by Eve Pendle
Not making any progress, Grace put the unfinished letter into one of the little drawers. A distraction was in order. A ring of the bell, and a request to see Mrs. Bishop eventually brought the housekeeper to her.
“I would like to look at the household accounts.” Grace regarded Mrs. Bishop’s neat hair and crisp dress and her fingers, taut with writing, relaxed.
“Lord Westbury deals with those.” The older woman hesitated. “There is no need for you to trouble yourself, m’lady.”
Interesting. “Are you saying I cannot see the accounts, Mrs. Bishop?”
Mrs. Bishop blushed a little, but held her ground. “Oh no. Just that my lord instructed that you were to be allowed time to yourself and not to be importuned with such mundane domestic requirements. Lord Westbury has managed so far on his own, so said there was no need to change the arrangement.”
Ah, that explained why she hadn’t been asked continually about dinner menus and which rooms to open up. That was very considerate of him. More likely, it was a pragmatic decision. He didn’t want to throw his whole household into disarray twice: once when Grace took over its management and again when their bargain was complete. But she was curious about the house and how it was faring. Some women would find out by talking to the maids or the housekeeper. Grace wasn’t socially adept like that. Accounts, with their clear numbers and unfussy totals, were her area of comfort.
“My lord is very kind.” Grace smiled ingratiatingly. “But it’s no trouble to me. If you’d bring them up to me in half an hour, I would be much obliged.”
There was a moment where their eyes met and Grace thought Mrs. Bishop was going to protest, but she only thinned her lips and said, “Very well.”
“And in future, I will arrange domestic matters.” It was silly to pretend she didn’t have the expertise or the time to look after the household arrangements while she was here. She could put everything in order and leave Larksview better off than she found it. Her correspondence about Henry’s guardianship took up all her mind and attention, but she should spare the time for this. Moreover, it was a light relief, dealing with familiar problems of balancing the books and checking all the expenses were as they ought to be. She felt enough of a fraud already, so taking on the duties of the lady of the house was a balm.
The footmen brought up several neatly lined books listing the outgoings of the estate for the past year. As she opened the first ledger, the sound of footsteps receded and she concentrated on the expenses of the household, so much dearer than her father’s household, but easy compared to the complex ordering and bills of managing multiple Alnott Stores.
Murmured conversation came from the next room as two maids cleaned. Grace focused on the outgoing costs of candles.
“Really? And how many months gone is she?” The voice was young and female.
Grace’s head snapped up. That sounded awfully like a bad situation.
“Just goes to show…” That seemed to be Letty, who said the rest of her comment sotto voce, and Grace couldn’t hear.
Laughter followed with a cynical edge, then hushed conversation.
Oh no. The expense of candles would have to wait. Without conscious thought, she was up, across the room, and throwing open the door.
The two maids’ heads turned guiltily.
“Who are you talking about?” she demanded.
“I beg your pardon, m’lady.” Letty hung her head. “You won’t find us gossiping again.” Both girls scuttled for the door.
“Stop.”
They did, turning to her with gazes lowered.
Darn. They both looked terrified. She was the cause, barging into the room and shouting at them. “You’re not in any trouble. I just want to know who you’re talking about,” she said gently.
Letty and the other maid shared a covert look, but didn’t say anything. She was paying the price for her reticence on the first night when she had dismissed Letty. Now they didn’t want to confide in her, which was understandable. They didn’t know her; she’d just arrived and hadn’t earned their confidence. Honestly, she hadn’t expected to require their trust in just six weeks.
Grace swallowed. “Please. Tell me her name. She’s not in trouble. I want to know that she’s well. I want to help.”
Neither girl looked up, apparently unconvinced.
She needed something to convince them. “I can help if she…” How to phrase this? “I know that sometimes there are many reasons a woman might find herself with a man.”
That caught their attention. The other maid had her eyes trained on her now.
“What’s your name?” Grace tried to set her face into a benevolent, unthreatening expression.
“Kate, m’lady.” She averted her eyes back down to her apron.
Her expression wasn’t working. “How long have you worked here?” She had to somehow build rapport.
“I came here to work for the late Lord Westbury in the summer of ’60.” Kate’s voice was not much louder than a whisper.
“Your position is secure, don’t worry. Kate, Letty, I can help your friend if you tell me her name. I want to ensure this girl has options.” Oh, she shouldn’t have started saying this. “I’ve done this before.”
Kate bit her lip, but when she looked up there was understanding and compassion in her gaze. “It’s Jane, m’lady.”
Jane. She wracked her mind but couldn’t recall what Jane looked like, or even did. “Does Lord Westbury know?”
Letty bit her lip. “He sacked her this morning, m’lady.”
Her stomach threatened to heave. She had heard enough. “Thank you. Please carry on with your work.”
She stumbled back to her desk and tried to look at the numbers. But one of the maids was in trouble and instead of helping, her husband had dismissed her. Who had gotten this girl pregnant? A footman? The butler? Was he suffering the same consequences as this poor girl? Her mind refused to consider the possibility of the father being…of higher rank. Grace stared at the blurry numbers until she couldn’t bear it anymore.
She dropped the pages and marched through to Everett’s study. As his wife, if she wanted to talk to him, she would, whether his gentleman’s club was present or not.
Temporary wife. As his temporary wife.
She didn’t bother knocking on the door of the study and flung it open. To find nothing. He wasn’t sitting at his desk. Perhaps he was out doing some upper-class activity with his club. Well, obviously. One did not sit around—
Quick, hard steps behind her in the entrance hall made Grace spin around in the doorway.
“Everett—” Her call died in her mouth at the sight of him. His white shirt was splattered with various shades of what appeared to be blood. His usually neat hair was mussed, the macassar having given up the fight to keep it tidy. He looked untamed. The civilization of his white shirt was creased and his trousers were crumpled as well as spotted with darkness. Was he hurt? The idea struck at her.
“Not now, Grace.” He didn’t break step, taking the stairs two at a time and disappearing into his dressing room, the door slamming behind him.
She took an instinctive step toward the staircase, then halted, staring at the place where he’d been. She wanted to go to him, check that he was unhurt and if he was…what? She wasn’t a nurse. Even if he was injured, he had just made it clear he didn’t want her help. He hadn’t called for anyone else and he’d run up the stairs easily enough, so either his injury wasn’t serious, or it wasn’t his blood.
He’d been with his club, so presumably in some masculine pursuit he or someone else had been hurt. Hunting or boxing, maybe? Coming from trade, she hardly knew. The people she knew, like Samuel, didn’t shoot pheasants or engage in dangerous riding pursuits after foxes.
But then, normal people didn’t live in an enormous house like this, with its grand spaces and lack of corresponding furniture. She reached out and touched the bannister. Decent people ought not to sack their servants for being pregnant. It was a good thing s
he remembered, right at that moment. Else, she might give in to the instinct to ignore the dismissal and go to check on him.
After all, he didn’t want to tell her what had happened, which ought not to sting. She tucked away her concern and returned to her parlor. Putting the ledger onto a side table, she picked her letter to Caroline out of her bureau. Whatever he’d been doing with his gentlemen’s club, it was none of a temporary wife’s concern. She must remember that.
Chapter Nine
At four o’clock, if Grace was at the house it was understood that she wanted tea, and whether she had expressed the desire for it or not, it appeared. The warm August day meant it was served on the front terrace overlooking the lake. Well-brewed Darjeeling tea, delicately spiced fruit cake, ginger nuts, and light Victoria sponge filled with plum jam. The gardeners were showing off by providing sweet little red grapes and white peaches. Grace was just cutting into a slice of sponge when she heard quick, firm footsteps approaching. Servants didn’t approach thus. She tensed when the knife made a clink as it hit the china plate.
“I apologize for my appearance and manner earlier. May I join you?” Everett didn’t wait for her answer before sitting in the chair on the other side of the table.
Grace looked over at the lake as though it interested her as much as he did. It was a rich blue color today, reflecting the sky.
“It’s of no consequence.” How did he bear to go out with his aristocratic club, when a maid in his household had been sacked over a joint error and responsibility?
“Did you wish to talk to me about something?” he asked mildly.
“You were out hunting, I surmise. Or some other blood sport?” And he hadn’t wanted his lowborn wife around for the activity or the aftermath.
He didn’t reply immediately, and curious, she turned her gaze toward him. She took in his smoothed hair, clean frock coat, deep green waistcoat, and crisp necktie. He hardly looked like the same man she had seen earlier. He was undeniably handsome, his face highlighted by the afternoon sun. Easily good-looking enough to turn a maid’s head.
Everett signaled to the footman to pour him tea and waited until he retreated to a discreet distance. It wasn’t until he’d added milk and stirred the drink to a smooth color that he took a sip. “A cull is a very uneven sort of hunt.” His expression was sober, his brows low over his gray eyes.
A cull of the cattle. But there were others to do the work of the estate, so why would he and his club do the job? She could hardly imagine well-dressed fops and rakes doing slaughterhouse work. A small charitable whim, maybe? But Everett appeared rather grim about it, so perhaps it hadn’t been quite as he’d hoped. It was an odd sort of thing for a gentleman’s club to use as entertainment, undoubtedly. But who was she to understand the proclivities of lords?
“But that’s an unpleasant topic.” He seemed to pull himself into a brighter mood. “Tell me of this thing of no consequence.”
She scrunched up her toes in her slippers. This necessitated careful handling, but that wasn’t always her forte. “I understand Jane was dismissed today.”
“I am aware of the situation. It’s under complete control.” He took another sip of tea.
Her stomach stilled, like he’d filled her with his callousness and it had turned her to stone. “If by control, you mean rampant corruption and prejudice against a wronged woman.”
“You quite mistake the situation, Grace.” He placed his teacup down gently.
“I don’t think I do.” She clattered down her own teacup, folded her arms, and sat back. “Why is she losing her job?”
“She’s with child. She can’t look after a baby and also work.”
“There are two people involved in fornication, you know.” Her hands balled into fists. “What’s happening to the man involved? And who is it?”
“Thompson, the steward,” he replied evenly. “I have increased his salary, because—”
“What?” Her voice had become shrill. She had just begun to think he was a good man, and here he was, enacting the worst sort of bias. “You are a monster, and I refuse to—”
“He is going to be married and needs the extra income.” Everett raised his voice.
Her outburst gave way to quiet, like after a bag of flour was dropped and the air was settling.
“He is marrying Jane.” It wasn’t a question. She wasn’t allowing it to be a question.
A ghost of a smile played around his mouth. “It would be more accurate to say Jane is deigning to marry him.”
“The marriage, and the…fornicating. They are…mutual?” She fiddled with her teacup, turning it around on its saucer. She hoped he understood what she meant.
He chuckled. “The scandalized tone of Mrs. Bishop when telling me of an indiscretion she witnessed indicates it was not just mutual, but positively enthusiastic.”
The stone dissolved in her stomach. Then immediately another concern solidified in her mind. “Does she have a dowry?” Virtually no man would marry without a dowry of some kind.
“No. I offered one. Thompson accepted with alacrity, but Jane was quite clear that she worked for her money, and Thompson would work for theirs.”
“She said no?” Silly girl. Hadn’t she realized yet that she could depend on money much more than she could depend on men. She shook her head in disbelief, but she could breathe again, her body no longer petrified.
“She’s proud as a peacock.” Everett sat back and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, even as his mouth twitched with mirth. “Though she’s not really a peacock.”
“Oh?” Was he insinuating Jane wasn’t beautiful, or that she wasn’t proud? Grace unfurled her arms and took a sip of tea.
“More of a badger, don’t you think? Sort of rounded and cute, but fierce. Stripy.”
She spluttered in laughter and slapped her hand over her mouth to prevent tea spraying down her front. When she managed to calm herself and look up, he was serene, only a slight curve of his mouth betraying him.
Grace bit her lip, but she knew her eyes betrayed her just as his did. “A badger you say? And what is Thompson?”
“Hmm. I think he is a fox.”
With the slightest red tinge to Thompson’s beard and his bright eyes, the animal suited him. Grace leaned forward. “What is John?”
“John the footman?” He tilted his head to the side. “A hare.”
“Do you allocate animal characters to all your staff?” He was suddenly so whimsical and Grace was entranced.
“Of course. It’s part of my duty as an earl. What do you think an earl does all day?” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Manage an estate? Sit in the House of Lords? No, we invent animal psyches for our servants, like witches in frock coats.”
“And is this a great tradition?” She flicked her wrist with pomp and ceremony to tease him and carry on their joke. “Passed down the generations from one earl to the next.”
His cheerful expression faded. He sighed, put down his tea, and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. There was a pause where he seemed reluctant to say anything, his jaw clenching.
“No. Quite the opposite. My father was an irresponsible landlord and an ungenerous employer. My brother followed in his example. My father and brother neglected the estate and spent all their time in town, under the pretense of fulfilling their duties in the House of Lords. They didn’t do anything of the kind, of course. Father made foolish investments, mortgaged the house, and left it to rot, understaffed. He speculated on trains and lost a good bit of money.”
Evidently that was an understatement.
“My brother never even sat in the House, I believe. He liked his financial gambles less refined than my father. Their behavior in town has given me a dislike of the place.”
“I’m beginning to think you take your responsibilities quite seriously.” He was reacting against their poor example, then. He wanted to right the wrongs of the past. He said it was his job to protect the estate, so why go off with his gentleman’s club? Even to
be involved with the cull, bringing his friends along, as though it were a party was an odd sort of way to help. “Which is why it surprised me that you went out this morning with your club.”
“Yes.” Everett looked down. “We culled all the cattle at Bridge Farm. With luck, it will prevent rinderpest from spreading into the herds on the south side of the river. I had to help, as I am a figurehead, of sorts, for the whole attempt to stop the disease. But it will be expensive.” He drank his tea, hiding his mouth. But his gaze looked bleak.
“Expensive? But why?” It seemed inconceivable that there could be more expenses still. Bridge Farm was a tenant farm, not part of the estate that was directly managed by Thompson. There was no reason for him to pay for them.
“Because I agreed to it.” Her confusion must have continued to show on her face, as he began to explain. “Last year there were a great many bills in parliament about cattle diseases.”
Grace nodded in recollection. She had stopped reading most of the tedious reports of parliamentary bills concerning a possible epidemic from the continent.
“I encouraged two of the local independent farmers with an idea for a cattle club to talk to me about it.”
An insurance club. Not a privileged aristocratic gentleman’s club at all, but a mutual workingman’s club. It shook her. She had misjudged him. But, why would an earl be involved with a working-class insurance club? A gentleman’s club made sense. Instead, he cared about the people he was responsible for. Her chest overfilled with warmth, like a hot air balloon.
“A farmer pays in a subscription commensurate with the number of cattle he has and in return is paid compensation if they die. Such clubs take many years to establish enough buffer to survive a major outbreak, since the subscription must be low enough to be affordable. It is an average of one shilling per head, I believe. I agreed to underwrite the club and encourage membership by allowing my tenants to have the money partially taken from their rents.”