Innocence (2 page)

“I’ve sent Helen to fetch ye one of ’er bonnets, as none of yers are suitable,” Mrs Waters added, after helping Lisa into the new dress and rearranging her hair into a simpler style. “Just keep yer ’ead down, and try not to let anyone see yer face.”

“My face?”
 

“Aye. Your bone structure’s too fine. You’ve got nobility stamped all over yer lovely features.”

In years past, Lisa would have scoffed at the housekeeper’s assessment, but her likeness to the mother she’d lost when she was only a girl had grown with time. Sir George’s wife had been renowned for her beauty with her creamy skin, flashing green eyes, and rich, auburn hair, dark enough not to be deemed the dreaded red. While Lisa had her father’s smile, and her hair was a much fierier hue, the similarity was now undeniable.

“I’ve put some old gloves in yer satchel. Wear them in public to keep yer ’ands covered. They’ll give ye away in an ’eartbeat.” Mrs Waters placed a small, velvet bag in Lisa’s hands. “Yer mother’s pearls. Tie them to yer chemise, and don’t let anybody
see them.”

Lisa did as she was told before donning the plainest of her coats, a dark grey pelisse that fitted her curves a little snugly now she had removed her corset. Hesitating in the doorway before rushing to catch up with the housekeeper, she looked around the room she had called her own since graduating from the nursery.
 

John, an apprentice smith and her father’s part-time carriage driver, waited in the courtyard with a plough horse harnessed to a tray-backed cart. Lisa’s steps slowed, the answer coming to her before she could voice the question. Of course they couldn’t take her father’s carriage and team of four. Lord Copeland would track her down in no time.
 

Helen, John’s fiancée, came running from the house, a bag and bonnet in her arms.
 

“Here, Miss. Put this on.” She pushed the plain, black hat into Lisa’s hands while John helped her into the back of the cart. “Ye’ll have to lie down so we can keep ye hidden.”

“Very well.” Lisa eyed the wooden slats warily but did as she was asked.
 

Helen covered her with a coarse blanket and was about to pull it over her head when Mr Waters approached.

“I’m sorry, lass, but I don’t think yer father’s goin’ to make it.” His brogue deepened with distress. “Ye’d best not try to contact us until His Grace says it’s safe.”
 

Unable to speak for the lump in her throat, Lisa huddled down as John urged the old horse into motion. With her head covered, she was denied a last look at her home and the people she loved, but their images were burned in her memory. Of her father, she could not bear to think.
 

Grateful for the musty blanket covering her head, Lisa gave in to her grief and wept until exhaustion overtook her.

Chapter 2

Charade

The towering forests between the village of Worthy and Worthington Hall seemed to go on forever, the dark, green canopy creating an eerie approximation of night. Shivering in the thin coat Helen had traded for hers so she would attract less attention, Lisa was relieved when they broke through into the pale, late winter light.
 

The six-day journey from Henbury had been harrowing, exposing her to a side of life she had not known existed. Lisa had endured the shocks and discomforts stoically, intent on fulfilling her promise to her father, but her hopes of finding safety had been severely dented upon their arrival in Worthy. The village closest to the Duke of Worthington’s country seat had been abuzz with news of his recent nuptials, an event of which Lisa had not been apprised. When she had learned Thomas and his new bride had recently departed for an extended honeymoon on the Continent, her lungs had been robbed of air.

“We can’t ’ang around ’ere for months,” Helen had muttered. “We don’t ’ave the funds, and our families need us. Besides, ye’ve got yer apprenticeship to worry about.”
 

“We can’t just leave Miss Anneliese in the lurch.” John had looked worried.
 

“What about if she hired on at the Hall while she awaits the Duke’s return?”

“As a servant?” John’s dumbfounded expression had matched Lisa’s dropped jaw. “Her voice, her ignorance of the life . . . they’d give her away in a heartbeat.”

Lisa had not disagreed, but unable to think of a better option, had enlisted her companions help to come up with a story she hoped would explain the inconsistencies.
 

“Ye’ll be all right, Miss,” Helen had assured Lisa before she’d departed with the merchant John had arranged to escort her from the village to the Hall. “I’ve spoken to some of the locals, and they say the Duke discourages fraternisation. He insists his female staff are able to work unmolested.”

“Unmolested?” Lisa had been perplexed by the odd comment.
 

“She means ye’ll be
safe
working at the Hall,” John had said, a blush colouring his cheeks.
 

Lisa certainly hoped so, but what little confidence she had in her plan to masquerade as a servant took a battering when Worthington Hall came into view.
 

“Good heavens,” she whispered, rising from the seat.

“Aye, it affects everyone like that when they first sees it.” The merchant chuckled. “But ye’d best be sittin’ back down, as we’ve still a fair way to go.”

The road before them split in two, veering to either side of a long, roughly rectangular shaped lake that stretched for furlongs up the valley. Beyond the lake lay elaborate formal gardens, a sweeping circular drive, and a house that could only rightly be described as a castle.
 

And not a quaint, fairy book castle.

Lisa had told herself the Duke was the same person who had brought her gifts and enjoyed the cherry tarts she’d baked when she was a girl. But it was difficult to reconcile the man who had told her to call him Uncle
with the nobleman who made this intimidating edifice his home. She shuddered to think what would become of her if His Grace—it seemed more appropriate to think of him that way—was unwilling to come to her aid.
 

As they drew closer to the grand mansion, she was stunned by its sheer size. Barlow Manor, the second-largest house in all of Henbury, would be lost in a small corner of one of Worthington Hall’s many wings. Looking up and up, Lisa gulped as they passed beneath the towering stone walls on their way around to the service courtyard.

The merchant pulled the cart to a halt, and workers quickly approached to assist with the unloading.
 

“Knock on that door over to the left and ask to see Mrs Donaldson,” he said. “She’s the ’ead ’ousekeeper and will take care of ye. I’ll be ’ere for a while ’aving a cuppa in the kitchen if ye want to send a message back to yer friends letting ’em know ye’ve found a position.”

After thanking him, Lisa lowered herself from the cart, congratulating herself on accomplishing the feat without assistance. Grabbing her small bag from under the seat, she brushed off her dusty skirts and walked towards the servants’ entrance feeling less than presentable. She’d been a young girl the last time she had worn a dress for an entire day, but she had never worn the same gown for six days in a row.
 

A young lad of about ten opened the door at Lisa’s knock, looking up at her from beneath his sandy fringe.

“Can I ’elp ye, miss?”

“May I speak with Mrs Donaldson, the head housekeeper, please? My name is Miss Lisa Brown.”
 

Using her real name was not an option, so with Helen’s help, Lisa had devised a new one. She had quickly settled on the childhood name her mother had given her, the one by which she still thought of herself, and a surname she thought innocuous. But the boy’s mouth dropped open.

“I’m not expected, but am hoping Mrs Donaldson will grant me an interview. I’m here to apply for a position in the household.”
 

Lisa’s smile faded when the boy continued to stare without speaking.

“Oi, wots the ’oldup, Sam? Someone boverin’ ye again, or ’as the cat got yer tongue?”

A large, bearded man wearing a bloodstained apron manhandled the boy out of the way. He glared at Lisa, and then his eyes widened.

“Oi! Excuse me, my lady.” He bobbed an incongruous-looking bow, his belly interfering with the movement. “The boy didn’t mean no ’arm. Ye’ve been sent to the wrong door, is all.”

“I have? I am here to speak with Mrs Donaldson about obtaining a position in the household. Is there another entrance I should approach?”

Lisa’s request was met with silence, the large man and the lad gaping at her like she was a two-headed lamb at a travelling fair.

“But ye’re a
lady
, ain’t ye?” The butcher frowned and looked her up and down several times.
 

Lisa’s heart sank. She had not even made it past the door without discovery. This was going to be more difficult than she had expected.

“Of course I’m not a lady,” she said, happy to be able to tell the truth, at least in part. While a legitimate member of society, her father was the grandson of a baron, an honourable but a mere
mister
before his knighthood. Consequently, Lisa was a miss, not a lady.

“I’m here to find employment.” She stuck to her story, not knowing what else to do.

The man’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, revealing some alarmingly blackened teeth. Lisa took a step back and would have fallen off the stoop, but a quick-thinking footman caught her around the waist, giving her a chance to steady herself.

“Well, well, what have we ’ere? A pretty little miss, I’ll wager.” The brown-haired young man winked.

While flustered, Lisa was pleased the footman had not assumed she was a lady. He would have been out of a job if he had dared speak to one in such a manner.

“She says she’s after an inta . . . inter . . . She wants to talk with Mrs Donaldson about a job,” the lad said.

“In that case, let me escort ye. The name’s Owen Todd, and it would be me pleasure.”
 

The young man’s smile was overly familiar, and Lisa returned it hesitantly.
 

“Thank you, Mr Todd. That would be very kind of you,” she said, her smile fading when he faltered at the sound of her well-rounded tones. They were clearly going to be a problem, but while Lisa had always been good at languages, she suspected the distorted vowels of the local vernacular were beyond her ability to mimic.

“This way, then.” Owen directed her past the curious kitchen workers.

The room they entered was used for butchering, and Lisa averted her eyes from the gruesome sights. The hallway beyond was pleasant but plain, and after a short walk, they reached what she assumed must be the housekeeper’s office.

“Good luck then, miss.” The footman hesitated, fiddling with the buttons on his red livery vest. “I guess I’ll be seein’ ye . . . if ye stay.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Mr Todd,” she said, placing her now battered bag at her feet.
 

“Just Owen.” He tugged at his forelock before frowning and backing away down the hallway.

Lisa sighed, and gripped her hands tightly together. Her father had taught her to treat people with respect regardless of class, but her manner set her apart from the role she was pretending to play. She could only hope the story she had concocted would cover the discrepancies.
 

Before long, a neat, grey-haired woman approached, and Lisa stood to attention.

“I’m Mrs Donaldson, the head housekeeper,” she said. “You wanted to speak to me?”
 

“Yes, ma’am. My name is Miss Lisa Brown. I’m here to apply for a position as an assistant pastry cook, or failing such a position being available, wherever I may be of service.”

The woman stared, unblinking, for a moment before ushering her through to the office.

“Take a seat, Miss Brown, and start at the beginning.”
 

Lisa did as she was bid, wishing she’d had more time to check her story for flaws. “My father managed an inn near the seaside, one that caters to well-to-do holiday makers. I worked mostly in the kitchen assisting the French pastry chef.”
 

The first part of her story was based in truth. Chef Louis was one of the faithful family retainer’s who had accompanied her mother from France. Shadowing him had helped Lisa feel close to the parent she had lost when she was only young and sparked an unusual hobby for one of her class, though her interest in baking was something she had kept well hidden from their local society.
 

“I also assisted with serving in the dining room,” she added, having seen it done often enough to be confident she knew what was required. “And occasionally in general cleaning and tidying.” The latter, Lisa had not done since she was a girl, following Mrs Waters around when her mother was busy.

“My father died very recently, leaving me orphaned.” The grief this statement elicited was genuine, and it took her a moment to regain her composure. “He told me if anything happened to him, I should come to Worthington Hall and apply for a position . . . that I’d be
safe
here.”