Summerset Abbey (13 page)

The voices coming from the front door made her pause, and then she began to run with a cry. “Colin! I was so hoping you would come home this weekend!”

“We’d better go and get you dressed for dinner, before you’re in any more trouble.” Prudence took Victoria by the arm.

“Do you ever get the feeling that we spend most of the day changing?” Victoria asked as they climbed the stairs.

Prudence fell silent and Victoria turned to her, a stricken look on her face. “Oh, I am so sorry, Pru. I didn’t think.”

“It’s okay. I’d almost rather wear this ugly old uniform than have to change three or four times a day.”

But in her heart Prudence knew this wasn’t true. She had some lovely dresses still packed away in her trunks. Almost all of them were new, because they’d had so many mourning dresses made up before the funeral. Though most of them were black, she’d had a few made up of dark colors such as plum, maroon, and one a lovely midnight blue. She’d never even gotten a chance to wear them. She often opened her trunk and ran her hands over the lovely silks, laces, and tulle. Her hands had become so chapped from helping Susie with the pans in the morning that they caught on the fine fabrics.

Suppressing a sigh, she quickly helped Victoria out of her walking suit as soon as they reached the Rose Room. Once she had her down to her chemise and petticoat, she shooed her into the bathroom to wash up.

Instead of choosing a completely black dress, she selected a dark blue silk pleated dress with a dotted lace tunic and a blue sash at the waist. Victoria was only eighteen; there was no reason for her to wear black all the time, even if it had only been a few weeks since her father had died. If being around handsome young men could lighten her grief a little bit, Prudence was going to help all she could.

Her cheeks flushed as she remembered staring at Lord Billingsly
in her shapeless skirt and shirtwaist. What must he think of her?

Not for the first time did she fervently wish they could all go back in time. But would it have made any difference? Even in her fine clothes, with her hair done up in a pile of curls, she was still the daughter of a governess. Nothing was going to change that, and Lord Billingsly was heir to a way of life that had nothing to do with her. Rowena and Victoria spurned that way of life, but they could pick it up again at any moment. They belonged, as proven by how well they fit into life here at Summerset. She, ordinary Prudence Tate, did not belong.

Prudence helped Victoria into her dinner dress. At first she was worried about what Vic would say to the color of her dress, as deep mourning forbade it, but all Vic did was smile.

“Father loved that color.”

Prudence smiled back and deftly pulled out the pins in Victoria’s shining golden hair and brushed it. Loosened, it reached her waist. After brushing it out, she parted it down the middle and then coiled both sides, until they twisted up by themselves. Pinning them securely, she added a double row of blue beads to form a kind of loose headband and then pinned a dark blue feather hairpiece on one side. The little ivory seagulls at her ears had been her mother’s.

Victoria tilted her head to one side, a sweet, birdlike movement that never failed to make Prudence smile. “I look quite pretty, Pru. Thank you.”

A slight tap on the door alerted her that it was time to send Victoria down.

Rowena poked her head around the corner of the door. “Are you ready?”

Victoria turned around and Ro’s eyes softened. “You look lovely, Vic.”

Victoria smiled tremulously and then Prudence watched as it faded. The three girls were motionless, feeling their separation as they never had before, Victoria and Rowena dressed in their finery, going down to dinner with friends and family, while Prudence, shabby in her uniform, was heading down to the servants’ hall. It was Prudence who broke the silence. “Go on with you both. You don’t want to keep Aunt Charlotte waiting.”

Victoria squeezed her hand as she walked past, but Rowena avoided Prudence’s eyes as she waited for her sister.

Prudence looked around the room after the girls had gone, feeling more alone than she had ever felt. Loath to stay by herself, she quickly straightened up Victoria’s room and headed down the hall to the servants’ staircase. She paused outside Rowena’s room and then shrugged. Rowena could jolly well clean up after herself. She knew it wasn’t fair, but part of her couldn’t help but feel that Ro was responsible for this whole mess.

She tried to open the door to the servants’ stairs only to find it stuck. She tried again, but it wouldn’t budge. Could someone have locked it? Why? Frowning, she looked down the big sweeping staircase. The servants were only supposed to use the main staircase if they were cleaning it, but Prudence couldn’t see any way out of it. Not if she wanted to eat, and she did. Well, the family would all be in the sitting room or the dining room anyway and Mr. Cairns and Mrs. Harper would be busy. Looking around, she hurried down the staircase, her hand trailing along the satiny smoothness of the handrail.

“Oh, excuse me.”

Startled, she stumbled on the bottom step. Firm hands shot out to steady her.

Lord Billingsly smiled and her heart ricocheted around her chest. His hands, one lightly resting against her shoulder and the other at her elbow, sent a shot of fluid warmth through her entire body.

“It’s Prudence, isn’t it? Are you coming in to dinner? May I escort you?”

His dark eyes were so compelling that it took a moment for the words to sink in. When they did it felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head.

She leapt away from him as if she’d been burned, anger and humiliation heating her cheeks. “Are you making fun, Lord Billingsly? Because I am not amused.”

He jerked back as if she’d hit him. “Pardon?”

Hot, angry tears burned at her eyes. “Does it look as if I’m ready to go in to dinner?”

His eyes widened as he took in her clothing at a glance. Her hands clenched by her sides. Good. He understood now. She whirled away and stalked to the servants’ door behind the staircase, which mercifully wasn’t stuck. Miserably, she noticed he didn’t call for her to wait this time, wanting to know who she was.

He knew who she was now.

Susie was scurrying around the kitchen when Prudence arrived downstairs. The kitchen staff, the footmen, and the butler would eat their meals after the family had been fed. The housemaids, the valets, and the lady’s maids got their dinner as the family ate. This order of dining ensured that there would always be someone to answer a call should a bell on the bell board ring, and it was practical: not all of the house staff could fit at the table at once anyway.

Susie waggled her fingers as Prudence walked over to the large kettle filled with cock-a-leekie soup for the staff. Upstairs, the
family was having a nine-course meal starting with a thin vegetable consommé with a splash of cream added into the bowl as it was being served, oyster patties, roast goose, kidney pie, braised fennel and celery served with game chips, cherry tart, raspberry ice, and fruit and cheese.

She filled herself a bowl of the soup and watched as Cook took the roast goose, golden from bacon drippings, out of the oven. She placed it on a silver platter and added a few roast potato florets as a garnish. The goose was still sizzling as Cook hurried it past Prudence to the dumbwaiter, leaving the rich, crackling scent of meat in its wake.

She turned away and cut herself a piece of bread from the common loaf. Balancing it on top of her stew, she made her way to the servants’ hall. When she got there, they all stopped eating and looked at her. Usually, she bolted her food in the kitchen or took it to a quiet corner, but she was tired of being alone. Hesitating, she took a free chair next to Hortense and gave everyone a tentative smile.

“Well, guess who finally decided to join us for dinner?” one of the housemaids said with a snort.

“Look at the likes of her, mixing with the likes of us,” another one sniggered.

Prudence looked down at her bowl, her throat tightening. Maybe this had been a mistake.

“That’s enough, girls,” Mrs. Harper said as Prudence sat down with her food. “I’ll not have dissension among us.” She cast Prudence a pursed-lips look, making it clear that she considered the trouble Prudence’s fault even though she hadn’t said a word. “I trust you read the rules that forbade you from using the staircase and this evening was an aberration, correct?”

Prudence swallowed. She wanted to tell the housekeeper
that the servants’ door wouldn’t open, but the bold stares of the housemaids stirred up suspicions in her mind. She bit her lip and looked down. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Harper nodded and moved on.

“You’re nothing but a flock of chatty birds,” Hortense scolded the maids. She turned to Prudence. “Pay them no mind, my dear girl. They’re just jealous of your fine position.”

Prudence stared at the Frenchwoman, laughter bubbling up inside. Her fine position? Then the laughter died. Well, compared to scrubbing pots and pans all day long as Susie did, taking care of someone’s lovely clothes, drawing her baths, and doing her hair must seem like a very fine position indeed. Instead of laughing, she gave Hortense a hesitant smile.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the two maids who had spoken to her rolling their eyes. Prudence wanted to crawl under a rock and stay there. But she couldn’t do that. They obviously thought her a snob already.

She addressed Hortense. “How long have you been Lady Summerset’s lady’s maid?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “About seven years. Before that I was the Marquise du Henault’s lady’s maid until her death.”

Another roll of the eyes from the housemaids. Prudence hid a smile. Hortense’s description was right, they did resemble nothing more than flighty magpies in their black-and-white uniforms.

Hortense took off her reading glasses and put down her newspaper. “And what did you do before you became the lady’s maid for the Honorable Rowena and Victoria?”

Conversation at the table had ceased and though no one looked directly at her, Prudence knew they were all waiting for her answer. Instinctively, she knew better than to reveal her exact circumstances, though part of her desperately wanted to tell
them that she wasn’t like them, she wasn’t in service at all. “I’ve always lived with them,” she said in a small voice. “My mother was their governess.”

Hortense’s eyebrows almost shot off her forehead. “Indeed.”

Prudence could tell that everyone wanted more, but she concentrated on her stew. Eventually, the talk went on to other things and Prudence finished her meal and washed her dishes so Susie wouldn’t have to. Susie, still busy with the dinner dishes, gave her a grateful smile.

“Don’t go yet. Why don’t you sit with us a while? It will be hours before your girls need you. You might as well make yourself comfortable.”

Prudence hesitated for a moment, then relented. The only way to combat her own loneliness was by getting to know other people, right? She settled herself next to Hortense and Susie brought her another cup of tea.

As soon as she sat, two of the maids exchanged glances and excused themselves. Prudence watched them go with a frown, but soon Hortense captured her attention again.

“Let me tell you about my first assignment and see if you don’t feel better,
oui
?” Hortense took one of Prudence’s hands as she spoke, a friendly gesture no doubt, but as the older woman told her story, Prudence began to feel more and more like Hortense’s hand were a manacle holding her down. She listened as Hortense told her about her former employer back in France, who thought so little of the help that she never even bothered to learn Hortense’s name.

As miserable as Prudence was, she realized she could have it worse. When Prudence rose to leave, Hortense stood as well.

“You’re not going to bed already, are you?” Hortense asked sharply.

Prudence shook her head. “No. I have to go straighten up Rowena’s room first.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason.” Hortense waved her hand. “I just thought it was rather early, that’s all. But if you have work to do . . .”

Prudence was lost in thought as she tidied Rowena’s room. Why did it please her so much that the other servants believed she was better than them? In spite of everything Sir Philip had taught them about the equity of all men and women, she still didn’t want to be thought of as a mere servant. But in reality, they were more her sort of people than Rowena and Victoria were. Or Lord Billingsly. Her mother had begun as a maid. She had no idea what her father had done for work, as her mother never spoke of him, but she knew she had family who lived in the village. No doubt many of them had worked for the Buxtons or one of the other titled families in the area.

Was there really a fundamental difference between those of the lower class and those of the upper class, aside from the circumstances of one’s birth, something over which a person has no control? Why did those of the lower classes put up with being made to feel as if they were second-class humans? Prudence could see the need for lower-tier jobs—no one was going to like cleaning the privies, after all. She rubbed her head. No wonder things changed slowly. There were no easy solutions.

When Rowena didn’t appear for her bath, Prudence walked down the hall to Victoria’s room. What room would she have if she were a real guest? She hadn’t been able to see much of the house beyond the servants’ quarters, the girls’ rooms, and the Great Hall. She had hardly even been outside since she arrived. Instead, she spent her afternoons off reading one of the books Vic had smuggled her from the library.

More tired than she had ever been, she climbed the never-ending stairs to her room. Rowena and Victoria could jolly well put themselves to bed tonight. She wasn’t really a maid, no matter what it currently looked like. The encounter with Lord Billingsly and her experience with the staff in the servants’ hall had left her feeling fragile, as if one more incident could break her into a million pieces.

The gas lamps in the long stretch of petticoat hall were spaced far apart and on the lowest setting. “No reason for servants to be able to see,” she muttered. She left the door open, so she would have enough light to get her own small gas lamp burning. After locking the door, she peeled off her clothes, not even bothering to hang them up. Her teeth began to chatter as she pulled on a fine lawn nightgown. Even though her skin gloried in the softness of the material, she almost wished for wool bloomers to fend off the chill. Her room was more like an icebox than a bedroom.