Elizabeth Mansfield (15 page)

It had been soothing to Caro’s soul to have a weekly visit with Letty, but after Letty was gone she would surely find other pleasurable activities to fill her Thursday afternoons. Even a walk in the park or a stroll through the Pantheon Bazaar would bring relief from the incredible strain of life with the Ducketts. Besides, there was still another aunt she could visit; Martha would still be living in London. She’d felt somewhat estranged from Martha since the day her aunt had helped Kit to trap her in her drawing room, but Martha had meant well. Perhaps it was time to forgive and forget.

But that was a plan for the future. Meanwhile, there was Florrie to deal with. Caro glanced over at the child framed in the window—a pretty little thing who could be almost lovely if she weren’t so spoiled. “Now, Florrie,” she said in gentle rebuke, “it will do you no good to sniffle. And use your handkerchief, please. You know very well that your sleeve is not meant for that purpose.”

“I don’t care,” the girl whined, nevertheless taking out her handkerchief from her apron pocket. “I don’t
have
to obey you, you know. You’re only a servant.”

“That’s true,” Caro said in unperturbed agreement, “but servant or not, the whole purpose of my position here is to see that you
do
obey me. Isn’t that so?”

“I don’t care. I don’t
want
you going away all the time.”

“Well, I’m not going away at this moment, so let us not waste this precious time together. Why don’t you take up your book and read aloud to me the rest of the tale of Dick Whittington?”

Florrie allowed herself to be distracted, and the morning passed quietly enough. In the afternoon, despite Florrie’s continued objection, Caro placed the children in the charge of the upstairs maid and, dressed in her prettiest straw bonnet, her most cheerful walking gown (a cornflower-blue figured muslin with a deep flounce that fluttered with every step), and a white shawl enlivened with silver threads, she started out on her few hours of freedom.

She flew down the stairway from the third floor, her spirit already dancing to the joyous music of freedom. But as she made the last turning she came face-to-face with a ruddy-faced gentleman who was making his way up. “Oh!” she said in surprise. But she deduced at once that this was Mr. Duckett, who’d evidently come home from his factory at an unusually early hour. Since he rarely came home before ten at night (by which time everyone on the third floor had retired), and since he’d not bothered to come up to see his children in the month since Caro had joined the household, she’d never met him before. Her one quick glance at him revealed a man who perfectly matched his wife—large, florid, and unabashedly self-assured.

“An’ ‘oo might ye be?” Mr. Duckett asked, stepping in her way.

“I’m Miss Whitlow,” Caro said with a bob of a curtsy, “your children’s governess.”

“Ah, yes!” His bulging eyes lit, and he surveyed her from top to bottom with a measuring gaze so rude that Caro felt herself blush. “An’ a right pretty poppet ye are, to be sure.”

Caro did not like the words or the tone. “If you’ll excuse me, sir,” she said stiffly, “I’m just on my way out.”

“Are ye? Without yer charges?”

“This is Thursday afternoon. My own time.”

“Ah, I see. Then of course I won’t keep ye.” He stepped aside to let her pass. “But I’ll see ye again, ye can be sure o’ that,” he murmured in her ear as she went by. The leer in his voice was upsetting enough, but then, to her utter astonishment, she felt a nip on her bottom. The dreadful man had
pinched
her! She wheeled about, instinctively ready to slap his face, but the fellow was marching away up the stairs, whistling with merry innocence.

She gaped after him, completely bemused. Never had she been so rudely used, but never before had she been a servant, either. Is this the way female servants were treated by their masters? It was certainly not so in any household she’d lived in before. Uncle Clement would never use a female in his employ so ill, she would swear to that.

She went slowly down the stairs, still thinking about the incident, and crossed to the small entryway. There she found Rudd, the butler, holding the front door for her. “Watch out for him, miss,” Rudd said in an undertone. “Our Mr. Duckett can be more than a bother to a pretty poppet.”

Caro nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Mr. Rudd,” she murmured as she went past.

All the way to Letty’s house, Caro mulled over the matter. Finally she decided that she would do or say nothing of the incident yet. She would stay out of the man’s way (which, she surmised, would not be difficult, since she’d not encountered him once before in the entire month of her employ), but if any such incident recurred, she would take action. She didn’t quite know what that action would be, but she
did
know that she’d not permit herself to be insulted a second time. Not she! Not even if it meant losing her post.

When she arrived at Letty’s house, she found everything in a turmoil. The rooms were full of boxes and barrels and the paraphernalia of moving, and the servants bustled about from room to room seemingly without purpose or direction. Melton took her shawl with his customary impassivity, but the rest of the house teemed with confusion. “Oh, Caro, my love,” Letty cried the moment Caro appeared in the sitting-room doorway, “you can have no
idea
of what a nightmare this packing up has been! My loveliest Chinese vase broke while Melton was wrapping it, we can’t find the mate to the Chippendale corner cabinet, and the coachman says we shall have to hire two additional carts if we are to manage to move everything.” She sank down upon a sofa that had already been draped with a Holland cover and wrung her hands. “And that’s not the worst. What’s really been keeping me awake nights is ... is ....”

Caro sat down beside her and took the trembling hands in hers. “What is it, my love? Tell me.”

“I hate to complain, Caro. Kit has been the kindest—”

“Oh, pooh!” Caro interrupted, making a face. She had little sympathy for Letty’s unwavering devotion to the Vexatious Viscount. “What has that rotter done now?”

“No, nothing,” Letty assured her hastily. “Nothing at all. You mustn’t call him that. He’s done more for me than anyone can expect. That’s why I shouldn’t say a word.”

“Dash it, Letty, speak up. You are making this move more for my sake than your own. If something is amiss, you must
tell
me.”

Letty shook her head. “I’m
not
moving for your sake, not a bit!”

“Very well, then, for Gil’s.”

“Not even for him. It’s for me, truly it is. I have lived alone lo these many years, but I shall have a family in my dotage. You have no idea how happy that prospect makes me.”

“Then what ... ?”

Letty sighed. “It’s just ... well, you see, even though Kit has promised me an apartment of my very own, I know I shan’t find space for all my things.”

“Is
that
all that’s troubling you?” Caro asked, not quite believing her.

“I know it sounds trivial, caring so much about glassware and chinoiserie and claw-footed tables and such. But you see, I’ve spent years collecting these things. I’ve grown accustomed to having them around me. If I must give them up—”

“Nonsense, my love,” Caro reassured her, “you won’t have to give up a thing. The Grange is positively
enormous.
You may take my word on it, for I spent years seeing to the upkeep. Just tell Lord Crittenden to give you the second floor of the west wing. There are nine rooms up there, all standing empty, in addition to a gallery and a large open space at the top of the stairs that I don’t even know how to describe. It’s a kind of reception room, with huge windows and a wonderful, beamed ceiling. Why, this sitting room, your drawing room, and your entry way could all be fitted into that one space! You’ll not only have a place for everything, you’ll have space for a great deal more.”

“Oh, Caro, really?” Letty’s watery eyes brightened. “How utterly delightful! But don’t you think it would be presumptuous of me to ask Kit for so much?”

“Not at all. The house has more than forty rooms. He’ll probably be delighted to put a portion of them to such good use.”

Letty, much relieved, threw her arms about the young woman. “Caro, dearest, you have completely relieved my mind. You do seem to know the house so well. How I wish you were going with me!”

Caro dropped her eyes. “Yes, so do I,” she admitted. “I do so love that place.”

They sat in silence, each lost in her own thoughts, until Melton came in with the tea tray. Caro, now a servant herself, suddenly found herself wondering how he felt about Letty’s move. Would he be able to find himself another post? she wondered. Was he worried about his future and that of the other members of the household staff? She studied his face curiously while he poured the tea, but his stolid expression told her nothing.

After he left, she couldn’t help remarking to Letty that she felt sorry for him. “He must be quite heartbroken to be losing this excellent post after all these years.”

Letty looked up from her teacup with raised brows. “Lost his post? Whatever gave you that idea? No, no, indeed he hasn’t. Kit has hired everyone on my staff who wishes to come with me.”

Caro gaped at her in astonishment. “Good Lord, why?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t say, except that, as I’ve told you time and again, he’s the very kindest of men.”

But Caro would not accept the reasoning. “Really, Letty, no one is as kind as all that. And I have the clearest memory of His Lordship’s first letter to Mr. Halford, in which he said he wanted only a staff of four.”

“At that time he probably didn’t know what sort of house he’d inherited,” Letty said in Kit’s defense.

Caro frowned at her. “Must you always make excuses for him?”

“I don’t. But I will admit that his hiring my people was not a purely philanthropic act. I have the impression that he’s having difficulty getting enough staff to work for him.”

“Really?” Caro knit her brow in thought. “I wonder why. When I was running the Grange, I never had the least difficulty in finding people to work for me.”

Letty had no answer, so the subject was dropped. But Caro couldn’t help wondering if the baffling Kit Meredith was too hard a taskmaster or too tightfisted to his staff. What other reasons could there be for his having difficulty finding people to work for him? And if her reasoning was sound—if he really was hard-hearted and tightfisted—was she wise in leaving her little brother in his care?

She’d thought about the Vexatious Viscount often in the month since she’d last seen him. Her thoughts had been as confused as the atmosphere in this house. On the one hand, he had proven himself to be thoughtless and dishonest. On the other, he had sometimes shown surprising generosity and kindness. She did not know what to make of him. And to complicate the matter, she often dreamed of him in the guise of Mr. Terence. In those dreams she was still enamored of the fellow. When she woke up, she was always disgusted with herself.

But whatever she felt about him was unimportant. What was important was how her brother was faring in his care. She had to make it clear to Letty that she must be Gil’s protector. Letty must observe the viscount’s behavior with eyes unclouded with affection. Could she do it? Could Letty be counted on to be a fair judge?

The conversation between the two women, for the short time remaining, dwelt mostly on how they would miss each other and how often they would write. When the clock struck five, signaling the end of Caro’s free time, they made their tearful good-byes and, arms about each other’s waist, walked slowly to the door. “Letty, dearest,” Caro asked before leaving, “will you keep a sharp eye on Gilbert and determine if he’s truly content?”

“Of course I will,” Letty answered promptly, but then her eyes became troubled. “Do you suspect he isn’t?”
 

“No, no, I don’t. His letters sound cheerful enough.”
 

“Then why ... ?”

“I’m not there to see for myself,” Caro admitted frankly. “What if Gil is unhappy but reluctant to trouble me?”

“I scarcely think—”

“I don’t think so either, not really. But let us suppose for a moment—I know you don’t like even to consider the possibility—that Kit Meredith is not the paragon you think him.”

“How can I suppose anything so unlikely?” Letty retorted, loyal to the end.

“But you
must
suppose it, if you are to judge Gil’s situation with an open mind! Please, Letty, for my sake, do you think you can suspend your affection for Kit Meredith only long enough to make an objective judgment of what goes on at the Grange, and report back to me?”

“I can, my love,” Letty responded, giving the younger woman a last, fervent embrace. “I can and I will.”

Caro, returning the embrace, gave a silent, helpless sigh as she said to herself, The poor dear... she can’t and she won’t.

TWENTY

Rain fell steadily for three days after Letty’s departure. People on the streets remarked that this was the most dreadful spring in memory. It certainly was dreadful for the Duckett children, for they were forced to remain indoors; the garden behind their house, where they usually played, was as soggy as marshland. Nevertheless, on the afternoon of the third day of rain, when the morning’s downpour had subsided to a mild drizzle, Caro succumbed to Jackie’s persistent pressure and let him go outside, though not before making certain that his head was covered with a wide-brimmed hat and his feet protected by a pair of sturdy galoe-shoes.