My Dear Duchess (7 page)

All the staff, from the Groom of the Chambers down to the small knife boy, were lined up in the great hall to greet them. Steward, wine butler, under butler, housekeeper, bakers, housemaids, footmen, coachmen, porters, and odd men all bowed and curtsyed to the newly-married couple. There must be about a hundred, thought Frederica, and
that
was not counting the forty gardeners and forty roadsmen.

The Groom of the Chambers was so awful and magnificent that she felt at one point that he must be the old Duke himself and that the whole affair was a mad farce. His name was Mr. Jeremiah Lawton. Tricked out in livery adorned with so much gold braid, he would have outshone an Admiral of the Fleet, he punctuated all his remarks with a resounding thump of his tall cane. By the end of the introductions he had disdainfully managed to convey by his attitude that he considered the new Duke and Duchess mere upstarts and interlopers in
his
house. He was fat and white like a species of insolent slug and his sister Rebecca, who acted as housekeeper, was no better.

The steward, a middle-aged man called Benjamin Dubble, appeared mercifully pleasant and open-mannered. He begged a few words in private with the Duke who was about to suggest that Frederica retire to her rooms and make herself comfortable when the Groom of Chambers, Mr. Lawton, said in a high, pompous voice that Mrs. Lawton, the housekeeper, would take Her Grace on a tour to familiarize her with the workings of Chartsay.

Frederica opened her mouth to protest that she was too tired but her husband looked pleased and nodded his approval.

Tired though she was, Frederica soon realized that Mrs. Lawton was deliberately making her tour of Chartsay as confusing and as long as possible. Nothing was left unvisited from the bedrooms to the laundry room. She spoke in accents of stultifying gentility and ignored Frederica’s every hint that her lecture should be cut short.

On the ground floor, almost the whole of the main block was occupied by living rooms. There was a dining room, drawing room and library, all on a scale suitable for a house which was likely to fill its thirty or so guest bedrooms with house parties. There was also a small billiard room and breakfast room. A huge conservatory led west from the dining room to the chapel, concealing the equally enormous servants wing from the garden. The north-west wing was a family one into which they could retire for privacy or when the house was empty. Frederica’s bedroom was next to her sitting room and had long French windows opening onto the terrace where several aristocratic peacocks screamed all night long as if their necks were being wrung. The Duke’s dressing room was across the corridor from Frederica’s apartments and opened into a large study.

Frederica’s courage fell before the grandeur of it all. She felt like a provincial imposter but parried all Mrs. Lawton’s delicate probings as to her background and how long she had known the Duke. From the various portraits on the wall and from the old-fashioned toys in the nursery, she was able to conjure up a different picture of Chartsay, one crowded with guests and the noisy laughter of children instead of all this stiff and formal elegance, glittering and waxed as if encased in glass.

“It looks like a museum!” she burst out.

“But then,” replied the housekeeper inspecting her keys, “Your Grace has not been used to anything in
this
style before.”

Frederica knew this to be an unpardonable piece of impertinence but she was tired and had not the courage to rebuke the older woman.

At last she was set free to enjoy the solitude of her apartments.

The long curtains of her sitting room moved gently in the summer breeze. She crossed to the long windows and passed through them onto the terrace. Huge urns of roses decorated the stone balustrade. A hazy golden light swam over the long green lawns making the woods in the distance shimmer and dance. She took a deep breath of the clean country air scented with mown grass and roses and felt her optimism returning.

The park was dotted with temples, obelisks, seats, pagodas, rotundas, reflecting pools and two ornamental lakes, each with its fishing pavilion strategically placed on an island in the middle.

Frederica experienced the beginnings of a feeling of pride. All this was hers to share with her husband. She had a longing to see the gardens and park thronged with happy faces and the formal elegance of the rooms warmed by dancing and music. She was so carried away with this vision that she swung round to meet her husband who was coming along the terrace and threw her arms around him. This was noticed by the steward’s room boy who told the third footman who told the under butler and from there it moved upwards to the august ears of the Groom of the Chambers who sniffed and inferred that he expected nothing better from that class of person.

“Henry, Henry,” Frederica was crying. “
Do
let us have a drum.”

He ruffled her curls absent-mindedly and a frown creased his forehead. “I must say it would be a splendid idea. But I am having difficulty with Lawton. All he seems to do is thump that cane of his on the floor and tell me that the old Duke would never have done this and the old Duke would never have done that. All, mark you, with an undertone of veiled insolence.

“I do not want to offend the old servants with any unheaval but… dash it all. There’s a whole army of them. They could cope with a royal visit let alone a drum! But I will consult Dubble, the steward.

“But first, we must prepare for dinner, my dear.”

“How old-fashioned,” exclaimed Frederica. “It is only three o’clock.”

“The old Duke,” said Henry, imitating Lawton’s mincing, high-pitched voice, “
always
had breakfast at nine-thirty, dinner at four and supper at ten,
Your
Grace. So there! And here am I, lord of all I survey, agreeing meekly to dinner at four when I am not even hungry. Well… we shall start our innovations tomorrow. Dinner, by the way, is in the state dining room because…”

“The
old
Duke always took his meals there,” giggled Frederica.

He gave her a quick hug. “Get dressed quickly and we shall face the horrible Groom of the Chambers together!”

Three quarters of an hour later, their Graces faced each other down the enormous length of a dining table laden with plate. They were attended by Lawton, the butler, the under butler and eight footmen. For most of the long and heavy meal, Frederica kept her eyes on her plate, raising them occasionally to look nervously at her husband. Frederica had never imagined such a thing as an almost tangible atmosphere of insolence… but there it was. All the staff were correct as to looks and manners, but they showed their disdain in infinitessimal ways—an eybrow raised a millimeter, a slight twitch of the lips. “It is almost,” she thought, “as if they are waiting for me to eat peas with my knife!”

At last the long meal was over and the Groom of the Chambers drew back Frederica’s chair to conduct her to the drawing room and so leave His Grace in solitary splendour to enjoy his port.

An icy hush fell over the room as the Duke seized the decanter and two glasses
with his own hands
and said cheerfully to his wife, “We need not stand on ceremony tonight… particularly on our first night here. I shall join you.”

They walked arm and arm through the disapproving silence, through the anteroom and into the drawing room where Lawton gave his cane a final thump on the floor and left.

The Duke looked like thunder. “I was a fool! Damned jackanapes. In future, when we are alone, we shall take dinner in my study at seven. Furthermore, you shall have your drum. The local county will be calling tomorrow to pay their respects. Invite who you will and as many as you like.

“They must learn that
we
are in command here. You must get used to issuing orders as well, my dear.”

Frederica was too timid to tell him that the very idea of ordering Mrs. Lawton about terrified her.

He stretched one slippered foot towards the empty fireplace and shivered. “We need a good blaze here to warm us. What a vast place this is!” A sea of blue carpet seemed to stretch on into infinity. Various Westerlands stared down at them in the gloom from their gilded frames. Small islands of tables and chairs were grouped at various points in the large room. The Duke tugged the bell and told the answering footman to “make up the fire.”

“An’ please Your Grace,” he said, “the old Duke…” and then cowered before the blaze of wrath on Henry’s face.

“Light the fire, man,” hissed the Duke, “or lose your employ.”

“Certainly, Your Grace, of course, Your Grace… this very minute, Your Grace… I will bring the wood directly.…” and he Your Graced himself rapidly out of the room.

But both knew somehow that the battle was not over. In the distance, they could hear the Groom of the Chambers approaching, his cane punctuating every step.

Lawton finally stood in the doorway, his eyes popping in his fat, white face. “I hasten to inform you, Your Grace, that the old Duke gave orders that no fire was to be lighted between March and September.”

The Duke got to his feet. His icy voice carried to every corner of the room. “Bring the staff here immediately. Every man Jack of ’em. Hop to it, man, and stop puffing and gobbling or by God you’ll feel my riding crop about your fat shoulders. And bring candles. Must we sit in this hellish blackness? Get a move on!” The last sentence was shouted full strength and the white-faced Lawton positively ran from the room, trailing his cane behind him like a fat bulldog with its tail between its legs.

First candles were brought until the room was ablaze with light. Then there soon was a fire roaring up the chimney. Then the staff began to file into the room, sidling along the wall farthest from the angry Duke. “Is that all?” he finally barked.

“Yes, Your Grace,” said Lawton, “except of course for certain of the outside staff.”

“Very well,” said Henry. “Now look here the lot of you. And listen hard. Should I have to repeat any of this, you will
all
be dismissed.

“I do not give a damn what the old Duke did or did not do. I am the Duke of Westerland and you will obey my commands. Furthermore, simply obeying my commands is not enough. Any man or woman who betrays the slightest sign of dumb insolence in my presence will be first horse-whipped, then dismissed. Do I make myself clear?”

The Groom of the Chambers swelled out his chest like a bullfrog. “Of course, Your Grace. Of Course!” One of his gold buttons popped off and flew across the floor. He looked so discomfitted and ridiculous that Henrietta let out a nervous giggle. Lawton stooped to retrieve his button. For a split second his eyes met Frederica’s and she recoiled from the venom and dislike mirrored there. Then he was immediately polite and obsequious. Everything should be as His Grace desired.

His Grace cut his effusions brutally short and told him to remove himself and his staff immediately.

When they were gone, Frederica stared at her husband, her eyes shining with admiration. “Oh, Henry, you were marvellous!” she cried.

He shrugged. “I’d as lief face several battalions of Boney’s troops than cope with encroaching servants. Have a glass of port with me, Frederica. It is not a very romantic homecoming for a young girl but perhaps if you have a few balls and parties, we can contrive to be merry.”

But Frederica did not feel very merry when he left her at the door of her bedchamber explaining that he had had a truckle bed set up in his dressing room. She sat up in the great canopied bed in her room feeling very small and alone. Her lady’s maid, Benson, had been triumphant over the Duke’s “putting these uppity servants in their place” but Frederica could only remember the look of venom Lawton had cast at her and knew instinctively that the Groom of the Chambers blamed her alone for his humiliation. Like most cowardly bullies, he would instinctively select the weaker of the two as a target for his revenge. She remembered the first few days of their honeymoon, spent in the vast grandeur of their town house. The servants had been courteous and polite, but Frederica had been left alone a great deal since her husband was often away on business for most of the day.

She wondered sadly if her husband was thinking about her or if he had fallen comfortably asleep. He had seemed so handsome and brave this evening, mused poor Frederica. Would she always have to be content to be treated as a sort of younger sister?

“No,
never!
” she thought vehemently. Tomorrow was a brand-new day in which to try for his love. Nothing would come in her way.

Their wedding had not turned out the wedding of her dreams. A distant relative of Mrs. Cholmley had been persuaded to give her away. He was a thin, effeminate, elderly gentleman, called Sir Edward Cole, who took it upon himself to disapprove of the marriage from the day of his arrival in London. The bride was too young, he said. He had gone on to cite innumerable instances of disastrous marriages which had taken place between “school girls and rake-helly gentlemen.” This jeremiad had continued even as he led her to the altar of St. George’s, Hanover Square.

Then her wedding gown had been Aunt Matilda’s choice, and Frederica was too grateful to her for her hospitality to protest that it was uncomfortable. Of heavy white silk worn over a stiffened cambric petticoat, it was so encrusted with pearls and silver embroidery that Frederica was frightened that she would fall down under the sheer weight of it. A heavy train of priceless Valencienne’s lace was anchored to her small head, making it ache.

The only precious moment of the wedding was when the Duke had turned to watch her coming up the aisle and his handsome face lit up with a warm smile of appreciation. Aunt Matilda had said she looked like a fairy princess and the Duke had appeared to think so as well.

Frederica made her responses in a clear voice which she felt belonged to someone else. When she reached “I do” she became aware that the hysterical sobbing of some female among the guests was reaching a crescendo. The Duke bent to kiss the bride and the sobbing woman gave voice. It was none other than Mrs. Sayers. In a broad Yorkshire accent, she gabbled out against the wicked Fates who had chosen to make Frederica a Duchess instead of Clarissa. Fortunately her accent was so strong and her voice so choked with sobs that most of her remarks were unintelligible.