Ashworth Hall (5 page)

Teliman thought about it for a few more moments, then apparently appreciated that, at least for now, he had little choice in the matter. Dutifully, he hung up the rest of Pitt’s clothes, then set out his brush, shirt studs, collar studs and cuff links, then his shaving soap, brush, razor and strop.

“I’m going to look around the house,” he told her stiffly when he had finished. “I’d better do my proper job as well. That’s what Mr. Cornwallis sent me here for.” He looked very slightly down at her, which, since he was the best part of a foot taller, was not difficult. He was also fourteen years older, and was not going to let some twenty-year-old slip of a girl take liberties just because she knew how to unpack a trunk.

“Good idea,” she said crisply. “Now yer done that”—she nodded towards Pitt’s empty case—“you in’t no use ’ere. These things in’t your place ter see. But you can come back an’ put these cases in the boxroom later on. An’ yer better not go around givin’ yerself no airs,” she added as he reached the door. “Yer don’ want them thinking as yer more’n a valet, although a valet is very superior as servants go. An’ don’t forget that neither, an’ go mixin’ familiar wi’ the like o’ footmen an’ bootboys.”

“And how do you know all that?” he asked, his eyebrows raised high. “Seeing as you only just arrived, same as I did.”

“I bin in service for years,” she said expansively. It was none of his business that all of it had been with Charlotte, and she had her ideas of a house like this from bits and pieces she had overheard and the very occasional visit, and to be honest, more than a little guesswork. She gave him a level stare. “ ’Ow long are yer goin’ ter stand there then, like one o’ them things gentlemen puts their umbrellas on?”

“Service,” he said grimly, then turned and marched out.

“In’t nothin’ wrong in service,” she said to his retreating back. “I’m warm and comfortable every night an’ I eat every day, an’ that’s mor’n a lot can say! An’ I keep company wi’ decent folks, not like wot you do!”

He did not reply.

Gracie finished the rest of Charlotte’s unpacking, enjoying the touch and the luxurious colors of the borrowed gowns, hanging them carefully, smoothing the skirts to stay without creasing, touching her fingers to the beading and the lace and the silk chiffon so fine one could read a book through it.

She was very nearly at the end of the undergarments when there was a knock at the door. She was all ready to face Tellman again and give him another piece of her mind if he was still so contrary, but when she answered, it was not Tellman who came in but a dark-haired rather handsome woman of about thirty, in a maid’s dress, but with the bearing of one who is very sure of herself. Gracie guessed immediately it must be another lady’s maid. Only a lady’s maid or a governess would behave with such superiority, and there were no governesses here.

“Morning,” the woman said cautiously. “I’m Gwen, Mrs. Radley’s maid. Welcome to Ashworth Hall.”

“Good morning,” Gracie replied with a hesitant smile. This woman had achieved what Gracie would most like to be. She would need her help, and example, if she were not to let Charlotte down. “Thank you very much.”

“Mrs. Radley said there might be some things Mrs. Pitt would care to borrow, for the occasion. If you’d like to come with me, I’ll show you and let you hang them in here.”

“Thank you. That would be very good,” Gracie accepted. She thought of making some remark as to why Charlotte needed to borrow gowns, then changed her mind. Gwen probably knew perfectly well the reason. Few people had any secrets from ladies’ maids. She followed obediently and was shown half a dozen gowns, morning dresses, afternoon dresses and an evening dress of rich wines and rose, which in her private opinion would not have suited Mrs. Radley’s delicate fair coloring at all. Either she had made a very bad purchase or she had got it with the intention of giving it to Charlotte at some time.

“Very handsome,” she said, trying to hide at least some of her awe. She did not want to appear ignorant.

“I’m sure it will become Mrs. Pitt very well,” Gwen said generously. “Then if you like, I’ll show you around the upstairs and have you meet the other ladies’ maids.”

“Thank you very much,” Gracie accepted. It was most important she learn everything she could. One never knew when it might be needed. And if there really were danger, even a crime in the offing, she must know the house, the people, their natures and loyalties. “I’d like that,” she added with a smile.

Gwen proved most agreeable. Perhaps Mrs. Radley had confided in her something of the true nature of the weekend. Gracie found herself liking her—and the task of becoming familiar with the upstairs of the house, the staircases, the quickest way to the kitchens or the laundry room, the ironing room and the stillroom, and how to avoid the footmen, the bootboys and the butler, whose authority was absolute and whose temper was uncertain.

Charlotte had told her something of the guests who were expected, and she met Miss Moynihan’s maid, who was a pleasantly spoken French girl with a nice sense of humor. Mrs. McGinley’s maid was an older woman with a habit of shaking her head as if in premonition of some disaster, and Doll, a very handsome girl in her mid-twenties, was Mrs. Greville’s maid. She was tall, a good six inches taller than Gracie, and with a fine figure. She reminded Gracie of what a really excellent parlor maid should look like, except for a certain sadness in her, or perhaps it was aloofness. Gracie would have to know her better to decide.

She was on her way upstairs, having parted from Gwen, when she saw a young man starting down. Her first thought was what a charming face he had. His hair was very dark, black in the inside fight, and his mouth was gentle, as if his mind might be full of dreams.

Then her second thought was that she must have mistaken the stairs and be on the wrong flight. She stopped, feeling the blood rush up her face. She would have to meet such a person when she had made such a foolish error. And yet looking up at the landing above, it was exactly like the one she had come down from. The small table had white chrysanthemums on it in a green vase, against pale green-and-white wallpaper. There was even a gas bracket with a frosted-glass mantle exactly like the one she had seen on the way down. How confusing to have two stairs so much the same.

He had stopped also.

“Beggin’ your pardon,” he said in a soft Irish accent, quite different from that of Miss Moynihan’s maid. He must be from another part of the country. He stood aside for her to pass, smiling and meeting her eyes. His were very dark, the darkest she had ever seen.

“I … I think I’m on the wrong stair,” she stammered. “I’m sorry.”

“The wrong stair?” he asked.

“I … I must be on the menservants’ stairs, not the women’s,” she said, feeling the heat burning in her cheeks.

“No,” he said quickly. “No, I’m sure it’s me on the wrong one. Sure I didn’t even think of it. You must be visiting here, like me, or you’d know for certain.”

“Yes. Yes, I belong to Mrs. Pitt. I’m her lady’s maid.”

He smiled at her again. “I’m Mr. McGinley’s valet. My name’s Finn Hennessey. I come from County Down.”

She smiled back at him. “I’m Gracie Phipps.” She came from the back streets of Clerkenwell, but she wasn’t going to say so. “I’m from Bloomsbury.” That was where she lived now, so it was true enough.

“How do you do, Gracie Phipps.” He inclined his head in a very slight bow. “I think there is going to be a rare party this weekend, especially if this fine weather holds. I’ve never seen such a garden, so many great trees. It’s a lovely land.” He sounded vaguely surprised.

“Have you never been to England before?” she asked.

“No, I never have. It’s not much like I expected.”

“What did you think it’d be, then?”

“Different,” he said thoughtfully.

“Different how?” she pressed.

“I don’t think as I know,” he confessed. “Different from Ireland, I suppose. And at least for this one bit of it, it could be Ireland, with all those trees, and the grass, and flowers.”

“Is Ireland very beautiful?”

His face softened and his whole body seemed to ease, till instead of standing to attention there was a grace in him as he leaned against the rail, his eyes bright.

“It’s a sad country, Gracie Phipps, but it’s the most beautiful God ever made. There’s a wildness to it, a richness of color, a sweetness on the wind you couldn’t know unless you’d smelled it. It’s a very old land, where once heroes and saints and scholars lived, and now the memory of those days aches in the color of the earth, the standing stones, the trees against the sky, the sound of a storm. But there’s no peace in it now. Its children go cold and hungry, and the land belongs to strangers.”

“That’s terrible,” she said softly. She did not know what he was talking about that was different from the harshness and the poverty there was anywhere, but the pain in his voice moved her to a swift compassion, and his words conjured a vision of something precious and lost. Injustice always angered her, more since she had worked for Pitt, because she had seen him fight it.

“Of course it is.” He smiled at her with a little shake of his head. “But maybe we’ll do something about it this time. We’ll win one day, that I promise you.”

She was prevented from replying by Mrs. Moynihan’s lady’s maid coming along the top corridor and reaching the head of the stairs.

“Sure I’m in the wrong place,” Finn Hennessey apologized to her. “It’s that easy to get lost in a house this size. I’m sorry, ma’am.” After a quick look at Gracie, he went back up and disappeared. Gracie continued on her way, but her head was whirling, and five minutes later she had taken a wrong turning and did not know where she was either.

Upon arriving Pitt had gone almost immediately to talk to Jack Radley about the situation which faced them, and to inform Ainsley Greville that he was there, as was Tellman. He must also learn what other provisions had been made by the local police, and by Ashworth Hall’s own menservants, and what Greville had told them of the situation and its dangers.

Charlotte went straight to see Emily, who was in the upstairs boudoir, having expected her arrival and longing to talk to her.

“I’m so glad you came!” she said, throwing her arms around her and hugging her tightly. “This is my first really important political weekend, and it’s going to be absolutely fearful. In fact, it already is.” She stood back, pulling her face into an expression of acute anxiety. “You should feel the tension. If these people are typical of the rest of the Irish, I can’t imagine how anyone thinks they are going to find peace between them. Even the women dislike each other.”

“Well, they are Irish as much as the men,” Charlotte pointed out with a smile. “And possibly they are Catholic or Protestant as much, or just as dispossessed, or just as frightened of losing what they have and have worked for.”

Emily looked surprised. “Do you know something about it?” She was wearing a morning dress of pale green, a color which suited her fair hair and complexion extraordinarily well, and she looked quite lovely in spite of her agitation.

“Only what Thomas told me,” Charlotte replied. “Which was not a great deal. Naturally he had to explain why we were here.”

“Why are you?” Emily sat down in one of the large, floral-covered chairs and pointed to another for Charlotte. “Of course you are most welcome, I don’t mean to sound ungracious. But I should like to know why anyone thinks the police should be here. They are hardly going to come to blows, are they?” She looked at Charlotte with a half smile, but there was a note of genuine alarm in her voice.

“I doubt it,” Charlotte replied candidly. “I think there is probably no danger at all, but there have been threats on Mr. Greville’s life, so they have to take every precaution.”

“Not from one of the guests here!” Emily said with horror.

“I shouldn’t think so, but naturally they were anonymous. No, I expect it’s just a matter of being careful.”

“Anyway, I am very glad you are here.” Emily relaxed a little. “It is going to be a most testing weekend, and it will be far easier with you to help than trying to do it alone. I’ve often had visitors here before, of course, but of my own choosing, and people who like each other. For goodness sake, do try to be tactful, won’t you?”

“Do you think it will make any difference?” Charlotte said with a grin.

“Yes! Don’t talk about religion, or parliamentary franchise or reform, or education … or landowning, or rents, or potatoes … or divorce ….”

“Potatoes or divorce!” Charlotte said incredulously. “Why in heaven’s name should I talk about potatoes or divorce?”

“I don’t know. Just don’t!”

“What can I talk about?”

“Anything else. Fashion … except I suppose you don’t know about it. Theater—but you don’t go to the theater, except with Mama, to watch Joshua—and you better not mention that our mother has married an actor, and a Jewish one at that. Mind, I think the Catholics are too busy hating Protestants, and the Protestants hating Catholics, to care about Jews one way or the other. But they probably all think anyone on the stage is wicked. Talk about the weather and the garden.”

“They’ll think I’m a simpleton!”

“Please!”

Charlotte sighed. “Yes,” she agreed. “It is going to be a difficult weekend, isn’t it?”

Luncheon fulfilled her prophecy. They met in the large dining room around a table long enough to seat twenty but set for twelve. Jack Radley welcomed Charlotte, and then introduced her, and of course Pitt, to the rest of the company, and they all took their places. The first course was served.

Charlotte had been placed between Fergal Moynihan on her left and Carson O’Day on her right. Fergal was a striking-looking man of slightly above average height and refined aquiline features, but she thought there seemed little humor in his face. She was not immediately drawn to him, although perhaps it was her image of an intransigent Protestant which unfairly prejudiced her.

Carson O’Day was a smaller man, far grayer, and at least fifteen or twenty years older, but there was a strength in him it did not take more than a glance to see. His manner was benign and courteous, although beneath the niceties of the social situation it was easy to see his gravity and the fact that he never for an instant forgot the reason they were met.