The Emerald Duchess (17 page)

Who
was
she? What was her name? Where did she come from? Was there someone, somewhere, who loved her? Someone who might even now be frantic with fear and concern for her?

And even though she had spoken those brave words to the Rutherfords about leaving the hall, how could she, in this condition? Where would she go? What could she do, not knowing who she was? There had been very little money in her reticule, and even if she had more banked somewhere, how could she claim it?

She felt as if she were lost in a deep, enveloping fog that swirled around her, now parting a little as if to tantalize her, now thickening again into a heavy white curtain that mocked her efforts to fight her way clear of it. Was she always to be lost, never to know who she was and where she belonged? It was almost as if she did not exist—as if she were not really a person at all, but only a nameless shade. She wondered if this was the onset of insanity and shivered in fright. Then she shook her head, determined to put such terrifying thoughts from her mind before she succumbed to panic and hysteria. Wandering over to the tall mullioned windows, she gazed outside. How wonderful it would be to go out tomorrow, she thought. And how kind the Misses Rutherford were to her, a complete stranger. Of course, she admitted to herself as she leaned against the pane, they were a little odd. But then, lots of old ladies have their little eccentricities. At least they do not keep a hundred cats, and if they feel they need so many maids, who am I to say them nay? I do not even know how big the hall is. Perhaps it is a huge old pile, and an army of women is necessary to keep it up.

But the next day when she came slowly down the stairs between the two sisters, followed by Agnes carrying a blanket and some pillows, she saw that Rutherford Hall, although a pleasant manor, was only of ordinary size. It was built of rough gray stone, and all the windows were arched and narrow with tiny panes, so she suspected it was of a great age. The stone hall that they were traversing was decorated with old family portraits, and there was very little furniture to be seen except a few tall chairs and one massive polished table that held a large bouquet of wild flowers.

Emily paused for a moment when they reached the front door, feeling a little dizzy from her exertions, but when that passed, she moved forward between her escorts, both of whom were carefully supporting her. With Miss Hortense clucking encouragement, they went down a shallow set of stone steps to the gravel drive and then made their way over the lawn to a long chair set under a huge old elm that looked at least as ancient as the hall.

When Emily had been settled in the chair, she looked up to see Miss Hortense gasping a little, her rosy face even redder from her efforts, and she said contritely, “I am so sorry, Miss Hortense, for I see my weight was too much for you. You should have called for a groom or one of the footmen
...”
Agnes, busy arranging pillows at her back, moaned out loud, and Miss Hortense exclaimed, “Oh, no, you must not! Sister, Sister, come back! She did not mean to say it!”

But Miss Horatia was running back to the hall as fast as she could go, her black skirts swinging with the rush of her passage, and she did not turn her head.

“Oh, dearie me,” Miss Hortense said, wringing her hands as she sank into another lawn chair. “She will be distressed for hours. Go after her, Agnes, and stay with her until she is calm.”

The maid bobbed a curtsy and went away, and Emily asked, “But what did I say? I do not understand.”

Miss Hortense sighed. “Of course you do not understand, dearie, and I should have warned you I know, but you see, we never mention
them
here at the hall.”

“
Them
?”
Emily asked.

Miss Hortense refused to look at her. “Yes,
them
,”
she whispered.
“
Men
!”

“Why ever not?” Emily asked in a normal tone of voice.

Miss Hortense looked around, making shushing motions with her little fat hands. “Sister hates
them,
she always has. I do not really know why, and since she refuses to speak of
them,
I cannot ask. She never used to be quite so bad, but after my father died, she declared he was the last man whose name would ever pass her lips, and the last one she would ever speak to. That is why we have no footmen or grooms or a butler. The maids do it all.”

Emily looked around her in bewilderment. Down at the bottom of the garden near a small stream, two elderly women with sunbonnets and aprons, their skirts looped up out of the way, were busy scything the grass, and she could see three more kneeling in the kitchen garden at the side of the hall. The stone walls and the pointed windows of the hall, as well as all the women servants, suddenly reminded her of a convent.

“But, my dear Miss Hortense, how unfair to you,” she said after a moment. “Did
you
never wish to marry? There must have been a man in your life at one time?”

The old lady blushed and simpered. “Well, yes, there was, but
he
was part of the problem, you see. Horatia said he was not worthy of me and sent him away.” At Emily’s murmur of sympathy Hortense added quickly, “You must not think I minded too much, dearie. Now that
I
think of it, he
wasn
’
t
worthy of me. But, of course, there was no chance to go to town for the Season, not with Horatia feeling the way she did, and somehow the years slipped away. You must not be sorry for me, for I declare I have been happy here with my dear sister. Perhaps it is true that there are some women who are happier without
them
.”

“So that is why you have so many maids,” Emily remarked, trying to hide how appalled she was at the life Miss Hortense had led.

“Not only because of the work,” Miss Hortense replied. She seemed eager to talk, now the secret was out and her sister had left them. “Horatia cannot bear to see a woman out of work or in need, for she is sure it is all some of
their
doing when a woman is placed in such a predicament. And, of course, she chooses the older ones because it is so much safer.”

“Safer?”

“The younger women want some of
them
around, and when they discover sister’s hatred for the sex, they run off to be with
them.
Older maids are not so flighty; they have more sense.”

Emily stifled a giggle. “No wonder you were so upset when I mentioned the possibility of a Mr. Wiggins yesterday,” she said. “I will be more careful from now on, for I would not distress Miss Rutherford for the world.”

Miss Hortense beamed and patted her hand. “I knew I could rely on you to understand. And you will not mention the fact that there are only female portraits in the hall, will you? Horatia even had the suits of armor that used to stand by the stairwell thrown away.”

Emily nodded her agreement, determined to enter into the spirit of things. “So that is why Miss Horatia never speaks to the doctor or is present when he comes to see me. It is all clear to me now that you have explained it, Miss Hortense.”

“I will be so glad when his visits cease, for Horatia frets so when he is in the house. And then she sulks for hours, after setting the maids to scrub everything he might have touched. But never mind, dearie, as soon as you are able, I will drive you into Brighton to see the doctor, and then Horatia can be comfortable.”

She sighed and added shyly, “No doubt this all explains why the dear vicar has not come to call? We never go to church because then Horatia would have to listen to
him
giving the sermon. I do regret it, and I do so worry about my poor sister’s fate; it is my primary concern.”

Her cheerful face was creased in a frown, and Emily, who thought she had every reason to be concerned about such an unbalanced relative, asked her why it was such a particular worry.

“Well, dearie, what ever is going to happen when she gets to heaven? She has not spoken to a man for thirty years, and how can I be sure I will be by her side to help her?” At Emily’s confused expression, she added, “You see,
I
don’t think Saint Peter will like it if she turns her back on him and refuses to speak to him; why, he might even send her to that other place.”

She looked so distressed that Emily swallowed the laughter that was threatening to bubble over and disgrace her. “Perhaps, being an angel, it will be different?” she managed to suggest, a little diffidently, and had the pleasure of seeing Miss Hortense’s face brighten at the thought. Angels, after all, were not really one of the earthly
them.

While Emily was recovering in the country, it was not to be supposed that the duke had been idle. When he discovered that Mrs. Wiggins had not returned to the employment agency where he had traced her, and that there was no sign of her at any of the others in London in the days that followed, he turned his efforts in another direction and drove his curricle down to Wantage.

He was received courteously by Lord Wyndham, who, after learning the purpose of his visit, was glad that his wife’s absence on afternoon calls prevented her from joining them in the interview. The two men spent an uncomfortable half-hour together, for although the duke was scrupulously polite, Lord Wyndham was left in no doubt as to how he was regarded by the younger man, and in what light the duke considered a family who would not only abandon one of its young female members so callously, but allow her to go into service as well. In vain, Lord Wyndham pointed out that he had had no notion that was her purpose; in vain he expressed his wish to shelter her under his wing again. He was denied in cold, terse words and informed that the protection of Miss Emily Margaret Wyndham would in the future be the sole responsibility of the Duke of Wrotherham, and that this protection would take the form of marrying her as soon as he could locate her once again.

Since Lord Wyndham had no idea where his niece might be, the interview was quickly terminated. As the duke drove away, he was not overly disappointed, for he had never expected Emily to return meekly to her family. He knew her pride. And, he thought as he whipped up his chestnuts and settled them onto the London road, I admit that my journey here was as much for my satisfaction as to discover any hint of her whereabouts. It had done him a world of good to let Lord Wyndham learn of his contempt, and the expression of stunned disbelief and chagrin on the older man’s face when he announced his wedding plans had been worth every tiresome mile.

He spent the return journey planning what he would do next. Somehow he did not think that Emily was still in town. He had no real reason for this supposition; it was more a feeling that if she were so close to him, he could not help but be aware of it. He remembered that Captain Quentin’s sister lived in London, and on reaching Wrotherham House wrote to ask if he might call on her. He had to wait for a week, for Miss Arabella had gone out of town, and he was disappointed when he was finally admitted to her drawing room to find that she was of little help.

Miss Quentin, trying not to raise her eyebrows at the duke’s questions, admitted she had no idea where Miss Nelson might be found, although she did suggest that the duke call on the Quentins’ butler and housekeeper at Number Twelve Charles Street, Mayfair.

“Yes, Miss Nelson was very big with the Goodwells, as I recall,” she said with a sniff. “Perhaps they might know where she is. You say my brother was making plans to return to England, your Grace? I wonder I have not heard from him.”

The duke was about to mention that the Quentins intended to go directly to the captain’s home at Burton-Latimer, but something about Miss Arabella Quentin stayed his tongue. She seemed to be laboring under a heavy cloud of pique, as if she had been misused, and he thought Tony would recover faster with only his wife to care for him. No trace of his thoughts was visible as he thanked the lady and took his leave of her sour face and air of cold authority, however.

The Goodwells, although flustered by the attentions of a duke, could not help him either, for Miss Nelson had not called on them since her return to town.

“Such a sweet young maid,” Mrs. Goodwell mourned. “I am sorry to learn she has left the Quentins’ service, for she did Miss Alicia a world of good.”

“You have no idea where she came from prior to her being engaged here?” the duke asked next.

The old butler screwed up his face in thought. “I seem to remember that she said she had been in Yorkshire, your Grace, but she did not mention the name of the family.”

Both elderly retainers were agog to know why it was so important for a duke to find a mere lady’s maid, but of course they could not inquire, and the duke certainly did not bother to explain.

As he was taking his leave, Mrs. Goodwell came back into the hall from the kitchen, where she had retired when she could be of no further assistance. “Pardon me, your Grace! Perhaps it will not mean anything, but it seems to me that Miss Nelson was staying at Bradley’s Hotel in Davies Street before she moved in here.”

“Of course!” her husband agreed. “I remember now that the boy who brought her luggage wore their uniform. Does that help, your Grace?”

Charles assured them solemnly that it might be very good news, but he had a hard time returning their smiles. What if she had stayed at Bradley’s so many months ago? How did that help him?