“If you would excuse me, Mama, I’d like to retire to my bedchamber.”
“You have the headache, my dear?” her mother asked sympathetically.
“I am only a little tired.”
“By all means rest, Belle. There is no need for us to venture out this morning.”
Isabel smiled wearily before leaving the room and climbing the stairs to her bedchamber. Facing the world before she had had the time to assimilate the news of Fenmore’s engagement to Miss Hamilton had been horrific. After the strain of putting on a polite front for the whole morning, she sagged now against a bedpost.
She had met Miss Hamilton in Bath just the other day in Duffield’s Library, and had warmed to the other girl after they had struck up a conversation about their shared love of books. However, she would feel very awkward if she were to encounter her again. Fortunately, she would be able to leave Bath shortly, and without fuel for the fire, the gossip about her would surely die down.
She straightened suddenly. She had no desire to encounter Mr Bateman at her cousin’s house party. He may have purported to have her well-being in mind by advising his grandmother to warn her of the probability of gossip after Fenmore’s betrothal was announced, but why should he care about the feelings of a complete stranger? And even if his motivation for visiting her this morning was to be introduced to her after seeing her at that party the other evening, he had hardly behaved in a lover-like manner. Instead, he had provoked her into behaving in a most unladylike way. It was a pity he was so friendly with Cousin George, and that she could not avoid seeing him again. She would be sure to give him a wide berth at the house party.
Chapter Two
A week later, Isabel and her mother left Bath for Chernock Hall, situated in the rolling hills of the Marlborough downs. Isabel suffered the day-long journey in silence, only venturing to speak after the first few miles to advise Simmonds to stop waving the smelling salts so persistently under her nose, as they made no difference to how she felt. And when her mother’s lady’s maid, Wilson, tut-tutted and mumbled under her breath about the efficacy of burnt feathers for travel sickness, she barely managed not to shudder.
When they eventually entered the gates of Chernock Hall, she sighed with relief. Her cousin’s estate was out of the way, and the last part of the journey along the bumpy, twisting roads had been particularly trying. Though the coach was comfortable and well sprung, she couldn’t wait to climb out, as the sharp smell of wood smoke and decaying vegetation from a nearby bonfire was making her stomach churn again.
As they travelled along the winding driveway, she looked out of the carriage window. The few remaining leaves on the trees were a medley of burnished copper, amber and red, and they highlighted the bleakness of the late afternoon.
Suddenly, a great spotted woodpecker flew to the top of one of the trees, and the eerie stillness of the afternoon was shattered as the bird set up a racket, filling the air with its raucous sound.
Even though it was still autumn, there was a distinct chill in the air. Breathing in the cold air, she allowed it to fill her lungs, before exhaling slowly, seeing the puffs of her warm breath before her.
“Pull the carriage-rug up, Belle,” her mother said, motioning towards the thick fur rug on the seat.
Burying her gloved hands under its warmth, Isabel murmured, “I hope this weather doesn’t set in. Those grey clouds look ominous.”
The coach trundled along until Chernock Hall, a three-storey edifice in pale brick and stone, came into view. It stood on low-lying ground beside a lake, surrounded by sweeping lawns and magnificent old trees.
They drew up before the country house, and a footman hastened to open the carriage door. Isabel waited until her mother had been helped from the carriage, before climbing out herself, on unsteady feet.
The butler advanced, and after bowing formally, he led the way up the shallow stone steps to the front door. Isabel removed her cloak and hat and gave them into the care of a hovering footman as she looked around the entrance hall, with its chequerboard patterned floor of black and white marble tiles, and the imposing staircase off to one side.
It was her first visit to Chernock Hall since Cousin George had returned from America and renovated the dilapidated old house after his father’s death, and the changes were noticeable. Numerous paintings of Kings and Queens and Emperors hung on the newly panelled walls, and the grand apartment had a stately feel now which it had previously lacked.
She followed her mother and the butler through the hall and into a saloon, before entering the drawing room, which was elegantly decorated in shades of red, cream and gold. She had just seated herself on a plush velvet sofa when the door opened, and Cousin George entered. He was in early middle age now and of middle height, yet he always carried himself with such distinction that he consequently appeared much taller.
“My dear Cousin Elizabeth!” He took her mother’s hands in his and smiled warmly, before turning his attention to Isabel. “Cousin Isabel – you grow more beautiful every time I see you! You will partake of some refreshment? The tea tray has just been brought in. My sister is still on her sickbed, so if you would pour the tea, Cousin Elizabeth?”
Cousin George and her mother chatted in an animated fashion over the teacups about their journey and various bits of family gossip, while Isabel listened quietly, relieved not to have to participate in the conversation as she recovered from the long carriage ride. The door opened again, and Mr Bateman strode in.
Dressed in country attire of buckskin breeches, clawhammer coat, and riding boots, he bore little resemblance to the town beau she had encountered in Bath. His clothes, however, were so well-fitting that it was clear an expert tailor had had the making of them.
Isabel’s eyes met his, and her cheeks warmed when she observed the piercing expression in their depths. He viewed her intently for a few seconds, before smiling slowly. Isabel looked away. She did not trust that smile at all.
Cousin George rose eagerly to greet the newcomer. “Bateman! Pray allow me to introduce you to my dear cousin, Mrs Beresford, and her daughter, Lady Axbridge.”
Mr Bateman approached them and bowed politely. “I had the pleasure of making your cousins’ acquaintance while I was visiting my grandmother in Bath, Cherny.”
“Oh yes, you did say. It slipped my mind.”
Mr Bateman accepted a cup of tea, just as the butler, who had followed him into the room, cleared his throat, and said, “Begging your pardon, madam… Mrs Sutton would like a word… urgent housekeeping matters…”
Cousin George raised an eyebrow. “Let Mrs Beresford have a moment’s rest, Green, before burdening her with household matters.”
The butler shuffled his feet, and looked around uncomfortably until Isabel’s mother said in a light voice, “Thank you, Green. I will see Mrs Sutton shortly.”
Green bowed stiffly, before hurrying from the room. After Mr Bateman had finished drinking his tea, Cousin George stood. “Let me accompany you, dear cousin,” he said. “My steward is waiting to see me…”
He led the way out of the drawing room, leaving Isabel and Mr Bateman alone. Her heart started to race. After their recent encounter, the last thing she wanted was a tête-à-tête with the man. She gazed at her mother’s retreating back. How quickly could she make her excuses and leave the room? Perhaps her mother needed some assistance with the urgent housekeeping matters Green had mentioned? She inched towards the edge of the sofa in preparation to standing.
“Afraid of being alone with me without a chaperone, my lady?”
She froze, and shifted back in her seat. “My dear sir, I am not of an age to require a constant chaperone. Indeed, when I am in the company of younger ladies, I am considered to be the chaperone. I am a widow after all.”
“Of advanced years. I had forgotten.”
Mr Bateman spoke gravely but she had the uncomfortable feeling he was laughing at her behind that impassive countenance. She narrowed her eyes. At seven-and-twenty, she w
ould no longer call herself young, but she was hardly of advanced years either. Mr Bateman was intent on needling her for some reason. And now it was impossible to leave the room without looking as if she were running away!
“Advanced years often lead to difficulties in memory,” she said. “And I believe yours outnumber mine.”
His eyes twinkled, lightening his inscrutable features. “Touché, madam. I disengage. Did you have a good journey?”
“I am an indifferent traveller. Poor Mama finds it quite a strain to travel with me, as I constantly ask John Coachman to stop so I can walk around. I was happy to arrive as my travel malaise disappears the second my feet are on terra firma. Are any of the other guests arrived yet?”
“The Wetherbys arrived this morning. They went out for a walk earlier.”
Something in Mr Bateman’s voice made her glance at him curiously, but before she could say anything, Lady Kildaren entered the room.
“Oh, excellent, Marcus. You managed to get away from that Wetherby gel. I have never known such a persistent female.” She nodded at Isabel. “Good afternoon, my dear.”
Isabel rose with a smile. “Good afternoon, Lady Kildaren. I am afraid my mother has just left to see to some household matters. May I pour you a cup of tea?”
“No, thank you. I am not much of a tea drinker. Convinced it causes gout. You had a comfortable journey?”
“Lady Axbridge suffers from travel sickness, Grandmama,” Mr Bateman murmured.
“Well, at least it’s not love sickness! That Wetherby gel is making a cake of herself over you, Marcus. It’s going to make for a highly uncomfortable house party.” She marched to the window of the drawing room and peered out. In a voice of doom, she pronounced, “It’s snowing! In all my years, I’ve never known it to snow this early in the year, and they say it is only going to get worse! We’re going to be stuck in the house with that silly chit mooning all over the place and making cow’s eyes at you all day.”
Mr Bateman looked pained, but before he could say anything, the door opened again and the Wetherby family party, who had been introduced to Isabel at an Assembly in Bath a couple of weeks before, entered.
Captain Wetherby, a large, florid man, boomed a greeting at her, and Isabel flinched. A voice like that was no doubt perfect for a battleship, but quite out of place in a drawing room. By contrast, his wife, a small bird of a woman, smiled thinly at Isabel as she murmured a greeting.
Isabel turned to acknowledge the younger members of the family. Mr Wetherby, a gentleman with shirt points so high that they poked his cheeks, bowed civilly in her direction. “Your servant, ma’am. Delighted to renew our acquaintance.”
She smiled at him, and then looked at Miss Wetherby, but that young lady merely mumbled a few words, before curtseying and making her way to the window where Mr Bateman stood.
“Snow!” she squealed. “It’s snowing, Mr Bateman. How romantic.”
Lady Kildaren, who had moved away from the window and seated herself on a nearby sofa, gave a loud snort, but Miss Wetherby, who had turned her rapt gaze from the view outside to the man standing beside her, either did not hear her, or chose to ignore her.
A movement at the open door drew Isabel’s attention, and she glanced across the drawing room to see her mother gesturing in an urgent fashion. Puzzled at this unusual behaviour from her usually calm parent, she made her excuses and escaped the room.
“What is it, Mama?”
“Cousin George is meeting with his steward in his study. Let us repair there.”
They walked into the Tapestry Room, just as a door on the far end of that stately apartment opened and a tall, thin man came out. He bowed and stood to one side to allow them to pass, before closing the door after them. Cousin George, seated behind a large walnut writing desk, jumped to his feet.
“Cousin Elizabeth! Is anything the matter?” He motioned for them to sit in the matching brown leather armchairs before his desk, and only resumed his seat once they had done so.
A furrow appeared between her mother’s brows. “I am afraid your chef has taken ill, Cousin George. He collapsed in the kitchen twenty minutes since and has been taken to his bedchamber. Green informs me he is feverish – delirious. This dratted influenza… The meal is only half prepared, and the kitchen maid is having hysterics. I hope this illness won’t spread to the rest of the household.”
“This is most unfortunate.” Cousin George leaned forward in his chair. “I will ask my physician, who is at present attending Maria, to see him.”
Her mama bit her lip apprehensively. “What will we do if the chef is not recovered before the rest of your guests arrive?”
“I hired additional servants for the duration of the house party, as my sister is still in the process of hiring permanent servants for the Hall now that the renovations have been completed. A pastry chef and his two assistants should arrive from London tomorrow, in time to be here when the Bannermans and the Skeffingtons arrive. He should be able to take over the running of the kitchen.”
“It has just started snowing,” Isabel murmured. “It may prevent some of your guests – and the kitchen servants – from reaching us here.”
Her cousin’s brow creased. “I do hope you are mistaken, my dear.”
“In the meanwhile, we have a half completed meal, and no one but the kitchen maid to cook it.” Her mother clutched the arms of her chair.
Isabel placed a hand on her mother’s arm. “I can assist with the cooking, Mama.”
“Thank you, my love – but no! That would be unthinkable for a woman in the position you now hold.”
“But who will finish preparing the meal, then?” Isabel asked.
Her mother hesitated. “It has been an age since you have been required to set foot in a kitchen, Belle.”
Cousin George frowned. “No, indeed, Cousin Isabel! That would not do at all. A Lady in the kitchen…” He glanced at her mother. “Did my cousin allow his daughter to cook the family meals, Cousin Elizabeth?”
Her mother looked away. “It was only for a short while when we had to let a number of our servants go after my husband found himself at a stand. We – we were forced to drastically economise, and kept on a cook who knew only how to prepare the most basic fare. Isabel assisted her on occasion when the household was at sixes and sevens.”
Cousin George’s voice gentled. “Why did you never tell me, my dear? I would have sent additional funds from America, especially as William lived with you in the school holidays for so many years.”
“My husband did not wish for you to know, and our – our fortunes improved…”
“James came about?” His perceptive gaze rested on Isabel’s face, and he murmured in a voice of dawning understanding, “So that is why…” He stopped short. “My dear Cousin Isabel, the last thing I would wish is for you to have to set foot in a kitchen again. However, if you would come to my aid just for this evening and tomorrow morning, I would be most grateful.” He frowned again. “If the additional chef fails to arrive, I will need to make an alternate arrangement.” He rubbed his brow, as if rubbing away a headache. “Well, let us hope for the best, then.”
Isabel rose. “Let me go downstairs to the kitchen now. The food will spoil if there is no one to attend to it.”
“I will ring for Green to show you the way. Mrs Sutton will be able to assist you, as well. My sincerest thanks, my dear.”
When Green arrived, Isabel suppressed a giggle at his look of horror when Cousin George related his instructions.
“But, sir – a Lady in the kitchen… the servants...”
“Please inform the servants that it is my express instruction that they hold their tongues regarding this unusual arrangement, and if anyone is found gossiping, they will be dismissed. Besides, only the kitchen servants and the footmen need know of Lady Axbridge’s presence in the kitchen. Any servant who is not directly involved with kitchen duties must be kept away.”
The butler wiped a hand across his forehead. “Inde
ed, sir… however, the visiting ladies’ maids and valets will be sure to gossip.”
“Ensure they are kept away from the kitchen, in that case. And Lady Axbridge will only make use of the servants’ entrance at the back of the hall.” He looked at Isabel. “There is a disguised door in the classical apse, and it leads directly down to the kitchen, which is a fair distance from the Servants’ Hall, so the other servants going about their business should not encounter you.”
He turned back to the butler. “The upper servants eat apart from everyone else?”
Green bowed. “We dine before the rest of the servants.”
“There is no need for them to hear a stray word of gossip about Lady Axbridge’s presence in the kitchen then.”
Green bowed again, before turning and leading the way. Isabel followed the stiff-backed family retainer, and suppressed another giggle. If backs could speak, his would be shrieking disapproval.
She was surprised at how light-hearted she felt. Her reputation was at risk. If any of the guests discovered that Isabel, the Marchioness of Axbridge, had cooked their meal, she could become the laughing stock of London, particularly as it was generally known that her family, though genteel, had been as poor as church mice when she married Axbridge. It had been difficult for the highest sticklers in Society to accept a girl from an impoverished gentry family into their ranks. If they learnt now that her origins were so lowly that she even knew how to cook, it would only reinforce the belief amongst the ton that the Marquess of Axbridge had contracted a shocking mésalliance when he married her all those years ago.
And Mama was so eager for her to have another Season, another chance at meeting a suitable husband. That was the last thing on Isabel’s mind though. Now that Fenmore was to be married, her hope of reconciling with him one day had vanished, and putting her heart on the line for any other man was an impossibility. But now, this new challenge – it was something different for her to focus her mind on, something to distract her. And she welcomed it.
A Marchioness Below Stairs Page 2