Ariana look up briefly. “We have just the thing to replace it.”
“We?” She gave the merchant a shrewd look, which he steadfastly ignored. “Hmmm.” She studied her niece thoughtfully. “I maintain it must be acceptable for a lady to make a few changes in her future abode, but pray, do not forget whose house you are in. Mr. Mornay should no doubt be consulted before you institute any grand—”
“But, Aunt—I mean to surprise him.”
“What? You?” Ariana tried not to take offense at her aunt’s tone. Surely she did not understand that just because Ariana didn’t drool over fashion or millinery as her aunt did, it didn’t have to follow that she had no taste at all.
“Everything is of the first water, my dear, and without Mornay here, I daresay you must be conservative in your plans.”
Ariana smiled. “Aunt Bentley, I want above all things to be conservative!” She pointed at bas-relief nudes on the wall. “I have ordered a new panel here,” she said, with a satisfied look.
“You’re replacing this? Why, what’s wrong with it?” the lady asked, mystified.
Mr. Pellham had come in earlier, overheard some of the dialogue, and was smiling, understanding instantly how it was. And then Mrs. Bentley caught on, and looked with alarm at her niece. “My dear, this is the classical style! No one thinks of this as anything but art! No one pays any attention to it at all, I daresay!”
“Then no one shall notice the change,” she replied.
Her aunt made a grimace. “What else have you authorized?”
“The addition of angels, a few paintings, plasterwork, that sort of thing.” Mrs. Bentley stared at her niece. It seemed so unlike Ariana to take charge of anything so momentous as changing the Paragon’s dwelling—even if she was soon to share it—that all she could do was stare for a moment. The girl is growing up, that much is evident. All the better, she thought. Marriage and children will be easier for her.
With the exception of the plasterers and sculptors, the shopkeepers were disappointed with the results of the time they had spent at Grosvenor Square that day, and left dispiritedly. Earlier, the plate manufacturer had tried admirably to persuade the young bride-to-be that it was entirely fitting for a new dinner service to be made, but Ariana was growing dismayed herself at all the changes she had authorized, thinking of the expense, and wouldn’t hear of it. He flew to her aunt, who offered the opinion that Ariana should indeed order new plate with a matching tea and coffee service, at the least. A fat catalogue of designs was produced. The Mornay coat of arms was suggested, but declined. Too masculine, Ariana thought.
Mrs. Herley and Mrs. O’Brien could not remain impervious to this discussion, and offered their opinions. All three women huddled around Ariana, straining to see the the catalogue. Ariana could not hold out against the force of three ladies and conceded to a Staffordshire set in a soft floral style. It would be customized by having the scrolling initials P and A incorporated into the border design. Her heart beat faster at saying the initials; she would soon be Mrs. Mornay! A married woman, and Phillip, her husband!
Before the merchants had gone, Mrs. Bentley quietly walked towards the stairs and looked up. Mr. Pellham followed her. When she climbed the stairs to the servants’ quarters, he did likewise.
She continued on to the housekeeper’s room, found it empty, and sat down abruptly on the bed. In fact, she tried to bounce on it, all the while wearing a little, dissatisfied expression. Mr. Pellham looked on with no surprise whatsoever—Mrs. Bentley always had a reason for what she did. He might not understand it, but he knew, if she deemed it necessary to bounce upon the housekeeper’s bed, then it must be necessary.
Mrs. Bentley, frowning, rose and began to sternly examine the room. She noted the size of the fireplace, the quality of the bedding and curtains, the fine desk, rocking chair, and carpet.
“Mr. Pellham,” she said. “Would you be so kind as to sit upon this bed for one moment?” With his usual amiability, he murmured, “But of course, Mrs. B.” He went and sat on the bed.
“How do you find it?” she asked.
“Perfectly comfortable, Mrs. B.”
“Humph!” said the lady. “Thank you, Mr. Pellham.”
“Not at all, Mrs. B.”
Before leaving the premises, Mrs. Bentley accomplished one more deed that had been on her mind. She found the housekeeper and took her aside to tell her that Molly, employed in the kitchens, was a scurrilous, untrustworthy servant. She related what had occurred at Hanover Square, and Molly’s ignoble hand in it. Mrs. Hamilton was shocked by the disclosure, and said she would keep a sharp eye on the maid.
“What you needs must do,” returned Mrs. Bentley firmly, “is dismiss her. I shudder at the thought of my niece being in the same household as that dishonest creature. Do you understand?”
“I do, ma’am.” Her tone was apologetic. “I will speak to Mr. Frederick about it, and, with his leave, do as you suggest.”
Mrs. Hamilton watched her go with relief. This new information about Molly intrigued her. Of course under normal circumstances she would certainly have dismissed the servant at once, but she remembered that the master had brought the girl to the household, and would therefore need his express leave to do so. Perhaps, she thought, smiling inwardly, perhaps she had stumbled onto information that might be useful. Molly would surely want to keep her place. Though she was a scullery maid, she might work her way up in such a household. Mrs. Hamilton herself had started in the kitchens as a young girl.
Which meant, Molly would be eager to do exactly as Mrs. Hamilton directed.
Chapter Four
Mr. Mornay arrived home early that evening to a house astir with servants.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
Did Frederick’s greeting hold a mild note of trepidation? As he wondered thus, Mr. Mornay saw a pair of chambermaids go hieing from one room into another, and looked in surprise at his butler, who said only, “Mrs. Hamilton would like a word with you, sir, at your soonest convenience.”
When Mrs. Hamilton had duly been summoned to Phillip’s study, he bade her come in. He looked up from his desk, where he’d been perusing a stack of mail that sat beside The Sporting Magazine.
“I beg your pardon, sir” she began. “But I thought you’d want to know;” She hesitated, nervously wringing a handkerchief in her hands.
“Well?”
“After Miss Forsythe was here,” this gained his full interest and he put his head back to listen more attentively.
“I found sir, that a silver candlestick has gone missing.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps it is being cleaned.”
“I checked with the servants, sir; that candlestick was there before I took her around, but now ‘tis gone. I have the entire household searching for it, sir, but it’s no good. It isn’t here!”
He looked back down at the stack of papers before him. “I’ll look into it, Mrs. Hamilton, thank you.”
“Yes, sir.”
The woman remained standing there, so he added, “Is there something else?”
“Yes, sir; I believe it might interest you to know that Miss Forsythe ordered new relief panels for the dining room.”
This was a surprise, but he showed no change outwardly.
“Very good, thank you.”
“And for the parlour, and the gallery. And library.”
“Very well.”
“And the Roman bust in the hall near the drawing room was broken to pieces, I’m afraid, by one of the guests.” She hurried on. “And statuary has been removed from the dining room and other areas for the purpose of measuring new ones.”
“One of the guests? Who else was here? Mrs. Bentley, I suppose?” He wore a mild scowl, and Mrs. Hamilton’s heart lightened. “There were eight people in all, sir.”
“Eight?” He thought for a moment. “You mentioned new sculpture. Did Miss Forsythe state her objection to the old ones?”
She cleared her throat. He looked up.
> “They were immodest, sir. According to Miss Forsythe, they were pagan or lacking grace.”
“Immodest?” He had to think for a moment, and then he quickly ducked his head down again.
“Very good, Mrs. Hamilton, thank you. That will be all.”
“Mr. Mornay, sir?”
He looked up again. She was waiting for him to lose his temper. Of course she had no desire for it to happen on her account, but on account of Miss Forsythe’s meddling with his interior decoration.
When he realized his housekeeper was waiting for some kind of encouragement before opening her mouth again, he asked, “What is it, Mrs. Hamilton?”
“Forgive me, sir,” she said, “but I feel it necessary to inform you of this as well.” She looked uncomfortable to the extreme, but continued, “Miss Forsythe expressed an interest sir, in occupying…the master bedchamber.” She said this with barely masked disapproval.
“She wishes to oust me from my bedchamber?”
“No, forgive me, sir, she wishes to share your bedchamber.”
His face didn’t betray the least change, but inside his heart took a leap. Here was the biggest surprise yet. Didn’t women always want their own bedchamber? The deep ache instantly accosted him. There was no appearance of the famous temper. “I’ll speak to her about it.” His eyes went back to his papers.
Mrs. Hamilton frowned, but there was nothing else she could do. In her opinion, and she had many of them, this business of sharing a bedchamber was evidence of ill-breeding. It was her understanding that the highest members of society kept separate bedchambers. It didn't mean that they always slept apart, but that they could. This was further evidence to her mind of a serious shortcoming in the future mistress. Not that she needed proof.
She kept her eyes carefully averted from her employer’s as she continued, “The broken sculpture, sir. Did you wish to—”
He looked up. “How did it break?”
“The younger Miss Forsythe was…scampering about like a hoyden, sir, and it fell.”
He pushed out his chair and sat back, his arms behind his head comfortably. The idea of Ariana sharing his bedchamber had put him in a thoroughly optimistic mood. Far from being displeased over the broken statuary, or the apparently large-scale changes to occur in his dwelling, he was actually feeling generous. “Unless it can be fixed, there is nothing to be done about the piece, Mrs. Hamilton. I’ll see that your wages are compensated for the trouble today, however.”
She stared at him stupidly for a moment. He didn’t seem to understand that she had been reporting on his betrothed with the purpose of arousing his wrath. In fact, he wasn’t the least bit put out and had offered her extra wages! She remembered herself enough to curtsey and say, “Thank you, sir.”
His placid eyes met hers, and he asked, “Is there anything else?”
“No, sir. Good day, sir.” Her words were tinged with disappointment. She turned to leave, but he called her back.
“You do understand, Mrs. Hamilton, that Miss Forsythe will be your mistress, and as such, she has my complete authority to do as she wishes?”
She curtseyed again. “Yes, of course, sir.”
“Is that a problem for you?”
“Not at all.”
“Very good.” As she turned to go once more, he said, “I’ll eat supper early. Have Fotch ready for me, say, in one hour.”
“Very good, sir. Will you take supper in the dining room, sir?”
This drew a mild scowl. “I’ll take it here, as I often do.” He looked at her searchingly. She seemed a bit pigeon-headed today. When he was alone, he often ate in his study. The dining room, he reserved for company.
Mrs. Hamilton said, a little in her defense, “I thought you might wish to see what work has already begun, sir.” The room in fact was rather a mess at the moment, for workers had gone straight to it, already removing panels and pieces of bas relief for Ariana’s changes. And she had forbidden the maids to clean up the area as yet, purposely hoping the disarray might upset her fastidious master.
“I'll see it when it’s finished,” he said, without lifting his head again. He sifted through the mail. More charitable requests? How was it that every asylum, hospital or medical society suddenly knew his direction? It was as if attending the service at the Orphanage had opened a floodgate leading directly to his house. He went through the stack quickly, picked out one he thought might use his donation to the best effect, and left a note for his man of business.
Disgruntled, Mrs. Hamilton made her way back to her chamber slowly. Something had to be done to ensure that life went on as before at Grosvenor Square. Not only was the master smitten with Miss Forsythe—that much was evident—the rest of the staff was, too. Only she, Mrs. Hamilton, seemed to understand that situations were in peril. Life was about to undergo a vast disruption. She would have to set things right. At least there was Molly, she reflected, to somehow use for her purpose.
Mr. Mornay had said nothing about her being replaced with a new housekeeper. She knew enough of her master to realize that he would give proper warning if such a thing were to occur. This should have softened her heart towards Ariana, but it did not. Mrs. Hamilton expected that the young lady was just crafty enough to keep her plans to herself until she was safely installed as his wife. I am no fool. I know how the world works. Good thing I led the tour—it was a great opportunity to keep preparing for my future.
She would need to survive on much less wages than she was making at present—perhaps none. The silver candlestick would fetch a pretty price, of that she was certain. But it wouldn’t be enough. In fact, it would take a lot for her to feel she’d been compensated for losing this situation, the best paying and most prestigious position of her lifetime. Servants from other households treated her with respect on account of it. She would need good savings, therefore, not only to make up for its loss, but to prevent herself from ending up at Draper’s, as her mother had.
Besides, even if the future Mrs. Mornay does not plan on dismissing me, my influence and authority are about to be severely diminished. It will never be the same. The mistress will now be consulted on all domestic matters, even if I am required to put them into effect. My opinions—subject to that young chit’s! How can it be borne? How did other housekeepers bear it?
It was a mystery to her.
The candlestick had been a sudden brilliant revelation. There were plenty of pawn shops about. No difficulty should be encountered on that head, moving goods for cash. And in this house there were many, many goods.
As Ariana stepped down from the carriage, arriving home after the visit to Grosvenor Square, she was met by three ladies who hurried towards her. Mrs. Bentley had gone off with Mr. Pellham on a small errand, so she was by herself.
“I say, Miss Forsythe?”
A footman opened the door to the house and Haines appeared. He saw the women and a worried look came over his face.
“Miss Forsythe. We beg your pardon for accosting you in the street.” The plump lady, with a kindly, grand-motherly sort of face, stopped to catch her breath. “But you see, 'twas the only method we could find to gain an audience with you.”
“You might have called upon me at any time, I assure you.” Ariana said.
“Oh, my dear,” she answered. “We tried, you must know. We left a dozen cards. I hoped you would return a call.” she said, huffing a little, “but I am not often in London, and I suppose if you tried, I was not in residence.”
Ariana glanced at the open door, and said, “Please; come inside.”
The women looked at each other. One said, “We beg your pardon, but we understand that our company is not welcomed by your aunt.”
Ariana said, blithely, “Well, my aunt is not home at present, and you are welcome at the moment. Now, please, follow me.”
A troubled Haines accepted their shawls, giving them to a footman. “Ma’am, may I have a word with you?” To another footman, he said, “Show Miss Forsythe’s guests to the sitting ro
om, John.”
The sitting room was never used to entertain callers. Ariana looked at the butler in stark astonishment, but he said, “Orders, ma’am,” in a low tone, and with a look fraught with meaning.
Ariana felt bewildered.
Haines, perceiving her puzzlement, said in a low voice, “The mistress says that woman is not to be allowed to enter this establishment.”
“There are three women, Haines.”
“The one in the middle,” he said.
Ariana cocked an eyebrow at him. “Why? Who is she?”
Haines leaned in. “That is Mrs. Southcott, the one they call a “prophetess.”
Ariana's eyes lit with interest.
“May I have your permission to show them out? You needn’t face them.”
“By no means! I have read much about this woman. I will see this Mrs. Southcott.”
She left the poor man standing with the thought that he had utterly failed his mistress. He checked his watch fob and shook his head worriedly.
When Ariana entered the sitting room, the ladies started to rise.
“Please, do not,” she cried, flushing with embarrassment.
“I daresay you know who I am, now,” Mrs. Southcott said, with a little sad smile.
“Yes.” Ariana sat down and faced the women on the sofa. She asked, “May I offer you refreshments?
Mrs. Southcott sat forward and replied, in a strong tone, “My bread is to do the will of Him who sent me. I have no appetite for any other.”
“I see,” Ariana said with a nod, noting with amusement that the lady’s plumpness did not support such a statement. But she said only, “May I ask what you wished to see me about?”
“I wished to see you, Miss Forsythe, to give you a gift.” Mrs. Southcott nodded at one of her companions, who drew forth a packet of letters sealed with ribbon.
“Some of your writings?” Ariana held out her slim hand.
Mrs. Southcott nodded. “For your perusal,” she said, handing them to her. “I have been told of your great sense of religion, Miss Forsythe. I am hoping to find a friend in you.”
The House in Grosvenor Square: A Novel of Regency England (The Regency Trilogy Book 2) Page 5