Teaching the Earl

by Amelia Hart

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When the carriage drove past the first posting-house on the main road from London, Elizabeth scarcely noticed it. By the time they had passed the third, she was bewildered. Were they not to change horses? It was several hours before they did stop at an inn, but even then it seemed it was only to rest the horses, not to change them. The coachman came to let her out and she stepped down onto the road and looked around for Lord Carhampton.

  He was only a few yards away, and she called out, "My Lord? Are we to continue on at this pace the entire distance?"

  He did not dismount, but only rode his horse nearer, and gazed down at her with a slight frown. "It is very slow. I'll ride on ahead to see all is in readiness for your arrival. I wish you a good journey, Madam." Then he turned his horse away from Elizabeth - who gaped after him in astonishment - and rode the short distance to where the coachman stood by the heads of his team. "I'll pay your shot at the Black Partridge in Basingstoke and you can put up there overnight, and then again at Ilchester, The Ram's Head. You will need to make the journey over all of tomorrow and into the next day, I expect. You have an adequate sum for the tolls?"

  "Yes, milord."

  "Good."

  He set his heels to his horse, broke into a trot, and carried on down the road.

  "But I haven't a maid!" she called out after him. If he heard her he showed no sign, and within minutes he had gone around a curve and was hidden by trees.

  She stood watching, hoping he would think again and turn, and come back.

  He did not.

  She breathed very slow and deep, and tried not to glare at the empty road. "How long must we wait here?" she asked the coachman, who was staring at her curiously.

  "The horses need resting for a good two hours, milady. The inn here's of good quality if you be wishing to wait inside." His face was as creased as his worn livery, but his eyes were kind.

  She nodded. "Pray fetch me when the horses are ready." With the reticule about her wrist heavy with the coins she had thought to put there before she left home, she went into the inn with her head held high.

  I am the Countess of Carhampton. I am very dignified and calm. I do not cry in front of servants and strangers. Even if her husband abandoned her on the road as if he cared nothing for her. Her fingers trembled as she ate the small repast of pastries she ordered to give her something to fill the time, and her nose ran alarmingly, so she was glad the private dining room had only one window for light, and that only one serving woman came to inquire if she could fetch milady anything else. It was really too lowering to lose her composure like this. She had so much to learn about maintaining the proper decorum of a countess.

  They arrived at Hensleigh Park just after noon on the third day. Elizabeth climbed from the carriage feeling extremely jaded. There was a faint crunch from the weed-strewn gravel as Mary joined her. Elizabeth had hired the girl at the inn where she stayed the first night, to lend her consequence.

  Daughter of the innkeeper and clearly itching to be liberated from her parents' stern eyes, Mary had glowed to be asked if she would like a place at the Countess's estate. She was a little wren of a girl, brown-haired and round with shining dark eyes, and now she turned her head this way and that, and chirped, "Lord have mercy, but it's a fine place. Very fine. Fancy me to work in a house like this. I wish me Mum could see me now."

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and prayed for only one ounce more patience. Mary had chattered non-stop throughout the journey, and Elizabeth did not have the heart to quell a girl she had just removed from everything she had known. She knew only too well how that felt.

  "Please find a footman to take my bags to my room. Then present yourself to the housekeeper and ask to be put to work."

  "Yes, milady." The girl curtsied, barely subdued, and trotted away.

  The coachman flicked his reins and the carriage lurched back into motion, to drive to the back of the house. Elizabeth was left standing alone before its massive, crumbling facade.

  The place had once been stately, but signs of decay were obvious. The stone was blotchy and scabrous with mosses and lichens, and there were chips fallen out at ground level - some still lying where they had fallen - and chunks gone from the parapet that edged the roof line.

  Was no one to come and greet her? No one looking out for her arrival? Apparently not. The windows were very dark, and now both Mary and the carriage were out of sight, there was no movement about the place.

  Feeling very small before the looming masonry of the old manor, she went up the stairs and through the front door that Mary had already found unlocked and left ajar.

  Inside the gloom was menacing, though when she pivoted she saw it was only because the windows were so dirty, for there were certainly enough of them to let in sufficient light if they were properly clean. When she listened very carefully she heard only silence. Where was the army of staff who should be here to make the house hum along in quiet efficiency? All was still, so much that her London-born ears felt they must be muffled.

  Choosing a direction at random, she went left and trailed through several connected drawing rooms scantily stocked with shrouded furniture, then reached an Elizabethan great hall. Her footsteps raised dust motes, which danced in the dull shafts of light that shone from small leaded panes up high in the walls. The place smelled worse than the coach: of mold and decay as well as mice. Beneath a gray film she could see great swathes of the herringbone parquet floor had been damaged by leaks that must have gone on for years if not decades.

  This house would need money poured into it to bring it back to glory. What had the earl's family been thinking, to let it reach such a state?

  Expecting at any moment to encounter a servant of whom she could ask the location of the earl, she left the ground level and went up the central staircase. But there was nothing on the first floor but more dusty, empty or partially empty rooms, and sometimes the scuttle of some creature disturbed as she opened a door. Revolting.

  When she found a narrow staircase leading even higher up, she only contemplated it for a moment before turning away. It was clearly designed for servants and perhaps the children of the long-vanished household.

  She did discover a single pair of adjoining bedrooms that had been cleaned, with wood laid in the fireplaces ready for lighting, and fresh beeswax tapers in candelabra on the mantel. This must be the suite for the Earl and Countess. She examined the bedspread on the more feminine of the two rooms. It was a sad disappointment next to her own smaller bed at home. For all its great size, the covers were yellowed and thin with age. She went to the windows and threw them open to the chill, gray day. Certainly some of her dowry would be spent here, for she refused to sleep in such a state for long. The room had probably last been decorated fifty years past. The silk wallpaper was a sad, faded salmon, and the rotted silk of the drapes parted beneath her fingers when she laid too rough a hand on them.

  "Ooof," huffed Mary, as she came through the door and put down the pair of valises she carried. "Beg pardon, milady, but I couldn't find a footman anywhere, nor the housekeeper yet. Would you like me to unpack these or keep searching?"

  "Unpack, I think."

  "Right you are, milady." She crossed the floor to the ornate wardrobe and opened it, then sneezed. "It's already full! What shall I do with these?"

  Elizabeth surveyed the row of old dresses. "I suppose there is probably a place in the attic for them. Lay them to one side for now, until you can find someone to guide you. I shall search downstairs."

  At length she found his study, one more room that was remarkable for being clean. There was a small fire alight in the grate, and the Earl was engrossed in the uppermost of the pile of ledgers that were spread across his desk. He did not look up as she entered.

  She came to stand before his desk, and waited. Eventually she reached out and tapped a single finger on the surface of the desk three times. This broke his concentration and now he did look at her, his smoky green eyes dazed an
d a frown line etched on the pale skin between his brows.

  "Miss-Madam. You have arrived."

  "As you can see."

  "I trust your journey was pleasant."

  "It would have been better for your company, no doubt."

  "I think that unlikely. I'm in no mood for pleasantries, I fear. I should be the worst of companions. If you like you may busy yourself learning your way around the house. There is a housekeeper, Mrs Harrow, who can guide you about. If you ring the bell over there she will come." He offered her one of his polite smiles, and then his gaze returned to the books before him.

  "I would prefer to have you show me."

  "I don't have the time." He did not look up.

  "Nonetheless, I would prefer it."

  Now he did raise his head again. "Miss-Elizabeth. All of us have things we would prefer in life, and few of us get them. I said I don't have time. Please avail yourself of the housekeeper." His gaze was hard now, and impatience colored his tone.

  "Is there . . . something I could do to help? If there is so much to do? I am probably not very skilled at whatever you are-"

  "No, of course not. I don't expect your assistance. It is I who must force order from chaos. I can do that better without interruptions."

  It was a scold, sharp and barely concealed, and shame made her eyes water. "I'm sorry."

  "Never mind." He had already dismissed her, and with one hand he picked up a quill and dipped it in a nearby inkpot, then began to write in a firm, slashing hand. For a long moment she watched, mesmerized by the simple movement. Should she apologize again? Would that earn his approval?

  The pen scratched away at the paper, loud in the silence. He drove a long-fingered hand deep into his hair and clutched at the roots, and she examined him like he was some exotic creature she had never seen before. Another species, a man, almost a stranger, yet now flesh of her flesh, according to law. He was not so neatly arrayed as usual, his cravat loosened and his hair without pomade.

  Mama had said to be obedient, and she herself had made that promise, standing next to him in the church. She must do as she was told. She went to the bellpull and gave it a firm tug, and heard nothing. Should she wait in his study for the answer to her call?

  No, it was not possible to stand there and be ignored by him. It gave her a queer ache below her breastbone and at the back of her throat. She edged out through the door into the gloom beyond it, and silently eased it closed. She stood, one with the shadows, unseen and insubstantial. Almost three minutes later there was the sound of brisk footsteps coming closer down the echoing hall, and she drifted towards them. The woman rounded the corner and reared back in surprise, hands upraised before her. She was as tall as Elizabeth, and thin, with a pinched face and iron—gray hair. With a single glance she took in Elizabeth, and her hands dropped to her sides.

  "My Lady Carhampton," she said, and her voice was flat.

  "Yes. You are Mrs Harrow?"

  "I am."

  "Lord Carhampton recommended I ask for a tour of the house."

  Mrs Harrow sighed, but did not disagree. Instead she inclined her head and gestured with one hand, to invite Elizabeth to walk back along the hall with her. Then she led the way over the entire house with bland exactitude, opening every door to show her a vast expanse of unused building, accompanied by a passionless monologue. ". . . the picture gallery . . . the music room . . . the yellow drawing room . . . the morning room . . . the small dining room . . . the great dining room . . ." And each tiny room for the servants, each pantry and nook and the attics and the nursery, until Elizabeth felt crammed full with dust and grayness. She herself did not speak, some essential part of her left behind in that study, still shut in with the Earl, waiting to be welcomed.

  The lack made her as distant and detached as any bystander might expect of a countess.

  Finally a question rose up in her mind. "How long is it since the family was in residence?"

  "More than thirty years. Perhaps as many as thirty-five, I suppose. Certainly not since the fourth Earl inherited. He preferred to live in the Capital."

  Elizabeth had seen that house in London, been hosted there for the dinner where she had met all the Earl's small family and was examined by them. A mansion filled with heavy, dark furniture, masculine and opulent. Not to her taste, though not entirely unpleasant.

  "Do you know the current Earl well?"

  "Only by report, milady."

  What report? She could not ask - could not gossip with a servant - yet she longed to know. "He has not visited the estate before." It was not quite a question.

  "Never. There have been no entertainments here in his lifetime, for the family or anyone. It is astonishing he should choose the Park to bring . . . That is, I was surprised when he wrote to say he would soon arrive, and to have the place in readiness. I hope you don't take it amiss my preparations were not more comprehensive. I did not want to take on more staff without direct instruction."

  She clearly expected affirmation of her judgment, and Elizabeth paused as if considering the matter, and then replied, feeling like a fraud. "I am sure that was an excellent choice. I brought a single chambermaid with me, and I would like another half dozen hired from hereabouts. I will draw up a list of the rooms I wished cleaned, in order of precedence. Are there any footmen about the place?"

  "There is a single man who tends to the grounds as well as he is able, on his own. Which I dare say is not well at all."

  "Is he fit to move furniture around the house?"

  "I believe so, milady."

  "Then I shall see if there is enough furniture about the place to properly furnish the main rooms."

  The housekeeper nodded, and Elizabeth thought she saw the beginning of cautious respect in the woman's face, growing with each firm command. It lent her a confidence she sorely needed, and she listed aloud the tasks that had occurred to her so far, and finished with, ". . . And meals? Does Hensleigh Park have a cook?" She rather thought not, since the kitchen had been deserted when Mrs Harrow led her through it.

  "Only myself, milady."

  "I expect you will be needed more in other roles. Please find out if there is a suitable person in the neighborhood."

  "I can think of at least one, though her fare is likely to be plain and hearty."

  "That will do for now," said Elizabeth, and nodded. "I have trunks the chambermaid could not lift herself, which will require the man you mentioned."

  "Mr Drake, milady."

  "Please ask him to carry them up to my room, and find somewhere else to place the gowns that were in my wardrobe."

  "Yes, milady."

  CHAPTER NINE

  She prepared for dinner as best she could without a trained lady's maid. Her hair, inexpertly twisted into coils and plaits with ringlets at her forehead and nape to form a passable approximation of a fashionable style. Her favorite dress, adequately pressed by Mary. The sapphire necklace she had discovered on the bureau, labeled as a wedding present for Lady Carhampton, around her neck. She raised a hand to it, letting that symbol of his thoughtfulness lend her courage. He did care. He had noticed - had perhaps even chosen the jewels to match her eyes. It was not a very grand necklace, but she liked the girlish simplicity of it.

  Beneath her moist palm her heart thundered.

  With a silent hand she eased open the door to the lesser dining room. There he was. His head was bent over another one of those ledgers, which he had brought to the table. His cutlery and wineglasses were pushed into disarray to make room for it, and he was oblivious, one finger tracing a line down the open page.

  He muttered something under his breath and shook his head. His dark brown hair fell in his eyes, and he shoved it out of the way, then propped his forehead on one fist.

  She heard his heavy sigh across the room.

  She walked toward him on slippered feet. "I don't think you enjoy what you read."

  He looked up with that same dazed expression he had given her earlier in the day, as
if he had returned from some place miles away from the room. "It makes for melancholy thoughts."

  "Account books?"

  "For the estates, yes."

  "Is it all bad news? Or merely tedious?"

  "Oh," he closed the book abruptly and pushed it away like it disgusted him, "only that there hasn't been a penny spent on the place in four decades. Every resource squandered on a London life, and the land and grounds left in woeful state. The income should be three, four times what it is. Only for want of a little investment, the family fortunes are at a standstill. Such neglect I can barely account for it. It gives me the greatest disgust of my-But I should not talk so to you, Madam. Please sit." He waved her to the seat laid at the opposite end of the table.

  She surveyed the arrangement, then began to gather up utensils in her hand.

  "I would far prefer you call me Elizabeth. Or even Beth, as my family do. So much friendlier, don't you think?" She carried her burden to the seat directly to his left, and placed them there with a faint clatter. Then she returned to her designated place to fetch napkin and wineglasses.

  "That's true." He cocked his head to one side, and examined her. "Would you like to call me Christopher?"

  "Yes. Unless you are perhaps a Chris."

  "I have never been before."

  She dared herself to be friendly with him, and informal, as if he was an equal or even a friend. "I think new experiences can be very beneficial. Let's try 'Chris' and see if it suits you."

  "If you would like."

  "Thank you so much for this necklace. It is beautiful."

  His eyes refocused on her collar, and he blinked. "I'm afraid I haven't seen it before."

  "Oh, but it-Did you not label it a wedding present and leave it in my room?" A certain glow flickered out within her.

  He looked at her, and even before he spoke she knew the answer was no. "My mother must have sent it." He frowned. "But not via me. One of the servants will have put it there, I suppose. Very peculiar."

  "I'll ask Mrs Harrow if she knows. I can't imagine it was the coachman or the grounds keeper."