“Polly does most of the work, I imagine,” Dulcie said. “What does Jess have to do, apart from a bit of cooking?”
“A bit of—!” He reddened and turned away from her, and when he turned back to her his words were clipped and angry. “I assure you, when she is well Jess works from first light until dusk. She takes care of the chickens, milks the goat and helps Polly with the laundry, for we cannot even afford to send it to Mrs Greenwood, and that is not what she is accustomed to. It is no wonder my poor sister has become exhausted and allowed this debilitation to overtake her. If only we could afford better food for her, and someone to take care of her. I fear for her life, truly I do, Miss Dulcie.”
“I am sure she will recover soon enough,” Dulcie said, not at all deterred. “We had a housemaid once who took to her bed like that, and could not be got to do the work she was paid to do. Papa beat her and she recovered quick enough after that.”
“Are you suggesting that Jess is malingering?” There was no mistaking the anger in his voice now. “How dare you!”
Dulcie raised her chin defiantly. “I do not like your tone, Mr Drummond. It is my opinion that a lot of these vapours are mere figments of the imagination, and that with a sufficiently strong inducement, the person may discover themselves to be quite well after all.”
“Quite well? Are you mad? I suggest that Jess is in mortal danger and the only sympathy you can offer is to suggest that her illness is all in her head?”
“That or laziness,” she said with a shrug. “She has got very grand, after mingling with the cream of London society, and now she does not like the little bit of work she has to do.”
“Jess works harder than anyone I know!” he answered hotly.
“Pfft! A little bit of cooking, and folding sheets once a week — that is nothing at all.”
“I should like to see you do everything Jess does!”
“It would be easy! Anyone could do it.”
“Very well, then, if you think it so easy, you come here and do all Jess’s chores.”
“Now you are being silly, and you are shouting at me, as well. I am leaving at once. You are very rude, Mr Drummond.”
“Not as rude as you are, young lady, and at least I am not spoilt and ignorant, like you.”
“I am not spoilt or ignorant. You just do not like to hear the truth!” she cried.
“Truth? You will have to demonstrate it. If you really believe that every task Jess carries out is easy, then prove it to me. Come here and do everything that Jess does — or did, when she was well enough.”
“And what about her? She gets to sit about like a lady, I suppose, while I do her chores. A fine arrangement!”
“Well, why not? She is a lady, far more so than you. She should be the one at the Hall, wearing silk and diamonds, with servants to do her bidding and enough food to eat. She would not be ill if she were better looked after!”
“Oh, so she is to go to the Hall and play the grand lady while I scrub floors, is that the idea?”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “An excellent suggestion, Miss Allamont, I thank you. Indeed, that would be splendid.”
“Nonsense! I did not mean—”
But he continued relentlessly. “You take over Jess’s role here, while she goes to the Hall in your place to recruit her strength. Do that for a month, or until Jess is recovered, and I will believe all you say, but I wager you would not last a day.”
“Of course I would!”
“Prove it!”
She was too angry to consider her words. Her chin lifted. “Very well, then, I will!”
2: To The Schoolhouse
All the way home, hot tears flooded Dulcie’s cheeks. What a dreadful situation she now found herself in! How stupid she had been to allow Mr Drummond’s barbs to goad her, but the quarrel with Connie, the hot walk and then his outrageous rudeness had provoked her beyond reason. Still, she should not have let her temper rule her. Now she was committed for a full month to live in that horrid little house, which probably had all manner of creatures living in the thatch and the walls. Mice and rats, she would not be surprised to find. And the beds! It was not to be borne. And to live under the same roof as Polly and that man—
That was a happy thought, for surely it was improper for her to share a dwelling with an unmarried man. Indeed, the more she considered the matter, the more she was convinced that Mama would not permit it. Surely she would refuse to allow her daughter, one of the Miss Allamonts of Allamont Hall, to live in that tiny house with Mr Drummond. It was quite wrong.
She dried her tears and reached home in a happier frame of mind. Mama was still in Brinchester buying wedding clothes for Connie, and something for Hope, also, whose winter gowns could not be let out yet again. Even Grace and Miss Bellows were out, so Dulcie had to console herself with reading the fashion journals Connie had brought back from her stay in London.
Somehow, the journals held no attraction for her today. She was haunted by visions of Mr Drummond’s angry face. He was a handsome man, that could not be denied, with regular features and blond hair that held itself in naturally tight curls, but when he was shouting at her, his face was ugly and red. Such a horrid experience.
Papa had rarely shouted at anyone, and never at her. He had always been so understanding when she read something wrongly or conjugated a verb incorrectly. He had been a strange man, with his rules and strict timetable for lessons and his pedantic ways, but so long as one worked hard and made an attempt, he never chastised one. That, she felt, was how a gentleman should be. “Never mind, Dulcie,” he used to say. “I know you did your best. Try again tomorrow.” Quiet words of encouragement, not that angry shouting like a farm labourer. It was hardly seemly for a man of Mr Drummond’s station, for he was raised a gentleman, whatever he might be now.
Grace and Miss Bellows returned, very hot and tired from their long walk. Miss Bellows had once been the sisters’ governess, but was now retained as companion and chaperon, a role very necessary given Lady Sara Allamont’s frequent absences from home. Grace and Miss Bellows listened as Dulcie poured out her story, slightly modified to disguise the most lamentable of her ill-tempered words. Dulcie was astonished to find that they approved wholeheartedly of the enterprise.
“How noble of you, sister!” Grace cried, flinging her arms around Dulcie. “It is just what one ought to do, and I wish I had thought of it myself.”
“Do you want to go in my place?” Dulcie said hopefully. “I should not mind at all, and you would be much better at it than I shall be.”
“I should not like to deprive you of the satisfaction of such a worthwhile occupation,” Grace said. “Besides, I do not consider myself competent to cook. Mrs Cooper will not permit me in the kitchen at all since the last accident. Do you remember?”
“I do not imagine any of us will forget your screams,” Miss Bellows said. “What was it that time?”
“A pan of egg custard,” Grace said. “Mrs Cooper was so cross, because she had to begin again.”
“I do remember,” Dulcie said. “Not Mrs Cooper being cross, because how should a cook be cross with one of the ladies of the house, but I recall how you knocked over the pan. Your arm was bandaged for weeks.”
“The mark still shows. At least it matches the other arm now,” Grace said cheerfully. “That was the kettle, and it hurt far more, for some reason. Perhaps I am becoming inured to such insults.” She laughed cheerfully. “So you see, I should not be much use in the Drummonds’ kitchen. I am better away from hot objects.”
“We are all agreed on that, Grace,” Miss Bellows said with a smile. “Sharp objects, too. You are always pricking your finger as you sew. No, I believe Dulcie’s plan is far superior. Ah, Dulcie, I am proud of you! What a generous gesture, and the Drummonds will be so grateful to you. You may be sure we will take the greatest care of dear Miss Drummond while she is convalescing, and naturally we shall visit you often, but you are much better suited to the situation than Grace.”
Dulcie sighed in exasperation. “Grace is the clumsiest person imaginable, we all know that, but it is nothing to the purpose. What about my problem. Is it proper, Miss Bellows? Mr Drummond is an unmarried gentleman.”
“Why do you not stay here?” Grace said. “You could walk to the school every morning and come home in the evening. It is not so far, and a pleasant stroll through the woods.”
“A pleasant stroll when the weather is fine,” Miss Bellows said with a smile. “Not so pleasant, I fancy, in the rain and wind, or on a moonless night. And yet, I do not believe it would be proper for Dulcie to stay at the schoolhouse, not under the same roof as a single gentleman.”
“Indeed not,” Grace said. “But there is no difficulty there. Mrs Lorne lives just five minutes’ walk from the schoolhouse across the field. She is always trying to get boarders, poor lady. Her husband left her very badly off when he died. You could take all your meals at the schoolhouse, you know, and sleep at Mrs Lorne’s house. No one could have the least objection to that.”
Any number of objections rose to Dulcie’s mind, for it seemed unlikely that Mrs Lorne could provide anything comparable to the comforts of the Hall. But she clung to one last hope. “Perhaps Mama will forbid it.”
Dulcie was obliged to wait through several anxious hours until the carriage returned bearing Lady Sara, Connie, Hope and an interesting array of packages, all of which must necessarily be examined and discussed before anything so mundane as Dulcie’s commitment to spend a month at the schoolhouse could be talked about.
Her mama was disappointingly calm about it. Lady Sara was always calm, but Dulcie had hoped for a more animated response than, “Is that so, dear?”
“But I have been considering the matter more fully, Mama, and I do not believe it to be quite the thing for me to stay there.”
“Hmm?” Lady Sara said, fingering a length of pale green taffeta. “You intend to sleep there?”
“Grace has suggested that I may get a room with Mrs Lorne.”
“Well, that is perfectly proper, to stay with a respectable widow. And during the day, will Polly be there at all times?”
“She will, but—”
“Then I do not see the problem. You and Polly may protect each other’s virtue. Does she have any time off?”
“I am not sure.”
“After church on Sunday she goes to see her parents,” Grace said.
“Then you should stay with Miss Endercott at the parsonage until Polly returns,” Lady Sara said. “I see nothing improper in that. Altogether it seems an excellent scheme to me, and you will derive a great deal of benefit in being useful for a change.”
“And what of my reputation?” Dulcie cried in desperation.
“You might perhaps have given that aspect of the arrangement some consideration before promising your aid to Mr Drummond,” her mother said crisply. “You were always impulsive and thoughtless, and this is not the first time it has led you to some questionable situations.” Then, setting the taffeta down with a sigh, she went on, “You are looking for a means to evade a promise freely given, I imagine, but I must disappoint you. Were we living in town, I should not dream of permitting such a thing. Towns are such cold, impersonal places, where there is always some person wishing to tittle-tattle and spread ill-intentioned rumours. But here in the depths of the country, and in our own village, too, where you and Mr Drummond are both so well-known and respected, a great deal of latitude may be allowed. And it is not as if you were a bashful maiden in her first season. You are three and twenty, Dulcie, almost an old maid.”
Dulcie was too upset to speak.
“Besides,” Lady Sara went on, “it would be no bad thing if your reputation were to be damaged in this little scheme of yours, for I am sure Mr Drummond would be very happy to marry you and have your twenty thousand pounds.”
“Well, I would not be in the least happy to marry him!” Dulcie cried. “He is detestable, and I do not like him one bit.”
Lady Sara smiled and shook her head, and nothing Dulcie said could change her mind. Therefore to the schoolhouse she was to go.
~~~~~
Straight after breakfast, Dulcie ordered the carriage to convey her and her box to the village, and bring back Jess Drummond. Connie had helped her to pack her box.
“You must take all your oldest gowns,” she said. “You will want something suitable for work during the day, and I do not imagine Mr Drummond dresses for dinner. He will dine early, I should think. Do stop crying, Dulcie. This is an act of the greatest kindness on your part, so you should be proud of yourself.”
“But I shall have to milk the goat and I do not know how to do it!” Dulcie wailed.
Connie laughed. “Polly will know how it might be managed, I am sure. Her family kept goats — or it might have been cows, I am not very sure. Something that could be milked, in any event. And she will show you how to take care of the chickens.”
“I do not know why Polly cannot do these things,” Dulcie said.
“Because she has a great many other duties to attend to,” Connie said sharply. “If you would rather carry wood, or haul buckets of water, or scrub the floors…”
Dulcie subsided into silence. She had never imagined there would be so much to be done in a small cottage like the schoolhouse. Two or three plain meals each day, a bit of dusting and an annual spring clean — not very taxing. And the animals, of course. But how much work could there possibly be in a goat, a pig and a few chickens? Yet she had an uneasy feeling that there was a great deal to learn about household management.
She had little idea what needed to be done even in her own home. At Allamont Hall, the servants largely came and went unseen, and somehow a room that had been left in disarray the night before would be immaculate when she entered it the next day, with the chairs straightened into neat rows, the fires relaid and fresh flowers in the vases. Each meal saw food set out on the table, and decanters of wine, and she had not the least idea how any of it was managed.
“You will come to see me sometimes?” she said tearfully to Connie, as they awaited the carriage.
“Of course, dear. I will come every day that I can be spared, although there is a great deal to be done before the wedding, you know. This will not be a small family affair, like Amy’s or Belle’s. There is a bishop coming to officiate, and at least one duke will be attending. There is the wedding breakfast to be settled upon, and Lady Humbleforth has agreed that we may hold a ball beforehand, but only if we arrange everything ourselves. I shall be kept very busy, for everything must be done in style.”
“It will all be terribly grand,” Dulcie said sadly. “You will be terribly grand.”
“Nonsense! I shall still be the same Connie I always was. Even dukes and marquesses and earls are just people, after all, and so are marchionesses. Here is the carriage at last. Are you quite ready?”
Dulcie nodded, but she was trembling. What a foolish thing she had done, to agree to this peculiar arrangement! But it was only a month, and surely she could survive a month in a cottage without difficulty? Besides, everyone said it would be a good thing for Jess to live at the Hall for a while, and how kind it was of Dulcie to suggest it. This made her feel excessively virtuous and noble. She stepped into the carriage, and Grace and Hope after her, for they were to take care of Jess on the return journey.
And then they were crunching over the gravel and down the drive.
It was not quite four miles by road to the village, and the journey passed all too quickly for Dulcie. In no time they were drawing up at the end of the little lane that led to the schoolhouse. The carriage could go no further, so they got down and walked. Dulcie’s box was dropped in a pile of bracken beside the road.
“Can you not carry it to the house?” she said to the coachman.
“Beg pardon, miss, but I can’t leave the horses, like.”
“We can carry it between us,” Grace said, lifting one handle and promptly dropping the box on her foot. “Ow! That
is heavy!”
“Leave it there,” Dulcie said. “Mr Drummond can fetch it.”
There was no one around when they arrived at the cottage.
“Hello!” Grace called out. “Mr Drummond! Polly! Where are you?”
There was no answer. The sisters looked in the schoolroom, the parlour and the kitchen, but found no one.
“I see them,” Hope said, peering out of the kitchen window. “They are in the garden.” She went outside and called, and the two came back to the house.
“There you are,” Drummond said crossly to Dulcie. “I had quite given you up.”
“Whatever do you mean? I said I would come, did I not?”
“You should have been here hours ago. It is your responsibility to take care of the porridge and so forth, but Polly has had to do everything and we are all behind now.”
“What, you expect me to start work at dawn?” Dulcie said in astonishment.
“Of course I do!” he snapped. “How else will any of us get any breakfast? You must provide porridge and bread as well as milk from the goat, then after breakfast you must feed the chickens, and then you pick the vegetables and begin on the dinner. Polly and I have had nothing today but stale bread and cheese and yesterday’s leftovers.” He took a deep breath, and his next words were spoken with greater moderation. “Well, you are here now, and a cold meal once in a while will not hurt us. Have you brought the carriage for Jess? Then let us get her on her way. Polly, show Miss Dulcie where she is to sleep, and how to feed the chickens, then you can get back to your own work.”
“Mama does not wish me to sleep here,” Dulcie said.
“Oh.” He stopped halfway out of the door, and looked at her thoughtfully. “That is a good point. I had assumed you would share the loft above the creamery with Polly, but perhaps that is not quite the thing. Nor for Polly either, since Jess will not be here. What are we to do?”
Dulcie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 4) Page 2