by Amy Corwin
Ned shrugged. After swallowing, he drank a few mouthfuls of the half-ale, half-water Hugh had ordered for him. Ned grimaced and studied all the plates on the table with a hungry eye.
“Don’t worry, Helen, we’ll find out where the scamp belongs. I’ve no doubt there’s a worried female somewhere waiting for his return.”
“There’s a relieved female,” Ned replied with a sneer.
“There you are!” Helen said. “I knew it! You’ve run away from home, haven’t you? Have you given any consideration to your poor mother?”
“My mother’s dead. So’s my father.”
“Oh, Ned, I’m so sorry,” Helen squeezed Ned’s arm, although he pulled it out of her grasp in order to check the bread basket again. “I did not mean to bring back sad memories ….”
“Don’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Hugh corrected him gently. “If it’s not your mother, then there must be an aunt or cousin waiting for you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. No one’s waiting for me. They were about to send me away, so I went on my own. No point in dragging it out.”
Helen’s heart twisted. She held up the basket to catch the maid’s eye and get it refilled. “Well, you’re with us now. And if you don’t have any family, then you can come to live with me when our adventure is over. How’s that?”
“I don’t want to live with anyone. I’m going to sea. Right after I see Lord Nelson at St. Paul’s.” After that pronouncement, Ned pushed his plate away. He crossed his arms on the table and laid his head on them.
Helen looked at Hugh. He shrugged. At least they’d exhausted that topic. And tomorrow they’d arrive at Ormsby, where they’d be too busy to discuss such dangerous subjects.
Soon after that, Helen expected to be on her way back to London, hopefully, with Ned as her chaperone.
Her first — and only — adventure would soon be over, as long as she did not lose her nerve — or her mind.
Chapter Twelve
“Most situations have their advantages and disadvantages.” —The Complete Servant
The approach to Ormsby revealed the Gothic grandeur of the estate in its full glory. The morning sun glinted off the turrets, and Helen had to work hard not to hang out of the window and gape. On her last visit, she had arrived at the Earl of Monnow’s ball after dark. She had missed the wide expanse of lawn leading up to a sprawling castle, the battlemented parapet, the pointed windows and the stout towers at each corner.
All she had seen were the cavernous hallway and half-glimpsed rooms she had hurried past on her way to the ballroom. Despite the number of guests, the vast room had appeared only half-full of laughing, jostling people. The walls of the circular ballroom had glimmered golden in the candlelight and rose into a spectacular Gothic ceiling with elaborate pendentives. The rich splendor had sent a breath of relief through her when she had realized she was too late to meet her host. She decided that any man who lived in such a place would be arrogant and only concerned with lavish appearances and ostentation.
Not at all like Hugh in his plain jacket and trousers, of course. She studied him obliquely, relieved to have the company of such a calm gentleman as a travelling companion. His mere presence inspired confidence.
“Quite a sight.” Hugh nodded toward the castle as he gazed out of the window.
“Indeed,” she replied before Ned leaned over her to stare outside. “I had not realized it was so … large.”
“It is that.” Hugh smiled. “I understand Ormsby Castle was one of Sanderson Miller’s designs.”
“Sanderson Miller?”
He shrugged. “He designed these Gothic monstrosities during the middle of the last century. It’s a bit rococo to my mind. If they wanted a castle — and considering Monnow’s family name is Castle, I suppose they thought it appropriate — they’d have been better served with one of those Norman-looking, square-towered buildings John Nash was so fond of.”
“You would prefer that sort of thing.” Helen giggled. Someone as huge and Norman in appearance as Hugh Caswell was almost obliged to prefer large, blockish buildings of the Norman persuasion. “Well, I admire Ormsby. It looks like a fairy-tale castle.”
Hugh snorted inelegantly. “Admire, maybe, but would you want to live there?”
“Perhaps not. It is a bit, well, lavish.”
“Exactly.” As the carriage swept round around the final curve in the road, Hugh turned to stare out of the window. The expression on his face made Helen keep any additional comments to herself.
Perhaps he was just worried about carrying out their little deception, she thought. Her suddenly-cold hands flew to her shabby bonnet, straightening it. She smoothed her dark skirts, but there were so many wrinkles that her efforts had little success.
Thankfully, their arrival did not raise any alarms. Without ado, they were ushered into the house through the kitchen door. The three of them stood in a cluster near the doorway, while a young lad went for the butler, Mr. Symes. This august person walked into the kitchen at an unhurried pace, designed to put them firmly in their place from the start. He studied the documents Hugh handed to him, and then motioned for them to follow him through the winding corridors of the servants’ domain towards the family’s part of the house.
Mr. Symes hesitated at a final doorway, straightened his shoulders and glided inside. A thin, long-faced woman glanced up as the butler motioned Helen, Hugh and Ned into the small room. Old books, glass bottles of various colors and bits of pottery cluttered the shelves around her. Stacks of paper and tottering piles of small, leather-bound notebooks littered her desk, leaving only a tiny square open for work.
Helen glanced around quickly, noting an open door just past the desk. Through the doorway, she glimpsed part of a library lined with tall shelves of books which stretched out beyond sight.
Catching the sour look on the lady’s face, Helen stepped closer the door. Unfortunately, Hugh pushed her and Ned into the room in front of him in an unexpectedly ruthless gesture.
“Apparently, these are the new staff, Miss Leigh,” Mr. Symes announced.
The lady placed a hand on the ledger book she was examining and glanced up. “Thank you, Mr. Symes.” She briefly adjusted a pair of pince-nez clipped to a bony knot at the crest of her nose. The round lenses magnified her brown eyes, giving her a curiously insect-like appearance. The greenish-tinged sunlight, filtering through the ivy which curved around the outside frame of the sole window, enhanced this resemblance to the point where Helen had to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from giggling.
“New staff, you say?” As Miss Leigh studied them, the expression of distaste on her face deepened. Her mouth tightened. The murky morning sun drew unflattering attention to the vertical lines running from her cheekbones to her jaw.
She had sensibly positioned the desk in the corner under the window to take advantage of the light coming through the square panes, but the harsh light did not flatter her.
The butler nodded. “This man indicated they were sent by Mr. Petre.”
“Mr. Petre? I had a letter from Mr. Petre. Delivered yesterday, if I recall ….” Miss Leigh’s thin hands fluttered over her desk, finally drawing out a letter still sealed with a red blob of wax. Casting a suspicious glance at Helen, as if suspecting she might snatch the missive out of her hands, Miss Leigh broke the seal. She hunched over the letter. There were several sheets and she flicked through them, tossing them one at a time onto a leaning stack of papers immediately under the window.
When she finished, she looked at Helen, Hugh and Ned in turn. “Mr. Petre hired you at the request of the earl?”
“I beg your pardon, Miss, em, Leigh, but yes. That is the case,” Helen replied when she felt Hugh shift behind her. Despite the lady’s air of impatience, she felt rather sorry for her, mostly due to her rumpled-looking appearance. After Hugh’s insouciant replies to the butler, Helen did not want him being impertinent to this poor woman as well.
“You are to
be my lady’s maid?” Miss Leigh appeared to find this thought ludicrous. She snorted and tossed the remaining page of the letter onto the desk.
“Yes, ma’am,” Helen replied meekly, staring down at Miss Leigh’s worn blue kid slippers. Surely she wouldn’t fail so soon and get dismissed during her first hour! She clenched the sides of her dress with frozen fingers.
“I’ve never had a lady’s maid. I don’t believe I need one.”
With a concerted effort to keep her gaze locked on Miss Leigh’s feet in a properly modest and submissive manner, Helen murmured an apology.
I should never have left London. This is dreadful. What made me think I could carry off this charade?
Her gaze flicked upward. Of all the ladies Helen had met, Miss Leigh was the one most in need of a lady’s maid. A maid with a strong will and sense of purpose. The lady had dressed in a rust-red gown with several rows of ugly, worn lace around the bodice and running down the front. Thick braids of red and bronze silk looped around the hem, weighing down the skirt of her dress.
While the material appeared to be of good quality, the color and design were dreadful on Miss Leigh and drained all the color from her already grayish face. And as if that weren’t dreadful enough, the cap she wore over her frizzy brown curls had long streamers of yellow and red ribbons which only emphasized the gray in her hair and wrinkles creasing her skin.
It would be difficult to find more unflattering attire.
Helen’s fingers itched to grab the nasty cap and at the very least, remove the dreadful ribbons. Unfortunately, she could not think of a single way to persuade Miss Leigh that a lady’s maid might be useful to her, without sounding as if she thought the woman was in desperate need of her services — even if it were appallingly true.
Resolutely clasping her hands in front of her, Helen said, “I’m terribly sorry if we’ve come at an inconvenient time, Miss Leigh. But we understood that the earl’s man of business, or his lawyer —”
“Yes, yes,” Miss Leigh cut off Helen’s stumbling words. Staring over Helen’s shoulder, she eyed Hugh. “You look very familiar. Have I seen you before? In Newport, perhaps?”
“Could be, ma’am.” His large hands squashed the brim of the hat he had removed when they’d entered Miss Leigh’s office. “I’ve relatives in these parts. As they say, the previous Earl was known to get around a bit, eh?”
“Oh?” Miss Leigh’s brown eyes, magnified by her glasses, grew even larger. Her lined cheeks flushed. “Oh, well, I see.” She cleared her throat and scowled at the trio.
Helen peeped through her lashes at Hugh. Did he realize that he had just implied he was related to the earl’s family on the wrong side of the blanket? When she caught his gaze, the cynical smile on his lips told her that he was entirely aware of the implications. Helen glanced away, barely keeping a blush from her own cheeks.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied meekly enough.
“Well, that sort of thing isn’t discussed in this house, nor should you expect any special treatment because of it. You’d best understand that from the start. I told the earl we had no need of a house steward or any additional servants, but ….” She stopped, clamping her mouth shut as if realizing she was about to criticize the man she depended upon for her room and board. “Mr. Symes and I will review your duties with you this afternoon.”
Helen tensed, waiting for Hugh’s reply. A house steward was above the butler in rank and would not expect the butler to discuss his duties with him. But perhaps Hugh did not realize this, since he was not, in truth, a house steward. He may never have visited an establishment that employed one, either.
“Will I take my orders from the earl?” Hugh asked in his calm, deep voice.
Miss Leigh grew rigid, staring at him. “The earl? No. That is, he is not at home. However, when he returns he will inform you if he wishes to give you orders directly. Or, he may request that I convey your orders to you.”
He bowed slightly. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
“Well. Um. Go to your rooms and unpack. The house steward’s quarters are at the back of the house. Mr. Symes will show you the way. And Mr. — um — Caswell,” she added in a sharper voice. “You will attend to your appearance and shave. We do not employ ruffians at Ormsby.”
“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Leigh, but I’ve a skin condition and deformation of the chin that prevents me from shaving. You’ll be happier, I’m bound, if I leave my beard to grow and keep it trimmed to a sensible length.”
“Keep it cut, then. You look like a savage Viking about to murder us all in our beds.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, you,” she said, staring at Helen. “You will have the room next to mine, I suppose. I’ve never used that dressing room, never had any need for it. It’s so poorly ventilated and small. So it will do well enough for you.” When Helen opened her mouth, Miss Leigh cut her off. “You appear to be just the sort of frippery girl incapable of performing even the simplest task. If that is the case, you must make up your mind to leave as quickly as you came. Don’t expect to have an easy job. I am a very busy woman. The earl relies on me to handle a great deal, and if I must have a maid, then she will work to relieve me of my lesser chores. Can you mend?”
“Yes —” Helen tried to answer, only to have Miss Leigh continue.
“I assume, then, that you can manage hair? My hair is very fine and soft. It requires a great deal of careful handling. We have guests at the moment, so I must look my best.” She patted an errant tangle of graying curls. The harsh light from the window made Helen gape at her, wondering exactly how she defined “best.” But since Miss Leigh continued with a long litany of questions she never allowed Helen to answer, Helen avoided any unforgiveable mistakes.
In fact, she never got a chance to speak again.
By the time Miss Leigh finished, Helen realized with dismay that she might not have even five minutes alone to search for the necklace.
What if it had already been found? Anyone could have located it. The jewels may have already been broken up, sold ….
No.
She was not going to give up and crawl back to Oriana. Helen was not a careless ninny unable to take care of a priceless heirloom. She would find the necklace and hand it back to her sister with a smile, and no-one would be the wiser.
“Well?” Miss Leigh asked, her tone peremptory. “Are you mute? You have not answered a single question I’ve asked you.”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Leigh.” Helen thought furiously, but to her horror, she had no idea what Miss Leigh’s last question had been.
Hugh nodded and placed a large hand on Helen’s shoulder. “My sister is as quiet as a church mouse. One of the qualities her other ladies have appreciated.”
“When I ask a question, I expect an answer.”
“Oh, yes, Miss Leigh, most assuredly,” Helen stammered. “Perhaps I should go up to your rooms now so I may become acquainted with your wardrobe and help you to dress for dinner —” She stopped when Miss Leigh frowned. “If there are rips or tears, I can mend them. So this afternoon is not wasted.”
“Indeed.” Miss Leigh did not look mollified. “I will decide what I wish to wear for dinner.”
“Certainly. I merely want to ensure all your dresses are at their best.”
“I won’t tolerate snooping, either. Creeping about ….” She gestured toward Hugh. “Your brother says you’re a mouse. You’d best not act like one, getting into everything. That won’t be tolerated.”
Apparently, a great many things Helen planned to do were not to be tolerated.
“Oh, no, Miss Leigh. Of course not.”
“That’s it, then. I’m very busy, today. Very busy. We have a great many guests and the earl has seen fit to leave it all up to me while he goes sailing.” Miss Leigh shook her head, her hands fidgeting with the writing material on her desk. “Even his brother has left us, although his absence is certainly understandable. He intends to join the church and has visited our vica
r for advice. However, that is none of your affair.” She raised her voice, looking over Helen’s shoulder toward the door. “Mr. Symes! Mr. Symes! Where is that man?”
“Miss Leigh?” Mr. Symes asked, opening the door and bowing.
“Mr. Symes, you will escort these people to their quarters. This one —” she pointed at Helen, “—will be given my dressing room. She will need a bed and chest. Send one of the footmen up to assist her in obtaining suitable items from the attic.”
“Yes, Miss.” He gestured toward the hallway, waiting for Helen, Hugo and Ned to leave the room.
“One more thing, Helga,” Miss Leigh said.
“Helen, Miss.”
“Whatever your name is, I trust you have suitable clothing? That dress is a trifle modish. I will not have a maid who is above herself.”
“Yes, Miss,” Helen replied.
In truth, she had worn the plainest dress she had. She hated to consider what Miss Leigh would think of her other garments. Since lady’s maids were given the cast-offs from their employers, Helen had not anticipated objections. She had intended to explain some of her better garments as recent gifts. However, given Miss Leigh’s deplorable dress, perhaps it was not surprising that she thought Helen’s drab, dark blue dress too chic for a maid.
“And that child —” She pointed at Ned. “We’ve no extra room for him.”
Helen wrapped an arm over Ned’s shoulders and pulled him tighter. The air thinned to nothing around them. They could not send Ned away. What would happen to him? She glanced at Hugh.
He coughed into his fist and shifted his feet. “Excuse me, ma’am, but my brother can sleep in my room. If you don’t mind,” he added belatedly when Miss Leigh’s eyes hardened.
“We’ve no need of him.”
“An odd-job boy is always useful. Mr. Petre indicated the earl decided to hire three. If he didn’t take to Ned, he would hire another. And this way, the lad can share my room.”
“He would share your room whether he’s your brother or not, if the earl wished it!” Anger shook her words like pebbles in a rattle.