Milton Grandby vowed to learn exactly what had happened in Darlington. And he knew the perfect woman to ask.
Chapter 29
It’s Beginning to Feel…
Just beyond the front doors of Torrington Park
Although Adele expected to be blasted by cold air when she stepped out the front doors of Torrington Park, she was surprised to discover a sunny sky and little in the way of wind. “I thought you said it was always windy here,” she admonished her husband when he stepped alongside her.
“It is. We’re on the opposite side from where it’s coming from,” he replied, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Shall we?”
Milton offered his arm, and she placed a hand on it. “Just where are these pine trees you wish to butcher?” he wondered as he glanced around. There wasn’t a tree line anywhere close by.
“Why, the first one is right here,” she said as she turned to her right.
That’s when Milton realized they wouldn’t be venturing far from the castle-cum-hunting lodge. A series of pine trees, spaced several yards apart, lined the entire perimeter of the building. Armed with a hand saw, one footman moved ahead and stood waiting for instructions while another carrying a pruning shears joined him. Another could be seen in the distance on his way from the stables. He was pushing an empty wheelbarrow.
“They’ve obviously done this before,” Adele murmured.
“Indeed, although I think it’s been a few years.” He motioned toward the ornamental trees visible from their vantage. Several were in need of trimming. “Would you like to do the honors? I’m not sure what it is you’d like in the way of wreaths and such.”
Adele’s eyes widened. “I’ve never done this before,” she replied.
Milton frowned. “Who made the wreaths for Worthington House? I remember seeing them last year on the front door and above the fireplace,” he argued.
Rolling her eyes, Adele leaned closer to her husband and whispered, “I bought them already made up. I do every year. I get them from a nursery in Chiswick,” she added when she saw the look of surprise on her husband’s face. “All I do is add the ribbon.”
The earl gave a nod. “So then we shall learn this together. Devlin,” he called out.
The footman carrying the hand saw replied, “Yes, your lordship?”
“What do you recommend?”
He listened and watched as the man noted several branches in need of cutting.
“And perhaps that one there?” Adele asked as she pointed to an arched branch that seemed a bit out of place.
“Yes, my lady,” Devlin replied.
“Make it so,” Milton ordered.
Between the two footmen, several pine boughs came free of the tree. Adele was happy to gather the branches as they started to fall, her arms laden until the wheelbarrow was close enough to take them. They moved onto the next tree and did the same, Milton taking a turn at the saw until a bough fell to the ground. By the sixth tree, the wheelbarrow was full.
“Is that enough for the wreath for the front door, do you suppose?” Milton wondered.
Adele giggled. “It’s probably enough for three doors.”
The footman bearing the pruning shears gave a shake of his head. “Beggin’ the ladyship’s pardon, but you’ll need at least this much for just one good wreath,” he said.
Adele straightened. “Where are the wreaths usually... created?” she asked.
“The main hall, milady. On the big table. The dowager countess used to make them with several maids and a footman or two.”
Nodding her understanding, Adele directed the footman with the wheelbarrow to take the load to the main hall.
“Milady?” he replied, his brows furrowed in what looked like worry.
Adele angled her head. “What is it?”
The footman seemed a bit uncertain. “Haven’t you heard it’s bad luck to take the greenery into the house before Christmas Eve?”
Adele blinked and then gave her head a quick shake. “Of course, it is. Just...” She wondered what to say next.
“Just make a pile outside the front doors, and one of the other footmen can see to getting it all moved into the great hall in the morning,” Milton finished for her. He turned in her direction and added, “This is all a bit new for my countess, since Christmas isn’t celebrated all that much back in the capital.”
Giving him a nod of thanks, Adele realized she was a bit out of her element. “Hurry back. It seems we have more trees to trim,” she said with quelling glance in her husband’s direction. She was ever so glad her lady’s maid had arrived. It seemed she would be in charge of wreath-making on the morrow.
For more than an hour, the team of five moved along the perimeter of Torrington Place. Although the wind was blowing a bit on the west side of the structure, Adele found it tolerable, and she told her husband so when they had completed their twentieth tree.
“If we weren’t working so damned hard, you would notice, trust me,” he countered as he sawed a particularly large branch from the bottom of a misshapen pine. “A few years ago, it was far colder than it is today,” he added, referring to the Christmas of 1813.
“It’s a bit more enjoyable than I expected,” Adele replied, thinking of all the creations they could make from what they had cut. Besides round wreaths for the doors and a few large walls, she was imagining sprays for the tops of fireplaces in several rooms, including their bedchambers. Why, the scent of pine would be a welcome addition to the rooms of Torrington Park. She could only hope there was enough wire and ribbon to dress them properly.
When the last tree had been trimmed and the wheelbarrow had been filled and emptied six times, the group reached the other side of the front doors. A mountain of pine boughs greeted them.
“Well, my lady, it seems as if you’ve become a first-class pruner,” Milton teased as one of the footmen wheeled the cart to the front of Torrington Park. He couldn’t remember the last time the pines had undergone such a trimming.
“I never thought to learn so much about pine trees,” she countered, rather glad she’d had the opportunity to spend the afternoon outside. At no time had she felt chilled or otherwise uncomfortable in the cold, and yet white clouds had billowed about their heads with every breath and with every word spoken.
“Me neither,” Milton agreed.
“I think we shall be making wreaths all day tomorrow,” she said in awe, rather alarmed at all the greenery. “I do hope you have rolls of ribbon.”
Her husband ignored the comment about ribbon, but made a note to ask Mrs. Miller where his mother might have kept the wide, red fabric she used to make her bows. “And we’ll be going for a sleigh ride, of course,” Milton reminded her. “A tradition during the holiday. Haversham will hitch up one of the draft horses, and we shall go on a ride. ’Bout time you learned what what it means to be a countess up here,” he added with an arched brow. “See all your lands.”
Adele allowed a grin. Having only ever ridden on a sled, she found she was looking forward to a ride in a horse-drawn sleigh.
About time, indeed.
Chapter 30
A Conversation is Overheard
A couple of hours earlier
Alice squeezed her eyes shut at overhearing the earl’s words. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on the conversation between Alonyius and his master, but she couldn’t help but slow her steps when she heard Lord Torrington’s ebullient greeting. The man had been so happy to see his valet, she had to allow a grin.
And then her name had been spoken.
From there, the conversation seemed to have focussed on her, and what the valet apparently had agreed to do before they had even left London.
How could I have been such a fool? she wondered for the tenth time. Alonyius Banks hadn’t paid attendance on her because he was interested in her in that way, or because he had developed a tendré for her, or because he felt the least bit of affection for her.
He had bedded her because his master had paid him
to!
The humiliation was almost too much. Tears threatened even before she could make her way to the laundry room. The cook had left three pails of hot water, and she had half a mind to simply dunk her head into one and drown herself.
Instead, she went about washing the clothes, her bouts of sorrow interspersed with anger, the means and speed by which she rubbed the clothes on the washboard. Her sobs, so intense and so loud, robbed her of breath. Attempting to fish a hanky from her pocket only reminded her there wasn’t one. Instead, she allowed the tears to drip into the wash water, each disappearing in the slight bubbles from the lye.
She had been so preoccupied with Alonyius that morning, she hadn’t performed her normal rituals whilst dressing. He had been the one to see to buttoning her gown, to putting on her stockings, to slipping on her half-boots and placing her redingote on her shoulders before they made their way downstairs. And then there had been the delightful breakfast with his mother before they departed in his family’s coach for the ride back to The Black Swan.
They had packed quickly, knowing Haversham would be expecting them in the traveling coach once the horses were finished being hitched up. The little bit of bread and cheese his mother had forced them to take along had been shared whilst Haversham directed the horses in a fevered attempt to reach Torrington Park before one in the afternoon.
Finding her mistress in a rather happy mood had only accentuated her own. Lady Torrington had even remarked on her countenance. Why, you look as if you’ve been tumbled three ways to Thursday, her ladyship had said when Alice was dressing her earlier.
Sure her face displayed the blush of a school girl, Alice had simply nodded her head. What a fool I was to tell her everything, she realized.
But it had felt so good to grin again! She couldn’t remember a moment in the past few months when she had felt amusement or humor or any reason to smile whilst in the company of her mistress.
And then Lady Torrington’s face had changed to one of understanding. Of realization.
Why the tears?
The question had been so simple, and yet when delivered in a voice that made them sound so sympathetic, Alice had nearly cried tears of joy.
I think I am in love with Mr. Banks, she had managed, deciding just then she really shouldn’t have admitted such personal details to Lady Torrington.
Especially when her ladyship seemed so concerned she might be with child. Which was ridiculous.
Wasn’t it?
Except it really wasn’t, now that she thought about it. A wet hand went to her belly as a jolt of fear gripped her. She could lose her position!
Or not.
Lady Torrington wouldn’t let her go. Besides, Lord Torrington had decreed no one would lose their positions.
She returned her attention to the last of the laundry, rinsing the items and wringing them out as she wondered about her ladyship’s earlier attentions.
Lady Torrington had been her only employer for nearly twenty years. The fact that she showed any interest in her personal life at all was a wonder given how most servants were treated in the homes of aristocrats. But now that she had been at Torrington Park for a couple of hours, Alice realized Lady Torrington was probably just lonely. There weren’t very many people living in the former hunting lodge-cum-castle, and certainly no others of her class. If there were neighbors, they certainly weren’t close by. Why, she probably had no one else with whom to talk.
Lady Torrington had listened to her recitation of what had happened the day the servants had been forced to turn back due to the deepening snow, of the next day at The Black Swan, and the need for Alice to take a room with the earl’s valet. About how he had washed her hair. Her night at Mill House, although she hadn’t admitted to sharing her bed there. She didn’t mind admitting she wished the snow had continued to fall, though.
Now, she wished she had frozen to death that day they attempted to leave The Black Swan.
Alonyius Banks had only showered her with his attentions because his master had requested he do so. And Lord Torrington had felt so sorry for his valet, he had offered him payment, as if the man was some sort of paid consort.
A male prostitute.
New tears streamed down her cheeks, the salty liquid dripping into the rinse water. She took a deep breath and willed herself to finish the laundry. Simply get it hung up on the lines that were strung about the room. She thought about hanging herself on one of them, but realized they weren’t high enough and probably not strong enough to do the job properly.
When she completed her task, she wiped her cheeks on the sleeve of her gown and made her way back to her quarters.
At least, that’s what she thought she was doing. Before long, she realized she was lost, and to make matters worse, she hadn’t seen another soul since the cook had directed her to the laundry room.
Exhausted, tears once again pouring from her eyes, she simply entered the next room she could find, shut the door, and sank into the nearest divan.
Chapter 31
A Reverie Interrupted
A couple of hours later
Alice would have continued to weep but for the sudden light that appeared from the hallway. She was sure she had shut the door, which could only mean someone had entered the room.
Glancing around, she wondered in what room she had taken refuge. The light revealed a floral pattern on the adjacent chair, and for a moment Alice thought she must be in either the parlor or a lady’s salon. That is, until she spotted a collection of weapons along one wall. Although she knew some parlors made for suitable war zones among ladies who found fault with one another, their weapons were usually words, not spears and lances. The thought of Lady Pettigrew impaled on one of them brought a moment of amusement to her otherwise sullen mood.
The presence of weapons meant this must be a man’s room. A study, perhaps.
“Simpkins? Is that you?”
The unmistakeable voice of Adele Torrington had Alice straightening on the divan in which she had settled. She glanced about the room, still not certain where she was in this strange excuse for a castle.
“It is, my lady,” she managed between sobs. She quickly stood, turned, and gave a curtsy.
Adele regarded her lady’s maid for a moment, the light from the hallway sconces illuminating the maid’s face enough to show she had been crying.
And for a long time.
Her eyes were red-rimmed and quite bright in the bit of light that illuminated the study.
“Whatever in the world is wrong?” Adele asked as she hurried to join Alice. She stood before her, one hand going to a hip. The scent of pine boughs wafted about her, a testament to what she had been doing for the past couple of hours. Given the lack of light from the window, Alice realized darkness had descended on the hunting lodge.
“Nothing, my lady,” Alice replied, her head shaking with her words.
Adele gave her a quelling glance. “If you think for one moment I’m going to believe you, please know that you are, and always have been, a terrible liar.”
Alice inhaled sharply, not aware her mistress held such a poor opinion of her ability to tell untruths. But then, how many had she ever told? “Truly?” she whispered.
Resisting the urge to affirm her maid’s query, Adele gave her another quelling glance. “I have never heard you cry so loudly,” she accused. “What has it been? Nearly nineteen years?”
Attempting to concentrate on her mistress’ words, Alice considered the time she had been in service to Adele Slater. “Twenty,” she finally admitted.
“You sounded as if you were about to die,” Adele accused.
“Yes,” Alice agreed. Death would be welcome right about now. It would have been welcome four hours ago, back when she heard the words that made her realize all of Alonyius Banks’ attentions had been at the behest of his master. She turned to regard her mistress. “Do you suppose you could do the honors? Put me out of my misery?” she whispered with a nod toward what looked like a spear th
at was mounted above the fireplace.
Sighing loudly, Adele shook her head. “Not on your life,” she replied with a huff.
Well, that was the point, wasn’t it?
“Not until you tell me what has you acting as the largest watering pot in all of England. Faith! I could hear your sobs all the way down to my bedchamber. I thought the place might be haunted!” The countess took a seat on the divan, frowning a bit when she realized how deep she sank into the ancient cushions. The stuffing would need to be redone on this piece, she thought, mentally adding it to her list of changes for the hunting lodge.
Alice’s eyes widened. Yes, that was it. She could die, become a ghost, and haunt Alonyius Banks until the day he died! It would be just like a plot in one of her ladyship’s Gothic novels, the books she read when she probably should have been doing embroidery. Alice was about to put voice to the thought when she realized Lady Torrington would have none of it.
“A few hours ago, you were the happiest woman in all of England,” Adele accused. “You said you thought you might be in love.”
Angling her head to one side, Alice finally turned slightly to regard her mistress. “I was,” she agreed, her face screwing into concern when she just then realized how the divan’s cushion didn’t seem to hold up. She had half a thought they might sink to the floor at any moment.
“What the hell happened?”
Blinking at her mistress’ use of a curse, Alice straightened on the divan as best she could. She considered how to respond. She considered lying, but thought better of it.
Apparently she was the worst liar in all of England.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, milady, but I was on my way to launder the clothes when I overheard his lordship speaking with his valet.” She paused, not quite sure what to say next.
“Go on,” Adele encouraged, suddenly realizing her husband’s conversation may have been the source of her lady’s maid’s consternation. And all the tears. Faith! She didn’t think it possible for a woman of Simpkins’ age to cry so much! Although, if she gave it a bit more thought, she would have to admit the woman was only a bit older than she was, and she could certainly act as a watering pot on occasion.
The Christmas of a Countess (The Holidays of the Aristocracy Book 1) Page 21