“Ha!” He sat back, steepling his fingers over his belly, shaking his head again. “You’re one cool creature, Miss Davies,” he observed in a tone that suggested it wasn’t entirely a compliment. “I never would have guessed.”
“One has to be. It’s a harsh world, and I’m alone in it.”
We stared at each other for several moments, and then, “Have your lawyer draw up the papers,” he said. “He knows where to send them. You have your deal, Miss Davies.”
A gush of relief washed over me, and my knees jellified. Nevertheless, I stood and solemnly extended one hand. “I’m glad we could do business, Mr. Porter.”
He looked at the hand for a while, then took it in a firm grasp. “Never thought I’d be doing business with a woman. One young enough to be my daughter, at that.”
“Well, sir, we pilot airplanes, serve as cabinet ministers, and, yes, run businesses now,” I responded. “So you may just have to get used to it.”
* * *
Had I really done this? Had I really managed it? Was I, at last, taking those first difficult steps toward complete independence? I was so stunned I couldn’t (yet) feel the sting of losing Hensley. I would. Oh, I would!
But a distraction came almost immediately.
As I left the study, Reilly rushed over, face pinched with fear, hissing, “Miss, please come with me!”
As my heart pounded in alarm, she took me back up to her room, where once again Miss Collins was sitting on the bed, strangling her gloves. She was crying.
“My goodness! What happened?” I asked, sitting beside her and taking her hand.
“Miss, I’m so sorry to bring this to your door, but Lady Millicent, she—she’s dismissed me! No notice or reference or anything!” Collins blew her nose on a handkerchief the size of a dinner napkin.
“Dismissed you?” The poor woman! Cast out, just as Reilly thought she would be. And at her age, with no reference, she had no hope of finding employment. “Why? Did she find out about what you told me?” I felt awful for being the cause of this.
“No, miss, not exactly.” Collins paused to mop at her face. “She found some letters that Angela—that is, Miss Reilly here—wrote to me. She accused me of spying on her, even though the letters indicated nothing of the sort, and told me to go.”
“Oh, dear,” I murmured, patting her on the back. “That’s awful, Miss Collins. And so terribly cruel! Here,” I handed her a handkerchief of my own (hers was sodden) and thought for a few moments. “Right. Tidy yourself up, and we’ll go talk to Mrs. Bradbury about this. I’m sure she can help.” If Joyce wanted to help others, she may as well begin under her own roof.
Miss Collins looked up at me, barely daring to hope. “Do you think she will?”
“I’m sure she will,” I patted her on the back again.
Once the woman had composed herself, I took both her and Reilly downstairs to the morning room, where Joyce was discussing the following day’s schedule with Laura.
“Oh, here you are, Astra, at last! I—who’s this?” Joyce had finally looked up from her papers and noticed Collins.
“Joyce, this is Miss Collins, Lady Millicent’s maid,” I explained. As Joyce’s eyes narrowed, I hastily added, “Her former maid.”
“Oh, that’s all right, then,” said Laura.
“The thing is, Joyce, Millicent’s turned her out on her ear without a reference, simply because she’s friends with my maid, Reilly.”
Laura shook her head and uttered an unbelievably crude word under her breath.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Joyce said sincerely. “But I’m afraid I already have a lady’s maid, and even I couldn’t justify having two.”
Crestfallen, Miss Collins nodded. “Of course. I understand, ma’am,” she said, edging toward the door.
“Joyce, don’t you know of anyone who needs a maid?” I asked.
“I don’t,” she admitted.
“I haven’t got a lady’s maid,” Laura suddenly volunteered. “How would you like to come to America, Collins?”
“Oh, I, uh …” Collins glanced at Reilly, who flinched but then subtly nodded.
There seemed no other solution. I felt terrible for Reilly. And Collins.
“There we are, then,” said Laura briskly. “It won’t be so bad, Collins. I don’t require much upkeep. And I can test out some of my new exercises on you.”
Collins looked alarmed but nevertheless managed a brave smile. “Thank you, ma’am. That would be … nice.”
“I’m not sure where she’ll stay,” said Joyce. “The housekeeper says we’re full up.”
“She can stay with me,” Reilly offered.
“If you’re sure you won’t be too crowded,” said Joyce.
“Oh no, it’d be just fine,” Reilly reassured her.
I smiled. “Settled, then! Back in two ticks, Joyce.”
I led the two women out and murmured, “I’m sorry, Miss Collins. If I knew any other way, I’d suggest it.”
“It’s all right, miss—you’ve done more than I could expect,” she said as Reilly blinked in that way people do when they’re trying not to cry. I reached out and patted both her and Collins on the arm, feeling helpless.
“Miss,” Collins said, dropping her voice to barely a whisper, “there’s something you should know: Lady Millicent knows about Rosedale.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
I drove to Lush Wycombe in the blaze of the setting sun, careening dangerously around corners but unwilling to slacken my speed. “Lady Millicent knows about Rosedale.” And she would use it. I knew she would. I might have restrained myself, but she never would. She’d dismissed poor Collins, ruined my reputation, and now she was going to drag Raymond down into the mud as well. I could not allow that.
According to Collins, Millicent’s spy had overheard me talking to Jeremy just before I went to Hensley. All they’d heard was the name, Rosedale, not the bit about Raymond. But Millicent had taken that one clue to her aunt, who remembered that one of her housemaids had worked at Hensley years ago and had heard Rosedale mentioned. It would only be a matter of time before they sorted out what it was and who lived there.
I raced up the drive in front of the mansion and banged on the door.
“I have an important message for Lady Millicent,” I said to the startled butler when he opened it. “It can’t wait. Which room is hers?”
“Third on the left,” he replied. “But, miss, wait!”
I ignored him, rushed up the stairs, and pushed open the third door. Millicent, arrayed in a yellow silk dressing gown, was sitting at the looking glass, struggling with her hair. I yanked the door closed behind me, and she looked up, startled.
“You are a sordid, wicked creature,” I snarled, marching right up to her, emitting waves of wrath. “You have some nerve, calling me a devious woman while you cultivate your spies and your gossip and hatch your sad little schemes. You think I’m alone and vulnerable and won’t fight back, but you have touched my last nerve, and I’m finished tiptoeing around you and sitting back while you slander me.”
I leaned down, so I was looking her directly in the eye, and jabbed a finger at her. “Do you really believe you’re so protected this won’t all come back on you? Well, it has already. It has lost you Hampton and Jeremy, and it has made me your enemy and that, mark my words, is something you will regret, Millicent. I see you and I know what you are. You are cruel and worthless, and I know that you are not your father’s child.”
Very slowly, she put her comb and pins down and stood. I rose with her, holding her gaze, face stony. She would not bring me low.
“How dare you make such a ridiculous assertion?” she hissed, but I could see the flicker of fear in her eyes. Her voice shook, just a little.
“You may think it’s ridiculous, but I’m sure others won’t,” I replied. “They must be tired of talking about me now; they’ll want another distraction. Someone else to chew up and spit out. And what a story this will make! Your mothe
r carrying on with some dressmaker, in her husband’s house! Grand Lady Millicent—no noble lady at all, but the daughter of some East End tailor. So afraid of anyone finding out that she built herself a fortress of monumental snobbery and keeps everyone good and scared of her so they never ask questions. In her fear, dismissing a maid of more than twenty years’ standing.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but I kept on in a low, dangerous tone. “Yes, I know all about that. She came running to us for help after you cast her out as if she meant nothing! People do frown on that sort of thing. And they ask questions. Oh! What a story she can tell! Don’t think you’ve discredited me too much for it to stand. I am not friendless, and I have learned from your methods. I will send this out into the world, and everyone will look at you and look at your father and think, ‘I always knew there was something not right there. Cecilia is the very picture of her father, but Millicent? No.’ This will grow far beyond your control, believe me. It will ruin your chances for a grand marriage. Lords don’t want the risk of the daughter of a loose woman. They don’t want mongrel blood in the line.”
She drew in a sharp breath. She was trembling. The fear was much more than a flicker now.
“Someone I care about lives at Rosedale,” I told her. “And he will not be used by you. If you want to fight with me, then you fight with me. You are not to drag innocent bystanders into this sordid mess. You can let this feud die here and now, and I won’t tell anyone what I know. But if you so much as telephone Rosedale or mention the word to anyone, I will unleash a scandal on you that you will never recover from. Do. Not. Test. Me. I am a creative thinker, and you’ve given me a great deal of material to work with.”
* * *
Had David felt this way as Goliath lay at his feet? Elated, frightened, dazed? Or was it more than just the scene with Millicent that left me feeling this way? Was it everything that had happened over the past day, month, year piling up and now finally sinking in? And adding to it, the knowledge that my fight wasn’t nearly over. My fight—or fights, because now I realized they were legion—were likely to last the rest of my life.
This strange mix of emotions carried through to the following morning as the fete got underway. It seemed everyone within eight miles of Wotting Park put on their Sunday best and came to play, see, and be seen. They wended their way through tents filled with fruits and vegetables ruthlessly chosen for their aesthetics and uniform sizes. Cakes, tarts, cloudy meringues, and jams and jellies gleaming like treasure jostled for the attention of judges and public alike. Pigs, chickens, and calves, penned up downwind, were examined by farmers looking to add to their stock. The house was opened for tours, gallons of tea and lemonade served, barrels of beer and cider rolled out. Joyce had even hired a band to come down from London so there could be dancing.
We all had our tasks. David led tours. Porter refereed the tug-of-war. Laura, bizarrely, had been assigned to help judge the handmade lace and knitwear. As I passed the tent on my way to oversee a three-legged race, I saw her holding a crocheted baby’s bonnet upside down, plucking at the ribbons with a befuddled look.
I duly refereed the three-legged race, smiling as I handed out prizes to flushed and pleased village children. As I finished pinning rosettes onto the winning pair (freckled sisters in matching floral cotton dresses and enormous hairbows), I looked up and saw Jeremy watching me as he applauded along with the parents.
He smiled, and I smiled back, but I must not have been very convincing because as I approached him, he cocked his head and murmured, “Something on your mind?”
“Lots of things,” I admitted in a quivering voice, throat tight and eyes stinging.
“Here.” With a hand at my back he guided me toward the gardens, which were quieter. I sank onto a stone bench near a high shrub. He sat next to me and waited.
“I went and saw Raymond the other day,” I began, smiling genuinely at that memory. “And it was lovely—he was lovely. I’ve been neglecting him terribly.” I tried to take a deep breath, but my chest wouldn’t have it. “Jeremy, I-I sold Hensley!”
It had taken this long for it to completely sink in. I had done it. I’d sold my home. The place would be pulled down, the gardens ploughed under, and a line of soulless semi-detacheds would spring up instead. No, Father, heaven is not like this.
I burst into tears.
Jeremy wrapped his arms around me and pulled me onto his shoulder. I cried and cried. For my parents, gone too soon, before they could teach me all I needed to know. For Raymond, left alone and unvisited for so long. For Hensley and all it represented: my easy, carefree, simple life, which I would never have again.
But I had other things now. Things I might never have had if not for that terrible day in February. Those things made it all easier to bear. Thinking of them eased the tightness in my chest and stemmed the flow of tears.
I sat up and accepted Jeremy’s offer of a handkerchief.
“I needed money to keep Hensley,” I explained. “But in order to get the money I needed, I had to sell it.” I chuckled mirthlessly. “The center could not hold.”
“You did what had to be done,” he agreed. “But I’m sorry it hurts.”
I drew in a deep breath with some relief. “A very nice lady told me recently: Ubi bene, ibi patria: Where you feel happy, there is your home. I think ‘home’ in that case was really ‘country’, but all the same, I’ll just try to think of that.”
“And find a place where you feel happy.”
I smiled and he smiled back, brushing a few errant tears away with his thumb.
“Here you are!” Joyce’s shrill voice was like a bucket of ice water thrown over the pair of us. We jumped and leapt apart. She was storming our way, looking murderous. “What are you doing? I have jobs for you, Astra Davies! Jeremy Harris, you can make love to her some other time!” She stopped in front of us, hands on hips, panting with all the effort of shouting.
“I’m sorry,” I said, getting to my feet. “I just needed—” I squinted into the distance, frowning. “Is that Cecilia?”
Joyce spun and shaded her eyes. “Cee? What on earth is she doing here?”
Sure enough, Cee was barreling toward us from the driveway, with Belinda following close behind. As soon as she was within earshot, Cee shrieked, “Astra Davies! Explain yourself!”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cee drew up beside Joyce. Her yelling had attracted Freddie, excited by all the drama, and Laura, who jogged over asking, “Cee, what’s got into you? What’s Astra done?”
“Astra Davies, I want the truth right now,” Cee panted. “Has my sister been blackmailing you?”
I blinked at her in shock. Freddie hooted, and Laura clapped a hand over her mouth. Joyce’s jaw actually dropped.
“I—who told you?” I asked Cee, glancing at Belinda, who had taken up a position between Cee and Joyce and was shaking her head.
“Georgy told me all about it when we were away on our honeymoon,” she burst out. “Poor, poor Georgy—and poor you! He told me it was all a silly misunderstanding—and of course it was! I wouldn’t have thought any different! He said Millicent was making all sorts of trouble. And right after we returned, we heard all those rumors about you, and I simply couldn’t believe it! I spoke to my mother, and she showed Georgy and me the letter, but he said there’s no way you would have written that because it was never ever like that between you two. So I showed it to Cee, and she realized it was a forgery.”
“Millicent still spells ‘importance’ wrong,” Cee chimed in. “It was just like back at school. Oh, Astra!” She threw her arms around me. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t think you’d done any of those things, of course, but Aunt Constance convinced Daddy and said I wasn’t to speak to you until this was sorted, and there wasn’t much I could do. But it’s all right, because Belinda and I told Daddy what had happened and he was absolutely apoplectic! He told me I could come to speak to you, and then he got on the telephone with Millicent, and—well, I don’t t
hink she’s going to have a pleasant end to her summer.”
“My mother was none too pleased either,” said Belinda. “She feels she’s been played for a fool, and she’s very sorry for what happened and wants to apologize, Astra. She and my mother-in-law don’t intend to have Millicent on their guest lists for a good long time, and I, for one, will never ever invite her anywhere.” Her face darkened. “She should never have upset my Georgy like that. Poor lamb was beside himself!”
“Well, that’ll all help, Belinda,” said Laura, settling her hands on her hips. “You remember, Astra, I said clearing your name would be a task for the ladies.”
“Ladies?” Freddie piped up. “I can get you ladies!”
“Not those kinds of ladies, Freddie,” Laura said witheringly.
“No, no, proper ladies—and excellent gossips!” We all looked at him curiously, and he shrugged. “What? I’ve got four sisters. May as well use ’em.”
“We’ll talk later,” said Laura. “But before we embark on anything, Astra, is there anything else we should know?”
I sighed. “Oh, girls. So many, many things.”
* * *
Joyce took Laura, Cee, and I up to her bedroom, where I spilled every last thing they didn’t know. I told them about my nonexistent inheritance and how Vandemark seemed like the only way to hold onto Hensley. I told them about Raymond and this mysterious aunt who must be his mother. About Aunt El’s hostility, Edgry’s cheating ways, and Hensley finally going. The only thing I didn’t spill was the secret about Millicent. Despite my threats to her, I hoped never to tell that particular story. It felt too sordid and low. But I did mention the spy Millicent apparently had at Wotting Park.
“God,” Joyce grumbled. “A spy in my own house! I’m never taking on anyone else’s servants again. I’ll hire local kids and train them up.” She took a cigarette out of her case and lit it only to have Laura grab it and start puffing away herself.
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