by Brown, T. J.
Victoria’s eyes widened and Elaine nodded. “Whenever I complained to my mother about my father, she said I should be grateful. He’s a thousand times better than the old duke was.”
“Frightening,” Victoria murmured, prompting Elaine’s laughter. Victoria hadn’t meant it as a commentary on her uncle’s skills as a father, but upon the painting itself. Like most of the Buxtons, the Duke had thick, black hair, a strong jaw, and green eyes, but whereas the living Buxtons’ eyes were as changeable as the ocean, the artist had caught the Duke’s eyes exactly as Victoria remembered them. Flat green, like a lizard’s, with no emotion whatsoever.
“I only met him a few times when I was very small and don’t remember him much at all. Was he as frightening as I recall?” she asked Elaine.
Elaine had drawn closer to her as they studied the portrait and now leaned in to whisper. “Worse. Mother used to take me to his rooms after he became infirm. It’s funny how she would never let my nurse or a governess take me, but always did it herself, and she stood right next to us the entire time. He really had as little use for us as we did for him, but Mother was determined to do her duty. I don’t think she ever went to see him other than that, which is odd considering how ambitious she was.”
Elaine slipped her arm through Victoria’s and they turned toward the Rose Room. “Don’t tell anyone, but that old man used to pinch Mother’s backside whenever she got too close.”
Startled, Victoria laughed at the mental picture and banished the disturbing portrait from her thoughts as she entered her bedchamber. It was actually a suite of three rooms, a small sitting room in the front with a large dressing room and bathroom on one side and the bedroom on the other. The room got its name from the border of painted blue roses running just under the highly detailed crown molding on the ceiling. An Empire dressing table and ornate mirror sat between two enormous windows on the back wall, while a pair of blue-and-white-striped chaise lounges sat in front of a small white fireplace. A soft Axminster rug softened the parquet floors, and fresh flowers from the conservatory stood on the tables.
Victoria unpinned her hat and took it into the bedroom. The blue and white color scheme continued into this room with the French blue coverlet and crisp white eyelet embroidered pillows. She’d spent many lazy summer days reading and dreaming in this delicately feminine space. If she couldn’t be in her own room at home, there was no place she would rather be than here.
“Is there anything else I can do for you? I can ring the maid for some tea if you like.”
Victoria laid her hat on the vanity and faced her cousin. “That would be lovely, but first I want you to take me to the servants’ quarters.”
Elaine blinked. “The servants’ quarters? Whatever for?”
Victoria stared her down and Elaine had the grace to blush, letting Victoria know she had been right. Somehow Elaine knew more about Prudence’s situation than she was letting on. Did that mean her uncle had sent a telegram about it? She wasn’t sure what was happening at Summerset, but Victoria intended to find out.
CHAPTER
FOUR
Prudence followed Mrs. Harper’s bony, disapproving back through a dark maze of hallways. “That’s the servants’ hall right there,” she said, indicating a long, narrow room where the only light came from small windows just below the ceiling. “The kitchen is on the other side, but you won’t need to go there very often unless your young mistresses require tea at odd hours.” A cacophony of pots and pans banging and raised voices sounded from the kitchen. “I will show you the kitchen later. They’re busy preparing dinner. Here is the sewing room.” She opened another door to the right. The windowless room had a long table in the middle, a sewing machine off to one side, and the shelves lining one wall were stacked with bolts of cloth. “You’ll find everything you need to mend your mistresses’ dresses and underthings.”
Prudence was surprised into replying. “Oh, I don’t know how to sew.”
Mrs. Harper looked down her long nose at Prudence. “Well, you’d best learn. Hortense is too busy with Lady Summerset and Lady Elaine to do your work, too.”
Suitably chastened, Prudence followed Mrs. Harper up a steep staircase. Gaslights lit the cramped stairwell and countless feet had worn dips in the center of each step. How many servants spent their entire lives treading up and down these stairs?
After climbing for what seemed like forever, and passing several landings, they came out into a narrow, dark hall with doors on either side. The hallway smelled of mold, human sweat, and, oddly enough, vanilla.
“We call this petticoat hall. It’s for the female house servants. The men’s quarters are on the other side of the wing, and they are not allowed here. If you are caught fraternizing with the opposite sex, you will be dismissed without notice. You will receive thirty-two a year and will draw your wages monthly.”
Mrs. Harper paused in front of a door and took a large brass ring of keys out of her oversized pocket. She fiddled with it until she found the right key and then opened the door. Moving aside, she waited for Prudence to enter.
Swallowing, Prudence stepped inside a room that could not have been more than eight by eight feet. After the lovely home she’d just left, its starkness struck her heart like a physical blow. Old green paint flaked off the iron bed in the middle of the room, and the mattress sagged under the thin quilts. The one small window in the room was covered with coarse yellow burlap. Under the window stood a rickety chest missing several knobs. Its matching table sat next to the bed and held a chipped plain white bowl and pitcher for washing. Above the table was a small, cracked mirror. There was no closet.
On the bed lay two black-and-white-striped calico blouses and two plain black bombazine skirts.
“The cost of the uniforms will, of course, come out of your pay. I have a list of rules for you to be aware of. Please go over them as soon as possible. Mr. Cairn and I pride ourselves on how smoothly this house runs and there is always a risk with a new servant.”
A chill ran up and down Prudence’s spine, one that had little to do with the cold draft coming from the window. What was she doing here in this cramped room with this sour-faced woman? This was not her life. Her life was with Vic, Ro, and Sir Philip in a warm, gracious home filled with the sound of music and laughter. But Sir Philip was gone and it had never been clearer to her that that life was over.
Mrs. Harper rooted around in her pockets again and handed Prudence a sheet of paper and a key hanging from a long chain. “The key is to your room. Wear it around your neck. I always tell young girls who spend most of their time looking at their reflections to put the rules up next to the mirror until you have memorized them.”
Numbly, Prudence took both the key and the paper. Outside in the hallway, they heard a muttered oath and the stamping of feet. Mrs. Harper poked her head out the door. “Are those her belongings?”
Prudence had never thought she’d hear anything in Mrs. Harper’s speech except disapproval, but now her voice elevated in surprise.
Prudence and Mrs. Harper had to flatten themselves against one wall as four men, two in their bright velvet footman livery and two in rough work clothes, hauled the trunks into the small room. Prudence recognized one of the footmen as the one who had been so shocked at her being hauled out of the coach. He was a nice-looking young man, with plain features and friendly, greenish eyes.
The trunks, made of gleaming oak, were the most beautiful objects in the room. The men smirked, looking at the trunks, until Mrs. Harper shooed them out. The footman gave her another friendly smile before leaving the room.
Prudence waited for a moment before realizing that Mrs. Harper wasn’t going to leave until she got a peek into the trunks. Reluctantly, she knelt and opened the first trunk under Mrs. Harper’s critical eye. Because Prudence knew they were going to be at Summerset for an extended stay, she’d brought mementos she couldn’t bear to leave. Childhood books she couldn’t part with, the shining jewelry box Sir Philip had given her for
her twentieth birthday, and the silver brush and comb set that were her mother’s. She could almost smell Mrs. Harper’s disapproval as she stacked the books on the dresser alongside her jewelry box and placed her comb and brush next to the washbasin. They looked garish in this painfully bare room, like orchids among thistles. She added a small photograph of her mother, set in an ornate silver frame and taken when she was younger than Prudence was now. Mrs. Harper’s nostrils flared as she picked up the photograph. “Who is this woman?”
“That’s my mother.”
Mrs. Harper gave Prudence a sharp look and her lips tightened.
Prudence looked down at the clothes she had brought. Like Rowena and Victoria, she’d had several new mourning dresses made up, but even though they were a plain black, the high quality of the material and their modern style were completely inappropriate for her new position. She reached for her underthings. A princess combination made of fine cambric material with Valenciennes lace at the bust, several chemises with blue silk ribbons threaded through the top, and a soft batiste nightdress with embroidered scalloped edges.
Mrs. Harper sniffed. “I’ve never seen such absurdity. I don’t know what you did before coming here, but you’ll not receive such gifts at Summerset.”
With that, Mrs. Harper whisked out of the room, while Prudence’s cheeks burned with shame. Apparently, Mrs. Harper thought her someone’s spoiled and indulged mistress. Apparently, the pursed-mouth woman had no idea that Prudence had been treated no differently than Rowena and Victoria only hours before. Prudence gave her door a hard slam and momentarily felt better. Then a wave of complete and utter loneliness hit again.
She sat heavily on the bed, crumpling the paper Mrs. Harper had given her. Smoothing it out with her hands, she read:
Never allow your voice to be heard by the ladies and gentlemen of the house.
Answer politely when addressed, but do not speak unless spoken to.
Step aside if you meet one of your employers or betters on the stairs, remembering to look down as they pass you by.
Never talk to another servant in the presence of your mistress.
Never call from one room to another.
Only the butler may answer the bell.
Every servant is responsible for getting his or her own meals at the allotted meal times. The cook will not make up for missed meals for any reason.
No servant is to take any knives or forks or other article, nor on any account to remove any provisions from the Great Hall.
The female staff is forbidden from smoking.
No servant is to receive any visitor into the house.
Any breakages or damage to the house will be deducted from wages.
As Prudence read each rule she could almost hear doors slamming shut on her old life. What did this horrid list of rules have to do with her? She looked around the barren room, her eyes welling. What was she doing here? She longed to be with Ro and Vic, but she couldn’t let them know the depths of her current misery; they were grief-stricken enough without worrying about her. She folded her arms around her body and reminded herself over and over that she wasn’t really alone, even if this list of rules seemed specifically crafted to keep her apart from her sisters.
A timid rap sounded at the door. Brushing her eyes, she opened it only to be almost knocked to the floor by Victoria’s desperate hug. A young woman dressed in a fine afternoon gown hung back in the hallway.
“I’m so sorry, Prudence! I know Rowena never meant this to happen.”
Prudence heard the wheezing beneath Victoria’s tears. She laid her cheek against Victoria’s shining head. “It’s okay. Don’t cry so, Vic. And I don’t want you to come up here again. Those stairs will be the death of you!”
Victoria pulled out of Prudence’s arms crossly, then looked around the room. “Is this where they put you? This isn’t even as large as our bathroom at home!”
Prudence’s habit of placating Victoria stiffened her resolve not to complain. “Well, how much room do you think I need? I might be larger than you, but I still fit perfectly fine in here.” She looked at the girl standing in the doorway. “You must be Elaine,” she said, then bit her lip. She’d been here but a short time, but had already broken one of Mrs. Harper’s rules.
Do not speak unless spoken to.
Elaine looked at Victoria, training and good manners warring on her pretty face. The moment spun out awkwardly while Victoria, the patience of Job expressed in the stubborn set of her mouth, waited for her cousin to join her in her modern sensitivities. Elaine hesitated for another second and then, with the same brilliant smile that showed years of superior Buxton breeding, held out her hand.
The moment contact had been made, Victoria jumped in smoothly, “Elaine, this is my dearest second sister, Prudence. Prudence, this is my cousin, Elaine.”
Though Prudence had heard about Elaine from the girls for many years, their opinions were always mixed. It seemed that, away from her mother, Elaine was a darling girl. With her mother, though, she was an unbearable ninny.
Nevertheless, Prudence smiled in greeting. It wasn’t her place to judge. Especially now.
Victoria turned back to Prudence. “This is unacceptable. You can’t stay here. This isn’t fit for a farm animal, let alone my sister.”
Over Victoria’s shoulder, Prudence saw Elaine cringe. She couldn’t agree without insulting the daughter of the house, and besides, what could Victoria do about it?
She patted Victoria’s shoulder. “It’s perfectly fine for now. It’s not like this is forever. And I won’t be spending much time up here anyway.”
“That’s right,” Elaine agreed. “She will mostly be with you and Rowena. Mother’s maid is so busy she is hardly up here at all.”
Victoria narrowed her eyes and gave her cousin a black look. Elaine ignored her and walked about the room as if she’d never seen it before. Which, Prudence thought wryly, she probably hadn’t. She stopped in front of Prudence’s dressing table. “Is this your mother?” she asked, picking up the photograph and looking at it with a puzzled frown. “She’s very pretty.”
“Yes it is, thank you. She died several years ago.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Elaine said, putting down the picture.
Something about the way she said it made Prudence think she’d already known exactly who the woman in the photo was.
Elaine turned back to Victoria. “We should go. It’s almost time to dress for dinner and Mother will be livid if she finds out we’ve been up here.”
Victoria’s lip trembled, but Prudence gave her a little push. “Now go on. Let me change and wash and I’ll be downstairs shortly.”
“Promise?” Victoria asked.
“Promise. Now tell me how to get to your room.”
After the girls had left, Prudence quickly changed and redid her hair. Anything to keep from thinking about how isolated she felt. To her there could be nothing worse than being alone in the world. She didn’t feel alone after her mother had died because her family had been there; even if they weren’t blood, she knew she could always count on them. Now that Sir Philip was gone, she only had Rowena and Victoria. Victoria was little more than a child and delicate to boot and Rowena had always been so fickle and irresolute. Anxiety crawled over her skin as the reality settled in—only a fool would rely on Rowena.
But what choice did she have now?
Shoving the thought out of her mind, she looked at the photograph of her mother and then back at herself in the mirror. There was little resemblance to the sweet-faced, diminutive woman she remembered. Her mother’s hair had been a sunny brown and her eyes sky blue, while her own hair was as dark as mahogany and her eyes almost the color of grass. Her jawline, nose, and cheekbones were delicately etched, while her mother’s face had been round and sweet.
Prudence looked around and suddenly realized that her mother may have stayed in this sparse, cold chamber. She may have worked for Mrs. Harper, run up and down the servants’ stairs, and dreamed
of the day when she might leave Summerset.
Certainly, she had known the Earl and Sir Philip when they were all younger. Prudence frowned, wondering once again why Sir Philip had given her mother, a common housemaid, a position as governess. While her mother was well read and clever, she was hardly as educated as most governesses.
Prudence felt a stirring of longing for her mother. If nothing else, perhaps she could find out more about her, a woman she loved dearly but whose past was shrouded in mystery. There was even the possibility she could find her real family.
Because if she ever needed a family, that time was now.
CHAPTER
FIVE
Rowena paced across the floor of her bedroom in her wrap, barely noticing the new green and gold Morris carpet that had been recently installed. The entire room had been redone since she’d last been here: green ivy wallpaper had replaced the old cabbage roses and the new furniture was all polished white pine, rather than the fussy dark antique pieces that had been here before.
But not even an elegant new room could hide the fact that she was as trapped as a fox in a hole—trapped by her responsibilities, trapped by her social status, trapped by being a woman. Her uncle possessed all of the power and she possessed none. She, Prudence, and Victoria were as helpless as Punch and Judy, completely at the whim of the puppeteer.
Victoria had stopped by on her way back to her room while Rowena was bathing and, with eyes full of reproach, told Rowena exactly what Prudence’s sleeping quarters were like. As if she could do anything about it.
As if she could do anything about anything.
Frustrated, Rowena savagely pulled her trunk open to look for something suitable for dinner. Why wasn’t it unpacked already? Where was the maid?
She stilled, a lump forming in her throat. Prudence was her maid.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered, pulling out a black silk charmeuse dress with a matching lace overskirt.