Heaven Made (3 page)

"Yes, of course," O’Neill said, standing with his
friend. "Science above all else, eh, Northcliffe?"

Ford left the club, pulling his collar up tightly around his
throat. It was cold out, even for November. He reached his hand into his pocket
to retrieve his leather gloves, but instead pulled out a neatly folded piece of
paper. It was an advertisement of sorts. It read:

Ladies of Quality Employment Agency. Women Qualified for
running large Households for the Genteel and keeping The Staff in order. We
have the right Lady for your needs. Visit us soon at: Number 15, Tottenham
Court Road.

Ford looked at the notice in awe. How did that get in his
pocket? He looked up and down the street as if the answer would pop out of a
doorway. How very fortunate for him that this was exactly what he needed.

Whistling a tune, Ford hailed a hackney to take him to
Number 15, Tottenham Court Road.

****

Sabrina stood in the soup line, shivering from the cold. She
had left Alice with the landlady while she searched for a job in the city.
Alas, there was little work available for an unskilled woman such as herself.
The only thing she knew how to do was run a large household and entertain
guests.

An old woman was coming down the line handing out bread
wrapped in paper. It looked delicious, but Sabrina was determined to save it
for Alice. They had been subsiding on as little as possible, trying to save
every penny until she could find a position.

"There you go, dearie." The old woman said,
handing her the still warm piece of crusty bread. "Eat it now, before it
gets cold."

"I can’t," Sabrina said. "I have to save it
for my daughter."

"You eat that now, and I’ll bring you another. Just
stay right there," the old woman continued down the line passing out the
rest of her bounty.

Sabrina couldn’t resist. The bread smelled so delicious. She
ate it ravenously and was about to crumple the newspaper it had been wrapped
in. Or at least she had thought it was newsprint, but on closer examination, it
looked like a flyer. Sabrina carefully unfolded it. She couldn’t believe what
she was reading. It was an advertisement for ladies of quality to run large
households—for pay!

She looked around frantically for the old woman, but the
crone had disappeared. Sabrina was torn. Should she stay here and wait for more
bread and stand in line for the thin but inexpensive soup? Or should she go to
Number 15, Tottenham Court Road and see about a position that she was actually
qualified to apply for? The job, of course. She could always come back later
for the soup. Sabrina walked briskly looking for the address on the flyer. It
was next to a tearoom. A very interesting looking tearoom decorated in early
gypsy, from what Sabrina could see from the street. Maybe she’d take a closer
look later, when she wasn’t so desperate for a position. Taking a moment to
smooth out her skirts, Sabrina reached for the doorknob of number 15 just as it
swung inwards and a tall man swept out.

"I beg your pardon," he said, bowing low and
holding his hat on with one hand while pushing the door open for her.

"Thank you," she said, smiling at the handsome
man. He was tall, wore spectacles and had dark golden hair. His scent teased
her nostrils as she passed close to him. A spicy cologne and something else
indefinable.

He smiled back at her with a half grin that sent her heart
pounding. Ridiculous, she thought reminding herself that she was barely out of
mourning for Edward. It’s just been so long since a gentleman held the door for
you, she chided herself. Get a hold of yourself, Sabrina Macaulay Tremaine,
you’re here to get a job. She stepped into the cluttered but cozy business and
approached an older, roundish woman sitting behind a desk.

"Hello, my dear. I’m Mrs. Blakemore. How can I help
you?" Mrs. Blakemore looked at her with friendly light blue eyes. Her
white hair swept up in a fashionable Gibson style was at odds with her old
fashioned gown. But she was pleasant and put Sabrina at ease with her smile.

"Good morning, my name is Mrs. Sabrina Tremaine, and I
found this flyer." Sabrina pressed the piece of paper towards Mrs.
Blakemore. "I am seeking such a position."

"Sabrina, Sabrina Tremaine. Yes, yes—somewhere in
here." Mrs. Blakemore shuffled through several stacks of paper, but didn’t
seem to find what she was looking for. "Cassie. Cassie, dear. Can you come
help me? Mrs. Tremaine is here and I can’t find her—"

"Mother," the young woman named Cassie exclaimed,
appearing from a back room. "Of course I can help Mrs., what did you say
her name was?"

"Mrs. Sabrina Tremaine, of course. But Cassie,"
Mrs. Blakemore stuttered. "I thought we had a match for—"

"Why don’t you see about Danny, Mother. I think he
needs your help with something."

"I don’t understand," Sabrina said looking from
one woman to the other. "Were you expecting me? That isn’t possible. I
only just found a flyer an hour ago."

"No, no," Cassie said with a warm smile.
"Mother just gets things a tad confused sometimes. You know how it is with
older people." Cassie gave Sabrina a half-wink as she pushed her mother
from the room.

Mrs. Blakemore glared at her daughter before going to find
Danny, presumably.

"Please, Mrs. Tremaine, have a seat. Would you like
some tea?" Cassie motioned to the chair on the other side of the big desk.

"Yes, tea would be lovely." Sabrina sat and
observed the young Miss Blakemore as she quickly procured a cup filled with
steaming liquid from a back room.

Cassie Blakemore was pretty, but all business. Her dark hair
was tightly bound in braids and pinned firmly to her head in a coronet. She
wore a smart gray silk gown that only served to make her look older than
Sabrina assumed she must be. But if it served her purpose to run a successful
business, then it was exactly the right choice.

"Mrs. Tremaine," Miss Blakemore said, beginning
the interview. "What kind of experience do you have?"

"Well," she answered, holding the hot tea in both
hands. "I ran my husband’s home for almost ten years. We had fourteen
house servants and we entertained at least once a month."

"Perfect," Cassie said with a happy lilt to her
voice. "And do you have any special needs?"

"Special needs?" Sabrina asked confused, then
realized what the young woman meant. "Yes, of course. My daughter, Alice.
She is eight and no trouble at all."

"Alice." Cassie made a note in the file she was
looking over. "Wonderful. Well, I have good news Mrs. Tremaine, or may I
call you Sabrina?"

"Yes, please call me Sabrina. I don’t feel at all like
Mrs. Tremaine right now."

"Well, Sabrina, I have the perfect position for you. It
just came up, as a matter of fact. Mr. Northcliffe is in desperate need of a
woman of your skills to run his household. His mother passed away last year and
he has no female relatives to help out. From what I understand the house is in
utter chaos. The position starts immediately." Cassie looked as if she had
something not pleasant to say, but then changed her mind. "The cook, Mrs.
Dixon, is a friend of mine and will enjoy little Alice’s company so you won’t
have to worry about her care while you perform your duties. So, will you take
the position? It pays quite handsomely."

"Oh yes," Sabrina said standing. If Cassie
Blakemore hadn’t been on the other side of that enormous cluttered desk, she
would surely have thrown herself at the woman in gratitude. "When do I
start?"

"You’ll need to pop by right away for a brief
interview," Cassie said, writing out an address on piece of paper. She
handed the note and a sealed envelope to Sabrina. "Here are instructions
on how to get to Mr. Northcliffe’s home, and that is a letter of introduction
from the Ladies of Quality Employment Agency."

"But, when did you have time to write that?"
Sabrina asked, confused but thrilled to have found a secure place for her and
Alice.

"Oh, it’s just our standard letter," Cassie said,
brushing off the question. "Please be sure to check back with us in a week
or so to let us know how you and Alice are faring."

"Yes, of course. And thank you, Miss Blakemore. Thank
you so very much." Sabrina took the letter and directions and left. It
would be her first job interview with someone of her own class, and although
she was indeed grateful, she was also utterly terrified.

Sabrina approached the
mansion on Park Lane slowly. From the street it hadn’t seemed so ponderous. But
from here, just beyond the front stairs, it was immense. She straightened her
shoulders and mounted the steps bravely, but waited a moment. Taking deep
breaths, she calmed herself before lifting the brass knocker and letting it hit
the great door. It seemed she waited forever before knocking again. The time
went by so slowly, she almost turned to go, but then the door opened and she immediately
recognized the gorgeous Adonis who had sent her heart pounding earlier that
afternoon. Definitely not the butler, or even a footman. No indeed, it was the
gentleman she had seen at the agency that very day who had, even then, taken
her breath away.

Chapter Two

"I apologize. I
don't know what happened to my butler." Ford stumbled awkwardly on his
words as he scanned the letter Mrs. Sabrina Tremaine handed him. He couldn't
believe that this exotic beauty was to be in his service. "Please come in."

 Mrs. Tremaine entered
the mansion cautiously, as if she wasn't quite sure how a servant should act.
But of course she didn't, Ford thought feeling daft, she was a woman of good
breeding come onto hard times. That was why the agency had seemed such a
blessing to him. She was exactly what his disorganized household needed. And
the fact that she was easy to look at with her silky black hair, wide sapphire
blue eyes, and extremely comely figure, was just a lucky happenstance.

"Please, Mrs.
Tremaine, come and sit in the parlor." Ford led the way after she had
disposed of her outer garments on a nearby coat tree and table. Ford watched
Sabrina gaze around the unkempt room and take note of the eclectic mix of the
older Victorian motif with a smattering of the latest styles that the new King
had made popular. Mother had been in the process of updating when she had
passed on. Sitting on the fine but dusty chair and sofa, Ford turned to his
guest with what he hoped was an expression of helplessness.

"I would have some tea sent, but I've no idea where a footman
or maid is." He shrugged his shoulders emphasizing his lack of power in
the situation. "So you see Mrs. Tremaine, I have a desperate need for a
woman of your skills. I simply am not cut out to instruct the staff and make
sure they are happily employed. My mother was in charge of such things as far
back as I can remember, and since her death last year, the house has been
pandemonium."

For some reason, Ford
didn't mention that once his fiancée had returned from the continent and they
were married that he would no longer need her services. It was an uncomfortable
thought at the moment and he decided he would explain that matter at a later
date. After all, Luella would be gone for at least another six months. Ford had
insisted that they couldn't announce the engagement until he had observed an
appropriate mourning period. And it was only proper that they should be seen
together at some functions before they posted their intentions in the Times. So
it would be at least a year, maybe longer that he would require Mrs. Tremaine’s
services. No, it wouldn't do to tell her about Luella until the time grew
closer and she needed to pass on the duties to the new mistress. It would only
complicate the situation if Mrs. Tremaine was constantly wondering if her
position was secure. And besides, the less people who knew about his
engagement, the better. Hell, he barely knew Luella himself. Ford had only
asked her to marry him because of a promise he had made to his mother on her
deathbed. Because of that, though, he was determined to see it through. After
all, a man could not deny his dying mother's last wish.

"So would I be in
charge of the entire household?" Mrs. Tremaine asked with an audible
squeak.

"With my input, of course,"
Ford answered wondering why she was so nervous. But she was probably used to
being the one doing the interviewing.

"Of course,"
she said looking around the room as if she already had ideas about what needed
to be done.

"We should meet say
twice a day? To discuss what you have the servants working on, meals and of
course my schedule. You’ll also be in charge of my social correspondence and
the household accounts. I work in my laboratory most of the time, but I do like
to entertain occasionally too. Does that sound acceptable to you?"

"Absolutely."

Mrs. Tremaine was a
woman of few words. Quite an accomplishment from his point of view. Luella was
what he and his friends liked to call a chatterbox extraordinaire. Most of the
women of his acquaintance were certainly more talkative then Mrs. Tremaine.

"Well, then I
suppose you can start immediately. Did you bring your things? I can have Mrs.
Fitzsimmons show you to your rooms, if I can find her." Ford frowned
looking around, hoping a servant would suddenly walk by.

"Never mind that,"
Mrs. Tremaine said. "I need to go back to my flat and let my landlady know
I'm leaving. I'll come back this evening and knock at the servant’s entrance.
I'm sure someone will let me in."

"Yes, of course.
That would be best." Ford hoped there would be someone there to answer the
door. "Then we'll meet at breakfast. You will dine with me in the morning
and then we will meet again after supper to plan the next day. I'm sure after a
week or two you will have things fully under control and we will then limit our
time to breakfast."