Before I Was Yours, My Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  “No, no one hurt. But, Mr. Wilson, could we get some of the footmen down here to help with clearing up?”

  “Of course. I’ll summon them at once. Did you manage to salvage any part of dinner?”

  “Fortunately, we had not started preparing dinner for service, so it is mostly still in the pots awaiting the dishing up,” Mayson explained. “Jemmy and Mr. McElroy put the roasting hens on the drying rack in the washing room, so they are safe enough for now.”

  “Excellent,” said Mr. Wilson, quickly taking charge of the situation. “Mrs. Swinton, please go tell the Duchess that everyone is safe, but that dinner might be slightly delayed. How fortunate that it is only the Duchess and the staff tonight. We can improvise without fear of embarrassing Her Grace.”

  With one regretful glance at Mayson, Evelyn turned and hurried back up the stairs.

  “The cakes were crushed,” Jemmy told Mr. Wilson in despairing tones.

  “Oh, lad,” the butler cracked a stiff smile, “If crushed cakes are the worst that comes of this, I shall count us well off. Do you still have the ones that fell?”

  “Sir?” Jemmy responded in puzzlement.

  “I’ve helped rescue more than one fallen cake,” Mr. Wilson said. “We shall clear up this mess, and I’ll send the youngest footman down to the village to arrange for a workman to come repair the damages on the morrow. It is a shame about the cakes, especially if they turned out well. But I can promise you that I sampled your earlier efforts, and while not a thing of beauty, your first go was still delicious.”

  “Was it, Mr. Wilson?”

  “It was,” Mr. Wilson said firmly, tipping Mayson a wink.

  Mayson nearly fell out of his chair. This was a side of Mr. Wilson he had never seen, not in the several months he had worked at the Dower House.

  Then Mayson stopped and thought for a moment. He had not needed the kind of coaching that Jemmy was now receiving because the old cook who had sheltered him had readily taught his craft to the frightened, lonely boy that he had been.

  But Mr. Wilson had never been anything but kind to the staff. Stern, yes, that he certainly was. Stiff, formal, adhering to correctness in all things, but never deliberately or needlessly unkind. Why should it be a surprise, then, that he would support the efforts of a boy who was just beginning to learn an exacting craft?

  Mayson made up his mind right then that he liked Mr. Wilson. He had never disliked him, but had accepted the spare, ever-correct butler in much the same way that he accepted the ovens and the stones beneath his feet. Perhaps that is how a butler should be, he thought, a foundation and support for the rest of the staff. But it was good to know that there was something more to Mr. Wilson.

  “Let us get Mr. Rudge a little farther away from the mess so the footmen can clean up,” Mr. Wilson suggested. “Jemmy, can you support him while I move the chair? The two of you are more of a size than he and I. I fear I might drop him.”

  “I can stand,” Mayson protested, at the same time that Jemmy said, “Of course, Mr. Wilson. I’ll be glad to.”

  Between the two of them, Mayson found himself shifted away from the disaster and was just getting settled back in his seat when Evelyn came hurrying back down the stairs, a little breathless from running up and down.

  “Have a care, Mrs. Swinton,” cautioned Mr. Wilson. “It has not been that many days since you had a cast on your foot. Let us not have two invalids on our hands.”

  “I’m not...” Mayson started to protest.

  But Evelynn laughed. “I will be careful, Mr. Wilson.”

  “Indeed, I have said as much to her,” said Mrs. Henshaw, following close behind with a troop of footmen and a gaggle of maids trailing after her. “Dear me! The whole assembly has come loose from the beams,” she exclaimed.

  “I came to say that the Duchess has said that a late dinner is perfectly fine, but to keep her appraised of the event as it unfolds,” Evelyn explained. “How fortunate that we do not have guests tonight.”

  “Quite so,” corroborated Mrs. Henshaw. “With the Duchess’ understanding, it will be a simple matter to manage a meal for staff. We shall simply prepare a meal for the Duchess and then set up a buffet in the servants’ dining hall so that staff can eat as they have time. I fear this might be a busy night for all of us with this recent upset. Mr. Wilson, I have taken the liberty of sending for the constable.”

  “You do not think that this is not merely a mischance caused by wear on an aging edifice?” asked Mr. Wilson in some surprise.

  “I do not,” Mrs. Henshaw replied firmly. “If you will recall, the supporting beams and the chains holding up the rack were replaced just last year. So I think we should wait until after dinner to clear up.”

  “I had forgotten about that,” Mr. Wilson said. “I fear I am becoming as forgetful as Mr. Sparks.”

  Just then Betty hurried down the stairs in the wake of all the other maids and footmen. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Henshaw, Mr. Wilson, Her Grace requests that Mr. Rudge and Mrs. Swinton be brought upstairs to dine with her. She is certain that they will only be underfoot, and running themselves ragged down here, and she does not wish to dine alone. Mr. Wilson, Mrs. Henshaw, you are invited, too.”

  “Goodness!” declared Mrs. Henshaw. “We are becoming most egalitarian.”

  “Perhaps not so revolutionary as all that,” Mr. Wilson demurred. “Her Grace has always been a law unto herself. Jemmy is a shade young to preside over the servants’ table. Mr. McElroy, as senior in age of all the staff, will you do the honors?”

  “I would be glad to, Mr. Wilson. And I am cognizant of the honor you do me, since I am newest and least in seniority.”

  “Molly Sue and Bruce, the head footman, will assist you. Valiant though you are in your efforts to keep our kitchen spotless, we are all aware of your difficulty with stairs. Molly Sue, Bruce,” Mr. Wilson fixed them both with a steely glare.

  “Yes, Mr. Wilson,” they replied in chorus, Molly Sue curtsying, and Bruce giving a perfectly correct bow.

  Mr. Wilson nodded an acknowledgement of their propriety, then directed two of the footmen to make a chair of their arms and carry Mr. Rudge up the narrow stairs and into the Duchess’ drawing room.

  “Ah, there you are, Mr. Rudge,” the Duchess exclaimed. “I have quite missed your visits on the occasions when my tea tray was too laden for Mrs. Swinton to carry it. Settle him right there in the wingback chair. Pull the ottoman over for his foot. Excellent! You are both gentlemen of the first water. Now, go along about your business. I am sure that Mrs. Henshaw and Mr. Wilson will be along shortly with our dinners, and that they will make arrangements for yours.”

  Thus summarily dismissed the two footmen hastened away, leaving the Duchess in the company of her companion and her cook.

  “Well, Mr. Rudge,” the Duchess declared. “It would seem as if you are extremely accident prone of late. One does wonder about it. And I directed Mrs. Henshaw to send for the constable right away. Unless the workmen did an exceptionally poor job of repairing it, there should have been no reason for it to come down.”

  Mayson glanced at Evelyn who hid a smile by bending her head over her needlework, which she had taken up as soon as she sat down in her customary chair. Clearly, the Duchess’ memory was a great deal better than Mr. Wilson’s.

  In a short while, Mrs. Henshaw and Mr. Wilson brought up the dinner trays. They were just setting them down on the drawing room table when Bruce, who as senior footman was Mr. Wilson’s understudy, tapped on the frame of the Duchess’ drawing room door.

  “Yes, Bruce?” Mr. Wilson asked.

  “Constable Morris is here, Mr. Wilson. Should I send him up?”

  “Take him to the kitchen first,” the Duchess said. “Then invite him to join us. I think there is enough food here to feed an army. I do believe that young Jemmy is attempting to follow in your footsteps, Mr. Rudge.”

  “I would be pleased to think that I am having a positive influence over him, Your Grace,” Mayson replied
. “But he bade fair to become a good cook before he was promoted. We have simply made it possible for him to continue learning the trade. I have been pleased with him. He is earnest, and tries hard, frequently to good effect.”

  “I am pleased to hear it,” The Duchess smiled happily at them all. “It is always a pleasure when a plan works out well. But we must get to the bottom of these accidents. A loose stone in those old cellar steps I can well believe. I remember that they were in sad condition when the late Duke and I were wed. But for a kitchen rack, so recently repaired, to come down! That is negligence, at the very least of it, and if such is the case the workmen shall hear of it, I can assure you.”

  “I should not wish to be in their shoes,” Mrs. Henshaw ventured conversationally. “Our Mr. Rudge was nearly squashed by the thing.”

  “As it was, poor Jemmy’s successful cakes fell victim to it. But I can promise you,” Mr. Wilson went on, “That even though his first cakes fell flat, they are still delicious. The boy has a definite flair for desserts.”

  “Perhaps because he is fond of eating them,” Evelyn commented. “Which is not to belittle his success. Where might we have been if he had not already been training as undercook?”

  “In the soup for sure,” Mayson quipped.

  “No, no,” the Duchess protested. “My son would have sent one of the cooks down from the main estate. Although I must say I am just as well pleased that it was not necessary. The last time we had the undercook from Darrius’s household, the fellow was competent but had no imagination at all, no sense of presentation.”

  “Goodness,” Evelyn remarked. She might have said more, but just then Bruce announced Constable Morris.

  The expression on the constable’s face was very grim indeed.

  Chapter 34

  Evelyn felt as if her heart had stopped at the expression on Constable Morris’s face.

  “Come in, come in,” the Duchess invited him. “Sit down with us, and tell us what you have found.”

  “I cannot be sure of the motive or who was intended to be harmed, but it was definitely foul play,” Constable Morris said grimly, sitting down on one of the spindly occasional chairs. “There were bright cut marks on all four of the supporting chains. They were placed in such a way that as the chains heated and cooled throughout the day, they would break, causing the rack to fall.”

  The Duchess set down her glass, although she had been about to take a sip. “That is dreadful! I cannot imagine why anyone would do such a thing.”

  “No more can I,” Constable Morris said heavily. “It is the kind of thing that is often done by disgruntled workers. Have you turned anyone off recently? Had occasion to reprimand anyone?”

  “Only Mr. Sparks,” the Duchess said. “I pensioned him off a little over a month ago. The poor old soul kept falling asleep next to the hearth and having to be rescued before he fell into the coals.”

  “He was sent to live with his daughter, who receives a nice stipend for looking after him, and he is given a few pence each week to spend at the inn. Word has it that he delights in telling stories, gossiping, and playing dice in the evenings, so I cannot imagine how he would feel himself to be badly used.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Constable Morris said. “No other problems with the staff? No one pinching the silver, that sort of thing?”

  “Definitely not,” Mr. Wilson said firmly. “We run a tight ship here. The staff is small, as is only right with our lovely Duchess as the only peer in residence, and works very well together. Aside from having to rescue Mrs. Swinton and Mr. Rudge from their troubles, we have had no incidents at all.”

  “What else has happened?” asked Constable Morris.

  The Duchess quickly explained about the chair leg that had caused Evelyn to endure a broken foot, and Mr. Rudge’s tumble down the cellar stairs. As he listened, the constable’s face took on an expression of increased gravity.

  At the end of the narration, he said, “Clearly, someone intends harm to your staff, Your Grace, and possibly, by extension, to you. This is a matter to be taken very seriously. Have you hired on anyone new recently?”

  “Only Mr. McElroy. He was hired to replace Jemmy as potboy.”

  “Could this Mr. McElroy be the cause of the trouble?”

  “I would scarcely think so,” Mayson put in. “He was wounded in Africa during the recent war. Because he has a wooden leg and his face is horribly scarred, he has a hard time getting employment. I have found him to not only be willing, but eager to work.”

  “Resentment can spring in strange places,” the constable pointed out. “But I will own that it does seem unlikely. Military man and all, it stands to reason that he would understand discipline and duty.”

  “Will you take dinner with us?” the Duchess asked, gesturing at the abundance of food laid out on the drawing room table. “It is the least we can do, having gotten you out so late in the day.”

  “I should say no,” Constable Morris said, surveying the food spread out on the table. “But this all looks incredibly good. Is this young Jemmy’s work?”

  “It is,” Mr. Rudge said. “I am currently relegated to sitting in a corner giving directions while shelling peas to keep my hands out of mischief.”

  The constable’s lips twitched, but he did not smile or laugh. “A dire fate,” he said. “But one that might have saved you from harm. You were too far away from the rack for it to fall on you. It is good luck that Jemmy had turned away to the ovens just then. As large as the thing is, I believe you have gotten off lightly with only two cakes as casualties.”

  “Perhaps so,” Mayson sighed. “But it feels all wrong for it to have happened in my kitchen, this kitchen in particular. It curdles the stomach to think that someone is so resentful or angry as to try engineer such an accident.”

  “It does you credit that you feel that way, Mr. Rudge,” the constable said. “Unfortunately, the kind of person who will do this sort of thing is rarely rational. It makes no sense to us, but to a deranged mind it might seem perfectly logical. Nonetheless, I will send up to London for a couple of fellows I know and can trust. They will be free of local prejudices and associations, and will therefore be more impartial in their investigations.”

  “That is a great deal of trouble,” the Duchess started to say.

  “No trouble at all, Your Grace,” the constable replied. “They are simply sitting around drinking, er, tea and playing the occasional game of darts. It will do them good to bestir themselves, and get a little country air into their citified lungs.”

  “If you are certain,” the Duchess said.

  “I am,” Constable Morris said. “I am only one man, Your Grace, and willing as I am to investigate, I think this would go more smoothly if I had some assistance.”

  “Very well,” the Duchess acquiesced. “But you must let us compensate them for their time.”

  “Not to worry, Your Grace. I believe there is a fund for that which is part of my office.”

  “To be sure there is. I had forgotten about that,” the Duchess said. “How foolish of me.”

  Evelyn noticed that Mayson stared at the constable for a moment, but Constable Morris dug into his dinner as if he had said nothing unusual.

  Evelyn could almost hear the thoughts that must be running through Mayson’s head.

  If the Duchess remembered repairs having been made on the rack in the kitchen, how likely was it that she would forget about a special fund for hiring extra constables?

  Surely, mentioning the fund must be a code for something else, for the Duchess made no further comment on it.

  The Duchess turned the conversation to their meal, praising the various dishes, especially the roasted chicken. She even commented that the cake, although not as fluffy as usual, had good flavor.

  Mr. Wilson beamed at that, saying, “This is the cake our Jemmy made before he made the pair that were squashed flat by the rack. It is a shame that no one ever got to taste them, for they had perfect form and app
eared to be light and fluffy.”

  “It is said that practice makes perfect, so if our young undercook produced two creditable cakes today, no doubt he will be able to repeat the performance at some future time.”

  “One would think so,” Mayson said. “I have every confidence in his ability and his willingness to learn. There is every indication that he will soon become a good cook, and will become even better as he applies his skills. He had already been doing many of the tasks that Mr. Sparks should rightly have undertaken.”

  “Should we understand, then, that Mr. Sparks was somewhat in his dotage?”

  “Precisely,” Mayson said. “He was not a bad fellow, but his wits had begun to wander. His daughter is happy to have him home.”