“I know. Sorry.” But even so, she gave Susie strict instructions to keep an eye on her two sisters.
~~~~~
JULY
There were three days of feverish needlework to attire Caroline suitably for the grandeur of a ducal residence. Mama’s Box had yielded a charming organdy muslin for a round gown, a figured silk for a matching spencer, cap and reticule, and enough ribbons for some very pretty embellishments about the sleeves and hem. Her own lace provided a fichu, and she extravagantly bought new kid half-boots and gloves for the occasion. She felt like a child who has been playing in her mother’s wardrobe, and yet she could not remember her mother ever wearing anything so stylish.
The only distraction from the frantic preparations came from John Christopher, who dug up yet another box. This one was a little different, being an ornately carved silver affair, and firmly locked. It was too good a piece to be forced open, so Caroline cleaned it up and locked it away in the safe until she could get it to the locksmith. Another five hundred pounds! She happily calculated the increase in income this new addition to their savings would bring.
She was ready and waiting at ten o’clock on Thursday. She waited. She continued to wait, as Poppy dashed in and out of the house to check the clock.
“Quarter past!” she cried gleefully. “They’re not coming.”
“Oh, where are they?” Lin said fretfully. “They are so late. I hate it when people are late. It’s so nerve-wracking.”
“Why are you so impatient?” Caroline snapped. “You’re not the one kept waiting.”
“You’re very cross today,” Lin said. “It’s your own fault for agreeing to go in the first place. I’m not waiting any longer. I have things to do.” She flounced away into the house.
Caroline knew exactly why she herself was cross. It was not the prospect of Valmont itself, for she had to admit to some curiosity about the place, however little right she had to be going there. No, it was her wager with Mr Leatham which preyed on her mind most forcibly. However could she have been so stupid as to agree to it? All he had to do was to curb his temper for a few hours, and she would have to pay him fifty pounds. Fifty pounds! It was an unthinkable amount of money to throw away. She would simply have to provoke him into an argument, for she would take no pleasure in the day otherwise.
Eventually, almost twenty minutes past the hour, the Leatham carriage turned in at the gates and drew to a halt, the door opened and Mr Charles Leatham descended to assist Caroline inside with a bow and a proffered arm.
“You see, I am determined to be charming today,” he said with a wide grin. “Nothing can deter me.”
“We shall see about that,” she said grimly, taking her place beside Mrs Leatham, while Mr Leatham settled on the seat opposite, still grinning in the most infuriating manner.
“Well, now, is this not delightful?” Mrs Leatham said. “What a pity your sister is not with us, but I am sure she knows best. How charmingly you look, Miss Milburn. Is that a new cap? Did you make it yourself? So clever! We are going to have the most delightful day, and you and Charles may get to know each other a little better. Charles, be sure to take good care of Miss Milburn today. Now, Mrs Narfield will be there to receive us, and her sister-in-law Lady Narfield, who is Lord Randolph’s sister, you know — Lady Georgiana Litherholm, as she was. As for the men, there is no knowing whether they might have gone off riding or shooting or some such thing. The gentlemen are so keen on their sports, are they not? So we may not depend upon them, but some of the other ladies might be there. His lordship has quite a large party gathered at the moment — all his sisters, and various aunts and uncles and cousins. Now, his lordship is the new duke, everyone knows that, for his brother is drowned in that terrible sinking down in Cornwall, just like Mr Wishaw, but he has not yet claimed the title. It is unlikely that he will condescend to honour us with his presence, but if he should choose to do so, he must not be addressed as Your Grace, but only as my lord. Poor man! He is so cast down by his brother’s death, Mrs Narfield said. Dresses all in black, and has the mourning wreath still on the door, apparently. Ah, now this is Corranford, Miss Milburn. Just a tiny hamlet, nothing here but the mill. Once we are past the ford, we shall be entirely surrounded by Valmont land. The woods…”
Caroline’s head was spinning. Fortunately, Mrs Leatham required no participation from her captive audience, being perfectly capable of maintaining the conversation single-handedly. Caroline began to get an inkling of why she had been invited, to provide a complaisant listener for her monologue, someone new enough to require explanation of every landmark of interest along the way.
If she had been less nerve-wracked by the prospect of losing fifty pounds, Caroline would have enjoyed the journey immensely. The weather was kind, the carriage was well-sprung and the roads not too badly rutted. As they drew nearer to Valmont, they came to the boundary wall of the duke’s residence and then to the village that clustered around one of the gates. There were no fewer than eight entrances, the indefatigable Mrs Leatham told her, all with a lodge house built in the same style as Valmont itself. The village was a fine, bustling place, with a market under way in the centre of it, the square a mass of farmers and bleating lambs and pie-sellers shouting their wares. There were some pretty cottages and more imposing houses, as well as a number of interesting shops and inns, all of them bearing the Litherholm coat of arms.
“Does it mean something, the shield over the door?” Caroline said. “The pig seems an odd thing for a duke to put on his arms.”
“Oh, it is all symbolic,” Mrs Leatham said vaguely. “To do with a battle somewhere, I expect. Ah, here is the gatekeeper to admit us.”
After a brief discussion between the gatekeeper and the coachman, the high gates were swung open for them and the carriage passed through into the hallowed grounds of Valmont. At once, the noise and commotion of the market was left behind, and they were surrounded by great tall trees, their leaves rustling gently far above. Spears of sunshine broke through the canopy to light their path. It was very tranquil. After a considerable time, they emerged from the trees to gain their first view of the house.
“It’s enormous!” Caroline breathed. “And all for one man!”
Mrs Leatham chuckled. “I knew you would be impressed. Of course, his lordship is not alone here. Why there must be a hundred servants, at least.”
“You’d need that many,” Caroline said. “Think of all those miles of floors to mop and carpets to beat and windows to clean, and imagine how many grates would need to be black-leaded.”
Mrs Leatham looked momentarily startled, as if the idea of black-leading grates had never crossed her mind. And perhaps it never had, since her servants seemed to know their business without much intervention from their mistress.
Mr Leatham chuckled. “How practical you are, Miss Milburn.”
“Indeed,” Mrs Leatham said, rallying. “That is what we admire most about you, dear Miss Milburn.”
As the carriage rolled to a halt, a troop of footmen emerged from the house, resplendent in wigs, white gloves, black coats and silk knee breeches. Caroline had seen respectable merchants and bankers dressed less stylishly than these humble servants. The butler was even better dressed, and would have passed for a gentleman in any company. Perhaps he was, at that. It may be that the duke was so grand that mere gentlemen wanted to serve him. No, not a duke… he was just a lord, still. It was so complicated.
They were admitted to a great hall with marble tiles, white and a rich red in a checkered pattern. A staircase with banisters polished to a high shine led to a half-landing and then up to the next floor. Huge chandeliers sporting scores of candles hung on long chains, and more candles in sconces lined the walls. Every candle was brand new, and the housewife in Caroline was horrified at the thought that half-used ones were replaced before they were finished, just so that the duke… no, the lord could have fresh ones every day. What a waste! And if they were used in the servants’ hall, that would be just a
s much of a waste. Wax for entertaining, Papa had always said, and tallow for everyday. Susie wouldn’t know herself if she were burning the best beeswax in the kitchen.
A housekeeper, just as grand as the butler, awaited them at the far side of the hall, and led them through the house. The rooms were all connected one to another, so they walked from one overpowering chamber to the next, in relentless procession.
Mrs Leatham, who had only visited twice before, took it upon herself to act as guide. “This is the library, Miss Milburn,” she said, waving an arm vaguely towards a bookcase.
“His Grace the Sixth Duke liked to call this the Royal Withdrawing Room,” the housekeeper murmured. “It is only used in the winter, hence the warm colouring. The library is in the other wing, but Lady Narfield will be delighted to show it to you, if you have a particular interest in books. Now this is my favourite room.” She threw open another door.
“Ah, the dining room,” Mrs Leatham said.
“We call it the buttery,” the housekeeper said. “A small room for a private party, perhaps. His Grace the Sixth Duke used to host his political dinners in here. Through here is the Queen’s Room, where you will find the ladies, I believe.”
Caroline felt small. Every room, every piece of furniture, every ornament was built on a larger-than-life scale. There were fireplaces large enough to walk into, vases the height of a man, ornately painted ceilings far above their heads and everywhere decoration, embellishment, ornamentation. She far preferred the plain oak tables and chairs at Bursham Cottage to this grandiose display of wealth.
The ladies were congregated in a small corner of the room, an array of muslins in the mourning colours of pale grey or lavender, elaborately decorated about the sleeves and hems, and some fine lace caps. Mostly Honiton lace, she thought, as she drew close, or possibly Bruges. One of the ladies wore an Italian style, which must have been an heirloom piece, perhaps made in one of the convents. Caroline’s fingers itched to feel the delicate threads, and admire it from close quarters.
Mrs Narfield emerged from the throng to greet them, the ladies rose in a mass of swishing skirts and there was a great to-do of introductions. Lady Henrietta, Lady Alice, Lady Elizabeth, Lady Anne, Lady Charlotte… Some quite young, others much older. One elderly gentleman, Lord Arthur. Caroline smiled and curtsied and curtsied again, wondering what on earth she was doing there. She should have listened to her first instinct and refused. She should never have allowed Mr Charles to goad her into accepting. And then the fear washed over her again — fifty pounds!
By some unspoken agreement, the ladies began to drift towards a pair of doors. Two footmen in black sprang to open them, and the chattering group passed through. One elderly lady and the gentleman resumed their seats with relief, but everyone else followed along, Caroline last of all. They entered a smaller room which had doors to the outside. More footmen leapt to open them, and the group moved in stately procession out onto the terrace.
“We are to be given a tour of the gardens,” Mr Leatham whispered in Caroline’s ear. “Quite a privilege.”
“Are we supposed to be grateful?” she whispered back. Her reserve of civility was already depleted by the prolonged introductions.
He chuckled, and said smugly, “I am suitably grateful, even if you are inclined to be perverse today.”
“And you are never perverse, I suppose, Mr Leatham.”
Another low laugh. “I admit to frequent perverseness, Miss Milburn, but not today. Today I am the epitome of unruffled composure.”
“How annoying,” she said, with great sincerity.
That just made him laugh the more.
The gardens, it turned out, were every bit as grandiose as the house. Long brick walks and winding gravel ones, arbours, grottos and cascades, statues and fountains and quiet pools, shrubberies and topiary and woodland paths, hot houses and cool houses and a kitchen garden bursting with exuberant growth. And every step of the way, Mr Leatham was by her side, smiling and exuding good humour. He stood quietly as she stared at the vegetables.
“Look at those beans,” Caroline said crossly. “I thought Lin would grow some, but we have nothing like that. I must ask her why she hasn’t sown any.”
“I daresay she cares more for her rhubarb,” Mr Leatham said.
“What do you know about Lin’s rhubarb?” Caroline said suspiciously.
“Only that she talked incessantly about it when she called once. What do you do with it? Not eat it, I hope. Nasty stuff, rhubarb.”
“It is medicinal, and although it has its uses, I would far rather have beans. It is very provoking to see such abundance when we have none.”
“If the beans displease you, shall we move on?” he said in amiable tones. “I believe the ladies are returning to the house, and we cannot have you distressed by a vegetable.”
“What do you care?” she said, quite aware that she was being petulant but unable to help herself. “Why are you still clinging to my side like a limpet, Mr Leatham? For you are not at all wanted, I’ll have you know.”
For a moment his face darkened and she held her breath. Was he about to lose his temper? But no. He mastered his anger, and even dared to smile at her. “Ah, you are trying to provoke me into dispute, but your trickery is in vain, Miss Milburn. I am determined to be chivalry personified today, and I am clinging to your side like a barnacle, not a limpet, so that you may have every opportunity to win your bet. It would hardly be honourable in me to hide myself away, would it? We cannot quarrel if we are not together.”
“Oh… pfft!” she said, and stomped away. She was not managing to provoke him into anger, but he was certainly provoking her. And deep inside was the leaden ball of fear — fifty pounds! If she should lose…
The ladies gathered on the wide terrace, where the elderly lady and gentleman who had declined the walk joined them. The army of footmen had been busily engaged in setting out tables covered in snowy cloths, laden with bread and cake and fruit and cold meats. Caroline quickly chose a seat between two other ladies, but Mr Leatham brought up another chair and squeezed in next to her. Across the table, Mrs Leatham smiled knowingly, and nodded her head in seeming approval. Such irritating people, the Leathams.
More footmen arrived to serve platters of hot pastries and pour wine.
“How many footmen do they have?” Caroline said, overwhelmed by so much massed servitude.
One of the ladies overheard her. “Only twelve at the moment,” she said. “The household is below full capacity until there is a duchess in residence. However, the valets serve at dinner, and the grooms help out when we have a large event, so we manage.”
Only twelve. Below full capacity. Caroline could find no sensible response. Valmont was run on a scale her mind could barely comprehend.
The lady turned towards her and went on, “Such a pretty lace kerchief you wear, Miss Milburn! That is not patent lace, I warrant. Did you obtain it from a supplier in Salisbury?”
“No, my lady. I made it myself.”
“How clever you are! Such a fine accomplishment, to make one’s own lace.”
“It’s my trade, my lady. I beg your pardon, but I’ve forgotten your name.”
She smiled, not offended. “I am Lady Narfield, but I was Lady Georgina Litherholm before my marriage. The sixth duke was my father. So confusing, is it not, all these names? Let us speak of you, instead. Your friend said you have only recently moved to Bursham from Romsey. That is quite a change, but you have made an excellent choice. Bursham is very well situated, and so convenient for Salisbury. We are nearer to Andover, but the shops are not so good there.”
“Oh, we didn’t choose it, my lady. Our grandfather left it to us in his will after he drowned on the Minerva.” Belatedly, she realised this was not a good choice of subject. “Oh, I beg your pardon, my—”
But her face lit up. “Your grandfather was on the Minerva? Alice, Etta, did you hear that? Miss Milburn’s grandfather was on the Minerva too.”
With mur
murs of interest, they drew up chairs and gathered around her to hear more. The attention was embarrassing, not least because she had known nothing at all about her grandfather, or his travels to and from Dublin, until Mr Stratton had revealed the contents of Mr Wishaw’s will.
“But how exciting,” one of the ladies said. “To suddenly find oneself the possessor of a house in that way, quite unexpectedly! And you have sisters, you said? No doubt you will be very popular among the local swains with such a dowry.”
“Oh, no, we don’t have—” Caroline began, but then stopped. Between the three of them, they owned a house and several thousand pounds. That was indeed a substantial dowry for three women who had previously been living in two rooms, and scraping by on whatever they could earn by their own hands. Was that why Mr Stratton was so interested in Lin? And it was not just Mr Stratton, for there was always one or other young man popping up with offers of weeding the vegetable beds, or fixing a fence, or lopping off a dead branch in the orchard. Of course, Lin was pretty enough that there was no need to look for a mercenary motive, but it might be an added inducement.
Another man emerged from the house, and at first Caroline assumed from his black coat that he was merely another footman. But he began to mingle with the ladies, and when he was introduced to Mrs Leatham, she caught the name. Lord Randolph Litherholm. The new duke. He was so young! She hadn’t realised, not being familiar with the family, that the duke was brother to the younger ladies of the party, and the older ones were his aunts. He couldn’t have been more than seven or eight and twenty, handsome in an aristocratic way, although his face was solemn and unsmiling.
When he was introduced to Mrs Leatham, she blushed and stammered and curtsied twice, and seemed unable to finish a single sentence. It was strange to see her fluency desert her so spectacularly. She offered her condolences, which he accepted graciously, making polite enquiries about her husband, and their journey, all the conventional small talk of casual acquaintances.
The Lacemaker (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 2) Page 15