After the long, slow pace of the past three days Beechmount Hall became a hive of activity. The servants donned black ribbons, armbands and gloves, according to their role and duties, and the ladies were given mourning caps with black ribbons sewn on.
Mrs Millthorpe—now wearing severe black bombazine—held long meetings with the cook and the housekeeper, while Robert focused on the steward and Umpelby.
Once the coffin arrived, her grandfather was placed in state in the front parlour, after the room had been draped entirely in black baize, the windows covered, and branches of candles placed at intervals on side tables.
His widow, along with Jane and Mrs Kendal, would keep vigil over him there until the day of the funeral.
Nancy had hastily dyed one of Jane’s grey dresses a sombre black, and Jane was now wearing it. Along with the other ladies she’d spent long hours creating the funeral gifts—sprigs of rosemary, for remembrance, tied with black silk ribbon. She was fatigued from lack of sleep. They all were.
On the day before the funeral she received a letter from her mama.
‘Oh!’ she said aloud.
Mrs Kendal looked up.
‘My mother is coming to Yorkshire! Indeed, she is already on her way. This is sent from Grantham.’
‘She is? But how delightful for you!’ Although Mrs Kendal’s smile faded as she realised Jane’s mother, a servant, would soon be among them.
‘There is no need to be concerned,’ Jane assured her. ‘Mama means to put up in an inn in Harrogate and will call on me once she has settled there.’
‘I am sure my aunt would make her welcome...’
Mrs Kendal’s tone belied her words. Nothing was sure in this situation. Mrs Millthorpe had barely accepted Jane—and that was with the benefit of a decent education and Millthorpe blood.
It would create a dilemma for the family if they were forced to offer hospitality to Mrs Bailey. Jane was a legitimate granddaughter, whereas her mama had been a servant all her life. She would be the first to say she should not be a guest here. But then, Jane had believed that when she had first come to Beechmount...
This reminder of Jane’s status came with something of a jolt. Halfway between servant and lady, unsure of her place and her future. Her grandfather had died before he could make a settlement upon her. Perhaps there would be no cottage...no allowance after all. Although, she reflected, Robert was honourable. He would surely see her looked after.
Abruptly she felt a wave of longing for her old life. Despite the hard work and her insecurities there had been a rhythm to her days, a pattern to her future. Now all was uncertain.
I have become too comfortable here. It is long past the time when I should have gone home. But home? Where is home?
All too easily she had settled into Beechmount Hall. Her grandfather’s illness and death had been a fatiguing, intense, almost feverish process that, she believed, had changed her in some way. When Papa had died, she had naturally been distressed, but she had not lost anyone close to her since then.
Getting to know her grandfather had been a precious adventure. Through him she had come to know something of her grandmother, and their life here when Papa was a child. She hugged the knowledge to her.
No matter what, I am glad I came here.
Inevitably the thought immediately led to one person: Robert. With Mama coming for her there would be no need for Robert to accompany her on the journey back home. The realisation hit her like a blow. The thought of five full days in his company had been sustaining her through the notion of the goodbyes that would come at each end of that journey—first saying farewell to Beechmount Hall and its residents, and then—heartbreakingly—bidding adieu to Robert himself.
Now all her imaginings were worthless.
Days spent alone with him in the carriage...
Intimate evenings dining in inns...
All lost.
Mrs Millthorpe returned then, giving Mrs Kendal the chance to dash upstairs for a short nap. They had all been sleeping like cats since Sunday—short naps in chairs and an occasional longer spell in bed. Even Jane, who had become accustomed to early starts and late nights as a lady’s maid, was finding it a trial. How much more difficult must it be for the others, who were used to sleeping late any time they needed to?
Mrs Millthorpe looked pale and weary, and Jane’s heart filled with compassion for her. She ordered tea, and made her hostess comfortable before picking up her work again. They sat in companionable silence for a time, before Mrs Millthorpe spoke directly to Jane—something that had become increasingly common since her grandfather’s illness.
‘Miss Bailey... Jane.’
Jane looked up.
‘I am glad you are here. Glad my husband was able to meet you before he died.’
There was a lump in Jane’s throat. ‘Thank you. I shall be gone soon, for my mother is already on her way to fetch me. But I, too, am glad I came.’
‘Oh, but—’ Mrs Millthorpe stopped abruptly. ‘Never mind.’
She would say no more, and they both returned to their tasks.
* * *
Mr Edward Hubert Millthorpe was laid to rest on a blustery Sunday in March. He had a gratifying turn-out for his funeral, and the ladies stood on the steps in silence, watching the cortège leave Beechmount Hall for his final journey.
The carriages were pulled by perfectly matched Belgian Blacks, each horse wearing a nodding headdress of ostrich plumes provided by the Featherman. The bearers and pages all wore matching black cloaks, gloves and hatbands, with the pages each carrying the customary wand.
No expense had been spared, and Robert had been busy with the funeral furnisher, arranging payments to everyone from the bell-ringers to the coffin-maker and the upholder.
Grandfather would have been proud.
Robert led the funeral procession and every gentleman from the district was in attendance—and some ladies. Dressed all in black, save for his snowy-white shirt and cravat, Robert looked fine and handsome. He had handled the business well, and Jane knew how much Mrs Millthorpe had relied on him.
He will make an excellent master for Beechmount Hall.
Jane’s eyes clung to the line of carriages until they were out of view. A robin chirped from a nearby branch, his song the only relief amid the unbearable sadness of goodbye. Was that the same robin she had seen through the window the day she had first conversed with her grandfather? She liked the thought, and held to it with quiet composure.
Finally, there was nothing more to see, and the three ladies turned and stepped inside.
After all the busyness of the past days the house seemed eerily silent. Jane would feel unsettled, she knew, until Robert returned. Part of her was seeking her grandfather still, her mind suggesting he was simply having a rest upstairs. She had to remind herself often that he was truly gone.
Many of the mourners would return to Beechmount Hall later for the funeral meal—food, drink and an exchange of memories of its old master. But, knowing there was nothing for them to do at present, the ladies slowly climbed the stairs to their chambers.
Strangely, Jane could not rest. She had barely seen Robert these past days, had not once been alone with him, and the absence of him was an ache in her heart.
How shall I manage when I return to Ledbury House?
She shed a tear, and then another, but was unsure why she was crying. Was it at the impending loss of Robert, grief at losing grandfather, or self-pity for herself? In truth, everything was jumbled together in a single monstrous cannonball of pain inside her.
After turning restlessly in her bed for two hours, she admitted defeat and went downstairs. She found sanctuary in the Blue Parlour. Curling up in her grandmother’s armchair, she finally closed her eyes.
* * *
‘Jane, you are needed in the library,’ said Mrs Kendal, bustling into the ro
om.
Jane had taken to reading in the Blue Parlour in the afternoons, desperate to engrave the room and its portrait into her memory during these final days.
It had been two days since the funeral, and by Jane’s calculations her mama would arrive on the morrow. Jane had not written to her since receiving her last letter, as any further letters would not reach her. Jane was spending most of her time trying to avoid the thought of being separated from Robert for ever.
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied, rising. ‘What is amiss?’
‘My uncle’s lawyer is here, with his clerk. They want all of us—including you. The lawyer is to read my uncle’s will.’
‘Me?’
Why me?
It was all rather bewildering.
She followed Mrs Kendal to her grandfather’s library. Her eyes instinctively went to his favourite chair by the fireplace. It was empty, of course.
Grandfather is gone.
Blinking away the sudden stinging in her eyes, she quickly surveyed the room. Mrs Millthorpe was there, looking tired but calm. And two men who must be the lawyer and his clerk—one an elderly gentleman, the other in his thirties—sat together on hard chairs, a small table between them containing a stack of papers.
On the yellow satin settee near the window Robert sat, long legs outstretched. Her eyes drank in every detail of his appearance, from his dark hair—I have touched that with my own two hands—his unsmiling, handsome features—I remember the feeling of his lips on mine—to his broad shoulders encased in a jacket of dark grey superfine...
‘Miss Jane Bailey?’ The older man, presumably the lawyer, was addressing her.
‘I beg your pardon? Oh, yes, I am Jane Bailey.’
He nodded, and made a note on the paper in front of him. Mrs Kendal sat next to her aunt in a pair of twin armchairs, and Jane chose the straw-coloured settee near the lawyer. Her grandfather’s chair remained empty.
In the silence that followed Jane was aware of a curious sense of apprehension in the air. On the mantel, the clock began to strike the hour.
The lawyer, his features expressionless, picked up a parchment from the table. ‘We are gathered today for the reading of Mr Millthorpe’s last will and testament. He specifically requested that all of you be present. Ah... I should inform you he made a new will just days before he died.’
Jane sat up straighter. A new will?
‘The will was properly made and witnessed, and its contents were discussed with Mrs Millthorpe at the time, I believe.’
Mrs Millthorpe inclined her head. ‘That is correct.’
The lawyer began. Following the preamble there were gifts and legacies to Mrs Kendal, and to various servants and tenants—including his valet. Some of these were surprisingly liberal. Despite his quarrelsome mask, her grandfather had shown true generosity.
The lawyer paused before beginning the next part. ‘“I give unto my wife...”’
Mrs Millthorpe was to receive a generous sum, including an annuity, as well as the freedom to ‘take up residence with her sister in Knaresborough, should she so wish’.
‘Oh, Eugenia!’ Mrs Kendal could not hold back. ‘I am so delighted for you!’
‘Thank you, my dear. It was one of many items we discussed. Of course as a widow I am free to live where I wish, but it is gratifying that his blessing has been included in the will.’ She addressed the lawyer. ‘Pray continue.’
The lawyer cleared his throat. ‘“The remainder of my estate, including the property known as Beechmount Hall, its estates, farms and income, as well as...”’
He continued, listing the entirety of Mr Millthorpe’s fortune, which was significant.
This, then, would be Robert’s part, thought Jane. Beechmount Hall had impressed her, but she’d had no idea her grandfather had been such a wealthy man.
The lawyer had reached the end of the list of assets.
‘“All of this I give jointly unto my granddaughter, Miss Jane Bailey, and my wife’s great-nephew, Mr Robert Kendal—”’
Mrs Kendal gasped.
Jane was speechless.
What? What did he just say? He couldn’t possibly have said—
‘Jointly!’ Mrs Kendal looked as shocked as Jane felt.
‘I have not yet finished.’ The lawyer spoke quietly, drawing all eyes to him. ‘There is a condition.’
He found his place in the document again.
‘“...jointly unto my granddaughter, Miss Jane Bailey, and my wife’s great-nephew, Mr Robert Kendal, on the condition that they be married to each other within two months of the date of my death.”’
Robert leapt to his feet. ‘Outrageous!’
‘Sit down, Robert.’ His mother spoke calmly, a considering expression on her face. She turned to her aunt. ‘He discussed this with you?’
Mrs Millthorpe nodded. ‘He did. I think it will serve very well. It is time Robert settled down, and who better for him than my husband’s only remaining blood relative? I had concerns at first, but Jane has shown herself to be both pretty-behaved and accomplished. An unexceptional match, I think.’
‘What happens if we do not marry according to my uncle’s edict?’ Robert, with a face like thunder, bit out the words. He had not sat down.
The lawyer consulted the document. ‘There is a provision for a situation in which one or both of you is already married to someone else, but that is not relevant here... Ah! Here we are!’ He adopted a formal tone. ‘“In the circumstance in which the marriage between Mr Kendal and Miss Bailey fails to take place by the required date, I give the previously detailed assets unto my wife.”’
‘I do not want them,’ confirmed Mrs Millthorpe.
Jane, lost in complete bewilderment, had been watching Robert. His shoulders were stiff, his face pale, and a muscle was working in his cheek. She had sensed his shock and anger at the first revelation, and knew he was barely containing it.
Robert ran a hand through his hair. ‘My uncle is attempting to force his will upon me and upon Miss Bailey!’
Although Robert was speaking of her, he was not looking in her direction.
‘Even from the grave,’ Robert continued, ‘he plays with us like a cat with mice.’
Reality was beginning to dawn on Jane. Why had her grandfather done such a thing? She could not be mistress of Beechmount Hall! And he should not have included that condition.
Her hands were trembling, and the world seemed to be spinning slightly. Dazedly, she raised a trembling hand to her head.
Robert finally glanced at her. He made a strangled sound in his throat. ‘Hell, damn and blast it!’
‘Robert! Such language!’
His mother’s rebuke fell on empty air. He was already striding to the door, clearly believing he could not stay without disgracing himself.
The door shut loudly behind him.
He was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The next hour passed in something of a haze. The lawyer completed the reading of the will, which included a message for Mrs Kendal. It contained the strong indication that her role was to encourage and support her son.
‘He means me to assist in making this marriage happen...’ Mrs Kendal said aloud what was clear to them all.
‘He held you in high regard.’ Mrs Millthorpe patted her niece’s hand comfortingly. ‘I hope you understand that?’
‘Oh, I do!’ Mrs Kendal rubbed a thoughtful finger along her jaw. ‘But he should know Robert is more easily led than commanded.’
Mrs Millthorpe chuckled. ‘They are—were—alike in many ways. My husband’s preferred tactic was to command. You know that.’
‘Indeed. But my son cannot be coerced. Despite his outwardly placid nature he is made of steel.’ She joined Jane on the settee. ‘How do you, Jane?’
‘I...’ Words failed her. She t
ried again. ‘I hope you understand I never sought this? I—’
Mrs Kendal took her hand. Her eyes flicked to the lawyer, then back again. ‘We shall discuss it later.’
Outside, the sound of hooves on gravel indicated that Robert had already changed his clothes and was off on his stallion. Jane could not resist looking towards the window. How striking he was! How proud! And how angry...
He disappeared from view and Jane discovered Mrs Kendal was eyeing her keenly. Then that lady nodded decisively and murmured to herself, ‘Mishandled completely, of course... But my uncle was not known for delicacy in such matters. Still, I think I can contrive very well...’
The lawyer and his clerk eventually took their leave, promising to visit again when everything became ‘rather clearer’.
As soon as she could, Jane made her excuses and left for the safety of her chamber, to rest before dinner. As she walked she could sense the heightened interest and curious looks of the servants. Only Umpelby, when she passed him in the hall, remained inscrutable.
Oh, they all know something is occurring! Jane thought, with a hint of bitterness.
How many times had she herself been curious about a visitor, or anxious about something to do with her mistress? Oh, never purely for gossip—unlike some of her colleagues. For her the curiosity had always been imbued with loyalty and concern. Never before had she been the subject of such scrutiny.
Unsurprisingly, Nancy followed her to her chamber soon afterwards. The other servants would have told her that Miss Bailey had gone upstairs. When she arrived, Jane braced herself for some indirect or artful questioning, but Nancy remained her useful cheerful self, settling Jane for a lie-down and promising to freshen and press the black dress while she was resting.
There was little likelihood of her sleeping. Despite this, anxious to be alone, Jane complied, lying down on top of the bed in her shift, with a soft blanket over her. Nancy had already pulled the curtains and lit the fire.
Rags-to-Riches Wife Page 23