Henby had tried to soothe her mistress, telling her she would contrive something, and this seemed to have had the desired effect, for soon afterwards Mrs Millthorpe’s tirade had finally slowed, then halted. Henby had brought her a tisane, and Mrs Millthorpe had lain down on the settee for a nap.
Jane had remained seated, hardly daring to move.
After a time Mrs Kendal, too, had dozed in her chair.
Gradually the silence in the room had allowed Jane’s nerves to settle. She hoped Mrs Millthorpe would feel better after her rest. Jane was not sure how much more of her anger she could take.
She reflected on the row between her grandfather and his wife. Something about today’s exchange had been deeply unsettling. Despite the fact they had been married for twenty-five years and more, Mr and Mrs Millthorpe did not seem to share the sort of amity Jane would have expected.
They are both unhappy people, Jane reflected. Is that the reason for the discord, or simply its result?
After a long hour Mrs Millthorpe stirred, stretched, yawned, and sat up. Mrs Kendal, seemingly attuned to her aunt’s needs, also woke at this point, and helped Mrs Millthorpe settle herself upright with a comfortable cushion behind her back and an offer of tea.
‘Not tea, no.’ She glanced at the clock on the mantle. ‘We shall have to prepare for dinner in an hour. No doubt,’ she said spitefully, ‘we shall be treated to that same amber silk we have seen every evening.’
Jane flushed, aware that the knots in her stomach, which had eased a little during the silence, had now renewed their twisting.
Be brave.
She swallowed. ‘My mistress, Lady Kingswood, gave me a number of day dresses, but only one evening gown. In truth, I would prefer not to eat with the family, since it is clear my presence causes some distress. I should also prefer not go to the soirée. Perhaps—’
Mrs Millthorpe’s steely gaze swung around towards Jane. ‘You!’ Her face was suffused with purplish rage. ‘You would have done better not to have come at all!’
Mrs Kendal gasped, then tried as ever to be peacemaker. ‘Now, then, my dear Aunt Eugenia, we must simply contrive, as Henby says, to make do.’
She sent Jane a sympathetic glance.
Thank goodness for Mrs Kendal! Jane knew she was not completely friendless. But how angry Mrs Millthorpe was! And surely Mrs Kendal must be concerned about her son’s inheritance?
Jane’s stomach twisted.
‘Henby! Ring the bell for her so we may discover what must be done.’ Mrs Millthorpe’s eyes narrowed. ‘Has Robert returned?’
Mrs Kendal looked a little bewildered. ‘I have no idea, for I also slept.’ She glanced at Jane, who gave a tiny shake of the head. ‘I think he has not yet returned.’
‘Hmm... I intend to speak to my husband on the morrow. I shall have a great deal to say to him—including plenty about protecting my own and my nephew’s future!’
Mrs Kendal, with a quick glance towards Jane, gave a non-committal answer, but Jane noticed the slight frown she wore eased a little afterwards.
Did they genuinely believe she was there to steal Beechmount Hall away from them? The notion was absurd. Had they forgotten she had been raised to be a servant? It was impossible even to consider someone like her being gifted such a place, such responsibility—especially since Mr Kendal was the master in all but name.
She shook her head ruefully. Mr Millthorpe remained master, for all his frailty. But Mr Kendal was clearly meant to be his heir.
Jane realised she must now expect that her grandfather would ensure she no longer needed to earn her living as a servant. But she had not been raised to be heiress to such a place as this! Surely everyone could see it would be most unsuitable?
Her ears caught the sound of hooves on the gravel outside and her pulse instantly quickened.
It must be him!
Her reaction to Mr Kendal’s return was much too strong.
I should hate to lose his good opinion.
Strangely, at this moment, amid thoughts of inheritances and her being claimed as a legitimate granddaughter, Mr Kendal’s good opinion was her primary concern.
Henby arrived with news for her mistress. ‘We have found some trunks in the attic, ma’am. They contain old dresses from years ago that can be unpicked and remade, for the fabric is good. There is plenty of satin, silk and lace, that may be used.’
Jane felt a flicker of interest. Of all her duties, dressmaking was a joy, not a burden. If she was forced to go to this soirée perhaps she could wear a new dress.
‘Well, have them brought down here, for I have no intention of climbing up to a draughty attic!’
Henby assented, adding that she would ask Eliza to join them, as she would be assisting with the stitching.
Jane was now only half-listening, as she had caught the sound of Mr Kendal’s voice in the hallway. As he passed the salon she distinctly heard him ask for a bath to be drawn in his room. The sound of his voice always did strange things to her insides, and now she had an image of him in his bath to contend with.
As scullery maid, she had often had to heave jugs of water upstairs, when a member of the family had bathed, and of course she had occasionally seen servant men washing half naked in lakes and streams. She knew what a male torso looked like unclothed, and had no difficulty in imagining Mr Kendal’s firm chest, arms and back.
Her mind strayed to the thought of Mr Kendal in his bath. Why, even now he would be disrobing upstairs. He would likely await the hot water in his dressing gown, and would be naked as a newborn underneath it...
Heat spread through her and she had to resist the strong urge to fan herself. Thankfully no one was paying her any attention, and soon afterwards Henby returned—this time accompanied by Eliza, and by two footmen carrying an enormous trunk.
This was deposited in the middle of the floor, and the footmen left as Henby opened it.
‘Just look!’ she announced, lifting the first garment—a painted silk dress festooned with flowers and leaves.
‘Ooh!’
Jane, Mrs Millthorpe and Mrs Kendal all made a similar sound—the eternal sigh of a woman of fashion.
‘And this!’ Henby held up a striped pink satin gown, festooned with a line of bows down the bodice. The waist was low and the hips and rear extremely wide.
‘Obviously made to be worn with a rump and panniers,’ said Mrs Kendal. ‘I remember my own mother wearing a grand dress like this for a ball one time.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ sighed Jane, running her fingers over the smooth satin. ‘And so well preserved!’
Henby flipped it over. ‘There are yards of fabric in the skirt and train. The sleeves need work, and we would need to fashion a new bodice and underdress, but it will do.’ She did not request Jane’s opinion. ‘Eliza and I shall unpick it this evening and start remaking it in the morning. I have some plain pink that will do for the underdress, and we shall size it on one of Miss Bailey’s other dresses.’
‘Can you do it in time?’ Mrs Millthorpe sounded rather anxious. ‘Whatever my personal feelings on the subject, it is a matter of pride that no one in my party shall be ill turned-out for the Staveley House soirée.’
Henby clicked her tongue. ‘There is a prodigious amount of work to be done. The gown will have to be simple, with very little embellishment.’
‘But it must not be dowdy!’
‘Eliza and I shall do our best.’
Henby exchanged a look with Eliza—a look which seemed to Jane to have an element of slyness in it.
Why, they have no intention of ensuring it is fashionable!
Jane was quite shocked. Were they intending to disobey their mistress because they resented her?
She thought quickly.
I am my mother’s daughter. I have my own strength.
‘Perhaps I can assist,’ she o
ffered diffidently.
‘You can sew? Good!’ Mrs Millthorpe seemed pleased. ‘You might as well make yourself useful.’
‘I shall concentrate on the bodice and sleeves, if you like, and leave you two to create the main form of the dress.’
Jane was addressing the two servants, but again it was Mrs Millthorpe who answered.
‘Capital! Go you and start unpicking the pink. We shall amuse ourselves by exploring the trunk further.’
The servants curtseyed and left, taking the pink striped satin with them.
Jane watched them. Would they ‘accidentally’ destroy it, or carry out some other means of ensuring she had no suitable dress for Thursday?
She considered this, but soon realised that, much as they might wish to make Jane as unattractive and shabby as possible, they would not dare to face their mistress’s displeasure if there was no dress at all.
* * *
‘May I come in?’
Robert sighed inwardly.
I am in no mood to discuss this yet.
‘Of course, Mama!’ Freshly dressed after his bath, he ran a hand through his wet hair and pulled two bedroom chairs forward to accommodate the conversation that his mother had clearly planned.
‘Did you enjoy your ride?’ Her eyes were scanning his face.
‘I did.’
She took a breath. ‘What do you make of today’s news?’
He shrugged. ‘My uncle has always enjoyed playing with us as puppets. This is more of the same.’
‘But—your inheritance...’
‘What inheritance? I am related to him only by marriage. He may dispose of his property in whatever way he wishes.’
‘Robert, please. We both know there has been an expectation—’
He spoke curtly. ‘Expectations are not reality. We must deal with circumstances as they are, not as we once believed them to be.’
‘Do you think...? Miss Bailey seems innocent and honest. Is it possible that she knew?’
Inwardly, the answer came instantly. Of course she knew. Her mother would have told her. So why had she kept the information from him? Was she truly as guileless as he had believed her to be?
He tried to deny it, but there was a sense of hurt—of betrayal, almost. He had thought they had built a level of trust between them. Why, then, had she not told him of her true status?
‘She must have known. Edward was her father. She is a legitimate grandchild—his only blood relative, as Uncle said himself.’
Mama bit her lip. ‘So where does that leave us?’
He sensed her anxiety. ‘We shall manage, Mama. I make a good living from my importing business. We shall live perfectly comfortably.’
He could not believe he was being forced to say this to her. Beechmount Hall was her home. He had thought they would live there for the rest of their lives.
She nodded and lifted her chin. ‘You are right, of course. I can be brave and start again if needs be.’
His heart went out to her. She should not have this uncertainty at her age. What a disaster his uncle had contrived!
He could not even think of Miss Bailey right now.
* * *
Dinner that evening was a strange affair. Jane’s amber silk dress made its customary appearance, but evinced no comment. Mr Kendal, who took his usual seat on Jane’s right, was quiet and withdrawn. Mrs Kendal looked anxious. Mrs Millthorpe politely furious.
She had clearly decided to ignore her own husband pointedly—something to which he responded with garrulous glee, making wide-ranging comments on a range of topics and drawing unwanted attention to Jane by asking for her opinions.
When the footmen finally cleared the table Jane was conscious of a sense of relief as the ladies left the gentlemen and made for the salon.
There, Henby was waiting, with the huge sleeves from the pink dress as well as some offcuts from which she indicated that Jane was to attempt to fashion a bodice.
‘Oh, but—’
Jane bit her lip. There was no point in asking for a single piece now. Henby and Eliza had clearly cut the dress up in such a way that had left only these smaller pieces for Jane.
‘When we looked at the skirt more closely we found parts were infested with mildew and had to be discarded.’
‘Mildew? But—’
Again, she choked back her words. Jane had not noticed any mildew earlier. Besides Henby, as a lady’s maid, would know full well that mildew could be easily removed by washing in diluted white vinegar.
Although to be fair, if it had been on the dress for a long time, the mildew might have caused staining, or even a weakening of the fabric. If indeed there was any mildew. In addition, Jane was not at all convinced that there were genuinely only these small pieces left to be used to create the bodice.
‘I have left you the spare sewing box that our housekeeper uses.’ Henby indicated a wicker box on the side table.
‘Thank you.’
Once Henby had gone, she considered the pieces in front of her. The bodice would have to be made in four parts, with central seams down both the front and the back in order to line up the pattern. The sleeves were more straightforward. She picked one up. The shoulder would not require much adjustment, but the bottom needed to be changed completely. The sleeves were elbow-length, with large gathered gauze cuffs and self-fabric hems.
Already her mind was working out possibilities, testing and discarding options. First she would need a trim...
She was surprised to discover a certain fierceness inside her. Despite the best efforts of Henby and Eliza, she refused to be unfashionable. She could not control her grandfather, nor mend the breach among his family. But if he meant to take her to this soirée Jane would make her mama and papa proud. She refused to be the pauper among them, or to be sneered at.
She went to the corner and fished in the trunk again. Finding what she needed, she set to work.
All too soon tea was served, and the gentlemen came to join them. Mr Millthorpe was still in a buoyant mood—Jane had the sneaking suspicion that he had actually enjoyed the earlier tension.
Setting down her sewing with considerable reluctance, Jane moved to the main part of the room, near the fireplace. Near Mr Kendal. Near the dangerous eddies and maelstroms of the Beechmount Hall family.
‘Emma Dodsworth is such a dear girl!’ Mrs Millthorpe announced, to no one in particular. ‘So elegant! So refined! So well-educated! One can always tell the quality of a young lady after a very short time in her company.’ She gave Mr Kendal a sideways look. ‘Did you not think she was particularly delightful today, Robert?’
‘It is always a pleasure to see Miss Dodsworth,’ he replied slowly, ‘apart from on those frequent occasions when she delights in baiting me!’
Mrs Millthorpe tittered, causing Mrs Kendal to look at her in wonder. ‘Oh, Robert! Why, you and Miss Dodsworth have such an easy relationship. I declare I have always sensed an affinity between you.’
Mr Kendal frowned. ‘We have been friends since childhood, it is true.’
‘And who would have thought she would grow into such a beautiful young lady? It is down to her breeding, of course.’
Mr Millthorpe rubbed his hands together. ‘Breeding, aye. I have often noted that adding common blood to stock seems to make them hardier. Healthier too.’
His wife sniffed. ‘We are not speaking of stock, but of people. And Miss Dodsworth’s ancestry is beyond reproach!’
‘That’s what you think! Why, in these parts we all know Dodsworth’s grandmother played her man false. Her only son had a remarkable resemblance to one of the grooms!’
Mrs Millthorpe’s eyes widened. ‘Indeed? I never knew that. How interesting—er...how shocking, I mean!’ She pondered on this a moment, then recalled herself to the present. ‘Anyway, my point is that when one has been raised to be a la
dy it is instantly apparent. Miss Dodsworth’s grace, her manners, her skill upon the pianoforte—why, her music has enlivened many an evening.’
‘She is a charming girl, and she plays the piano beautifully,’ agreed Mrs Kendal, in the silence that followed this. ‘I shall look forward to hearing her play at the soirée.’
‘All the ladies will be invited to play or sing, and we shall have a delightful evening!’
Mrs Millthorpe’s tone was one of triumph. She threw a quick glance towards Jane, who had managed to remain impassive. So far.
‘I have no doubt Miss Dodsworth will be dressed in the first stare of fashion.’
‘She will, eh?’ Mr Millthorpe’s keen gaze was fixed on his wife. ‘And you will ensure that Jane is well turned out, I am certain.’
Her face hardened. ‘It is in hand.’
‘Good.’
This, finally, seemed to silence her, and as the servants returned to take away the tea cups Jane, with a great deal of relief, retired to bed.
Chapter Eighteen
Jane walked along the hall to the library, but before she could knock on the door she paused, hearing raised voices inside. Mr and Mrs Millthorpe were, it seemed, engaging in strong debate.
She made out Mrs Millthorpe saying something about ‘living with my sister’ before she realised the impropriety of listening at the door and fled before she could be discovered.
‘Oof!’
She crashed into sudden warm hardness. Mr Kendal put his hands out to steady her, and for the briefest of moments it felt as if she was in his arms. He smelled of soap, maleness, and something that was uniquely him. She stored the memory for later.
‘Oh, Mr Kendal, I do apologise. I was—er—that is to say—’
‘Yes?’
He was not helping. His expression was closed, his mouth a thin line of reserve.
‘I came to speak with Mr Millthorpe, as I usually do at this time, but his wife is with him, so I came away.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Arguing, are they?’
‘I cannot say.’
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