Lady in Green

by Barbara Metzger

  “Dash it, marriage isn’t a bath you can jump out of if the water’s too cold! It’s for deuced eternity!”

  Cholly nodded sagely. No argument there. “If you won’t take a wife, then how about a mistress?”

  “What, a fixed arrangement? Hell, if I wanted to be faithful to the same woman day after day, I’d get married.”

  Cholly choked. “You mean you intend to be constant when you’re hitched? You?”

  “Why not? I’d expect my wife to be.” Gard ignored his friend’s sputtering. “No, mistresses are more trouble than wives, greedier and harder to please. They’re always throwing jealous tantrums and they’re impossible to get rid of. No wife of mine would expect me to live in her pocket, and she’d dashed better be too well-bred to get into distempered freaks. No, thank you, the carefree bachelor life suits me fine.”

  Cholly raised his quizzing glass again. “Looks to me instead like the tomcatting is killing you, creeping down alleys and over windowsills. What you need is an establishment of your own.”

  The earl resented his friend’s inference that he needed taking care of. “Have you forgotten Gardiner House? It’s a little hard to miss if you happen to be near Grosvenor Square.”

  “No, I mean a pied-à-terre, a little place you can come and go, private like. Discreet.”

  The earl called for another bottle. “A bijou. Interesting. I could fix the place up the way I like, even set up a little drawing studio. I could hire a whole new staff of servants who wouldn’t carry tales.”

  Cholly smiled. “And who’d make sure the sheets are clean.”

  Gard laughed, too. “Can you imagine me asking poor old Ingraham to carry fresh linens to a house of convenience? He’d have a spasm.”

  “Should have pensioned off the chap years ago if he disapproves of you.”

  “I can’t. The man valeted my own father. Frankly, it would be a relief not to see his disappointment every day. I’m getting to like your idea more and more. Still, I could make the love nest so cozy, the birds of paradise might want to take up permanent residence. They’re deuced difficult to dislodge, you know.”

  “Blister it, you have the butler send ’em to the rightabout if you’re too tender-hearted.”

  They both laughed at the picture of the elderly Gardiner butler giving some courtesan her congé. Old Foggarty was another long-time employee who refused to leave the earl’s service, he and Ingraham having nowhere else to go. “Lord save me from loyal old family retainers.”

  Cholly stared at the tassels on his Hessians. “Seems to me you could keep any of the ladybirds from settling in if you told them right out the arrangement was only temporary, that you were just renting the place. I recall hearing that Elphinstone’s digs out in Bloomsbury are for let.”

  “Someone mentioned that he went with the delegation to Vienna. I didn’t realize Lady Rosalind went with him.”

  “Should have. Inseparable, don’t you know.”

  “And you say their house is out in Bloomsbury…?”

  *

  The town house could have fit into the entry hall of the earl’s principal seat in Suffolk, but it was well maintained and respectable-looking. The street was quiet, with trees and flowers, and mothers pushing prams. The man who came to take Lord Gardiner’s horses was middle-aged, neatly dressed, and clean-shaven. He seemed knowledgeably appreciative of the earl’s prime-goers.

  “Shall I take these beauties back to the mews, gov’nor, or just around the block so’s they don’t cool down?”

  “Can you drive?”

  The man carefully aimed a stream of tobacco juice between rows of pansies. “Anything with wheels.”

  “And can you keep a still tongue in your head?”

  “I reckon so,” the one-time Cock Robin said with a grin. “If Rob Tuthill can’t keep his mummers dubbed, then no one can.”

  Lord Gardiner watched Tuthill drive the curricle away with consummate skill. He was liking this notion better and better. He’d have to remember to invite Cholly to his first not-so-intimate gathering.

  A dimpled little maid opened the door for him, took his beaver and gloves, and showed him to the parlor. “I be Lorna, milord. I come in days. Would you please to wait in the parlor while I fetch the housekeeper to show you about? We put refreshments out for you, milord.” She curtsied prettily, showing the dimples again before she left.

  Gard smiled back at the delightful little baggage, not that he ever dallied with servants in his employ, or such young chits, either. A pretty face always being welcome, though, he automatically added the maid to the inventory of the house’s attractions.

  The excellent strawberry tarts were another. ’Pon rep, he wouldn’t miss squiring his barques of frailty to noisy public restaurants if the house boasted a fine cook of its own. Strange, he thought as he sipped a fine sherry and had another bite of pastry, the rental agent had not mentioned the residence was fully staffed. The fellow would have dickered for a higher price if he knew how Lord Gardiner loved strawberry tarts. Ross’s blue eyes shone as he looked around the parlor that ran from front to rear of the small home, tastefully furnished yet with enough room for a deal table or two. Even had a pianoforte, although he doubted many of his guests would have the training, or the time, to play. Yes, the house was a bargain.

  The rest of the place was just as pleasing. The housekeeper led him to a smaller sitting room across the hall that contained an overstuffed sofa in front of a tiled fireplace. Excellent. Next to that was a dining room that could seat ten, the housekeeper informed him. Two was enough. Beyond the dining parlor was a small apartment consisting of an office for the household accounts and a tiny bedroom, which she hustled him out of so fast, he was sure it belonged to his guide.

  Below stairs he was introduced to Rob Tuthill’s wife, who blushed when Lord Gardiner complimented her cooking. “’Tis a joy to cook in such a modern kitchen, my lord.” She rattled a stack of dishes nervously, so the earl bowed and moved on, determined not to agitate such an asset. The chef at Gardiner House threw a Gallic fit if a stranger entered his domain. Ross smiled, trying to turn the woman up sweet so he’d be more welcome in her kitchen next time. He gave cursory inspection to the Tuthills’ chambers behind the kitchen and pantries. What he wanted to see was upstairs.

  He was not disappointed. The master suite consisted of two fair-sized dressing rooms connected to a bedroom almost as large as his in Grosvenor Square. There was an enormous canopied bed and rugs so thick he’d have taken his shoes off right then if not for the housekeeper. Ah, yes.

  There were two other pleasant bedrooms on this floor, in case Cholly stayed over. On the attic level were some unused servant’s rooms, one of which could make a perfect studio. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Yes, indeed.”

  “Then you like it?” the housekeeper asked, nearly wringing her hands. “You’ll take it?”

  Lord Gardiner cupped his chin in his hands, deliberating. The house was ideal for his purposes, close enough for convenience yet almost invisible to the eyes of the Polite World, ergo, his mother. The place itself was charming, inviting. He mentally saluted Lady Rosalind’s taste. Only one thing bothered him: the housekeeper, Annie Lee, Mrs. Annie Lee, by George, was the ugliest female he had ever seen!

  Chapter Seven

  The Mrs. had to be a courtesy title. Love might be blind, Gard reasoned, but this was asking too much. The woman had jaundiced skin and a chest so flat you could iron a neckcloth on it. She wore a black dress obviously made for someone two sizes larger, and a grayish mobcap with lappets that covered whatever hair she might have, except the three long ones growing out of the mole on her cheek. Dark spectacles most likely hid an awful squint or worse, and, since she never smiled, the earl assumed her teeth were as bad as her eyes. She stood perfectly, rigidly erect, except for the one shoulder that was permanently higher than the other.

  Love would have to be deaf and dumb besides to settle on Mrs. Annie Lee. The notion of an unfortunate Mr. Lee offended th
e earl’s sense of justice. The unfortunate notion of Mrs. Annie Lee in his cozy little love nest offended his aesthetic soul. There just had to be a way of getting the house without this housekeeper from hell.

  “You seem young for such a responsible position,” he began with a lie, having no way to guess the woman’s age with so little of her showing. At least she had not gotten out of breath on the stairs.

  “I have been holding house for years,” Annalise quickly replied, happy to be telling the truth. She’d been managing Thompson Hall since her mother’s death. “Hen—my aunt Henny trained me. That’s Mrs. Tuthill, in the kitchen,” she added. “Her, ah, rheumatics make it too hard for her to manage anything but the cooking.”

  Blast, the witch was a relative to the Tuthills. That meant he’d have to give up the treasure in the kitchens and that man who was a dab hand with the horses, too, just to be rid of her ugly phiz. It was worth it.

  “Have you been here long?’ he asked, preparatory to mentioning that he had an old family retainer in mind for the position.

  Annalise knew she’d be found out as soon as he made inquiries, so she answered, “Not personally, but the family…” She let her words trail off.

  Ross knew all about lines of service passing from father to son, mother to daughter. Hell and tarnation. Well, if he had no grounds to dismiss her on issues of loyalty or longevity, he still had the matter of remuneration. He could just refuse to pay.

  “The rental agent mentioned nothing about your salary being included in the terms. I am not prepared to—”

  “Oh, but we have nothing to do with the land agent. It’s more a private arrangement with Lady Rosalind. Here.” She whipped a letter out of her pocket, held it under his nose for a moment, then snatched it back. As far as he could tell, Lady Rosalind had abominable handwriting, but her signature was there, all right, under a line that seemed to have read, Annie (something), Always welcome. Stay as long as you want. Fondly.

  “Lady Rosalind took her butler and abigail along with her, of course,” Annalise went on, thinking that sounded likely, “but meant for us to stay with the house. She said any gentleman hiring the premises could be expected to honor her commitments.”

  That tore it. Gard was trapped with the subtle emphasis on gentleman and honor, the hag’s intention, of course. He’d have to keep her on. At least his mistresses wouldn’t have any jealous complaints. And she seemed surprisingly well spoken for a servant. See, he congratulated himself, there was something to admire even in the homeliest woman. “Yes, yes, I’ll take the house.”

  “Excellent. Our salaries amount to eighty pounds per annum. Thirty for myself, twenty for each of the Tuthills, ten for Lorna, the maid. That’s twenty pounds quarterly, payable in advance. Uniforms not included. Vacations and half days as per custom. Additional wages for extra servants for heavy cleaning or large parties shall be determined later. Housekeeping expenses cannot be estimated until we know the style you wish to maintain. Oh, and we require advance notice for company.”

  On the other hand, Lord Gardiner told himself, there was nothing whatsoever admirable about an ugly woman with the mind of an accountant and the arrogance of the royal we. He swallowed a sharp retort. The demands were not outrageous. Gads, he spent more than eighty pounds on a pair of boots. He simply was not used to dickering prices with servants—that was Foggarty’s job, or his man of business’s. He had certainly never haggled with a female employee in his life. The women he usually had dealings with were never so vulgar as to mention money at all, merely hinting at a pretty brooch they’d seen or a diamond pendant. That was obviously not suitable in this instance. He nodded curtly.

  Annalise released the breath she’d been holding. “Fine. When shall you be bringing Lady Gardiner around to inspect the premises?”

  “Lady Gardiner? Mother? Here? When hell freezes over, Mrs. Lee!” Gads, he wondered if the woman was queer in the attic besides being ugly as sin.

  “I meant your wife, my lord,” she offered hesitantly.

  His bark of laughter shook the hairs on her cheek. “I’m glad to see you have a sense of humor, Mrs. Lee. You were bamming me, weren’t you?” She was wringing her hands again like something out of Macbeth. He laughed again. By all that was holy, the woman was a prude! Here he had the perfect solution, a way to get rid of the cloud and leave the silver lining. “I thought you understood, working for Lady Rosalind and Lord Elphinstone as you did. I shall be bringing lady friends here, daily, nightly, whatever. Of course I’ll give notice when possible, as I agreed.”

  He got no response. Blast, he wished he could see behind those tinted lenses! “And I shall expect you to make my…friends welcome. You know, flowers, bonbons, bath salts, the kinds of things women like.” Then again, perhaps she didn’t know. Damn, she was nodding mutely. The woman was as hard to get rid of as a toothache. So be it.

  The earl took out a roll of bills and peeled off a small fortune in pound notes. “Here are your wages, and uniform and household expenses. As you can see, I do not wish to stint on anything. I’ll make separate arrangements with Tuthill about acquiring a carriage to leave here, but I wish you to purchase personal items my friends might forget to bring with them, robes, hairbrushes, et cetera. Do you understand?”

  The woman was clutching her stomach as if she were about to be sick. Gard refused to feel sorry for her. Be damned if he was going to go shopping for negligees and perfumes when he was paying such a handsome wage. If she wanted the position so badly, she’d just have to earn her keep. “Oh, yes, and fetch me a dressing gown, a banyan or something. Can you do that?”

  She grunted her assent, or groaned. He couldn’t tell which, but she took the money from his hand. “I’ll send over a change of clothes later. It will be a relief to have fresh linens on hand. I do like things clean, Mrs. Lee. That’s one of the reasons I decided on this house, your excellent housekeeping. Keep up the high standards and we’ll get along just fine.” He could swear her lip curled, but he went on anyway. “There’s just one thing more, Mrs. Lee, and then I will let you go about your duties. Understand this: you are all sacked if a single word of my involvement here reaches my mother’s ears.”

  *

  If a single word reached past Annalise’s lips again, she’d be surprised. She was so shocked, so utterly dumbfounded, she could only nod as the elegant nobleman retrieved his high-crowned beaver hat and gloves from the table in the hall. She only just remembered to curtsy when he left to speak to Rob about a carriage.

  “Try to have everything ready in a day or two,” he’d said on his way out. “I’ll send a message when to expect me.”

  “He can send his message to hell!” Annalise exclaimed, finally finding her voice twenty minutes later when Rob came back into the kitchen. “I’m sure they are expecting his lordship’s arrival daily! Let him just see what kind of welcome they give him!” Not even hot tea and the last of Henny’s strawberry tarts could calm Miss Avery’s rage. The dastard had eaten all the rest!

  Rob straddled one of the kitchen chairs and lit a pipe. “What did you think a fancy young buck like him wanted with such an unfashionable address?”

  “I never thought he wanted it to set up a…a bordello!”

  “Tain’t that at all, chickie. Just somewheres cozy for him to be private-like, away from all the rattlin’ tongues of Mayfair.”

  “He talked about bringing friends for cards and such! He’ll be throwing orgies next thing you know!”

  “Now, what do you know about orgies, huh, chickie? Anyways, the gov told me as I’d be fetchin’ young ladies from Drury Lane and such.”

  “Ladies, hah!”

  Rob took a deep pull on his pipe and watched the smoke rings rise. “He don’t seem evil to me, just a young buck sowin’ his wild oats.”

  Annalise pounded her fist on the table. “Not in my house, he won’t!”

  “But it ain’t your house, chickie, that’s the point.”

  Henny stopped banging her pots and pans aro
und and took a seat at the table. “But, Robbie, Miss Annalise’s reputation! No young lady should even know about such things, much less be living amid such carryings-on! We’ll have to leave, that’s all.”

  “Can’t do it without makin’ people wonder what happened and why. No, no hope for it. ’Sides, it’s safer this way. Even if Sir Vernon happens to locate Lady Rosalind’s address, there won’t be a trace of any Miss Avery, just a swell and his sweeties.”

  Annalise grimaced, but she knew Rob had the right of it. “I have no reputation left anyway, Henny, not after running away and spending all those nights on the road. No one would believe I’m innocent of nothing worse than avoiding marriage to a womanizer. Hah! This philanderer is worse. At least Barny kept some loyalty to his Sophy!”

  “Maybe we won’t have to stay too long,” Henny said hopefully. “Just till we get word to your aunt.”

  “I already sent letters through the foreign office and the embassy. One of them has to reach her. I know she’ll come or send for me, and I’m sure Lord Elphinstone can have the guardianship overturned. He has to!”

  Henny patted her hand and poured more tea. “He will, dearie, he will.”

  “And meantime his lordship ain’t so bad,” Rob commented.

  “Rob, he’s a libertine!”

  “He’s generous with his blunt, knows his cattle, and likes Henny’s cookin’. That’s enough for me. I’ve worked for worse.”

  “He’s a despicable, lust-ridden whore-monger!” Annalise insisted. “And you don’t have to work at all if you don’t want to!”

  Rob made another smoke ring. “I wouldn’t leave you alone here, chickie, even if Henny’d let me. ’Sides, I’ve a mind to see the fancy lord’s fancy pieces.”

  Both women glared at him.

  *

  The next morning Henny was humming while she baked enough strawberry tarts for an army. Rob was whistling when he went off to the livery stable to see about Seraphina and a coach for his lordship. Miss Avery was loudest of all, gnashing her teeth.