Ashworth Hall Page 4

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gracie said obediently.

  “Doubtless you’ve got all your own needles and threads, brushes and the like.” That was a statement, not a question. “If you need anything from the cellar or the pantry, ask Mr. Dilkes, he’s the butler. Don’t go outside unless someone sends you. As far as the other guests are concerned, speak when you are spoken to, but don’t let anyone put on you. If you can’t find anything as you want, ask someone. It’s a big house and folks can easy get lost. I hope you’ll be very comfortable here.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Gracie bobbed a half curtsy.

  Tellman said nothing.

  Gracie kicked him unobtrusively, but hard.

  He drew in his breath with a hiss.

  “Thank you,” he said tersely.

  Mrs. Hunnaker pulled on a bell cord, and a maid answered almost immediately.

  “These are Mr. and Mrs. Pitt’s servants, Jenny. Show them the laundry, the stillroom, Mr. Dilkes’s pantry and the servants’ hall. Then take Phipps to her room, and have one of the footmen take Tellman to his.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jenny bobbed a curtsy obediently and turned to lead them.

  Gracie had never before been addressed by her surname, but she realized it was probably the way in a large house. Charlotte had warned her that visiting valets and ladies’ maids were sometimes known by the names of their employers. If “Pitt!” were called out by any of the senior servants, it would be she, or Tellman, who was wanted. It would all take a lot of getting used to. But it was a wonderful adventure, and she was always eager for new experiences.

  Tellman, on the other hand, still looked as if he had sucked on a lemon.

  The room she was shown was very pleasant, if somewhat smaller than her own in Keppel Street, and certainly not nearly as cozy. There was nothing of a personal nature in it. But then it was probably not occupied very often, and never by one person for more than a week or two at a time.

  She set her bags down, opened one up, then remembered that of course she would have to go downstairs and unpack all Charlotte’s things first, hang them up and make sure all was well. That was what ladies’ maids were for. She wondered if Tellman had remembered that was what he was supposed to do too. There was no way she could help him, because she had no idea where his room was.

  She found Charlotte and Pitt’s suite of rooms in the main house after asking one of the upstairs maids. She knocked and went in. There was a large bedroom with a rose-colored carpet. Huge windows overlooked a large lawn with towering blue fir trees, and to the left was a flat-topped cedar which was the loveliest thing she had ever seen. It spread wide and delicate, almost black-green against a windy sky. The curtains were splashed with roses and had wonderful swags and drapes and cords in crimson.

  “Oh blimey!” she said in a gasp, then caught herself just in time. There was someone in the dressing room. She went past the round table with a bowl of chrysanthemums on it and tiptoed to the door. She was about to knock when she saw Tellman, standing and watching as Pitt unpacked his own cases and hung up his clothes. Of course, Tellman had probably never even seen a gentleman’s evening clothes like these before, let alone learned how to care for them. Still, it was shocking that in a house like this Pitt should be doing it himself. What would people think?

  “I’ll help wi’ that, sir,” she said briskly, pushing the door open. “You should be downstairs meeting all them people wot you’re ’ere to look after.” She gave Tellman a meaningful glance, in case he imagined that was a leave for him to go as well.

  Pitt turned around, hesitated a moment, glanced at Tellman, then back at Gracie.

  “Thank you,” he accepted with a wry smile, and with a nod at Tellman, he left.

  Gracie turned to Charlotte’s three large trunks and opened the first. On the top was a magnificent evening gown in oyster-colored satin, stitched with pearl beads and draped with silk chiffon. A glance at the side seam of the bodice told her it had been very rapidly and very skillfully let out at the back. No doubt it belonged to Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould. Gracie knew every one of Charlotte’s few dresses, and this certainly was not among them. She lifted it up very carefully, a warm rush of gratitude filling her that Lady Vespasia should be so generous to save Charlotte’s self-esteem in this company—most especially before her sister, who had married so well. As far as money was concerned, that is. No one could match the master for being a person that really mattered in the world.

  She found a hanger and arranged the gown so it lay properly and turned to put it in the wardrobe.

  Tellman was staring at her, mesmerized.

  “What’s the matter wi’ you?” she said briskly. “In’t yer never seen a lady’s gown afore? Get on ’anging up them suits an’ then you can go an’ find out where the irons are, and the upstairs stove for makin’ tea, an’ the bathroom an’ like. I don’ suppose yer know ’ow ter draw a bath?” She sniffed. “Don’t suppose yer got a bath? An’ ’ot water for the mornin’s? An’ polish for the master’s boots? They’ll ’ave ter be done every night.” She looked at the disgust in his face. “Not that yer’ve got much ter do, not like as I ’ave! Gentlemen only changes once or twice a day. Ladies change up ter five times. But yer’ll ’ave ter make sure shirts is clean … always! I’ll give yer ’ell ter pay if yer let the master down by sending ’im out wi’ a shirt wot in’t perfick.”

  “He’s not my master,” Tellman said between his teeth. “And I’m not a bleedin’ nursemaid!”

  “You’re not any bleedin’ use!” she snapped back at him. “And we’ll ’ave no language in ’ere, Mr. Tellman. It in’t done. D’you ’ear me?”

  He stood still, glaring at her.

  “If yer too proud ter do yer job proper, then yer a fool,” she said tartly, turning back to the trunk and taking out the next gown, one in autumn gold taffeta. This was plainer, one of Charlotte’s own, but very becoming to her auburn coloring. “Pass me one o’ them ’angers,” she instructed.

  He passed it grudgingly.

  “Look, Mr. Tellman,” she said, putting the dress on the hanger carefully, then handing it to him to hang in the wardrobe and moving to the next garment, a day dress in deep blue gabardine. Below that was a morning dress, and another, and another. There were three more dinner dresses and several morning and day dresses in the other trunk, plus blouses, camisoles and other underwear, and of course plenty of petticoats. But she would not take them out until Tellman had gone. It was none of his affair what a lady wore beneath her gowns. “Look,” she started again, “you an’ me is ’ere ter ’elp the master do ’is job an’ protect whoever it is wot’s in danger. To do that right, we got ter look like we come ter this kind of ’ouse reg’lar an’ knows wot we’re doin’.”

  She handed him the next gown and fixed him with a strict stare.

  “You may think it’s terrible beneath yer ter be a servant, an’ by the curl o’ yer lips yer do ….”

  “I don’t believe in one man being servant to another,” he said stiffly. “I don’t wish to insult you, because it isn’t your fault you were born poor, any more than it’s mine I was. But you don’t have to accept it as if you deserved it, or treat other people as if they were better just ’cos they have money. All this bowing and doffing turns my stomach. I’m surprised to see you do it like it comes natural.”

  “Think too much o’ yerself, you do,” she said philosophically. “Got more prickles than one o’ them little beasts wot five in ’edges. Seems ter me yer got two choices. You can be a good servant and make a fair job of it, or yer can be a bad one an’ make a mess of it. I think enough o’ meself ter make the best of it I can.” She grunted, then went back to the second trunk and began to take the dresses out of it and lay them carefully on the bed before looking for more hangers.

  Teliman thought about it for a few more moments, then apparently appreciated that, at least for now, he had little choice in the matter. Dutifully, he hung up the rest of Pitt’s clothes, then set out his brush,
shirt studs, collar studs and cuff links, then his shaving soap, brush, razor and strop.

  “I’m going to look around the house,” he told her stiffly when he had finished. “I’d better do my proper job as well. That’s what Mr. Cornwallis sent me here for.” He looked very slightly down at her, which, since he was the best part of a foot taller, was not difficult. He was also fourteen years older, and was not going to let some twenty-year-old slip of a girl take liberties just because she knew how to unpack a trunk.

  “Good idea,” she said crisply. “Now yer done that”—she nodded towards Pitt’s empty case—“you in’t no use ’ere. These things in’t your place ter see. But you can come back an’ put these cases in the boxroom later on. An’ yer better not go around givin’ yerself no airs,” she added as he reached the door. “Yer don’ want them thinking as yer more’n a valet, although a valet is very superior as servants go. An’ don’t forget that neither, an’ go mixin’ familiar wi’ the like o’ footmen an’ bootboys.”

  “And how do you know all that?” he asked, his eyebrows raised high. “Seeing as you only just arrived, same as I did.”

  “I bin in service for years,” she said expansively. It was none of his business that all of it had been with Charlotte, and she had her ideas of a house like this from bits and pieces she had overheard and the very occasional visit, and to be honest, more than a little guesswork. She gave him a level stare. “ ’Ow long are yer goin’ ter stand there then, like one o’ them things gentlemen puts their umbrellas on?”

  “Service,” he said grimly, then turned and marched out.

  “In’t nothin’ wrong in service,” she said to his retreating back. “I’m warm and comfortable every night an’ I eat every day, an’ that’s mor’n a lot can say! An’ I keep company wi’ decent folks, not like wot you do!”

  He did not reply.

  Gracie finished the rest of Charlotte’s unpacking, enjoying the touch and the luxurious colors of the borrowed gowns, hanging them carefully, smoothing the skirts to stay without creasing, touching her fingers to the beading and the lace and the silk chiffon so fine one could read a book through it.

  She was very nearly at the end of the undergarments when there was a knock at the door. She was all ready to face Tellman again and give him another piece of her mind if he was still so contrary, but when she answered, it was not Tellman who came in but a dark-haired rather handsome woman of about thirty, in a maid’s dress, but with the bearing of one who is very sure of herself. Gracie guessed immediately it must be another lady’s maid. Only a lady’s maid or a governess would behave with such superiority, and there were no governesses here.

  “Morning,” the woman said cautiously. “I’m Gwen, Mrs. Radley’s maid. Welcome to Ashworth Hall.”

  “Good morning,” Gracie replied with a hesitant smile. This woman had achieved what Gracie would most like to be. She would need her help, and example, if she were not to let Charlotte down. “Thank you very much.”

  “Mrs. Radley said there might be some things Mrs. Pitt would care to borrow, for the occasion. If you’d like to come with me, I’ll show you and let you hang them in here.”

  “Thank you. That would be very good,” Gracie accepted. She thought of making some remark as to why Charlotte needed to borrow gowns, then changed her mind. Gwen probably knew perfectly well the reason. Few people had any secrets from ladies’ maids. She followed obediently and was shown half a dozen gowns, morning dresses, afternoon dresses and an evening dress of rich wines and rose, which in her private opinion would not have suited Mrs. Radley’s delicate fair coloring at all. Either she had made a very bad purchase or she had got it with the intention of giving it to Charlotte at some time.

  “Very handsome,” she said, trying to hide at least some of her awe. She did not want to appear ignorant.

  “I’m sure it will become Mrs. Pitt very well,” Gwen said generously. “Then if you like, I’ll show you around the upstairs and have you meet the other ladies’ maids.”

  “Thank you very much,” Gracie accepted. It was most important she learn everything she could. One never knew when it might be needed. And if there really were danger, even a crime in the offing, she must know the house, the people, their natures and loyalties. “I’d like that,” she added with a smile.

  Gwen proved most agreeable. Perhaps Mrs. Radley had confided in her something of the true nature of the weekend. Gracie found herself liking her—and the task of becoming familiar with the upstairs of the house, the staircases, the quickest way to the kitchens or the laundry room, the ironing room and the stillroom, and how to avoid the footmen, the bootboys and the butler, whose authority was absolute and whose temper was uncertain.

  Charlotte had told her something of the guests who were expected, and she met Miss Moynihan’s maid, who was a pleasantly spoken French girl with a nice sense of humor. Mrs. McGinley’s maid was an older woman with a habit of shaking her head as if in premonition of some disaster, and Doll, a very handsome girl in her mid-twenties, was Mrs. Greville’s maid. She was tall, a good six inches taller than Gracie, and with a fine figure. She reminded Gracie of what a really excellent parlor maid should look like, except for a certain sadness in her, or perhaps it was aloofness. Gracie would have to know her better to decide.

  She was on her way upstairs, having parted from Gwen, when she saw a young man starting down. Her first thought was what a charming face he had. His hair was very dark, black in the inside fight, and his mouth was gentle, as if his mind might be full of dreams.

  Then her second thought was that she must have mistaken the stairs and be on the wrong flight. She stopped, feeling the blood rush up her face. She would have to meet such a person when she had made such a foolish error. And yet looking up at the landing above, it was exactly like the one she had come down from. The small table had white chrysanthemums on it in a green vase, against pale green-and-white wallpaper. There was even a gas bracket with a frosted-glass mantle exactly like the one she had seen on the way down. How confusing to have two stairs so much the same.

  He had stopped also.

  “Beggin’ your pardon,” he said in a soft Irish accent, quite different from that of Miss Moynihan’s maid. He must be from another part of the country. He stood aside for her to pass, smiling and meeting her eyes. His were very dark, the darkest she had ever seen.

  “I … I think I’m on the wrong stair,” she stammered. “I’m sorry.”

  “The wrong stair?” he asked.

  “I … I must be on the menservants’ stairs, not the women’s,” she said, feeling the heat burning in her cheeks.

  “No,” he said quickly. “No, I’m sure it’s me on the wrong one. Sure I didn’t even think of it. You must be visiting here, like me, or you’d know for certain.”

  “Yes. Yes, I belong to Mrs. Pitt. I’m her lady’s maid.”

  He smiled at her again. “I’m Mr. McGinley’s valet. My name’s Finn Hennessey. I come from County Down.”

  She smiled back at him. “I’m Gracie Phipps.” She came from the back streets of Clerkenwell, but she wasn’t going to say so. “I’m from Bloomsbury.” That was where she lived now, so it was true enough.

  “How do you do, Gracie Phipps.” He inclined his head in a very slight bow. “I think there is going to be a rare party this weekend, especially if this fine weather holds. I’ve never seen such a garden, so many great trees. It’s a lovely land.” He sounded vaguely surprised.

  “Have you never been to England before?” she asked.

  “No, I never have. It’s not much like I expected.”

  “What did you think it’d be, then?”

  “Different,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Different how?” she pressed.

  “I don’t think as I know,” he confessed. “Different from Ireland, I suppose. And at least for this one bit of it, it could be Ireland, with all those trees, and the grass, and flowers.”

  “Is Ireland very beautiful?”

 
His face softened and his whole body seemed to ease, till instead of standing to attention there was a grace in him as he leaned against the rail, his eyes bright.

  “It’s a sad country, Gracie Phipps, but it’s the most beautiful God ever made. There’s a wildness to it, a richness of color, a sweetness on the wind you couldn’t know unless you’d smelled it. It’s a very old land, where once heroes and saints and scholars lived, and now the memory of those days aches in the color of the earth, the standing stones, the trees against the sky, the sound of a storm. But there’s no peace in it now. Its children go cold and hungry, and the land belongs to strangers.”

  “That’s terrible,” she said softly. She did not know what he was talking about that was different from the harshness and the poverty there was anywhere, but the pain in his voice moved her to a swift compassion, and his words conjured a vision of something precious and lost. Injustice always angered her, more since she had worked for Pitt, because she had seen him fight it.

  “Of course it is.” He smiled at her with a little shake of his head. “But maybe we’ll do something about it this time. We’ll win one day, that I promise you.”

  She was prevented from replying by Mrs. Moynihan’s lady’s maid coming along the top corridor and reaching the head of the stairs.

  “Sure I’m in the wrong place,” Finn Hennessey apologized to her. “It’s that easy to get lost in a house this size. I’m sorry, ma’am.” After a quick look at Gracie, he went back up and disappeared. Gracie continued on her way, but her head was whirling, and five minutes later she had taken a wrong turning and did not know where she was either.

  Upon arriving Pitt had gone almost immediately to talk to Jack Radley about the situation which faced them, and to inform Ainsley Greville that he was there, as was Tellman. He must also learn what other provisions had been made by the local police, and by Ashworth Hall’s own menservants, and what Greville had told them of the situation and its dangers.

  Charlotte went straight to see Emily, who was in the upstairs boudoir, having expected her arrival and longing to talk to her.