Chapter Six
As Tansy wandered around her pleasantly-decorated bed chamber, enjoying her first bit of solitude in nearly a fortnight, her mind traveled back over just a few of the many exciting happenings since her arrival at Avanoll House. She traced a vague pattern in the light layer of dust on her desk as she moved to gaze out over the Square.
Naturally, her first thoughts were of her newly discovered relatives—the silly, lovable Emily, the even sillier and just as lovable Aunt Lucinda (Tansy could not bring herself to call the old lady Ce-Ce), the irascible and unpredictable Dowager, and, of course, the seldom seen head of the family, the Duke himself. Tansy was well pleased with them, eccentricities, quirks, and all, and felt at home to a peg with these characters who so resembled her dear, departed Papa.
She had to admit, though, that she was glad the dowager had at last called a halt to the endless stream of bodies that had been cluttering up the house these past two weeks. Dressmakers, milliners, silk merchants, linen drapers, corsetiers, even an Italian-spouting shoemaker, had all appeared within moments of the dowager’s summons, to poke, measure, pin, and fit until Tansy thought she would go mad.
The only respites from hours of standing about like a wax doll while strange hands pushed and prodded at her were a few excursions to shops on Bond Street, where her befuddled mind tried to gather ribbons and laces that would match the multitude of gowns that were threatening to outgrow her over-taxed clothespress.
After two tedious hours spent being measured for kid gloves. Tansy finally revolted. If she changed her clothes from the skin out twice a day for a month she would still not exhaust her supply of gowns. So she informed the dowager matter-of-factly, and stoutly refused to accept so much as another pair of lace-edged pantalettes.
Emily’s wardrobe had not been so much augmented as adjusted. Under the dowager’s orders, yards of discarded flounces, long streamers of ornately-worked lace, and miles of satin ribbon collected in near waist-high mounds on the sewing room floor. Aunt Lucinda was horrified, naturally, but not too overset to keep herself from bundling up all this treasure and cornering one hapless seamstress who soon found herself stitching these same flounces, laces, and ribbons onto any bare stretch of fabric to be found on the gowns Mrs. Benedict had graciously allowed the dowager to order for her (and all added to the dowager’s bill, needless to mention).
Even the old lady herself had condescended to supplementing her wardrobe with several sedately-colored gowns, all fashioned with matching turbans that she announced would make it clear she least was not so silly as to be hanging out for a husband at her age. This was said with a mocking glance toward Lucinda, who blushed, flustered a bit, and then simply smiled shyly.
The Duke allowed this invasion of his domicile in good grace, probably because he made it a point to be absent from the premises whenever possible. What he thought of the not inconsiderable stack of bills that found their way to his desk he did not say, and only once did he raise his voice in displeasure.
Shortly after the first of the gowns was delivered, Tansy happened to come upon his grace on the stairs. He looked at her, looked away, and then cast his eyes over her again, his expression showing he was not displeased with what he saw. That is, until his eyes clapped on the cap Tansy had tied about her head.
“Take that demmed ugly cap and throw it in the fire—and any others you might have stuffed away in your room!” he bellowed. “I refuse to allow you to shout to the world that you consider yourself on the shelf. Why do you think I allowed my Grandmama to accumulate that mountain of debt if it were not so I could at least harbor the hope some kind soul would find it in his heart to have pity on me and take you off my hands? Did you really think I would want you hanging around my neck for all eternity? Chaperon m’sister, yes, but cast out a few lures for yourself while you’re about it, woman,” he ended decisively, and was climbing up and away from her before she could formulate any reply.
Tansy had entertained thoughts of defying the Duke, but could not bring herself to disobey the man who had literally paid for the clothes on her back. Besides, the stiffly-starched things itched abominably, and made her feel like a twenty-six-year-old baby rigged out for an airing in the park.
She gave the caps to Comfort, Emily’s abigail, to dispose of as she pleased. From what little she knew of the maid, she was willing to wager the chit had hawked them on the corner for a pretty penny, for never before had Tansy encountered such a wily creature as Comfort.
A rather sad smile passed across Tansy’s face as she recalled her own manipulation at Comfort’s hands. The dowager had insisted Tansy, who had fended for herself since she was eight, must be provided with a personal abigail, and Comfort was Jill-on-the-spot with a quick solution. Why, wasn’t it only last week that her own darling cousin Pansy had mentioned she was thinking of looking for another post, since her employer had been taking a bit too much notice of his young servant (not to mention his taking an actual pinch or two when the opportunity presented itself).
It was the perfect solution! Pansy could be installed within the space of a day, and Comfort could instruct her if there were any lapses in her education as to the duties of a personal abigail.
Tansy soon learned Pansy had need of Comfort’s guidance, as that organizing young woman had neglected to say that Pansy’s main duties in her last employment consisted of scrubbing out kitchen pots and peeling vegetables for the cook.
The dowager was all for sending Pansy off and looking elsewhere, but once again Tansy’s protective nature surfaced. She insisted the undersized, constantly whimpering girl was just what she had in mind. By now Pansy had settled down to her own version of a routine: scorching fine lawn nightgowns and then crying, dropping buckets full of soapy bathwater on the carpet and crying, closing all the dozens of tiny buttons on Tansy’s gowns with fumbling fingers before discovering she had missed one tiny button halfway down and crying, etc., and so forth.
Another young woman would have been upset, and rightly so, but Tansy just sighed, handed Pansy a handkerchief, and sent her off to the kitchens where Pansy would sit peeling potatoes for hours in a high degree of good humor.
Comfort was surprised when Miss Tansy’s wrath did not come raining down upon her head on the matter of Pansy, but she was outraged when the companion warned her against allying herself with Miss Emily by abetting her in any more secret assignations or in the delivering of any more illicit billets-doux from young men willing to reward her monetarily for her cooperation.
Comfort was not so totty-headed as to think her part in Miss Emily’s little escapades were untraceable, but she did not enjoy the dressing down a mere paid companion (poor relation or not) delivered one little bit. She did not believe for one minute that Miss Emily would come to any harm in the hoax she played with Mr. Harlow—surely everyone must know that—and besides, if she and Leo were to ever have enough put by to get hitched, there was no other way to make extra money than by letting all those young swells reward her for her help. What harm was there in a bunch of drippy lovey-dovey poems, anyway?
But Tansy’s musings that morning did not go so far as to believe she had gained an enemy in Comfort.
That enemy was not alone in her feelings. Farnley, the Duke’s valet, had made it plain he considered Tansy a harbinger of bad luck, but his mad dashes to avoid crossing her path and his ridiculous gestures meant to ward off the “evil eye” merely amused her.
A slight rumbling in her stomach caused Tansy to leave off her reminiscences and made her bold enough to descend to the kitchens to see what bit of food she could possibly coax out of Cook before luncheon. After all, hadn’t she earned a bit of special treatment for allowing Cook such generous use of Pansy’s finest talents?
Tansy had already met Cook on her original tour of the house, but her good impression of the woman was not matched by her opinion of the food served at the Duke’s table. Quite often the beef was stringy, the fowl tough, and the vegetables—though heavily disguis
ed with flavorful sauces—did not always taste quite fresh. Yet, since no one else had seen fit to complain, and heaven knew she was no gourmet, Tansy kept her thoughts to herself.
Once seated at the huge, well-scrubbed table in the center of the kitchen and munching greedily on a raspberry tart, however, Tansy’s eyes could not help but notice the seeming scarcity of foodstuffs usually to be found in abundance in such an affluent household.
“Hasn’t anyone been to the market today?” she asked Pansy, who was concentrating on digging an eye out of a potato while causing as little waste as possible.
Pansy finished her task and smiled smugly at her achievement before casting her eyes around the room and through the opened doors that revealed the pantry and meat locker. “Yes’m, Miss Tansy. Sally went to market at first light. Everything’s here, just like always.”
Upon hearing this piece of information, Tansy decided a closer investigation was called for, and set forth at once to make what soon became an extensive inventory-taking of foodstuffs, cleaning supplies, candles, linens, and fuel. She even climbed to the top of the house, where she inspected the furnishings in the servants’ quarters. When she was finished she returned to the morning room at the back of the house and gave the bell-rope a mighty pull.
“Send Mrs. Brown to me at once,” she ordered the footman who answered her call.
“Mrs. Brown, ma’am? There’s no Mrs. Brown what lives ’ere,” the footman answered in confusion.
Tansy’s foot was tapping now. “The housekeeper, you goose. I want the housekeeper.”
A light went on in the footman’s vacant eyes. “Oh, you’d be meaning Mrs. Green, then, Miss,” he corrected.
“Green, brown, purple, I don’t give a bloody damn what color she is! You just get her thieving arse to anchor in here in less than three minutes, or I may start giving you the drubbing I have planned for her!”
To say the least, the very least, Miss Tansy Tamerlane was upset. The footman stumbled wildly for the door, but still heard the irate woman’s parting order. “And tell her to bring the household books with her if she values her skin!”
Tansy spent the next few minutes stomping up and down the morning room in a high flight of agitation, until a loud voice cut into her thoughts by demanding stridently, “Just what is the meaning of this outrage?”
Tansy halted in mid-stomp and whirled upon the speaker, her eyes raking the tall, raw-boned figure of the housekeeper. Mrs. Green was standing, hands on hips, just inside the door, her severe black gown gathered in at the waist by a wide belt from which hung a multitude of keys. Her iron-grey hair surrounded her sallow-skinned face by way of a coronet of thick braids, and although she was no taller than Tansy she outweighed her by at least three stone—making of herself all in all a very imposing (threatening?) picture.
Tansy was not impressed. After allowing her gaze to travel slowly up and down the person of Mrs. Green she said, keeping a tight rein on her temper, “You will oblige me, madam, by sitting down and shutting up. What I have to say will take only a few minutes, and then—if you dare—you may try to explain yourself.”
Tansy then launched into a pithy description of the findings of her morning’s investigation, and as each new fact was presented Mrs. Green’s complexion came one shade closer to mimicking her name. Condensing nicely, it was not too long a time (although it seemed an age to the housekeeper) before Tansy ended her speech by declaring her next targets of investigation were to be the huge clothbound books reposing on Mrs. Green’s now trembling knees.
At her first opportunity, Mrs. Green sprang to her own defense by trying to lay all blame on the outrageous prices that were the bane of every housekeeper since the war ended.
“Don’t try to cozen me with that outrageous faradiddle,” Tansy warned.
Mrs. Green decided to take another tack. “I admit, the place could do with a bit of a wash and a brushup, and Lord knows how hard I try to drum some sense of duty into those lazy housemaids...”
“Stubble it!” Tansy cut her off contemptuously, her anger causing her to revert to the language learned at her father’s knee. “Don’t embarrass either of us with any more of your outrageous lies. Allow me to advise you that your position in this household is terminated. Immediately. So why don’t you just nip off upstairs and pack your bags? I want you out of this house within the hour.”
Tansy made to turn away but then turned back to add one more note. “And please, don’t hold onto any hopes of taking along a recommendation. Unless you are applying for employment as a thief, as for that I feel sure you are most fully qualified.”
Suddenly Mrs. Green remembered something. This Tamerlane hussy was nothing but a poor relation, with no authority to fire anyone. “You are not in charge here, missy,” she pointed out nastily. “I’ll just wait for the Duke, and then we’ll see who’s to be set out on the street.”
Tansy smiled—a wicked, wicked smile. “You are correct, madam, I have no authority to dismiss you. Instead, why don’t you look upon my order as being more in the nature of a suggestion. You see, my authority in the matter is not the issue here. What is more to the point are those books now reposing so innocently on the sofa over there. Do you really wish the Duke to examine them while you are still around to answer any questions his grace might raise?”
Mrs. Green was packed and gone—well within the time span Tansy suggested—and as she and Dunstan watched the departing hackney carry her away from Grosvenor Square the butler apologized for not being aware of the goings on beneath his aristocratically humped nose. “My only excuse is that I am only in town for the few weeks the Duke is in residence. As I much prefer Avanoll Hall, my attention to this house has suffered accordingly.”
“It’s of no matter, Dunstan,” Tansy assured him. “I just hope I can manage to hold the household together until such time as we can find another housekeeper. The Duke and dowager must not feel the pinch of our shorthandedness. Can I count on your assistance, dear Dunstan?”
The butler drew himself up to his full imposing height and gave his solemn assurances that everyone, himself included, would be more than happy to do anything they could to help the young miss. “It seems the servants were none too fond of Mrs. Green, and they’ve already taken to talking of you as their savior. And, Miss Tansy, if I may be so bold,” he added softly, “the family all call me Dunny. I would be honored if you would deign to so honor me.”
The Tenacious Miss Tamerlane Page 6