Salt Redux

by Lucinda Brant

  “Betsy! Mind your manners!” said a clipped voice at the Countess’s shoulder, Nanny Browne stepping forward to take the wailing baby from the nursery maid. “Her ladyship didn’t address you, nor does her ladyship wish to hear what you have to say.”

  “Oh, but I do, Nanny, if it has anything to do with my children,” Jane said pleasantly, a smile at the new nursery maid who had dropped her gaze to the floor the moment Nanny Browne walked into the room. “I’m not surprised Sam is fretting. He must be very hungry by now. But Mamma will soon have you content,” she said in soothing accents as she peered down at her wailing son squirming in Nanny Browne’s arms. “If I am not in the way, I shall feed Sam here…”

  Instantly, the servants went into action. A footman positioned the wingchair and footstool not too near the warmth radiating from the small fireplace, then promptly left the room to have an upstairs maid fetch her ladyship a pot of tea and a plate of bread with butter. A now-screaming Samuel was handed back to the new nursery maid so Nanny Browne could assist with untying the ribbons either side of her ladyship’s quilted jumps. Jane, once seated comfortably in the wingchair, her feet upon the padded stool and a cushion placed under her elbow, deftly unhooked the front of her maternity stays, allowing her infant son access to what he most desired. All this was accomplished with the greatest speed, and within minutes the Countess’s youngest son was no longer distressed, and the room was again at peace.

  “Come along, Betsy,” Nanny Browne ordered the new nursery maid, who was staring at the Countess suckling her infant, “I’ll find you something to do.”

  Jane looked up from admiring her son, who had his tiny chubby fingers clamped hard about her index finger.

  “Nanny, be good enough to have a maid look in on Miss Merry. She is in the habit of taking Viscount Fourpaws to bed with her, but since Dr. Barlow tells us it is his fur that causes her sneezing, his fluffy lordship is relegated to his basket by the fire in my sitting room.”

  “Very good, my lady.”

  When Nanny Browne jerked her head at the new nursery maid, signal for her to leave the room with her, Jane said, “If you do not have need of Betsy she may remain here, and when the teapot arrives, make herself useful in that way.”

  The head of the nursery closed her mouth, bobbed another curtsy, and with a warning look at Betsy, which went unnoticed because Jane’s attention had returned to her feeding infant, she left the new nursery maid alone with the Countess of Salt Hendon.

  BEING ALONE with her ladyship was a novel experience for Betsy. She had never been alone with anyone higher on the social register in the Earl’s household than his steward, and she had hardly been able to form a sentence in that officious gentleman’s presence. That was just as well, because had Mr. Willis probed her responses a little deeper, he would have discovered that Betsy Smith was not all she said she was, nor were her impressive references genuine. The only details that were true about Betsy Smith were her name and, being the eldest of fourteen children, her experience with infants and very young children. What her ladyship could possibly have to say to her, Betsy had no idea, but what she did know was that this beautiful lady could have no inkling of what was in store for her and her children.

  Betsy had no real idea either, but she had an awful feeling in her gut that whatever it was, it was bad. Aunt Smith, who was not in truth her aunt but a long-time family friend who happened to have the same surname, confided that the woman parading about Polite Society as the Countess of Salt Hendon was not a countess at all, and thus not the true wife of the Earl, but his harlot, who had stolen the Earl from his true wife. The Earl had banished his true wife and entered into an unnatural marriage with his mistress. Aunt Smith said the Earl was bewitched by the harlot’s beauty, which, gazing at her feeding her infant, Betsy could readily believe. Aunt Smith was helping the true countess regain what was rightfully hers, and if Betsy’s father wanted his debts paid and release from Bridewell House on Pinfold Street— Birmingham’s overcrowded and filthy jail and debtors prison—then all George Smith had to do was give Betsy into the care of Bertha Smith.

  George Smith readily complied. He did more than that. He told Betsy to do whatever was necessary to help Aunt Smith, short of murder, which would see Betsy hang and what was the use of a dead daughter to him? He certainly wouldn’t be released and Betsy had to remember to put her father and her thirteen brothers and sisters before herself; it’s what her dead ma would expect.

  Betsy was a good, obedient daughter, and off she went with Aunt Smith and onto the Birmingham-to-Hendon stagecoach. It was on the stagecoach that Aunt Smith told her she was to be a nursery maid in the Earl of Salt Hendon’s household, and when called upon, she was to do precisely as Aunt Smith instructed. Besides obtaining the coin necessary to get her father released from Bridewell House, she would be helping a great lady regain what was rightfully hers, which was surely the right thing to do.

  To her great surprise and trepidation, before entering the stagecoach for the journey to Hendon, she was brought before the true Countess of Salt Hendon. She had never been in the presence of nobility before, and she was so frightened and awed by the grand lady in the magnificently embroidered velvet gown that she was sick to her stomach. The true Countess of Salt Hendon was everything she dreamed a great lady would be: Beautiful, richly attired, and coldly disdaining of everyone who fell under her gaze.

  Betsy was not surprised when the great lady looked at her with disapproval, commented that her hair reminded her of an untrimmed gooseberry bush, and sniffed when Aunt Smith apologized that Betsy had suffered a bout of cowpox but was not, as her ladyship had hoped, suffering with the smallpox—a consequence the true Countess of Salt Hendon had lamented. It was a pity Betsy wasn’t riddled with the smallpox, because the contagion was just what she needed to wipe clean the present scourge from the Earl’s household, to which Aunt Smith had said “Amen”.

  Betsy was given a clean linen gown, a pair of stockings, and second-hand leather shoes that pinched her little toes. She was also provided with an excellent character reference from a previous employer, whose name Betsy had never heard but was assured a copy of the reference had done the trick in gaining her employment in the Salt Hendon household. Mr. Willis had immediately employed Betsy on the strength of that reference. Joining the ranks of the Earl’s battalion of servants could not have been easier.

  What was easier were her daily duties, Betsy thought with a smile. She was given a warm roof over her head and kept fed, and all to care for the most beautiful baby boy she had ever set eyes on. He was no trouble at all. He cried only when he was hungry, and who could blame him for that? Her brothers and sisters had done it often enough, but once weaned from their mother’s breast they had often gone hungry. He would never face a hungry day in his life, and at his rate of growth, Betsy reckoned he was going to grow into a big handsome lad just like his noble father.

  “Mr. Willis tells me you are not from Wiltshire… Betsy?”

  Betsy bobbed a curtsy and dropped her trance-like gaze from the suckling infant to the floor, face aglow at such thoughts being interrupted by the nobleman’s false wife.

  “No, my lady. Birmingham.”

  “You are permitted to look at me, Betsy. In fact, I would prefer that you do. It makes for more pleasant conversation.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Betsy murmured, praying the conversation did not turn to questions about her previous employment. Her prayer went unanswered.

  “Your position before this one was in the nursery of Lady Elizabeth Sedley…? When she was staying in Bath…?”

  “Yes, my lady,” Betsy lied. “But I never seen her ladyship.” Which was the truth, and at the Countess’s quizzical frown, lied again for good measure. “She never visited the nursery.”

  Knowing her friend well, and that she, too, was very much a hands-on mother like Jane, she was surprised by this, but did not contradict the girl. Before putting her contented son to her other breast, she held him to her shoul
der to let his stomach settle, saying as she gently rubbed his back,

  “I know it’s only been a few months since you assisted in the Sedley nursery, so you will be pleased to know you will have the opportunity to become reacquainted with your Sedley babies. Lady Elizabeth and her three children will be here for an afternoon tea and a play next week. They are all eager to make Sam’s acquaintance. And you, my lord,” she said, holding her gurgling son up to her smiling face and rubbing her nose against his before kissing his ripe cheek, “will be on your best behavior. Unlike your brother, who is an outrageous show-off, and Beth, who is feeling less special because she is no longer the baby of the family, so will no doubt test Mamma’s patience with her demands.”

  She moved the cushion to the other arm of the wingchair, Betsy quick to come to her aid, and with her baby son again settled at her breast, looked up with a smile.

  “Perhaps we shall dress Beth in new petticoats and ribands for her hair so she feels special for our guests. What do you think, Betsy?”

  Startled to be asked her opinion, Betsy nodded her agreement and as a maid had arrived with the tea tray, was relieved to have something to do she hoped would preclude more questions being asked by the Earl’s false wife. With the tea poured, sugar and a slice of lemon added, and this and the plate of bread and butter slices put within the Countess’s reach, Betsy retreated to stand by the cradle where she went about neatly tucking the sheets and coverlet, anything to avoid being asked questions she could not answer. It worked for a time, but when Sam was replete, Jane had Betsy cradle him while she readjusted her clothing.

  “When you have changed him into clean linens and a nightgown, please bring him down to my rooms.”

  Betsy’s eyes went very wide, and in her panic she so far forgot herself as to be unintentionally rude.

  “I’ve never been downstairs! I wouldn’t know where to find—”

  “Have Nanny show you. You need to know where Sam sleeps when he is not with you. That way, if I need you, if Sam needs me, you will know where to come.” When Betsy continued to frown, though she bobbed a curtsy and nodded her understanding, Jane came over to her. “I am certain Mr. Willis and Nanny both explained everything you needed to know about your position in his lordship’s household…?”

  “Yes, my lady, they did.”

  “Good. And if you have any questions or need assistance, you go to Nanny without hesitation?”

  “Yes, my lady. Nanny Browne treats me fair.”

  “I am pleased to hear it, Betsy.”

  “I like my work, my lady,” Betsy blurted out and bobbed another curtsy, a glance down at the sleeping infant in her arms. “Sam’s a bonny baby—I mean—Beggin’ your ladyship’s pardon—Samuel.”

  “Sam is best, Betsy. Always Sam.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “I wanted to speak to you myself, because now we are in London, I will be spending more time away from my baby, which means he will be spending more time with you. Nanny tells me you take very good care of Sam and are also very patient with Ned and Beth, too, who both like you. Nothing is more important to his lordship and to me than our children, Betsy. That means who takes care of our children and how they are cared for is of supreme importance. Do you understand?”

  Awed by her ladyship’s words, Betsy nodded. To her way of thinking, she spoke exactly as she imagined a great lady would speak, and acted like one, too. And she was very pretty and wore the most beautiful clothes, all satins and silks with wondrous embroidery. And she was kind. Come to think on it, in the six weeks she had been part of the Salt Hendon household, not one servant had an unkind word to say about her ladyship. The other nursery maids only said good things about the Earl’s false wife, and when Nanny Browne mentioned her ladyship it was as if she worshipped the ground she walked on! She certainly did not appear or act the bad person Aunt Smith said she was. For the first time since becoming part of the Salt Hendon household the thought occurred to Betsy that Aunt Smith may have spun her a web of lies. But how could that be, and to what purpose? Although, watching the Earl’s false wife suckling her infant, it occurred to Betsy that a true lady and a countess, would not stoop to suckling. A nobleman’s true wife gave her infant over to a wet nurse to feed; everyone knew that.

  As if reading her mind, the Countess said,

  “Because I will be spending time away from my baby, most reluctantly I am forced to employ a wet nurse to cater to Sam’s needs.” Her ladyship smiled down at her son in Betsy’s arms and gently caressed his smooth brow with one long finger. “But I don’t want her arrival to stop you giving my darling little boy lots of cuddles. That’s what he needs most when I cannot be with him.” She looked at Betsy. “I want you to go on holding him whenever you please. Babies cannot be spoiled enough. Do you understand me, Betsy?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “I am pleased we understand one another. The cradle is in my bedchamber. Dicken—you are acquainted with my personal maid—will show you if I am indisposed. And if I am not there, please wait until I return. Sam is never to be left alone, Betsy. Ever.”

  Betsy audibly gulped and far from making her ladyship angry, Jane laughed behind her hand, remembering what Caroline had said about Salt scaring the servants witless.

  “You have nothing to fear by coming downstairs to our rooms,” she assured her. “I trust you with Sam, Betsy. I trust you. And if I trust you, then so does Lord Salt.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Betsy said in an awed whisper, holding her precious bundle wrapped in his soft baby blanket a little closer. No one in her young life had ever trusted her with anything before, or spoken to her with such kindness.

  Having her ladyship’s trust made her feel her life was worth something after all; that she had a purpose and it was important, she was important. Never mind that if she did Aunt Smith’s bidding, her father would be released from Bridewell House and her brothers and sisters not be forced to beg on the streets. Helping her family was expected and retribution threatened if she failed them, not least a good beating from her unforgiving father. Betsy so wanted to believe in her heart of hearts that this beautiful kind creature was indeed the real countess. She wished, too, that she could help her avoid what Aunt Smith said was her due for her wickedness in stealing away the Earl from his true wife.

  She had no idea what reckoning was planned for the Earl’s false wife, and even if she did, what could she, a lowly nursery maid do to prevent it?

  It was not the specter of Aunt Smith’s anger that kept Betsy silent and biddable, it was the frightening image of the true Countess of Salt Hendon. She might not be able to put a stop to whatever was planned for the false wife, but there was one thing she knew she could do. She vowed with every fiber of her being not to allow harm to come to the baby cradled in her arms. And as if hearing her silent vow, Samuel Antony Hugh Sinclair, second in line to an ancient earldom, turned his head to the warmth of Betsy’s body and gave a contended milk-drugged sigh.

  TEN

  WITH LADY REANAY safely out of the house, Diana St. John re-entered the salon with a self-satisfied smiled. She swept up to her brother, who was being showered with good wishes upon his engagement to Lady Caroline Aldershot, and led him away, to the clavichord, with the pretext of wanting a private word. In truth, she was unhappy the focus of her little gathering had shifted from her successful return to society’s bosom to her sentimental brother’s maudlin and very public proposal of marriage.

  Still numb and feeling as if he had just lived through a dream, Sir Antony acquiesced to his sister’s request, hearing only one word in ten of the guests’ congratulatory good wishes. He was still dazed by his outlandish behavior, given what had occurred the last time he and Lady Caroline were together in company, and because Caroline had hesitated to say yes. He had expected, naively in hindsight, she would be elated he had finally proposed, and would accept without hesitation. After all, it was what they had both wanted, wasn’t it?

  When he realized Diana ha
d brought him to stand before the clavichord, he mentally shook his thoughts free of Caroline. It did not do to cloud his mind in a mental fog around his sister. With supreme effort of will, he turned his attention to her.

  Diana sat beside him on the padded music stool, back to the clavichord’s ivory keys, and said with a tight smile, “Well, brother dear, you have done what I thought impossible! You have surprised me. Twice in two days, in fact.”

  “How so?” he asked mildly, setting the score sheet on the music stand and staring, not at her, but at the crochets and quavers in front of him. He hoped his voice held a note of disinterest.

  “I never thought to see you lean and sober.” She cocked her head, studying his profile. “I am undecided if I like you this way…”

  “When you have made up your mind, I am sure you will let me know.”

  She gave a huff of harsh laughter. “That I will!”

  “And the second?”

  “Your impetuous proposal to Caroline.”

  “Impetuous?”

  “Dear me, Antony, I knew she had a girlish infatuation for you, and you indulged her, but to offer her your name…?” She leaned against his silken shoulder. “But perhaps you truly are ignorant, or allowed yourself to be deluded into ignorance? What a shame your declaration was so public, you cannot now retract your offer…”

  It took all his self-control not to move away from her proximity. Yet, for one moment, he allowed himself to believe his sister capable of normal emotion and he dropped his guard. “I love Caroline. I have wanted to marry her since I can remember. That’s all there is to it, Di.”

  “Love her? How quaint,” she responded dismissively and sighed her resignation. “But you were ever the romantic, and that is why you will never rise to the dizzying heights of the Privy Council. Unlike Salt, you are incapable of detaching your feelings when making a decision. In politics, the end always justifies the means, as it does in war. Do you know the gentleman seated in conversation with Mr. Wraxton?”