The Downstairs Maid (20 page)

‘I know.’ Lizzie sighed and tucked her arm through his. ‘I don’t really care. I’m happy here with you, but I shall hate it when you go to Oxford in the autumn.’

‘Amy will be married by then. Granny may give Mother enough money to take you to London for a while – theatres and museums but you won’t be able to go to all the balls, of course. You’d need to open the house, buy loads of clothes and entertain lavishly for that – and unless Granny stumps up it won’t happen.’

‘I don’t really mind about the balls,’ Lizzie said not quite truthfully. ‘It’s just that you will be gone and Amy – and I’ll be here alone with Mother and Granny.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Don’t say I’ll still have Jonathan because he’s never around. When he isn’t working he’s courting that awful …’ she stopped and blushed. ‘Now
I’m
being horrid. Mabel Saunders is a perfectly pleasant girl …’

‘But very boring and plain,’ Nicolas said, his eyes alight with mockery. ‘I’ll say it for you. Poor old Jonathan doesn’t have much choice, you know. Father has nothing to give him and Granny keeps him on a string. He has no idea where she intends to leave her money or even how much there is of it, and he needs to marry money just in case. Mabel’s father is in manufacturing and rolling in the stuff.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Lizzie said. ‘Granny likes to keep Jonathan waiting – she keeps us all hanging on – but it’s her money. We shouldn’t expect that she will leave it to us or give us anything more than she does already. She does have other relatives …’

‘Distant cousins who rarely visit. If she made it clear that Jonathan was to inherit Priorsfield Manor he could ditch the plain Jane and marry where his heart is.’

‘Is he in love with someone?’

‘Not to my knowledge, but he might be had he the chance,’ Nicolas said. ‘We’re a sorry lot, Lizzie. You are the best of us. If Granny had any sense she would leave the estate to you.’

‘I should share it with the rest of you if she did,’ Lizzie said. She shivered as a cool wind lifted her hair and blew it across her eyes. A fine mist was beginning to settle over the lawns; it sometimes came rolling in over the flat landscape and marooned them, cutting the house off from its surroundings. ‘You don’t think she will? I should hate anyone to think I sit with her in the hope of it. She makes me laugh – and underneath she isn’t as hard as she makes out. Anyway, I like her!’

‘That is why she should leave the money to you,’ Nicolas said and then laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it, love. Lady Prior isn’t going anywhere for a long time yet.’

‘Thank goodness,’ Lizzie said. ‘I don’t want her to die.’

Nicolas raised his brows. ‘You must be one of the few,’ he murmured. ‘I couldn’t care less what she does with the money but I feel sorry for Ma sometimes.’

Lizzie nodded. When Nicolas spoke of their mother in those terms she knew he was privy to more than she was aware of. Nicolas was their mother’s favourite and she told him things she told no one else.

‘Mother will miss you when you go to college.’

‘We have the rest of the summer to get through first and Lord knows what will happen before the autumn.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, my sweet little innocent, that before it’s time for me to go up to Oxford we may have a war on our hands. The papers are full of nothing but the trouble in Europe and the Balkans. Don’t you ever read them?’

‘Only the society pages. Mother never gives me the rest of the paper. She says it isn’t suitable reading for a girl of my age.’

‘That woman has no more sense than …’ Nicolas broke off with a strangled oath. ‘I love her dearly, you know that – but we shall all have to face it if it comes, Lizzie. I shan’t ignore the call to arms if it happens. Jonathan may have to stay here for the sake of the estate but I wouldn’t if I were him.’

‘A war …’ Lizzie stared. She vaguely recalled hearing her father mention something but she’d thought it would happen in Europe and would not involve anyone she knew. ‘You wouldn’t have to fight, Nicolas?’

They had entered the house, his boots clattering on the shining marble tiles in the hall, from which soared a magnificent mahogany staircase, beautifully carved with swags and vine leaves. It was the relic of an ancient age and she thought it beautiful, as was the rest of the house to her eyes. There might be too much old-fashioned Victorian clutter, which could be put away in the attics, but the house belonged to an earlier, elegant era and she adored it.

‘Wouldn’t I?’ He looked at her oddly. ‘I would do what I had to do, Lizzie – as we all must in such times. You wouldn’t want me to be called a coward?’

‘No – I don’t know. I shouldn’t want you to go away and perhaps …’

She suddenly felt very sick and her head was filled with pictures that made her feel faint. The idea of men being wounded and dying was so new and awful to her that she could not bear it.

‘Don’t please,’ she begged, holding his arm tighter. ‘Please don’t talk about it any more …’

Lizzie seized the chance to escape. She had been longing to read her book all morning but her mother hadn’t given her a chance. Lady Barton complained of a headache but rather than lie down on her bed she continued to sit in her parlour and complain about everything. If her Mama was truly unwell Lizzie would have done everything to help ease her pain, but she knew it was just another attack of nerves, brought on by an argument with Lady Prior earlier that day.

‘Elizabeth, spare me a moment if you will.’

Lizzie checked and turned as she heard her grandmother’s voice. Lady Prior had left her apartments and was on her way down to the ground floor. Smothering a sigh, Lizzie went to her and offered her arm. Lady Prior took it and leaned on her heavily. Although in good health, she walked badly and suffered the pain of arthritis in her legs and feet, though she said little about it.

‘Where is your Mama?’

‘In her parlour. She has one of her headaches, Granny.’

‘My fault I dare say. We had an argument this morning. Helen wanted me to pay for the wedding, which is quite ridiculous when Sir Arthur is very willing to cover all the costs. I shall give Amy a good present and I’ve paid for her trousseau – why should I do more? It’s your father’s responsibility but he hasn’t the funds, of course.’

‘Sir Arthur wouldn’t want you to pay, Granny. He is giving Amy the wedding she wants because he loves her.’

‘And what do you think of all this then?’

‘What do you mean?’ Lizzie avoided her searching gaze. Her grandmother had the most searching eyes of anyone she knew, as if they could see into one’s soul. Her nose was long and thin, her mouth almost colourless, as was her skin these days. When Lizzie kissed her, her cheek felt papery and too soft. She was dressed that morning in a dark skirt and a high-necked lace blouse with a gold and diamond brooch pinned at the throat, her white hair drawn back into a knot at her nape. ‘It has nothing to do with me.’

‘You’re in love with him, aren’t you?’ Lady Prior laid a blue-veined hand on her arm; her diamond rings were loose and they swivelled on fingers made thin by age but would not come over her swollen knuckles.

‘I … like him,’ Lizzie admitted, each word causing her exquisite pain. ‘But he loves Amy. Even if she’d turned him down he wouldn’t have looked at me.’

‘He isn’t good enough for you,’ Lady Prior said. ‘His father was in trade – made a fortune and sent his son to Eton to learn to be a gentleman. I want at least a fourth or fifth generation lord for you, my love.’

‘Granny!’ Lizzie looked at her, half in indignation, half in amusement. ‘Do my feelings come into this at all?’

‘Yes, of course, you silly child. I think nothing beneath the rank of lord good enough for you, but I want only your happiness. You and Nicolas are different from Amy and Jonathan. You feel more. Your sister thinks only of herself – and Jonathan schemes to get what he wants. That girl he is engaged to is good enough for him even if her father is in trade. Jonathan thinks like a Cit so he may as well marry the daughter of one.’

Lizzie frowned, because to call someone a Cit, or a tradesman, was derogatory and an insult in her grandmother’s day.

‘Granny, you are being unfair. Jonathan works so hard for the estate. He is a good manager, you know he is.’

‘Yes, I’ll give him that,’ the old lady agreed and smiled at Lizzie. ‘If he didn’t make it so obvious that he was waiting for me to die and leave him my money I might like him more.’

‘I’m sure he doesn’t want you to die. He just wants … a little security. I suppose as the eldest he would have inherited Father’s estate.’

‘If there was anything to inherit.’ Lady Prior snorted her disgust. ‘If he had anything about him he would tell me to go to hell and make his own way in the world. You don’t see Nicolas relying on my money.’

‘Father is paying for him to go up to Oxford – but he does have a small independence from Uncle Maurice. Uncle Maurice was always fond of Nicolas and I suppose he thought Jonathan would inherit the Barton estate. Papa still had some money when his youngest brother died so prematurely.’

‘As he would still if he hadn’t thrown his inheritance away. Barton was a fool but he’s a gentleman and he puts up with your mother without complaint – and I respect him for that. Helen has no more idea of how to keep a man happy in bed than a mouse. Most men in his position would have taken a string of mistresses but Barton never did.’

‘Granny!’ Lizzie was shocked. ‘Should you be saying these things to me?’

‘You’re old enough to know what’s what,’ Lady Prior asserted. ‘If your mother had any sense she would have brought you out before now.’ The old lady frowned as Lizzie was silent. ‘You don’t really imagine it’s for lack of funds? As if I would deny you anything. You’ve always been my favourite – you and Nicolas. Helen makes out it’s my fault when she knows she has only to ask, but she won’t. She wanted your sister married first. Probably thinks you wouldn’t stand a chance if Amy was still on the market, but she’s wrong – and Sir Arthur is a fool in my opinion. He chose the wrong sister.’

‘You mustn’t say things like that,’ Lizzie said. ‘May I truly have a proper season?’

‘Of course – if Helen asks.’ Lady Prior snorted. ‘You’ll go another year yet. If that peahen I gave birth to doesn’t come to her senses I’ll arrange it myself – but although you’re eighteen you’re too young yet. I should hate my little Lizzie to be pushed into marriage too soon. It’s just a game I play with your mother, child. All I have is for you and the others, but I’m damned if I will let Helen have all her own way. This is my home and she’ll play by my rules if she wants to live here.’

‘You are a wicked old thing, aren’t you? Poor Mama is terrified of you, don’t you know that?’

‘More fool her then. Had she stood up to me more we should have been on better terms. You’re not afraid of me and nor is Nicolas. To give him his due, your father tells me what he thinks to my face, though only in private. He was far too good for Helen. She never appreciated what she had so she lost it.’

‘I think your bark is worse than your bite. I’m glad you’re here, Granny. I’m going to miss Nicolas when he goes up to Oxford and Amy too.’

‘We shall have a ball for Amy before she marries,’ Lady Prior said. ‘It might be the last one I give here – unless I live long enough to see you wed.’

‘You’ll live to be a hundred. You know you will.’

The long case clock in the drawing room was striking the hour. In the hall they passed a footman who smiled at Lizzie and nodded respectfully to his employer as he opened a door for them to pass through. Her grandmother’s parlour had a faded look, the dark green curtains long past their best, the armchairs worn and sagging but comfortable. Here the floors were of wood boards polished dark by the ages and covered by rich rugs in reds and blues on a cream background. The furniture was mostly high Victorian, bought when Lady Prior was a bride, though here and there something from a much earlier century had crept in – like the Carolean chair with a carved splat, which stood in the corner next to a huge aspidistra in a salt-glazed jardinière.

‘Perhaps. My heart seems strong enough – according to that fool Doctor Morris, but the pain is hard to bear, Lizzie. He says I should take laudanum but I can’t abide the stuff. Rots the mind and saps the will. I’ll deal with the pain as long as I can but it may become unbearable even for me.’

‘I’m sorry you’re in pain.’

‘Don’t be, girl. I’m past seventy and I’ve had my life. All I ask is that you are happy – you and Nicolas. You are the ones I care for, though I know my duty to the others, so don’t look like that.’

‘Do you think Nicolas is happy?’

‘Few of us are truly happy. Nicolas is too sensitive for his own good. He has a place inside himself that he retreats to and none of us can follow him there – but it’s just his nature. I think he isn’t unhappy and that may be all we can ask for that brother of yours.’

‘I try to understand him but I don’t.’

‘Nicolas will seek you out when he wants you, my love.’

‘Yes, I know.’

As the old lady settled herself by the fire, which was lit every day regardless of the weather outside, Lizzie drew up her chair. The pine logs crackled and spat, casting a pleasant aroma into the room and giving off enough warmth to make it pleasant. She held up her book so that her grandmother could see.

‘Shall I read to you, Granny? It’s one of your favourites – Miss Austen’s
Pride and Prejudice
.’

‘Ah yes, I always enjoy hearing you read and that piece of nonsense is a favourite. Where are you up to this time?’

‘I’ve just reached the part where she overhears Darcy saying that there are no young ladies he would care to dance with.’

Lady Prior laughed. ‘One of the best bits in my opinion. Read to me for a while and then we shall tear his character apart to our hearts’ content …’

Lizzie saw Amy run from Mama’s parlour in tears as she was coming back from her walk. After leaving her grandmother, she’d managed to escape for an hour or so, walking across the fields with the wind in her hair. The sun had come out from behind the clouds even though it wasn’t truly a summer day, because the breeze was chilly. She’d been thinking about the future, about Amy’s wedding, and how she was going to get through all the fuss before it happened. Since her engagement three weeks earlier, Amy had been having masses of fittings for her clothes, and Lizzie had been fitted for the gown she would wear as a bridesmaid. Amy had chosen green silk, which suited Lizzie well and they’d sort of made up their quarrel.