‘Wait,’ she said, taking hold of the girl’s slim shoulders. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the job was so important to you. If you don’t mind staying, then I would like very much if you would be my maid.’
Milly fixed her with her clear blue eyes, brimming with tears. ‘I don’t want to be no trouble, miss,’ she said, twisting the handkerchief between her hands. ‘If you’re just saying that ’cos you’re feeling sorry for me, then I’d rather go back to them kitchens. I don’t want no pity, miss, really I don’t, and I shouldn’t have gone telling you all them things about my family and the like. No, if you’re not wanting no lady’s-maid, miss, then them kitchens it is for me and I’ll be glad of it.’
‘I’m sure you would,’ said Eleanor, smiling warmly at the girl. ‘But, come to think of it, I am pretty dreadful at dressing myself. And I haven’t the first idea about how to style my hair or anything of those things that I’m supposed to do. So … if you could help me, Milly, and not go back to the kitchens, then I’d be mighty glad of it.’
‘Oh, do you really mean it, miss?’ sniffed Milly, her lips curving into a watery smile. ‘I mean I haven’t had much practice, not with being stuck down in them kitchens, but I do have lots of sisters, miss, and we’re always larking about like, pretending we’re ladies and all. And I’ll do the best job I can, miss, to make you look grand and all. Which shouldn’t be too hard, given how pretty you is and everything.’
‘Now, Milly, you don’t have to resort to flattery,’ chuckled Eleanor. ‘But I do believe, between the two of us, we can keep you occupied. What do you think?’
‘What do I think? Why, I think, miss, we two are going to rub along just grand.’ Then, in an endearing gesture, which completely caught Eleanor off guard, Milly flung her arms around her and hugged her tightly.
Despite the weather, which continued the gloomy theme it had established the previous day, Eleanor found herself in much brighter spirits in Milly’s effervescent, chattering presence. She was also delighted with the view from her room which had been revealed in all its splendour the moment Milly had flung open the shutters. Devoid of any bearings within the castle, Eleanor was surprised to discover that her rooms were located in the original part of the building, looking out on to the expanse of lawn at the front, which was divided into two equal halves by the long gravelled drive along which she had travelled only a few hours earlier.
The location of her rooms, though, was not the only thing to surprise her. Milly had set about attempting to tame Eleanor’s abundance of thick hair which, in the shameful absence of either brush or comb the previous day, combined with a fitful night’s sleep, had resulted in a daunting tangle. In no time at all, the girl had brushed, twisted, curled and pinned her shiny mane into a sophisticated and fashionable chignon, at which even Eleanor, having normally not the slightest interest in such things, was both amazed and delighted.
Her high spirits lasted only until she located the light, pale-gold, stylish breakfast-room - courtesy of Milly’s excellent directions – to find her godmother awaiting her. The old lady was seated in front of the row of leaded windows at a circular table, around which stood eight Hepplewhite chairs. The table was overlaid with a dazzling white cloth and set with white china and gleaming silver cutlery. A splash of colour was provided by an arrangement of fresh spring flowers crammed into a round vase. Another mahogany sideboard stood alongside the wall to the right of the room on which were laid out a number of hot and cold dishes, some covered with shining silver domes.
‘Ah, Eleanor,’ said the dowager, putting down the newspaper she had been reading and removing her eye-glass. ‘At last. I’ve been waiting to have a word with you, my girl.’
Eleanor quailed inwardly at the older woman’s ominous tone. ‘Good, er, morning, Godmother,’ she stammered, as she approached the table. ‘May I ask what it is you wish to speak to me about?’
‘Indeed you may,’ replied the dowager, as Eleanor lowered herself into the chair held out by Stevens. ‘I wish to speak to you about your plans. Given that we are already well into the Season, we have frighteningly little time in which to find a man to take you. At the end of June anyone of any consequence will have fled London in search of a much healthier climate. It is therefore imperative that we waste not a moment in our search for a husband.’
A wave of dread washed over Eleanor as she shook out her napkin. ‘But, Godmother, I really must insist that I do not-’
‘And I will hear no more ridiculous protestations about marriage,’ interjected Lady Ormiston briskly, motioning to Stevens to refill her coffee cup. ‘It is simply the done thing, Eleanor, and whether you wish to or not, one has to abide by the done thing. Granted, there are some departments of the institution which are … shall we say … a little messy and … well … damned tiresome at times …’
Whilst Eleanor knew little of such matters, there was no doubt as to which departments the dowager was referring. A deep flush darkened her cheeks, while a visibly trembling Stevens splashed a little coffee on to the saucer of the dowager’s cup.
Lady Ormiston flashed him a reprimanding glare. ‘However,’ she continued, turning her attention back to Eleanor without even a hint of embarrassment, ‘as women we simply have to put on a brave face and bear such minor inconveniences. But before you have to deal with any of that nonsense, we have the daunting task of finding the man. Now what I have arranged to help us in our quest is this: you will begin your dancing lessons today - I have arranged for a dancing master who will be here in precisely one hour. This afternoon I will supervise your embroidery and your pianoforte. Tomorrow morning you shall have another dancing lesson and then in the afternoon …’
As her godmother continued to reel off a list of tedious activities, Eleanor was aware of her appetite dwindling and her spirits sinking through the floor and beyond. If only she were at home now: in a house where she had no problem locating rooms; in a house where she was free, not forced to partake in a daily round of frivolous, time-wasting pursuits. All of this was Hester Scones’s fault, she couldn’t help but reflect, as her regretful thoughts turned once again to ham and pea soup.
THREE
With the exception of being swung around the drawing-room by her father when she was six years old, accompanied by her mother playing a jaunty tune on the pianoforte, Eleanor had no experience of dancing. A fact that became obvious the moment the dancing master, Monsieur Aminieux, arrived at the castle. M. Aminieux was a French gentleman of some middle fifty years, with silver pomaded curls, a theatrical manner, and a penchant for strong cologne and bold apparel. This particular day, his attire included voluminous pink breeches, a frilled lilac shirt, and a yellow waistcoat embroidered with piglets.
For all his frivolous exterior, though, it soon became obvious that M. Aminieux was a stringent task-master.
‘Non! Non! Non!’ he cried, for what seemed like the hundredth time, shaking his head of curls so frantically that yet another cloud of powder landed over Eleanor’s face. ‘It is not like that. It is like this.’ He released his hold of her and, positioning his arms as though he were holding a much more able partner, began waltzing around the ballroom on his own. ‘You must be elegante. You must be light on the feet. See how I am floating here.’
Eleanor sighed as she watched his rotund, multi-coloured form, waddling around the polished wooden boards of the room. Had she not been so exhausted, she would no doubt have found the scene amusing. But she was exhausted. And nauseous – which she attributed to M. Aminieux’s overpowering cologne. She seemed to have been dancing for hours, although in reality it was a little over fifty minutes. There were so many wretched things to think about: where to put one’s arms, what to do with one’s feet, how to hold one’s head. How anything that was designed for pleasure could be so dreadfully taxing, was beyond her. To make matters worse, the lesson was being supervised by Lady Ormiston whose booming voice, at irregular but frequent intervals, insisted on adding to Eleanor’s already lengthy list of instructions.
‘Alors,’ he announced, failing to hide the lilt of impatience in his tone. ‘Now we will try again. And …one, two, three. One, two, three …,’ he counted, swinging Eleanor around the floor.
‘Hands, Eleanor! Hands!’ boomed the dowager.
‘Feet! Feet!’ commanded M. Aminieux.
‘Head, girl! Head!’ shrieked the dowager.
Eleanor’s concentration vacillated frantically between the nominated body parts.
After only a few minutes, M. Aminieux called a halt.
‘Non! Non! Non!’ he cried, almost casting Eleanor aside in disgust. ‘It is all wrong. She is too clumsy. She is like the rhinoceros, this girl. I have never had such a pupil. Never dans ma vie!’
‘That I can quite believe, sir,’ remarked a deep voice from the doorway. Eleanor spun around to find James observing the scene with undisguised amusement. ‘Although I think perhaps you meant a hippopotamus, M. Aminieux. That ungainly African animal that spends much of its time wallowing in mud.’
Furious at yet another demonstration of blatant rudeness, an indignant Eleanor placed her hands on her hips. In her entire life she had not encountered the amount of insults she had been forced to endure in less than a day at Whitlock. To make matters worse, no one, she realized, was showing her the slightest bit of interest. All attention was, yet again, focussed on James - the dowager and M. Aminieux both equally, for some unfathomable reason, delighted to see him. James strode confidently towards the dancing master, whose whole mood appeared to have changed in an instant and who was now beaming broadly. James was followed by a second young man whose pale-red hair, wiry build and elongated face put Eleanor in mind of a weasel.
Her anger at the manner of the interruption was greatly offset by the welcome opportunity to take a much-desired rest. Unobserved, she pushed aside her annoyance and slipped over to the side of the room where she sank down on one of the blue velvet gilt chairs, removed her slippers and leaned over to massage her aching feet.
‘Ah, M. James,’ exclaimed M. Aminieux, inclining his head to the younger man. ‘How delightful to see you.’
‘It is a pleasure to see you too, monsieur,’ replied James, stopping in front of the Frenchman and returning the gesture. ‘Please do forgive me for interrupting, sir, and you too, Aunt,’ he added, bowing to the dowager, ‘but I wished to introduce Mr Derek Lovell - an old friend of mine from university, whom I have not seen for quite some time.’
The young man, who had been hanging back behind James, stepped forward and bowed to both the dowager and the dancing master. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance,’ he gushed, in an unpleasant nasally voice which, Eleanor considered, matched his unappealing appearance perfectly.
‘Mr Lovell has just returned from overseas and wishes to spend what is left of the Season in London. I have invited him to stay with us here at Whitlock.’
‘But of course,’ replied a smiling dowager. ‘You must stay with us, Mr Lovell. I shall have a room prepared for you at once. Stevens!’ she bellowed, causing the name to rebound off all four walls of the vast ballroom and everyone in it to quake.
As if by magic, a quivering Stevens appeared in the doorway. ‘Yes, your grace?’
‘Mr Lovell will be staying with us for a while, Stevens. Have a room made up for him immediately. The blue room next to James should suit very nicely.’
As Stevens scuttled away to fulfil the order, the dowager turned her attention back to her nephew. ‘Now, James, shall we have the pleasure of your company at luncheon today?’
‘Indeed you will, Aunt,’ confirmed a smiling James. ‘Lovell and I have just returned from the city after something of a …heavy night.’ He winked knowingly at his friend. The gesture was returned with an unpleasant sneer.
Monsieur Aminieux chuckled conspiratorially. ‘Ah, the young men. They like to be having the fun.’
The dowager tutted and shook her head in mock despair. ‘Really, James, I think the less I know about your nocturnal exploits the better.’
James chuckled and planted a kiss on his aunt’s lined cheek. ‘I fear, dear Aunt, that in that assumption, you are quite correct.’
Listening to the jovial banter as she massaged her feet, Eleanor carelessly sounded her own, less favourable opinion. ‘Hmph,’ she snorted, as she pondered the unfairness of it all. How much easier – and undoubtedly more fun - life would be, if only she’d been born a male.
By the sudden silence that ensued, it took only seconds for her to realize that her note of disapproval had been somewhat louder than intended. Silently cursing herself, she slowly raised her head to find four sets of eyes regarding her intently and an expression of incredulity sweeping over the dowager’s face as she observed her shoe-less goddaughter with her dress scrunched up around her knees.
‘Ecod! Cover yourself up, girl!’ she roared, so loudly that Eleanor almost jumped out of the seat.
Hastily she tugged down her dress and pulled on her slippers. ‘Sorry, Godmother,’ she sighed, realizing she had once again failed to behave in the expected decorous manner. Would she ever get the hang of this so-called ‘proper’ way to behave? she wondered. Given that this ‘proper’ way seemed to go completely against her natural behaviour, she wasn’t hopeful.
James, she noticed, was regarding her deprecatingly, one corner of his mouth tugging upwards. ‘Well, Aunt, monsieur,’ he declared, ‘I think it best that we leave you now. You obviously have an enormous amount of work to do.’
‘Enormous? That is not the word for it,’ replied M. Aminieux, throwing his hands to his head. ‘It would be easier to fly than to teach this girl to dance.’
By the time luncheon came around, Eleanor’s feet were throbbing. Having given up on the waltz, the dancing master had then attempted to teach her the quadrille. Its complicated routines of figures and changes had met with even less success and a great deal more shaking of curls.
‘I am having the headache,’ he had declared when the dowager had invited him to eat with them. ‘I cannot eat when I am having the headache.’
Had Eleanor not been so ravenous, then she, too, would have foregone luncheon. She had no desire to spend a minute longer than necessary in the presence of the ghastly, insulting James. With the combination of a light breakfast and several hours dancing, though, she had worked up a healthy appetite.
She entered the dining-room to find James and Derek Lovell already seated at the table. There was no sign of the dowager.
‘Ah. Make way for the hippopotamus,’ James joked, as Eleanor crossed the room to the table.
Derek Lovell sniggered, which only added to the irritation Eleanor was now accustomed to feeling in James’s presence.
‘My, my,’ she sniffed acerbically, ‘such a mature sense of humour. I am sure any child under seven would find you most amusing, sir.’
An obviously bemused James lifted an eyebrow. ‘Are you aware, Lady Eleanor, that such a cutting tongue is most unbecoming in a young lady?’
Eleanor fixed him with a hard gaze. ‘And are you aware, my lord, that such childish, insulting behaviour is most unbecoming in a gentleman?’
James’s eyes narrowed, but before he could reply the dowager swept into the room and claimed her seat at the head of the table.
‘Really, Eleanor,’ she puffed, evidently sensing the tense atmosphere, ‘I do hope you are not irritating James again. You really must learn to hold your tongue, my girl. It does not do for young ladies to go around voicing their opinions on all and sundry. Indeed it is positively unbecoming.’
Eleanor gawped at her godmother in astonishment. Why was it that the woman always concluded she was in the wrong? Whereas James-
Her train of thought was interrupted by Giles appearing in the doorway. ‘Lady and Felicity Carmicha
el to see you, your grace,’ he announced, his tone reverberating with disapproval. ‘I have informed her ladyship that you are at luncheon, ma’am, but she insists it is a matter of some import.’
‘Good lord,’ groaned Lady Ormiston. ‘Was it not enough that they invited their ghastly selves to dinner yesterday evening under the pretext of discussing some charity event with me? What on earth can they be wanting now? Oh well, the sooner we get it over with the better, I suppose. Show them in, Giles,’ she gestured impatiently.
The butler bowed before vacating his spot. He returned several seconds later with the unexpected guests.
‘My dear Lady Ormiston,’ gushed Lady Carmichael. ‘Oh and you too, James. We did so hope that you would be-’ she broke off at a sharp nudge from Felicity. ‘Anyway,’ she blustered, ‘please do forgive the intrusion but we needed to see you on a most urgent matter.’
The dowager’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed the visitors suspiciously. ‘Did you indeed, Cynthia? And what, may I ask, is this urgent matter?’
‘Well,’ continued a flushed Lady Carmichael. ‘We believe that Felicity may have left her, um, shawl here yesterday evening.’
The dowager emitted a snort of disbelief. ‘That is indeed pressing, Cynthia. Why, if I didn’t know you better, I would assume you were simply looking for an excuse to visit me again. Although, perhaps, it is not myself that you wished to see.’
Lady Carmichael’s flush deepened while her daughter cast her an accusing glare. ‘I am sure, Lady Ormiston,’ she flustered, ‘that I have not the faintest idea what you mean. Felicity and I were simply on our way to Richmond this morning and, as we were to pass by Whitlock, it made perfect sense for us to call in. However, I can see you are busy and … come, Felicity,’ she cupped her daughter by the elbow. ‘Let us leave these good people to their luncheon.’
James leant over to his friend and whispered something that resulted in an obnoxious sneer spreading across Derek Lovell’s ugly face.
The Unaccomplished Lady Eleanor Page 4