Carla Kelly (12 page)

“
You
peeked!” accused Angela.

Jamie just
grinned and started for the stairs. Angela hurried after him. She
said a few more hurried words to the cook, who smiled and kissed
his hand at her. Humming to himself, the cook pulled the scullery
maid and the potboy to their feet and headed in the direction of
the kitchen.

“
Omega, we need you upstairs,” Jamie called.

Omega hurried
upstairs. Hugh stood before her, immaculate in Matthew Bering’s
clothes. She walked around him. “Well, the coat is large,” she
said, “but have you not been in hospital for over a
month?”

“
I did
lose weight in hospital, Omega,” Hugh agreed.

Matthew had
removed his bloody shirt and was wrapped in his dressing gown. He
straightened the sling of black silk. “You’ll do,” he said, handing
Hugh a letter. “This should give you the introduction you need.
Bring them back here after the judging, and we’ll see if my Banbury
tale is convincing enough.”

Hugh saluted
smartly and took the hat from Leonard and left. Matthew shook his
head. “This is very odd,” he said to no one in particular. His eyes
lighted on Omega next; he appeared to be seriously regarding her
for the first time.

“
Tildy,” he called over his shoulder. “I want you.”

The maid handed
the broom to Michael, the footman, and curtsied in front of the
viscount.

“
Take
Miss Chartley upstairs and find her a dress.” Without another word,
he went up the stairs, shaking off Leonard, who tried to help
him.

“
Follow me, Miss Chartley,” said Tildy, and started up the
stairs. Omega stayed where she was until she heard the door
upstairs close, and then she followed the maid.

“
Is
Lord Byford married?” she asked finally.

“
Oh,
no, ma’am,” said the maid.

They were passing
the viscount’s room. “Then how is it that he has dresses?” Omega
whispered.

“
That
I do not understand, ma’am,” whispered Tildy in turn as she opened
a door beyond and stood back for Omega to enter.

Omega went to the
window immediately, opened the draperies, and let in the sunlight.
The room was stuffy; she opened the window, flinging it wide, and
then leaned out to appreciate the gracious flower garden below the
window.

“
I do
recall that my lord specifically required flowers to be planted
there. My brother did it,” said Tildy. ‘Just broadcast the seed,’
his lordship told my brother. ‘Let it be like a meadow.’ It
is
beautiful, isn’t it, Miss Chartley?”

“
And
so is the room, Tildy,” said Omega. The ceiling was low, but this
troubled her not at all. There was a coziness that made Omega smile
for the first time since she had crossed the threshold of Matthew
Bering’s house. What a pleasant room this would be in the winter.
When the day was gray and rainy outside, this place would be a
sanctuary, a place to sew, and read, and just think about things.
Omega thought briefly of her damp room in Plymouth that looked over
the sound, and then dismissed it forever from her
memory.

Again there was
that persistent smell of lemon cologne, even in this closed room.
How singular.

“
Well,
Tildy, what have you here?” she said at last.

Tildy appeared
not to be attending. “Begging your pardon, miss,” she said. “I
sometimes wish I had leave to come up here and just sit. Sometimes
Lord Byford asks me to dust in here, and then I do sit for a
moment, but only for a moment.”

Omega smiled
again. “I can understand.”

“
But
here is why we have come,” said the maid. She passed into the
little dressing room. Omega followed, and her mouth dropped open in
surprise.

The room was
lined with dresses, dresses of all colors and fabrics, walking
dresses, morning dresses, sleeping gowns, simple muslin frocks,
more elaborate afternoon dresses, cloaks and capes, dominoes. Rows
of shoes peeped out from under the dresses, and there were hatboxes
on the shelf overhead.

“
Oh,
Tildy, whatever
is
all this?” she exclaimed.

“
I do
not know, Miss Chartley.” The maid touched one of the dresses.
“They’re a trifle outmoded, but not by too many years. They were
here when I took up my position in this house four years ago.” She
paused a moment, as if wondering if she should pursue this
conversational thread. “It is a subject of some interest
belowstairs, ma’am. We have—oh, you’ll laugh—we have created our
own mythology.”

“
I
would have done the same thing, I am sure.”

Omega took one of
the frocks, a basic muslin dress, and held it up to her. The hem
just brushed the tips of her shoes. It would likely be a perfect
fit.

Tildy clapped her
hands. “How lucky we are! Oh, Miss Chartley, you can take your
pick!”

“
It
will be something simple,” said Omega, “if I am to become the
housekeeper for the day.”

“
As to
that, I cannot say that I am sad,” confided Tildy as she searched
through the dresses. “Mrs. Wells was ever so difficult belowstairs.
And none of us could bring ourselves to tell his lordship about the
quantities of port she put away when she thought none of us were
watching.”

“
Well,
I will not do that. Oh, look, that one, that blue dress. That will
be quite the thing, don’t you agree? Now, where can I find an
apron?”

“
I
have an extra down in the servants’ hall. Now, Miss Chartley, let
me see to a bath for you.”

“
I
would like that,” Omega murmured. Her last ablutions had been
hastily performed in the River By with a sliver of soap that had
seen much duty in Spain, France, and Belgium. “And if there is any
shampoo ...
”

“
I’ll
find what you need.” Tildy handed her the dress. “There are linens
and things in the drawers. Do we ask too much ... do you think the
shoes will fit?”

“
It’s
possible.”

After Tildy left
the room, Omega sat down on the bed. She had no doubt that the
shoes would fit. So would the chemise and camisoles. Matthew must
have prepared this wardrobe for her eight years ago.

Omega took off
her shoes and tucked her feet up under her. She hadn’t thought of
it in years, but she remembered showing off some of her trousseau
to him only days before the wedding, letting her excitement at the
beautiful clothes spill over probably where it should not have. Her
companion had told her later how improper she was, but she had not
cared overmuch. She had been deeply in love with Matthew Bering.
She wanted him to see what the Chartleys considered fine enough for
such a wonderful marriage.

The trousseau was
long gone, sold at auction with everything else. She smiled to
herself for no good reason. None of her pretties would have
mattered. She could have come to Matthew Bering in her shift, and
there would have been this magnificent wardrobe waiting for
her.

And there was a
time I would have come to you in my shift, Matthew, she thought, if
only ... if only you had told me why.

Such melancholy
reflections were not improving the tenor of her mind. When Tildy,
Michael, the scullery girl, and the potboy returned with tin tub
and buckets of warm water, she was only too grateful to hurry their
preparations and close the door on them. The thought of a bath was
almost enough to make her mouth water.

Even though she
had not time for the luxury of a long soak in the tub, Omega washed
her hair, scrubbed herself briskly, and took an idle moment to sit
in the warm water, her chin resting on her drawn-up knees,
contemplating the strange workings of fate.

She made idle
circles in the water. How was it that Matthew was the Viscount
Byford? It was a title unknown to her. She looked across her knees
to the dressing room and the rows of beautiful clothes.
Why
would he do such a thing?
She sighed and splashed the circles.
How little I really know of him. How strange is the human
mind
.

“
Now,
if I were a Roman,” she said, “I would put it down to the
capricious humor of Jupiter. As it is, I must blame dreadful
coincidence and awful fate.”

It was a simple
matter to dress quickly, not dwelling overmuch on the dainty
underthings and other personal items in the drawers. She gave her
hair a vigorous brushing and wished for the millionth time that it
did not curl in such an exasperating fashion. “This is not the hair
of an educationist,” she told the mirror.

Exasperation
always led eventually to resignation. With a sigh that came all the
way from her shoes, she found a pretty lace cap and planted it
firmly on her curls, resolving to indulge in no more peeks in the
mirror. There was work to be done.

Angela and Jamie
had not yet returned when she entered the main hall again. The
gardener had brought in an armful of flowers. She followed him
downstairs and located a large crystal vase.

“
Mrs.
Wells was going to place this epergne on the table,” said Tildy. “I
took the liberty of sending my brother for flowers
instead.”

“
That
was a much wiser choice,” replied Omega, eyeing the monstrous
silver centerpiece. “Rather quelling, isn’t it?”

“
Yes,
and it does not fit our dining room.”

Our
dining
room. Omega liked that. Obviously the servants of Byford’s house
had taken the place to their hearts. It spoke well of Matthew
Bering.

“
Beg
pardon, Miss Chartley?”

Had she spoken
out loud? “Oh, nothing, nothing. Here, Tildy, would you like me to
arrange these flowers?”

“
Oh,
yes, if you would. I’m all thumbs with flowers, and Twinings asked
me to hurry with the front hall so I can polish the silver. It has
been a long time since we had any company, and some of his
lordship’s best pieces are quite tarnished.” She paused a moment
and took a good look at Omega. “And, Miss Chartley, how well that
dress fits you! Blue is surely your color.”

“
Oh,
my, thank you,” said Omega in some confusion. She had not heard a
compliment in years. “Hadn’t you ... hadn’t you better hurry with
the upstairs front hall?”

Omega arranged
the flowers in the vase, wondering how Angela and Jamie were
faring, wondering if Hugh could carry off his charade, wondering if
Matthew should see a doctor. Matthew Bering. If people had told her
at the start of her holiday that she would be arranging flowers in
his house, she would have thought them all about in their heads. It
remained only to see Jamie safely settled here. And surely there
might be a place for Hugh in Byford, and Angela
,
too. Omega kept thinking of Angela’s eyes
as the girl had looked about the house. Surely there must be a
place for Angela.

The chef came to
admire the flowers, speaking in his rapid French and gesturing
grandly to her. Omega’s schoolroom French had been mutinously
learned and quickly forgotten. She could only smile and nod as the
cook went on and on, and wish Angela were here to
interpret.

He paused and
looked at her inquiringly. Omega nodded and smiled again, and then
squeaked in alarm as the Frenchman grabbed her around the waist,
pulled her close, and planted a kiss on her lips.

She looked around
wildly for assistance, but she should not have worried. As suddenly
as he had grabbed her, the cook released her, kissed his fingers to
her, and pinched her as he strutted back to his kitchen.

Omega could only
stare after him, resolving then and there to improve her French
instead of relying on smiles and nods. She looked about her. No one
else had seen the Frenchman’s demonstration of affection. Twinings
was wiping glasses in the pantry, and Tildy was only now returning
to the servants’ hall from abovestairs. Omega picked up the vase
and beat a hasty retreat up the stairs.

The flowers
looked particularly well on the table. Someone—it must have been
Tildy—had placed a lace runner the length of the table. The wood
contrasted darkly with it and created a dramatic effect. She
centered the vase and stepped back from the table to survey her
handiwork, moving forward to touch a rose here, a fern
there.

She sighed and
stepped back again. “Oh, I simply must be on my way to Durham,” she
said.

“
Durham?”

She hadn’t heard
Matthew enter the room. He was dressed quite casually in trousers
and open shirt. And he was fuller in the chest. She hadn’t imagined
it, after all. Maybe his chest had even dropped a little. She
surveyed him as critically as she had looked at the roses, and
decided that a little added weight suited his mature
years.

“
Durham,” she repeated. “St. Elizabeth’s Academy for Young
Ladies. I will be paid a small salary, plus room and board. And
there is always extra for private tutoring. Thank heaven English is
so mysterious.”

Matthew’s eye was
swollen shut. His nose no longer looked pushed to one side, but
there was a bump in it that hadn’t been there before.

“
Oh,
Matthew, your face,” was all she could say.