The dark young man stirred, pushed himself away from the mantelshelf where he had been leaning and regarded the food with growing interest. ‘What do you think, Archie? About the war in America?’
The young man who sprawled in the armchair shrugged. He was still watching Ruby, quite openly. The girl was awkwardly and untidily attempting to fold a pile of napkins and set them upon the table. Aware of his unblinking regard the poor girl was almost paralyzed with nerves. The young man smiled unpleasantly. ‘The best thing that could happen so far as I see it,’ he said lazily, ‘is for the whole damned bunch of them to wipe each other out. What are they after all? Damned bunch of rebel colonials got too big for their boots – eh, my pet?’ With a movement that was remarkably quick he reached for Ruby, his fingers closed about her narrow wrist and he pulled her to him.
She stood by his chair, trembling and silent, poppy colour in her small, childishly pretty face.
‘Well?’
‘I’m – I’m sure I don’t know, Sir.’ The words were barely audible.
He laughed. ‘Oi’m sure Oi doan’ know, sor,’ he mimicked.
The room had fallen silent. Very carefully and very quietly Kitty laid the plate she held on the table.
‘Why don’t you know, girl? Come to that – what don’t you know? Or – what do you know?’
‘Lay off, Archie. You’re still drunk.’ The dark man grinned, a little uncomfortably.
Archie considered that for a moment. ‘Very probably true,’ he conceded at last, reasonably, ‘but then, for Christ’s sake what else is there to be in this most tedious of worlds?’ His smile did not reach his jaded eyes. His hand was still locked about Ruby’s thin wrist. Half-heartedly, and with a panic-stricken look at Kitty, the girl chose that moment to try to break away from him. The young man’s long fingers tightened, and the girl let out a small cry of pain. He looked up at her with a small, fierce smile. ‘So, come then, my pretty. What do you know? Eh?’
Ruby stood as if struck utterly dumb.
‘Great God.’ Archie’s voice was suddenly ferocious with disgust. ‘What a bloody place, eh? Even the bloody servant girls won’t bloody fight back. It’s the bloody end of the bloody world, that’s what. No wonder poor bloody Percy’s bloody pissed all the time.’
‘Easy now, Archie—’
Kitty stepped forward. ‘May I offer you tea, Sir? Or chocolate, perhaps? Or there’s ale in the pitcher, if you’d prefer, nice and cold?’ Her voice was steady and cool; she kept her eyes levelly upon his, not bothering to veil the contempt in her own. ‘Cook recommends the kidneys. Though I think you may find the bacon more to your taste.’ She paused for a moment, then found herself adding with cool, utterly insulting emphasis, ‘We’ve kept pigs for many years at the Grange—’ But none as contemptible as you. The words, unspoken, hung in the air, ringing in the ears like a bell.
For a long moment the young man neither spoke nor moved. Then, very suddenly, he let go of Ruby’s wrist so unexpectedly that in her fright she almost fell. She took several small, stumbling steps backwards, then stood, lost and indecisive, clasping her bruised wrist in her other hand, trembling visibly.
‘Sir?’ Kitty asked, softly.
‘Get the hell out of here,’ the young man said, tonelessly. ‘We’ll serve ourselves.’
‘Yes, Sir.’ She signalled to Ruby with an almost imperceptible movement of her head, then turned to follow the girl from the room. As she did so Sir Percival, a yapping Barnabas at his heels, a chattering, overdressed young woman on each arm, entered the room.
‘Wait, girl.’
Kitty froze. At the harsh words all conversation died. The focus of all eyes, despite herself she felt colour rise in her cheeks. Composedly she turned. ‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Your name.’
‘Daniels, Sir. Katherine Daniels.’ She spoke very clearly.
He held her eyes for a long moment.
‘What’s this?’ Frowning, Sir Percival stepped forward. ‘Is something wrong? Archie?’
Archie half-smiled, the threat in his eyes only for Kitty. ‘Nothing, Percy old fellow. Nothing, that is’ – his voice was very quiet – ‘that I can’t handle myself.’
Kitty, with iron will, controlled her shaking knees and left the room with creditable composure.
Angry though she was, she could not pretend that the undisguised animosity her own rashness had prompted from her master’s guest had not frightened her a little. For two days she stayed out of the main house as much as she could, spending her time in the old nursery quarters on the top floor of the east wing, where Anne had now taken up more or less permanent residence. On the third day she visited her brother in his room above the stable. His back was healed – he had apparently recovered all his spirits with his health and was the same easy-laughing, feckless lad she had always known. Yet sometimes, when she saw his dark eyes fixed upon Sir Percival Bowyer’s pale, delicate face, she suspected that the scars that her brother would always bear upon his back were not the only ones he carried. Sir Percival, on the other hand, seemed to have forgotten the whole incident – or perhaps it was that he was so assured of having established his mastery over the boy, and over the whole household, that he saw no need to reinforce it. He used the lad, much as Sir George had, to run errands and to help in the house, and even – so confident was he of a lesson learned – to wait upon those of his friends who had not brought with them their own servant.
‘Quite a gentleman’s gentleman I’m becoming.’ Matt’s voice was mocking, his smile subversive. ‘See what a good boy I can be when I try?’
Kitty sighed. She mistrusted her brother in this mood.
He grinned at her. ‘Well, cheer up. There’s no call to look as if you’d lost tuppence and found a ha’penny.’
‘It isn’t what I might find that bothers me,’ she retorted, grimly.
He lifted a shoulder, smiled his blithe, derisive smile. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, moi owd gel. Why – Mr Archibald Alliston gave me a shilling before he left – a whole silver shilling—’ She could not tell at whom or at what his mockery was directed. ‘Why should I thieve if I can get it for nothing?’
‘Why indeed?’ The name was slow in registering in Kitty’s mind. She looked up, sharply. ‘Archibald Alliston? Is that the young man they call Archie? – Tall, with fair hair that falls over his face?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘He’s gone?’
‘Yesterday. Said he couldn’t stand the place a moment longer, not even for the easy pickings at the tables. He’s a fly one, that one.’ There was a glint of admiration in the boy’s eyes.
Kitty was herself surprised at how strong was the lift of relief she experienced at the news. She had not, remembering the look in Archibald Alliston’s eyes, expected to be let off so easily. She stood up. The October wind swirled around the stable eaves, plucked the leaves from the overhanging trees, rippled the puddles left by two long days of rain. She stretched. ‘The sky’s clearing. Come for a walk with me, down by the sea – I’ve been cooped up for days—’
Two days later, at last, Mr Winthrop made up his mind. Out of the goodness of his heart and in memory of her dear dead Papa, he would take Anne, dowry or no dowry. The decision taken, he felt that it should be implemented as soon as might be considered decent and he suggested that a very quiet New Year’s wedding would be appropriate.
Anne, upon hearing the news, burst into inevitable tears.
‘Come, now, Anne my dear,’ Miss Alexander said, lightly unfeeling, patting her hand. ‘I know what very happy news this is for you. But do, my dear, try to contain your emotion—’
Anne’s sobs redoubled.
Kitty, with nice restraint, held her tongue.
(ii)
As if the prospect of Christmas and a wedding – however quiet – were not enough to set the house upon its heels Sir Percival, venomously bored by the closing in of an early winter, decided upon a birthday party; his own, and that at the beginnin
g of December.
‘But – surely – no one will come?’ Anne, surprisingly, had recovered her spirits somewhat. With a natural optimism that was, after the shock of the loss of her family, at last reasserting itself, she had come philosophically to believe that life as Mrs Winthrop might not be so terrible after all. She would be financially secure, virtually her own mistress, and it had been agreed that her beloved Kitty might accompany her to her new home. They would be free at last of the detested Miss Alexander, and – as Anne herself pointed out, an echo of the old, mischievous laughter in her voice – the ancient Mr Winthrop could not last forever. Now she sat before her mirror, whilst Kitty brushed the loosened fair hair that clouded her shoulders. Outside a banshee wind howled bitterly, and the distant sea crashed. ‘I mean – none of his London friends have been near nor by for weeks. They won’t come at this time of the year, surely?’
Kitty shrugged. ‘Who knows? All I know is that he – and that horrible dog of his – have been in the foulest of tempers lately. If having this blessed party cures that I’d be willing to put up with the whole of London coming!’
Anne giggled, then sobered. ‘Oh, Kitty – I can’t wait for us to get away from this place. Mr Winthrop isn’t so bad. He’s kind, I’m sure. He’ll be nice to us. And we’ll have a place of our own again—’
Kitty half-smiled at the other girl’s reflection in the candlelit mirror, but said nothing. She knew Anne to be totally oblivious to the irritation that her easy use of the plural pronouns ‘we’ and ‘us’ could cause. The thought that Kitty might have separate needs and aspirations of her own rarely if ever occurred to her. Kitty continued with long, smooth strokes of the brush.
Of course it did not. Why should it?
* * *
Surprisingly – or perhaps not, considering the elaborate and luxurious provision that Sir Percival promised for his guests’ comfort and delectation — many of his London cronies, perhaps diverted by the novel thought of a winter’s weekend in the country, did accept his invitation.
Once again the Grange came to frantic life. There was linen to be found, rooms to be cleaned, beds to be aired and made up. There were stores to be laid in, food to be cooked, ale to be brewed. More Free Trade tubs rolled down the steps of the cellar. The farms and stables of the estate were raided for feed and space for the horses. Kitty found herself, like the rest of the household, run off her feet, ordered hither and yon by Miss Alexander, by Cook, by Anne herself. As the first guests began to arrive she joined the army of servants scurrying up and down stairs, along corridors, into almost forgotten parts of the old house, carrying coal, water, warming pans, bed-linen.
‘It isn’t fair!’ Anne protested. ‘You aren’t a servant!’
‘Of course I am. And I don’t mind.’
Anne did not even pause for breath: ‘—And anyway, I need you here to do my hair.’
Kitty suppressed a smile. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be back later.’
Hurrying along an ill-lit passage in the east wing of the house, she almost cannoned into her brother. ‘Matt! You startled me!’ And then, sharply, ‘What are you doing here?’
If he noticed the tone he gave no sign. ‘The same as you. What a to-do, eh?’ He grinned his wide, warm smile. In the last couple of months he had grown, was now, she realized suddenly, almost as tall as she was. ‘Can’t stop. See you at supper—’
Dinner was served to a dozen that night, and more guests were to arrive the next day, the day before the party itself. Whilst Anne and her cousin dined by candlelight in the Great Hall, Kitty was kept busy all evening helping a girl who had been brought in from the village to prepare more bedrooms. The long corridors of the east wing were dimly lit, and the candles set at intervals in sconces upon the walls guttered and danced in the chill draughts that crept through doors and windows and scurried like imps of winter through the darkness. Some blew out altogether. The bedrooms were lit by oil lamps which, long unused, flickered and smoked, sending elongated shadows dancing about the walls and bedcurtains.
‘I doan’ like this.’ Rosie, the village girl, shook her head dolefully. ‘I doan’ like it one bit. Creepy, i’n’t it? Fancy sleepin’ ’ere!’
Kitty laughed a little, shook her head. ‘You get used to it. Here – take the other side of the sheet. We’ll make the bed quicker together. Did you bring the kindling for the fire?’
The girl shook a phlegmatic head. ‘No one said nuthin’ about no kindlin’.’
‘Oh – well, all right – I’ll make the bed alone. You pop downstairs for the wood—’
‘What? All the way down there on me own? Not likely! I’m not goin’ down them dark owd stairs on me own!’
‘For goodness’ sake!’ Exasperated, Kitty regarded her, hands upon hips. She was tired now, and anxious to be done. Her back ached and her feet were sore. ‘All right. You do the bed. I’ll fetch the kindling.’
She sped down the dark passage. Halfway along, a door stood open. A shadow flickered in the splash of light. She had collided with the figure who emerged from the room as she passed before she could stop herself. Long-fingered hands caught and steadied her. ‘I’m sorry, Sir!’ she gasped. ‘It was my fault. I—’ She stopped.
‘Well, well, well.’ The words were drawled. She looked into eyes that showed recollection and a spark of dislike, and her heart sank. ‘Daniels,’ he said.
‘Y-yes, Sir.’ She had not expected to see him, had not heard his name mentioned, though she had found herself warily listening for it.
‘What – Daniels?’ Archie Alliston asked, softly, ‘I have forgotten.’
Her mouth was dry. Something about the man, an unreasoning and capricious malice, terrified her. ‘Katherine, Sir.’ She tried to keep her voice steady, despised herself for its trembling.
‘And how old are you, Katherine Daniels?’ His voice was still deceptively gentle.
‘Seventeen, Sir.’
‘Seventeen.’ He appeared to consider. ‘Old enough,’ he suggested softly, ‘to have learned manners towards your betters?’
‘Yes, Sir.’ She did not look at him.
He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘But, no, Sir,’ he said. ‘No, Sir indeed.’ He stepped back from the doorway. ‘Well, Katherine Daniels, I have a job for you.’
‘I’m – I’m already—’
‘Yes?’ His voice was cold.
Numbly she preceded him through the door. A small, battered trunk lay open upon the bed. Clothes were strewn untidily about the room, upon the bed, upon the chairs, upon the floor. ‘Clear this up,’ he said, pleasantly.
She hesitated, anger stirring, then seeing the expectation in his eyes, knowing with what pleasure he would report her insubordination to his host, she let prudence still rebellion. ‘Yes, Sir.’
He seated himself in an armchair near the fire, watched her with an unblinking stare that unnerved her as it had Ruby. But she did not – would not – let it disconcert her as Ruby had. Swiftly and neatly she picked up the clothes, folded them and stowed them in drawers and in the old-fashioned clothes press. When she had finished she stood before him, hands folded. The nagging ache in her back had developed into a stabbing pain. ‘May I go now, Sir?’
He got up, walked to the bed, reached into the trunk and took out a small box, which he upended. A shower of small items – a watch and chain, cufflinks, tie pins, collar studs – fell onto the counterpane. ‘You haven’t finished.’
She bit her tongue. Voices sounded beyond the door, then died. Tiredly she collected the things from the bed and put them in their appointed places on the dressing table. Then she stood silent, waiting. She was exhausted. She wanted nothing but to get away from this disturbing, undisguisedly vindictive young man. For God’s sake what, after all, had she done that merited such malice – that could be the root of the cruel dislike she saw quite openly upon his face when he looked at her?
‘Sullen,’ he said, thoughtfully, eyeing her. ‘Not all that much to look at either.’ Insultingly his gaze tra
velled from the dusty hem of her skirt to her angry eyes. ‘Pity.’
‘May I go now, Sir?’ Despite her every effort her voice was threaded with fury.
He yawned affectedly. ‘Go by all means. Go to the devil for all I care.’
She turned thankfully from him.
‘But first,’ said the young man to whom any show of independence in a woman offered personal insult, ‘an apology.’
She stopped.
‘I fear I left last time before you could make one. I’m sure you’re ready to rectify that omission now?’
Her head went up. In the silence the fire crackled fiercely.
‘Daniels!’
She did not speak.
‘An apology.’
Her anger was ice-cold. She turned, eyed him levelly, knowing what she did, unable to prevent herself. ‘An apology, Mr Alliston?’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’ She saw the shock in his eyes, the unstable colour that rose in his fair skin. She stepped forward, her diction everything that Anne had ever taught her. ‘I am no chambermaid, Mr Alliston, whatever you may think, to be bullied and persecuted by you. I am Miss Anne Bowyer’s companion and personal maid.’ She saw a flicker of disbelief in his eyes, pressed on, the flame of fury crackling in her voice. ‘And I doubt that she would find it amusing that I should be treated so by one of her own cousin’s guests.’ Stop it! a voice was shrieking in her head. Why antagonize him further? ‘You talk of my learning manners towards my betters? May I suggest, Sir, that you could do with a few lessons yourself?’ She stopped then, knowing she had gone too far.
‘Get out,’ he said at last, his voice steel-hard.
She closed the door behind her very, very quietly.
* * *
He made her life a misery. No matter how she tried to keep out of his way he was there, picking and carping, goading her from behind cold eyes. She dismissed any thought of going to Anne; it would be a needless worry to the girl, and anyway there would be nothing she could do about it. She did not even consider going to Sir Percival. There was nothing for it but to hold her temper and her nerve, not to allow Alliston his obvious design of her retaliation and consequent disgrace. She set herself to take his slights and veiled insults with a composure that, had she but realized it, simply goaded him to further extremes. He had found a pastime to ease the tedium between one gaming table and the next: he would not easily relinquish it. She comforted herself with the thought that he could not be here for long – after the party he must surely tire of the futile game and leave?
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