A Mistress for Stansted Hall (6 page)

Love? What maggot had got into his brain now? Mrs Reed was his employee, the fact that she had hair the colour of ripe corn and eyes as blue as the summer sky was nothing to him. He would send her on her way as soon as he was recovered. There was brandy in his study, he had intended to go there and drink it.

Something stopped him. Perhaps he would try to sleep in a bed tonight, he still felt weak as a kitten, he wasn't sure he could make his way through the house without mishap. It was nothing to do with Mrs Reed's comment about Foster, nothing at all. He was going to remain downstairs because it suited him.

Now his stomach no longer gurgled emptily, he would return to his temporary abode and pray that he did not suffer from the nightmares that plagued him whenever he was prone in bed.

*

Emma wasn't sure what had woken her. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up, something had frightened her awake. Was it the children? She threw back the covers and scrambled out ready to rush to their side. She was at the doorway when a cry of such despair echoed along the corridor that it almost broke her heart.

Snatching up her bed robe she dashed into the passage, it was Mr Bucknall. Her arms were barely through the sleeves when she burst into his room. He was sitting up in bed, his eyes wide open, his face twisted in agony. He was fast asleep, gripped tight by a savage nightmare.

Without a second's hesitation she ran to his side. ‘Mr Bucknall, sir, wake up, I implore you. You are having a nightmare.’

His hands were icy, cold sweat trickled down his tortured face, but he did not wake. He cried out a second time and tears streamed down his cheeks. She could think of nothing else to do but what she did her for her children when they were so afflicted. She climbed on to the bed beside him and gathered him close. For a moment he resisted, still moaned in that heartrending fashion then slowly he relaxed against her. His arms somehow found their way about her waist and he pulled her down beside him.

When she tried to move away he started to toss his head and mutter. She had no option but to remain where she was, he was in danger of reopening his wound the way he was struggling. ‘There, there, it's all right now. You sleep, I shall hold you whilst you rest.’

Her soothing words worked and within a few minutes of her arrival he was breathing deeply, evenly. He was fast asleep and she was beside him in bed, in her night apparel. In the moonlight she could see he was still in his shirt. That was something, she supposed. She was quite definitely inappropriately dressed, but if she remained on top of the covers until she was able to extricate herself then maybe her reputation would still be intact.

This was the second time today she had held him. His head was heavy against her chest, the warmth from his skin seeping through the two thicknesses of her clothes. As she dozed her mind drifted, when had her husband last held her in this way? Shocked, her eyes flew open. She and John had not shared an intimate moment like this since Jack had been born.

Her hand moved of its own volition to stoke his hair. Foster must have been obliged to wash it because of the blood, and now it was soft and silky beneath her touch. Somehow she slipped down the pillows until she was lying flat. As sleep claimed her she knew, like Pandora and her box, she was going to regret this escapade in the morning.

Chapter Six

It was the cockerel in the stable yard that woke Emma next morning. She felt strangely warm and comfortable, believed she had not rested so well for years. It was what she had always loved best about being married to John, the closeness they sometimes found in each other's arms.

Her sleep befuddled brain cleared. John had been dead for more than a year, and they had shared nothing but arguments for the three years before that. She didn't dare to open her eyes, she recalled exactly where she was and with whom. Thank the good Lord he had now rolled away from her, perhaps she could slip away and he would be none the wiser.

With infinite care she inched her way to the edge of the bed, dropped first one barefoot and then the other to the boards. She froze. Had he stirred? No, his breathing was even, she was safe. After a few more agonising seconds she was on her feet and moving stealthily to the half-open door. She whisked through it and ran back to her lonely bed, climbed in and pulled the sheets up to her chin.

So many strange things had been happening to her since she arrived at Stansted Manor, she was behaving out of character and yet felt more invigorated than she could remember. Perhaps living dangerously suited her better than behaving with decorum. She would make sure that Fred did not ring the neck of the cockerel, without his intervention she would be in dire straits indeed.

A gurgle of unexpected laughter bubbled forth. Why was she getting in such a pother about her reputation? She was no longer a lady but a servant, she need not give a fig for such things. As long as she behaved as would be expected of a respectable housekeeper, no one else would care one way or the other what she did in her own time. There was an unexpected freedom in her straitened circumstances that she had never considered before. She need not agonise about having spent the night in the arms of a gentleman without the benefit of clergy, both she and he knew nothing improper had taken place. That was all that mattered. Well, he fortunately knew nothing about what had happened so that was one less thing to worry about.

She yawned, it was just after four o’ clock, she did not have to rise until six – plenty of time to go back to sleep. As her eyes flickered shut; it was not John she saw smiling down at her but a black-haired, dark visaged man.

*

Rupert continued to breathe as if asleep until he was certain the delectable Mrs Reed had gone. He felt wonderful, relaxed and refreshed and it was all due to the kindness of his housekeeper. He could not imagine any other woman prepared to do what she had done for him. She must never know that he had woken half an hour ago to find himself in her arms.

Somehow he had removed himself from temptation. He breathed deeply, he could still smell the faint lemon scent of her soap. Laughing he held up his own arm and sniffed, the unpleasant stench made him gag. This made her kindness even more remarkable. It was time he had a bath, pulled himself together. He had emerged from the black tunnel his life had become, suddenly had something to live for.

What was it that old fool Foster had said to him? That his blood had ruined her gown. That was something he could do for her without engendering unpleasant gossip. He stretched out, his bare feet poked out. He would return to his bedchamber today, he had had installed a newfangled bath chamber. Today he would make full use of it.

He would wait until it was light enough to see without a candle and then go up to the large box-room on the nursery floor. When he had returned from India he had brought with him many trunks of beautiful material, silks and muslins, cottons and cashmere. Amy had ignored these treasures, her wardrobe had come from the most expensive mantua maker in London. He had all but way often those tedious trips to Town, being obliged to rent a cripplingly expensive townhouse for the season and then dance attendance on his beloved while she dragged him to one tedious event after another.

It was he that had been overjoyed when she had become pregnant; for her it meant the end of her freedom, the loss of her figure. She had moved into the east wing after James had been born telling him in no uncertain terms that she had no wish for another child. He frowned at the memory. How could he have forgotten that they were all but estranged when the fire had killed her and his precious son?

The intolerable grief, now he was being honest with himself, was for the loss of his baby. He could scarcely remember his wife's face now. James, a beautiful child still in leading strings, was forever etched in his memory. He slammed his fist into the bedpost wincing at the pain. So that was why he was attracted to Jack…he had the same floppy brown hair and big blue eyes that his own son had possessed.

Perhaps it was guilt that gave him the nightmares, not because he had loved Amy too much but not loved her enough. If they had been living as man and wife neither of them would have died. Too late to repine. Today was to be the start of a new life; his excessive drinking would end, he would take control. He was quite sure his factor was robbing him blind and it was high time the man got his comeuppance and his tenants their just dues.

He flopped back on the bed, he would remain where he was until Dr Andrews visited later this morning. It was something niggling at the back of his mind, something he had observed in his perambulations last night. Good grief! Not only was the kitchen spotless, the corridor and the rooms he was using had also been taken in hand. This was not the work of one woman and a doddery old man. Mrs Reed had taken it upon herself to appoint new members of staff. Yesterday he would have been in a black rage at her impudence, today he was glad she did not have to do the heavy work herself.

He dozed peacefully until he was roused by a smart rap on the door. Pushing himself sleepily on to his elbows he bid whoever it was come in. A smart young man in clean white shirt, smartly tied neck cloth and buff breeches marched in carrying a laden tray.

‘Good morning, sir, I have your breakfast here. I shall put it on the side table whilst I help you to sit up.’

Rupert was upright in seconds. ‘Who the devil are you?’

‘I am William Everett, at your service, Mr Bucknall. Mrs Reed has appointed me your valet. I am experienced in that position and have already taken your wardrobe in hand.’

The tray was on his lap before Rupert could protest further that he had no wish for a manservant. He scowled. The young man ignored him and continued to talk as if he was addressing an elderly invalid.

‘Cook has prepared you sweet morning rolls, ham, coddled eggs and mushrooms. I have also a pot of freshly brewed coffee. Is there anything else you require?’

Faced with mouth-watering food and a pot of his favourite drink it seemed churlish to continue in a bad humour. Had he not vowed to be a new man? He would start by not dismissing this William before he'd had a chance to prove his worth.

‘Nothing else to eat, this will be more than adequate. However, I wish you to have a bath drawn and find me something more suitable to wear.’

‘I shall return when everything is prepared for you.’

Rupert ate with relish, it would seem there was also a cook working for him. If she continued to prepare such delicious meals she could certainly stay. He would reserve judgement on his valet. The sound of childish laughter outside his door made him smile, the movement of his lips pulled on his scars reminding him that he might have recovered on the inside but his appearance was permanently damaged.

*

Within a few days Stansted Manor began to emerge from its dilapidated state. Emma had been delighted to discover that most of the problems were superficial, a vigorous application of vinegar and brown paper on the windows of the rooms that were in use soon had them looking as good as new. It would take more than the few people she had to effect a total change.

Mr Bucknall had not demanded to see her, not appeared in the kitchen, in fact had remained remarkably elusive. William informed her that their employer was busy overseeing the long neglected estate, had already dismissed the estate manager and appointed a local man to run things for him.

Mr Foster was rejuvenated and, as she and he were effectively in charge of the house, had taken to visiting her in her parlour during the morning to discuss what needed doing.

‘It is Sunday tomorrow, I wish to attend church with my children and any members of staff who would like to come with us. Do you think it necessary to speak to him, to obtain his permission? Also, I should like to take on half a dozen more inside staff and I am sure that a further two or three footmen would be beneficial.’

‘The master has never been a churchgoer, I should not bother him with such trivialities, Mrs Reed. These decisions are best left to us. On the matter of more staff, that's something I do need to discuss with him. As butler here, it is my prerogative to ask him such things.’

That was all very well in the normal run of things, but Mr Foster was absent minded, came back frequently to ask her the same questions, having forgotten what he was supposed to be doing before he had accomplished his task. ‘Thank you, for your kind offer, Mr Foster, but as I am the one who has instigated the changes it behoves me speak to Mr Bucknall. If there is to be any unpleasantness it is far better it is directed at me, than at yourself.’

‘As you wish, my dear Mrs Reed. I must admit I am finding it more difficult nowadays to remember my duties.’ His bushy grey eyebrows vanished under his hair. ‘I do declare I have forgotten something most important. The master gave me three parcels and I had strict instructions to deliver them to you three days ago. I misremember where I put the wretched things.’

It took the combined efforts of William, Mr Foster and two parlourmaids to discover the missing items. Tilly and Ann rushed in and placed the objects on a table in Emma's parlour. ‘Good heavens, what have we here?’ Each rectangular object was securely wrapped in calico and then string had been tied around it. She had not the heart to send the two girls away, they were agog with curiosity. ‘There, I believe I have the first parcel open, I…’ her voice trailed away and she stared in incredulity at what Mr Bucknall had given her.

‘Oh my! I've never seen the like, madam. Such beautiful material, it's the exact colour of your hair and shimmers like gold.’ Tilly stretched out a tentative fingertip and stroked the fabulous silk.

‘There must be some mistake. Why should Mr Bucknall give me such an extravagant gift?’ Her heart was pounding, she could think of only one reason why he should wish to reward her in this way. He knew about her night-time sojourn in his bed and was, in his own clumsy way, making amends. ‘However lovely the cloth, I must return it, it is of no use to me. Silk is for ladies, not housekeepers.’

‘Please, Mrs Reed, will you not open the other two? It would be a pity to return all if one of them would make you something new.’

Ann was quite correct. She was in desperate need of new gowns, the village shop did not stock material, it had to be ordered in especially by their customers. With quick snips of her silver scissors she undid the other bolts of cloth. The second made her gasp with happiness. ‘Look at this, girls. It is perfect.’ She ran the lightweight blue material through her fingers. ‘It is cotton of some sort, light but strongly woven. There's more be enough here to make me two gowns and still have enough over to make Mary and Jack something as well.’

The third parcel was equally acceptable. This was by far the largest, double the weight of the other two, there must be dozens of yards rolled up here. ‘This is perfect for making dresses for the rest of you. The dark grey is ideal, it will not show the marks. It is more like a cotton twill, much heavier than the other.’

She picked up the heavy parcel and handed it to Tilly. ‘I hope more than one of you is expert with the needle.’

The girl nodded, her cap slid askew on her soft brown hair. ‘I reckon between us we can make the gowns, ma'am. We have discovered sufficient caps and pinafores, but none of us have a change of raiment or anything smart for Sunday.’

‘Then hopefully there will be enough material here to make something for everyone. I do not believe that Mrs Turner requires a new gown, she told me she has more than one already.’

How she wished that Mr Foster had given her these gifts immediately. Mr Bucknall must think her both ungrateful and impolite not to have come personally to thank him. To purchase items of this quality would cost far more than she, or her staff , could afford. However, the gold silk must be returned forthwith.

She had not seen her employer since that ill-fated night. William had informed her that his master was now happily returned to his apartment upstairs. He had accepted all the changes in the house with equanimity, ate all his meals without demure in the breakfast parlour and did not seem to notice the shrouded appearance of the main reception rooms. She had forbidden Mary to use the piano until she had asked permission, as she hadn't yet spoken to Mr Bucknall her daughter had been growing impatient. That was until she discovered an enormous black tomcat lurking in the undergrowth behind the barn.

It took the girl a day and a half to coax him out, and now the cat was earning his keep catching the vermin. The animal, which Mary had named Sooty, had not even objected when she'd bathed him in the copper in the laundry. Emma hoped this had removed the worst of the fleas from the animal's fur. The fact that Mr Bucknall could not abide cats was neither here nor there. Better to brave his wrath than be overrun with rats and mice.