The Highborn Housekeeper

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘Yes.’ Nancy chuckled at this masterly description. ‘Susan, Lady Craster. She is my father’s fiancée and not at all pleased to have me here, I think, but she is even more anxious to avoid unfavourable gossip.’ She folded her arms. ‘She seems to have my father wrapped about her little finger and it may be that she fears I shall come between them.’

  ‘Is she jealous of you, do you think?’

  Nancy laughed at that. ‘She has no need, as my father showed by his reception of me!’ She sobered and a frown creased her brow as she continued. ‘It is not inconceivable that he hopes she will provide him with an heir, but it is more than that, Hester. I think he truly loves her. Or at least he is infatuated. He fawns over her like a moonstruck schoolboy, but for all her soft looks and caressing words I do not think she loves him. There is something odd here, Hester. She knows he is not rich, so she cannot be a fortune hunter.’

  ‘Perhaps she is eager to be a countess. Some women would sacrifice a great deal for a title.’

  ‘That is possible, I suppose,’ Nancy conceded. She fell silent for a moment, then said slowly, ‘Despite her honeyed words, there is something cold and calculating about Lady Craster that puts me on my guard. For all my father’s angry bluster, I think the lady is the more dangerous of the two.’

  * * *

  An awkward dinner was followed by an uncomfortable hour in the drawing room and it was with relief that Nancy pleaded fatigue and retired early to her room. She was relieved to be installed in the newly decorated guestroom, where there were no childhood memories to oppress her. Lady Craster had suggested Nancy might prefer her old rooms in the east wing, but on this point even his affection for his fiancée would not move the Earl. He had obstinately refused to acknowledge that Nancy was anything more than a guest in his house. And an unwanted guest at that.

  She had dealt easily with the enquiries about her past, thankful that the preparation for her masquerade in London had been thorough enough to bear scrutiny and she was reasonably satisfied that her father believed her story, that she had fallen on her feet and met an honourable merchant who had made a respectable woman of her. Not that the Earl would ever approve of anyone connected with commerce.

  Her father also thought it natural that she should want to take up her position again in his household. However, Nancy feared Lady Craster was not so easily convinced. In response to her questions as to why a widow of independent means should choose to return to the home after so many years, Nancy hinted that she had never felt comfortable in the less-than-genteel world of trade.

  ‘Well, if you are thinking you might be able to catch yourself another husband, then think again,’ her father told her, adding with brutal honesty, ‘As a tradesman’s widow you are soiled goods, not fit to join the ranks of the ton.’

  Nancy held on to her temper, but it was an effort. She assured him quietly that she had no wish to marry again.

  ‘I merely want to live quietly, in the sphere in which I grew up.’

  Her weary, submissive tone had the desired effect: a look of contempt swept across Lady Craster’s delicate features. It was gone in an instant, but Nancy had seen it, and she hoped she had done enough to allay the woman’s suspicions.

  * * *

  When Nancy went down to breakfast the following morning, it appeared that her plan had worked. She found the Earl deep in conversation with his fiancée. They broke off when she came in, but she had barely taken her place at the table when the Earl addressed her.

  ‘I was discussing with Susan how best you can make yourself useful.’

  He sounded much more cheerful this morning and was clearly reconciled to her remaining at Masserton, at least for the present.

  ‘Of course, Father. If there is anything I can do...’

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact there is.’ Lady Craster spread butter on a hot muffin with small, precise strokes of the knife. ‘You may help me with the final arrangements for the ball next week. Goodness knows I do not want one, but your father insists we invite everyone in the neighbourhood with any claim to gentility.’

  ‘Aye, I do. If I’m taking a wife, then they all need to know of it. You’ve been here for over three months now and scarce know anyone.’

  ‘But, my dear Hugh, you know I came here to be with you, not to be gadding about visiting all and sundry. And I have been very busy, all the decorating, I have not wanted to invite anyone to call...’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ muttered the Earl. ‘But I don’t care to be on a bad footing with any of my neighbours.’

  Susan tried, but not very hard, to hide a sigh. ‘Apart from the odd baron, a couple of knights and a few baronets, there will be no one of higher rank than your father, which is a great pity, but there you are.’

  The Earl waved his fork at her. ‘I told you we might invite the militia, if you wanted to fill your rooms, my dear.’

  The lady wrinkled her dainty nose. ‘I am not desperate to fill the house with young officers who have been starved of good company. No, this ball is for your neighbours, my dear, and we shall keep it so. Perhaps, Lady Ann, after breakfast you will attend me in the morning room and we will discuss what still needs to be done. Then you may relay my instructions to the staff. I find these country folk do not always seem to know what is expected of them and Mrs Crauford is really too old to be a housekeeper, but there, your father is adamant she must stay.’

  ‘Aye,’ growled the Earl. ‘Crauford has been here for as long as I can remember. Why, she was a maid here in my father’s time and I ain’t having her pensioned off. No question of it.’

  ‘Quite, my dear.’ Susan’s smile was thin. She turned back to Nancy. ‘So you see how useful you will be, Lady Ann. I shall leave it to you to make sure my orders are understood and carried out.’

  ‘Of course, ma’am. I shall be delighted to help.’

  Nancy smiled. It could not be better. Running errands would give her the perfect excuse to go to all corners of the house. She could search for the documents that Gabriel was convinced were secreted somewhere in the Court and make discreet enquiries of the staff. If there was anything untoward going on at Masserton, then they would know of it.

  The Earl refilled his tankard from the jug of ale that stood beside his plate.

  ‘Perhaps Ann could help you choose the wallpaper for the Blue Bedroom,’ he suggested. ‘Damned business has been going on for ever.’

  Lady Craster leaned across and patted his hand. ‘Bless you, my lord, but choosing the correct paper is not the work of a moment and I want it to be perfect.’

  He grunted. ‘You have been trying to decide on the right pattern for months, samples flying back and forth to Lincoln! Perhaps you need to find another paper-hanging warehouse, if Hewitt has nothing suitable. My late wife used Masefields on the Strand.’

  ‘Mayhap I shall, if I do not find what I want in the latest samples he has sent me. But you will remember I told you, my lord, that his prices are so much more reasonable than the London warehouses. Why, I expect to save a hundred pounds or more by the time I have done all the bedrooms. And how much cheaper it is to have the paper hangers travel only from Lincoln rather than London!’

  Nancy said, ‘I would be happy to look at the patterns with you, Lady Craster.’

  ‘Do, pray, call me Susan, my dear. And I thank you for your offer, but this little task is very special to me. Besides, there will be plenty for you to do, with the ball only days away.’ She patted her lips with her napkin and rose. ‘If you are ready, perhaps we might make a start on that now?’

  * * *

  With the exception of the butler and housekeeper, Nancy knew very few of the staff at Masserton Court. She had been away for so long that it was not surprising many of the older servants had gone. She learned with some regret that Monsieur Paul, the chef who had taught her to cook, had quit the Earl’s service once Bonaparte had been banished to St
Helena and had returned to France.

  Those that did remember Nancy were touchingly pleased to see her and she spent a pleasant and informative hour drinking tea with the old housekeeper, as she reported to Hester when she went up to change for dinner later that day. She kept her voice low, in case anyone was listening at the door.

  ‘Mrs Crauford has been housekeeper at Masserton since before I was born. If anyone would see any difference in my father, it would be she, but it appears he goes on very much as before. There is no sign that he has come into any extra funds recently and that is the only reason I can believe he might turn traitor. There is no talk of anything suspicious going on at Masserton and she told me that, apart from neighbouring families, there have been no visitors here.’

  ‘Excepting Lady Craster.’

  ‘Yes, there is the lady,’ Nancy agreed. ‘Crauford says that as far as anyone knows, my father met her at Brighton this summer and brought her back here as his fiancée. She has been his constant companion since then.’

  Hester sniffed. ‘From what I have gleaned, my lady rules the roost here now. They say the Earl is quite besotted.’

  ‘I believe he is,’ Nancy agreed. ‘Crauford would never be disloyal, but from the little she said, I do not think she approves. Lady Craster has turned off a number of staff in the interests of economy and her own coachman and Lucas, her groom, are in charge of the stables. But my father’s people may well have been growing too old, so there is nothing wrong in bringing in younger staff. I cannot believe the Earl has anything to do with the missing documents, whatever Gabriel Shaw may say. He and his lady have been living here since early September, smelling of April and May, according to the housekeeper, and apparently quite content with one another’s company.’ She chuckled. ‘If the lady’s plans to decorate the place are anything to go by, she intends to remain in residence for some time yet.’

  ‘I can’t help thinking we are here on a fool’s errand, Miss Nancy. Master Gabriel should be looking elsewhere for his traitors, not wasting his time here.’

  ‘Well, he is not wasting his time, is he?’ Nancy replied tartly. She sighed. ‘I confess I do not like being here, it is too oppressive. But I promised Gabriel I would search the house and I must do that. I cannot leave until I am sure there is nothing to be found here.’

  Chapter Ten

  By the evening of the ball, Nancy had rummaged through every cupboard, desk and drawer she knew of in the house, but to no avail. She even found an excuse to go into the attics that very morning, but the layers of dust on every surface convinced her that nothing had been secreted here recently. She felt an immense sense of relief. She had heard and seen nothing to suggest Masserton Court was hiding any secrets. She had discharged her promise to Gabriel and now she wanted nothing more than to quit the house with all haste. The Earl remained hostile and he lost no opportunity to belittle her. Lady Craster’s dislike was more subtle, little pinpricks of criticism or disapproval that chipped away at Nancy’s comfort and temper.

  But it was not merely the behaviour of her father and his fiancée that disturbed her peace. She was missing Gabriel. So much it was like a constant ache inside her. He haunted her dreams. When she tried to read, his glinting smile intruded and, worst of all, her nights had never felt lonelier. Allowing him to make love to her had been a mistake, she acknowledged now. She should never have given in to the temptation.

  Or I should have found myself someone who was not such a good lover, she thought with wry humour as she made her way downstairs from the dusty attics.

  The major—the only man she had ever loved—had taught her how to please a man and how to take pleasure from his touch, but he had never roused her to such heights of ecstasy as she had shared with Gabriel. She had never felt so beautiful, so alive as she did when she was in his arms. But Gabriel was an expert. He made no secret of the fact that he had had any number of mistresses and that he intended to have many more. He was not the faithful type. He had told her so.

  ‘Beggin’ your pardon, my lady.’

  Nancy jumped as the footman addressed her. She had reached the main landing and the man was coming up the stairs from the hall, so she hoped he would think she had just left her room. She summoned a slight, careless smile.

  ‘Yes, James, what is it?’

  ‘Lady Craster is looking for you, my lady. She begs that you will join her in the Blue Bedroom.’

  ‘Of course. I will go now.’

  Nancy remembered the guest room as a gloomy, cluttered place full of heavy furniture from an earlier age and dark, damp-stained walls. Now, when she walked in, she found it had been stripped of its old damask wallcovering and frames of stretched canvas were on the walls, covered with lining paper in readiness for the new paper hangings. The great bed had been dismantled and removed and the remainder of the furniture was gathered in the centre of the room and shrouded in holland covers. A small side table had been moved in front of the window and Lady Craster was standing over it, slowly turning the pages of a large book of wallpaper patterns.

  ‘You wished to see me, ma’am?’

  ‘Ah, yes. Lady Ann. And do, pray, call me Susan. I am, after all, soon to be your stepmother.’ Lady Craster spoke with the false sugar-sweetness that set Nancy’s teeth on edge while sorting through an untidy pile of papers beside the pattern book. She picked up a single sheet. ‘There are a few little matters outstanding regarding tonight’s ball and I would like you to deal with them. I have written you a list.’ She held out the paper. ‘I would see to it myself, of course, but you can see how very busy I am here. I am determined to make a decision about the paper for this room today. I am thinking of this one, the blue flock. It is almost the same hue as the original wallcoverings, but I think the Earl will prefer that, do not you? He is not one for change...’ She paused, watching as Nancy scanned the list in her hand. ‘Is there anything you do not understand, my dear?’

  ‘No, indeed, Susan.’

  Nancy gave a smile as false as the lady’s own. Having searched the house from top to bottom, she felt her mission here was finished and had little desire to continue running errands. However, it would look odd if she were to object now, so she went off to do as she was bid.

  * * *

  By the time the short winter day was fading she had braved the wrath of the cook and passed on Lady Craster’s latest changes to the menu, made sure there were sufficient chairs and tables in the supper room and discovered which of the footmen were to be employed at the main door. Finally, she double-checked all the final arrangements for the evening.

  Having completed all her tasks Nancy went in search of Lady Craster, knowing she would want to be assured that everything was in order. She saw Stobbs, Susan’s very superior maid, coming down out of a bedchamber and asked if her mistress was within.

  The maid sniffed and looked down her nose at Nancy.

  ‘My lady is writing letters in the morning room and is not to be disturbed.’ Her tone was so haughty that Nancy instinctively stiffened. Something in her eyes must have told the maid she had gone too far, for she dropped a reluctant curtsy and added, ‘My lady.’

  The maid hurried away, but Nancy tarried on the landing. Opportunities to enter Lady Craster’s room were rare. Her first search had been necessarily swift and it might be worth taking another look. She slipped quietly through the door.

  The bedroom was much as she remembered it from the few times she had been allowed there to visit her mama. Pale silk, patterned with leaves, still covered the walls and the chaise longue remained at the foot of the painted four-poster bed. The same large gilt mirror adorned the space between the two windows. Nancy expected to feel something, a sense of loss or remorse, perhaps, but there was nothing. Perhaps it was because the room smelled differently now. Lady Craster favoured a light and undoubtedly expensive fragrance that was nothing like the heavy, cloying scent of roses Nancy remembered was her mother’
s favourite.

  A memory surfaced as Nancy looked at the dressing table, littered with an assortment of bottles and silver vials, glinting in the weak sunlight. She and Mary had been brought in to say goodbye to Mama, who was about to set off to join their father in town. Mary had perched quietly on the chaise longue, but Nancy, always curious, had wandered to the dressing table, attracted by the profusion of jewels scattered there, waiting to be packed into her mother’s jewel case.

  ‘Do not touch those with your grubby hands!’ Her mother’s angry voice still rang in her head, the memory of it more painful than the sharp slap across the head she had received. ‘Why can’t you be a good girl and sit still, like Mary? Let me tell you, gentlemen do not like inquisitive young ladies and since you are neither beautiful nor graceful you had best cultivate some attractive manners or you will never get a husband! Merciful heavens, what did I do to deserve such a burden?’

  No time now for self-pity, thought Nancy, shaking off the memory, she must concentrate on searching the room. Being inquisitive. Her besetting sin, according to her mother. And she did not have long. The fire had been built up and an empty hip bath had been placed before it, so it was most likely the maid was gone downstairs to order the hot water to be brought up.

  Her eyes scanned the room. There were no letters tucked behind the ornaments on the mantelshelf, no notes hiding in the lady’s dressing case, nothing sinister lurking among the clothes neatly folded away in the clothes press. She went to the bed and checked beneath the pillows. Nothing. Any letters the lady might have would be in her writing box, which she would have taken to the morning room.

  Her eyes strayed to the frothy confection of lace and satin spread over the bed, the new gown Susan had ordered for the ball. The maid had unpacked it and discarded the empty box on the floor, tissue peeping from under the lid and the maker’s trade card fixed to one corner. There was also the courier’s stamp: Meldrew and Sons, Bridge Street.