Elizabeth Mansfield (11 page)

"Miss Jane,
no!
He's probably still asleep!"

But she'd already rounded the landing and disappeared from sight. The poor fellow, more discomposed than ever, sat down on the stairs, dropped his head in his hands, and groaned.

Upstairs, Jane stalked down the corridor to the master bedroom and knocked loudly. In a few moments the door was opened a crack and the valet peeped out. "Ssssh!" he hissed. "His lordship's asleep."

"Yes, Varney, so I supposed," Jane said in a loud, clear voice. "Then I suggest you wake him."

"Are you loony?" the valet asked in a tense whisper. "I ain't ever supposed to wake 'im."

'Today we shall break the rules. Go in and tell him Miss Douglas must see him at once."

"Well, I ain't goin' to do it," was Varney's hissed response, "an' that's final."

"Then I shall," Jane declared, pushing the door open and striding past the astounded valet.

"Wha's the to-do?" came a sleepy voice from the far side of the darkened room.

Jane's eyes could just make out the shape of the bed. "I must speak to you, my lord," she said to the dark shadows.

There was a rustle of bedclothes. "Who's there?"

The valet hurried past her. "It's Miss Douglas, m'lord. I couldn't keep 'er out."

"Miss
Douglas?
Damnation, man, open the curtains. I can't see a thing!"

In a few seconds, a ray of gray fight filtered in. As the valet ran from one window to the next, throwing open the draperies, Jane finally was able to see the man. He was sitting up in bed, wearing a ruffled nightshirt and a bewildered expression on his sleep-lined face. He squinted at her. "It
is
Miss Douglas," he muttered in disbelief.

They stared at each other for a moment as his lordship tried to shake his still-sleepy brain into functioning.

"What's that tapping sound?" he asked thickly, running his ringers through his disordered locks.

"It's sleet, my lord," Jane offered. "Blowing against the panes."

"Is it? Blast! I wanted to go riding this morning." He rubbed his eyes and then peered at her. "Is there some reason, ma'am, why you're standing here in my bedroom?"

"I
tried
to prevent—" the valet began, hovering about the bed nervously.

But Jane interrupted him. "A very good reason, my lord. I came to demand that you retract your threat against Mr. Parks."

"What threat? What the devil are you babbling about?"

"You told him you would discharge him—
sack him forthwith,
I believe were your words—if he did not convince me to remain in this house, is that not so?"

His lordship squinted at her, trying to remember. "I might have done. Well, Miss Douglas,
did
he convince you to remain?"

"I should say not! I will not be intimidated by such vile threats."

He eyed her in annoyance. "Is that what you broke into my sleep to tell me?'
 

"Well, yes."

"I
warned
her—" Varney tried again.

His lordship waved the valet aside. "Seems to me, ma'am, that you're making a quite unnecessary to-do over this. Why didn't you just leave?"

"I have every intention of doing so. But not until you give me your word that Mr. Parks will not be discharged because of it."

"My, my," he said, cocking his head, "I had no idea you felt such loyalty to my butler. After all, you've been here only a few days."

"You are not being honest, my lord. You knew perfectly well that I would object to your threat. You wouldn't have made it if you believed I would ignore it."

'Touché, ma'am. Your point. But I did not anticipate your bursting into my bedroom to make it."

"What
did
you anticipate I would do?"

"That you would relent and remain here as you promised my mother."

Jane crossed her arms over her chest. "I have no intention of relenting."

"You, ma'am, are the most stubborn young woman I've ever encountered." He looked at her intently. "Are you truly adamant about leaving, no matter what I might do?"

"Yes, I am."

He sighed. "Very well, go. Take your leave. Depart."

"Does that mean I have your word about Mr, Parks?"

He shrugged in defeat. "Yes, of course," he said, adding in a lowered voice, "I didn't really intend to discharge him."

Jane wasn't sure she should believe him. "You certainly convinced him that you would."

His lordship turned away and threw his legs over the side of the bed. "I had to," he admitted as he rose, "if he was to be frightened enough to convince you."

"Oh, I
see."
She expelled a small breath, surprised to realize that Lord Kettering would go to such lengths to keep her.

"It was a gamble," he said, waving aside poor Varney, who was following him about, trying to help him into a long Chinese-silk robe. "I lost. But I've been trained to be a good loser. So I bid you goodbye, Miss Douglas. Godspeed."

"Thank you, my lord," she said, all the anger she'd built up completely dissipated. "Goodbye, then."

She started to the door, while he pattered over in bare feet to one of the tall windows, the tail of his nightshirt flapping behind him. The sight of the iced foliage and the steady downpour shocked him. "I say, Miss Douglas," he called after her, "what arrangements have you made for travel?"

With her hand already on the doorknob, she paused. "Arrangements?" She peered at him as he stood outlined by the gray light from the window, his tousled hair, loose nightshirt, and bare feet making him seem appealing ly boyish. "I intend to catch the stage," she said, hoping he would not notice the catch in her voice.

"It's sleeting out there. Dreadful day! Tell Parks to put my carriage at your disposal."

This was another surprise. And a most welcome one.
"Thank
you, my lord, that is most kind."

"Not at all. I have no need of it today, and it will have returned from Cheshire by tomorrow."

She gaped at him. This was an even greater surprise. "Cheshire? You cannot mean for the carriage to take me all the way! I need it only to the nearest coaching inn."

He turned from the window. "You will use my coach to take you home," he barked, pulling the robe from his valet's hand and shrugging into it.
"All the way
home! And I'd be much obliged if you'd
not dispute my every word!
"

"Yes, my lord," she murmured and left the room. She retraced her steps, but very slowly.
Will I ever understand him?
she asked herself. Was the man who had handled her so outrageously the day before the same one who had just offered her his carriage? All the way to Cheshire? Who had never intended to discharge Mr. Parks but had only used the threat to keep her here? Who, in the gloomy light of the window, had looked so gentle and vulnerable—and so confoundedly handsome, too—that she'd had to fight the urge to brush back the hair from his forehead and caress his cheek?

Mr. Parks was still sitting on the bottom step when she came down. He looked up at her, his chins quivering. "Well?" he asked tensely. "What passed upstairs? Are we both to be thrown out in the cold?"

"No, no," she assured him. "Everything is fine. His lordship never intended to sack you. It was only a ruse."

Parks got to his feet, his face lighting up in relief. 'Truly? Only a ruse?" He grasped her hand and shook it excitedly. "You are a wonder, Miss Jane, and that's a fact! I don't know how to thank you!"

"But really, Mr. Parks, there's no need," she insisted. "You have nothing to thank me for. You were never in any danger."

"Perhaps, and perhaps not," he said, beaming at her, "but the way you went charging up those stairs, well, I won't ever forget—"

A sound on the stairs made them turn. It was Varney, running down. "His lordship sent me to tell you, Mr. Parks, that Miss Douglas is to have the carriage," he announced breathlessly. "Ye're to tell Hodgkins, at the stables, that it's to take 'er to Cheshire. He'll know which horses to use."

Jane was astounded at this additional sign of thoughtfulness. Not only had he offered the ride; he'd acted to make the offer a reality. Even Lady Martha, who was generally kind, had never been thoughtful enough to offer a carriage for her in bad weather, much less to instruct her stableman to make sure it was done.

"I'll go at once," Mr. Parks was saying.

Jane grasped his arm. "No, Mr. Parks," she said, "don't bother." She took a deep breath and turned to the valet. "Mr. Varney," she said, "will you please go back upstairs and tell his lordship that I've changed my mind? I shall not be leaving after all. I, too, can be a good loser."

THIRTEEN

Suddenly the atmosphere in the household changed for Jane. There was a warmth in the servants' attitude toward her that had not been there before. Footmen who'd never even acknowledged her presence now gave her respectful greetings every time she passed them in the corridors. Parks exchanged conspiratorial grins whenever he met her eye. Mrs. Hawkins, the housekeeper, sent Meggie to inquire about her favorite foods. Extra blankets and towels appeared in her bedroom. Meggie came up at dawn every morning to start her fire, despite Jane's remonstrances. Jane felt more than welcome—she felt pampered. And all this was probably caused by Mr. Parks spreading the word that she'd saved his post, which of course she hadn't done at all.

Unfortunately, her satisfaction with this change in the atmosphere was short-lived. As soon as she'd examined the ledger books, she knew that a great deal of unpleasantness lay ahead. The good feelings between her and the staff would probably come to an abrupt end.

There were three ledgers: one for the household expenses, one for the stable costs, and one for the viscount's personal expenditures. Each one revealed that there were serious problems in the way money was spent.

Jane decided to attack the household problems first. On a quiet afternoon, when his lordship was attending a sale at Tattersall's and was not expected back before nightfall, she asked Mr. Parks to join her in the library. "Please close the door," she asked as soon as he appeared.

His eyebrows rose. "Is something amiss, Miss Jane?"

She motioned to a chair beside her worktable. "A great deal, I fear, Mr. Parks;" she said flatly. She paused until he'd seated himself. Then, without mincing words, she made the necessary accusation. "It appears to me that you and Mrs. Hawkins have been stealing from his lordship for a very long time."

"What?" He reddened, stared, and half rose from the chair. "Did I hear you aright, ma'am?"

"You heard. And don't ma'am me, Mr. Parks. It will do you no good to toady at me. These charges for meats, flour, sugar and other staples, all the kitchen and household expenses, and these enormous liquor bills are consistently higher than they should be."

The butler's chins quivered, but he stuck out his jaw stubbornly. "I don't know what you're talking about, miss."

"Don't you? Then look at this. You paid to Berry Brothers, Wine Merchants, nineteen pounds, seven shillings for one dozen bottles of port wine. One would expect the cost to be, at most, twelve guineas. And a dozen bottles every fortnight? I've never seen his lordship drink. If he does, it isn't here at home. Who does all that drinking, I wonder?"

Mr. Parks gulped. Jane watched with considerable distress as his face paled. She was taking no pleasure in this interview. In the stress of the moment, neither one of them heard the latch of the library door turn.

Jane went on, trying to disregard the pain she felt in making these accusations. "And this payment for bread for the week. Thirty-six loaves. That would be almost two loaves a day for each person on the staff. Am I expected to accept such an inflated number? And the cost—twenty-nine shillings thrupence. Isn't that a bit exorbitant?"

"This is London, Miss Jane, not Cheshire," the butler said coldly. "Prices are higher here."

"I expected you to say that, so I took a walk to the bakery this morning and purchased a loaf. It cost me sixpence. That would make the cost of thirty-six loaves about eighteen shillings, a good deal less than twenty-nine."

"Per'aps the bak'ry overcharges us," he muttered, now on the defensive.

"The butcher shop, too? Look here. Eight pounds of pork, more than ten shillings. Strange, when the cost is no more than eight pence a pound. And in addition, you have bills in the same week for mutton, beef, salmon, and sole. Interesting, is it not, when his lordship hardly ever dines at home?"

"The staff has to eat, too."

"I know that, Mr. Parks. But not like kings."

"I s'pose you'd like us to eat nothing but bread and cheese," he whined in desperation.

"What I'd like—rather, what I'd
expect
in any proper household—is for you to order no more than what the staff needs for an ample diet, and not to take advantage of your position to charge an extortionate price for it."

He drew himself up in histrionic offense. "You're accusing me of
cheating,
then?"

She clenched her fists to remain firm. "I am. Both you and the housekeeper."

Mr. Parks, the embodiment of offended majesty, rose to his feet. "Easy for you to make accusations, miss," he declared, his voice and chins quivering with self-justifying passion. "You ain't worried about your future, bein' in her ladyship's good graces like you are. She'll prob'ly take proper care of you. An' more'n likely, some day soon you'll marry some chap that's in trade an' have yourself a cushy old age. But Mrs. Hawkins and me, well, we have to think of what's to happen to us later, don't we? Who's goin' to keep us from starvin' in the gutter when we're too old to be in service? We has to take care of ourselves."

Jane was not without sympathy. Servants had difficult lives in this far-from-perfect world. But she couldn't find it in herself to justify these signs of corruption. "Lady Martha supports several of her elderly servants," she pointed out. "Certainly the Viscount will do the same."

"Nothing so certain about that," the butler countered. "His lordship ain't like his mother. He don't give us any thought that I can see. Is it a such a terrible crime, then, for us to put a little bit of blunt by for a rainy day?"