No Choice but Surrender (3 page)

"She's
been sitting there for days." The footman eyed the scroll end stool, covered in dark blue leather, on which Brienne sat quietly. The fireplaces crackled with warmth in the two opposite apses. Their fires contrasted with the cold marble hall that was filled with Roman statues, now white from age. With no more hospitable place to go, she sat watching the flames, waiting for the new owner perhaps more anxiously than the two footmen who watched her.

She'd had little luck in trying to leave. No coach would be hired for the amount she was able to pay. She had yet even to figure out where to go. London held little appeal for her; it was too big and she knew not a soul there. At her father's town house she would encounter him should he return from the Colonies, so she had ruled that out right away. Then there was Bath. She knew there were bound to be old friends of her mother's there, taking the waters and enjoying the social whirl. But how would she get there? She had come to a grand stumbling block. And then she had run out of time.

She got up, wrapped her cloak around her, and smiled at the two elderly footmen as she went out the door. The sting of
freezing rain met her face, and she wrapped the cloak even more tightly around her. She ran across the courtyard to the great portico and stood there watching the drive. Leaning on one of the smooth Ionic columns that loomed over her, she felt as if the house watched her even more closely than the two griffons as she made her way under their pediment.

Then she caught an observing eye. Suddenly she laughed as she saw the upstairs maid, Annie, whip the yellow taffeta curtains closed from a bedroom on the second floor.

They all think I'm
daft,
she said to herself and smiled bitterly.
And why shouldn't they? They've had the pleasure of living with my father. They must think madness runs in the family.
With that she let out a low laugh and wiped some of the rain from her face.

She stood very quietly, too agitated to wait in her room. Despite her ladylike manners, she sought the rain and the cold as a buffer from the house. Soon she spied a large coach making its way through the gates. Her stomach spinned and then tightened as she watched the elaborately japanned, sleek green vehicle move closer. Its gold and red crest shone brilliantly, despite the dark, dismal day.

"So he's here!" she exclaimed in a small voice.

Nervously she ran into the great hall, which was now bustling in anticipation of the new owner. Up in her bedroom she shed her wet cloak and grabbed some hairpins from her dressing table. She haphazardly placed these into her damp auburn hair while contemplating which of her gowns would be best for such a situation. She took little time to decide; she remembered one of her favorites, a pink polonaise that was rather out of style but still in good condition. She went to the tall satin- wood wardrobe to get it, but to her surprise she saw an edge of glowing pink silk moving just around the corner to her dressing room.

"Annie, whatever
are
you doing?" she asked. Arriving in the dressing room, she saw the maid prancing about in front of the looking glass with the pink polonaise half on and half off. Brienne wasn't sure if this was because Annie had not pulled the dress on fully or because the dress was too small in the waistline.

Annie jerked around, caught off guard. She mumbled something, but Brienne could not make out what she was saying.

"Do speak up, Annie! I would like to know the meaning of this," she said sternly.

"I won't be waitin' on you anymore, milady."

"That's fine," Brienne answered, wondering what had gotten into the girl. It was unusual to see such insubordination in a servant, and she worried about its meaning. "You know I have not grown up with servants, Annie. I have not asked much of you during my stay here. Still, it is reproachable for you to try one of my dresses on. Whatever is going on?"

"You aren't the master's daughter anymore."

"Perhaps not."
A few delicate lines appeared on Brienne's brow. The consternation she felt was all too clear. "But that still doesn't explain why you're wearing my dress." She watched Annie's stomach. Her stays were so tightly laced that she knew the gown would be torn before too long. "Please take it off."

"Oh, my lady, it's just that I've heard that the new owner is something of a man. And I'll be
wantin'
to show him that I can be useful," the maid whined, trying to play on her pity.

"You mean to let him trifle with you?" Brienne asked naively.

"It'd be better than the stableboy. And with this dress he'll be thinkin' I'm a lady."

"But you haven't my permission." Brienne looked at Annie, not trusting her. It had been clear to Brienne from the day she'd arrived at Osterley that Annie had begrudged her her appearance, even as shabby as it was.

"There's no harm done!" the maid exclaimed with mock recrimination. "There!" she said as she placed the gown back in the yellow taffeta room. Then she pulled her own dress back over her linen shift and stays.
" Twill
not happen again, milady. At least I can promise you that!" Annie abruptly left the room without apologizing. She wore a smug smile on her lips, which she was sure Brienne had not noticed. But Brienne had noticed, and she stared after the maid in disbelief, knowing there was something afoot—and that she was somehow going to get the worst of it.

Musing over the reasons for Annie's strange performance, she walked over to her inlaid wardrobe, which was exquisite with marquetry and cross-banded with rosewood. She studied its diminished contents; her dresses were far outnumbered by the pegs fitted in its interior. The polonaise was now too wrinkled to be of any use to her, so she took out
a dark
violet wool and placed it on the bedstead. She combed her long hair at the pierglass of carved and gilded ribbons, husks, and bellflowers,
then
she set its length once again within the confines of the amethyst comb. She pulled the violet dress over her linen shift and stays, noting wryly that her own ladies' maid had had finer stays than she.

Hoping she presented a plain but not impoverished appearance, she nervously ventured from her room. She wasn't sure how to go about approaching the new owner in this awkward situation. She knew that the best she could hope for would be extra time to find a new place to live. She prayed the new owner would be charitable enough to allow that.

She left her yellow bedroom and was making her way down the hall when she heard voices coming from another bedroom. Unconcerned by servants' gossip, she continued down the hall, but then she stopped when she heard one of the women mention her name.

"Lady Brienne Morrow will not
be needin'
those dresses where she'll be going. She's a homeless creature now, and a good candidate for Bedlam, too. I mean to see that the new master gets our point of view. Why, not even her own father will 'ave anything to do with her." Annie's voice sounded clear through the bedroom door as she spoke to another servant.

"Bedlam," Brienne whispered to herself, recalling the horrible stories she had heard about the madhouse—the filth, the
decay, and the punishment that the patients were forced to endure. She smiled grimly. "They
do
think I am mad."

"She 'as the devil in her," Annie continued, unaware that she was being overheard.
"Her hair reeks of
it,
and her strange eyes—When I'm the master's mistress, I'll 'ave 'em come and take her away. You'll see. I've cursed her since the day she came to Osterley. There's not a man's eye that she's not captured."

"But none of the men have even touched Lady Brienne! There's no need to be jealous. Besides, I think you're in over your head, Annie. After all, the new master has just arrived. And already you're thinkin' yourself to be his mistress!
And telling him what to do!"
The other maid, whose voice Brienne recognized, spoke up.

"She's a bewitcher! Even my poor ol' Jack never had a chance with her, and it drove him mad!"

"There's no such thing as witches, Annie."

"You'll not say otherwise, I know that. But I also know the truth, and I'll not be swayed from it. She is mad, with her walks in the rain and her readin' all night long. It will not be hard to convince the new owner."

"Perhaps, but before you can be the new master's mistress, we must make ourselves presentable. I'm sure he'll be calling for all of us sometime tonight. Let's be off." The other maid pulled open the servants' jib door in the back of the
bedroom,
both girls disappeared down the steps that led to their quarters.

At first amused by Annie's presumptuous talk, Brienne was now a bit shaken. Things were bad enough for her, and this gossip about Bedlam angered her. She knew it was unusual for women to read, but not for those of her class. And her ability did not make her crazy. If she was mad for reading until the late hours because she was bored and lonely, then so be it. But feeling rather defeated, she started once again down the hallway, wondering who the new owner would believe—herself or Annie.

*
  
*
  
*

   
The pale blue walls of the grand staircase provided a magnificent backdrop to the Rubens painting on the octagon- shaped ceiling. Brienne stopped and looked up as always, taking in the beauty of the picture, "Apotheosis of a Hero." This and the griffons were the features she truly liked about the house. She sometimes found comfort in her enjoyment of them.

"Oh!" Brienne turned around on the steps, only to find a small man watching her from the bottom of the staircase. He was middle-aged and had kind periwinkle eyes, and he was adorned in the most magnificent embroidered waistcoat she had ever seen. It was canary yellow and had gold thread sewn so heavily into it that one could only see small patches of satin.

"And who might you be, my dear?" The older man bowed to her and showed his leg.

"I—I am Brienne." She stared at the man's rich waistcoat and instantly thought he was the new owner.

"Now, lovely Brienne, you wouldn't be the upstairs maid, would you?" The man took her hand and led her to the landing, seemingly enchanted with her. "I am looking for the earl's daughter and was told I could find her upstairs. You wouldn't know where Lord Oliver's daughter is, now would you?"

She quickly put her hands on her arms to hide the woolen material thinning at the elbows. She was embarrassed that her appearance had proved to be so impoverished that the new owner had mistaken her for Annie.

"I am the earl's daughter," she said solemnly. "I am Brienne Morrow."

Suddenly the gentleman looked at her sharply; a worry line furrowed his brow. "You are the earl's daughter?"

"Yes, but I can explain my appearance. You see, I—" She was not allowed to finish.

"No, I am afraid, my lady, that nothing can explain your appearance." The man gave her a grim smile and looked at her violet eyes and her deep auburn hair. She kept her hands crossed over her arms, wishing desperately that she had had a more appropriate gown to wear. "Well, child, there is nothing we can do about it, now is there?" The man smiled at her in a sad, enigmatic way.

She thought he meant to throw her out, and she started her prepared speech. "As you may already know, sir, I have been residing here. I expect to leave as soon as that can be arranged, but in the meantime I would not find it beneath me to work in your household. My mother taught me all—"

"My household!" the older man exclaimed. "My lady, this house does not belong to me!" He laughed as if she had made a joke.

"No?" Brienne stumbled on her words. "But I thought—I mean, I had guessed—"

"No, I am sorry." The older man shook his head almost with despair. "How I wish it were now. Dearly I do."

"Then where is the owner? I should speak with him about my position." She tried to regain some of her poise after this strange conversation with the little man.

"He is waiting in the gallery."

"I see," she said. "I suppose, since you have come to fetch
me, that
he knows of my situation?" She looked at him sharply.

"Yes, he found out that you were here from your father's solicitor."

"I had hoped to explain it myself." Her shoulders slumped visibly. Now that the owner had had time to think about the situation, she knew it would be hopeless. At best, it would be awkward to have the daughter of the previous owner in the house
..
But without the element of surprise, she knew there was little she could do to convince him to let her stay on. She would now be forced either to seek out her father or to be homeless. She would choose the latter.

"Would you show me to him? I suppose everyone would feel better if this matter were cleared up." She smiled at the kind gentleman and was sorry he had not turned out to be the owner.

"Of course!"
His worried expression returned as he walked down the hallway to the gallery. She noticed that he was biting his lip, and she began to wonder if this new owner were someone she would be better off not meeting.