Rainbird's Revenge: A Novel of Regency England - Being the Sixth Volume of A House for the Season

by M. C. Beaton

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said. She ran from the kitchen and up the stairs again, calling “Agnes!” at the top of her voice.

  When they arose that morning, Mrs. Freemantle’s servants grumbled to find the kettle boiled dry and a hole burnt in the bottom of it.

  Chapter

  Nine

  A little work, a little play,

  To keep us going—and so, good-day!

  A little warmth, a little light,

  Of love’s bestowing—and so, good-night!

  A little fun, to match the sorrow

  Of each day’s growing—and so, good-morrow!

  A little trust that when we die

  We reap our sowing! and so—good-bye!

  —George Du Maurier

  It was two carriage loads that set out for Highgate as the birds began to twitter on the roof-tops and the rain dried from the streets.

  Somehow the duke did not find it at all odd when someone, he did not know who, suggested they go via Manchester Square, where Mr. Gendreau still resided while he waited for his late master’s affairs to be wound up.

  Rainbird, still slightly worried by Joseph’s malice, was relieved to meet the sober and pleasant French valet. Joseph was not. His livery was still dusty from his fight on the kitchen floor with Angus, and a purple bruise on his temple was beginning to throb. He felt the others were disloyal in the hearty, friendly way they greeted this French valet, this frog, and Lizzie’s behaviour was quite disgusting. They had all let him down, thought Joseph, quite forgetting that he had wanted to go to Lord Charteris’s household anyway.

  Miss Jenny Sutherland sat beside the duke in his phaeton. The rest of the party were crammed into the duke’s travelling carriage, following behind. She wanted to look up into his face to see whether he was angry with her but did not dare. What had he written to her aunt? Had he asked leave to pay his addresses, or had he put it some other way? He had said he did not want to marry her, only to kiss her. But then surely she had a right to ask what he had written.

  She cleared her throat, feeling so nervous that she wondered whether her voice would sound normal or whether it would come out in a frightened squeak. She did not know whether she loved the duke or not. She only knew she could not bear the idea of his loving anyone other than herself. She remembered Lady Bellisle and her heart sank.

  “Pelham,” she ventured.

  “Yes, Miss Sutherland?”

  That was a bad start. If he had said, “Yes, my love,” or even, “Yes, Jenny,” either would have been so much more encouraging.

  She gulped and stared unseeingly out at the New Road Nursery and did not find the courage to say anything further until they had entered Pancras Road on the other side of Islington Street on their road north to Highgate.

  “What did you write to my aunt?” she eventually asked.

  “I wrote to explain that I was taking you on a drive to Highgate.”

  “And that was all?”

  No, it had not been all, and the duke knew it. All he had to do was to tell Miss Sutherland that her aunt expected a visit from him later in the day when he would ask Lady Letitia’s permission to pay his addresses to Jenny. But what if Jenny refused him? What if she had only kissed him back out of fear? He racked his brains, but could only remember his own great passion. How was it that he who had faced so many battles without a qualm should quail before the very idea of being refused by this one débutante?

  “No, it was not all,” he said. He let the reins drop and his horses slowed their pace. The carriage with the servants passed them and Dave, perched up on the roof with Rainbird, blew a cheeky blast on a yard of tin.

  “I told Lady Letitia,” he said in a neutral sort of voice, “that I would be calling later in the day.”

  “Aunt Letitia will certainly expect an explanation,” said Jenny. “She will think it most odd that I went out driving with you at dawn without consulting her, and she will want to know when we made such an arrangement.”

  “Yes, I realise that.”

  Jenny peeped up at him hopefully, but he was looking straight ahead. He looked grand and remote. He had changed into morning dress. His blue swallow-tail coat, white cravat, and curly-brimmed beaver seemed so respectable compared to her own dowdy gown and shawl. Her bonnet, for all she knew, was still lying on the floor of the agent’s office. She should have gone home to change while he was changing but had feared discovery.

  “And what explanation will you give Aunt Letitia?”

  He reined in the horses and turned to the sad little figure beside him in his phaeton.

  “I shall tell her simply that I love you and want to marry you. With any luck such news will drive all questions about this outing from her mind. I feel I have compromised you and must marry you.”

  “Then I shall lie and lie about last night,” said Jenny. “I shall never marry any man just because he feels obliged and constrained to do so.”

  “This is silly,” said the duke. He caught her in his arms and began to kiss her fiercely. “Do you love me?” he asked at last.

  “Oh yes,” said Jenny. “I really think I do.” He fell to kissing her again while his horses looked over their shoulders in surprise.

  Only the raucous jeers of a passing cartload of market workers brought him to his senses. “We had better catch up with the others,” he said reluctantly, “or I shall spend hours around Highgate looking for this pub. Hold on tightly. I’m going to spring them.”

  Jenny grasped the side of the phaeton as they began to race through the streets and out into the countryside. She felt dizzy with happiness, felt like shouting aloud as fields and trees and bushes flew past.

  They soon caught up with the others. The duke slowed his hectic pace, and they made a decorous passage through Highgate village and on to the pub on the other side.

  “What’s that, Joseph?” asked the cook as they all walked into the inn after Rainbird had unlocked the door. The footman was carrying a large cardboard box with air holes punched in the sides.

  “It’s the Moocher,” said Joseph.

  The Moocher was the kitchen cat, a great striped tiger of an animal, and Joseph’s pet.

  “What are you bringing it here for?” asked the cook.

  “’Cos I can’t take it to my new job,” said Joseph, lifting the large cat out and placing it on his knee. “You’ll need to take care of it and be kind to it ‘cos it’s the only one in the whole wide world what loves me.” Joseph buried his face in the cat’s fur and began to sob.

  The duke, Jenny, Fergus, and Paul Gendreau looked on as the servants all crowded around Joseph.

  “We all love you, Joseph,” said Mrs. Middleton. “Don’t stay in service. Come with us. We’ll adopt you too.”

  Angus stifled a groan.

  “Listen, Joseph,” said Rainbird. “You know you accepted Blenkinsop’s offer before you knew what was going to happen to the rest of us. You want Lizzie to stay the same, running after you and listening to your every word, but you don’t want her to marry you. But if the idea of working as a first footman is making you so miserable, then don’t. Do as Mrs. Middleton suggests and stay here.”

  Joseph dried his eyes and looked cautiously round the circle of faces. Lizzie’s eyes were swimming with tears. The Moocher put its paws on Joseph’s shoulders and stared into his eyes with an unblinking glare.

  The footman remembered that Blenkinsop had said he was to wear a special new scarlet-and-gold livery and he was to have a spun glass wig and would not even have to worry about powdering his hair. The very thought of such finery sent a warm glow into Joseph’s heart. The heavy cat gave a faint miaow. Joseph looked again at Lizzie, and the better part of his nature came briefly to the fore.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You have the right of it, Rainbird. I really do want that job. Don’t cry, Lizzie. Only promise you’ll come and see me sometimes.”

  “I promise,” said Lizzie softly while Mr. Gendreau looked on and thought it would be a long time
before he allowed Lizzie near this popinjay of a footman.

  “That’s that, then,” said Rainbird. “Let’s look around.”

  The duke and Jenny went off into the garden to sit by the weedy pond and to leave them to go over the pub from attics to cellar.

  “Are all servants thus?” asked the duke.

  “No,” said Jenny. “Their hardships have drawn them very close together.”

  “What shall I do with Fergus? He will need a house and some sort of position.”

  “Why not give him the horrible Palmer’s job?” asked Jenny. “I am sure someone could train him to keep the books and then you would always be sure of an honest agent.”

  He stood up and picked her up in his arms and then sat down again with her on his knee. “You are going to make me a very good wife,” he murmured against her hair. “Fergus shall be my agent. You have brains in your pretty head. And to think I thought you vain!”

  “And to think I thought you pompous,” said Jenny. Then she frowned. “But, you know, I think I was very vain and I do think you were pompous. The house in Clarges Street is said to be haunted. Perhaps it is haunted by good ghosts who change people for the better.”

  But she could not discuss the matter further for he had started to kiss her again.

  * * *

  Lady Letitia and Mrs. Freemantle were shocked out of their wits when they came upon the entwined couple in the inn garden.

  “Disgraceful, Pelham!” boomed Mrs. Freemantle.

  The duke and Jenny stood up, hand in hand.

  “You may congratulate us,” said the duke. “We are to be married.”

  “I should think so too,” said Mrs. Freemantle before Lady Letitia could speak. “Frightening us out of our wits and forcing us to rush out here after you. Tell us, Pelham, how it transpires that you and Jenny are here in a run-down inn with servants? Tell us why you saw fit to go out driving at dawn?”

  “Sit down, ladies,” said the duke. “It is a long story.”

  The sun rose higher in the sky as he told his tale. To Jenny’s relief, the shock left both ladies’ faces as the bizarre events were recounted. Mrs. Freemantle was highly entertained, and Lady Letitia thought the couple’s adventures had brought about a much-needed change in both.

  Then Rainbird came into the garden to announce they had been into the village to buy food and drink for luncheon. They carried tables into the garden and soon they were all enjoying an al-fresco meal while the Moocher rolled in the grass at their feet in the sun.

  All the couples were toasted. The duke, mellow with happiness, smiled at Angus. “Tell me, MacGregor,” he said, “what would you and Mrs. Middleton like as a wedding present?”

  “Dogs,” said the cook. “I would like thae dogs.”

  “Dogs? What dogs? Are there dogs in my house?”

  Angus MacGregor shook his fiery head. “I mean the two iron dogs chained on the doorstep. When times wasbad, I felt like one o’ thae dogs. I have a mind to have them on the doorstep here.”

  “Then the dogs are yours. Do you stay on here? Am I now temporarily without servants?”

  “We will stay for another week,” said Rainbird, looking questioningly at the others, who all nodded.

  “Good. That will give me time to make other arrangements.”

  The sun was going down in the sky before they all set out for London.

  When they reached Clarges Street, the duke said goodbye to Jenny, promising to call for her in the morning as early as possible. Mr. Gendreau drew Lizzie aside. “I do not like leaving you with that fellow, Joseph.”

  “Joseph’s all right,” said Lizzie. “I love Joseph still, but I am not in love with him. Can you understand that?”

  The tactful Mr. Gendreau nodded, although he did not understand it at all. He disliked Joseph intensely, but he knew if he voiced his dislike, he would make Lizzie unhappy. Better to bide his time for a week and then snatch her away and keep her too busy to go running back to Clarges Street.

  He contented himself by drawing her behind the duke’s travelling carriage and kissing her for the first time. That kiss was all he had hoped and dreamt it would be, and Lizzie’s dazed and happy face allayed his jealous fears about Joseph.

  As Fergus prepared his master for bed, both heard the jaunty playing of Joseph’s mandolin filtering up from the basement.

  “Do they never sleep?” yawned the duke. “We will talk tomorrow, Fergus. I have plans for you.”

  “Yes, your grace. May I have your permission to retire?”

  “Meaning, may you go straight downstairs and join the rest? Yes, Fergus.”

  Fergus ran downstairs. They were all grouped about the table in the servants’ hall. Alice was laughing at Rainbird, who was singing a comic song to Joseph’s accompaniment. Fergus felt a stab of jealousy. Alice was too close to these people. She was not even related to any of them. He picked up a chair and squeezed his way in between Alice and Angus and possessively took her hand, feeling all the time like an interloper.

  The Season was finished. Society followed the Prince Regent to Brighton. Jenny, Lady Letitia, and the duke had gone to the duke’s large mansion in Shropshire to begin preparations for two weddings. Lady Letitia was to marry Lord Paul from the duke’s country home a week before Jenny was to marry the duke.

  Lizzie had married Mr. Gendreau by special licence, and they had moved to a house near Bath, having bought one as close to the house of their dreams as possible.

  Alice and Fergus had gone with the duke to his home and were to be married in his private chapel one week after his own wedding.

  Angus MacGregor and Mrs. Middleton had been married before any of them had left. It was the last gathering of the servants of Number 67 before they split up, and they were all there to wave goodbye to Angus and the new Mrs. MacGregor and the soon-to-be Miss Jenny MacGregor.

  Rainbird was now playing to packed houses in the provinces, with Dave on hand to manage his affairs and carry his props.

  Resplendent in his new livery, Joseph was the envy of the servants at The Running Footman. He was having a certain difficulty fending off the amorous approaches of his mistress, but felt sure he could continue to cope with this problem. The servants in the Charteris household treated Joseph with all the respect due to the position of first footman, and Joseph only occasionally felt sad when he walked past the shuttered windows of Number 67 and saw the empty places on the front steps where the two iron dogs had stood.

  Jonas Palmer sat sulkily in the heaving nightmare that was the ship bearing him to America. He could not believe life could be so unfair. After he had reached Bristol, his pocket had been picked. As he was a wanted man, he dared not go to the authorities. But he also dared not remain in England. There was only one way a man without money could get a free passage to America.

  So Jonas Palmer, bonded servant, was on his way to Philadelphia, where he would have to work for seven years for no wages whatsoever. He blamed it all on Rainbird; he felt sure it was the butler who had found out his guilty secret and reported it to the duke. He often thought of Rainbird and hoped the duke had thrown him out and the butler was starving to death.

  Lizzie Gendreau put down the letter she had been reading and blushed guiltily as her husband came into the room.

  She had finally achieved the proper status of a lady. At first, it had been very difficult managing her own servants and accepting her new status, but with a year of marriage nearly over, she had almost forgotten what she had felt likein those early days when she had first gone to Clarges Street as a scullery maid.

  “Who has been writing to you?” asked her husband.

  “It’s from Mrs. MacGregor,” said Lizzie. “You remember, she was Mrs. Middleton, the housekeeper. She thought it would be a famous idea if we had a reunion in a month’s time—at the inn.”

  “And no doubt that coxcomb, Joseph, will be there?”

  “Yes. But you must know you have nothing to fear from Joseph, and I would so like to see th
em all again.”

  He looked at her pleading face. “Very well,” he said softly. “I shall take you there and leave you with them for one day, but that is all. I shall come in the evening to fetch you.”

  And so the former servants of Number 67 all made their way on a June evening to The Holly Bush in Highgate. It was odd to think that, after all their long discussions about names for their pub, the MacGregors should have done nothing about changing it from The Holly Bush.

  The pub had been closed for the whole day in honour of the reunion. They talked and talked. There was so much news to exchange. Joseph was more refined than ever and full of London Society gossip. The former chambermaid, now Jenny MacGregor, was shortly to be married to a local farmer. Alice was pregnant. Rainbird had gone from success to success, and Dave was very finely dressed and apt to put on airs. Angus told them all the dramas of their first year and bragged how his cooking now drew people from far and wide and that they were going to hire builders to turn the place into a posting-house. Joseph took out his mandolin and played the old songs. But by evening, the visitors were growing restless and anxious to be on their way.

  “It’ll never be the same,” mourned Joseph as he stood outside with Lizzie. “We was all so close once.”

  “We all grew up, Joseph,” said Lizzie softly. “And you are happy, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Joseph. “Yes, I am.” He looked down at the chained dogs on the inn steps. “To think o’ the number of times I polished them things,” he said.

  The air was soft and warm and the birds chirped sleepily in the ivy on the walls of the inn.

  “I’m happy for you, Lizzie,” said Joseph. “You’re a real lady now.”

  On a sudden impulse, he hugged her close.

  Paul Gendreau, arriving at that moment in a gig, made no comment, but he vowed, as he had once before, that it would be a long time before his wife was allowed to see her old companions again.