A Village Scandal

by Dilly Court

  When Charity was reasonably satisfied with her appearance Daisy had to repeat the process all over again with Patience, who decided from the start that she wanted to put on her riding habit.

  ‘I am not part of this,’ she said sulkily. ‘I don’t want to be married, so there’s no point in dressing me up like a doll.’

  ‘Then you’d better tell your mama.’ Daisy threw up her hands. ‘I don’t care if you find a husband or not, I’m just following instructions.’

  ‘I’ll tell Mama what you said.’ Patience slumped down on her bed, pouting.

  ‘In this instance I think she’ll agree with me,’ Daisy said calmly. ‘Wear your riding habit if you like, but you’re the one who’ll have to deal with a very angry mother.’

  Charity put her head round the door. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, put on a proper dress, Patty. You can go riding later, but do this for Mama.’

  ‘Oh, all right.’ Patience slid off the bed. ‘I’ll do it, but I won’t be nice to the fat old bores that Mama has invited to stay.’

  An hour later the family were lined up in the entrance hall waiting for the first guests to enter. Molesworth was poised ready to do the honours and James and Mrs Harker’s footman, George, stood on either side of the front door. There had been an altercation between the two men, which had almost come to blows. George insisted that he was the head footman, a position jealously guarded by James, and Daisy had had to intervene before one of them bloodied the other’s nose. There might be a reluctant truce, but the pair glared at each other across the marble-tiled floor.

  Daisy herself was stationed behind Marjorie, although for preference she would rather have been below stairs, but her attendance had been an order and Daisy knew better than to question the colonel’s wife.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Harold Woodward,’ Molesworth announced in a sombre tone.

  Marjorie stepped forward. ‘Welcome to Creek Manor. I hope you had a pleasant journey?’

  ‘Tolerable, thank you.’ Mr Woodward bowed over Marjorie’s hand. ‘My wife and I are delighted to be here, Mrs Harker.’

  Mrs Woodward smiled and grasped her husband’s arm as if for protection in a strange environment. ‘How kind of you to invite us to your quaint home, Mrs Harker.’

  Daisy was bristling at the insult to Creek Manor, and then she recognised Letitia Woodward. The overdressed, overfed woman might be putting on airs and graces, but she was a distant cousin of Agnes Carrington, from the poorer branch of the family. Mrs Carrington had let it slip on one occasion that Letty had married well, considering her father was only a butcher, and everyone assembled had laughed.

  ‘And these charming young ladies must be your daughters, Mrs Harker.’ Harold Woodward’s eyes strayed from Charity’s face to the swell of her firm young breasts.

  ‘This is my daughter, Charity,’ Marjorie said hastily. ‘And my younger daughter, Patience.’

  He gave Charity a vague smile and his gaze wandered to Daisy, who was doing her best to melt into the background. ‘And who is the charming lady hovering just behind you, ma’am?’

  There was no avoiding them now and she stepped forward. ‘Good morning, Mr Woodward. I’m Daisy Tattersall, Mrs Harker’s private secretary.’ She promoted herself, but it was easier to give herself a title that they might understand.

  Letitia Woodward eyed her curiously. ‘Have we met before, Miss Tattersall?’

  ‘Not formally, ma’am. I was governess to Master Timothy Carrington. You might have seen me when you visited your cousin in Queen Square.’ Daisy had the satisfaction of seeing the smile fade from Letitia’s face. It would not be so easy for Mrs Woodward to patronise her hostess, knowing that Daisy was aware of her humble beginnings.

  ‘Thank you, Daisy,’ Marjorie said icily. ‘You may show Mr and Mrs Woodward to their room.’

  Daisy bit back a sharp retort. Showing guests to their rooms would not normally have been done by someone in Daisy’s position, but she realised that it was Marjorie’s way of putting her in her place for introducing herself to the Woodwards, and now she was going to pay for her boldness.

  ‘Will you come this way?’ Daisy led them across the entrance hall to the wide staircase and she did not look back, although she could feel Marjorie’s gaze following her. Daisy held her head high and continued to ascend the stairs with Mr and Mrs Woodward close on her heels.

  Having settled them in the butterfly bedroom, so called because of the wallpaper hand-painted with butterflies and flowers, Daisy had no choice other than to return to the entrance hall. She could hear carriage wheels crunching on the gravel and the sound of footsteps, but as she rounded the curve in the staircase she came to a sudden halt. Three men had entered, one after the other, and the last of them was none other than her former fiancé, Julian Carrington. If she had seen the guest list she would have had time to prepare herself, but their last encounter had ended in acrimony on both sides. He was as handsome as ever and although not much above medium height he carried himself well, with an air of confidence that he seemed to have developed during his time in the diplomatic service. His companions were older, one of them verging on middle-age and the other possibly in his thirties. Daisy clutched the banister rail for support. She was tempted to retreat to her room, but she could hardly remain there for the duration of Julian’s stay. There was no alternative but to continue down the stairs and put a brave face on an embarrassing situation.

  Julian looked up and their eyes met, but he showed no sign of recognition and that made it easier for Daisy. She took her position behind Marjorie and assumed the cloak of invisibility that was an essential for a well-trained servant. She did not look up when Marjorie introduced Mr Woodward’s entourage to her daughters. The names of the two other men escaped her but the sound of Julian’s voice brought back memories of a difficult time in her life. Their engagement had been secret and unofficial, although Julian had bought her a very pretty diamond ring, which she had kept hidden from view and even that had caused seemingly endless complications. They were to have announced their betrothal at Christmas, but the memory of the letter ending their relationship was still etched on Daisy’s heart. Julian’s behaviour subsequently had left much to be desired, and now she would have to pretend that nothing had happened. It was awkward, but the situation was unavoidable and she would cope with it in one way or another.

  It was a relief when Marjorie instructed James to show the three gentlemen to their respective rooms. Julian had still not acknowledged Daisy, but if that was the way he wished to continue it was perfectly all right. When it came to the midday meal, Marjorie’s refusal to allow Daisy to eat with the family had turned out to be a boon, and Daisy was happy to take a tray to the deserted morning parlour. She carried out her duties for the rest of the day and managed to avoid him.

  The last of Daisy’s chores was to help both girls to get ready for bed, although she could not think why they still needed someone to act like a nanny. Patience was exhausted and Daisy tucked her up in bed with a certain degree of sympathy, but then Patience was only sixteen, and young for her age. She was still a child at heart and more interested in horses than she was in prospective suitors. If Daisy had had her way she would not have been involved in Marjorie’s almost frantic search for suitable husbands for her daughters. All Daisy could do was to treat Patience with as much kindness and understanding as she could muster, with the occasional lecture on manners and a sharp rebuke when Patience overstepped the mark, which happened all too often. Daisy smiled to herself as she closed the bedroom door: she had swapped her position as governess to a young boy to tend to the needs of an over-indulged and even more demanding young lady.

  Satisfied that she had done all she could for the younger daughter, Daisy went to Charity’s room, and found her seated at the dressing table, gazing dreamily into the mirror.

  ‘Would you like me to brush your hair, Charity?’

  ‘I don’t mind you calling me Charity when we’re alone, but I hope you’ll remember to say �
��Miss Charity” when we’re in company.’ Charity met Daisy’s gaze in the mirror with a stubborn set to her jaw. ‘You aren’t the lady of the manor now.’

  ‘I think I know that,’ Daisy said drily. ‘And I suppose you mean you want me to be subservient especially when a certain gentleman is present?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Charity’s cheek flushed scarlet and she looked away. ‘Please take the pins out of my hair. They’re sticking into my scalp.’

  ‘Of course.’ Daisy proceeded to take down the elaborate coiffure and brushed out the tangles. ‘What did you think of your mother’s choice in suitors?’

  Charity looked up, frowning. ‘I will pick the man I am going to marry.’

  ‘So you didn’t think much of any of them?’

  ‘Mr Flanders is much too old. I don’t care if he has a senior position in the Foreign Office and lots of money.’

  ‘Then what about Mr Jenkins? He’s a good few years your senior, but he’s quite good-looking.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m eighteen, Daisy. He’s twice my age.’

  ‘Then that leaves Mr Carrington.’

  Charity’s colour deepened. ‘He’s very good-looking, and quite charming. I think I like him but I hardly know him.’

  Daisy kept her thoughts to herself and changed the subject. She finished her task of preparing Charity for bed, said good night and left the room. It was late and she still had to walk the mile or so to the cottage with only the moonlight to guide her across the rough pastureland on the far side of the deer park. She took her cloak from a peg in the servants’ quarters and let herself out through the back door, but as she rounded the building she caught a whiff of cigar smoke and she realised that she was not alone. It was obviously one of the guests enjoying a cigar after a long evening of dining, drinking and playing cards, and she hoped that she could escape into the shadows unseen. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and stepped out, tiptoeing across the stony terrace, but the sound of footsteps behind her made her stop and turn round to face him.

  ‘Daisy, I need to talk to you.’

  She knew that voice only too well. ‘What do you want, Julian?’

  ‘That’s not a very nice way to greet the man you once promised to marry.’

  ‘You might think it’s all a joke, but I don’t. The last time we met you demanded the return of the ring you gave me, and then I had a visit from your mother accusing me of stealing your property.’

  He dropped the butt of his cigar on the gravel and ground it in with the heel of his shoe. ‘Oh, that! Well, you know what Mama is like. She’s very protective of her family.’

  Daisy turned away. ‘I’m tired and I’m going home.’

  He fell into step beside her. ‘Why aren’t you living in the house? If you’re Mrs Harker’s private secretary, why are you tramping across the countryside late at night?’

  ‘It’s none of your business. Now please go away.’

  He caught her left hand in his. ‘You’re wearing a wedding ring and you introduced yourself as Daisy Tattersall. Where is your husband? Or was it all a fabrication?’

  Daisy wrenched her hand free from his grasp. ‘Leave me alone, Julian. If you don’t I’ll tell Mrs Harker exactly what sort of man you are, and you won’t stand a chance with either of her daughters.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You need to marry a wealthy woman, and Charity Harker will inherit a tidy sum from her mother, plus, I should imagine, a generous dowry.’

  ‘Really?’ He stared at her in the light of the flambeaux that were situated along the front of the house.

  ‘You didn’t know?’

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘Then why are you here, Julian? I wouldn’t have thought a stay in the country would appeal to you.’

  ‘I could say the same for you, Daisy.’

  ‘This is getting us nowhere and I’m exhausted. I’ll say good night.’ She was about to sidestep him when he barred her way.

  ‘Will you allow me to walk you home?’

  ‘Why would you want to do that? We’ve nothing to say to each other, and you’re a guest in this house.’

  ‘So what are you doing here, Daisy? You still haven’t answered my question. Are you married?’

  ‘I am married, and for your information my husband is the lord of the manor, but circumstances have temporarily reduced me to acting as Mrs Harker’s servant. Does that satisfy you?’ She walked away without waiting for his response, but Julian fell into step beside her.

  ‘No, it doesn’t. Where is your husband now, and why is he allowing you to suffer such humiliation?’

  ‘I can see that you won’t give me any peace until you know. Jay is missing at sea, but he’ll come home one day soon, of that I’m certain. Are you satisfied?’

  He dropped back and allowed her to continue on her way, although she sensed that he was watching her until she was swallowed up by the darkness. Clouds obscured the moon, and she could hear movement beneath the trees, and even though she knew it would be the deer or other animals, it was still frightening to someone born and bred in the city.

  It was with a feeling of intense relief that she opened the gate in the picket fence and walked up the path to the cottage. The homely aroma of baking bread, and the inevitable smell of furniture polish that seemed to follow Hilda wherever she went was a reminder that Mary and Hilda had done their best to make their new surroundings comfortable. They were cramped when it came to sleeping arrangements, but Daisy was so tired that she knew she would sleep well, despite her mother-in-law’s loud snores.

  She was up early next morning and relieved to see the sun shining from an azure sky. The walk to the manor house was pleasant enough and the air was fresh and sweet. Life here would have been wonderful if Jay had not answered the urgent summons to his ship on their wedding day. In her mind’s eye Daisy could envisage the Lazy Jane, bobbing gently on the incoming tide as she lay at anchor in the creek, like a courtesan awaiting the arrival of her lover. She wondered if Marius Walters had done a deal that would prove profitable to her as well as to himself. She wished that she had a way of keeping in touch with him, purely in the interests of business, but it would be a relief to have some good news, and with it the hope that they would be self-sufficient sooner rather than later. She was tempted to make a detour to Guppy’s cottage to find out what was happening to the ship, but that would make her late, and if Guppy was not at home she would have to deal with the fearsome Mrs Guppy. Perhaps she could find time to walk to the creek and see for herself, or maybe she could accompany Patience on a morning ride and just happen to guide her in that direction. It would provide an excuse for absenting herself from the house for an hour or two, and Marjorie Harker was unlikely to put a stop to anything that would make either of her daughters happy.

  But when Daisy reached the house she went first to the kitchen, where she walked into a battleground. Mrs Pearce was bristling with anger and her subordinates were clustered around her, while Phoebe Salt paced the floor wringing her hands.

  ‘What’s the matter now, Mrs Pearce?’ Daisy made an effort to sound calm, but she could see from the expressions on the faces of the two cooks that this was going to be difficult to resolve.

  ‘It’s my turn to do all the meals today,’ Mrs Pearce said with a break in her voice. ‘But she says I’m only doing breakfasts for the guests and she’s going to make a special luncheon for them.’

  ‘Mrs Harker is mistress of Creek Manor now,’ Mrs Salt snapped angrily. ‘She requested her favourite dish and that’s what she’ll get. We must all compromise, Mrs Pearce.’

  ‘Compromise?’ Mrs Pearce’s eyes bulged as if they were about to pop out of her head. ‘It’s a compromise when you want your own way, but it’s a different kettle of fish when it comes to what I want.’

  ‘The mistress asked me to make a special luncheon for the gentlemen. I’m used to cooking high-cl
ass meals for gentlemen.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ Mrs Pearce snarled. ‘No decent woman would be seen dead in one of them places.’

  ‘How dare you? I’ve never been so insulted in all my life.’

  ‘Oh, come now, Phoebe. That’s hard to believe.’

  ‘Did you hear what she just said, Mrs Tattersall?’ Mrs Salt’s lips quivered ominously. ‘I’m going to tell, madam.’

  ‘Tell-tale tit,’ Mrs Pearce said childishly. ‘You know the rest, Phoebe Salt – your tongue will be split, and I’ve got a sharp knife so don’t tempt me.’

  ‘That’s done it. When I tell my mistress that you’ve threatened me with violence you’ll be sacked on the spot.’ Mrs Salt headed for the door but Daisy forestalled her.

  ‘Now, now, ladies. This really isn’t the way to behave.’ Daisy glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen maids, who were watching and hanging on every word. ‘I won’t have threats of violence in my kitchen, and Mrs Salt, this still is my kitchen. I am the owner of Creek Manor and the house is rented to Mrs Harker for a temporary period. She wanted to bring her own servants, but that means you all have to get along. I won’t allow my staff to be bullied.’

  Mrs Salt tossed her head. ‘We’ll see about that. I’m going to speak to madam now.’

  ‘No, you will not,’ Daisy said firmly. ‘You are the under-cook today, and tomorrow you will be head cook. Is that understood?’

  ‘It will be reported to madam,’ Mrs Salt muttered as she made her way back to the table.

  ‘Do what you like,’ Mrs Pearce said crossly, but then she caught Daisy’s eye and she managed a weak smile. ‘If you assist me today, Phoebe, I’ll do the same for you tomorrow. I can’t say fairer than that.’

  ‘Huh!’ Mrs Salt picked up a sharp-looking knife and attacked a side of bacon. ‘If my mistress complains it will be you who’ll get into trouble.’