Corey McFadden (15 page)

Maude grinned at him. “Aye, I can see some consternation if the under-house parlormaid should find it necessary to ask you to hand her the chamber pot. ‘My lord, if you would be so kind...’” She mimicked the gesture and the two laughed. “Here, my lord”—Maude handed him the sponge— “if you will continue to sponge him for a few minutes, I will check on the others.”

“Good. Then come back and tell me how it goes.”

Radford turned to his task, and the oddly capable boy slipped quietly out of the room.

* * * *

Once in the hallway Maude was conscious of a sense of relief. He’s looked right at me a dozen times, she said to herself, and hasn’t had a flicker of recognition. Perhaps I overrated his awareness of Miss Maude Romney. Perhaps he wouldn’t have the slightest idea who I was, even if I came right out and told him. Odd, but she felt a little stab of disappointment at the thought. Well, at any rate, she seemed to have passed another test, and her secret was still safe, although, of course, this could not go on forever.

She pushed aside the nagging thought of her future as she tapped quietly at Mrs. Formby’s door. The poor woman had been frantic last night in her feverish delirium to get out of bed and tend to her duties. The doctor had found it necessary to give her a small sedative to keep her from rising from her sickbed.

Receiving no response to her knock, Maude gently pushed at the door and peered into the room. A candle guttered in its holder, and Mrs. Formby appeared to be sleeping. Creeping closer, Maude could see that she was breathing easily. Maude touched the woman’s forehead and was relieved to find that, while it was not cool to the touch, the fever seemed to have abated somewhat. Maude decided not to sponge her off, but brought a fresh glass of water to the bedstand should Mrs. Formby awaken and be thirsty. She replaced the candle with a fresh one, found in the top dresser drawer,precisely where it could be expected to be, and lying there in a neat row with three others. She smoothed the bedcovers, smiling to herself as she thought how Mrs. Formby, even unconscious, would surely prefer a neat bed. Maude then tiptoed quietly out of the room and continued her rounds.

Some three quarters of an hour later, she found herself again at Mr. Farnsworth’s door, and the feeling of trepidation returned with full force. The earl would be more relaxed now, less worried about Mr. Farnsworth and the household. Suppose he got a good look at young Mike now and decided he seemed familiar after all? She stood for a moment. She put out her hand for the doorknob, and noted that it shook.

Well, there was nothing for it but to go in, risk of exposure or not. Maude knocked and waited for the earl’s permission to enter.

“Ah, Mike.” Radford barely glanced at her,  then looked down at Farnsworth. “I left off sponging him. I thought he felt cooler, and I did not want to risk giving him a chill. How did you find the other staff?”

“As well as can be expected, my lord. Several of them seem a good deal better. The younger ones mostly. A few are awake and sitting up, but, do you know, every single one complains of a fierce headache?”

“That is to be expected after a high fever. We cannot rely on any of them to be up and about too soon. I understand Mr. Mathes is insisting on several days of bed rest to guard against heart complaint.”

“Yes, but you’ll have to tie Mrs. Formby to the bed, my lord. Once she feels she’s even close to well, she’ll be a tiger about her household. She was near frantic when the doctor ordered her to bed.”

Radford laughed. “I’ll just bet she was. I’ve never known her to be a day off the job. I’m sure she couldn’t bear to leave the household in other hands.”

“She’d have been even more upset if she’d really known whose hands they were. A handful of the lowest staff.” Maude laughed with him. “And I must confess, my lord, we haven’t made even a pass at cleaning for the last two days. I hope your lordship will not be too upset about the dust.”

“I assure you, I will not even see it. I do wonder, however, about just what we shall eat. I had told Farnsworth I would dine at my club, and I shall for the rest of the week, but tonight, I’ll feel better if I stay here and keep an eye on things.”

“Well, if your lordship’s stomach is up to it, we have a perfectly acceptable beef broth on the boil. With some bread and cheese, my lord, it’s right tasty.” Maude grinned at him, well aware that, in all likelihood, he had never in his life dined on a bowl of broth and a hunk of bread and cheese. “Shall I lay the dining-room table for you, my lord?”

“Good heavens, no. I should not be able to do the food justice in such austere surroundings. No, I think I’ll just help myself in the kitchen after I’ve tended to a few things. I want to talk to Frederick and see how he’s making out in the stables.”

Maude’s face clouded. “I am a bit worried about him, my lord. He shows no sign of illness, but he is too old to be taking on all the hard labor of tending to the horses. He seems to be sagging a bit.”

“Well, I shall lose no more time then.” The earl rose quickly from the bed and glanced fondly down at Farnsworth. “I’ll leave him in your capable hands, Mike. I’ll be in the stables if you need me.”

Then he was gone, and Maude stared after him a moment, lost in thought. Perhaps she need have no fear now that he would recognize her. He seemed to take it on faith that she was just who she claimed to be. If so, it would give her a little breathing room to lay plans for her next decisive move. She was under no illusion that she could be Mike forever. As much as she enjoyed the freedom accorded a male in this society, it was unrealistic to expect that she could continue the masquerade much longer. The problem was, although she seemed accepted and, indeed, appreciated in the earl’s household, she could not very well change into a female before their very eyes. Moreover, what could she do as a maidservant? She had no desire whatsoever to start out as an under-house parlormaid, or, worse by far, a scullery maid, in training for kitchen work. No, if she had to be a servant, what she really wanted to do was take care of the horses, and that was unheard of for a woman.

She ran her hand through her short auburn curls in exasperation. It always came down to this: She was trained to do nothing but be the well-bred mistress of a gentleman’s household, or the unmarried mistress of her own. She could not return to her own home, for there she must either marry John, or watch the manor be sold out from under her to pay off her debts to Claire. She was under no illusion as to the treatment she would receive at Claire’s hands as a penniless relative. Indeed, mucking out the earl’s stables was much to be preferred. Nor could she go on her way as Maude Romney. Without the manor and the backing of her family, she had nothing. She could not sully the Romney name by throwing herself on the mercy of a neighboring family, and she knew no families but those who lived in the immediate vicinity of her home.

Not for the first time did she regret her lack of talent with needlework. And, oh, why had she not paid more attention to what lessons she and Amelia had had as youngsters? If she could sew, speak a little French, paint a creditable watercolor, and manage a few acceptable tunes on the pianoforte, she could be a governess, though the idea certainly held no appeal. No, her only talent lay with horses, and only as Mike could she exploit it.

She gave a great sigh. Round and round the problem she always went, and a circle it was, indeed. She was never any closer to a solution at the end of her pondering than she was at the beginning.

“Mike?” A weak, almost inaudible whisper came from the form on the bed.

“Yes, sir. I’m here. Would you like a sip of water?”

“Yes, please,” rasped Farnsworth.

She lifted his head slightly so that he could drink from the glass.

“The earl, who is looking after him?” he whispered after a few sips.

“We’re managing just fine, sir, don’t fret about a thing. The earl is being cared for just fine.” She lied, of course, but after seeing Mrs. Formby half-crazed last night at the thought of her responsibilities going unmet, Maude did not dare let this sick man think that the ninth Earl of Radford was dishing himself some soup in the kitchen.

“Good, boy, good. I shall be up in a half hour or so, just need a bit of rest.” His eyes closed.

“Yes, sir. You rest now. We’ll look after everything.”

She brushed his sparse, gray hair back from his forehead. He was too old to stand a bad bout of influenza. He must be kept in bed at all costs. Perhaps she and the two maids still ambulatory could take turns sitting by his bed for a few days to make sure he did not rise. It would take orders from the earl, she knew, but the man must stay in bed.

She rose and left the room quietly, noting with approval that he did not stir at her movement. Perhaps he would sleep soundly for a few hours. She made her way downstairs, intent on the kitchen to see how the earl had fared in his quest for supper. She found the parlormaid sound asleep in Cook’s rocking chair by the stove, and no earl in sight. Not having the heart to awaken the exhausted girl, Maude left by the back door for the stables.

The sight that met her eyes was one she would never forget. Ankle deep in muck, coat and waistcoat off and hanging on a nail, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, was Edward Almsworth, the ninth Earl of Radford. He held a pitchfork full of horse dung and he grinned broadly at her as he paused in mid-pitch into the barrow.

“Naturally, on pain of death, you will not mention this to the other servants, or worse, to servants in neighboring households, Mike. I’ve no wish to be the butt of every joke in every establishment in London.”

“No, my lord. I wouldn’t dream of it. That is,” she could not resist adding, “if we could agree on a small adjustment to my salary. Say a tenfold increase?” She grinned wickedly, then moved like lightning as he feinted in her direction with the aromatic pitchfork.

“How say, instead, I don’t bury you up to your neck in horse dung, monkey?”

“I’d say we have a most amicable agreement, my lord, under the circumstances. Where by the way is Frederick? I take it he is sound asleep or else he’s dead. Otherwise you would not be allowed to muck out the stalls. Here, my lord. Hand over. Mr. Farnsworth and Mrs. Formby will flay the skin off me if I sit and watch you do that.” Maude put out her hand, unaware of the imperiousness of the gesture.

Radford threw his head back and roared with laughter. “I must speak to Mrs. Formby about your lack of respect, boy. It’s appalling the way you address your superiors. Here, you shall help, but grab that other pitchfork and dig in. Between the two of us we’ll make short work of it and get in to our delicious supper.”

Maude grinned at him and grabbed the implement. Side by side and into the night, the ninth Earl of Radford and his runaway street urchin pitched horse dung, occasionally competing as to who could pitch it the farthest. It was just as well that Brooks was away, the earl thought. The state of his boots at this moment would have occasioned the man's resignation on the spot.

Chapter Nine

He was ill, so ill that he was only vaguely aware from time to time of gentle hands and gentle voices over him, of cooling damp cloths pressed to his face and sips of water soothing to his parched throat. But most of what little awareness he had was spent fighting feverish dreams of traveling at excessive, frightening speed, or falling from impossible heights, or trying to communicate with terrifying beings who would not hold their shapes. He struggled; he cried out. He burned with fever.

One particular image haunted his easier moments, hovering over him with a quiet voice and soft touch, a boy with a freckled face and reddish hair. There were times when another face, a girl’s, was superimposed on the boy’s, sliding, dreamlike; the earl couldn’t quite place it. Then it was gone again, and he would sleep, unaware.

* * * *

The morning dawned as Maude sat dozing in a chair by the bed. She preferred the night shift when it was quiet and cool and there were few interruptions. The last few days had been fierce, for even as the staff gradually arose and took up their respective burdens, the earl looked as if he would die and the house was grim with fear. Maude had felt her strength and spirit flagging even while she denied her need for rest. She and Mrs. Formby had split the nursing care of the earl over these last three days with short spells from others barely able to sit up themselves.

Her foot slipped off the footstool, and she awakened with a jerk to find the earl’s eyes open and staring at her. “Oh, my lord!” she whispered, jumping quickly to her feet. “You should have awakened me. Would you care for a sip of water? It’s fresh and cool.”

He nodded, then closed his eyes. She poured the water into a glass on a silver tray by the bed, and held the glass to his cracked lips. He took a few swallows, then turned his head away, signaling he had had enough. She felt his forehead and could have shouted for joy at feeling no trace of fever.

“What day is this? How long have I been sick?” he rasped.

“It is Sunday, my lord. You went to bed rather early Wednesday evening, saying you felt tired, and by Thursday morning you were burning with fever.” Maude soothed the pillow and the bedclothes. “I must say, you gave us quite a scare.”

“What of the others? How is the staff?” he spoke weakly but turned his head to look at her.

“Nearly all recovered, my lord. Mr. Farnsworth has had a hard time of it and is still abed. Mr. Mathes says it is because he is elderly. He says in the city the sickest have been the very young and the very old.”

Radford sighed and tried to sit up. Maude put her arm around his shoulders and helped him to lift himself slightly while she reached around to pull up the thick down pillows behind him.

“May I ring for Mrs. Formby, my lord? She has been most emphatic that she should know the moment you are better.”

“Wait a bit, please, Mike. It is just after dawn, I think, and I am sure the woman is still asleep. The good news will keep.” There was almost a smile with his words.

“May I get you some warm broth, sir? The doctor says you are to have it as soon as you are able. He says it is strengthening.”