Jane and the Stillroom Maid jam-5 Page 12

  He swung himself carelessly from the saddle, nodded at his brother by way of greeting, and strode towards our party before his companions had even dismounted.

  “You have been eating peaches, Lady Harriot!” he cried, “and were so cruel as to leave us nothing but stones! You see us returned as from a desert. We are utterly parched. Has there ever been an August so hot and brown?”

  “There were peaches a-plenty, had you returned in good time.” Lady Harriot proffered a glass of iced lemon-water. “We expected you this last hour, Mr. Danforth, and had no recourse but to devour all the fruit when you failed us.”

  “Were I a scrub,” he confided, “I should lay all the blame upon His Grace. There was the matter of a dog to be visited — a bitch with a new litter — and you know what Canis is when he is among his fellows.”

  “Not really, Father!” she cried, with a look for the Duke. “Visiting the stables, when you meant to persuade Mr. Danforth to stand for Parliament! It is too bad!”

  “Possible to persuade and visit all at once, m’dear,” observed His Grace the Duke. “He’s agreed to stand.”

  Lady Harriot threw up her arms in delight and pirouetted on the lawn. “Glorious!” she cried. “The very thing for you, Andrew, had you but eyes to see it!”

  “Apparently he does,” observed Lord Harold drily, and drew me forward. “May I present Miss Austen, Your Grace? An old family friend from Bath.”

  The Duke inclined his head with a faint air of boredom and proceeded to fondle his dog. The Marquess of Hartington entered more fully into the forms of polite address, without greatly embracing their spirit; he bowed low, but failed to utter a word.

  Mr. Andrew Danforth, however, was another matter entirely.

  He bent over my hand with an expression of pleasure, smiled warmly into my eyes, and said, “Your servant, Miss Austen. I am delighted to make your acquaintance. Lady Swithin cannot stop praising your merits — and as you know, Lady Swithin is never wrong.”

  “Although perhaps she is sometimes a little kinder than I deserve,” I replied with a laugh. “I should not wish my worth to stand a closer scrutiny!”

  “Are you the one who found the body?”

  The voice was curious — muffled, heavy and halting, as though the speaker must measure every word. I turned, and saw that it was Lord Hartington who addressed me; his expression was quite intent, his eyes fixed upon my face.

  “I am, my lord,” I replied.

  He stared at me uncomprehendingly, the eyes acute and agonized.

  “Lord Hartington is a trifle hard of hearing,” Desdemona breathed in my ear. “Pray repeat your words a bit louder, Jane.”

  “Yes, my lord, I found the body of Tess Arnold,” I said distinctly, and saw from the change in the boy’s expression that he had understood.

  “Do you think she suffered?”

  They were all listening to us now, silent and watchful — Lady Harriot and the Danforths, Lord Harold and the Duke. I felt that they waited with breath suspended, as though something extraordinary were about to happen.

  “The shot that despatched her was deadly and true,” I replied. “She can have suffered no more than a dog that is put down.”

  Lord Hartington approached until he was barely a foot from my form. His youthful visage twisted suddenly with bitterness.

  “Bloody hell,” he burst out. The words were like a gun report in that bated stillness. “I’d hoped the witch had died in agony!”

  A Remedy for Deafness

  Roast a fine fresh oyster and when it is moderately done, open it and preserve the Liquor. Warm a spoon and put a little of the warm Liquor in it. When it is blood-warm, let the Sufferer lie on one side, turning the deaf ear uppermost, and let four drops of Liquor be dropped in from the spoon. Let him lie thus upon the same side half an hour, leaving the Liquor to operate on the Obstruction.

  If both ears be deaf, the same must be repeated half an hour afterwards on the other Ear.

  — From the Stillroom Book

  of Tess Arnold,

  Penfolds Hall, Derbyshire, 1802–1806

  Chapter 11

  Enter the Usurper

  28 August 1806, cont.

  “GOOD GOD, HART, WHAT IS IT YOU HAVE SAID? WHAT can you have been thinking?”

  Lord Hartington wheeled around and stared at the woman standing just beyond our circle, her figure indistinct in the heavy shade thrown by the Spanish chestnuts. The Marquess’s pallor was suddenly dreadful and his features worked furiously; then, with a strangled word that might have been an oath — or a cry of despair — he ran to his horse and sprang into the saddle.

  “Hart!” cried Lady Harriot.

  He hauled savagely on the reins, pulled the animal’s head around, and, with a kick to the horse’s flanks, cantered off in the direction he had come.

  “I shall follow him.” Andrew Danforth pressed Hary-O’s hand and made for his horse.

  “You shall do nothing of the kind, Mr. Danforth,” ordered the lady who had caused the Marquess’s flight. “Hart is master enough of himself and his mount; he cannot possibly come to harm at Chatsworth. He will enjoy his fit of the sullens, you know, though it be at the expense of those dearest to him in the world! Never have I seen the boy so blue-deviled as this summer! Canis and I agree that nothing he says should be taken in the least account. I do not regard his ill-behaviour towards myself, I assure you.”

  “You were always the best-tempered creature in the world, Bess,” said the Duke with fondness. “And what have you found to occupy yourself this morning?”

  “I have been perusing dear Georgiana’s letters.” Her voice faltered, and she stepped forward into the last rays of sunlight.

  She was a frail, fine-boned creature with a heart-shaped face, a cascade of pale curls, and large eyes deeply set. The inky black of her clothing threw the translucent skin of her face into ghastly relief; but one might almost declare that mourning became her. Lady Elizabeth Foster, I should judge, would never allow herself to appear to disadvantage, no matter how real her grief, or how deeply felt her loss.

  “How pretty you all look!” she cried, as she surveyed our party. “Such colour! Such gaiety!” One speaking, long-fingered hand carried a piece of silk to her eyes. “Had I known you were all to be so happy, I should have forced myself to leave my little room, and sought some comfort here. But alas …”

  “Dear old Racky.” The Duke rose and went to the lady. “Have you been moping yourself again?”

  “Do not regard it,” Lady Elizabeth returned with apparent effort. She fluttered her delicate hand and again pressed the handkerchief to her eyes. “When I gaze upon Hary-O, the merest girl, flush with all the dreams and hopes of a girl’s heart — I might almost think myself transported, to those happy days of old! But they are gone — gone, Canis, with our dear one, into the grave!”

  Lady Harriot rolled her eyes towards Heaven with an expression of intense irritation. A faint smile played about Andrew Danforth’s lips; but I noticed that he had not returned to his horse. Lady Elizabeth’s injunction, it appeared, would be obeyed.

  “Lady Elizabeth,” said Lord Harold, “may I intrude upon your cares long enough to present a very great acquaintance — Miss Jane Austen — to your notice?”

  Lady Elizabeth’s gaze strayed over me, and she attempted the faintest curtsey; but fell almost into a swoon, so that the Duke was forced to support her rather heavily. With an exclamation of concern, Charles Danforth seized a chair, and set it close to the swaying pair. His Grace disposed of his fair burden, and Miss Trimmer — sensible, forthright Miss Trimmer, who had followed in Lady Elizabeth’s train bearing a remarkable encumbrance of fringe-work, sketching book, and circulating library novels — produced a bottle of hartshorn, and waved it under the lady’s nostrils. A start — a failing cry — a dramatic lifting of hands to eyes — and Lady Elizabeth was once more among the living.

  “And so, while I had descended into the tenderest reflections in the world, you
have all been enjoying a social call,” she murmured, as one amazed. “No, no — do not think to offer an explanation, Hary-O. It is exactly as your mother should have wished. I, who knew the smallest concerns of her excellent heart — who cared for her as a sister even unto death — I must comprehend better than anyone that Georgiana would not wish you to repine.”

  “Indeed,” I said hastily, “I have no wish to intrude upon your privacy, Lady Elizabeth, and duties of my own call me immediately back to Bakewell. I shall take my leave, and offer deepest thanks for the hospitality of all at Chatsworth.”

  “Well …” Lady Elizabeth inclined her head and summoned a smile. “Now that you have paid this first call, pray do not hesitate to come often. I am sure the Duke will join me in assuring you, Miss Austen, that we do not begrudge our Hary-O her little pleasures. She is very young, after all, and cannot always be expected to conduct herself with the propriety of her elders.”

  “No,” Lady Harriot murmured ironically, “that would be unthinkable.” Her countenance had acquired a markedly set expression; and I observed that both the Countess of Swithin and Lord Harold had moved closer to the Duke’s daughter, so that they were arrayed as one against the lady enthroned near His Grace.

  “Good Lord!” exclaimed the Duke. “Should be passing strange, Bess, if the chit didn’t enjoy her pleasures! Not an old shade like ourselves! Girl wants dissipation — life — a home and family of her own! Only natural. Not getting any younger, what?”

  “I ask for nothing more than the home I have known all my life, Father,” retorted Lady Harriot. Her lips were compressed into a thin line; she was checking her temper with difficulty.

  “And how fortunate you are that such a home is open to you!” observed Lady Elizabeth faintly. “I was not so happy in my own situation in life, dear Hary-O. I rejoice to see the case is different for you. Could I prevent you feeling one-tenth of the suffering I had endured by the time I was your age—”

  “You shall achieve that prevention, madam, by ceasing to speak of it. And now, pray forgive me, but I should be remiss in my duties did I not conduct Miss Austen to her carriage.”

  Lady Harriot moved to my side as though we were already the greatest of friends and slipped her hand through my arm. Lord Harold followed a few paces behind; his niece impulsively kissed my cheek in farewell.

  “I rejoice to see you in such health, Jane, and shall call upon you in Bakewell at the first opportunity,” she whispered.

  Charles Danforth bowed low, his expression correct; his brother’s was more satiric; but both remained, like Mona, with the Duke and his lady. I curtseyed to the entire party, and allowed myself to be drawn across the verdant lawn towards the flag terrace.

  “Insufferable presumption!” Lady Harriot burst out when we had achieved the Painted Hall. “To condescend, in my presence, to offer me a place in my own household! When it is I who should be suffering her to remain! I, who should assume the role of hostess now in my father’s home! Good God, could my mother only see it! Can His Grace be so miserably blind to the insults that are daily offered me?”

  Lord Harold placed his hands on Lady Harriot’s shoulders and looked directly into her eyes.

  “She is no longer young, Hary-O, and she is very much afraid of losing all that she possesses. Consider how precarious is her position! While your mother lived, she might remain here as the bosom friend of a Duchess. But now? She has no position, no protection, no tacit veil between Society and herself; all the world must know what Lady Elizabeth is, and comment upon her indelicacy. Do not allow such a woman to drive you to the gravest error — an error you might regret all your life! You cannot flee one misery by choosing another. Do you understand me?”

  Lady Harriot glared into his face rebelliously; she started to speak, and Lord Harold laid his finger against her lips.

  “Quell your delicious temper, my sweet, and play the pretty to your father’s guests. The duties of a hostess fall to those who seize them. Every notice you desire, Hary-O, is within your reach. It is Lady Elizabeth who exceeds her grasp.”

  Lady Harriot took Lord Harold’s hand, planted a kiss in the palm, and then turned hurriedly to me. “We are to have a trifling dinner on Saturday, Miss Austen, in respect of my twenty-first birthday. Do I presume too much — or may I beg you to make another of the party?”

  “With the greatest pleasure,” I replied. I was sensible of the signal honour Lady Harriot thus did me, in extending the invitation to a relative stranger; her warmth must be all on Lord Harold’s behalf.

  “Until Saturday, then.”

  She moved swiftly back towards the terrace and the waiting Danforth brothers without another glance at Lord Harold; and so I was free to witness the expression that swept across his countenance. It was hollow, and yearning — the palm she had kissed still cupped at air — and I recognised the look for what it was: the pain of a man denied his very breath of life.

  A Charm for the Preservation of Love

  Take one ounce of dried foxglove, one ounce of comfrey, and one of the shredded bark of wild cherry; pound all together in a mortar, and secure in a small pouch of blue silk. Let the pouch rest close to the heart for seven days together, and then infuse the whole in a cup of strong tea. Give the tea to your Beloved on a night of full moon.

  — From the Stillroom Book

  of Tess Arnold,

  Penfolds Hall, Derbyshire, 1802–1806

  Chapter 12

  A Rough Justice

  28 August 1806, cont.

  LADY ELIZABETH FOSTER WAS BORN A HERVEY; AND as Lady Mary Wortley Montagu once famously observed, the world is divided into three sorts of people: men, women, and Herveys. They are a family marked by considerable beauty, by varied talents, and by eccentric behaviour; by a whining nasal tone to the voice, and a bird-like frame; by a thread of insanity and a singularity of character that inevitably embroil them in scandal. Divorces, bigamy, and the murder of duelling opponents have dogged the Hervey clan; there have been Herveys estranged from their wives, Herveys who die without recognising their children, Herveys who clutch at greatness and fall rather short. Lady Elizabeth Foster may be deemed one of these.

  As the Cavendish carriage conveyed me steadily towards Bakewell, I reflected upon the nature of The Adventuress’s career. Its broad outlines were known to me, as they must be to anyone who has lived in the world.

  Lady Elizabeth Foster is approaching the age of fifty. She was married when still quite young to an Irishman whose violent temper and habit of seducing his wife’s maids had early estranged her affections. Divorced by Mr. Foster after only a few years of marriage, she was deprived of her two sons, then in their infancy, and forced to live on a pittance. Her father, Lord Bristol — one of the more bizarre of the Hervey clan — then threw off Lady Elizabeth and her sister, whose marriage had also failed; and the two ladies moved forlornly about the watering-places of Europe, presuming upon the privileges of birth, and clinging to a threadbare decency. It was then that Lady Elizabeth fell in with the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire — childless, not long married, and not entirely able to suit one another.

  She lived with the pair for over twenty years, acknowledged as the Duchess’s dearest friend and the Duke’s principal mistress. The perfect delight of the three in each other was not unmarred by comment; in the salons of the Great, eyebrows and questions were raised regarding the Duke’s behaviour, and rather more gossip concerning the Devonshire progeny. Georgiana’s daughters were deemed above suspicion; but Georgiana had also condescended to rescue several “orphans” from war-torn Europe, and had raised them as her own in the Devonshire nurseries. The Duchess, moreover, had gone so far as the Continent to produce her son and heir, Lord Hartington — accompanied by none other than Lady Elizabeth. The Vicious in Society wondered aloud whether Lord Hartington was Georgiana’s son — or a Hervey bastard, exchanged for an unwelcome daughter at birth.[7]

  Lady Elizabeth’s continuance in the Chatsworth household after Georgiana’
s death must be perceived as awkward, both by intimates of the Cavendish family and by those more hostile to their circumstances. Convention held that Lady Harriot should assume the duties of her father’s household, her elder sister being already several years married; and yet there was Lady Elizabeth — senior to Lady Harriot, clearly held in preference by the Duke, and determined to wrest at last some acknowledgement of her claims and position from the Great World.

  She would continue to make life painful for Lady Harriot until the girl fled the Devonshire ménage for a suitable household of her own. Was it this that Lord Harold had meant, when he advised Hary-O not to exchange one misery for another? Could any young woman, raised in so divided a household, regard marriage as a form of salvation?

  Lord Harold would not allow Georgiana’s daughter to fall prey to a man who had brutally despatched his own maid. But which did he fear most: the easy charm of Andrew Danforth, or the subtle warmth of his brother, Charles?

  As we descended the Baslow road towards Bakewell, my thoughts turned from Lady Elizabeth to the scene that had preceded her entrance. Whatever had been her principal object in engrossing all our attention, Lady Elizabeth had certainly succeeded in diverting us from the Marquess. Young Lord Hartington had behaved in a most extraordinary manner; but I suspected that such was often the case. He had the look of a boy tormented: by grief, by the deafness his family seemed determined to ignore, by the rumours that had dogged his birth. He must often be flying alone on horseback through the fields of his father’s estate.

  I’d hoped the witch had died in agony!

  Disturbing sentiments to voice aloud, even in the company of one’s friends. It must be impossible that Lord Hartington would expose himself in such a way, were Tess Arnold a complete stranger to him. The bitterness of the pronouncement — his rejoicing at the maid’s death — suggested rather that the boy harboured some deep grievance towards the woman that found satisfaction in her gruesome murder. What could possibly inspire so profound a hate?