‘What she doesn’t know can’t harm her,’ said Kit irresponsibly.
‘Well, that’s a very Christian attitude, I must say! Just because you can’t find a husband doesn’t give you the right to steal someone else’s. I know how I’d feel if anyone took Albert. Oh, Kit!’ Annoyance melted into matronly concern. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re getting into? Have you thought that you might get yourself a bad reputation?’
Amelia had always annoyed Kit by the way she allied herself with the senior members of the family, treating her sister like a child when she herself was only three years older, questioning Kit’s every deed or word.
‘Will you shut up with your are you sures and have you thoughts — of course I’ve bloomin’ thought!’ snapped Kit. ‘Stop acting like me granny. It’s only a blessed Valentine, not an invitation to Sodom and Gomorrah!’
‘There’s time yet,’ concluded her disapproving sister, and with pursed lips handed over a cup of tea.
* * *
Two months after the arrival of the Valentine, the sender himself turned up on her doorstep, apologizing that it had taken him so long to act on her invitation to visit but an important bill had kept him a prisoner in London.
Dismissing Lizzie, who had brought him into the cosy parlour, Kit made him welcome, thanking him for the charming card. ‘It was from you, wasn’t it?’
‘Miss Kilmaster, I cannot tell a lie.’
‘A rare breed of politician, my brother would say.’ She smiled. ‘Do call me Kit.’ Over glasses of sherry, she tried to glean more information, asking what exactly he did in his role of cabinet minister. He appeared hesitant to answer, saying that he was sure she had much more interesting topics of conversation. Kit insisted this was not so and pressed him to be less modest. ‘Tell me, where exactly is your constituency?’
He remained pleasantly evasive, taking a sip of sherry before replying with a smile, ‘Oh, here and there.’
‘So you’re addressed in the Commons as the Honourable Member for Here and There, are you?’ Kit gave a knowing smile. ‘If you’re afraid of me finding out you’re married, it had already occurred to me, you know.’
He seemed relieved by her attitude. ‘You are a most understanding woman, my dear,’ and he came to sit nearer to her on the sturdy red sofa.
Sufficiently informed as to where she stood, Kit allowed the conversation to become more intimate, but before it got out of hand, she arose and produced a generous tea of assorted sandwiches, cakes and trifle.
‘I was hoping that you’d accompany me to dinner at my hotel later,’ said Valentine, mopping his moustache on a napkin afterwards. ‘But after such hospitality I don’t know if I’ll be able to move from my chair. You are a most generous hostess, Kit.’
Kit said she would like to come with him, but would it not be a little indiscreet?
He did not appear to think so, and some hours later, when their tea had been digested, Kit enlisted Lizzie to haul on the laces of her stays, changed into a pale blue satin evening dress festooned with lace and ribbon, and elbow-length white gloves, and fastened her coiled auburn tresses with pearly combs. Whereupon, Valentine whistled for a hansom to take them to his hotel.
Aside from those places in which she had been a domestic servant, Kit had never enjoyed such opulent surroundings. Fittingly, the meal was splendid, undertaken to a background of orchestral music – though her unnatural wasp waist prevented her from eating much of it. Apart from this self-inflicted torment, everything else was perfect, for Kit was to discover that the music came from a ballroom and, upon learning of her favourite pastime, her escort whisked her off for an evening of extended dance.
Tired but happy, as the orchestra packed away their instruments, Kit proclaimed that she had never enjoyed such a good time. ‘You’re such an accomplished dancer!’ She unhooked the loop of her silken train from her wrist and allowed it to fall. ‘I feel as if I could go on and on all night – but I suppose I should go home, more’s the pity.’
He bowed over her hand, allowing his eyes to linger on her frothy lace decolletage, and agreeing that it was a shame she had to go. ‘Could I not persuade you to share a nightcap?’
Understanding that he was inviting her to his room, Kit smiled reprovingly and, though she was more than a little attracted to him, said that would not be wise. Besides the poor maid would be waiting up for her mistress.
Signalling for a cab to be brought to the door Valentine accepted the rebuttal in urbane manner and took her home, though when it looked as if he was not to be allowed any chance of intimacy here either he offered a plaintive rebuke. ‘I had hoped you might show a little more compassion, Kit.’
Consequently, she sent Lizzie off to bed and invited him in, but said that after one glass of brandy he must leave.
Finding himself drinking alone, Valentine urged her to join him. She declined the liquor but, during its leisurely consumption, was happy enough to sit beside him on the sofa, even allowing his hand to pat her silken thigh once or twice, finding him very seductive.
Head back and deeply relaxed, he remarked how homely she had made this room feel – he could almost fall asleep. ‘But, it’s back to dirty old London for me tomorrow,’ he sighed.
‘Don’t speak about it like that!’ Kit scolded. ‘It’s a wonderful place.
I’d love to go there again.’ Maybe he would take her? ‘Though I have to agree that London is no place to be alone.’
‘You don’t have to be alone.’ Valentine put the brandy glass aside. ‘You could come and be with me.’
Kit tried to sound concerned. ‘But your wife—’
‘Lives in Yorkshire,’ he finished, taking hold of her hand. ‘When Parliament is in session I live alone in rooms – but if I had someone to come home to, life would be infinitely more agreeable.’ He became more earnest. ‘Kit, you are aware how deeply I am attracted to you. No – more than that. I find myself thinking about you all the time. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I suspect that it is only your natural modesty that prevents you from admitting that you share my feelings. I should say here and now that it would be dishonest of me to promise marriage – indeed, you already know I cannot do that – but my feelings for you are so strong that I can deny them no longer. I have the wherewithal to provide a fine house, a carriage, servants – anything that you desire. The fun that we’ve enjoyed tonight we could enjoy any night of the year!’
With Kit struck dumb by the generosity of his offer, he made a practised move, throwing her back on to the sofa and running his hands over the intimate parts of her body, bestowing her lips with so masterly a kiss that for several moments she allowed herself to enjoy it.
Fighting her natural attraction, Kit eventually pushed him off – though her smiling face negated any offence. ‘If you’re serious—’
‘I am!’ Eyes suffused with lust, he made as if to leap on her again but she held him at bay.
‘Then I should like to see evidence of this house before I agree one way or another.’ Her hand remained resting on his chest that rose and fell with ungratified passion. Even watching this display caused a ripple of excitement in her own belly, though she would continue to fight it until satisfied that she was not being duped again.
Seeing that he would get nowhere, Valentine Kitchingham moaned and gave up, telling her how cruel she was to make him wait. Kit retorted pleasantly that the length of time he waited depended entirely on him. Straightening her dress, she rose and piloted him to the door. Upon closing it, she leaned against the wood, wondering whether she had acted correctly in making him wait.
Four days later she was to find out, when an envelope arrived bearing a London postmark. Inside was a railway ticket to King’s Cross, a scrap of paper bearing an address in St John’s Wood, and a key. Kit gave a whoop of triumph and ran off to pack.
19
It transpired that the key was totally unnecessary. Whilst Kit was still alighting from the cab at the gate of the white detached villa, with its
garden of daffodils, forsythia and flowering currant, the black front door opened and a manservant came to relieve her of her luggage, and a maid bade her welcome. Overlooking the fact that it was an aloof kind of welcome, Kit gave smiling response and, excitement mingling with apprehension, she went up the path and stepped inside to wander along the tiled hallway, her eyes following the gentle rise of the blue carpeted stairs to an arched window on the landing.
Comparison with her own little house provoked brief thought of Lizzie who had lost her job through Kit’s departure. She hoped that with the excellent reference she had given her, the maid had found another post by now. As for her house, that would remain empty for the time being. Kit was reluctant to put it up for let; not knowing how long this would last, she might need a bolthole.
‘Fred’ll bring your luggage up, ma’am.’ Bustling ahead of Kit, the slim-hipped maid in black and white directed her up to her room, whilst the footman struggled behind. Whilst she was of similar age to Kit, the man with greying hair was fifteen years her senior, though it was obvious who gave the orders. ‘You’ll obviously want to refresh yourself. Oh, by the way, I’m Cara.’ Accompanying the rather inanimate freckled face, blue eyes and light brown hair, was an Irish accent.
Kit pursued her, her own expression showing that she was obviously thrilled to bits with the house. She asked Cara to inform Cook that she’d like luncheon once she had freshened up. It was two o’clock and her stomach was rumbling like thunder.
‘Ah, there’s no cook, ma’am, just me and Fred and Dilly, the scullerymaid – but don’t worry now, you’ll get your luncheon. Though I’m afraid ’twill be a cold one. We weren’t sure when to expect ye, see.’
‘So you do just about everything yourself?’ Kit sounded impressed. ‘Well, I appreciate the hard work you must’ve had in such a short time.’ Noting the puzzled stare that was flung over the maid’s shoulder, she added, ‘Well, you can’t have been here long. It must have been a mammoth job getting the place into this order.’
‘Ah no, I’ve been here six years.’
It was Kit’s turn to be puzzled. ‘But I thought Mr Kitchingham only acquired the house recently?’
A look of understanding hit Cara’s face as they reached the large square landing, and even before the negative reply this smirking expression alerted Kit to the truth – how naive of her to assume herself to be the first he had brought here. For a moment, a little of the glitter was tarnished. But then she told herself not to be so silly: had she not known what he wanted from her at the outset? Reminding herself that she too was guilty of manipulation, and determined not to let Cara’s supercilious attitude cloud her enjoyment, she maintained her smile and swept into one of the bedrooms.
‘This one’s yours, ma’am.’
Kit ignored the maid’s instruction, inspecting both this room and its view of the walled back garden before eventually responding.
Cara and the footman waited patiently whilst their mistress made critical examination of her surroundings. Two walls of the room were lined in a light wooden panelling that included all manner of drawers and cupboards, a section of this being devoted to a writing desk with little compartments for envelopes. The fact that there was no flame in the cast-iron fireplace seemed not to matter for the room’s furnishings lent it ample cosiness. The floor was clothed in a thick flower-patterned carpet. From the canopy above the brass bedstead descended the same deep green velvet as embellished the windows, there were tasselled and braided pelmets, a heavy counterpane and an abundance of tapestry cushions and pillows. Upon the shelves were pink glass ornaments and a collection of books. There was a dressing table and stool, a plump upholstered armchair, and upon those walls which were unpanelled was a light-coloured paper with an elegant scrolled pattern, this air of refinement being enhanced by the white bell-like shades of the gas lamps.
Deciding it would be pointless to argue that, as mistress, she would choose her own room, for the allotted one was far superior, Kit gave her approval, told Fred where to deposit her luggage, then sat at the dressing table and looked in the mirror. Removing her hat, she wiped the specks of soot from her face, and asked for hot water to be brought up.
Cara replied politely, ‘It’ll be here in two shakes, ma’am – and luncheon will be waiting when ye get down.’ With this she and the footman promptly departed.
Unpacking her cases, Kit frowned to herself. She had no valid reason to complain about the quality of service, it was just that the servants appeared to be so much more at home here than she was, and knew much more than she did about the man with whom she had come to live.
However, after recovering from the tedious railway journey and partaking of a three-course luncheon, albeit a cold one, she was more amiably disposed towards Cara, telling her that she provided excellent fare and that she looked forward to sampling more of her meals, though after such a late luncheon she would only just have recovered from its effects by supper time.
‘By the way, at what time does Mr Kitchingham usually take supper?’
‘We’re not expecting the master tonight, ma’am. Is he aware that you’d be coming?’
‘Well, I just assumed—’ Kit prevented any further indiscretion, unwilling to reveal the insecurity of the relationship.
It was as if Cara guessed. ‘See, as you’ll know, he doesn’t actually live here, ma’am. He just comes and goes as he pleases. It pays to be flexible with Mr Kitchingham. Will there be anything else, ma’am?’
Kit wanted to slap that punctilious expression from the maid’s face, but instead thanked her and said that would be all.
The next few minutes were given to investigating the lower storey of the house, which consisted of a drawing room, a dining room and a study, plus the kitchen and servants’ rooms, which she chose to avoid for the time being. Having already seen the bedrooms earlier, this left Kit with nothing to do for the rest of the afternoon but listen to her thoughts.
When Kit had told her sister that she would be going away for a while, but prevaricated upon being asked where she was going and for how long, Amelia could not help but guess.
‘You’re going to London with him, aren’t you? Oh, Kit don’t do it – there’ll be a duck in t’hedge somewhere, you’re bound to get hurt – and what of his poor wife and children?’
Kit had made light of this. ‘I’m not taking him away. He’ll see as much of them as he does now. No one need be any the wiser. We’re not out to harm anyone, we’re just enjoying ourselves.’
‘Your idea of enjoyment and his might be two different things! And I don’t know what our Monty will have to say when he finds out – and as for our Owen! He’ll have a few things to say about your Mr Kitchingham – a cabinet minister, for heaven’s sake. Couldn’t you find any more of a public figure?’
‘I might just be able to do a bit of good in that area,’ Kit had argued. ‘Explain to Val just what it’s like to be a miner. Anyway, he’s already very philanthropic towards his constituents.’
‘Philanthropic, my eye!’ had said an irate Amelia. ‘He just wants to get into your drawers!’
Kit had been surprised at such crudity from her sister, and had immediately gone home in a huff. But privately she had to admit that it was true – though just when he would arrive to claim his prize was anyone’s guess.
Going to the large bay window, she peered out into the quiet street, then wandered around the room picking up various objets d’art, and feeling at a loose end. Having always envied the upper class their indolent lifestyle, she now felt a prickle of panic at the thought of having nothing to do. It was all very well for those with acquaintances of a similar ilk with whom they could enjoy morning rides in the park or make one afternoon visit after another. But what chance of that was there for Kit, who knew no one in London? And in the impulsive rush to get here she had cancelled all business orders – she had had quite enough of sewing for a while – though now she decided it might be a good idea to install another machine here, if only to h
elp occupy such idle moments.
She tapped her lips with a finger, trying to conjure up something to do until Valentine made an appearance. A carriage! He had promised her a carriage – she would ask Fred to take her for a drive. That way she could safely acclimatize herself to her surroundings without fear of violation. It would also serve to use up the rest of the afternoon.
Squaring her shoulders, Kit marched into the kitchen.
The servants had obviously been talking about her for they clammed up at her entry. Cara was grinding something deliciously aromatic with a pestle and mortar and fourteen-year-old Dilly was washing up the crockery used at luncheon. Unlike Myrtle, this flaxen haired youngster appeared to have her wits about her and responded to Kit’s hello with a bright smile.
‘Yes, he’s picked himself a biggun this time!’ Fred was in a separate little cubbyhole polishing silver and was unaware of Kit’s entry. ‘Still, if you have to have one, have a biggun, that’s what I always say.’ At Cara’s warning cough, he poked his head out to witness Kit’s towering presence and immediately rectified the comment by adding, ‘I don’t see any point in skimping on something as important as a mattress – do you, ma’am?’
Not entirely at ease, Kit agreed, then said that if he was too busy she would understand but she’d appreciate it if he could take her out in the carriage. Cara’s expression showed that she wasn’t pleased but Fred seemed happy to oblige, and whipped off his apron.
Asked where she would like to be taken, Kit admitted that she did not know. Fred, metamorphosed to coachman in a black plush top hat with a cockade on the side, and dark green caped overcoat piped with yellow, replied that he would take her around Regent’s Park, which should provide a pleasant excursion before tea. If she cared to go any further afield tomorrow he would be at her disposal. Still, there was a jaded air about him when Kit tried to involve him in conversation, making her wonder to just how many of Mr Kitchingham’s mistresses he had been forced to offer similar services?
A Sense of Duty Page 41