Cinders & Sapphires (At Somerton) Page 4

  Ada found Georgiana in the music room, halfway through playing a waltz on the piano. Her cheeks were pink, and Ada smiled to see how happy she looked.

  “Oh, Ada!” Georgiana saw her and brought the waltz to a crashing halt that rattled the busts of the great composers in their alcoves. She jumped up from the piano stool. “How wonderful it is to play on something in tune, at last. Have you explored the house?”

  “I thought you might come with me,” Ada replied. “I need some fresh air and I want to see how the gardens look.” And she did not want to sit alone and fret over the proposal. She was in two minds about whether to tell Georgiana about it. Though she longed to confide in her sister, there was too much that she could not tell her. Maybe it was better to say nothing at all. It hurt to think that she now had a secret from Georgiana. Never before had she had something to hide.

  They went down the main stairs. Ada was aware of all her ancestors’ faces looking down at her from the family portraits. How could she put her own dreams before the honor of the Earls of Westlake? And yet…how could she spend a lifetime with Varley, and all the while be remembering stars, and the sea wind, and a boy who moved like a sphinx?

  Desperate to escape her rebellious thoughts, she ran down the last few steps and into the drawing room. She thrust open the French windows and took a grateful breath of the fresh country air. A charming, shady terrace stretched out before her, with ferns in pots and steps that led down to the green lawn.

  “I can’t believe we’re finally home!” Georgiana gave a little skip as they walked along the terrace. Her face shone with happiness. She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, and smiled at her sister. “And did you see that maid in the hall? You must have recognized her! It was Rose. You remember Rose, don’t you? We used to play together all the time. Hasn’t she grown up pretty and elegant-looking? I wonder if I dare ask her if she remembers that we used to play together. Would that be proper?”

  Ada laughed. They walked down the steps of the terrace and onto the lawn.

  “You have to remember that we are not children anymore. Don’t go making her feel uncomfortable.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Georgiana half sighed. “We all have our places and must stick to them.”

  “Yes…like pieces on a chessboard,” Ada said, a little sadly.

  “Some of us are pawns, and some are queens.” Georgiana looked up as crows flew over, cawing. “I wonder how we all look to the birds—perhaps they can’t tell the difference from above.”

  They walked on, Ada wrapped in her own thoughts as she looked out toward the gently curving hills and the shadowy woods. Georgiana broke the silence.

  “I sometimes thought we’d never come home. After Mama died, it seemed impossible to imagine returning without her.” She sighed. “I suppose Papa must be very much in love with Mrs. Templeton.” Her voice had lost its enthusiasm.

  “Of course he is,” said Ada, mirroring her sister’s tone. Her father had met his betrothed on his last trip to England. Ada saw how his face lit up when a lavender-colored envelope appeared with the post at breakfast. Unlike her sister, she had not been surprised when her father announced their engagement.

  “Hmm. You wouldn’t think it, at his age.”

  Ada’s eyes lit up as a real smile broke through.

  “Georgie, you sound like an old lady!”

  “Oh, I adore romance! But…I wish we didn’t have to live with strangers. I can’t bear the idea of it.”

  Ada caught her sister’s eyes. “We have been over this, Georgie. We have no choice but to live with them so we may as well make the best of it.”

  “I know,” Georgiana sighed. “It’s just such a strange homecoming. I never imagined Papa getting married. Least of all to someone with three children of her own. We’ll never have Papa to ourselves.”

  “They might be delightful.”

  “And they might be dreadful.” She went on, “But you have nothing to worry about. Sooner or later one of your many admirers will propose, and then you’ll be a married lady and I’ll be left here, alone, with the Templetons!” Georgiana laughed, and then coughed, putting a handkerchief to her mouth.

  Ada could not bring herself to smile.

  Georgiana looked curiously into her sister’s face, but Ada did not meet her eyes. Her thoughts had returned to Ravi, to her own shame.

  They walked in silence across the lawn, their shoes leaving impressions in the grass, which was silvery with dew.

  “It is a terrible thing the way Papa’s appointment in India ended,” Georgiana said in a low voice. “Oh, Ada, do you think he has really done something wrong? I don’t want to think it, but…”

  Ada shook her head. It was almost a relief to put Ravi out of her mind for a moment. “I don’t believe he has done anything, any of the things they accuse him of. I won’t believe it. It would be too disgraceful. There has to be more to it than there seems.”

  “He has said nothing to you?”

  “No, nothing. But I can only think the best of him.”

  “Of course,” said Georgiana. She sighed. “I do wish someone loveable would fall in love with me, or you, though, and there would be a real wedding.” She half laughed.

  “You sound tired.” Ada looked at her keenly. “You’ve walked too far—and in this cold and damp, you’re not used to it.”

  “Oh, I’m perfectly well!” Georgiana protested, though her face looked drawn. “I can walk as far as the trees, I’m sure.”

  “No, absolutely not. Come on, now, if you want romance you will have to conserve your strength and not do yourself in! Back to the house, I insist.”

  As they turned round, Ada looked up at the great stone bulk of Somerton Court, massive as a pyramid. They had been walking in its shadow all this time, she realized. Dark windows gazed back at her like secret eyes, and she thought she glimpsed a figure at one of them, dressed in the black and white of a maid. But it was gone the next moment she looked.

  “Yes, back to the house,” Georgiana said with a sigh. “We must get used to our new home—and our new family.”

  Dinner was finally over, and the housemaids had filed off to bed in the attic. The footmen were snoring in the hall. Only Mrs. Cliffe was still awake.

  She walked from room to dark room, the gas lamp in her hand. Its light and the faint jingle of keys at her belt marked her path through the house. She paused by each ground floor window to try it. Satisfied that they were fastened, she moved on, toward the main stairs.

  Though there was little light, she did not hesitate. With her eyes closed she could have told you where the outbuildings and the stables lay, she could have told you on which of the four floors and in which of the two hundred rooms she stood. Placed blindfolded in the attic or the cellar, she could have made her way unerringly back to the servants’ passage, taking her clues from the line of the wainscoting, the height of the ceilings above her, the creak of a floorboard, the pattern of echoes. She could feel Somerton around her even when she was not aware of doing so, sensing her place in the house, as familiar and secure as the stays she had put on every day since she was fourteen. For better or worse, her life was here.

  On her way back to the parlor, she paused. A faint sound echoed down the stairs. It was music, the halting notes of a piano.

  Mrs. Cliffe stood, thoughtful. Perhaps she should go upstairs and check that the music room was secure. On the other hand, if the young ladies wished to practice at this time of night, it was not her place to complain.

  She walked on to the parlor. As she entered it, the clock was just striking eleven, and as she set the lamp down, there was a knock at her door.

  Mrs. Cliffe hesitated only a second before turning back and opening the door.

  “Good evening, Lord Westlake,” she said, her voice perfectly calm, despite the fact that there was no good reason for the master of the house to be in the servants’ quarters at this time of night. She stepped back to let him in and, with a glance up and down the
servants’ passage, closed the door behind them. Then she turned to face her master, who stood awkwardly in the center of the room.

  “Won’t you sit down, sir?”

  Lord Westlake grimaced. “Rosaline,” he began. He hesitated. “Mrs. Cliffe. You must be surprised to see me here at this time.”

  Mrs. Cliffe startled herself by wanting to smile. He was the same as always—oblivious. “Not really,” she said.

  “I came to—well, I came to apologize.”

  “Please, do sit down. It wouldn’t be proper for me to sit in your presence unless you do, and my feet are tired.”

  Lord Westlake sat, hurriedly, in one of the easy chairs near the dying fire. Mrs. Cliffe lowered herself into the housekeeper’s chair.

  “I cannot imagine what you have to apologize to me for,” she said.

  “For this marriage, of course. It must be—I know it must be a shock to you.”

  Rosaline stared into the fire. The embers were nearly cold.

  “It has meant a lot of extra work for the staff, but that cannot be helped. It was the fault of the telegraph service.”

  “You know what I mean,” he answered.

  Rosaline considered denying it. But they had known each other too long to be anything other than honest.

  “I think I know what you mean,” she said. There was a dull ache in her feet and she wanted nothing more than to be asleep in bed. It had been a long day. “But I assure you there is no need for apology. I understand the necessity for the marriage.”

  “You better than anyone, I think. The estate accounts—”

  “They are worrying.”

  “They are bloody awful.” He leaned forward, scowling. “William has made a mess of things. I had no idea he was this incapable with money. If this goes on the estate will be bankrupt in a year.”

  Mrs. Cliffe looked at her hands.

  “I understand the late Mr. Templeton’s money was made in finance.”

  Lord Westlake got to his feet abruptly.

  “You must think me a cad. It isn’t like that. Fiona is a dear thing, and I think she has a real affection for me.”

  “I am sure she has.”

  “Besides, the girls need a mother. They will come out this year or next, and I feel I have not done right by them, keeping them in India all this time. I just hope I haven’t spoiled their chances. Ada at least has the looks and the charm to marry really well, with a force like Fiona behind her.” He frowned at the floor, then looked up to her. “Do you think I’ve done the right thing, Rosaline? Tell me honestly, as a friend.”

  Mrs. Cliffe took a moment to find the right words.

  “I think you have done exactly the right thing,” she said. “Somerton cannot be lost because of one man’s foolish spending. I never expected, nor hoped for anything more from you. You know that.” The look of gratitude in his eyes was overwhelming. “But I hope you will be able to do something for Rose.”

  Lord Westlake sat down again. “Yes, Rose,” he murmured, looking at the floor. “I saw her in the hall. You can’t mistake her. She has turned out very well, it seems.”

  “Yes, she has.” Mrs. Cliffe tried not to sound too eager but could not resist leaning forward. “She is intelligent, and good, and hard working. Everyone remarks how well-bred she is. Your Lordship”—she wanted to call him Edward, but she felt it would somehow not be fair—“if you could do something for her, give her a chance of advancement, perhaps an education, something that would help her improve herself—”

  “But how can I do that, Rosaline?” Lord Westlake interrupted. “Can you imagine the questions that would be asked, the comments that would be made if I paid special attention to her? If the gossips didn’t leap to the right conclusion, they would certainly draw an even more unpleasant one—I am sorry, I’ve shocked you.”

  “Not at all,” said Mrs. Cliffe through tight lips. She should have known better than to expect anything from him, she thought. And yet he was right, she knew it. She would never be free from the curse of her one great mistake, though the result meant she could never regret it.

  She got to her feet. If she had learned one thing in her life it was that a servant could not afford love.

  “Well, sir, it is late, and I don’t think we have anything more to discuss. It will be a long day tomorrow—may I ask if there is anything else you wanted to speak of?”

  Lord Westlake shook his head as he got to his feet. As the door opened, he turned suddenly back to Mrs. Cliffe.

  “Rosaline—don’t let us part like this.” There was a tenderness in his voice that nearly brought tears to her eyes. “I very much want to do something for Rose. But it is a delicate matter. Listen: Ada and Georgiana will need a ladies’ maid. How would it be if Rose took that post?”

  Rosaline smiled. It was an advance in status, without doubt. “I know she would give satisfaction, sir.”

  “Then that’s settled. Good night, Mrs. Cliffe.” He bowed, and she dropped a curtsy.

  “Good night, sir.”

  She watched him walk down the corridor, the circle of gaslight going with him. She was exhausted, she realized, heavy in body and mind. I must go to bed, she thought.

  Just before she closed the door, there was a small snick in the darkness, like another door closing. But Mrs. Cliffe was so tired and her mind so full of troubled thoughts that she did not give it any notice.

  “Well, Rose, congratulations!” Cook exclaimed as Rose came nervously into the kitchen the next morning.

  “Thank you!” Rose still wasn’t sure if she was more frightened or more excited by the news of her promotion. “I just hope I can do it.”

  “’Course you can,” Mary said, patting her on the arm. “You’ve always done our hair and our dresses when we go out. Even Lady Edith’s maid says how nice we look when you’ve been at work. And she’s French!”

  “Now you’ll have a room to yourself, you lucky thing,” Martha sniffed. “Well, I wish I had a mother to put in a good word for me, that’s all.”

  “Martha!” Cook rounded on her. “Rose deserves her new post and you know it.”

  The bell jangled in the passage.

  “That’s the hall. You’ll be wanted to help Miss Ward decorate the place. Off you go, both of you!”

  Rose and Annie ran up the servants’ stairs and came out into the hall. Miss Ward was standing on a chair, pinning up wreaths of roses and honeysuckle. The hall smelled sweetly of flowers.

  “Rose!” Miss Ward stepped down from the chair and came toward her, smiling. “I’m so delighted. I’ve heard of your promotion.”

  She took Rose’s hands and pressed them warmly. Rose blushed and smiled, but Miss Ward’s expression changed and she looked down at Rose’s hands. “Oh dear, these are housemaid’s hands, aren’t they? I don’t know how the young ladies will feel about that.”

  Rose snatched her hands back. They were red and rough, as all the housemaids’ hands were. She had never thought of it before. “Do you think they will mind?” she said, frightened. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

  “Oh, nonsense, Rose, your hands are fine, and you’ll wear gloves anyway,” Annie said, giving Miss Ward a look of annoyance.

  “Annie, you mustn’t call her Rose now that she’s been promoted,” Miss Ward said sweetly. “You must call her Miss Cliffe, just as you call me Miss Ward. Rose, you may call me Stella.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—” said Rose, horrified.

  “No, she’s right,” Annie said, though she looked angry. “There’s rules, aren’t there, and you’re a ladies’ maid now.”

  “But I…” Rose trailed off, realizing it would do no good.

  They climbed onto chairs and worked silently to pin the wreaths of flowers along and over the arch of the hallway. At the other end, Mary ran in and out, carrying plants from the hothouses to decorate the orangery, where the wedding ceremony was to be performed. Footmen came in and out, carrying chairs to set in rows for the guests, and an oak lectern for the
priest to read from.

  “Why aren’t they getting married in church?” Annie asked, pinning up a garland of white roses and pink ribbons.

  “It’s not done for a second marriage,” Stella replied.

  “Why not?”

  “It just isn’t.” She looked down her nose at Annie. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand the etiquette.”

  Rose caught Annie’s eye and made a wry face. Then Annie’s expression changed.

  “And who’s he?”

  Rose followed her gaze. James and Roderick were not alone; helping them set up the chairs was a handsome young man with black curly hair. When he spoke to James, Rose was struck by his educated accent.

  “Oh, that must be Mr. Templeton’s valet,” she said, remembering that her mother had mentioned him to her. “Oliver Campbell, I think his name is.”

  “He’s ever so elegant,” Annie said, smoothing her hair back as if unconsciously. “Maybe I should go over and introduce myself.”

  “If you want to make a fool of yourself, go ahead,” said Stella with a smile that Rose found hard to make out.

  “You’d better not, Annie,” she said. “Think how cross Mrs. Cliffe would be.” Hoping to take Annie’s mind off the handsome new arrival, she jumped down from her chair and looked up at the wreaths. The hall now looked like a bower of flowers.

  “Doesn’t it look beautiful?” she said, feeling proud of their work.

  Annie and Stella climbed down, and Rose could tell that, even though they didn’t say much, they were pleased.

  As they paused with satisfaction over their work, there was a rumble and a roar that came closer and closer.

  “They’re here!” James hissed across the room. “Make yourselves scarce!”