by Mary Mackie
That was another thing Jess preferred to avoid – the sight of Eliza Potts being squired by Reuben Rudd at the Servants’ Ball. But her admitted excuse was that she couldn’t leave Bella, whose latest cold had left her with a hacking cough.
‘But I shall be here,’ Lily said. ‘I’ve neither energy nor heart for dancing. You go. Matty will be there. And Mr Rudd. You like Mr Rudd.’
‘I’spect he’ve put his name all over Eliza’s card,’ Jess replied tartly. ‘They’re walkin’ out, so I hear.’
‘Well, there’s that handsome footman – George, isn’t it? He always seems to stick out his chest when he sees you. You can’t let Eliza win, you know. Please go to the party. One of us ought to be enjoying herself tonight. After the trouble we took to get that dress right…’
That dress… It had been one of Lily’s least favourites, seldom worn because she didn’t like the coffee-and-cream colours of the satin and old lace. But on Jess it brought out the fair lights in her hair and emphasised her tawny eyes and handspan waist. Looking at her reflection in the long cheval glass in Lily’s room, Jess hardly knew the elegant creature who stared back at her, shoulders white against the froth of creamy lace, workworn hands disguised by a pair of Lily’s evening gloves.
Perhaps half an hour wouldn’t hurt.
She crept down the back stairs in a turmoil of nerves and made her way to the main staircase hall. Noise and laughter spilled from the great hall. The hidden door to the gallery was open, with the same orchestra up there merrily sawing away. Hearing someone coming, Jess slipped through the ‘hidden’ door and went slowly up the stairs. One or two of the musicians gave her a smiling glance as she hung back, trying to see what was going on below without herself being seen.
The chandelier was a blaze of candles, as it had been for the Belladay Ball, and at first glance the company below might have been the same too. The great hall whirled with couples executing a lively polka; others stood about gossiping and observing. Sir Richard was dancing with Mrs Roberts, while Lady Maud sat out, chatting with the oldest of her grooms. Other ladies and gentlemen must be the house guests who had arrived early for Christmas, all mingling merrily with servants decked in their best. Some of the maidservants’ dresses had originated in Lady Maud’s wardrobe; Mr Longman looked resplendent in his best white tie and tails, while the footmen had donned their livery of blue coats with gold braid, silk breeches and white stockings; the other men wore their Sunday-best suits.
Jess saw Matty dancing with Sal Gooden, though he wasn’t paying her much attention; he was watching the door – watching for Lily, Jess guessed. Poor Matty was getting ever more besotted with Lily, ever since he’d ‘rescued’ her, as he called it.
But everything else faded as she saw Reuben Rudd, hardly recognisable in a dark cloth suit, candlelight bringing out red glints in his thick hair and his skin extra brown against the whiteness of his shirt. Her heart seemed to wrench in her breast at the sight of him. Just as she had feared, he had Eliza in his arms. Wearing scarlet satin, she was laughing, flirting in that way she had, tossing her head and flicking her green eyes. Rudd was smiling, aware of her ruses but still captivated by her. Seeing how close he held her, Jess leaned against the wall, fighting a wave of jealousy so bitter that it made her throat hurt. No, she wouldn’t shed tears – if Reuben was such a fool as to let himself be misled by a woman’s wiles, then he wasn’t the man Jess had thought him to be. She refused to waste time sighing over him.
She turned away, making for the stairs, knowing it had been a mistake to come. Her legs felt like lead and she had to put a hand on the wall to steady herself. What she wanted to do was sit down right there where no one could see her and howl her eyes out.
Then the door at the foot of the stairs opened and George the footman was smiling up at her, all crooked teeth and blue velvet coat, his even-featured face flushed from ale. ‘I thought I spied you. My, don’t you look grand! Come on, Jess, you’re missing all the dancing.’
‘I en’t in no mood for dancing,’ said Jess. ‘Get you out o’ my way, George. I’m goin’ back where I belong.’
‘Not until you’ve danced one dance with me. Oh, come on, Jess. One twirl around the floor. It is Christmas! Don’t you want to show off that dress? You look a real queen.’
Aware that if she argued he might try more physical persuasion, and in that confined space she couldn’t escape him, Jess reluctantly agreed: ‘All right. One dance. I told Miss Lily I’d only be half an hour.’
The orchestra had just struck up an eightsome reel. Jess didn’t know the steps, but George dragged her into a set which, weaving and circling and briefly changing partners as the pattern wove on, included Reuben Rudd and Eliza. She’d seen the gratifying surprise in Reuben’s eyes when he’d first spotted her; it had told her she looked her best, but somehow it only made her feel angry with him. Angry, and hurt, and hopelessly heart-sore. Though she tried to concentrate on the dance, all she could think of were the moments when his arm spanned her waist and whirled her round before passing her on.
When the music ended, Jess found herself being propelled by George towards a table where men were queuing for a turn at the barrel of ale while ladies accepted glasses of fruit punch.
‘Jess.’ Matty pushed his way among the throng and grasped her arm. ‘Where’s Miss Lily? I’ve been—’
‘Hey now, Henefer,’ George objected.
Matty drew himself up, glaring under a lick of rough brown hair. ‘I’m speakin’ to my sister. Mind you your own matters, you great fancy mawkin.’
Big as the footman was, he hadn’t Matty’s muscle; he stood and glowered as Jess was led away. Everybody knew by now that Matty was her brother and that, at least, was a relief.
The great hall was quieter now; the supper interval had been declared and the orchestra was taking a break. Where was Rudd? Jess hadn’t seen him since the reel ended, but she was conscious that he couldn’t be far away.
Steering her into a spot shaded by potted palms, Matty again demanded to know where Lily was. ‘I’ve got somethin’ for her. A Christmas present. I’d give it her Christmas Day, on’y I’m off tomorrow.’
Work in the gardens being slack, Matty had been laid off until the spring, so he was heading for Lynn, to see the family and maybe to find work on the boats, if he was lucky. Jess was going to miss him.
Concealing a surge of homesickness, she said, ‘What sort of present can you give a lady like Miss Lily?’
‘It’s a bracelet. To match that necklace she’s been a-wearin’ lately.’
‘What? Why… where’d you get the money for amber beads?’
‘Never you mind where I got it.’ Matty had that stubborn look on his face, and the telltale brick-red flush of guilt creeping up his neck and ears. He took a package out of his pocket, wrapped in red paper and done up with green ribbon. ‘You give her that, come Christmas.’ Another pocket yielded a package in blue paper, ribboned in pink. ‘And that’s for you.’
Jess eyed the packets dubiously. ‘You hen’t stole them, have you?’
‘What d’you take me for?’
Shaking her head, she looked up at him, thinking that she took him for a great foolish lummox, but she loved him dearly. He meant well. He wasn’t bad, just easily led. As to his infatuation with Miss Lily…
‘Don’t you know by now she en’t never goin’ to look twice at you?’
‘Why not? What’s wrong with me?’
‘En’t nothin’ wrong with you, you great fool,’ she sighed. ‘Not for the right girl. Somebody like Sal, now…’
‘It en’t Sal I want. She’re a good old girl, but she don’t… well, you know. And you’re wrong about Miss Lily.’ Glancing around to make sure he wasn’t overheard, he informed her in an undertone, ‘She let me kiss her – and she kissed me back – that night I found her by the rectory.’
‘Matty!’ Jess was horrified.
‘It’s true!’ he insisted. ‘Oh, I know she was upset, and all confused, but
she wouldn’t a let me get so near if she’d no regard for me. See, Jess Know-it-all – you en’t so sharp as you reckon.’
‘You’re askin’ for a whole lot of heartache,’ she said sadly. ‘But thanks for the present, Matty.’ She reached up on tip-toe, leaning on his arm to pull him down so she could kiss his cheek. ‘Wish I was goin’ home with you. Give them my love, won’t you? Tell them I’ll be over to see them some day, when I can. And you… you take care of your great daft self.’ She’d always felt his coming to Hewinghall was a mistake but now she wondered if this might be the last time she would see him. If he went back to sea, in the winter storms… Besides, Merrywest was in Lynn.
‘Mind you steer clear of Preacher Merrywest,’ she begged. ‘En’t no point in makin’ more trouble.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ said Matty. ‘I want to know what he mean by all these tales. Why’d he say such things about you?’
‘I’ve told you…’ Oh, how could she explain without risking the safety of her whole family? ‘Matty, trust me. Please—’
‘You’re off then, Henefer.’ Reuben Rudd strode up to them, holding out his hand, all bluff friendliness. ‘I wish you a right Merry Christmas, and a Good New Year. You’ll be back come the spring?’
‘I thought I might. See how it go.’
‘I could do with a good man on my team,’ Rudd said blandly. ‘Fancy a spot of keepering, do you?’
Matty goggled at him. ‘Well, Mr Rudd…’
What was Rudd playing at? Jess wondered. Was the offer just a taunt, or a genuine flag of truce now that Matty had fallen out with Jim Potts?
‘Think about it,’ Rudd said. ‘But remember it’s long hours and hard work. I’m off just now to get changed before I relieve old Obi. It may be Christmas, but the poachers don’t rest. Well… good night.’
For the first time he let his eyes meet Jess’s, stunning her with the force of a grave glance that searched her soul, setting her skin afire and her lips tingling. Before she knew what he intended, he stepped forward, lifted her chin and kissed her full on those soft, waiting lips, murmured, ‘Merry Christmas,’ and strode away across the polished floor.
‘Oh, now, that explain it,’ said Matty in disgust. ‘He’re had too much of the squire’s free ale!’
Every pore in Jess’s body seemed to be steaming as she touched a gloved hand to her awakened mouth. Had she imagined it, or had she read regret in Rudd, perhaps an apology, perhaps a promise? All of those things remained with her, making her heartbeat unsteady and her breathing erratic. She became aware of other people, some in the doorway, little groups about the room, more returning in the hope of further dancing. How many of them had seen Rudd kiss her? Had he intended them to see? Across yards of space she encountered Eliza’s glance, chilly green as Arctic seas. It made her pause, sobering in the instant before a chirrup of sheer joy lightened her spirits and made her turn to Matty with a smile.
‘I reckon he meant it, Matty – he want you to be a keeper. Maybe he hope that’ll keep you out of mischief.’
Eliza was still glaring. Jess let her smile widen, seeing how it maddened the other girl. Well, well. If Eliza was so sadly jealous then the gossips must be wrong about her and Rudd. It had been worth coming to the party just to know that, and to have the memory of that brief, telling kiss. It would fuel her dreams for weeks to come.
* * *
Though Lily neither expected nor received an invitation to the wedding of her ‘cousin’ and the Honourable Ashton Haverleigh, which was to take place on Christmas Eve, as the date approached she could think of little else. Since the autumn, she had had little contact with the Clares, save for a letter or two from Aunt Jane Gittens, penned in Miss Wilks’s copperplate, which told about Ching’s doings and expressed understanding that Lily’s new post kept her from visiting the Manor. Evidently the Clares had made excuses to explain Lily’s absence; they had not told the old lady that Lily was no longer regarded as a member of the family.
On the night before the wedding, Lily took sick with nausea and a feverish headache; she languished in her bed for forty-eight hours, hardly even rallying for Christmas Day. She was pleased with Matty’s gift of amber beads, though not curious about the reasons for their giving. She could think of nothing but the fact that Clemency Clare had become the Honourable Mrs Ashton Haverleigh.
The Sunday following, being a sudden mild day with all the promise of a false spring, Lily, Jess and Bella took an afternoon stroll. Guided by Lily, they came to the newly refurbished Syderford church, where a carved stone plaque recently set into the wall declared: ‘This building was restored by Oliver Clare and his wife Letitia, of Syderford Manor, 1892’. Lily read it out, her face grey as the sky, making Jess worry that she’d come out too soon after her illness.
‘You all right, miss?’ she asked.
And Lily just looked at her, those strange eyes empty of all emotion, like gazing down into a pair of deep wells, one in brown shade, one blue with sunlight, both calm but for a tiny flicker at the bottom – a flicker of black pain. Jess sometimes thought that was Lily’s soul she could glimpse down there. Lily’s soul, trapped and screaming…
* * *
That impossible winter had one more dart to throw at Lily: in the early part of February, Aunt Jane Gittens died. Though deep snow lay on the ground, Lily walked to Syderford church for the service, determined to pay her last respects whatever the Clares thought.
She sat at the back of the church, where she was joined by a desolated Miss Wilks, who was now also displaced: she was intending to go and live with a married niece and her family, in the northern metropolis of Leeds, in a small terraced house which already had five people in it and another baby on the way. Lily felt sorry for her, but her main concern was Ash and Clemency. A part of her would have welcomed a confrontation with them, but neither of them was there.
‘They’re away,’ Miss Wilks whispered. ‘Visiting his great-uncle in Derbyshire – hoping to beg money off him, if you ask me. Our Miss Clemency is furious that her husband’s not as wealthy as she thought. She expected him to draw on his inheritance once he was married, but it’s tied up until his great-uncle dies, and his great-uncle’s a healthy man. Turned seventy, but just married a young wife. If he gets a son of his own, that’ll really put Mr Ashton’s nose out of joint. Serve him right, too – and her.’
Now that Aunt Jane was dead, Miss Wilks’s resentment was being given full rein. ‘What will happen to Ching?’ Lily asked. ‘Will you take him?’
‘That I will not! You know he hates me – and it’s an entirely mutual antipathy, I assure you. No, Miss Gittens has left him to you.’
‘To me?’ Lily was astonished.
‘Well, the Clares don’t want him.’
And so Ching, the wayward, beautiful, spoiled feline, came to reside in the nursery suite at Hewinghall, because no one could bear to think of his being destroyed. The rooftops became his kingdom, where he lay in wait behind twisted chimney stacks and terrorised birds. When he prowled along the parapet with his tail high even Bella loved to watch him. His proud pacing robbed the roof of some of the horror it held for her.
Ching would never own a mistress, but he condescended to allow Bella to pet him, and he would often stay in her room, lying with her on her bed, until she was asleep. His presence comforted and calmed her and after he arrived she no longer suffered so badly with nightmares, nor did she walk in her sleep. Some said she was growing out of those afflictions, but Jess and Lily liked to think it was Ching who made the difference.
* * *
Shortly before Easter, the Fynchams – all three of them – went on a visit to Gillingherry Hall, in Kent, where Lady Maud’s sister and her family lived. Gillingherry had a full nursery, four children under ten, with a nanny, a governess, and a complement of nurserymaids, so neither Lily nor Jess was required on the visit. Bella travelled under the charge of the lady’s maid and the valet. In her absence, Lily was given leave to have a holiday: Jess used the
time to spring-clean the nursery.
Lily would have gone walking but the cold, wet weather prevented her and boredom made her depression grow deeper. Occasionally she went to see Miss Peartree; at other times she stood at the attic window for hours, staring out in a grey reverie, or sat reading her Young Ladies’ Journal. The serials in that paper were of a romantic nature; having them read aloud made Jess’s floor-scrubbing and furniture-polishing that much lighter.
In the evenings, much to Jess’s delight, Lily at last found time to listen to her efforts at reading. Slowly, the printed word was starting to convey meaning for her, though squinting by lamplight made her eyes ache after a while – all close work seemed to give her a headache.
‘I think you need glasses,’ Lily said, which horrified Jess. If she had to wear glasses Reuben Rudd would probably never look at her again.
‘I’m plain enough already, Miss Lily.’
And Lily looked at her in vague surprise. ‘Vanity, Jess? I thought you were above such things.’
They had talked about going to the Easter Monday Fair again, but when the day dawned in a steady downpour from a leaden sky Jess settled down to do some repairs on the winter curtains she had just brought back from the drying room, resigning herself to yet more eye-strain. Lily tried to read one of her library novels, but eventually threw it aside, crying, ‘I shall go mad if I don’t go out!’ She went to her room and emerged wearing her galoshes and macintosh cape, an umbrella in her hand. ‘I’m going for a walk. I’m going to see Cousin Oriana.’