The Heart That Hides (Regency Spies Book 2)
Page 7
“I was,” said Agnes. “She was lovely. Just right for him. They were so happy and when they knew Mr Freddie was coming they were even happier. When she died we all thought he would die too. He stopped eating and refused to see the baby. When he shut himself up in the bedroom Mr Peters sent for Lord Meldon and his lordship put him right. It took him a long time, but he made this a happy house for the sake of Mr Freddie.”
Mary had thought that this must be the case. She had noticed that the household revolved around Freddie, not its master. That was the reason Finch had given for requesting that she allow Agnes and Joan to do something with her hair. He had explained that he was as indifferent to it as she presumably was, but he preferred to employ people who could present themselves well, for Freddie’s sake. He had not been quite this blunt, but she had understood what he meant.
Agnes and Joan had done wonders with her hair and she could learn to do it herself in time. It would mean, however, looking at herself every day in the mirror that Finch had provided in her bedroom and the thought of being confronted with her own poor reflection every morning saddened her.
One morning Mary was called into Finch’s study. Indicating that she should sit in one of the armchairs, he sat behind his desk and she immediately felt uncomfortable, for he had not been this formal when he had interviewed her.
“Miss Wilding, you have misled me.”
Mary thought frantically about what she might have said or done to make him think she had misled him or, worse, lied to him. She said nothing, trying to remember that he had not, so far, shown himself to be a cruel man.
“Lady Caroline Warren gave me some surprising information this afternoon.”
Mary had been called to meet the tall, handsome, elegantly-dressed woman and had answered some of her questions when Finch had left them alone. Realising that this was a test of some kind, she had answered concisely and truthfully. Lady Caroline had been introduced to her as a friend of Finch’s and she had been warm and friendly. If she had not been testing her, Mary thought that she would have liked the older woman a great deal. They had spoken about the Holdens and her life before she had gone to live with them. Mary had said as little as possible, as she had no intention of lying. She didn’t think she had told Lady Caroline any more than she had told Finch.
“You led me to believe that I offered you the correct amount for your salary.”
Finch tapped the desk lightly. She recognised it as a sign of his irritation.
Mary swallowed. The salary he had offered her was generous, certainly, but she didn’t think it was extravagant.
“You should have told me that it wasn’t enough.”
Mary was stunned. Not enough? He thought he was paying her too little.
“No,” she demurred.
“I didn’t know about such things, but Lady Caroline told me I’m barely paying you enough to clothe yourself, let alone to the standard that I require. And it takes no account of your experience.”
“Mr Finch, I’m not sure you understand...”
“I can only apologise for my ignorance and ask you to correct any similar errors on my part in the future.”
Honesty compelled her to say, “Mr Finch, my salary is very generous.”
“I have certain requirements with regard to dress in my house and I’m sure that neither of us would be happy if I bought your clothes.”
Mary felt herself blush at the impropriety of the suggestion and Finch looked away as if he shared her embarrassment.
“I’m going to give you an advance, if you’ll forgive me. I think that gown suits neither you nor your position. I like Freddie to be surrounded by bright and cheerful things.”
Mary could not deny this. Everything in this house was colourful. In the other houses where she had worked she had been able to hide in the background in her muted colours, but here they made her stand out. She was grateful for Finch’s consideration in giving her an advance, but she would have to work out how she could persuade him to reduce her salary again. It was imperative that she disabuse him of the notion that he had cheated her. He had been kind and considerate and she was too happy here to want to upset him in any way.
“I will accept your advance,” she said slowly, “for I know that Freddie finds my dresses dull and would be pleased if I wore something else. He calls me his little mouse.”
Finch barked out a laugh, before he managed to say, “I apologise for his bad manners and he shall do so for himself before the day is much older.”
“There is no need,” she reassured him, “for he apologised himself the first time, but I told him that I quite like it.”
It had been a long time since anyone had had a pet name for her.
Finch looked thoughtful.
“If it does not offend you, I shall not take it up with him, but it displeases me.” He stood and walked round the desk to stand in front of her. “You should not, I think, approve of such a name. It doesn’t suit you.”
She looked up at him. How could she tell this happy, confident man that she had spent the last few years trying to hide as much as a mouse running round the house after dark? It suited her more than any name she had ever had.
“Mr Finch, I am very grateful to you for giving me the opportunity to live with you and Freddie.” When he shook his head she continued, “You don’t know how unhappy I was before I came here.” She swallowed as she remembered what she had been contemplating before she saw Finch’s advertisement. “If Freddie wants to call me a little mouse, I’m happy.”
Finch shook his head again.
“Miss Wilding, I say again that you are not a little mouse and I will not be happy if you allow Freddie to continue to use the name. It shows poor judgement on his part. And you are supposed to be teaching him good manners.”
Mary blushed again.
“I do not mean to shame you,” he said.
“Yet I am ashamed.”
“Then, perhaps I should be more open with you.”
“Please.”
He smiled, but it didn’t take away her sudden fear.
“I like what you’re doing with Freddie. He’s a shy boy and you’re bringing him out. Please understand, Miss Wilding, that, unless you wish it otherwise, you will be with us until Freddie goes to school.”
Mary almost jumped up to hug him, but restrained herself. He didn’t know what he gave her and she resolved that he would not regret it.
“I should prefer Freddie to call you ‘Miss Wilding’,” Finch continued, “but if you want him to have a pet name for you, it must be something else and...”
He stopped and Mary knew his thoughts as if he had spoken them aloud.
“Stupid of me,” he said at last. “A boy who doesn’t use his own name would want to rename someone he loves. If he must do so, I’d rather it was something that shows some respect for you.”
“I do not feel it shows a lack of respect,” she said, “but I can see that it might seem like that. I shall talk to him.”
It would no longer be true anyway, she thought, when she had her new dresses.
“Thank you. Now, here is the advance.”
He hesitated.
“I shall not be offended,” she prompted, guessing his difficulty.
“I was wondering if you might want some help, choosing material, styles... that sort of thing. Lady Caroline...”
“I should not wish to disturb Lady Caroline.”
“Then Joan or Agnes. Agnes was once able to describe to me the clothing of every man and woman who had come to tea and to say whether it suited them or not and why. Take her whenever you want. I’ll tell Peters that you have my permission.”
“You’re very kind.”
“I’m very shallow. I like being surrounded by pretty things and people.”
She could not return his smile, for she knew she was not pretty; even a new dress would not make her so.
“Make it soon, please. I worry about that dress every time I see it.”
Mary
blushed.
“That was a poor attempt at a joke. I’m sorry. I have insulted you.”
Mary looked down at her dress and felt its material between her fingers.
“I think it is only my willpower that keeps it together. I’m afraid I’m a poor seamstress.”
“Ask Peters for as many candles as you want.”
“Thank you. I already have more candles than I need in my sitting-room.”
“Good, but you will not impoverish me if you use more.”
There was no more to be said, so Mary stood up.
“A lion, possibly,” he said thoughtfully, “but most definitely not a mouse.”
Mary laughed and went back upstairs to Freddie.
Mary had been relieved to discover that, although Finch expected his servants to attend church every Sunday, he didn’t dictate where they went.
“Freddie and I are Quakers,” he had said on her first Saturday evening, “so we go to the meeting house and anyone who wishes to join us is welcome, but if your beliefs take you elsewhere, that is your decision.”
They were sitting together in the dining-room drinking port. Finch didn’t care to sit alone in the dining-room and Mary was happy to accommodate him. It was a surprise to discover that he expected her to drink port with him, but she found the taste pleasing.
“I’m Catholic,” she said quietly. She understood the impulse that dictated she have as few secrets as possible from this man, but this revelation must surely cause him to send her from the house.
“Really?” He looked at her intently. “I’ve never knowingly employed a Catholic. Do you think I might accompany you one Sunday? Oh, I’m sorry. It must be terribly important to you and I’m just being curious.”
“Are you?” she said provocatively. “Is it just curiosity?”
She doubted he was the least bit interested in going into a Catholic church.
“No, you’re right. It’s not just curiosity, although there is some.” He looked into his glass, then back at her. “Forgive me, but you might need my support. The servants might be less accepting when they find out you’re a Catholic.”
She nodded and saw from his slight frown that he understood that she had suffered persecution for this before.
“And you?”
Mary found that she was holding her breath as he considered his answer.
“You’re an intelligent woman and if your conscience can bear your Catholicism, so can I.”
He didn’t smile and she accepted that he was completely serious. There could be no doubt that her faith was a mark against her in his mind.
He accompanied her to church the next day, sitting grim and tight-lipped beside her throughout. He said nothing as they drove back to the house. It was only when he reached up to help her down from the carriage that he said quietly, “You’re a much braver woman than I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
She sensed this wasn’t the insult it seemed.
“I could not... I lost my soul long ago and I could not...”
The despair on his face said more than his words and whilst she didn’t understand what he meant, she knew that somewhere inside him there was a deep wound that had not been healed.
The following Sunday Mary went with Finch and a few of the household to the meeting house. She began to understand why her own church had disturbed him so. Finch seemed to accept her desire to visit the meeting house as a direct consequence of his reaction to her own practice. “You will find it dull,” he had said, but she had not. There was a peacefulness in the room that came from more than the silence. Gradually she gave herself up to it. When someone spoke, it seemed to grow out of the silence itself. She even forgot to look at Finch and it was only as they rose to leave that she thought of him again. He was as grim-faced as he had been the previous Sunday and she wondered why he came here if it provided so little comfort for him.
“Is your curiosity satisfied?” asked Finch as they returned to the house.
“For the moment. But if I should feel the need to come again?”
He looked at her, trying to understand what she could not understand herself.
“That’s entirely up to you. But do not feel that you have to. No one in the house feels that you’re a danger to their souls.”
“I have been the subject of gossip?”
She was horrified that her faith had been discussed by the servants.
“I asked them.”
“You asked them! Why?”
This was worse than the servants gossiping about her.
“They are devoted to Freddie. They would make your life unbearable if they thought you were harming him spiritually.”
“They think I wish to take his soul to Catholicism?”
“No. They have watched you, Miss Wilding. It’s only natural, I’m afraid, despite my efforts. I told you, they’re devoted to Freddie and I have placed him in your care. They don’t quite trust my judgement where he’s concerned.”
Despite herself, Mary laughed.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
He smiled.
“Don’t be. You should laugh more often.”
She blushed, for this seemed to be even more personal than his examination of her faith. Finch cleared his throat and she was sorry that she had embarrassed him.
“My faith,” she prompted, worried again that he would throw her out.
“It seems you have been most careful to ask Freddie to explain his faith and have made no effort to discuss yours, unless requested to do so by him.”
Mrs Adams, she realised. The old nurse often brought her sewing into the schoolroom and sat with them.
“Mrs Adams is a very effective spy,” she said, then paused as Finch was taken by a fit of coughing.
“They told me you had been ill,” she said as she waited for him to recover, wondering if she should help him in some way.
“She is a good spy,” he agreed, when he could speak again. “And, yes, I have been ill. I recover slowly.”
Mary had hoped to learn about Finch’s own faith, when she had questioned Freddie. She had been surprised at the depth of Freddie’s understanding.
“What Mrs Adams couldn’t tell you, or anyone else, because she wasn’t there, was that I also asked Freddie what he knew about other beliefs. He was able to tell me what everyone in the house believed, even me. He was too polite to tell me why we were all wrong, but that’s what he thinks.”
“His mother was a Quaker, too,” said Finch. “I think he believes that having her faith brings him closer to her. She would be so proud of him.”
He stared into the distance and Mary knew she had lost his attention to his late wife. She did, at least, understand why he spent every Sunday in a way that gave him so little comfort.
Mary learned quickly that Finch wasn’t embarrassed by showing how much he loved his son. She also saw how Freddie loved him. They played together often. Finch had only been uncomfortable the first time she had caught him on the floor with Freddie, arranging tin solders into opposing armies. She had returned early from a visit to the milliner and father and son were in the schoolroom laughing together. Finch had jumped up and said, “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”
He was blushing, so she smiled.
“I do not take long to choose between one ribbon and another. I shall leave you to it.”
She turned towards her own room.
“Please stay,” said Freddie. “Papa says you know the names of all the generals.”
“Please stay,” agreed Finch, with less enthusiasm.
She thought he would rather be alone with his son, but she fetched her bonnet and trimmed it while they played together, Freddie testing her on the names he should give to the soldiers. Finch said little until his embarrassment had worn off, then he had insisted on mispronouncing the names of the French and German generals, so that Freddie corrected him. Then she had corrected Freddie and it had turned into a lesson of German and French pronunciation.
The compliment had made her happy for days.
Another time she had come upon them fencing with wooden swords on the stairs. Certain that she could have no rôle in that game, she had tried to pass them to go to her room. Finch motioned to Freddie that they should stop and both had bowed. Mary curtsied, even though it was awkward on the stairs.
“Would you be my princess?” begged Freddie. “You could watch from the top of the stairs.”
“Of course.”
Mary started up the stairs again, but Finch had caught her lightly round the waist and pulled her against his side.
“I do beg your pardon,” he whispered to her.
“Not at all.”
The sudden intimacy had taken her breath away, even though she had known that it meant nothing to him. She wasn’t sure what he was about, but it seemed she was to play a larger part in the game than she had expected.
He moved and she placed her hand over the hand that held her waist to steady herself. It was his damaged hand.
“You won’t hurt me,” he whispered and she held him tighter.
“Now you have something to fight for,” he said to Freddie. “I have captured your princess.”
The wooden swords clashed and Finch moved her out of the way of Freddie’s sword. His strength surprised, but also reassured her. Knowing that she was safe as they moved up and down the stairs, she began to relax.
“Keep your guard up, Freddie,” said Finch.
Belatedly she realised that this was as much a fencing lesson as a game. Finch moved smoothly up and down, easily parrying Freddie’s attacks.
“Please forgive me,” he said, “but you’re getting in my way.”
He swung her up over his shoulder, ignoring her small shriek of surprise.
“Are you alright, Miss Wilding?”
That was Freddie.
“Quite alright, Freddie, thank you. Your father has me quite secure, but please rescue me soon.”
Finch seemed unaffected by her weight and pushed Freddie easily up to the landing. Mary began to feel dizzy; it was uncomfortable hanging upside down along Finch’s back. He kept a tight grip on her, however, and she knew she was perfectly safe.