.
Sleepily she sat up, as she did so the church clock struck five times. Excellent, the children would not rouse for a while yet, she would have plenty of time to get on with her chores before they woke. Mary was accustomed to assisting her little brother with his dressing, she was a good girl and through necessity, old beyond her years.
She disliked putting on a gown that was not clean and pressed, but was pleased she had sufficient undergarments to remain fresh and sweet beneath. Releasing her long braid she quickly brushed it and twisted it up on to her head. She doubted it would remain in place without the added security of the cotton cap she wore to cover it.
Checking that Mary had a clean pinafore and that Jack's breeches and shirt would do another day, she slipped out and walked quietly to the kitchen. She pushed open the door and found her passage blocked by a solid wall of flesh. Her startled exclamation as liquid of some sort tipped down her pristine apron, was echoed by his rude comment.
‘Sir, I beg your pardon, I did not expect to find you in my kitchen at this time of the morning.’
Mr Bucknall glared down at her. ‘I was under the impression, madam, this is my house and therefore my kitchen. I believe I am at liberty to go wherever I please without your permission.’
A Mistress for Stansted Hall Page 2