The Housemaid's Scandalous Secret (10 page)

For the next half-hour they sat in congenial companionship as Giles gave him a detailed account of what needed to be done on the estate, which through lack of money had been neglected. He went on to tell him of myriad business ventures and family holdings the Montagues had managed to hold on to, but it was clear Giles was concerned about the state of the finances.

‘I would like to help,’ Ross offered. ‘Not only have I come home to offer my support but also to offer financial help to tide you over until the family debts can be settled.’

‘Thank you, Ross. That’s extremely generous of you. I appreciate your offer but I cannot accept it—not yet anyway. I have money of my own and I’m managing to keep things afloat just now. We’re banking on Harry coming up with firm evidence of Jamie’s death. Although if it is proved that Alicia’s son is indeed the heir, then Jamie’s wealth will pass to him.’

‘Think about it. I owe your family a great deal—especially your parents, who gave me and my sister a home when we needed one, and extended as much affection to us as they did to their own children. The offer remains if you should change your mind.’

Chapter Four

N
othing could have prepared Lisette for the exquisite splendour that was Castonbury Park in the heart of the Derbyshire countryside. She saw it from a distance sitting like a grand old lady surrounded by beautiful parkland, timeless, gracious and brooding, its elegant beauty expressing power and pride.

When the carriage drew to a halt in front of the house, scarlet and gold-liveried footmen appeared and descended to strip them of the mountain of baggage. Lisette stepped into the bustling, alien environment that was to be her world from now on, acutely aware of the rich trappings of the interior.

The house was awe inspiring, the atmosphere of comfort and luxury, of elegance and a style of living she could never have imagined. The butler, Lumsden, stood aside as they entered, keeping a keen eye on the footmen to remind them of their duties as their eyes kept straying with frank approval to the young maid who stood beside Miss Araminta.

Unaware of their admiring looks, with her eyes opened wide with wonder and awe, Lisette followed her mistress along an assortment of corridors to the west block, where Araminta and other family members had their rooms. Lisette attended her mistress’s toilet and helped her change into fresh clothes in which to meet the family, before seeking her own chamber. She was pleasantly surprised to find she had been allotted an adequately furnished room overlooking the park at the south-facing front of the house.

Having washed her face and tidied herself, Lisette found her way to the domestic quarters to introduce herself to Mrs Stratton, the housekeeper.

‘Wait here,’ a young housemaid by the name of Daisy said when she asked if she might see Mrs Stratton. ‘She’s in her parlour with Mr Everett, the steward. I’ll tell her you’re here.’

Lisette did as she was told, standing just inside the kitchen door and glad of it, for it gave her a chance to look at this splendid room which was a hive of activity. Every surface was so highly polished it reflected the light. There were two enormous tables bearing bowls filled with all manner of ingredients and chopping boards. There was much stirring and chopping and whisking at this table, a tumultuous frenzy, as dinner was prepared for the family. Covering a whole wall was a huge dresser that reached from floor to ceiling with what seemed to be hundreds of pieces of crockery of every sort, along with copper utensils, silver-covered dishes and much more. A massive range took over the whole of another wall, with an iron contraption with hooks on which to hang kettles and such like for roasting meat.

A young male cook in a pristine white apron and white hat was leaning over the range, the wooden spoon with which he had just stirred a sauce at his lips. He tasted the mixture speculatively, his darkly handsome face set in lines of deep concentration, then he turned to a kitchen maid and, with an air of one who makes a momentous decision upon which the lives of hundreds might depend, he said with a strong foreign accent, ‘A half-teaspoon more of pepper, if you please, Nancy, and not a spec more.’

Lisette turned when a neatly dressed woman with a rustle of stiff black silk and a jangle of the keys secured to her waist appeared.

‘I’m Mrs Stratton and you must be Miss Napier, Miss Araminta’s maid.’

‘Yes. I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs Stratton.’

‘How is Miss Araminta? Well, I hope?’

‘Yes, she is very well and meeting her family just now. The footmen are sorting out the baggage at present so I thought I’d come and familiarise myself with the routine in the domestic quarters.’

Mrs Stratton looked her over and what she saw evidently satisfied her. A woman with greying blond hair, she was of a gentle and quiet nature and treated the maids fairly and with kindness. Over the coming days as Lisette got to know her better, she would find that she was one of those rare women blessed with a temperament that was constant and reliable, and that her loyalty to the Montagues exceeded that which was normally expected of a servant for her employers.

On seeing Miss Napier’s interest in the male cook, she smiled.

‘That is Monsieur André. He has the entire superintendence of the kitchen, while several maids are employed in roasting, boiling and all the ordinary manual operations of the kitchen. I’ll get Faith Henshaw to show you the ropes—she’s Lady Phaedra’s maid and extremely competent. I’m sure you’ll be glad of her help.’

Lisette was immensely grateful. Faith—or Henny as she was addressed—was a few years older than she was. Very slim and with dark brown hair and always on the go, she was an experienced lady’s maid, kind and thoughtful. She was to marry Sandy, one of the footmen. It was from Faith that Lisette learned of the household duties and the routine of the household.

* * *

The day of Ross’s return was one of high spirits at Castonbury. The housemaids gathered in corners and whispered between themselves. Mrs Stratton instructed Monsieur André to make up his favourite chocolate sponge cake, and the following morning Giles took him on a tour of the estate lest he had forgotten where he lived.

It was late afternoon when Ross made his way to his uncle’s suite of rooms. Smithins, small, with thick white hair and his habitual poker face and keen eyes, met him in the anteroom to the duke’s bedchamber.

‘Welcome home, my lord,’ he said haughtily.

‘Thank you, Smithins. I’ve come to see my uncle.’ When the valet made no reply, he looked at him enquiringly, raising his eyebrows. ‘Is he awake?’

Smithins considered the colonel, inclining his head and pursing his lips in an effeminate manner. ‘On the doctor’s orders I gave him a draught earlier. It has relaxed him. In fact, I was about to get him into bed. I am reluctant to allow any new stress foisted on him.’

‘I am not here to cause him stress,’ Ross stated, struggling to hold on to his temper, somewhat put out at being kept waiting as though he were a casual caller.

‘I’m sure you’re not, Colonel, but—’

‘I would like to see my uncle,’ Ross interrupted in a glacial voice, feeling impatience grow in him as the valet bristled waspishly. ‘I will stay just a moment.’

Smithins sniffed and with his nose in the air turned towards the door. ‘Very well, if you insist.’

Ross was admitted into the bedchamber. It was dominated by a huge bed decorated with palms and ostrich feathers and hung with blue silk damask. It was a comfortable, spacious room, but there was an air of tension about it which manifested itself in the old man seated in a chair by the window, and the slow metronome ticking of the clock which seemed to herald the coming of something the duke might not care for. The room was warm, for Smithins was of the opinion that warm air helped fragile lungs to breath more easily.

Ross went to his uncle. ‘Uncle?’

The duke lifted his head then and saw him. Ross was taken aback at the sight. Even Giles’s words had not prepared him for his appearance. All his life he had been a tall, well-built man, his face full, firm and strong looking. Now it was much altered, the life gone from it, drained and empty, the flesh already sunken into the shape of his skull. His eyes were a dead, flat grey. They had lost all their bright intelligence that he had always associated with his uncle. He coughed, gasping to take his next breath. Ross waited while Smithins gave him some water. Gradually some colour came to his face and his breathing became easier. His eyes lost their blankness and filled with an expression of recognition as they settled on Ross. But Ross could see that his uncle was half the man he once was, shrunken, bent, slower and bereft without Edward and Jamie.

When he spoke he was coherent, his voice low and thread-like. ‘Ross, my boy, Giles told me you were back. You look well. India must agree with you. You are on leave? How long have you got?’

‘A few weeks—longer if I am needed here.’

He nodded, his gaze drawn to the window which offered an extensive view of the park, staring with an air of fixed absorption of some secret worry. ‘That’s good. Giles will be glad to have you around. You know about Edward—and Jamie...’

‘Yes.’

‘Sometimes I forget...I think they are still here—and then I remember. I can’t take it. Why don’t they come home?’ He could not go on for a moment and his hand fell away to his lap where it clutched desperately at the wool of the rug which covered his legs. His gaze remained on the window and the yellow gold wash of the sun on the curtains. After a moment, speaking slowly, almost to himself, he said, ‘I cannot believe they are both gone from here—that all that life and vigour, that passionate conviction, that vital, hot-headed emotion that sent them to war is...’

With those words trailing off into silence, Ross looked down into the face of the man who stared somewhere into the far-off distance into a nightmare world in which no one existed but himself. He knew everyone who came to see him, to stand beside his chair and express hope and belief that some miracle would bring his sons back to Castonbury.

Drawing himself up, Ross laid a gentle hand on his uncle’s shoulder and nodded to Smithins to show him out.

* * *

It was chance that brought Lisette into contact with Ross following his meeting with his uncle. Upon climbing the stairs on her route to Miss Araminta’s room, she found him at the top of the landing. They were not entirely alone, as two footmen were lighting the candles along the corridor where they met. She stopped awkwardly and looked directly at him. He seemed perfectly self-possessed. The shadows were resting softly along his cheek and chin. He brought his gaze down upon hers heavily and with a slight smile, reaching out his hand, he gently touched her cheek with the tip of his finger.

Lisette looked away, not on account of shame, but because his gaze was loaded with desire. He stepped back, dipped his head to her graciously before proceeding down the stairs.

After a moment she turned. Mrs Stratton was watching her from the shadows, and in that instant Lisette felt as if all her vices had been unmasked. She shrank back, ashamed of her conduct, and resolved once more to dispel all her absurd longings, however impossible this task seemed. After all, what right had she to entertain even for a moment, a desire for anything more than what she had now?

But— Oh, dear sweet Lord! To be embraced by him, kissed by him! She had never known such a feeling. It was as if every particle of her might come apart in his arms. Until that moment she had never known the true force of her emotions. It was like nothing else on earth. It contained in it all the fierceness, all the violence, of a hurricane. It was the very essence of the sublime.

Whenever they met, she did her best to avoid meeting his gaze, but he did not endeavour to avoid hers; in fact, he occupied himself with nothing else.

* * *

Despite Ross’s homecoming, which should have been cause for celebration, dinner that night was a subdued affair in the grand dining room. The long table shone with silver and crystal ware. Up above the ceiling was richly decorated with a series of paintings of the four seasons and continents. Gilt-framed paintings of hunting scenes adorned the stone-coloured walls, and the white marble mantelpiece was supported by Roman figures.

Looking particularly regal yet wraithlike in a gown of saffron silk shot with green, her grey hair immaculately coiffed beneath an elaborate arrangement of feathers, the Honourable Mrs Wilhelmina Landes-Fraser presided over all of it. Diamonds and emeralds sparkled at her neck, earlobes and wrists. Seated at the opposite end of the table to Giles, she regarded the family with a stern eye and an attentive expression in her eyes as they settled on Phaedra and Araminta before nodding to the servants to begin serving.

As sister-in-law to the Duke of Rothermere she cared a great deal for the fads and fashions of the day, although she, unlike the majority of her contemporaries, refused to allow her tall, slender figure to run to fat. A stickler for protocol and doing the right thing, she had the aloof, unshakable confidence and poise that came from living a thoroughly privileged life. In this world of hidden meanings and unspoken rules, there was no mistaking her value.

Ross inwardly gritted his teeth. Aunt Wilhelmina was effectively the matriarch of the family. Acknowledging the power she wielded was something the Montague men had to do.

The meal progressed with Phaedra complimenting Ross on his magnificent horse, who had lost no time in making himself at home in the stables, and Giles sang the praises of his betrothed, the lovely Lily Seagrove.

‘You’ll be meeting her shortly, Ross—and her father, the Reverend Seagrove. He often calls to spend some time with Father and frequently joins us for dinner.’

‘I remember Miss Seagrove, Giles. Not having seen her since she was a girl, I’m sure I shall find her much changed. This is excellent soup, by the way,’ Ross commented, spooning the rather unusual but mouthwatering soup up. ‘I compliment the cook on her culinary art.’

‘We have a chef in the Castonbury kitchen—a Frenchman, Monsieur André,’ Giles informed him. ‘French chefs are in demand in London—in the hotels in particular. When Father was ailing, we lured Monsieur André to Castonbury with promise of future advancement if he could tempt Father to eat in order to maintain his health.’

‘I’m impressed,’ Ross said, having finished the soup and looking forward to the next course, which he had no doubt would be a culinary delight.

‘Giles tells me you have been to see this woman who claims to have married Jamie?’ Wilhelmina said, settling her sharp eyes on Ross. ‘What did you think of her? Is she genuine?’

‘I can’t say. I found her likeable and quite convincing, but...’

Wilhelmina lifted her aristocratic brows. ‘But
you
were not convinced.’

‘Not entirely.’

‘Did you see the child?’

‘No, I did not.’

‘I see. I would appreciate it if we kept this within the family,’ she said, lowering her tone a notch with Lumsden and his minions close within earshot. ‘Hopefully we shall hear from Harry very soon and it will put an end to this nonsense.’

‘It may not be nonsense,’ Ross remarked. ‘I greatly fear that, like it or not, there is every chance that Jamie married the woman in Spain and that the child is his.’