It was a pretty room, with the typical large, low windows looking out towards the back of the house, a marble fireplace, and a collection of elegant furniture. The shutters were closed against the winter darkness, and a single branch of candles on the mantel suffused the room with soft warm light.
Although the fireplace was empty, the room did not feel cold. The chairs and sofas were finished in blue satin. Jane now remembered that Mrs Kendal had told her it was known as the Blue Parlour.
Mr Millthorpe made his way directly to the fireplace and stopped, gazing at the portrait above it. Jane’s gaze followed his—and she gasped.
It showed a woman in a pink striped satin dress, her hair powdered and her lips curved in a merry smile. Around her neck was a simple string of pearls, and by her side stood a small boy, his blue eyes smiling at the artist.
‘My father? And—my grandmother?’
He nodded.
Jane had seen this portrait just days ago, when she was being shown around the house, but had not understood its significance. She had, of course, been looking for family resemblances in the various family portraits hung around the house, but the same blue eyes were everywhere—clearly a strong feature of the Millthorpe line. Never before had she seen an image of her father as a child.
He cleared his throat. ‘Eleanor. Edward. Both gone.’ His voice was thick with emotion.
Without thinking, she slipped her hand into his and they just stood there for a long moment, unspeaking.
He squeezed her hand briefly, then released it. ‘Bring the candles.’ He made his way towards a writing desk near the windows.
She did so, and watched as he opened the desk and removed a small box.
‘This was Eleanor’s favourite room. Here she would write and read, entertain her friends and play with young Edward.’ He indicated the room with a gesture, his hand trembling a little. ‘No one uses this room now, but I insist it is kept spotless and lit by candles in the evening. She is still here, you see. In this room.’
It ought to have sounded sinister, yet strangely Jane felt only a sense of comfort.
‘Yes, she is.’
Her heart, already pounding from the hope Mr Kendal had set alight within her, now lurched with fresh emotion.
From the box her grandfather drew out a string of pearls, each one a perfect miracle. In the candlelight they glowed with lustrous iridescence. Jane had never seen anything so exquisite. She set the candles down on the desk and reached out to touch the jewels.
‘They are beautiful. Are these the ones she wears in the portrait?’
‘Yes. They belonged to her own mother before they came to her.’ He eyed her keenly. ‘Eleanor’s mother was a Bailey of course. Her name was Jane.’
‘Jane Bailey?’ Jane’s voice trembled. ‘So Papa named me...?’
‘After his grandmother. Yes.’
This was entirely unexpected. Jane’s mind could barely take it in.
‘Turn around.’
She obeyed, and stood in shock as he draped the pearls around her neck. Her hand reached up to touch them as he fumbled with the clasp.
‘There.’
She turned back to face him, wiping away a small tear. ‘I am honoured to be permitted to borrow these for the evening. I shall try to make her proud of me.’
‘Borrow? No, these are yours, child.’
Jane gaped. ‘Mine? No, I cannot accept them! It would not be fitting.’
‘Not fitting?’ He raised an imperious eyebrow. ‘Well, who else should have Jane Bailey’s pearls other than Jane Bailey, her own great-granddaughter? My granddaughter!’
‘Yes, but I am not really your granddaughter. In the eyes of society it will never be right for a former servant girl to accept such a gift.’
He brushed this aside with the irreverence of old age. ‘Society? Pah! This is not a gift, child. It is your rightful inheritance. Now, why have you not said thank you? Am I to accuse you of being rude or ungrateful?’
He has me with that.
‘I am sorry, sir. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.’
And by forcing her to thank him he had tricked her into accepting the pearls, the wily old curmudgeon!
‘And do not call me “sir”. Grandfather will do very well.’
‘Yes. Grandfather.’
The word hung in the air between them and his eyes were glistening in the candlelight.
‘And now we are late—we shall be in trouble with the ladies for delaying them,’ he said gruffly. He offered her his arm. ‘Let us go, Jane.’
* * *
Staveley House was a large manor—probably almost as large as Beechmount Hall. As it was full dark when the Millthorpe party arrived, the moon being obscured by cloud, Jane had only the slightest impression of its exterior—a substantial silhouette, with flaming torches to aid the guests on arrival, and a veritable army of grooms and footmen to assist each coach.
They had, of course, travelled from Beechmount Hall in the large travelling coach, as the smaller carriage could not have accommodated them all. Jane had, as ever, been seated backwards-facing, with Mr Kendal by her side. How comforting it had been to feel the warmth of his body next to hers, especially now she had some hope of restoring their friendship.
Comforting—and yet discomfiting at the same time. For his closeness had caused the usual flutterings inside her. Now, believing he still liked her, Jane wondered if might he kiss her again some time...
She smiled inside. A headiness was threatening to overcome her.
Perhaps I shall not disgrace myself tonight after all. I have the dress, and my grandfather, and actual pearls! And I have Mr Kendal’s regard.
The glow had returned, suffusing her body with a heady mix of confidence, warmth and desire. Just for now she would allow herself to enjoy this giddiness.
But deep within her the turbulence of the last few days remained. Master Henry was not far away, and with him were the doubting voices.
Right now, though, in the glow of pearls and the dress and Mr Kendal’s regard, she felt stronger than she had done in days. The events of the past half-hour had provided a much-needed veneer of confidence, of elation, that skimmed over her deeper troubles like thin ice over a dangerous lake.
It will get me through the evening, she told herself firmly, ignoring the brittleness of her own façade.
Mrs Millthorpe had maintained a litany of empty anxiety about the muddy roads the whole way to Staveley House, but they had managed to get through without mishap. It was hard to know whether her desire to be proved right was stronger than her desire to reach their destination.
Lost in her glow of happiness, Jane smiled inwardly at Mrs Millthorpe’s dilemma. Recent events had given her a fresh sympathy for Mrs Millthorpe, and a better understanding of her unhappiness.
The carriage drew to a halt, and instantly Jane’s nerves returned in full measure. As she followed the others inside she was acutely conscious of the footmen and housemaids deployed to assist with the removal of cloaks, hats and boots, and the donning of evening slippers for men and women alike.
As Jane slipped her feet into her pink satin slippers she remembered an old fairy tale Papa had used to read to her—about a serving girl who normally lay by the cinders but who, through magic, attended three balls with a prince.
There will be no royal wedding for me, she thought ruefully.
Yet, here she was, as delighted as the girl in the story to be wearing fine clothes in the company of a handsome man.
Their hosts, Mr and Mrs Foster, were there to receive them, along with three of their five children.
‘The two younger ones,’ Mr Kendal murmured in Jane’s ear as they awaited their turn, ‘are not yet out of the nursery.’
His breath tickled her ear, sending a delicious shiver through her.
When it came to
Jane’s turn, her grandfather stated simply, ‘Miss Bailey—my granddaughter.’
‘Ah! Is that the way of it?’ asked Mr Foster obscurely. ‘You are welcome, Miss Bailey. Why, the whole district has been agog and wishing to find out more about you!’
Jane was unsure what to say to this. But Mr Foster, thankfully not expecting a response, had moved to shake Mr Kendal’s hand and Jane found herself greeting Mrs Foster, Mr John Foster, and the two Misses Foster.
They all seemed friendly and welcoming, and Mr John Foster’s gaze held something of admiration in it. He was around her own age, tall and handsome, with deep brown eyes and dark wavy hair. If her entire being had not already been taken up by Mr Kendal, the look in those brown eyes might have had some impact on her vanity.
‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bailey.’
He bowed and smiled and Jane’s anxiety decreased a little. It seemed they did not know the whole truth about her. Perhaps tonight would not be so bad after all.
Chapter Twenty
John Foster moved on to greet Mr Kendal. ‘Good to see you, my friend.’
Mr Kendal, Jane noted, was fairly glowering as he shook John’s hand.
John looked a little startled, but then his eyes narrowed. He smiled, and there was a hint of defiance in it. ‘And thank you for bringing such a delightful guest!’
‘The delight, I assure you, is all mine!’
There was definitely a challenge in Mr Kendal’s answering grin.
Strange.
The two Misses Foster were younger, and clearly excited.
‘How do, Miss Bailey?’ said Miss Mary. ‘We are to have ices later!’
‘Hush now, Mary,’ admonished her big sister. ‘Miss Bailey has ices every day of the week where she lives!’
‘Really?’ Miss Mary’s eyes grew round.
‘Oh, no, I honestly don’t!’ Oh, the irony, that they thought she was from a wealthy background! ‘In truth I have only ever had ices once, when I visited London.’
‘You have been to London? Actual London?’ Miss Mary was clearly awestruck.
‘Um...yes.’
She had gone when she and Mama had run away, after Master Henry had attacked her, and they’d had to seek positions in a new household.
‘Did you go to Astley’s? And the Tower? Did you see Princess Charlotte and the Prince Regent?’
‘Mary, please do not tease Miss Bailey so!’ Mary’s older sister spoke sternly.
‘I am sorry, Miss Bailey.’
‘Think nothing of it!’ Jane assured her, but she was conscious of a slight feeling of relief as Mrs Millthorpe finally completed her greetings with Mrs Foster and they all walked further in to the house.
‘Well done!’ It was Mr Kendal, his eyes smiling. ‘I had not anticipated such inquisitiveness.’
‘Nor I!’ replied Jane, with fervour.
That initial encounter set the tone for Jane’s evening. While the other guests were less direct than Miss Mary Foster in their questioning, nevertheless Jane found herself continually fending off politely worded questions about her life and her background.
She took her lead from her grandfather. Mr Millthorpe was open about his estrangement from his son, and the fact that Edward had taken the name Bailey when he had left home and married Jane’s mother. Her grandfather did not, however, mention that Jane and her mother worked as servants.
Jane found the scrutiny troublesome. Ever conscious of the footmen and the maids, carrying out their duties in the large salon where the guests had congregated, she watched them serving drinks and directing people to the comfort rooms when needed.
If she had been among them she would have known exactly what to do, what to say, how to behave. She wished she were here as a housemaid, not a guest. And yet...and yet...
Miss Dodsworth was there, with her parents, and her delight at seeing Jane was so genuine that Jane could not help but respond warmly to her. Mr Kendal, too, seemed to wish to stay by Jane’s side as much as he could—that was, until two new guests arrived.
By that point there were, Jane calculated, somewhere between thirty-five and forty people present. So when the new arrivals appeared in the doorway Jane was initially only mildly curious. Until, that was, Mr Kendal groaned and rolled his eyes at Miss Dodsworth.
‘Oh, Lord!’ she muttered. ‘I had heard the Haws were away, visiting with relatives. They are clearly returned.’
All curiosity, Jane eyed the pair in the doorway. The woman was sixtyish, stout and sallow, with an eager eye and a fluttering fan. She wore a satin puce dress and three enormous feathers in her headdress. The gentleman with her looked to be nearing forty. He was tall and thin, with a sharp nose and a wet mouth.
Jane shuddered. ‘Who are they?’
‘Mrs Haw and her son, Marmaduke. They are received everywhere, but...’ Miss Dodsworth’s voice tailed away.
‘I shall tell you what my kind-hearted friend refuses to say.’ Mr Kendal grimaced. ‘Which is that they are vulgar.’
‘I see...’ Vulgarity, Jane knew, was unforgivable among the gentry and aristocracy. ‘So why are they received?’
‘Their lineage is impeccable, sadly,’ replied Miss Dodsworth.
The Haws began working their way around the room, and Jane noticed the moment one of the ladies told them about her, for both Mrs Haw and her son immediately turned to stare at her. Instantly Mrs Haw bent to whisper something in that lady’s ear. The lady gasped, then looked at Jane. Cold fear flooded her stomach.
She watched the Haws intently after that. Each time they conversed with someone new the same thing would happen. Mrs Haw would adopt a confidential manner, and the person she was confiding in would react in some way. Surprise. Shock. Puzzlement.
Jane was desperately trying to interpret the looks.
It cannot be me she is speaking of! I do not even know her! How could she possibly...?
An instant later, comprehension came to her. ‘Mr Kendal,’ she managed, her voice croaking slightly, ‘is there any connection between Beechmount Hall and Mrs Haw’s residence?’
‘Connection? No.’ He looked surprised. ‘As far as I know the Haws have no relations in the district.’
Jane shook her head. ‘I mean in terms of the servants.’
He frowned. ‘Let me think...’ His brow cleared. ‘Yes! One of their grooms has a sister who is a servant in Beechmount Hall—a housemaid. Eliza, I believe is her name.’
Eliza. Suddenly it all made sense.
Miss Dodsworth had gone to speak to the young Misses Foster, so Jane was standing alone with Mr Kendal. The Haws had reached the group next to them and were even now taking their leave.
Will they speak to us next?
‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘the Haws know about me.’
‘Dash it all!’ he murmured. ‘Brace yourself, Miss Bailey.’
‘Good evening, Mr Kendal! What a delight to see you!’ Mrs Haw was all effusiveness. ‘And in such fine looks! I declare, apart from my own dear Marmaduke—and Master John, of course—there is no man so handsome as you!’
A hint of ruddy colour appeared on Mr Kendal’s cheek. ‘Good evening, Mrs Haw,’ he managed. ‘And Mr Haw.’
The gentlemen bowed to each other—a formal gesture, Jane noted, with nothing of amity in it.
Mrs Haw’s protuberant blue eyes swivelled to Jane, then passed on as if they did not see her.
Mr Kendal’s jaw hardened. ‘Miss Bailey—may I make known to you Mrs Haw and Mr Haw, her son? Miss Bailey is Mr Millthorpe’s granddaughter.’
Automatically Jane replied with a polite remark, even as it dawned on her what Mr Kendal had done. Nearby, eyebrows were raised and mutterings paused as other guests watched and waited.
Mr Kendal had, in the manner of his introduction, given Jane the honour of being a higher rank. Mrs Haw’s eyes na
rrowed, and a slash of colour appeared on her cheeks. She looked as though she were biting back bitter words.
Mr Kendal waited, seemingly unperturbed, while Jane shrank inside. Her heart was pounding with anxiety.
‘I see.’ Mrs Haw gave a slight inclination of her head. It was enough. She did not cut Jane.
Jane exhaled in some relief. Mr Kendal’s risk had worked out. He had accurately calculated that, if forced to do so, Mrs Haw would defer to the Millthorpe name and connections.
Mr Marmaduke Haw took a different approach.
‘A delightful young lady! Such a divine dress!’
He lifted Jane’s hand to his wet lips. Jane was glad she was wearing gloves.
‘Such a pretty young thing!’ he exclaimed again, lifting his quizzing glass to inspect her bosom more closely. ‘I must say I welcome these new fashions in evening gowns. What say you, Kendal, eh?’
‘I have nothing to say on the matter,’ returned Mr Kendal coldly.
His tall solidity beside her gave Jane immense comfort. How much more difficult this would have been without him!
Inside her soul, the ghost of Master Henry stirred and flexed...
Mrs Haw slapped her fan against Robert’s arm. ‘Mr Kendal! There is something I have been meaning to discuss with you.’ She lowered her tone dramatically. ‘It is something of a delicate matter, so would you be willing to sit with me on that settee over there while I tell you the whole?’
Mr Kendal had little choice.
He assented, his expression unreadable, bowed and walked away. Jane, already struggling to maintain her equilibrium, felt entirely bereft.
Mr Marmaduke Haw was determined to make the most of his opportunity. Instantly he laid a hand on her gloved arm, sliding his fingers upwards until he encountered bare flesh. As he did so her stomach tightened with sickness.
‘Miss Bailey!’ he continued smoothly. ‘I am so delighted to find a new young lady in our midst. Especially one who... Why, to think I was not sure whether to come here tonight!’
His eyes were roving all over her, concentrating particularly on her chest. She wanted to pull her dress up as far as it could go. Fear was rising within her, mixing with unwanted memories. She felt sick.
Rags-to-Riches Wife Page 18