by Abby Grahame
Lila’s shoulders sagged with relief. “I knew it couldn’t be,” she gushed. “I just had to hear it from you.”
“You needn’t worry, Lila. The Darlingtons may not enjoy the wealth of yesterday, but we are far from destitute.”
Fighting the impulse to throw her arms around her father, a familiarity that always made him uneasy, Lila smiled at Lord Darlington. “Thank you for being frank with me, Father,” she said. “I was so concerned.”
“Don’t think about it for another moment,” Lord Darlington said. “Now, if you will leave me to double-check these estate expenditures.”
“Of course.”
Lila hurried back to her bedroom to give Nora the good news. “It’s all fine. It’s all something or other about having proper insurance. There’s no cause to worry.”
“That’s wonderful,” Nora said happily. “Thank you for finding out, Miss Lila.” As Nora crossed to the desk near the window to pick up the soiled laundry, she looked out. “Did you know your brother was coming home?”
Lila ran to the window to see for herself. A slim, handsome young man with blond hair so like the pale shade of their mother’s had emerged from the passenger side of a shiny motorcar with large, narrow white tires and no roof. The driver was a young man of the same age, a little shorter than Teddy but still quite tall. His honey-blond hair caught the sunlight and made him look quite dashing. She wouldn’t call him handsome, exactly. He wasn’t polished like Teddy or even Wes. But what was really remarkable was his laugh. She could hear it even from here! Lila liked this fellow instantly.
Wesley had spent the early part of the summer in the United States with his American friend Ian who was also studying in Oxford. The driver must be Ian. She’d assumed Wesley was going directly back to school from America but was delighted that he hadn’t.
Not wasting another moment by the window, Lila bounded out of the room and ran all the way down to the first floor. She encountered Wesley and his friend as they were coming in the front door, suitcases in hand.
“Wes!” she greeted him with a happy shout. “Do Father and Mother expect you? They didn’t tell me you were coming.”
Wesley set his suitcase down and hugged her warmly. “Look at you!” he cried, taking her by the shoulders and studying her. “All grown up since I last saw you. You look smashing, Lila!”
Lila felt herself blush as she basked in the warmth of his praise. Wesley turned to his friend. “Ian, this is my little sis I’ve been telling you about, only she’s looking a lot older than the last time she and I were together.”
Ian stepped forward and extended his hand. Somehow Lila knew he meant to shake rather than kiss her hand and she pumped it enthusiastically. “Ian Martin,” he introduced himself. “Glad to meet you, Lila.”
“Glad to meet you,” Lila echoed, grinning. His hand was warm and strong and he had a pleasant, open face.
“Is Maggie around?”
“I think she went out for a walk.”
“Where are Mother and Father?” Wesley asked.
“Father’s in his study and Mother is in the parlor with our houseguests, the Fitzhughs.”
“Set your suitcase down, Ian. The butler will get it,” Wesley said.
Ian gazed around the foyer, clearly awed by it. “Better stick close to me, you two. I could get lost in a place this gigantic.”
“Your place in Newport was this big,” Wesley said.
“Not by half,” Ian disagreed. “This is a palace.”
Percival the head butler greeted them and Wesley requested that the rest of Ian’s and his luggage be brought in. “You can put Mr. Martin’s things in the guest bedroom next to mine,” he instructed.
“Very good, sir.” In minutes Percival enlisted two butlers to bring in the rest of the bags. Percival himself carried several issues of a newspaper. “These were on the floor of the car, sir. What would you like me to do with them?”
“Thanks, Percival,” Wesley said. “I’ll take those.”
“Why are you keeping those old papers?” Lila asked.
“They’re part of the reason I came home. I want to talk to Father about them. See for yourself.” Wesley took the top paper and set the rest of them at his feet. Quickly flipping through it, he soon found what he’d been searching for and handed the open paper to Lila.
Not sure what she was looking at, Lila began to read aloud. “The Worthless Saga,” she said. “This sounds funny.” But as she scanned the article, her eyes widened with horror. “Wes, this is about us!”
“I think that’s a pretty safe guess,” Wesley agreed.
Lila’s head was reeling with disbelief. Was she the character they called Doodles? She had to be! Constantly overlooked, forgotten about! How completely humiliating! How mortifying! This was horrible!
“Who could have written this?” Lila asked.
“I have no idea,” Wesley replied. “But one thing is clear enough: The author of this is someone living here at Wentworth Hall.”
Chapter Thirteen
THERESE STOOD BY THE KITCHEN WINDOW watching Michael and Maggie talking out on the path. Was Maggie crying? From this distance it was hard to tell. Therese was the one who should be crying after the way Maggie had spoken to her that morning. She didn’t feel like crying though. Instead, she was more curious to see what was going on outside.
Today’s walk had confirmed the suspicions that had been forming in her mind from the first moment she laid eyes on Michael. Seeing him up close and then experiencing Maggie’s rage at the sight of him with the baby and Therese had cast away all doubts. What she suspected was true. It seemed every generation of Darlington had secrets to answer for.
Couldn’t Michael see it? Was it her duty as his friend to point it out? It didn’t seem fair that the upper classes could keep secrets to protect themselves, regardless of how it hurt other people. She knew all too well the pain of that.
“Therese,” Mrs. Howard’s voice cut through her reverie. “Where is James?”
“He is in his crib, Madame,” Therese answered. “He naps at this hour. I thought to slip away for a moment or two.”
“Good, then join us upstairs in the dining room,” Mrs. Howard commanded. “I need to address the entire staff.”
“Oui, Madame.” Therese reluctantly left the window and followed the head housekeeper up the servants’ staircase to the dining room where the rest of the servants were already assembled.
Therese stood alongside Nora. Scanning the anxious faces around her, Therese wondered if some of them were about to be fired. It could be a hundred other things, of course, but that was what was on each of their minds. She could see it in the darting eyes and bitten lips of her coworkers.
Mrs. Howard held a newspaper over her head. It was the Sussex Courier. “As some of you may already know,” she began, “Master Wesley has just returned home. On his journey back to Sussex, he came across a newspaper publishing thinly disguised satires about the Darlington Family.”
Mrs. Howard put down the paper and waited until the buzz of shocked murmurs had subsided. “Master Wesley believes that this embarrassment to the Darlingtons contains information that could only be gleaned by someone living at Wentworth Hall. And since it targets the family, it is most probably a member of the serving staff.”
“Do you really think it could be one of us?” Grace asked, personally affronted.
“I think there’s a distinct possibility,” Mrs. Howard confirmed, anger flashing in her eyes. “And if that is so, I find it very sad indeed. The Darlingtons have always treated the staff here at Wentworth Hall with the utmost respect and consideration. If any one of you has been so ungrateful as to…”
Mrs. Howard’s remaining words were lost as once more the din of excited speculation filled the room. “Quiet! Quiet, please,” Mrs. Howard insisted. “This would be an opportune moment for the author of these satires to confess.”
Therese waited along with the rest of the staff for someone to speak up. The trut
h was, it could have been any of them. She’d heard any number of the maids making fun of the Darlingtons. She herself had laughed along.
Minutes passed but no one stepped forward. When next Mrs. Howard spoke, she kept her gaze on Therese. “If no one admits to this egregious breach of privacy, we may all lose our jobs. Do you really think the Darlingtons will tolerate being made laughingstocks by someone in their own household?”
Others on the staff noticed that Therese was being singled out and turned toward her. Therese could feel the burn of embarrassment flushing her cheeks. “I do not know who did this, but it was most certainly not me,” she felt compelled to defend herself. “For one thing, I have never learned to write in English.”
“If you ask me,” Nora spoke up, “that Jessica Fitzhugh is a likely suspect. She’s always making disparaging remarks about the Darlingtons, as if she thinks she’s too good for them.”
“Miss Fitzhugh is one of those lampooned in the satires,” Mrs. Howard pointed out.
“I’ve read them,” Nora argued. “I saw the paper on Lady Darlington’s vanity and couldn’t help but glance at it since it was very clear that whatever it was had upset her ladyship; and if you ask me, Jessica Fitzhugh—and Teddy Fitzhugh, for that matter—get off very lightly. Nothing is mocked about him, and the worst thing that’s said of Jessica is that she wears too much jewelry. She probably stuck that in there just so she wouldn’t look guilty.”
“She is always writing in that funny red notebook,” Helen put in.
“And it must be hard to write with her nose up in the air like that all the time,” added Grace.
“But why would she do such a thing?” Rose protested. “She has no need for the money.”
“Maybe she’s jealous,” Nora suggested.
“She’ll soon have much more money than the Darlingtons,” Rose said. “Why should she be jealous of them?”
“Maybe because the Darlingtons are a family and all she has is that aggravating brother of hers, Teddy,” Nora argued.
“She doesn’t seem to think he’s annoying,” Grace pointed out. “Those twins dote on each other.”
“There is no sense indulging in idle and pointless speculation,” Mrs. Howard spoke loudly. “Whoever is responsible for this will confess within the week or it is my firm belief that the Darlingtons will do the only thing they can do—replace the entire staff. You are dismissed. Please return promptly to your duties.”
Despite Mrs. Howard urging that they get back to work, the staff milled about in the dining room discussing the newspaper satires. “No one is getting the sack over this,” Nora told Grace, Helen, and Therese with confidence. “Who are they going to replace us with? How many others are willing to work for little more than room and board like we get here? Not many, I can tell you that.”
“But that’s all the more reason why a person might want to make extra money on the side by selling a funny story to a newspaper,” Therese pointed out.
“There are other ways to make extra besides embarrassing the Darlingtons,” Nora objected.
Mrs. Howard came by, clapping her hands sharply. “Back to work, all of you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Helen spoke for all of them.
As they dispersed Therese came alongside Nora. “Selling articles might get you your tearoom faster,” she said.
Nora whirled on her, clearly offended. “I told you. I take in sewing,” she said, speaking in a confidential whisper. “Are you accusing me?”
“I am not accusing anyone,” Therese insisted.
“Well I don’t believe you can’t write in English. You can certainly read it,” Nora said, giving Therese a pointed look.
The solicitor’s letter. “Reading and writing are not the same,” Therese said.
“Hmm,” Nora replied. “And how did you learn English in France, anyway?”
“My mother taught me. She lived in England for a time,” Therese said. “Think, dear Nora, it wasn’t me. I have nowhere to go. Why would I risk a warm bed and food in my stomach for a few pounds?”
“I still say it’s that Jessica,” Nora muttered as they headed out of the room.
“You will lose your position for certain if you wrongly accuse one of the Fitzhughs,” Therese pointed out.
“You’re right,” Nora agreed. “But I might just plant the idea in Lila’s head.”
“How would you do that?” Therese asked.
“I have my ways,” Nora said with assurance.
Chapter Fourteen
THE SUSSEX COURIER
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF … THE WORTHLESS SAGA
Another rib-tickling installment of our
popular ongoing new series
“Wild Stallions in the Ballroom”
What was the scene like at a recent country dance attended by those ever-entertaining Worthless sisters? Our spies tell us it was quite the crush!
Doodles and Snobby Worthless stood in the ballroom of their dilapidated and now empty estate, Faded Glory Manor. They concocted ball gowns by ripping down the peeling wallpaper and folding them into dresses. “It doesn’t matter that Father has sold all our possessions, Doodles,” Snobby told her sister. “By throwing this ball we will find husbands with fabulous fortunes. They will heap jewels on us and restore Faded Glory Manor to its former grandeur.”
“Who has been invited?” asked Doodles.
“All our friends and neighbors! Here are some of our friends now,” Snobby cried. “Welcome, neighbors. Do come in.”
A troop of local shepherds in muddy boots marched in. “Thanks for the invite. Where’s the grub?” says one.
“Grub?” Snobby inquired, confused.
“The food we were promised,” another farmer reminded her.
“Oh, that,” Snobby simpered. “It’s on its way.”
“It better come soon,” another farmer grumbled.
Snobby caught sight of a more suitable guest coming into the ballroom and hurried toward him. “It’s Duke Oldenfat,” she trilled with delight.
The duke, who is a hundred if he’s a day, grinned and winked at Snobby. “So nice of you to invite me, my dear. You know how I’ve admired you from afar.”
“Not that far,” Snobby reminded him. “You sit under my window and recite bawdy limericks.”
“Ah, yes. You once inspired me,” the duke agreed. He squared his shoulders as he prepared to recite. “There was a young woman from Dorset who would let me remove her—”
“That will be enough of that,” Snobby interrupted.
“Hey, where’s the food?” yelled one of the farmers.
“Coming,” Snobby told him. “Doodles, dear, would you go see if you can scrap up something to eat around here,” Snobby requested. When Doodles didn’t answer, Snobby realized that with her sister’s propensity for blending into the background she would never find her now that she’d been literally dressed in wallpaper.
“Food!” another farmer shouted. “You promised us food!”
“Put a sock in it!” Snobby bellowed back. Turning back to Duke Oldenfat she smiled graciously because she knew that he could be an excellent source of funding and at his age wouldn’t last long. Snobby dreams of the day when she would be a Merry Widow.
“Did you like the poem?” Duke Oldenfat asked, drool spilling from his lips as he looked at Snobby with unabashed lechery.
“Utterly divine,” Snobby crooned. Wanting to hurry things along, she took the sides of her dress and yanked them suggestively down so her skinny shoulders were exposed. “Here, duke, sniff me for a while,” she said leaning close to the old duke. “Tell me if you like my perfume.”
The duke held his nose.
“You don’t love it?” Snobby asked, aghast.
“Frankly my dear, everything about you has started to stink. How long do you think you can toy with my affections? You’re young enough to be my daughter and I no longer think it would be fun to have a spoiled brat running around my lavish estate.” He bowed deeply, and the effort he
expended brought on a coughing fit.
“But Duke, I could tend to you in your dotage,” Snobby insisted, solicitously helping him stand straight.
“Sorry, young lady. I retract my offer. I bid you adieu.” The duke stormed off, leaving Snobby there to watch him leave. “Oh, who cares about you, you old coot?!” she shouted after him. “I still have Richard, who adores me, and he’s richer than you.”
“Did you say I adore you?”
Snobby whirls around to see Richard behind her. “Of course you do,” Snobby replied with confidence. “Time is running short. When shall we marry?”
“To be honest, Snobby, time is not running short,” Richard replied.
“It’s not?” Snobby questioned.
“No. It’s run out.”
“Run out?!” Snobby cried, shocked. “What do you mean? You adore me!”
“Alas, once I did. But now I have my inheritance and I see that… well, that…” Richard hesitated, momentarily at a loss for words. “There’s no other way to say it, Snobby: I’m just too good for you.”