A Mistress for Stansted Hall (2 page)

Instead of bursting into noisy tears her son tossed his head. ‘I like him, he's big and fierce and very brave, isn't he, Mama?’

She pushed herself straight and tried to gather her scattered wits. ‘He's certainly the former, but what makes you think he's brave, Jack?’

‘He was burnt in that fire, Mama, I bet he tried to save someone. That's why he's brave. Can we stay here for ever? I like it now.’

‘Only tonight, my love. I can't think where the rest of the staff are hiding, we shall have to find ourselves a room to sleep in, and then I shall change into my work clothes and see if I can bring some order into this disgusting place.’

*

Rupert stormed back to the study and slammed the door behind him making the decanter and glass rattle on the desk. Foster had just been in to tell him that the remaining staff had filched whatever they could carry and departed. He was alone in this mausoleum; he wished, not for the first time, that he had perished in the fire along with his wife and baby.

Then in his mind's eye he saw the trusting face of the boy child. There had been no pity in his eyes, just curiosity. His breath all but stopped in his throat. The woman, Mrs Reed, had looked straight at him, not shocked by his appearance but furious at his rudeness.

There was only Foster and her to take care of his needs, it would be foolish indeed if he sent her packing before he could find someone to replace her. She was as little like a housekeeper as one could imagine; he frowned trying to remember what she had written in her original application. That's it, she had kept house for her father before she was married. She must be a gentlewoman fallen on hard times. The last thing he wanted was a lady in the house criticising his appearance, pursing her mouth at his drinking habits, but she would do for the moment.

Tipping himself a generous measure of brandy he collapsed into the battered armchair where he spent most of his time. Stretching out his long legs he propped them on what used to be a smart side table, before his boots had ruined the surface. It was possible tonight he would get a decent repast, he'd been living on bread and cheese for months. The only reason he went into the village was to get himself a hot meal.

As he sipped his brandy his stomach rumbled loudly in anticipation of the food to come. He had quite forgot the parlous state of the kitchen and the emptiness of his pantry.

Chapter Two

Emma surveyed the ruins of the kitchen. This chamber was far worse than the rest of the house, she almost felt sorry for the obnoxious man who lived here. Goodness knows what he'd been given to eat – her stomach roiled at the thought.

Tying her apron more firmly about her waist, rolling up her sleeves of her serviceable gown, she turned to her two children who were not convinced that helping to clean the kitchen was really a game they wished to take part in.

‘Now, my dears, this is to be a race. The winner will be the one who can clear their section of the table the quickest.’ She drew a line in the dirt at one end. ‘Jack, this is your section. Mary, you do up to this line, and I'll do the rest.’ She'd divided the table so that she had more than half to clear, it was her hope that they would finish simultaneously. ‘Ready, go.’

Not waiting to see if her children joined in she raced to her end of the table and snatched up three filthy plates. Pivoting on one heel she pounded into the scullery to drop them into the hot soapy water she had prepared earlier. Skidding back through the door she passed her children standing open mouthed watching their mother run mad.

‘I shall beat both of you if you don't get started immediately,’ she cried as she dashed past.

Jack suddenly decided to join in and grabbed a plate from his end of the table, he was closer to the scullery and had already deposited his load by the time his sister arrived with hers. Mary, determined not to be outdone, threw her plate from a yard away. The cascade of water soaked all of them. Shrieking with laughter they continued to tear backwards and forwards hurling cutlery and utensils with little regard for their fragility.

It was Jack who noticed they had company. ‘I say, sir, have you come to play with us? It's a capital game, and I'm winning.’

Emma, scarlet cheeked, paused her arms full of the last few items from her end. ‘I do beg your pardon, Mr Bucknall, I'm a great believer in making unpleasant tasks into fun.’ His expression was disapproving, but she was almost sure she saw his lips twitch slightly before he shook his head and retreated, leaving them to their madness.

All three of them flung their final item into the water at the same time. ‘I win,’ Jack and Mary screamed dancing around in excitement.

‘I believe it was a tie, we are all winners. Now, who wants to wash up and who to dry?’

Leaving her offspring to wallow happily in warm, soapy water she returned to the kitchen with a pail and scrubbing brush. They should be occupied long enough for her to scrub the table. The floor had already been swept, scrubbing that would have to wait until tomorrow. She stopped dead, the water slopped on to her already soaking feet.

Good heavens! They were supposed to be leaving tomorrow, but somehow in the pandemonium she had decided to stay. In this house she would be needed, her children could play without fear of disturbing anyone, and she would never find employment that paid as well anywhere else. If it weren't for her employer being such an unpleasant man she would feel she had landed on her feet.

By teatime the kitchen was greatly improved, not as clean as it would be in the future, but quite good enough to start preparing the evening meal. The larder was empty, but she had seen a house cow and barnyard foul on the way in and there must be a kitchen garden as well.

‘Come along, children, we are going on a hunting expedition. You two will need a large basket and a basin. I shall need a basin and two jugs. We are going on a dangerous adventure and will need to be prepared. Which of you will be the first to be ready?’ There were several wicker trugs piled higgledy-piggledy in the boot room, and basins a plenty back in their correct places on the shelves.

Armed with the necessities to collect eggs, milk, cream and vegetables she led the way outside. There were not the makings for bread; the flour bin was empty and there was no fresh yeast. Tomorrow she would make a list and send the stable boy into the village to buy what she wanted. Tonight they would make do with whatever she could find.

A rheumy eyed gardener greeted her with a gummy smile. ‘Well then, madam, you come to Jethro for some nice tatties and such?’

‘I have indeed. See, we have all got baskets, these are my intrepid helpers, do you think you could fill them with something nice for supper?’

With her two filthy urchins skipping along beside him, Jack, as usual chattering non-stop, the ancient gardener took them down the brick path. Every so often he stopped and pointed and they eagerly rummaged and dropped things into their baskets. Knowing they were safe she turned her attention to the chickens.

A second, equally decrepit, old man appeared from what was obviously the dairy. ‘Here, missus, I've got a dozen fresh eggs for you and a jug of milk. I reckon there's a bit of butter, and some cream if you want it.’

‘Thank you, that's exactly what I've come to find. I'm Mrs Reed, the new housekeeper. I shall expect fresh milk and eggs to be bought the kitchen door first thing every morning in future.’

He doffed his cap, and beamed. ‘I'm Fred, that other is me brother, Jethro. It'll be a rare treat doing for a lady again after all this time.’

In less than one half hour Emma returned to the kitchen with Jack and Mary, all their baskets full to bursting with fresh produce. Jack was beside himself with glee.

‘I'm the best hunter, Mama, I've got strawberries and beans and salad leaves.’

Mary dropped her burden on the table. ‘I have freshly dug potatoes, a bunch of mint and some parsley and, four ripe peaches from the hothouse. What do you have, Mama?’

‘I have eggs, milk, cream and butter. See how clever we are? We have enough here for a veritable feast.’

Whilst Mary took Jack into the scullery to wash his hands and face Emma began to prepare an evening repast for her employer. She would take the tray through to him, the dining room was in no fit state to use, and then feed herself and the children.

*

Rupert retreated to his study baffled by what he'd seen. He was convinced he'd got a candidate for Bedlam under his roof. What in the name of Hades had been going on in the kitchen? He shrugged and resuming his usual seat, stared morosely out of the window. His eyes narrowed. What had happened to his well-ordered grounds? The last time he'd looked the lawns had been well manicured, the drive weed free and the hedges clipped. Now the place was in disarray.

This had not happened overnight, it took years to achieve this air of neglect. He slumped back in his chair clutching the full glass in his hand. What was the point in keeping things as they should be when there was no longer anyone to share it with him?

When there was a sharp rap on the door he slopped his precious brandy in his lap and swore loudly. ‘Come in,’ he roared. It must be that mad woman come to complain there was nothing to eat.

*

Emma all but dropped the tray when she heard his barked command to enter. Straightening her shoulders she pushed open the door with her hip and walked in carrying his evening meal.

Ignoring his fulminating stare, she stared pointedly at his boots which were resting on the table upon which she needed to place his tray. Slowly his feet were removed and he sat up.

‘I do apologise, sir, that I have no fresh bread to accompany your meal. I shall send for provisions tomorrow. However, I hope you will be satisfied with what I've prepared.’

She deftly whipped off the napkin that had been covering the repast. ‘There is an omelette, new potatoes with parsley and butter and fresh beans and salad leaves. There are strawberries and cream and baked peaches for dessert.’ He was leaning forward staring at the meal. ‘I'm afraid I have no idea where you keep the key to the wine cellar. I would have asked your butler, but he has mysteriously disappeared like the rest of your staff.’

‘Mrs Reed, you are indeed a miracle worker. From an empty pantry you have produced a meal fit for a king. Foster will be skulking in his pantry, bang on the door and demand that he fetches me a bottle of claret.’

She curtsied neatly and whisked from the room. He hadn't disagreed with her suggestion that she send for provisions, maybe he was more sanguine about her staying now that she had proved her value by producing a delicious meal.

When she carried a similar meal into the butler's domain he stared at it wide-eyed. ‘Is this for me, Mrs Reed? I'd no idea you were cooking. Has the master got the same?’

‘Indeed he has Mr Foster. He is desirous of having a bottle of claret to go with it, I should be happy to take it to him if you will tell me where I can find it.’

He dropped the cloth over his food. ‘Certainly not, I shall fetch it myself. You feed your little ones, I shall take care of the master. He's not had a decent meal since the last housekeeper left six months ago.’ He nodded and seemed somehow to grow taller. ‘It's my task to fetch and carry for the master until we have more servants. You take care of the kitchen, Mrs Reed, leave the serving to me.’

‘Mr Bucknall gave me a month's wages in lieu of notice, as I'm not intending to leave, do you think it would be in order to spend it on necessary provisions?’

‘An excellent notion. I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you are here. For the first time since the fire I believe we might have turned a corner. That the master is finally able to move on.’ He looked longingly at his supper getting cold on the tray. He continued as he moved into the corridor. ‘Losing his wife and baby all but destroyed him, he used not to be a recluse. This was a happy house, house parties, garden parties, full of sunshine and laughter.’

Emma did not like to disabuse the old man, her arrival had not promoted change of any sort in Mr Bucknall. All she had done was prepare them all a decent meal, she had not been employed as cook, but was quite happy to take on that role until someone else could be appointed.

Jack and Mary had devoured their supper by the time she returned to the kitchen. It was a matter of moments to make herself an omelette with the remaining eggs. ‘Would you like any more potatoes? They are quite delicious, it's a long time since I've had vegetables as fresh and tasty as these.’

It was after six o'clock before dessert was finished. There had been sufficient coffee to grind and prepare a jug for her employer. Mr Foster came in carrying the tray from the study. ‘Clean as a whistle. The master's eaten every scrap, and so, Mrs Reed, shall I.’

‘Have you not eaten yours yet? Please, Mr Foster, eat it before it is unpalatable. I shall take the coffee through.’ She smiled at her children. ‘You may get down from the table, my loves. Fred said you may go and see the new calf. Do you think you can find the dairy on your own?’

They vanished before her final words were finished. Smiling, she picked up the tray, checking the silver coffee pot, creamer and sugar bowl no longer looked dingy and unloved, and headed for the study. The early evening sunshine poured in through the rotunda above the central entrance hall making an intricate pattern on the black and white tiles. Unfortunately it also showed up the cobwebs, dirt and lack of polish.

She paused to gaze around. This could be a lovely house again given the proper attention. However, it would need a dozen indoor servants just to begin cleaning and several footmen would be needed to reach the lofty ceilings. Would Mr Bucknall agree to employ so many? She had found comfortable accommodation in the housekeeper's apartment, but she had yet to discover clean linen to make up the beds.

As her hand was raised to knock he called for her to enter. The door had been left ajar, her boots must have been audible on the bare boards. On entering she could not see him, he was not in the armchair as before. It was gloomy in the study, not just because the windows were filthy, but the shutters were half drawn and allowed little sunlight through.

‘I have your coffee, sir, shall I put it on the side table?’

He spoke from behind her, she almost dropped the tray. ‘No, give it to me, I shall have it at the desk.’

‘Very well, Mr Bucknall. I do apologise for spilling the cream but something startled me and caused me to stumble.’ It was impolite to criticise one's employer, but the words were out before she could stop them.

His hands appeared and removed the tray from her grasp. It was only then she noticed he wore a black leather glove on his right hand. ‘I must thank you for the meal, I did not employ you to cook but am pleased you did so. I shall not require anything further tonight.’

Her eyes were drawn to his. For a moment she was pinned by his fierce grey stare, then he looked away and she was free. He really had the most remarkable face, the scars down his right cheek hardly detracted from his looks.

In the few precious minutes she had to herself before her children came back and demanded her attention, she could not help but think about the man she was now committed to spending her foreseeable future with. Before he had been burned he must have been an Adonis, for even with the damage he was still the most handsome man she'd ever seen. He reminded her of a bird of prey, an eagle perhaps, with those piercing grey eyes.

This would not do; whether he was the ugliest man in Christendom or the most handsome, it was nothing to do with her. She was his housekeeper, a mere servant, he was so far above her in status that he would not even notice her existence. As long as he got his meals on time, his household ran like clockwork, she was certain he would not give her a second thought.