Fenella J Miller (9 page)

“Yes, my lady. What time do you wish them to be up tomorrow?”

“Good heavens! Let them sleep as long as they want. When they have breakfasted and bathed, bring them down to me. I expect I shall be downstairs with the housekeeper.”

As promised, Eleanor went straight to her husband’s apartment to enquire how he did. Foster was waiting to speak to her. His serious expression made her stomach lurch.

“Tell me, he is not worse?”

“No, my lady, Lord Bentley is sleeping comfortably. There is something I feel you ought to know. That appalling Brooks woman left, but took the housekeeper with her. They have long been cronies and feathering their own nests and no one was strong enough to stop it.”

“No doubt we shall manage until I can appoint new staff. Unemployment is rife in the countryside, and with the price of corn so high people are starving. I will have no difficulty replacing those that have left or in appointing the extra servants a house of this size so desperately needs.”

Too much had happened in these past twenty four hours. She supposed it was her duty to go down and arrange for someone to take over the housekeeper’s duties but her feet refused to obey her command.

“If you will allow me, my lady, I should be happy to arrange things downstairs.”

“Would you? Foster, I’m in your debt. But you must not leave Lord Bentley unattended.”

“No fear of that, madam. Sam’s there now; he seems to enjoy being an inside man instead of a groom.”

“In which case, I shall retire to my apartment. Today has been tiring. I shall see you in the morning. Remember, if Lord Bentley takes a turn for the worse you must rouse me immediately.”

Her apartment was adjacent to her husband’s. The rooms were on the south of the house looking down the drive. Her delightful sitting-room was in the turret and one tall mullioned window faced south, the other west. Sally was waiting for her.

“My lady, I have your clothes all sponged and pressed and there’s a bath drawn for you in the dressing room.”

“Has it been there long?”

“No, one of the maids came up to tell me you were on your way back. The water’s lovely and hot.”

Eleanor could barely keep our eyes open but the thought of luxuriating in a hot bath appealed to her. She followed her abigail into her bedchamber, barely noticing the furniture or decorations in her hurry to reach her dressing room.

“What a lovely room. Sally, make sure the communicating door is locked.”

“I heard Mr Foster turning the key soon after his lordship was there.”

Sinking into the rose-scented water Eleanor began to relax. She closed her eyes, barely listening to Sally’s chatter until the girl mentioned the departure of the housekeeper and the nanny. “What was that you said, Sally?”

“Mrs Jones and Nanny Brooks were that angry. They were saying all sorts of dreadful things. I reckon it was all nonsense, my lady. How could those two cause you any harm?”

“They couldn’t, of course. Lord Bentley will be back on his feet by the end of the week and I’m sure will deal with the matter himself.”

At Bridgeton Abbey, Edward had regained control and ceased hurling missiles through the window. Lady Haverstock and her friend had long since vanished, no doubt to complain about his loss of temper. To have been defied by first a sister and then a wife was almost too much for a man to bear.

How did the information that Eleanor had not run away with Bentley but was in his employ change things?

His shoulders began to unknot. In the eyes of Society, it would make no difference why she had gone. She had left unchaperoned. He would help the rumours on their way, and within the week she would be received nowhere.

He scowled. Not having Eleanor in his household to take care of the children was a damn nuisance but at least the spectre of her marrying and her husband demanding her inheritance had gone forever. He needed a drink. His silver hip flask was empty and the decanter on the sideboard was no longer filled each morning.

He supposed he must apologize for scaring his hostess. He would find her and smooth matters over and then seek masculine company in the billiard room. Where would the ladies be at this time? He glanced at the mantel clock. They would be taking tea somewhere; whilst the weather was so clement they had been gathering under an oak tree on the far side of the abbey. He would try there first. As he was descending the stairs female voices drifted up to him from the hall below.

“It is so romantic! Lady Eleanor’s run away to be governess for a handsome lord. She was always such a pretty girl in her youth. Away from her brother’s household, she will blossom once again.”

He waited to hear what the response would be.

“I am sure she will, my dear, and then that poor man will fall in love with her and there will be a happy ending for them both. She will become the second wife of Lord Bentley.”

Marry him? Surely not? The man had attempted to despoil her, so why…

His head began to pound. Bentley was an honourable man; he would wish to put matters right. What better than to have Eleanor under his roof where he could charm her into agreeing to become his wife?

Never! He would not let this happen. He would kill his sister before he let anyone get their hands on her trust fund.

Eleanor was unable to see her husband. Twice a day she visited his apartment and spoke to his manservant, each time to be reassured that he was recovering well. Doctor Stansted made a point of seeking her out on one occasion to say Bentley would be allowed to rise from his bed the following day.

She had been alone for four days. The time had been spent exploring the house and grounds; the more she got to know Blakely Hall, the better she liked it. All three children were adorable and she loved them already. However, her happiness was tainted by the fact that the welfare of Bentley’s children had been at the expense of her niece and nephews.

Despite the loss of the housekeeper everything was running smoothly although most of the house remained under holland covers. The nursery floor and the two apartments occupied by herself and her husband were in use upstairs, and the drawing-room and small dining room downstairs. Until they had more staff, it would be impossible to bring the other rooms into use.

Foster had this matter in hand. Sydney, the butler, had a niece ideally suited for the housekeeper’s position. The woman, a Mrs. Nayland, was due to arrive later that day.

Although Bentley had told her she was to have free rein in the house, she was reluctant to change things whilst he was indisposed. Sydney had temporarily taken over the duties of the housekeeper; thankfully the remaining members of staff were happy the two pernicious women had left.

Her priority was to replenish the children’s wardrobe. Most of the clothes they had were either unsuitable or too small. Apparently, Brooks had been pocketing the money allocated for this purpose. The village seamstress was busy making their new clothes. When these were finished, she would commission a selection of gowns for herself. Her pink silk was the only garment suitable for somewhere as grand as her new home. Sally discovered several trunks of clothes hidden away at the back of the enormous closet in the dressing room.

“Look, my lady, I’m sure between us we could alter these to fit. They aren’t the latest fashion, but it would be possible to bring them up to date.”

“I don’t know, Sally. These garments must have belonged to Lord Bentley’s first wife. I don’t think I should use them without his permission.”

Sally was about to close the trunk when Eleanor reconsidered. “However, in my experience, to gentlemen one outfit is very much like another. If we raise the waist line, and widen the skirt, add a few frills and furbelows, I doubt these would be recognizable to anyone.”

The two trunks were dragged out and the contents spilled in a kaleidoscope of colour across the
chaise-longue
and carpet. There were silks, muslins and Indian cottons in every shade imaginable. Lady Bentley must have been a free spirit to wear such flamboyant colours. Gossip from below stairs told Eleanor that the first Lady Bentley had been the love of his life. She found it difficult to imagine Bentley in love.

Sally held up a particularly pretty muslin that had a matching shawl and spencer. “My lady, if I use the shawl, I can insert it into the skirt to make it wider. I can unpick the jacket to add a rouleau around the hem.” She pointed to the fashion plate in
La Belle Assemble
.

Eleanor picked up the periodical and looked more closely. The magazine should rightfully have been returned to her sister-in-law, but she was glad she had forgotten to do so.

“Let me look. I think the gown could be altered and look just like this picture. It will then be unrecognizable.” Appearing in a dead woman’s garments might be considered inappropriate by the staff, but more importantly, by her husband.

“I shall get on to it right away, my lady. I was only taken on by Lady Haverstock because of my skills with the needle. I spent half my time at Bridgeton Abbey doing mending, thank goodness. Scrubbing floors was hard work.”

Eleanor rummaged through the clothes and removed the ones which needed the least alteration. She selected two afternoon dresses, a riding habit, a promenade dress, and an evening gown. One of them must be tried on before Sally began her alterations.

She selected the Indian cotton. The gown was the right length but hung disastrously at both front and back.

“Oh dear, Sally, I am far too thin to wear these gowns.”

“That makes no never mind, my lady. I can take them in. Mind, I won’t cut out all the slack, we might need to let them out again with all this good food we’re being served. I’m sure you will soon…” Her voice trailed away.

“I know—I do need to gain weight. However, my appetite has not yet returned. No doubt, when the good Lord is ready, I shall regain my normal shape. You must do the best you can to make these fit.”

Leaving Sally to begin the sewing, Eleanor made her way to the Long Gallery, where the library was situated; she had asked the children to meet her there after breakfast. They had never had the opportunity to go in and look at the thousands of leather bound books. This room stretched the width of the house, one side being lined with bookshelves, the other with windows overlooking the drive. She had asked the two footmen to dust the shelves and remove the holland covers from the furniture so that she could take her charges in.

“Mama, I didn’t know there were so many books in the whole world,” Lucy exclaimed.

“I can’t reach all the way up, and Alexander will have to take books from the bottom shelf.”

“That’s very true, Elizabeth. Shall we start at this end, by the door?”

The children returned to the nursery with several books, eager to show their trophies to the nursemaids. Eleanor had found an illustrated journal, written by an ancestor of Lord Bentley. The more she knew about her husband the better. According to the latest report, he would be rising from his sick bed any day now.

The children were transformed, Alexander especially so. With his hair cut short and dressed as a boy, she doubted his father would recognize him. She hoped her new wardrobe would have a similar effect.

A few days later the Indian cotton dress was ready; Sally had done an excellent job for it fitted perfectly. Eleanor gazed at her reflection.”

“I cannot believe what a difference a fresh gown makes, Sally. I scarcely know myself as the same person who arrived here a short while ago.”

“You look a picture, my lady. And with your hair arranged in that new fashion, you look just like the lady in the picture. I reckon all the exercise you’re getting out in the park with the children is doing you good.”

Eleanor smiled. “Is that a gentle reminder, Sally, that a lady should use a parasol or wear a bonnet?”

“I reckon you should wear one, my lady. You will be brown as a berry if the weather continues like this for much longer.”

“If I had more than this one bonnet, then no doubt I would wear it more often. But I love to feel the sun on my head and to be able to walk freely and hear the children laughing. As I have no intention of being seen anywhere but here, I hardly think it matters if I’m not fashionably pale.”

“I’m getting up, Foster. I have languished in my bed long enough. I don’t give a damn what the doctor said. I’m quite capable of being on my feet.”

“Very well, my lord. Perhaps you could put on your dressing gown? The windows are open; you could sit in an armchair and look out on to the park.”

Alex had been going to refuse, to insist that he dressed, but when he sat up his head swam. He would be wise to take things slowly. “How long have I been unwell?”

“A week tomorrow, my lord.”

Too long. His intention to leave Lady Bentley to get on with it and return to the arms of his mistress were in disarray. God knows what Sarah would be thinking. In the eighteen months since they had first come together he had never been away from her so long.

“I need to write a letter. Bring me my escritoire once I am settled next door.”

Foster draped a robe around his shoulders and Alex walked without assistance into his sitting room. He was drawn towards the window; the sound of children laughing and a woman talking to them, made him curious. He couldn’t remember hearing such a thing at Blakeley since his darling Anna died.

He stopped at the window, grasping the mullions for support. He was hallucinating. Going down the steps that led from the terrace was his beloved, their three children gambolling around her skirts as happy as puppies in the sunshine.

He closed his eyes and grief overwhelmed him. To be reminded so cruelly of his loss was unbearable. The tallest child, Lucy he supposed, called out to the woman.

“Mama, are we really to play cricket?”

A laughing reply followed this query. “Indeed we are, my love. Look, set out on the grass are two wickets, ball and a bat. It will be a makeshift game with only four of us, but fun nonetheless.”

Alex brushed away his tears; he was not going mad after all. The woman was not Anna, but someone masquerading as her, dressed in a gown he had chosen himself. He felt a touch on his arm. “Foster, who is that impostor?”

“That’s your wife, my Lord. Lady
Eleanor
Bentley.”

“Devil take it! Why is the wretched woman wearing my dead wife’s clothes? Has she none of her own?”

“No , my lord, she has not. She and her maid servant have altered several gowns to fit.”

Alex’s mouth filled with bile. He turned away in disgust. He had made the most horrendous mistake. He should never have married Eleanor. There should not be a second Lady Bentley, however desperate the needs of his children. Seeing her wearing Anna’s favourite gown, surrounded by
her
children, and being called
mama
in her stead was too much.

“I don’t care if she has nothing else to wear. Send for the seamstress from the village; she must get new garments made. Those she has stolen are to be removed from her possession immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

For the first time in their long acquaintance his man stared at him with dislike. “I shall have it done, my lord. You do not look at all well. Do you wish to return to your bedchamber?”

Alex gestured him away. “No, I shall remain here. Get rid of those things before she returns to her apartment. Burn them; it’s what I should have done four years ago.”

He collapsed into the nearest armchair disgusted with himself. He was behaving appallingly, the poor girl could not possibly have known her actions would upset him. But it would not do. He could not bear to see anyone else in Anna’s clothes.

“I am quite exhausted, children. I think it is high time we went in. Run upstairs to the nursery. Daisy will be waiting for you. I shall come up later to read you a story.”

She watched them scamper away, laughing and chattering. She could hardly credit how much they had changed in the week she had been with them. Although
she
had not regained her appetite, the children were eating well and were no longer subdued.

Her eyes filled. What were her niece and nephews doing without her? Ned and Jonathan would be going away to school next month, but Peter and Amanda would need a governess. Would Jane employ one or take over their education herself?

As always at this time of day, she went to speak to Foster. She walked straight into Bentley’s parlour. The room was not empty as she expected. She recoiled at the look of disgust on her husband’s face.

“I beg your pardon, my lord. I had no idea you were in here. I called to speak to Foster.”

He did not rise from his chair, made no move to greet her. A weight settled in her stomach; he was obviously regretting his decision to marry her.

“You are wearing my wife’s gown. I do not wish to see you in it again. I am not receiving visitors today.” His voice was curt. He spoke to her as if she were a stranger, and one that he cordially disliked.

She backed out. Her fingers slipped on the handle as she attempted to close the door. He had recognized her dress, he was sickened at her wearing it. She should have known better, should have waited until the seamstress had made her something new.

She would remove it immediately and put on the faded pink gown, which had been washed and pressed and would do until she had others ready. Sally greeted her with a blotchy face and red eyes.