LOVE BY DECEPTION
Book 2, Age of Innocence
Debra Elizabeth
2013 Copyright © by Debra Elizabeth
Image by Hot Damn Designs
ISBN-13: 978-1-934342-21-3
ISBN 10: 1-934342-21-1
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Prologue
Bath, England
1798
“Push harder,” the midwife said. “You’re doing fine. The child is almost here.”
The young woman fell back against the pillows, sweat plastering her hair to her head. “I cannot.”
Her friend wiped her forehead with a cool cloth. “Yes, you can. When the next pain comes, push with all your might. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she whispered. As another pain wracked her body, she screamed in agony and pushed the child into the world.
The midwife caught the baby and began to wipe it clean. “A daughter. You have a fine daughter.”
The young woman sighed in relief. “Please, let me hold her.”
The midwife wrapped the child in a clean blanket and handed the infant to her mother.
The young woman stared at the tiny face. She had a full head of dark hair and a good set of lungs that she didn’t mind using. “Hush now, little one. No need to fret,” she cooed as the child quieted.
Mary smiled at her friend. “You did it.”
“Oh, Mary, isn’t she the most beautiful child?”
Mary squeezed her hand. “Indeed she is.”
Tears welled in the young woman’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “Whatever am I going to do?”
Mary had no solution to her friend’s dilemma. “I don’t know.”
Chapter 1
Small village in Essex County, England, December, 1816
Eighteen-year-old Isabel Knott pressed the cool cloth on the young woman’s brow. She pushed wisps of brown hair drenched in sweat off her mistress’s face. “There, there. This should help with the fever.”
The cold winds of December howled outside and a loose shutter banged against the house, but Isabel had lit a fire in the bedchamber and it gave off welcoming heat.
There was nothing more Isabel could do. Twenty-one-year-old Georgette Condiff tossed and turned in the bed as if demons plagued her. It wasn’t the first time that she’d fallen ill, but each previous occurrence had not lasted more than a day or two. She’d been battling this fever for three days now. She was so weak, Isabel feared for her life.
“Come now, Georgette. You must fight. Please try.”
A loud crash reverberated up the stairs, startling Isabel. She jumped off the bed and flew down the stairs to investigate. She ran into the front parlor and what she saw stopped her short.
“Mr. Condiff, are you hurt, sir?” she asked.
The master of the house was lying in a disheveled heap on the floor. He must have hit his head on the side table because the cut over his eye was bleeding profusely and running down the side of his face. Isabel rushed to his side, yanked off her apron and pressed it against the wound. “Mr. Condiff, can you hear me?”
The man moaned and rolled over on his back. The smell of brandy on his breath was powerful and Isabel tried not to breathe too deeply while she tended to him.
There was no mistaking that George Condiff loved his brandy. He’d lost control over his addiction and had been drinking all hours of the day and night for the past several months. There was no one to reason with him about his excessive drinking. Georgette had tried, but he ignored her pleas to stop. If his daughter couldn’t get through to him, how could she be expected to bring about any change in his behavior? She was a nobody -- certainly not someone a gentleman would listen to -- but it didn’t stop her from feeling terrible about what he was doing to himself. He was a sad and broken man who cared little for his physical health, and not even his beloved daughter’s fragile health stemmed the amount of his drinking these days.
Isabel put more pressure on the wound, but George swatted her hand away. “Mr. Condiff, please. You’re bleeding, sir. Let me attend to you,” she pleaded.
“Get away from me, girl. If you want to help, get me a drink,” he bellowed as he pushed himself up and stood on shaky legs. He took a few steps and collapsed into his leather chair.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Condiff. I’ll get it for you as soon as you let me see to your injury first.”
George grunted, but did not object further.
Isabel scooped up her bloody apron and ran to the kitchen for water and a clean cloth. When she returned to the parlor, George was sleeping and already snoring. At least that would make it easier for her to help him. She cleaned the blood from his face before lifting his head and wrapping strips of linen around the cut. She was relieved that the bleeding was slowing, but worried that today’s fall was becoming a more commonplace occurrence. What if he fell when she had gone into the village for supplies? Who would help him then? Certainly not Georgette, who could barely help herself. It was a scenario Isabel didn’t want to even think about.
Between Mr. Condiff’s out of control drinking and Georgette’s frail health, Isabel ran herself ragged each day and didn’t have time to dwell on her personal circumstances, but they were never far from her mind. She didn’t mind being a servant in the Condiff household, but what would she do if something happened to Georgette? Would Mr. Condiff keep her on? No, it would be impossible. She was a lady’s maid, not a butler, and it would not be proper for her to stay in the house without a housekeeper. Most especially since Mr. Condiff was not her father.
She sighed as she pulled the blanket off the sofa and wrapped it around his shoulders. She’d been through this before. It was becoming all too common these days. He would not be in the mood to eat dinner, and it was best to let him wake on his own.
She picked up the basin of water and headed back to the kitchen where she scrubbed her apron clean and hung it by the fireplace to dry. From the simmering pot of soup, she scooped some broth into a bowl and grabbed a spoon. Trudging back up the stairs, she hoped Georgette’s fever would break soon. She needed sustenance if she was going to regain her strength.
Much to Isabel’s surprise, Georgette was awake when she returned to the bedchamber. “Oh Georgette, I’m so happy the fever has broken.” She put the bowl of broth on the side table and took the cloth from the young woman’s brow. “How are you feeling?”
Georgette closed her eyes. “Still alive, I see.” She struggled to sit up, but the effort was too much and she slumped back into the pillows.
“Hush now. Don’t talk like that,” Isabel said. She patted the young woman’s hand. "I know you don’t feel well, but you must try to eat. The fever has broken at last, and I've brought some broth."
Georgette shook her head, but her maid would not take no for an answer. Is
abel fluffed up the pillows and helped Georgette scoot back against them so she could take in a little nourishment. Isabel picked up the bowl of broth and sat on the edge of the bed. "Here, just a few spoonfuls to start. You'll feel better, I promise."
Georgette sighed, but managed three spoonfuls of broth before she closed her eyes. "Isabel, enough please," she said in a hoarse whisper.
"All right for now. You did well." She put the bowl back on the table and reached for the cloth. She rinsed it in cool water and gently pressed it to Georgette's brow. "You sleep now. I'll be back later to help change your nightdress."
Georgette managed a feeble nod before sleep took her again.
Isabel watched the gentle rising and falling of Georgette's chest. She pulled the blankets up and tucked them under her chin. It pained her to see her mistress so weak, but she was determined to help her get well again. Georgette meant more to her than if she'd been her own sister. She was kind and generous, and never made Isabel feel like she was a servant. They had many fond memories together. If anything happened to Georgette, she'd be forced to find another place of employment, and that was the last thing she wanted to think about. There would never be another Georgette. The thought of losing her mistress scared her more than she wanted to admit. This was the only home she’d ever known, and she prayed that she would not have to leave it.
With a sigh, she gathered up the bowl of soup and left the bedroom. On her way to the kitchen, she peeked in the front parlor. Mr. Condiff was sleeping in his chair and hadn’t moved at all since she had tended to him. He'd be hungry when he woke, so she hurried into the kitchen. She was late baking the bread today and didn't relish the tongue lashing the master of the house would give her if it wasn't ready when he awakened.
As Isabel puttered around the kitchen, she wondered why she was the only servant in the Condiff household. With a house this size, there should have been at least a cook, housekeeper, housemaid and a butler, but for the past six years, it had been only her serving the Condiff family.
She had grown up in this house and when she was younger, had shared lessons from the governess with Georgette. All that changed when Georgette turned fifteen and she had turned twelve. The governess was sent away, followed a year later by the housekeeper, housemaid, and then the butler. Last year the cook quit in a fit of anger over Mr. Condiff’s rude behavior and irregular eating schedule. His drunken tirades had been too much for the poor woman. Despite placing numerous ads, no cook had applied for the position. Their village was small, and there was no doubt that everyone heard about Mr. Condiff’s legendary bouts of anger. So it was up to Isabel, and she had no choice but to take on the duties of cook as well. There was no time for leisurely activities anymore. She was busy from morning until night and the only time she got any fresh air was when she went to the village. She missed the days gone by when she’d had time for a walk, to read a book or practice the piano with Georgette.
She wasn't complaining, because she'd always been treated well and had more schooling than most maids, but some days she dreamed that she had been born a lady and had a maid of her own. What would her days be like? She would have time to pursue whatever pleased her instead of working morning, noon and night. "Silly notions," she scolded herself. "Be thankful you have a position at all."
It was another two hours before Mr. Condiff awoke from his drunken stupor. He stumbled into the dining room and sat heavily in the chair. "Girl, where's my meal?" he shouted.
In the kitchen, Isabel scurried to fill a bowl of soup and sliced two generous portions of bread. She put everything on a tray and made her way to the dining room. "Here you are, sir," she said as she put the food in front of him. She went to the sideboard and gathered a spoon and napkin for him.
Mr. Condiff grunted, but tore into the hot buttered bread with relish. He looked at Isabel. "What are you waiting for? An invitation? Sit down and eat."
This was something new, and she was startled by his strange behavior. Why would he want a servant to sit at the table with him while he dined? It was unheard of, but she nodded and ran back into the kitchen to pour a ladle of soup for herself. She tore off a chunk of bread and hurried back into the dining room and took a seat two chairs apart from him and began to eat. Not being sure when he'd rage at her to get out, she ate her meal with all due haste.
When she finished, she pushed back her chair and stood. "Mr. Condiff, will there be anything else you require?"
He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Where's my brandy? You know I want brandy with my meals."
"Of course, sir. I'm getting it now."
"Good servants are hard to find these days," he mumbled between mouthfuls of soup.
Before Isabel could put the large glass of brandy in front of him, Mr. Condiff grabbed it out of her hand. "It's about time," he bellowed. "Don't know how many times I have to tell you the same things over and over. Are you slow in the head, girl?"
Isabel jumped back. "No, sir. I’m sorry. It won't happen again." She should be used to his moods, but they came upon him with such suddenness, that she never knew what to expect -- the congenial Mr. Condiff or the raging beast of a man. She hurried back to the kitchen with her empty soup bowl before she had to find out.
When she heard the scraping of the chair legs on the hardwood floor and his heavy footsteps, she went back into the dining room to gather up his dirty dishes. It didn’t take her long to figure out why there was no cook on staff. Meals were served when Mr. Condiff demanded them. No cook would be happy with that kind of a schedule. In a proper household, meals were served at the same time every day. Not so in the Condiff household. The irregular schedule made it difficult for Isabel to anticipate what food needed to be prepared and cooked, but she'd found that soups, stews, fresh bread and cheese worked best to accommodate the non-conventional meal times.
No one complained about her cooking, so she continued to prepare the same meals over and over again. It was also easier to stay within the strict budget that Mr. Condiff allotted to food.
***
The next few weeks flew by. Georgette's recovery was slow and it worried Isabel, but she was happy when Georgette managed to come downstairs for meals more and more. Mr. Condiff continued to sleep off his brandy-induced haze and ate when hunger pains woke him. Isabel continued to manage the household as well as she could. As long as there was plenty of food in the kitchen and wood in the fireplaces, no one complained about the dust gathering on the furniture.
“I’m glad to see the color back in your cheeks,” Isabel said as she finished pinning Georgette’s light brown hair in a stylish bun at the nape of her neck.
“I have you to thank for that. Without your loving attention to my health, I fear this last fever might have taken me.”
Isabel knelt beside her mistress and took her hand. “Please don’t say that. I would be lost without you. I cannot imagine my life without you as a part of it.”
Georgette patted Isabel’s hand. “I know, dearest. I feel the same, but we mustn’t overlook the fact that my health has been frail since I was a child. You must be prepared if something were to happen to me.”
“Nonsense, nothing will happen to you. I won’t let it.”
Georgette smiled at her lady’s maid. “Of course you won’t. I have absolute faith in your nursing skills, as well as everything else you do around here.”
“Come, let’s go downstairs for dinner. I dare say that your father may be awake soon and will join us in the dining room this evening.” Isabel stood and offered Georgette her arm for support.
“That will be nice. I haven’t seen him in more than a week. It makes me sad to see him stumble around in a drunken stupor, but he wasn’t always like this. Do you remember when he told lively stories during dinner of his time living in London?”
Isabel nodded. “I remember, but I fear the Mr. Condiff of old will not make a reappearance anytime soon. I wish there was something more I could do for him.”
“Isabel,
you do more than your fair share around here. You mustn’t worry about Father. He has stopped listening to reason a long time ago. The only thing we can do now is enjoy the moments when he is lucid.”
The two young women made their way downstairs and into the dining room. Once Isabel had Georgette seated comfortably at the table, she went into the parlor to rouse the master. She found him in his chair, but he was not sleeping. His skin had taken on a gray pallor and her worst nightmare had come true.
“Georgette! Come quickly,” she cried out.
When Georgette got to the parlor, tears were streaming down Isabel’s face. “What’s the matter? Why did you cry out?”
Isabel looked at her beloved mistress. “I’m so very sorry. Your father is dead.”
Chapter 2
Georgette ran to her father’s side. “No, oh no! He can’t be dead.” She picked up his hand and tapped it. “Father, come on. Wake up now. Please wake up.”
“I’m afraid that’s not going to help. He takes no breath.”
Georgette knelt beside her father and held his hand to her cheek. “Oh, Papa, why have you done this to yourself? What am I supposed to do without you?” She looked at Isabel. “Quickly now, you must fetch Dr. Wyndham. He may be able to help.”
“Of course.” Isabelle nodded, grabbed her coat and rushed out the door. She would run into the village to fetch the doctor, but even if she ran as fast as possible, it would not make any difference. Mr. Condiff was gone from this world.
She reached the doctor’s cottage in record time and pounded on the door. “Dr. Wyndham, are you at home?”
The housekeeper opened the door. “Yes, what can I do for you?”
“It’s Mr. Condiff. I need Dr. Wyndham to come right away.”
“I’m right here, Isabel,” Dr. Wyndham said as he grabbed his medical bag. “Luckily, I have just returned and the horse has not been unhitched from the carriage yet. Come, let’s make haste.”
Love by Deception (Age of Innocence) Page 1