‘Well, I know my decision was the right one. I hope you feel as certain as I do, Mrs Ainsworth?’
‘I had little to do with it. Miss Farnsworth from the agency obviously does. You come incredibly well recommended.’
Stella murmured thanks but her companion wasn’t listening.
‘Frankly I can’t imagine any woman wanting to leave London. And choosing this . . .’ Her words trailed off as she heard a familiar voice. ‘Ah, here comes Georgina. You’ll adore her, as I do.’
Stella’s gaze fixed on the doorway and suddenly a petite blonde arrived in an outfit that – to Stella’s judgement – looked overly dressy for daywear at home. She also wore a slash of red lipstick. Mrs Boyd remained just inside the doorway.
‘Mummy, I thought we were going into Brighton this afternoon and now look at the time!’ It wasn’t a question, not even so much a statement; more like an accusation. She didn’t even cast a glance towards Stella, who had risen to greet her.
‘Did I forget to mention we couldn’t, Georgie? Sorry, darling. Georgie, this is Stella Myles.’
A cool, appraising gaze, not unlike her mother’s but not from nearly as such striking eyes, turned her way.
‘Hello,’ she said, and it sounded vaguely like a dismissal.
‘Hello, Georgina.’
The girl looked at Stella’s offered hand as though she wasn’t sure what to do with it. She shook it grudgingly and immediately turned back to her mother. ‘So Brighton’s off?’
‘I’m afraid so, darling. Your father insisted we be here today to greet Miss Myles.’
‘Call me Stella, please,’ she insisted, but they ignored her.
‘That’s all very well but I don’t see Daddy here. What’s he doing today, roaming the Weald looking for cuckoo droppings or sketching the petals of some unknown and rare species of daisy?’
‘Georgie,’ her mother admonished without any heat, glancing now at Stella. ‘No need for that.’
‘You think it all the time, Mummy. At least I’m prepared to say it. Where is he?’
‘I don’t know, darling. He said he’d be gone for a few days. You know how he is.’
‘I do. He gets to roam the country without being accountable to anyone, meanwhile you promised me Brighton today for shopping and now I hear I’m stuck here and it’s such a nice afternoon.’
Stella watched this snappy and revealing conversation between mother and daughter with a sense of growing dread.
‘Well, enough said, Georgina. Your father insisted we greet Miss Myles . . . Stella,’ she corrected. ‘She’s to be your new companion and educator.’
Stella blinked. She didn’t mind the change of title in the least but it was obvious Mrs Ainsworth was carefully navigating her introduction.
‘Remember we said we wanted you to improve your linguistic skills and appreciation of art?’
‘I remember Daddy saying that,’ she said in a pouty tone.
‘Well, darling, we’d both like you to be able to converse across a range of subjects, from art to politics, especially if you’re to join us properly for the Season in a year or so. We want you as a stand-out.’
‘Mummy, I could be dead by then,’ her daughter groaned, dramatising the statement further by lifting her eyes heavenward. ‘These are holidays, for pity’s sake.’ She flounced into a chair. ‘And the tea is likely cold now,’ she complained at Mrs Boyd, who arrived unflappable from where she had been hovering.
‘I’ll send a fresh tray up,’ she said and took this as her chance to withdraw. Stella wished she could tag along with her.
‘All the more reason, Georgie. Now, don’t be unreasonable. Queen Charlotte’s Ball costs a small fortune and you will make us proud when you’re presented. I want you fluent in French and —’
‘I am fluent!’
Stella couldn’t resist and asked her a question in deliberately conversational French. ‘What is your opinion of the monster that is reportedly swimming around in the deeps of a loch in Scotland?’ Stella was well aware that it was not the same, conservative language taught in ladies’ colleges in England.
Georgina Ainsworth stared back at her, somehow managing to look flummoxed and yet at the same time enraged. ‘What did you say?’
Stella calmly repeated the question.
‘I heard the words you spoke. I wanted to know what you actually meant.’
‘Surely you know, darling. It sounded very French to me.’
Stella’s gaze was locked on the narrowed, unremarkable blue eyes of her pupil. She knew she shouldn’t be enjoying this feeling of power but the girl was already loathsome, in her opinion, and she wondered how she was going to get through a day, let alone months, with this child trapped in a woman’s body. ‘It was a question,’ she replied in English, and she explained it as though for Beatrice’s benefit when in fact it was clearly for her daughter’s.
‘That was not the French I know. I understood only some of it,’ Georgie snapped.
‘And that’s why I’m here, Georgina,’ she replied, now deliberately loading her tone with interest and encouragement. She had to try! ‘I am going to teach you how to hold your own in French no matter who is talking to you. If you work with me, I can promise that no one will be able to whisper behind your back in colloquial French even if you were presented at a coming-out ball in Paris.’
‘Bravo, Miss Myles!’ Mrs Ainsworth’s eyes sparkled. ‘Now, that’s what I had hoped to hear. Ah, here’s a fresh tea.’
She really was quite beautiful, Stella thought.
The conversation stretched to other studies of Georgina’s and Stella realised both women found her twice as interesting the moment she began talking about life in the department store. She even made them laugh but in a derisive manner when Stella began discussing the curious habits of some of the wealthier, more eccentric customers.
‘Oh, do tell us her name, Stella. That’s priceless.’
She shook her head, smiling. ‘No, I was taught from my first day at Bourne & Hollingsworth that discretion was not simply a gracious act but part of the strict code of conduct for all members of the personal shopping staff.’
Before the women could press her further they were interrupted by the arrival of another, much younger, Ainsworth girl.
‘Hello, Mummy,’ the girl said, genuinely affectionate in the way she hugged her mother. ‘Hello, Georgie. You look beautiful.’
‘Hello, Podge. How were dance lessons? Didn’t kill anyone by falling on them?’
‘We’re learning how to do an arabesque,’ the youngster replied, lisping slightly on the word, and as though she hadn’t heard the insult. She smiled shyly at Stella. ‘Miss Bellamy took turns holding our legs so we could stretch out properly like this.’ Grace made a clumsy attempt to balance on one leg while extending and pointing one arm and the other leg.
‘Needs some work,’ Georgie said with a smirk.
Grace was unperturbed, almost falling over as she tried to regain her balance. ‘Hello,’ she said, dark eyes sparkling as her gaze fell on Stella. ‘Are you my new music teacher?’
Stella couldn’t help but smile back warmly at the round-faced child and was struck immediately by how she seemed not to resemble her older sister. ‘I am,’ she replied. ‘And you must be Grace,’ she said, helplessly reminded of Carys. ‘I love your tutu.’
‘Miss Bellamy let us go early because she had a headache and we were allowed to come home in our ballet clothes,’ Grace explained to her mother. She looked worried she may be told off.
‘Go change, darling. You smell, too . . . of sweaty little girls and sugar. Have you been eating cake again?’
Grace nodded, grinning widely to make her plump cheeks dimple deliciously. ‘There were fairy cakes afterwards because Miss Bellamy said she wanted them to . . . to . . . um, inspire us,’ she said, stumbling over the word and lisping on it also. ‘She said she wants us to learn to dance as light and sweet as her fairy cakes taste.’
‘Eat many more of
those, Podge, and your tutu will stretch beyond all recognition. You don’t want to be the chubbiest ballet-dancing Ainsworth ever, do you?’
Stella frowned at the mounting series of barbs aimed by the elder sister, while the younger showed no sign of offence. Either she was used to it or her awareness was not registering it. She watched, intrigued also as Beatrice Ainsworth flinched away slightly from the second hug her youngest lavished on her.
‘Boyd, have Miss Hailsham give Grace a bath, would you?’
‘Yes, Madam. Is Mr Ainsworth eating with you tonight?’
‘I really couldn’t say. Set a place as always.’
‘Of course.’ She turned to Stella. ‘Miss Myles, would you like me to send a tray up tonight? I’m imagining you will likely be tired, and want to get settled in.’
‘Er, yes . . . yes, that would be most agreeable, thank you.’ She looked back at the Ainsworths but the elder was beginning to stand, as though their meeting was now over and Georgina was already returning to the main subject concerning her.
‘So, Brighton tomorrow, Mummy?’
‘Yes, why not,’ her mother replied, running a hand across her forehead as though a migraine might be edging forward and sounding as though the whole business of juggling a conversation with both daughters, housekeeper and new tutor was taxing; that it was clearly time to drift away and find a divan to collapse upon. ‘Stella, I’m sure you could use a free day to acquaint yourself with the surrounds, unpack, get organised.’
Stella wanted to say she could be unpacked in under five minutes. Instead she lifted a shoulder and said, ‘An hour tomorrow morning is fine with me.’
She felt Georgina’s shooting glare like a blow. ‘I’m on holiday, Mummy. I’m not getting up with the birds for French lessons and especially as I want to get going early to Brighton. Tell Potter eleven is perfect.’
Stella gave her employer a quizzical look. Was the mother really going to allow herself to be trampled over? Beatrice looked resigned but Stella leaped in just before Georgina’s mother could relent. ‘Mrs Ainsworth, if you didn’t need me to begin lessons immediately, then I have to wonder why I am here in advance? I could have stayed longer with my young siblings.’ Stella knew this was not her employer’s problem but once again her mouth had spilled her thoughts faster than she could censor herself. Her irritation now danced between them. ‘Given that I’m here and delighted to begin work with Georgina tomorrow as arranged by the agency, then with all due respect I think we should commence lessons.’
Beatrice looked to Georgina. ‘Your father did say that he wanted to see you doing something productive in these holidays. It’s why he suggested it.’
‘Mr Ainsworth suggested it?’ Stella remarked.
‘Yes, Dougie leaves these things usually to me but he seemed especially determined that the girls don’t “squander” their mid-term break, as he put it.’
‘Mummy, please! Daddy’s not even around to know.’
Stella was not going to let Georgina win this debate outright because she sensed this early battle of wills had to be a compromise at the very least, if not a triumph for herself against what seemed to her now to be a student so indulged she would have nothing but problems with her if she didn’t stamp some authority. ‘Georgina, how about we agree that if your mother wishes for you to go shopping in Brighton tomorrow morning that you and I plan to have our first lesson in the afternoon . . . could that work more easily?’
Georgina was now trapped, Stella thought. Anything but agreement would be churlish, perhaps deliberately hostile.
‘Ah, there you are, darling. That sounds like it could be a happy arrangement,’ her mother agreed. ‘Let’s not argue. I want your father to be happy with us for once.’
Happy with us. Stella would think on that later. ‘That’s settled, then,’ she said, not giving the youngest woman in the room the opportunity to have her say. ‘So, I shall see you at, let’s say, three o’clock. Where is best, Mrs Ainsworth? I mean, for our study times?’
‘Mrs Boyd is taking care of all that. Check with her.’
‘Well, thank you again for the tea. It’s lovely to meet you both.’ Stella extended a hand to Mrs Ainsworth who shook it distractedly. She turned to Georgina and smiled warmly. ‘See you tomorrow. We can set up our program for the rest of the holidays after tomorrow’s lesson.’
Georgina could barely disguise her scowl as she gave Stella a slit-eyed gaze that could have been taken as anything from loathing to threat. Stella didn’t care. She’d anticipated a difficult student and if this first meet was anything to judge Georgina Ainsworth by, then she was living up to that expectation. Grace would be entirely different, she suspected.
‘I’ll see Grace in the morning,’ she said to them as she departed. ‘Good afternoon.’
Neither woman responded but Stella was sure Georgina’s sharp stare was raking her back.
6
Mrs Boyd escorted Stella via the back stairs to the third level of the house.
‘This will be your suite of rooms,’ she said, standing at the entrance. ‘I hope you’re very comfortable here.’
Stella gaped at the high-ceilinged room with its two tall picture windows. She crossed the threshold to see it was painted in a cool soft green with dazzling geometric wallpaper on one section of the wall behind her bed that echoed the colour. ‘All of this?’
Mrs Boyd smiled, as if satisfied by the response. She entered the room, spoke in a sighing tone. ‘This is one of our smaller guest suites.’
‘I would have been more than comfortable in an attic room, Mrs Boyd,’ she assured, feeling helplessly out of place in such elegance.
‘Oh, dear me, no, Miss Myles. The entire top floor is off bounds to all staff,’ Mrs Boyd replied, looking suddenly horror-struck by Stella’s suggestion. ‘Mr Ainsworth has his private rooms up there. You will have no reason to reach them and there is a locked door anyway, you may have noticed?’ She looked over her shoulder towards the hallway and Stella nodded. It was the right response again for the older woman smiled benignly and returned to her more breezy voice. ‘The family redecorated all the guest rooms about two years ago now. This one has been painted in a colour that Mrs Ainsworth had mixed to her precise specifications that she calls eau de nil.’
‘It’s very beautiful. Mrs Ainsworth has exquisite taste.’
‘She does. You will see it on display throughout Harp’s End.’
‘And Mr Ainsworth?’
The housekeeper gave her a look that was halfway between mind-your-own-business and sympathy for her ignorance that she might ask such a question. ‘Mr Ainsworth does not get involved in the décor of the house, or the running of the household.’
‘Really? Mrs Ainsworth has just informed me that it was her husband who hired me.’
‘Perhaps. I wouldn’t know about that,’ Mrs Boyd replied, barely missing a beat at being caught out. She gestured with a brief wave. ‘Your bathroom is through there. Towels are replaced every three days. And you have a small dressing room just through there,’ she said with another light wave. ‘We do laundry once a week – if you wouldn’t mind putting your clothes for washing in that bag and for ironing in that one.’ She pointed. ‘Leave them outside on a Sunday evening for Monday washing day. I think everything else you’ll work out for yourself easily enough. Oh, and if you’re cold, I can have a fire made up but we’re all pretty hardy here in Kent, Miss Myles, and we probably won’t light fires from hereon until the end of September. It’s the cusp of summer, after all.’ Stella gave a weak smile. ‘You’ll find the coverlet and eiderdown more than sufficient for this time of year but there are extra blankets in the cupboard over here.’
‘I shall be fine, thank you.’
‘Breakfast for staff is served at six-thirty, although you are very welcome to come down at seven-thirty if that is easier?’
‘No, no . . . I shall be there when the rest of the group has breakfast. How many staff are there?’
‘Depending on
the time of year and whether we have any formal houseguests, it could swell to a dozen but we are usually around eight of us permanent staff, nine now with you. We have breakfast in the main parlour and you can access that via the staff stairs. No need to move through the main house. In fact, if you don’t mind, Miss Myles, unless you’re with a member of the family, it is probably advisable to access the house, your room, the parlour and so on, via these stairs we’ve used just now. If you take a walk around this evening, you’ll see where they come out into a side entrance via one of the boot rooms.’
‘Of course,’ Stella murmured, the notion of hired help fixing firmly into place in her mind; her education and striving towards a career at an abrupt halt while she acted as servant to a family. Another gripe to lay at her parents’ dead feet . . .
‘Shall I send your dinner tray up at six-thirty?’
Stella looked back, unsure. ‘Whatever is easiest for you,’ she offered. ‘I may go out for a walk so please don’t do anything special on my account.’
‘I’m sure Mrs Bristow can do a cold spread if that’s all right? Then you can please yourself. I’ll have it set up over here,’ she gestured.
‘Dinner in the evening . . . what do I . . .’
‘You will join us in the parlour for dinner. It’s served promptly at six because the family eats at half-past seven. Your luncheon will be available at noon; something simple – usually a sandwich or piece of pie – again in the parlour. The family is served at half-past midday in the front salon at this time of year, if it is taking a meal at home. Afternoon tea is in the conservatory if you’re with either of the girls. If not, please always take your meals/drinks in the parlour.’
Stella was getting the idea loud and clear. ‘Thank you. In terms of lessons, where am I holding those with Georgina?’
‘We have a room chosen on the next level down. I shall show you tomorrow. It is plenty big enough for lessons. Have you arranged a time yet?’
‘Yes, Georgina and I are meeting at three and hopefully Grace and I can begin tomorrow morning.’
Mrs Boyd blinked as she thought about this. ‘Miss Grace’s horse riding lesson is at nine. Is mid-morning all right?’
The Last Dance Page 8