Salt goggled at him. “I do believe you will be an ambassador one day.”
Sir Antony smiled and made him a bow. But when he straightened the smile was gone and he said seriously,
“It is not my place to tell you how to run your household or your nursery, so you must excuse me if this thought has already occurred to you. But given Diana visited your nursery, it must somehow figure in her plans.”
“You think Diana went to the nursery to reconnoiter.”
“I do, and suggest that on the night of the masquerade the children be moved to the royal tennis court gallery. Make a special treat of it. In the smallest of the four crates Miller is keeping for me, until I can present you with my gifts, there is a magic lantern and several boxes of plates that will keep them amused and occupied for most of the night. I will send Semper around later today to show a footman how to work it.”
“Why the tennis court?”
“It is a wide-open space with nowhere to hide and there are only two points of entry. With footmen in place, it cannot be breached. With three hundred people in the ballroom on the night, and people to’ing and fro’ing to the refreshment rooms and card tables, it would be an easy thing for Diana to slip away upstairs and no one the wiser, not even the servants, who will be distracted attending to guests.”
Jane squeezed Sir Antony’s silken sleeve.
“Your idea is an excellent one, and the children will love to see the magic lantern. Thank you. Now you must excuse me as Sam will be wanting his Mamma, and then I am to join the ladies in Lady Reanay’s apartments to discuss our outfits for the masquerade. No! You may not enquire as to what we are all wearing,” she said with a dimpled smile at the Earl when he lifted his eyebrows in inquiry. “You shall see on the night, and not before! Oh, Antony, was there a purpose to your visit, not that you need one. You are most welcome any time. Shall I have Caroline fetched? When she was not at breakfast I supposed she had overslept…”
The mention of his godson brought Sir Antony hurtling back to his purpose in coming to Salt House. While he had no wish to disturb the household’s equilibrium, he had to discover and expose the agent who was working for his sister inside the Earl’s house, whatever further distress this caused the Earl and Countess. He asked Jane if he might accompany her to the nursery and see for himself where his godson slept. It would give him the opportunity to ask her in private about the girl in the overlarge mob cap and her position in the household.
What he and Jane discovered when they arrived at the nursery astounded them both.
TWENTY-THREE
BETSY WAS SOBBING. She was sobbing so hard her eyes and nose were running and every muscle in her thin body ached, twisted up with anguish and fear. The thin handkerchief in her tight fist was wet through, and so was the lap of her petticoat. She had lost the use of speech and could only shake her head over and over to the same questions put to her by the housekeeper, the large frill of her cap flapping about her wet face like a pair of swan’s wings. She was seated on her trundle bed in the corner of the room off Sam’s bedchamber which was crammed with the necessary paraphernalia required to clean, dress and make comfortable the infant of noble parents. The housekeeper and Nanny Browne were standing over her, and behind them was the dour-faced Miller; the nursery maid Sukie cowered with a whimpering Sam cradled in her arms.
Sir Antony could not believe his eyes, or his luck. He gave a start and took a step backward and stood in the doorway as Jane bustled into the room. The girl sobbing on the bed had to be the flap-flap girl of Hilary Wraxton’s poem. Surely, no one else in the Salt Hendon household wore such a startling mob cap. He wondered what had caused her such distress and patiently looked on as Jane took matters in hand. He was soon to find out.
Jane could not believe her eyes either. She picked up her infant son and smiled down at him, gave him a big kiss and tickled his nose with the end of hers then handed him back to the nursery maid. She instructed her to take Sam through to the playroom where he would not be within hearing range of such distress; she would be with him very soon. One quiet word at the butler’s back and not only did Miller turn about, but the two senior females of her household domestic staff fell apart and down into tight-lipped curtsies.
“Good Gracious! Betsy? Whatever is the matter?”
“My lady, I beg your forgiveness for this most unnecessary and unsatisfactory disturbance but—”
“Thank you, Miller. I wish to speak with Betsy,” Jane said firmly. “What I ask of you is to have tea fetched to the playroom, and tell Dicken to lay me out fresh petticoats and a pair of shoes.” When the butler just stood there and exchanged a look with the housekeeper, she added with a note of imperiousness, “I beg your pardon, but was there any part of my request that was unintelligible?”
“No, my lady. Very good, my lady,” the butler replied tonelessly with a nod, and took himself off, determined to have a word with his lordship if the little thief wasn’t shown the gutter before sunset.
Sir Antony could not help a smile at Jane’s confident dismissal of the senior servant of the household, every inch of her slender frame a countess, and he silently watched proceedings unfold, aware that it might be some time before the nursery maid was able to answer his questions, such was her distress.
“My lady, if you only knew what this-this—wicked and ungrateful creature has done!” the housekeeper blurted out. “She is a-a thief and a-a liar and should be shown—”
The word thief was enough to rouse Betsy from her melancholy stupor. She was up off the bed and threw herself to her knees at the Countess’s feet before she could be stopped, going so far as to grab the delicate silk embroidered hem of Jane’s petticoats in two fists.
“I’m no thief! I’m no liar! I-I—It ain’t true!” Betsy blubbered, looking up into Jane’s face. “You must believe me, my lady! Please, my lady! Please. I’m none of those nasty things! I don’t want to be hanged! Don’t let his lordship have me hanged!”
Momentarily stunned by the girl’s actions and her terrified plea, Jane was slow to react. The housekeeper mistook this reaction for revulsion at having her person handled by a menial, and a lowly nursery maid at that, and she grabbed Betsy by the upper arm and tried to haul her up and away from the Countess.
“Get up! Get up, dolt!” the housekeeper demanded, tugging at Betsy’s arm. “Nanny Browne! Grab her other arm!”
“No! no! I love baby Sam!” Betsy wailed, holding fast to the Countess’s petticoats. “As God is my witness, my lady, I’d never do anything to harm him! Never! You know I love baby Sam! I made you that promise! Remember? You must remember!”
“Sam? What has this to do with Sam?” Jane asked, suddenly fearful for her infant.
“How dare you address the Countess before being spoken to! How dare you assault her ladyship!” the housekeeper hissed in Betsy’s ear, continuing to tug on the girl’s thin arm. “You have no place in this household, no place at all after what you’ve done!”
“Betsy!” Nanny Browne whispered in the girl’s other ear, a tight hold on her upper arm, “Stop this at once. You are only making matters worse for yourself. Own to it and you may have your life spared.”
Jane looked down at Mrs. McIntyre and Nanny Browne, both women with a tight grip on Betsy’s thin arms, all sense of decorum and place cast to the winds. A temporary madness had taken over her household, but she was determined it was not going to overwhelm her. She was also determined that Betsy would have a fair hearing. She remembered a time when she herself had been treated as less than nothing by those in a position to know better, demonized and vilified, with no voice of her own and no one to champion her cause. She had been so helpless and alone in the world. A steadfast self-belief and an ingrained optimism that her life would one day be just as she imagined it, married to the man she loved and with a family of her own, had kept her spirits from flagging into perpetual melancholy.
This poor creature who gripped her petticoats as if her life depended on her word h
ad no one in the world and no prospects, and so had every right to her terror. Jane was not about to see her dismissed without giving her the benefit of the doubt, and that meant talking to her without the presence of others.
Yet, four years as Countess of Salt Hendon had opened Jane’s eyes to the myriad of layers to a nobleman’s grand establishment and what constituted a well-run household, one of which was the pride and satisfaction the servants of a nobleman, particularly the upper servants with whom she had daily contact, derived from being valued members of the Earl of Salt Hendon’s household. Thus she could not dismiss out-of-hand the opinions of her housekeeper or her nanny. They deserved a fair hearing, too, even if she had given Miller his marching orders. But the nursery was not the butler’s domain, and she was certain Mrs. McIntyre and Nanny Browne would tell him so, whatever his dominion over these and all servants below stairs. What she was also certain of was that her two most senior female servants would be mortified by their behavior when they came to their senses, not only because of the way they had behaved in her presence but also because it was in the presence of Sir Antony, a guest to the house and thus an outsider.
“Mrs. McIntyre. Nanny. Please unhand Betsy and show my guest some common civility,” Jane commanded quietly. “Sam’s godfather, Sir Antony Templestowe has come to see for himself where his godson spends his days with his brother and sister when he is not with me.” When both women slowly rose up, brushed down their petticoats and bobbed curtsies with chins down, she smiled to herself, but added with a sad sigh, “I am only sorry his lordship had to bear witness to a common brawl. I assure you, Sir Antony, that in all my days, I have never seen the like before! And in the nursery, too, which, thanks to Nanny, is normally a place of happiness and calm for his lordship’s children. I can only think there must be something odd about the tea today.”
“My lady, I cannot apologize enough for having caused your ladyship and-and—Sir Antony such distress,” the housekeeper murmured, stricken with acute embarrassment. “I assure your lordship that this is not the usual manner in which matters are conducted in his lordship’s house. As her ladyship rightly says, it is a most unusual occurrence indeed…”
“Most unusual,” Nanny Browne threw in because she felt she should add something. She looked at the Countess and then down at Betsy who had let go of her ladyship’s petticoats but who still cowered at her feet. “Thank you, my lady, for your kind words about the nursery. I do my best for their little lordships and her little ladyship.”
“I know you do, Nanny, and Lord Salt and I cannot praise you enough,” the Countess replied. “Mrs. McIntyre? I am sure you will agree that it would be best to leave this small domestic matter to Nanny. You must have a thousand more important matters to oversee, what with the masquerade ball the day after tomorrow…?”
Jane let the sentence hang, hopeful the housekeeper would see sense. The woman nodded, curtsied, then silently took her leave, a quick worried glance exchanged with Nanny Browne, something Jane ignored.
“Nanny, when Betsy has washed her face and tidied herself, and has had a few moments to recover her wits, please bring her through to the playroom. Sir Antony has a few questions he wishes to put to Sam’s nurse, which,” she added with a kind smile, “I am certain you appreciate take precedence over this little incident…?”
Again, Jane let the sentence hang, and as had happened with the housekeeper, Nanny Browne bobbed a curtsy, a furtive glance at the tall handsome gentleman in the fine candy-striped silks.
“Of course, my lady. I shall send Betsy through to you directly.”
Sir Antony remembered well the nursery playroom that stretched almost the width of the house, and it made him smile, despite his trepidation at what the interview with Betsy might reveal. The familiar blue-painted walls and the marionette theater up against one wall were as he remembered them, but the scattering of toys littering the carpet, and the small pile of paintings in the fist of a child across the surface of a child-sized table that had four small chairs drawn up to it, were new. How times had changed for the better in this house, and he intended to do everything in his power to ensure they continued that way.
“Merry is not the only budding artist in the family I see,” he said, lifting a corner of one of the parchments. “A dog. A bird. A cat?” He held up a parchment that had a dark painted center and on this dark center was a crudely painted white blob with four thick brushstrokes radiating out from one side and many thinner strokes in relatively straight lines from another part of the circle. “Or perhaps it is a portrait of Viscount Fourpaws all grown up?”
“Indeed it is his fluffy lordship. And a most fabulous guess, Antony! Or was it the whiskers that informed you?”
Jane laughed behind her hand, seeing her son’s efforts at emulating his cousin Merry’s exceptional drawing talents for what they were: Special to her but nothing out of the ordinary to the larger world. She retreated to the window seat, where Sukie was cradling a restless Sam. With her infant back in her arms, she dismissed the nursery maid, asking her to fetch Betsy, and hoping the girl was ready and willing to be interviewed.
“I must warn you, Antony, there is a great likelihood Sam will demand his midmorning feed before your interview is concluded, a circumstance I can do little about.”
“You must not apologize for what is the most natural thing in the world,” Sir Antony said with a gentle smile. “And this is a nursery… Ah! Here is the tea.” He went about making the cups of tea as best he could, and as his ritual demanded. “I must warn you, too, my lady—
“Jane. It has always been Jane between us…”
“Yes, yes, so it has.” He smiled and placed Jane’s cup of tea on the window seat between them. “Jane… I must warn you, the questions I need to put to Betsy will disturb you. I only pray her responses are what we both need to hear. I don’t want to think the worst. I want to believe that by some miracle of common sense or serendipity, all is as it should be in this wonderful little corner of your world.”
“I have a foreboding that in some inexplicable way Diana is involved.”
“Yes. But I do not think it inexplicable. I believe we shall find that it has all been very carefully planned. What we must put our trust in is something that Diana is incapable of understanding but which you and I believe is indubitable.”
“And that is?”
Sir Antony smiled crookedly, a heighten color to his lean cheeks.
“It is something Diana sees as a major flaw in my character. Most definitely a weakness in a male… And she despises you for it because it makes Salt love you all the more.” He put his teacup on its saucer and met Jane’s blue eyes. “It is the capacity for love to conquer all—to conquer evil. Betsy called out that as God is her witness, she loves baby Sam. That is what shall ruin Diana’s diabolical scheming. It simply would never have occurred to her that Betsy would not do her bidding, that a girl of no family and little prospects would cross her—that Betsy has a good heart.”
Jane baulked.
“Diana sent Betsy to this household to do her bidding; a poor girl of fifteen—to spy on us? Goodness me! I do not disbelieve you. What must she have over the poor child to make her want to do such a dreadful thing? Betsy hasn’t an evil bone in her body.”
“Yes. That’s what I believe, too, now that I have seen the girl.”
“Do you think there are other servants in this household in your sister’s keeping?”
“I could not say, but I do not believe so. That is, unless, you have employed other household servants since my sister’s escape from Harlech?”
Jane shook her head.
“Good. I just hope young Betsy has remained steadfast and not weakened under my sister’s constant haranguing. Believe me, I know how easy it is to give in. Diana is an implacable force of nature when she wants something. She made my childhood an absolute misery. Ah! Here is my godson’s nurse now.”
“Come forward, Betsy,” Jane said with a smile.
Bets
y did as she was told, slowly, gaze to the floorboards, her ever present mob cap with its wide brim shielding her face.
“Do me the favor of removing your cap, Betsy, so that Lady Salt and I may see your face.”
Betsy did as Sir Antony asked of her and a great mass of wiry curls sprang out and around her face, the curls dropping no lower than the lobes of her ears so that it appeared as if a bowl had been place over her head and her hair cut around it. On anyone with straight hair such a haircut would have made them appear ugly but because Betsy’s hair was so curly, it rather suited her. Sir Antony and Jane had never seen the like before, so much so that Jane asked,
“Who cut off your hair, Betsy?”
It was not a question the girl was expecting, and she gave a start.
“I won’t lose my position because of my hair, will I, my lady?”
“It is not your hair that concerns us, Betsy,” Jane replied kindly. “Though you must not be so self-conscious about it in future. Having such short curls is quite pretty.”
Betsy’s eyes lit up and she smiled nervously, the cap unconsciously screwed up in her hands. The compliment also loosened her tongue and made her feel at ease.
“Do you truly think so, my lady? Me da, he cut it off. He said it got in the way. That I didn’t need it, as no boy was going to look at a skinny wench like me anyways, and as I had no prospect of marrying what was the use of it?” She shrugged. “Nanny Browne says it will grow again in time.”
“And so it will… Betsy, Sir Antony wishes to ask you a few questions. I know you will give truthful answers.”
“Yes, my lady. Yes, I will! I don’t tell lies! I told Nanny Browne that, and Mrs. McIntyre, but they—Sorry, my lady…” She glanced at Sir Antony, adding in a rush, “I don’t tell tales neither!”
“Well, Betsy, you may have to break that rule this once because it is a tale I wish you to tell. A truthful tale,” Sir Antony said mildly. “But first, there is a very pressing question that requires an immediate answer.”
Salt Redux Page 30