Rose searched for Joe in the stables, then out in the paddock where he sometimes exercised the horses. A young stable lad approached, bobbing his head by way of respect. ‘If you’re looking for Joe, milady, he’s taken Lady Tregowan and Miss Gwenna into town shopping. Can I help?’
Rose was disappointed but smiled at the boy. ‘No, thank you. It can wait.’ It could, but not for long, she thought.
She instantly made up her mind to enjoy what would probably be her last day with Robbie. She would take him for a picnic on the beach. Of course, he was far too young to paddle or play with sand pies, but it would be good to have him to herself for one last time. Rose could remember visiting a beach only once in her life. She’d been quite small, still an only child, her mother pregnant with Micky. Her father had taken the three of them to Weston-super-Mare for a day out as a treat one Easter time. He’d bought her a little tin bucket and spade and shown her how to make sand pies. They’d built a sandcastle together and stuck little paper flags on the top. Then her mother had set out a raised pork pie and little biscuits on a blue check cloth, which had no doubt taken her days to save up for, and hours to prepare. The memory was a golden bubble in her head, her parents’ beloved faces at the centre of it.
After that the babies had come thick and fast, not all of them surviving, and money had become tighter than ever. Then her father had gone away to war and she’d never seen him again.
But she wouldn’t think sad thoughts, not today. She would collect Robbie from Tilly, prepare a bottle for him and a few sandwiches for herself perhaps, then take the day off to explore the headland and the beach. It would give her some precious time to think, to be sure that this important decision she’d made to leave was the right one. Not that she had any doubts on the matter. What her father and mother would think of all these lies she’d told she really didn’t care to imagine.
As soon as she entered the kitchen Rose was brought up short by the sight of Tilly, who was standing in the middle of the floor, almost wringing her hands she looked so upset. Rose’s heart skipped a beat as she glanced quickly about the room. ‘What’s wrong? Where’s Robbie?’
‘I tried to stop him. I said the baby needed his nap.’ Tilly was almost weeping in her distress.
‘Stop who?’ Rose ran to the other girl and gave her a little shake. ‘Tilly, what has happened to Robbie?’
The door suddenly flew open and a whole tribe of kitchen maids came in, all chattering and laughing. Each was heavily loaded, carrying a tray of dirty breakfast dishes, buckets and mops, coal scuttle, or dustpan and brush. They barely glanced at the two distraught women, too relieved to deposit the dirty dishes in the line of stone sinks in the pantry, or put away their cleaning materials and enjoy a bite of breakfast themselves where they could keep on with their merry gossiping.
Tilly dropped her voice to an urgent whisper. ‘Master Jago has taken him. Like I say, I tried to stop him, but he said a breath of fresh air would most likely do the child good. What could I do? He’s the master here, or acts as such.’
‘Oh, my goodness. Which way did he go?’
‘He went up through the copse. I reckon he might be going over the headland,’ Tilly sobbed. Rose was running out of the door long before she’d finished giving directions.
She ran with the wind on her heels, fear spurring her on, oblivious to the stitch in her side, to the branches that snatched at her skirts as she raced through a copse of sycamore and silver birch, tripping over stones and roots in her anxiety to climb the steep hill as quickly as possible. She hadn’t the first idea where she was going, simply hoping this was the right way. Fortunately, when she burst out from the far side of the woods, Rose found herself on a green sward of headland that sloped down to an azure sea. Her legs felt like jelly and her heart a lead weight in her breast. She drew painful gulps of air into her lungs as the morning sun blazed in a bright-blue sky, half blinding her with its glory.
And then she saw him.
Jago was standing only a few feet away from the edge of the cliff, with his back to her, a bundle in his arms which must surely be Robbie. Rose wanted to run and snatch the baby from him, yet instinctively knew that such a hysterical reaction would only make matters worse. Reminding herself that she was supposed to be the young Lady Tregowan, and therefore had no reason to be intimidated by this man, she took a steadying breath and walked gracefully towards him.
‘How very kind of you to take Robbie for a walk,’ she said, managing a small smile. ‘Although I really must procure him a perambulator. I don’t suppose you have one tucked away in one of the many attics at Penver Court, have you?’ She was gabbling, as pleasantly as possible, fists clenched into the sides of her skirt in an effort to force herself to remain calm.
Jago turned to her with a sardonic smile. ‘I thought it was time I became acquainted with my rival, the child who has robbed me of a fortune.’
Rose heard a small gasp from behind, and realised that Tilly must have followed her, and was now fearfully hanging back, panting from her exertion of climbing the hill so quickly. Rose too was still struggling to catch her breath, although the pain in her chest had a more emotional rather than a physical cause. Ignoring the young maid, she kept her smile firmly in place as she held out her hands for the baby. ‘You must take any complaints on that score to Sir Ralph’s solicitor. This child is not to blame. He may be a baronet but he’s only a baby. May I have him, please?’
For a moment Jago did not move, then he took a step closer to the edge, the tumble of rocky granite that fell away into the sea mere inches from his feet causing Rose to come over all sick and giddy as she thought of what might happen if his foot slipped. At that moment Robbie woke with a start, and began to whimper.
‘Babies are so vulnerable, are they not?’ Jago mildly remarked, in that deceptively soft voice of his. ‘Anything could happen to this little chap. He could become sick, fall asleep in his cot and be smothered by his pillow, choke on his food, anything.’ He smiled with blithe indifference at Rose, who was listening with growing dismay to these words. What was he suggesting? Were these veiled threats?
She was aware of Robbie’s cries rising in pitch, of Tilly standing close by with her hands over her mouth. Sending the maid a warning look to stay back, Rose edged a step or two closer.
‘Don’t come any nearer,’ Jago warned. His eyes, she noticed, were aglow with a fanatic’s greed. Then he lifted the baby high in his arms, as if making an offering to some ancient god. Rose let out a little cry of fear, but Jago only laughed.
‘Look at him. He’s no bigger than a cat or a rabbit, a rat even, and barely more valuable. What does this scrap want with a fortune? My need is so much greater than his. Babies are easy to come by and even easier to dispose of.’
‘Give him to me now, please. Now, I say!’ Rose’s voice was hushed, yet had never sounded more firm, more angry.
Again he gave that hollow laugh. ‘And what if I should refuse? What if my hands were to accidentally slip and I dropped him? What then?’ He glanced down at the swirling waves that licked and crashed against the dark rocks far below.
Red-hot fury roared through her veins, even as she gave a little sob of terror. ‘Don’t you dare play malicious games with my child.’
‘Or what? What could you do, exactly? You’re powerless against me.’ The arrogance in his face was terrible to behold, the curl to his upper lip sharpening his nose to a knife-edge, and the cruel glint in those strangely pale blue-grey eyes chillingly detached. He made a sudden lunge, which almost stopped Rose’s heart, before tossing the now screaming baby carelessly into her arms.
Long after he’d gone, Rose remained where she was in complete shock, holding the crying baby tight in her arms. Tilly was hugging both Rose and Robbie, having come to her at once with a sob of relief. The pair stood like this for some long moments, both quietly weeping, united in their concern for the child.
At length, Tilly spoke, a quiet fury in her voice. ‘He’s a bastard of
the first quarter, that man, and I don’t care if that is a rude word, and not my place to say it.’
Rose said, ‘You won’t hear any argument from me on that score,’ and the two girls, very similar in age, and in status too, truth to tell, smiled tentatively at each other over the baby’s head.
Tilly had risked her job with such a reckless remark, yet formed an unbreakable friendship instead. ‘Come on, let’s get this little chap his bottle and somewhere warm and safe to settle him for his afternoon nap.’
Rose had quite lost her appetite for a day on the beach and returned to spend it quietly in the suite of rooms in the east-wing tower which now felt like a haven of peace, and not a prison at all. It was here, as she sat watching Robbie contentedly sleep, safely swaddled in his bassinet, that she recalled her own words to Jago. ‘Don’t you dare play malicious games with my child.’ In that terrifying moment she had felt that Robbie was indeed hers. Some primal instinct had committed Rose to him, heart and soul. And had the worst happened and Jago carried out that terrible threat and dropped him over the cliff, not even his own mother would have grieved for him more than she.
The incident had changed her view entirely by revealing the depth of her own true feelings. In some strange way Rose knew that she was Robbie’s mother now, the only mother this child would ever know. She could never abandon him. Never! Nor could she leave, not without putting his precious life in danger, as would clearly be the case with the likes of Jago Tregowan around.
Rose couldn’t begin to contemplate the problems that would ensue from this new decision, but then her heart was always wiser than her head. Were she to speak out and tell the truth about her identity, Lady Tregowan would not only send her packing or have her arrested for fraud, but little Robbie’s life would be put at serious risk. And hadn’t she promised his real mother that she’d protect and guard him with her life? More fervently than ever, she meant to do exactly that. From now on Rose would be little Robbie’s guardian in very truth, just as Rosalind had begged her to be, if not quite in the way she had expected.
Chapter Nine
Rose woke the following morning after a troubled night with very little sleep, which was hardly surprising following the dreadful fright she’d experienced on the cliff top. Her mind, however, was quite made up to put her new plan into action. With or without Lady Tregowan’s permission, she had decided to invite Tilly to move into the nursery wing. There was a spare bedroom, and having her close by would not only be far more sensible if the girl was to act as his nursemaid, at least until a suitable nanny was hired, but also an added protection for Robbie.
Finding that Tilly had already taken Robbie for his morning feed, without giving it a second thought Rose clattered down the backstairs and walked straight into the kitchen. The entire staff froze in horror at the sight of her. Mrs Pascoe was the first to come to her senses.
‘Lady Tregowan, was you wanting something?’
The title always startled her. ‘Oh … oh, yes please. I was looking for Tilly.’
‘She ain’t here just now, milady. I do believe she’s taken his lordship out for an airing after his feed. Shall I tell her as what you’d like a word, when she’s a minute?’
Rose could see that she’d made a gaffe. The Dowager Lady Tregowan would never come into the kitchen unannounced, which could easily be interpreted as checking up on the staff. And it was a mistake dear Rosalind would never have made either. What a fool she was. ‘I do beg your pardon for intruding,’ Rose said, in the carefully enunciated tones she had rapidly been obliged to acquire since she’d arrived at Penver Court. ‘I’ll catch her later,’ and she fled, embarrassingly aware of the collected sigh of relief at her hasty departure.
Catching sight of Gladys who chanced to appear in the back hall at precisely that moment, and remembering Tilly’s comment about her room, an idea came to her. Having made this mistake, Rose felt the need to justify it.
‘Ah, Gladys, would you mind showing me to Tilly’s room.’
The girl looked as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. ‘Begging your pardon, milady, did you say Tilly’s room?’
‘Yes, please. I mean to surprise her, and you can help. Please lead on, if you wouldn’t mind.’
Whether she minded or not, Gladys was fully aware she was in no position to refuse, even if it did get her into even more trouble with Cook for being late back. Very reluctantly, and at the slowest pace she could reasonably manage, hoping against hope that Tilly herself might appear out of nowhere and relieve her of this embarrassment, she led the new Lady Tregowan up a winding staircase and along numerous gloomy landings to where the maids’ quarters were situated.
Coming at last to a door, she turned to Rose. ‘This is the maids’ room, milady. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to wait until she comes back from wherever she is?’
‘No, no, I’d really like to surprise her. You could help me move her things up to the nursery wing. Would you do that, Gladys?’
Gladys bobbed a curtsey, knowing when she was beaten, and pushed open the door.
Inside were six beds, all narrow and crammed quite close together with nothing but a chair beside each. Apart from these essentials, the only other piece of furniture in the room was a table upon which stood a jug and basin. At intervals around the walls were hooks where the maids’ spare uniforms, coats and a variety of other garments were hung. A tattered green paper blind blotted out what little light found its way through the forest of roofs and chimneys to this attic room high in the eaves.
Gladys cleared her throat. ‘She don’t have much stuff, ma’am. None of us have, as there’s nowhere to keep it. We’ve not much room like.’
‘I can see that.’ Rose herself had slept in worse places, but this wasn’t a hovel on Fishponds Road, this was a grand house owned by a titled gent, a baronet no less. Sir Ralph clearly didn’t believe in providing many comforts for his staff, or maybe the blame for this more likely lay with his second wife. She fingered a blanket on the first bed, thin and patched and unlikely to offer much warmth to the occupant.
She looked about her. ‘Is there any form of heating, Gladys, or light for that matter? I can’t see any lamps.’
‘No, ma’am, ’ceptin we do get half a candle each week, there being no electricity in this part of the house.’
Rose looked at her in astonishment. ‘Half a candle each, you mean?’ It seemed precious little.
Gladys gave a little embarrassed cough. ‘No, ma’am, half a candle per room per week.’
‘Good gracious me, you must be in the dark much of the time.’
‘We do have to be most careful with it, that’s true, but candles cost money, as Mrs Quintrell, the housekeeper, do regularly point out to us.’
Rose decided she must tread carefully here. Besides, she’d seen enough. ‘Which are Tilly’s things? I shall take them with me now.’ The girl would not spend another night in this place.
Gladys ran around collecting up her friend’s belongings, pitifully few as she had warned, and mostly comprising a spare uniform and underwear, and a Bible. Rose took them from her. ‘It’s all right, I can manage these myself, and I’ll find my own way back. Thank you for your help, Gladys.’ At the door she paused to glance back at the troubled maid, who was clearly already dreading repercussions from her betters. ‘And I’ll see what I can do about the candles, maybe even an extra blanket each, without mentioning your name, of course.’
‘Ooh, thank you, milady, I’d be ever so grateful.’ Relief brought a flush to the poor girl’s cheeks.
Tilly’s response to this intrusion was, however, entirely different. White to the lips she stood before Rose, fists clenched tight into her skirts. ‘Begging your pardon, milady, but I never asked to be moved, nor for you to root through my things and fetch ’em for me.’
‘No, Tilly, that was my decision, I wanted to surprise you.’ Rose was beginning to quite enjoy playing the grand lady, particularly if it brought with it a little power to
help people.
‘Gladys had no right to show you where we sleep. And it’ll do her no good at all if it gets about that she showed you round.’
‘Don’t worry, Tilly, no one will be any the wiser. I promised her my absolute discretion, and at least the other maids will have a little more space now with one less in that small room. I also mean to try and negotiate more candles for them, and hopefully blankets too.’
‘From Mrs Quintrell? You’ll be lucky!’ Then seeing she may have overstepped the mark, she instantly attempted to rectify her error. ‘What I meant was—’
‘I know what you meant, Tilly. I promise I shall do my best, without mentioning Gladys’s name, or yours. But there is absolutely no reason why the housemaids should live in such penury, not in my humble opinion.’
Instead of tackling the housekeeper, whose reputation for sternness was clearly renowned, Rose went instead to the butler. He was surely the man in overall charge. His response, however, was not encouraging. ‘I have had no complaint from Lady Tregowan,’ he informed Rose, rather brusquely.
‘It is not the dowager who is asking for these changes, but me. I’m sure we can afford more candles for the servants, if only that they might have the opportunity when they retire to read their Bibles.’ Rose thought this a good ploy to win him round, and it certainly seemed to sway him a little.
‘The problem has been mentioned to me by certain members of staff, I will admit.’
‘And what did you do about it, Mr Rowell?’
He looked at her in some surprise, not accustomed to being granted the benefit of a ‘Mr’ before his name. ‘I put the matter to the housekeeper, Mrs Quintrell, and she said that what she didn’t have she couldn’t provide, so I spoke to Lady Tregowan directly.’
‘And what was Her Ladyship’s response to the request?’ Had it not seemed entirely unbelievable, Rose might have thought she detected a crimson tide of embarrassment rising in the butler’s throat at this question, although he was far too set in the traditions of the household to admit such an embarrassment.
My Lady Deceiver Page 11