The Lady's Maid

by Dilly Court

  He leapt down from the driver’s seat, issuing a command to stay to his two black Labradors who were preparing to spring out of the dog cart, their tails wagging and their pink tongues lolling out of their mouths as if they were grinning. The dogs obeyed him instantly. ‘If only my two daughters were so well behaved,’ he said smiling as he picked up Kate’s basket and tossed it in the back of the cart. He handed her onto the seat and climbed up beside her. ‘My girls miss a mother’s guidance, the poor darlings.’ He flicked the whip so that the horse moved forward at a spanking trot.

  Kate was well aware that the squire had been a widower for many years, but such a frank confession from a man in his exalted position was embarrassing, and she did not know quite how to respond. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, clutching the side rail of the vehicle as it tooled along the lane, its swaying motion causing her to slide too close to him for comfort. She held on for dear life as he encouraged his horse to go even faster. She suspected that he was trying to impress her, and she was beginning to regret her impulsive decision to accompany him into town. She shot him a sideways glance, and was relieved to see that he was concentrating on the road ahead. He was a large, undeniably handsome man, with craggy features and a leonine mane of auburn hair, but he was twice her age and almost as far removed from her station in life as Sir Hector Damerell. He seemed to sense that she was staring at him and he turned his head to give her a beaming smile. ‘Miss Coggins, I have a confession to make.’

  ‘A confession, sir?’

  ‘I came this way in the hope of meeting you.’ He was silent for a moment, concentrating on his driving as they met a farm cart lumbering towards them from the opposite direction. Farmer Coker tipped his cap at the squire, but his expression changed to one of frank curiosity when he glanced at Kate. He nodded his head to her as the two vehicles squeezed past each other. She could imagine him telling his wife that he had seen Robert Coggins’ little maid sitting up beside the squire as bold as you like.

  ‘It will be all round the county now,’ she said, chuckling. ‘Kate Coggins was seen out driving with Squire Westwood.’

  ‘They will have to get accustomed to it, if you accept my offer.’

  ‘Squire?’ She stared at him in surprise and suddenly it was no laughing matter. There was only one sort of proposition a man in his position might offer a girl from her walk of life, and if the dog cart had not been travelling at such a speed she might have leapt to the comparative safety of the grass verge. She sat bolt upright, hardly daring to breathe.

  ‘I’ll come straight to the point, Miss Coggins. My daughters have reached an age when they are no longer children but are not yet young women. Without a mother’s guidance they are running wild. Miss Morton has been an excellent governess, but she will be leaving soon to take up another position with a younger family, and my girls need a companion who is close enough to them in years to understand their wants and needs. I think you would be exactly the right person.’

  Relief swept over her in a tidal wave. ‘You are offering me a position in your household, Squire Westwood?’

  ‘That’s about it, Miss Coggins. If you accept my offer I would pay you a good wage for your services and you would live as one of the family.’

  ‘Live in, sir? Oh, no. I mean, I thank you very much for considering me, but I might be returning to London with Miss Damerell in the very near future.’ This was not exactly true, but it gave her a valid excuse for refusing his offer.

  ‘I don’t wish to offend you, but it is well known that you act as unpaid housekeeper for your father, and that you work in the dairy and on the farm as well. It’s no life for a young woman who had the benefit of being educated at Damerell Manor.’

  ‘I was extremely fortunate, and for that reason I must remain loyal to the Damerells who have done so much for me. I must also help my father while I can. He needs me.’

  They had reached the market place and Edmund guided his horse to a shady spot beneath a horse chestnut tree. ‘Whoa, there.’ The wheels of the dog cart crunched on the crisp fallen leaves as the vehicle came to a halt. He turned to Kate and his expression was serious. ‘Your father is still a relatively young man, Kate. May I call you that?’ Without waiting for an answer he took her hand in his. ‘One day he might take another wife, and you will find yourself a stranger in your own home.’

  The pressure of his fingers and the intense look in his piercing blue eyes both scared and angered her. She snatched her hand away. ‘My father has no such intentions, Squire Westwood. He loved my mother dearly and he would never look at another woman.’

  ‘My dear girl, your mother has been dead for many years. A man needs a companion and a helpmate in life, and one day, in the not so distant future, you will find a husband.’

  He had gone too far now and she was angry. ‘Thank you, sir. I appreciate your concern, but it really is none of your business.’ She scrambled down from the cart, reaching in the back for her basket. The dogs licked her hand and raised themselves, looking at her expectantly, but she was too upset to make a fuss of them. She backed away towards the bustling centre of the market place. ‘Thank you, Squire. But now I have business in the market. Good day.’

  ‘I did not mean to upset you, Kate. Won’t you at least give my offer some consideration?’

  ‘I’ve given you my answer. I won’t change my mind.’ She quickened her pace, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that he was not following her, and was relieved to see that his attention had been claimed by one of his tenants. Her thoughts and emotions were in turmoil as she made her way between the market stalls, automatically nodding and smiling in acknowledgement of the many familiar faces that greeted her. Squire Westwood’s words had disturbed her more than she cared to admit. It might be due to her vivid imagination, but she had sensed an underlying motive in his sudden desire to have her living in his house. There were plenty of middle-aged widows with limited means who would have filled the position much more ably than she. The squire had deliberately placed ideas in her head that would never have come naturally. It had never crossed her mind that Pa might remarry, or that their way of life would change now that he was settled on the farm. During the past few months she had not minded how hard she worked in the house, and in the dairy where she made butter and cheese. She had tended the chickens, collected their eggs and taken them to market, accepting her new way of life without complaint. Whether she would be called upon to act as lady’s maid to Josie and return with her to London was a matter for conjecture, but she doubted if it would happen. Josie would almost certainly marry well, and her promise of eternal friendship would be forgotten when she embarked on her new life.

  Until now Kate had never questioned her lot, but the squire’s offer of employment had made her stop and think. It was true that she had received an education well beyond her station in life, but there was always someone waiting to remind her that she came from humble beginnings. Josie might treat her as an equal when it suited her, but her moods were capricious and Kate was ever conscious of the difference between them.

  She quickened her pace. Dawdling in the sunshine and worrying about what might never happen was a waste of time. The reason she had come to market in the first place was to purchase the ribbons and lace she needed to embellish a cast-off gown of Josie’s which she intended to wear at the harvest supper. She made her way through the press of country folk. The sturdy women proudly sported their best cotton-print frocks, starched white aprons and sun bonnets, and their husbands were dressed for practicality in coarse linen smocks, boots and gaiters. This was the day when people from the outlying villages got together to buy and sell, and also to chat and exchange gossip. The market place was filled with the sound of cattle lowing, the bleating of sheep and the occasional grunt from pigs snuffling at the straw in their pens. The stall holders had to shout even louder to advertise their wares, but Kate was not interested in buying fruit and vegetables, pots and pans or willow-pattern china. She had come with a single purpo
se and she went straight to the stall that sold ribbons, lace, pins and needles, coloured silks and spools of cotton. She had just paid for her purchases when a voice at her elbow made her jump.

  ‘Good morning, Kate.’

  ‘Sam, you startled me.’

  He dragged off his wide-brimmed felt hat and brushed back a lock of dark, curly hair, eyeing her with a teasing smile. ‘You was so intent on them snippets of ribbon and lace, you wouldn’t have noticed if a brigade of soldiers had marched up behind you.’

  She could not help smiling. It was hard to be cross with Sam for any length of time. He had been her friend and playfellow during her visits to her grandparents’ farm for as long as she could remember. It was more than fifteen years ago that her grandfather had found Sam and his sister tied to a cattle pen and abandoned. Sam had been six years old then, and his sister Molly little more than a babe in arms. Gradually and with much coaxing, Sam had been able to tell Grandpa Coggins that his father, a journeyman carpenter who travelled the countryside looking for work, could no longer care for him and his sister after the untimely death of their mother. He had left them in the market place in the hope that some kind soul would do exactly what Ezra Coggins had done.

  Sam, she thought fondly, had grown into a fine-looking fellow, all muscle and bone with the wickedest twinkle in his eyes that were such a deep shade of blue that they sometimes looked black. His smile could charm the birds from the trees, of which he was very well aware, and he was a dreadful tease. He gave her bonnet strings a playful tug. ‘What’s the matter, Kate? Cat got your tongue?’

  ‘Never mind me. What are you doing here? Pa didn’t say he was sending any animals to market.’

  ‘There was a small matter of some hens’ eggs. Someone, mentioning no names, forgot all about them in her hurry to buy folderols and frippery to make herself pretty for the harvest supper.’

  Kate frowned. It was true. In her haste to get to market she had forgotten all about the wretched eggs. ‘You could have reminded me, Sam.’

  ‘You was off like an arrow from a bow this morning. I thought I’d catch up with you on the highway, but you must have had winged feet for I never saw you on the road.’

  ‘Squire Westwood offered me a lift in his dog cart, if you must know. But seriously, did you or did you not bring the eggs to market?’

  He jingled a leather purse in front of her eyes. ‘Biddy Madge took the lot for her stall. Said as how there’d been folk clamouring for eggs all morning. What say you to a tankard of cider in the King’s Arms afore we sets off home?’

  ‘I’d say you are a bad influence, Sam. Pa would kill me if I were to set foot in a public house, and you are supposed to be working.’ She tempered her words with a smile. ‘You may drive me home though.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady. First off it was dancing with Squire Westwood last Christmas in the village hall, and now he has you sitting up beside him in his dog cart. It’s enough to give any girl airs and graces.’ Sam placed his hand on his hip and tossed his head in a fair imitation of a flighty female.

  ‘Hold your tongue, you cheeky monster.’ Kate gave him a gentle shove, but she could not help laughing at his antics.

  He rammed his hat on his head and proffered his arm. ‘It would be a pleasure to escort you home, Miss Coggins. But there is a condition.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That you promise me the first dance at the harvest supper.’

  ‘You drive a hard bargain, Mr Loveday, but you have my word on it.’

  ‘And I promise not to tell Pa Coggins that you forgot to take the eggs to market.’ He handed her the leather pouch. ‘You’d best keep this. With a bit of luck the gaffer won’t notice that I’m not off ploughing the ten-acre field, which is where I was supposed to be this morning.’

  Kate linked her hand through his arm. ‘Then we’d best get home as quickly as possible.’ She glanced over her shoulder, just in case the squire should have followed her, but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she had misread his intentions after all.

  Kate’s bedroom was situated at the back of the house, overlooking the orchard. It was large and airy with a beamed ceiling, whitewashed walls and chintz curtains. In winter it was warm and cosy beneath the thatched roof. In spring the birds warbled from their nests beneath the eaves, and the scent of the apple blossom wafted in through the open window. In summer her room was deliciously cool, and now, in autumn, she could look out at the trees heavy with ripening fruit and the grass beneath them studded with rosy windfalls. She closed her window as the evening breeze freshened. Taking a last look in the mirror, she was more than pleased with the result of her labours. The deceptively simple blue silk gown fitted her slim figure perfectly; the addition of lace and ribbon had made it feel as though it was her own and not a hand-me-down from Josie. The low neckline, puffed sleeves, nipped-in waist and full skirt with a bustle at the back were the very latest fashion, or at least they were the latest fashion in this part of Dorset, which was probably two or even three years behind society in London, but Kate did not care – she felt like a princess. She went downstairs to the kitchen where Molly was busy sweeping the floor with a besom.

  ‘Why, Kate. You look beautiful.’ Molly’s eyes misted with tears and her lips trembled. ‘I ain’t never see’d a dress like that in all me born days.’

  Kate did a twirl, almost bumping into her father who had come downstairs behind her. ‘What do you think, Pa? Do you like my gown?’

  ‘You look good enough to eat, love.’ Robert raised his chin, tugging at his cravat. ‘Now if only I could tie this confounded thing, I’d be a happy man.’

  ‘You are so impatient, Pa.’ Kate pushed his hand away and deftly knotted the material, arranging its folds beneath the stiff points of her father’s shirt collar. He was very red in the face and perspiring heavily. She kissed him on the cheek. ‘There, now don’t you look handsome? We are going to be the envy of everyone there tonight.’

  ‘I wish I was coming too,’ Molly said, sighing heavily.

  Kate pulled on her lace mittens. ‘There’s no reason why you can’t. Is there, Pa? You don’t mind if Molly has a few hours off to join in the fun? Sam could take her.’

  Robert shrugged on his jacket. ‘I’ve no objection, so long as she don’t touch anything alcoholic and behaves herself. I won’t have us being shown up. So you bear that in mind, young Molly.’

  ‘Wash your hands and face,’ Kate said, shooing Molly out into the yard. ‘You can borrow my pink and white dimity, but don’t you dare spill anything down the front of it. And make sure Sam brings you home early. Pa and I are going to walk up to the big house now, and you can follow on when you’re ready.’

  As they walked arm in arm through the farmyard and down the narrow lane towards Damerell Manor, Robert patted her hand. ‘You look like a proper young lady all dressed up, Kate. You ought to be riding in a fine carriage and not walking with your old pa. You’ll like as not ruin those pretty dancing slippers.’

  She smiled up at him. ‘It’s only a harvest supper, Pa. We won’t be going into the big house, just one of the barns. It will all be done up nicely, of course, but we’re not exactly hobnobbing with the gentry.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that. The squire will be there for certain, and the parson. Maybe Sir Hector and Lady Damerell will join in the celebration later.’

  ‘And maybe they won’t.’ Kate looked up at the darkening sky. The sun had set, leaving a trail of flame-tipped clouds floating on a turquoise sky, misting to purple at the horizon. ‘It’s going to be a lovely night, Pa.’

  The hay barn had been made ready for the harvest supper. Festoons of greenery were draped from the rafters and the fiddlers were tuning up their instruments ready to entertain the revellers. Trestle tables had been laid with white cloths and decorated with swags of ivy. The air was redolent with the mouth-watering fragrance of pork pies, fruit tarts and apple cakes. A silver punchbowl on loan from the big house was brimming with cider cup, and judging by t
he rising tide of laughter and the buzz of conversation, some of the early arrivals had already been sampling it. The twanging of the fiddle strings competed with the sound of the harmonium as the parson’s daughter, Emmeline, warmed up by practising scales.

  ‘Can I get you a cup of punch, Kate?’ Robert had to raise his voice to make himself heard.

  She nodded her head. ‘Thank you, Pa.’

  He left her side and strolled off towards the table where a crowd of men had gathered around the punchbowl. She was about to make her way over to speak to Parson Daleymount and his wife when she was accosted by the squire’s housekeeper, Miss Stamp, whose overly plump body was tightly corseted into a scarlet taffeta gown. ‘My dear Miss Coggins. How lovely you look.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Kate glanced over Miss Stamp’s shoulder, wondering if the squire had arrived. She could see his two daughters, Amy and Letitia, but there was no sign of him.

  ‘If you’re looking for the squire, he will be along later.’ Miss Stamp gave her an arch look. ‘I believe that he has offered you a position in our household?’

  ‘I have no intention of leaving home, ma’am.’

  ‘But you will one day, my dear. You will marry and have a home of your own.’

  Before Kate could reply, Robert came up to them holding two punch cups. ‘Good evening, Miss Stamp.’

  ‘My, aren’t we formal this evening, Robert? It was Honoria when we last met.’

  Kate was quick to notice that Miss Stamp’s plump cheeks had flushed rose-red, which clashed rather badly with her gown, and she was fluttering her pale eyelashes at Pa in a quite ridiculous manner. It might have been attractive in a young woman, but Miss Stamp was a spinster well past the first flush of youth.

  Robert cleared his throat noisily, staring down at his hands as if trying to decide what to do with the glass cups. ‘Will you take a glass of punch, Honoria?’

  ‘Thank you, Robert. That would be delightful.’ She flashed him a coy smile as she accepted the drink.