Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (43 page)

She tried to gauge the reaction of the servants, but their solid country faces told her nothing. She was concerned that they, too, might regard this place as an inviolate shrine.

"We must all care for the precious things here," she said, "but in a home one must expect wear, and even damage. That will no longer be a disaster." There was a stir among the servants, but she couldn't interpret it. "To ensure our comfort," she continued boldly, "there will doubtless need to be changes. You must come to me with any changes you think should be made."

She left a pause in case someone should wish to make a comment, but no one did. On the whole, she thought, it was good that the upper servants had left. None of these people would dare oppose her, and the servants she hired would be her own.

"The first thing I want is a fire in every hearth. We must drive the chill out of the house. If there are not enough logs, they must be obtained. The word must go out that I will pay for well-trimmed firewood." That did sight a spark in many eyes. These were hard times, and money would be short. "I also want more servants, so if you know any seeking a place, have them come to see me."

That brought cautious smiles.

"Next, I want all these plinths in the hall, and their pots, moved to the corridor leading to the ballroom." At least, she assumed that was what the large mirrored room was.

Still no mutiny.

"Then," she said, "most of us are going out to gather greenery. I want this place to look ready for Christmas. Those behind can prepare mince pies and rum punch for our return."

She saw a distinct brightening among the servants, and knew it was going to be all right.

Since they were so short of servants, Judith and Eleanor unpacked for themselves while the hall was being cleared. Some of Judith's possessions had not been touched since she packed them in the cottage and now they seemed absurdly out of place. What was she to do with a pottery cat Bastian had won at the Michaelmas fair last year? She felt very inclined to
put it in pride of place in the drawing room, but that would be going too far.

In the end, she placed such items in the children's quarters, or in her own room. When she came to Sebastian's portrait, however, she didn't know what to do. Her inclination was to hide it away, or perhaps put it in the schoolroom, and yet that wasn't right. She felt so guilty at the way his memory was being pushed aside.

Then she thought of the library. It would surely be appropriate to have a poet's portrait there, and that rich but formal room was hardly likely to be a favorite haunt. Unlike Beth and Lucien, she and Leander were not particularly bookish.

She summoned a footman and had the picture carried down and mounted in place of a French landscape. The landscape by Poussin was undoubtedly a better, and more expensive, painting, but her conscience was eased. Her first husband could forever gaze into the distance, seeking inspiration among these ranks of richly bound and pristine classics. With any luck, she wouldn't have to look at him more than once or twice a year.

Guilt tickled at her again, but she hurried off to continue her conquest of the Temple.

The whole place was already a great deal warmer, though she was still glad of a wool shawl. The last of the hazardous plinths was being carried out of the hall. The general bustle and the voices of the children were already dispelling the formality.

At the sight of the stripped room, she had a moment's doubt, and wondered if Leander would object. But he clearly hadn't liked the house as it was, and she was doing nothing that could not be reversed. With great satisfaction, she told the children they could now play with a ball here.

Next, she headed to the kitchens for she feared the provisions must be very low. She arrived there and consulted with Mrs. Pardoe, the woman who was serving as cook.

"I tell you true, milady, I'm no fancy cook. I can roast a joint and bake a pie, but I'm not trained to fancy food." She had three large apple pies awaiting their tops.

"Then I think it very kind of you to step into the breach, Mrs. Pardoe, and good English food is just what we want. The question is, what do we need by way of supplies, and where may they be obtained?"

"We have the ordinary stuff, milady. Mrs. Knollis saw to that, and there's fruit and such in the stores. What we don't have is foreign stuff, such as almonds, oranges, and lemons. Nor do we have much in the way of poultry. There's no home farm here, you know, and the local farms haven't been in the way of providing much for the big house."

Judith sighed. "Well, send word I'll buy what there is. We'll make do." She wondered how long the money Leander had given her would last at this rate, and when he would be here to provide more. Presumably the estate itself produced money, but she didn't feel she had the right to dip into that, or how to do so. She supposed the Temple credit was good, but she didn't like to owe money to simple folks.

She filched an apple slice and said wistfully, "I do wish we could have a goose for Christmas."

Like an answer to a prayer, George walked in and dumped a hissing, crated goose on the floor. "What do you want done with this, then, Millie?" Then he saw Judith and touched his forelock. "Afternoon, milady."

"Good afternoon, George. Where did that come from?"

The man grinned. "From London, milady, by post no less. I've never seen anything like it. A whole post-chaise full of food!"

"A post-chaise!" Judith exclaimed. "Whoever did such a thing?"

The man hid a grin. "The earl, milady."

Judith burst out laughing. "Rarefied indeed. Bring it in, then." She watched with a foolish grin as ducks and chickens, cheeses and potted meats, a ham and a smoked salmon were carried in. Then came huge bags of nuts and fruits.

"Well, Mrs. Pardoe," said Judith. "I don't think we'll starve over Christmas."

The woman grinned. "That we won't, milady. I have mince pies a-baking, and soon you'll have the best lemon tarts this side of London."

Judith went off to relate this story to Eleanor.

"Sending supplies post? How wonderful. Nicholas said Leander lived in his own rarefied world."

Judith's own thought. Leander's natural métier was a world of treasures and palaces, and she was deliberately rubbing the gloss off this one.

She looked around anxiously at the drawing room.

A few delicate items had been removed, and chairs had been rearranged for comfort not elegance. An infant's blanket draped a gold satin sofa and a rag doll graced the carpet. Magpie was curled up in front of the fire. "Oh dear," she said.

Eleanor touched her gently. "He won't mind. No one could want to live in this place as it was before. It's coming to life."

Chapter 21

Judith prayed Eleanor was correct, and stuck to her course. She gathered her troops to venture out after greenery. She found a small crowd of local people waiting by the causeway, as if hesitant to cross. They were all looking for work, and some were only children. It was clear many were merely curious, and hoping that a day's casual labor would give them a glimpse of the famous house. Others, however, had the pinched look of the desperate, and worn clothes that were only too familiar.

Recklessly, Judith employed them all. Some were set to bringing in firewood, and a few of the frailest were sent to help in the house, but most came with her to find Christmas boughs. She was pleased to see Bastian and Rosie mixing in with the village children without any self-consciousness. But then why shouldn't they? They had been village children themselves a short while ago.

As she wandered with her employees, Judith chatted. The people soon lost their awe, and told her of local history and customs. They were proud of the Temple, true enough, but woven through all they said was a message of neglect.

The care of a lord for his land and his people had been missing here for nearly two generations. There was no expectation, for example, that leaking roofs would be soon mended, or Christmas bounty would be given to the poorest by the big house. Such charity was now in the hands of the vicar, and a few of the wealthier tenants, but in these postwar times their resources were stretched thin.

Judith determined that the Temple would do its part as of now; then wondered if she had enough food; then discarded the doubts. If they had to eat bread and cheese at the Temple, she'd make sure the poor had their baskets. She asked Eleanor to supervise the work and set off briskly for the village. She was halfway there when she realized she could have used the gig.

She laughed. She been used to using her feet.

The vicar was in, and was delighted and flustered to meet the countess so unexpectedly. Something else Judith had not taken into account. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, flushed and windblown. Oh, she was doing this countessing all wrong.

She brushed it aside."You must excuse me coming here like this, Reverend Molde, but I must have the names of the most needy people in the locality who have not yet been helped. I wish to give them Christmas charity."

The man provided the list with alacrity. "It will be most welcome, Lady Charrington. We do what we can, but times are hard."

"Yes, and the earl and I are most appreciative. I do assure you, however, that in future we will be taking our responsibilities to the people hereabouts seriously. We hope you will give us the benefit of your advice."

The man assured her of his willingness.

"Now," she said, "I must return to the house, for we are very busy there. We will, of course, attend Christmas Day Service. May I hope you will dine with us on Boxing Day?"

She left with Reverend Molde's delighted thanks ringing in her ears. She knew from her own life in a vicarage how hard it could be to fill all the charitable needs of the parish and still have enough for the family. She knew how flattering an invitation to the big house was.

On the one hand she felt pleasure to be bringing such joy, but on the other she felt most distinctly an impostor. But she
was
the Countess of Charrington. If she shrank from these duties, no one would do them for her.

She enjoyed the brisk walk back, and the brief time to herself. She took a moment to lean against a gate and survey Leander's land.

Leander's home.

Their home.

And he and it were in her loving care.

* * *

Back at the Temple she almost staggered with shock. The hall seemed bursting with people, sorting greenery, tying it into bunches, and decorating the place. Though some simply stood gaping. A rumble of gossip filled the air, topped by the high voices of children. She saw one huddle of village children around Bastian, who was showing off his rat.

An enormous silver punch bowl full of spiced ale sat on a walnut table, and all present were helping themselves as they wished. That doubtless explained the high spirits.

There were trays of mince pies and cake, half empty.

Was the whole village here? It was like a marketplace.

Perhaps this was going too far.

But the place was positively humming with life.

Judith grinned and went off to the kitchen. She first sent up oranges for the children, then set to making up the charity baskets. She had the ham cut up and shared among them, but could see no way of quickly dividing the living fowl. Despite Mrs. Pardoe's protests, all the pies went, and a great deal of the fruit and nuts.

"Their need is greater than ours," she told the woman.

Mrs. Pardoe smiled. "You're right, there, milady. It's a blessing you're giving."

"Yes, 'tis better to give than to receive. And better still," Judith added, "to make sure there is no want."

She made arrangements for all the baskets to be delivered, then ran upstairs to put her mantle away before joining in the fun in the hall. As she was leaving her room she saw the last of the unpacking, Sebastian's poetry—the single volume of each, and the twenty new ones. She picked them up to carry down to the library on her way. She certainly didn't want her first husband's poetry in her bedroom.

Then she felt guilty at that uncharitable thought.

Oh, when would she be free of this rift in her mind?

She found a space on the gleaming mahogany shelves close to Sebastian's portrait, and put the books there. The glossy, expensive volumes looked at home in this elegance. She supposed she could now send one to the Regent, and perhaps he was wondering where his copy was. They said he had a taste for the sentimental.