Emeralds & Ashes

by Leila Rasheed

  Copyright © 2015 by Disney Publishing Worldwide

  Cover art © 2015 by Howard Huang

  Gatework by David Coulson

  Designed by Marci Senders

  All rights reserved. Published by Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.

  ISBN 978-1-4847-1205-4

  Visit www.hyperionteens.com

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Act One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Act Two

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Act Three

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  About the Author

  WITH SPECIAL THANKS TO

  JULIA CHURCHILL, SARAH DAVIES,

  EMILY MEEHAN, AND LAURA SCHREIBER,

  WITHOUT WHOM THE SOMERTON BOOKS

  WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN WRITTEN.

  Somerton, September 1914

  Annie—first housemaid Annie, she reminded herself proudly—guessed that something was going on as soon she reached the bottom of the servants’ stairs. The noise was the first clue: there wasn’t any. Usually by the time she came down from lighting the fires, the kitchen was in a scurry and bustle, getting ready to serve breakfast. Plates would be clattering, the footmen rushing here and there, Cook would be cursing the range, Martha would have burned her fingers, and Sarah—but Sarah had left, she remembered. Gone to work in a munitions factory. The thought sobered her, but only for a second. The war would be over by Christmas; everybody said so.

  Anxious to know what had brought the kitchen to a standstill, she hurried across the tiled floor, pausing only for a brief glance into the mirror propped on the shelf, which James and Thomas used to check their appearance before going upstairs. She was sure that munitions didn’t have half as nice a uniform as the first housemaid at Somerton Court did. Certainly by January Sarah would be regretting throwing away her safe job for one that, by all accounts, turned your skin green. With a satisfied touch to her cap, she swept into the kitchen.

  “What’s going on here?” she exclaimed, seeing that the breakfast was getting cold on the trays, and Cook, Martha, and Thomas were none of them at their usual places. Instead they were clustered by the door in the bright September sunshine, Martha with a dishrag still in her hand. The focus of their attention was a burly young man in a soldier’s uniform. Annie was taken aback; khaki was still rare in the village, exotic enough to give her a pleasurable shiver. A second later she recognized the man in the uniform. It was James, the first footman. To Annie’s impressed eyes, it was as if the war had waved a magic wand over him, transforming him from dull, everyday James into a glamorous stranger.

  “Yes, we’re off,” he was saying to Cook. “The Palesbury Pals are going to do their bit at last. I can’t wait to take a shot at the Germans, pay them back for Mons.”

  “Well, you keep yourself safe out there.” Cook dabbed her eyes with her apron. “I hear French cooking ain’t up to much.”

  “So you’re off!” Annie pushed her way past Martha, to James. “It seems as if everyone’s joining up.” She looked him up and down. “I must say, the uniform does suit you.”

  “Thank you.” James blushed.

  Annie smiled. He’d be back some day, after all, and he might be an officer by then. Decorated, even. You never knew. “Such a pity you’re going away.”

  “Well, I think it’s my duty.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Cook said darkly. “It’s a bloody business, and I’ll be glad when it’s over.”

  Thomas spoke up. “We’ve got to help our allies, haven’t we?” As the second footman, he was usually overshadowed by James, but Annie noticed that he seemed to have grown up a good deal in the past months. “It’s only right, when poor Belgium’s been invaded. I can’t stand bullies. Never could. I wish it was me in that uniform, I tell you, James. Feels shameful, not going with you.”

  “You’ll get your chance,” said James. “You’ll be nineteen soon enough!”

  “It’s not the age that’s stopping me. If Mum and Dad would give their permission, I’d be off like a shot!”

  “Well said, Thomas!” rang out an authoritative voice. It was Lord Westlake, who had come in, unseen, through the kitchen door behind them.

  Annie jumped to attention. Every single person stood frozen, silent and wide-eyed as the earl joined them. The earl, in the kitchen! Annie could hardly believe it. To the best of her knowledge he had never been in the kitchen before. If anyone had asked her, she would have said he didn’t even know where it was. But in he strode, silver-haired and regal. He walked right up to James, who blinked at him like a trapped rabbit.

  “I’ve come to offer you my very heartiest congratulations and wish you all the luck in the world.” The earl spoke with energy, and his eyes were bright as a young man’s. “Yours is the British spirit we all rely on.”

  “Th-thank you, my lord,” stuttered James.

  “No, it is I who should thank you. You are fighting to defend all of us.” The earl stretched out his hand. James looked at it blankly. Thomas nudged him. James blinked again and tremblingly put out his own hand. The earl grasped it and pumped it up and down.

  He shook James’s hand! Annie exchanged a glance of disbelief and amazement with Martha. The earl, shaking the hand of his footman! First the war, and now this. She glanced at the window,
half expecting to hear the last trump blow and angels come down to gather everyone up for Judgment Day.

  “You’re a very brave fellow,” the earl said, “and I want you to know that we shall all look forward to your news and will be cheering you on in every way—moral and practical.”

  He stepped back and looked at Thomas.

  “Thomas,” he began. Thomas stood to attention. “I know you want to enlist. That shows a brave spirit, and I respect it.”

  “I wish I could, sir. But my mother won’t allow it, what with my older brothers being out there already—”

  “I understand. But there are other ways for a man to serve his king and country. For example, by doing a job that frees up another to take his place.” He paused, then went on: “As you all know, Cooper left us at the start of the war, and now our next most senior member of male staff, James, is off to do his duty too. But Somerton needs a butler. I want you to be that man, Thomas. You have the dignity. You have the experience. You may be young, but these are unprecedented times. What do you say?”

  Annie’s eyes opened wide. A butler, at seventeen! It was unheard of.

  “Sir!” Thomas managed. “I…” He hesitated, and Annie stared at him. Surely he couldn’t be thinking of refusing?

  Thomas looked around at everyone’s eager, encouraging faces.

  “I—I’d be honored, sir. Honored.”

  “Very good.” The earl nodded, pleased. “Once more, James, good luck. I would have liked you to use the motorcar to go to the station, but with petrol rationed it seems inadvisable. And what with all the horses being requisitioned…”

  “I’ll walk, sir; it’s no distance at all.” James shouldered his kit bag and ripped off a crisp salute that thrilled Annie to the core with its military smartness. “Good-bye, sir. Good-bye, all of you. I’ll be home before you know it!”

  He turned and marched off toward the road. Annie couldn’t hold in her excitement any longer, and with Cook and Martha she called “Good luck, James!” after him, until she was hoarse. The earl himself joined in the three cheers that Thomas began, and they watched until James had vanished.

  “Well done, that man,” said the earl, as if to himself. “Good show. Wish I was going with him.”

  He turned to the others with a smile.

  “And now I shall leave you all to your work. Good day.”

  He strode away. Silence reigned until they heard the baize door close behind him.

  “He wished James luck! And shook his hand!” Martha broke the silence with an awed whisper. “His actual hand!”

  “He made me butler!” Thomas said, sounding as if he still hadn’t gotten to grips with the idea.

  “Yes, so cheer up! Think what your mum and dad will say when they hear!” Cook nudged him. “Mr. Wright, as we’ll all have to call you now.”

  “Will you?” Thomas looked horrified.

  Annie glanced at him. She’d never taken much notice of Thomas. He was a funny sort of lad, always out in the yard, chatting to the chauffeur or tinkering away with some homemade metal contraption or other, getting oil on his hands. He didn’t have the pride in his appearance that James took. Still, he was handsome enough—those blue eyes, that strong jaw, and those shoulders. She wanted something more than a footman—well, now he was something more than a footman.

  “And I’ve just been made first housemaid!” she said, moving a step closer to him. “The earl must think a lot of us…both of us. It’s up to us now, isn’t it? Together. Winning the war on the home front.”

  She smiled up at Thomas and fluttered her lashes. To her disappointment, he didn’t notice her. He was looking over her shoulder at the back door. Annie followed his gaze.

  She saw a slim, shy-looking girl of her own age, her red hair piled up under a dove-gray hat trimmed with cream silk roses. She held a very battered suitcase in one hand and steadied an equally shabby-looking bicycle with the other.

  “Good morning,” she greeted them. Annie noted that she was well-spoken—not a local girl. “I am the new parlormaid—Rebecca Freeman. May I know who I report to?”

  “As the first housemaid, I expect that will be me.” Annie stepped forward graciously.

  “Oh,” the girl said, sounding startled. “I thought that the housekeeper—”

  Cook began to speak at the same moment as Annie. Thomas cleared his throat and they both fell silent, Annie remembering that as butler he now took precedence.

  “We are currently between housekeepers,” Thomas said. “But Annie will show you the ropes.”

  “I certainly will,” Annie preened; it was nice to be in charge for once. It was her duty, she felt, to make the new arrival aware of her place in the pecking order, and to do this, she had to dismay her with the size of the house, impress her with the dignity of Somerton Court, and utterly overwhelm her with the majesty of its first housemaid. Annie was up to the challenge.

  “Now I must warn you, Becky,” she began, following her out as the girl leaned her bicycle against the outside wall, “that we expect hard work here, and—”

  “Rebecca, if you don’t mind,” the girl said, glancing up at her demurely.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I prefer to be called Rebecca, not Becky.”

  The girl said this quite pleasantly, stepping past Annie and into the kitchen as she did so, but Annie was taken aback. Surely a new arrival ought to be glad to be called anything at all! She was momentarily lost for words. In the silence, Rebecca spoke up again.

  “Excuse me for mentioning it, but I see that the range is out. If the family are in the habit of taking breakfast at nine, I’d think it advisable to start it now.”

  “Oh, my goodness!” Cook turned in a sudden panic. “The breakfast! All the bacon going cold! Quick, Martha, don’t just stand there, get the matches—”

  Annie found herself hustled out of the way as Cook and Martha leapt into action. She tried to gather her thoughts.

  “I—yes—well—come with me and I shall show you your room.”

  “Don’t you think I should start at once? You’ll need some help serving.” Rebecca was already putting on a clean apron that she had taken down from the hook behind the door without so much as asking. “If you’ll just show me the way up, I can take the next tray.”

  “Yes, show her, Annie. She may as well get started.” Thomas leaned past Annie to get the tea and coffee. “You’ll need to find her a cap; take one from the drawer in Mrs. Cliffe’s room.”

  “I—hmm—very well, then.” Annie went ahead of Rebecca, to the housekeeper’s room. The key was on a nail by the door; she took it down and turned the lock. The room was barely changed since Mrs. Cliffe had been here; the short stay of Mrs. McRory was like a bad dream. As Annie got the cap from the linen drawer, she tried again to impress Rebecca.

  “I don’t want to alarm you, but I expect you’ll never have worked so hard as you will here. It will be a long way up and downstairs every day—there’s the hearth rugs, and the fires, and you’ll have to do footman’s duties too. We have high standards here.”

  “Oh, I like high standards,” Rebecca said, giving her one of those sideways smiles as she fixed her cap in the mirror. “I have high standards myself.”

  While Annie was searching for an appropriate reply, Rebecca whisked out of the door. Annie followed, feeling as if she’d lost her edge.

  Rebecca gathered up the toast, marmalades, and butter on a silver tray and set off up the servants’ stairs after Thomas. As she passed her, Annie had another go.

  “You’re one of the first women ever to wait at the Earl of Westlake’s table,” she called after her. “It’s quite natural to want to have a little cry,” she added hopefully.

  “Hush, Annie!” Thomas whispered at her, frowning as he opened the door with one hand. Rebecca followed him out, and the door swung shut in Annie’s red face.

  Annie stomped into the kitchen and made her feelings known.

  “‘Prefer to be called Rebecca’ indeed!
I never heard such airs and graces!”

  Martha agreed at once, to Annie’s relief.

  “I don’t know who she thinks she is. After all, she’s just a parlormaid.” She added darkly, “And if she goes on as she’s started, I shouldn’t think she’ll be one for long.”

  “I am really not certain of the earl’s judgment in making Thomas butler,” said Lady Westlake to Georgiana as they walked down the corridor to the breakfast room. “He is so very young.”

  “Oh, but I think he is competent!” Georgiana exclaimed. “At least we must give him a chance.”

  “Yes, but what will people think!” The countess cooled herself with the silk fan she carried as they walked between gilt-framed oil paintings and long windows dressed with floating muslin drapes. Sunlight brightened her profile, as elegant and cold as those of the Grecian statues they passed in the alcoves: the Graces and the Virtues. “I understand we are to have a parlormaid to replace James—such a comedown! A man looks so much better waiting at table than a woman.”

  “I suppose we have to make every economy to support the war effort,” Georgiana sighed. “I wish it were all over, though.”

  “As do I. The inconvenience is extreme. All the balls have been canceled, and there is nothing doing except these dreary charity events that everyone expects one to preside at. If I have to visit another hospital or draw another raffle in aid of Belgian refugees, I shall simply weep.”

  Georgiana opened her mouth to say that she had been thinking less of the upset to the social round, more of the horrifying losses that the British army had suffered so far, not to mention the possible danger to those they loved. On second thought, however, she decided there was no point. Her stepmother was unlikely to understand anything that didn’t directly relate to herself. Georgiana was uncomfortably aware that the war had not yet touched Somerton; the refused invitations, due to mourning, by more and more of their friends were something the countess did not feel the significance of, or chose not to. The neatly printed lists of dead in the Gazette—the names kept getting smaller and smaller, as if they were struggling to fit them all in—these things were just names to her. Georgiana sometimes wished she could be so oblivious. But the truth was that an earthquake had shaken England the day war was declared, and she felt as if she was still reeling, confused, and struggling to find her feet in a landscape that had changed completely.