by Mary Mackie
Wishing she were invisible, Jess approached the door. Outside it lay a dog – a black, curly-coated retriever. Gamekeeper Rudd’s dog? With a little lurch of pleasure, she reached for the brass bell-pull, but before she could touch it the door opened and a man came out, stumbling backwards over the doorstep, tripping on the end of the heavy cape he carried.
He was pulling a grey cap on to his dark head as he protested, ‘En’t no need for violence, Mr Longman. I’m a-goin’. You know me, I’m not one to outstay my welcome.’ As he turned, he saw Jess. He gave her a swift glance that swept her head to foot, and grinned at her, showing a missing front tooth. Maybe the dark moustache, waxed to sharp points, was designed to disguise the gap in his teeth, but to Jess it looked odd on a face that was otherwise blessed with regular features that some might have called handsome. ‘I should run away, gal,’ he advised her with a twinkle. ‘They’re a lot o’ diddlers in this house.’
‘Clear off!’ the other man roared. From his dress, formal black and white with a tailcoat, Jess guessed him to be the butler.
The gap-tooth man swirled his heavy cape around his shoulders, snapped his fingers at the dog, said, ‘C’mon, Bracken, we’re not wanted here,’ and winked at Jess as he went by.
Eight
‘Well?’ the butler snapped.
Jess jumped at the abruptness of his tone, so nervous she couldn’t think. ‘Please, sir… Milady’s expectin’ me. Jessamy Sharp.’
The man drew himself up, looking down his long, thin nose in a way that made her feel as small as the woodlouse that was crawling up the wall by the bell-pull. ‘“Lady Fyncham” is the correct mode of reference,’ he informed her heavily. ‘Or “her ladyship”. Well, come in, girl. Don’t stand there gaping. You’re late, and her ladyship doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’ He caught his breath as she would have hurried across the doormat. ‘Your feet, girl! Wipe them.’
She found herself in a long corridor with windows all down one side looking out across the park. The butler led the way into a windowless passageway where a lamp was burning in a corner alcove. A further door led into a lobby furnished with a marble table and a few chairs.
‘Wait here,’ the butler ordered, tapping at a huge oak door. A faint voice replied and the butler went inside, leaving Jess feeling tiny inside the vast house which seemed to have swallowed her up.
After a moment, the butler reappeared to inform Jess that her ladyship would see her now. He held the door open, with a lofty air of superiority, and closed it once Jess was inside.
She stared around her in awe. The morning room could have held three or four of the cottages in Salt’s Yard, and still left space for smoke to curl out of the chimneys up to its high ceiling. A fire flamed bright in the enormous fireplace, and the oak-panelled walls were hung with pictures of stern-looking people.
Against the southern window, framed against the flare of daylight outside, a woman lounged on the window board, staring out as if waiting for something.
Jess made a curtsey. The movement seemed to distract Lady Fyncham, who glanced round, perused Jess in silence for a moment, then turned away, saying, ‘My daughter is five years old. How old were your last charges?’
Charges? Did that mean her brothers and sisters? ‘Well, milady… There was Sam – he’s now twelve. Joe was… eight years old last April. And there was the baby.’ She was going to add that baby Sarah-May had died before she was two, but Lady Fyncham wasn’t listening. Lady Fyncham was impatiently watching for something beyond the window.
Remembering the letter Reverend Clare had written, Jess fumbled for it in her bag. ‘There’s this, milady. My reference.’
‘H’m? Oh, yes. Well, bring it here, girl.’ She clicked her fingers and Jess, shaking with nerves, forced her feet to cross the thick carpet.
Close to, Lady Maud Fyncham was an impressive woman with a taut, chiselled face. She hadn’t an ounce of spare flesh on her. Her skin was fine and white to go with that rich chestnut hair, but her cheeks were blemished with broken veins and her lips were thin. Having received the letter, she waved Jess back with a peremptory hand, tore open the envelope and scanned the contents.
‘Reverend Clare seems to think you’ll do,’ she said, and, ‘Ah! Good!’ as a movement outside drew her attention and a groom led a horse up to the iron railing and through the gate. The horse seemed unnerved by the wind, tossing its head and dancing sideways, but the sight of it made Lady Fyncham smile and get to her feet, swirling the skirt of her riding habit to one side. The skirt was split to the waist and beneath it she was wearing mannish breeches and high, polished boots.
Vaguely shocked at such unladylike attire, Jess stared up at her prospective employer. The squire’s wife was very tall – Jess hardly came as high as her shoulder. Snatching up a riding crop from the writing desk, she strode across the room and tugged at an embroidered bell-pull with a silken tassel. ‘I suggest you make arrangements with Nanny. If Reverend Clare thinks you’ll do, that’s good enough for me. You’ll get the usual pay – whatever that is. You can start as soon as you like. Tell the girl to take you up to the nursery suite. I have business to attend to.’ With which, she swept out.
Jess hovered, not quite sure what she ought to do. From the window, she saw Lady Fyncham run out to the waiting horse and, without assistance, leap up to the side-saddle. When the groom released the rein, the horse reared, but settled as its rider gave it a sharp crack with her crop and urged it at the railing, over which it soared as if sprouting wings. It landed with a thud that all but shook its rider free, and then she was off, with the wind behind her. The groom, who had sprung up to lean on the railing, waved his cap after her, admiring her daring.
‘Maud?’ The male voice sounded annoyed. As Jess swung round from the window, Sir Richard strode in, glanced round the room and said, ‘Damn! Where is her ladyship?’
‘She’ve…’ Helplessly, Jess gestured at the window, which made the squire come striding past her on long, stalk-like legs to peer down the drive where his wife was rapidly disappearing.
‘Damn!’ he said again. ‘That blasted horse…’ and swung round as if recalling that he wasn’t alone.
Realising that she hadn’t curtseyed when he came in, Jess did so now, and waited. Unlike his wife, Sir Richard was looking her over with genuine interest and curiosity. ‘You’re the girl from the rectory, aren’t you? The girl Miss Lily Clare discovered in the woods? Jessie…?’
‘Sharp, sir – your lordship.’ Miss Peartree hadn’t told her what she should call him, only that if they met she’d better get out of his way and keep quiet.
‘“Sir” will do,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘I’m not a lordship. Wouldn’t even be a baronet if my two older brothers had lived, but there you are, that’s the way life goes. Never know what it’s going to throw at you next, do you?’
She was surprised that he should have such thoughts – and astonished that he should share them with her. Startled, she shook her head. ‘No, sir.’
‘What are you doing here at Hewinghall?’
‘Well, sir…’ She felt herself flush. He had every right to ask, if she was to be looking after his daughter, but she hadn’t expected the question to be put quite so bluntly. ‘I run away from Lynn, sir, because… because…’ Because I killed a man. She was so unnerved she almost spoke the words aloud. Almost. It might have been a relief to do so and have it done with.
The smile in his eyes altered, first to speculation and then to a calm, waiting expectancy that said he was ready to listen and, perhaps, to understand. ‘Yes, Jess? You ran away because…?’
He was interrupted by a voice from near the door, where a maid dipped a curtsey – the same maid Jess had met at the shoot. ‘You rang, sir?’
He frowned his annoyance, snapping, ‘No!’ then, ‘Yes. That is, I assume her ladyship rang for you to show Miss Sharp out.’
‘Oh – no, sir,’ Jess corrected anxiously. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but her ladyship said I was to go up
to the nursery, sir. I’m to see Nanny Fyncham. About the nurserymaid job.’
His interest deepened as he stared at her again. ‘Wait outside, Sal,’ he said, and the other girl backed out, closing the door behind her. ‘That was what I meant, when I asked what you were doing here – I meant today, not…’ He stopped himself, shaking his head slightly, a gleam of wry amusement crinkling his eyes. ‘It was my fault, for not making myself clear. So… the rector has decided to take up my offer, has he?’
‘Offer, sir?’ Not knowing what he meant, Jess shook her head. Could it be that he himself had suggested she have this job? Surely not. The squire of Hewinghall wouldn’t concern himself over the fate of such as she.
He didn’t explain, said only, ‘Just tell me one thing – did you run away from your previous place because of something you’d done, or because of something that had been done to you?’
Jess stood there, searching his face. He was not a handsome man, but the grey eyes were bright and luminous, pale irises rimmed with a dark circle. Compelling eyes… ‘Both, sir.’
‘I see.’ The flicker of amusement was gone. He regarded her gravely, reading her heart, almost. ‘And tell me, Jess, if you had been treated fairly and kindly, would you have stayed? Would you still be there?’
‘’Course I would, sir. I’d never’ve run away from my home and everything if that han’t a been for… for what he done. To my mother, sir – and to me.’ She daren’t say more. It was already more than she’d admitted to anyone else.
The grey eyes narrowed as he considered. He said, ‘I pride myself on being a good judge of character, Jess, so I won’t pry any further – everyone is entitled to a few secrets. If Miss Lily Clare trusts you, then so shall I. You see, it’s my belief that people respond to trust by being trustworthy. Help me prove it, eh?’
Jess promised that she would, amazed at the way the interview had turned.
Dismissed from Sir Richard’s presence, she found the maid waiting in the lobby. ‘Hello!’ the girl smiled. ‘Remember me – Sal Gooden? We met at the shoot.’
‘I remember.’ Jess was glad of a familiar, friendly face. ‘I’m Jess Sharp.’
‘Yes, I know. We saw you arrive. Come on, the nursery’s this way.’
She led the way back through the rear passages, explaining what various areas were and where doors led, though Jess didn’t take in half of it. They came into a long, cold, flagstone-floored conservatory with tall windows looking out on to a grassed area between two wings of the house. Along the inner wall stood stuffed animals – strange animals with huge eyes and horns – and above them hung the staring heads of more beasts, among spears and shields decorated with beads, feathers and grasses.
‘“Little Africa”,’ said Sal, pulling a face and shivering. ‘Horrible, en’t it? All those glass eyes starin’. I hate coming through here at night, and Miss Bella’s terrified of the place – but then she’re frit of a lot of things, poor little mawther.’
‘What’s it meant to be?’ Jess asked.
‘Well, it’s a museum, en’t it? Sir Richard’s uncle was a great hunter. Liked bringin’ his trophies home and havin’ ’em stuffed for posterity. Poor gentleman died out there in the Dark Continent. Trampled by elephant, so they say.’
At the far end of the jungle-like corridor, another door led into another vestibule where the service stairs climbed steeply up, six flights of them, covered in a thin strip of worn brown carpet. The final flight led, via yet another door, into the attics, whose corridor was long and dark, with rooms off to one side. It was lit only by a single recessed window. Jess’s head reeled at the height and the glimpse of a strange jumble of roofs and windows and courtyards far below. Beneath their feet the floor creaked under a thin carpet and overhead the ceiling sloped sharply, but the walls were decked in pretty papers and there was a fresh clean smell of soap and beeswax.
Tapping at a door that ended the corridor, Sal waited. The door opened a fraction, there was a whispered discussion, and with wishes for ‘Good luck!’ Sal went away, leaving Jess with the nurserymaid, who was wearing afternoon uniform of dark dress and apron. Glancing behind her, a finger to her lips enjoining silence, she beckoned Jess inside, hissing, ‘I’m Kate. Come you in.’
The room was long, both sitting room and schoolroom, furnished with tables and chairs, a desk, books ranged on shelves, and a blackboard and easel. Beyond a magnificent rocking horse, two large dormer windows looked south across the park. But Jess’s attention was drawn to the fireplace opposite the windows, where on the hearthrug young Bella Fyncham lay fitting the pieces of a jigsaw on a board. Beside her an elderly woman in black silk with a shawl about her shoulders and a blanket over her knees dozed in an armchair, her head at such an angle that her lace cap had slipped askew, falling over one eye. Her mouth was open, emitting loud snoring noises and heavy blowings. She made a comical sight. Jess had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
The nurserymaid, bright eyes sharing the joke, breathed, ‘Nanny likes to nap of an afternoon, poor old soul. She get wore out. Miss Bella’s delicate and—’ She stopped, realising the child had sat up and was listening.
Bella Fyncham’s plain face was framed by long straight hair the colour of polished copper, which trailed on to the shoulders of a dark green velvet gown trimmed with lace. Her eyes were a calm, clear grey, like her father’s, regarding Jess with wary solemnity.
Kate went to shake the nanny’s shoulder and she woke with a jerk and a grunt, smacking her lips as she peered blearily about her.
‘Nanny, the girl’s here. The girl from the rectory – Jessie Sharp. Lady Fyncham sent her up.’
‘Well, tell her to come over here where I can see her,’ said Nanny, adjusting her cap.
Slowly, aware that every step was being examined by the narrowed eyes in that lined face, Jess crossed the room to stand on the hearthrug, glad of the warmth from the fire.
‘You’ve seen Lady Maud?’ Nanny asked.
‘Yes, ’m. And Sir Richard.’
Wrinkled eyelids flickered. ‘And Sir Richard? Well, there’s a thing,’ she murmured to the child, who had come to stand by her knee. Nanny’s hand came out to stroke the bright hair fondly. ‘Shows how important you are to your father, my duck, so never you forget that. You’re the apple of his eye.’ She let her hand rest on the small shoulder, then straightened her back a little. ‘Show her where everything is, Kate, and tell her her duties. She can come after supper on Sunday, while you’re still here to settle her in. Come, Bella, get on with your jigsaw, there’s a good child.’
Kate motioned Jess away, across the room to a further door and another angled passageway.
A room at the corner of the house was where Bella slept in a narrow cot under sloping eaves. Next door was a dressing room, containing chests of drawers, cupboards and presses for the child’s clothes, with a hip bath and a marble wash stand. Near the head of yet another set of back stairs lay the room which was allotted to the nurserymaid. Jess was gratified to find it spacious, provided with old but decent furniture. The window looked into the kitchen courtyard where, Jess saw, the lines of linen had been removed. Snow was falling, driven on the wind.
‘The stairs outside are the family stairs,’ Kate said. ‘They go down to the private apartments, but you mustn’t ever use them ’cept in emergency. You have to go down the servants’ stairs, the way Sal brung you. Seem like miles some days when you’re cartin’ coals and hot water. Nanny’s room is over the other side, far end of the schoolroom. You see to that, too. You have to light the fire and keep everything clean, change the beds, help Miss Bella get dressed and undressed… Everything her and Nanny need. They’re not much trouble. Nanny’s getting too old to care and Miss Bella… well, she have her moments but mostly she’re good as gold.’
‘Then why’re you leaving?’ Jess asked.
Colour crept into Kate’s sallow face and she unconsciously laid a hand to her stomach. ‘I’m goin’ to be wed,’ she said with shy pride. ‘Goi
n’ to be Mrs George Hewitt. He’s a blacksmith, in Hewing village. We’re to be wed next Tuesday – first day of March.’
‘I hope you’ll be happy,’ Jess said, guessing that Kate had captured her man in the oldest way known to womankind.
When they returned through the schoolroom, Nanny was napping again and Bella stood on the step below one of the windows, watching the snow. Troubled grey eyes followed Jess’s progress towards the further door.
‘Can you find your way down?’ Kate asked. ‘I’d best stay with her. See you Sunday, then.’
‘I’ll be here. Bye, Miss Bella.’
She thought Bella wasn’t going to reply, but just as she was closing the door, a near inaudible ‘Goodbye’ reached her.
Jess felt sorry for the poor little mawther, left on her own with a tired old woman and a procession of nurserymaids to care for her.
She made it back to the rectory, arriving breathless and caked with snow, so cold her hands wouldn’t work. Dolly helped her out of her outer clothes and she stood shaking in front of the kitchen range until her chilblains began to scream.
‘Takin’ you on, then, are they?’ Eliza asked.
‘They are,’ Jess got out through chattering teeth. ‘Lady Fyncham talked to me – and Sir Richard. Very nice them were, too. Real gentry.’
‘Huh!’ Eliza tipped her shapely chin in the air. ‘That was all arranged, anyhow. Nothin’ to do with you – ’cept Miss Lily’ll be more likely to do as she’re told if you’re already there.’
Jess brushed aside a strand of soaking hair. ‘What are you now on about, ’Liza?’
‘If you don’t know, that’s not for me to say,’ said Eliza, suddenly shifty, as if realising she shouldn’t have said anything. ‘You’ll find out, soon enough.’
* * *
On the day before Jess was due to move to Hewinghall House, Miss Peartree came puffing into the kitchen in distress, eyes moist behind her spectacles. ‘I can’t believe it!’ she gasped, a hand to her chest as she struggled for breath and blinked back tears. ‘My brooch. My brooch is gone!’