A Mother's Secret (19 page)

When they were settled inside and the carriage was in motion, Lady Davenport broke the silence with an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry if I appeared a little abrupt, Cassy. But Mahdu was more than just a servant; she was my friend and lifelong companion. She knew me better than anyone.’

‘But she wasn’t my mother.’

‘No, my dear. She was not.’

‘Did you know my real mother?’

‘I knew her a long time ago, but that’s all I can tell you. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it must be.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘The secret is not entirely mine to reveal, but maybe one day I’ll be able to tell you the truth. Until then I must keep silent, but I will look after you, Cassy. You’ll be at my side as Mahdu was, and I will make sure that you are always treated well.’

Cassy was silent, considering this puzzling response to her question, but there did not seem very much she could say. Her future appeared to have been decided for her and she could scarcely have hoped for such an outcome as to be taken under Lady Davenport’s wing. Even so, she was troubled, and the mystery of her parentage seemed even less likely to be resolved. Lost in her thoughts, she stared out of the window, barely noticing the buildings and traffic as the carriage made its way through the crowded street.

The smell of horse dung, rotting vegetables and sewage was enough to make Lady Davenport take a handkerchief impregnated with lavender oil from her reticule and hold it to her nose, but Cassy barely noticed the stench. If anything it reminded her of her childhood in Three Herring Court, and although her memories of that time were less than happy, they were made bearable by the fact that Bailey had always been there to look after her. It was four years since she last saw him, just before the 13th Hussars were drafted to India to fight the war against the Afghans. She had received the occasional missive from him, but his letters were few and far between. They were always brief and to the point, and did very little to heal the ache of separation. She had been able to take some comfort from the knowledge that he had been alive and well when he had written to her from Lucknow some weeks previously. He had reiterated his promise that they would make a home together when he returned to England, adding with some pride that he was up for promotion to the rank of corporal.

‘We’re here,’ Lady Davenport announced as the carriage slowed down and came to a halt. ‘Keep with me, Cassy. The servants have been told that there is to be a new member of staff, and that is all they need to know.’

Peering out of the window Cassy was surprised to find herself staring at Mrs Montessori’s butler, Poulton. ‘We’re not in South Audley Street,’ she said, puzzled.

‘No. The house has been shut up for some time now.’ Lady Davenport gathered her skirts around her, avoiding meeting Cassy’s enquiring gaze. ‘Sir Geoffrey has been abroad for many months and it was more convenient for me to remove to Duke Street. It’s purely temporary, but we’re the guests of my sister-in-law. It works very well.’ She stepped down from the carriage, assisted by Potter.

Cassy followed her, receiving a stony stare from Mrs Montessori’s groom. It was only now that she recognised him as being a member of the staff who had treated her with such disdain all those years ago, but she had been too wrapped up in her own affairs to notice such details. ‘Good afternoon, Potter,’ she said politely.

He sniffed, staring straight ahead. Cassy smothered a sigh of resignation. So that was how it would be from now on. She had suffered the prejudice and bigotry of the servants during her last stay in this house, and it seemed certain now that nothing had changed. She raised her chin and marched up the steps, following her new mistress into the entrance hall where Poulton received them with an ingratiating smile for her ladyship, completely ignoring Cassy.

‘Is Signora Montessori at home, Poulton?’

‘No, my lady. Madam went out to luncheon and has not yet returned.’

Lady Davenport acknowledged his words with a gracious nod of her head. She swept past him and ascended the stairs with Cassy hurrying after her.

The house was much the same as it had been when Cassy was employed there as a maid, although she had seen little of the upper floors. Lady Davenport’s bedchamber was on the second floor, overlooking the courtyard garden and the mews beyond. It was a large room, as befitted her status in the household, and elegantly furnished in the Regency style. Cassy could not help but be impressed. After the starkness of the school dormitory this room seemed the height of opulence and luxury. The cream and blue curtains and bed hangings were of finest silk damask, and the carpet was delicately patterned with flowers and foliage in matching shades.

‘It’s a lovely room,’ Cassy said in answer to Lady Davenport’s amused glance. ‘Better than the one you had in the other house.’

‘I’m glad you think so, but as I said, it’s only temporary. It’s my hope that we’ll return home very soon.’ Lady Davenport crossed the floor in quick agitated steps, a fact that was not lost on Cassy. She flung open a door on the far side of the room. ‘This is my dressing room, and it’s where you will sleep. There’s a couch which I think might do for the time being at least. I want you to have as little to do with the other servants as possible, Cassy. Do you understand?’

Recalling the treatment she had received as a terrified ten-year-old from Nancy and some of the other servants, Cassy was only too pleased to concur. ‘Yes, my lady.’

‘And we must get you fitted out with a suitable uniform. You can’t go around dressed like a schoolgirl. In fact, I think we’ll go shopping now. I won’t bother to change my gown, but when we return you will help me dress for dinner. It’s always a long and tedious affair in this house. Flora still crams the place with guests. It’s no wonder that Leonardo spends most of his time in his club.’ She studied her reflection in the cheval mirror, adjusting the angle of her hat and smoothing the creases from her skirts. ‘I think we’ll walk to Oxford Street. It’s not very far and I’m sure the exercise will be beneficial. We will walk and talk without being overheard by anyone who matters. You can tell me all about yourself. You’ll find me a very good listener.’

To her surprise, Cassy found that Lady Davenport had spoken the truth. By the time they had reached Peter Robinson’s store in Oxford Street, Cassy had told her everything there was to tell about life in Miss North’s Academy for Young Ladies and of the happy times she had spent in Whitechapel with Lottie and her father. Her story came to a faltering halt as they were seized upon by an imposing woman who welcomed them to the store and enquired as to their needs. It seemed that Lady Davenport was a valued customer and they were escorted from one department to another. Chairs were produced for their comfort while Lady Davenport made her selection and minions were sent scampering off to pack her purchases.

After the serious business of buying garments suitable for a lady’s maid, Cassy was surprised and delighted when Lady Davenport insisted that she should have a print gown for Sunday best and encouraged her to choose undergarments made of fine cotton lawn, trimmed with broderie anglaise. It was obvious from the raised eyebrows of the shop assistant that such items were considered far too good for a servant, and she had the temerity to suggest that perhaps calico might be more serviceable, only to be put down sharply by Lady Davenport. Overwhelmed by such generosity, Cassy was almost speechless. By the end of the afternoon she found herself the proud possessor not only of practical everyday wear, but of a brand new pair of black leather boots which fitted perfectly, a fine woollen mantle for winter wear and a cashmere shawl that was as soft as gossamer. If the shop assistant had thoughts about these extravagant purchases she kept them to herself this time, merely enquiring whether the packages were to be taken to Madam’s carriage or delivered to her home. Cassy would gladly have carried them all, even if some had to be strapped to her back, but it was decided that the goods should be delivered to Duke Street. Then, declaring herself to be completely exhausted, Lady Davenport insisted on taking Cassy to Brown’s Hotel for afternoon tea.

‘I am not generally known here,’ she said with a mischievous smile. ‘We can pretend that you are my daughter and I am taking you out for a special treat. It could be a birthday or some other anniversary, or maybe to celebrate your leaving school with a diploma, which is true.’

Cassy took a seat at the table, glancing round nervously. ‘I don’t think Sir Geoffrey or his sister would approve. I should really wait outside.’

‘What nonsense. Geoffrey is in Brussels and Flora would think it a great lark. At least she isn’t stuffy, although poor thing she’s made a dreadful mistake in marrying the Italian.’ Lady Davenport leaned across the table, lowering her voice. ‘Her husband is a charming rogue with a penchant for the gaming tables. Apparently he was penniless when she married him, although she did not know it at the time. I fear he will run through her fortune, gambling it away as he did his own considerable inheritance.’

Cassy glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening, but the waiters were fully occupied and the other patrons appeared to be deep in conversation. Even so, such confidences made her feel uneasy. ‘I’m not sure you should be telling me this, ma’am.’

Lady Davenport tossed her head and laughed. ‘You’re forgetting our game, Cassy. You are my daughter and I can say anything I like.’ She looked up as a waiter appeared at her elbow, hovering like a crow in his black swallow-tail coat. ‘Tea for two,’ she said, beaming up at him. ‘I would like Earl Grey but my daughter prefers Darjeeling. Isn’t that so, Cassandra?’

Cassy nodded her head, hardly daring to look at the waiter in case he saw her for what she was, but he was obviously too well trained to show any emotion and he simply bowed and glided away, returning moments later with a silver cake stand laden with tiny bite-sized sandwiches and pastries oozing with cream. She realised suddenly that she was extremely hungry and her hand shot out to take a sandwich but she hesitated, not wanting to appear greedy. She met Lady Davenport’s twinkling eyes and suddenly she was at her ease.

‘Help yourself, my dear. I doubt if we’ll be able to do this again, so let’s enjoy ourselves.’ Lady Davenport selected a cucumber sandwich and took a bite, smiling with approval as Cassy tucked into her meal. ‘When we are in company I will have to treat you quite differently, but I want you to know that I am very fond of you, Cassy. If it were in my power I would adopt you as my daughter and bring you out into society, but I’m afraid that’s simply not possible.’

‘Good heavens, no.’ Cassy almost choked on a strawberry tartlet. ‘I mean, I never expected anything like this, my lady. I know I’m a charity girl and I’m truly grateful for everything you’ve done for me . . .’ She broke off in astonishment at the sight of tears rolling unchecked down Lady Davenport’s pale cheeks. ‘Have I said something to upset you, ma’am?’

Lady Davenport plucked a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed her eyes. ‘No, of course not, my dear. I’m just a little tired. Will you go outside and ask the doorman to find us a cab? I should like to go home now.’

In the days and weeks that followed, Cassy gradually settled into life as a lady’s maid in the chaotic household in Duke Street. Although she had nothing to do with the house guests, it would have been impossible to ignore their existence. There were dinner parties every evening and drunken carousing which went on well into the night. The smell of tobacco smoke and a substance that Cassy recognised as opium from her days in the East End hung about the reception rooms in a thick cloud each morning, together with the odour of stale wine and strong spirits. Strange people wandered about the house, some still wearing evening dress at midday, and others were to be found slumped in the hallway waiting to be helped into hansom cabs by Harris. On certain occasions Potter had to be summoned from the stables to exercise his muscle on those who were reluctant to leave. Poulton was the overseer of these physical ejections and his stoic expression barely hid his obvious contempt for Flora Montessori’s guests.

Lady Davenport took no part in the late night parties. Cassy was aware that she graced the dinner table in deference to her sister-in-law, but more often than not against her own wishes, and when she returned to her room Cassy was waiting there to help her undress. Although she never uttered a word of complaint, Cassy knew that Lady Davenport was not happy with her current situation. Questions buzzed round in her head like a hive filled with bees. Why had she not accompanied Sir Geoffrey on his trip to Brussels? Why had he seen fit to close up the house in South Audley Street? And was he aware of the invidious position in which he had placed his wife? Cassy did not think that the Montessori household was a suitable home for her mistress. In the short time she had been with Lady Davenport, Cassy had become her devoted admirer. She would have walked through fire if it had been of benefit to her idol.

But if Cassy had learned anything in Miss North’s academy, it was fortitude. She could do nothing to alter a difficult situation other than look after her mistress and attend her every need. In return, Lady Davenport had seen to it that Cassy had little to do with the rest of the servants and was kept safe from possible prejudice and spiteful tittle-tattle. She took her meals alone in the morning parlour, and these were brought to her by Nancy, who was now the parlour maid. Cassy remembered her only too well and her friend Clara, the scullery maid who, Nancy said, had left some time ago to marry the butcher’s boy. He had been compelled to make an honest woman of her when it was discovered that she was in the family way. There had been quite a to-do at the time and it was said that Poulton put pressure on the butcher, threatening to stop patronising his shop unless the boy married his pregnant sweetheart.