Manor of Secrets (27 page)

Sarah knocked at the broad white door and opened it when a voice inside called, “Enter.” But she let Charlotte go in alone and closed the door behind her.

Lady Diane lay on a chaise by the window, looking out across the lawn and graveled drive. Toward the lake. She looked … smaller. Her hair was down around her shoulders, brushed, but coarse with gray. Her eyes had deep bruise-like circles under them.

Charlotte didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t even sure she was allowed to speak. The silence between them throbbed.

“What were you doing down at the lake?” Lady Diane finally asked.

Charlotte startled. Of all the questions to be asked, this was the last one she expected.

“I was going to —” Charlotte stopped. None of it mattered anymore.

“Run away?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Speak, Charlotte, you’re not a mute.”

“Yes.”

Lady Diane waited. And then turned back to the window.

“I suppose I can’t expect you to call me Mother anymore.”

Charlotte swallowed. “No.”

Lady Diane closed her eyes, as if the glare from the morning sun was too much for her.

Charlotte quelled a surge of guilt. “Aunt —” She paused. “Beatrice invited me to go to Italy with her.”

Lady Diane didn’t open her eyes. “I know.”

In the past, Lady Diane would have told Charlotte what to do. What to think. How to feel. And though independence was what she wanted, Charlotte wasn’t entirely comfortable having to do all of those things for herself. It was just so … difficult.

“I’m thinking of taking her up on it.” The statement surprised her. Until she said it out loud, she hadn’t been sure if she wanted to go. “It might be good for me to get to know my … my mother.”

Lady Diane turned back to Charlotte and fixed her with those steely blue eyes. Charlotte held her breath. Waiting for judgment.

“You’re wrong,” Lady Diane said quietly.

Charlotte wasn’t surprised to hear this about the first decision she’d been asked to make on her own. She felt the ball of anger curling in her chest again. She forced herself to return Lady Diane’s gaze and say, “Then I guess I’ll just have to learn from my mistakes.”

Lady Diane turned swiftly on her chaise and leaned forward, her body emphasizing the strength of her conviction. “I didn’t mean about going to Italy, Charlotte. That’s your decision to make. And I trust you’re smart enough to make the right one.”

Charlotte blinked in surprise. “Then what?” she blurted. “What was I wrong about?”

“When you said I didn’t love you,” Lady Diane said. “You are my only daughter. And I love you as best I can.”

Charlotte wondered if this was good enough, and then realized it would have to be. “Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you can change her into the person you imagine she should be,” she said finally.

“Maybe if I had allowed you to make a few mistakes early on, you wouldn’t have …”

“I would still be me,” Charlotte said. “Though I can’t say whether or not I would have kissed a footman.”

She swallowed, waiting for the dressing-down that was sure to follow that statement. But Lady Diane coughed a laugh.

“I’ve been told he has quite a shiner this morning.”

Charlotte almost laughed herself. “Really, Mother. Slang.”

Lady Diane’s eyes filled with tears. Charlotte had never seen that before, and didn’t know what to do or say. Didn’t even know what to do with her hands.

“Thank you, Charlotte,” Lady Diane said. “For calling me Mother.”

J
anie didn’t know how to be still. How to do nothing. Without a job to do, she felt useless. So she sat in the shade of the courtyard gate, watching deliverymen come and go and the sunlight bleach the hills of the Weald.

Harry bumped her hip on the upturned barrel and she moved over so he could perch next to her.

“They’ve given me my job back,” he said.

Janie looked at him in surprise. “How did you manage that?”

“Good hall boys are hard to find,” Harry said.

“Especially those who can repair any piece of machinery in The Manor.”

“They made me promise to avoid all contact with the maids.” Harry grinned, the freckles on his cheek disappearing into a dimple.

“That must have been a hardship.”

Harry looked at her seriously and rested one hand on her cheek. “It was the easiest promise I ever made.”

Janie kissed him, unable to find the words.

“Janie Mae!” Mrs. Seward stood in the kitchen doorway, her hands on her hips. “Lady Beatrice wants to talk to you.” She raised an eyebrow at the two of them, and shook her head, chuckling.

Janie stood. Looked at Harry. She didn’t know if she wanted to go to Italy. So far away.

“Your hands are shaking.” Harry took them between his own.

“I’m all right.” Janie tried a smile. It hurt.

“I’ll walk you in.” Harry kept hold of her right hand and led her across the courtyard and into the basement hall. She let go of Harry’s hand. She didn’t need to follow the rules anymore, but Harry did.

“What do you think you’ll do?” Harry asked as they passed the footman’s closet. Foyle was fitting a livery jacket on the new footman — a tall blond with prominent cheekbones and a quirky smile.

“I don’t know,” Janie said. “Going back to Romney Marsh and then working for Ma and Lord Broadhurst seems the safest option.”

She’d be with her mother.

She’d be closer to Harry.

Harry stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you need me to dare you?” he asked. “Because I will, you know.”

“Your dares always get me into trouble, Harry Peasgood.”

“Sometimes trouble is worth the risk.”

Janie swallowed the lump that threatened to rise in her throat.

“What about you?” She scurried up the short flight of stairs to the door behind the grand staircase and turned around. “Where will you go?”

“I’ll stay here,” he said, joining her on the narrow landing. “Someone once told me the place would fall apart without Harry Peasgood.”

“But you never wanted to stay.”

“I have a reason to now. You’ll know where to find me.” Harry brushed a strand of hair off of her temple and pressed his lips in its place. “I’ll wait.”

“Come with me.”

Harry laughed and opened the door. “Lady Beatrice hires only women.”

“No, now. Come with me now to speak to her.”

“I can’t.” Harry spread his arms. His hands were dirty, and his cambric shirt was faded and had no collar, much less
a tie. His suspenders were crooked and the knee of his trousers had worn almost all the way through, but his shoes were highly polished.

Harry caught her staring. “I don’t mind the polishing. It’s methodical, you know? Lets me think.”

Janie nodded. She understood completely.

“I think you look wonderful, Harry,” she said. “And I’d like you to come with me.”

Janie led the way to the sitting room. Lady Diane still felt too unwell to come downstairs. Janie suspected that she just didn’t want to face the neighbors.

Lady Beatrice stood by the French doors, looking out over the drive. Charlotte and Andrew sat on opposite ends of a small settee. Their hands were so close together they could have touched.

Or perhaps they had been.

Andrew leapt to his feet.

“Miss Seward,” he said. “Always a pleasure.”

“Lord Broadhurst. I’m glad you’re still here.”

“I was presumptuous enough to ask to stay the night,” Andrew said. “So I can say good-bye.”

Charlotte was studying her hands, clasped tightly in her lap.

“You’re going?” Janie asked her. “To Italy?”

“She has conditions.” Lady Beatrice turned from the window. She looked even younger. Lighter. As if revealing her secrets had lifted years from her face and weight from her shoulders.

“Conditions?” Janie asked.

“I told Beatrice I wouldn’t go if you didn’t,” Charlotte said. It didn’t escape Janie’s notice that she didn’t use the word
mother
. Not yet, anyway.

Janie stiffened. “I haven’t decided.”

“I know,” Charlotte said, jumping off the settee and walking to her. “So Beatrice and I have been talking about it. I said it seemed unfair. We’re sisters. I didn’t like the idea of me being some kind of lady of the house while you slaved away.”

“I like the work,” Janie said.

“I told Charlotte she had the wrong idea about my house,” Beatrice interjected. “I’m going to put her to work, too. I need to take best advantage of both of your talents.”

Janie exchanged a look with Charlotte, who suppressed a grin.

“Talents?” Janie asked.

“Janie, you’re a cook,” Beatrice said, picking up a piece of Battenburg cake from the tray on the spindly table near her. “And a very good one at that.” She took a bite and swallowed. “And Charlotte is a writer.”

Janie stared dumbly.

“I believe in equal rights for women,” Beatrice elaborated. “It’s one of the reasons I run a household with only women in it. We work as hard and are at least as clever as men. And I think by alerting the world to that fact, we can make a difference.”

“You’re a suffragette?” Janie said, thinking of women chaining themselves to wrought iron gates and being force-fed in prison.

“I believe in women’s suffrage,” Beatrice said. “I believe in suffrage for all adults.” She nodded at Harry. “But I also believe in opportunities. Women will get the right to vote, and soon, I hope. But it may be longer before women are treated equally. I intend to do that as best I can. And to show that it can be done.”

Beatrice smiled at Charlotte. “That’s where Charlotte comes in. She can help me to describe the world as it is. Or imagine it as it could be. Our house will — I hope — be completely equal. There will have to be rules, of course, but I’m hoping we will establish them together.”

A flutter began in Janie’s stomach and she looked at Beatrice directly. “Will my ma be able to come and visit?”

“Whenever she wishes. And we’ll hopefully divide our time between Italy and my London house.”

“And Harry?” Janie asked. She didn’t even have to look at him to find his hand. “I can’t live in another house that doesn’t allow me to see him.” The flutter turned into a tremble and Harry squeezed her hand.

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life,” Beatrice said, “it’s that there’s no way to regulate falling in love.”

“Or with whom,” Charlotte said and looked at Andrew.

“And what about your mother?” Janie asked. “Lady Diane,” she clarified. She knew this touched a tender bruise on Charlotte. But she had to ask it, or Charlotte might regret her decision.

“She says she’ll come and visit when she’s well,” Charlotte said. “It may be good for her to get away. From the scandal.”

“Is that why you’re going?”

Charlotte laughed. “You certainly can be blunt, Janie.” She looked at Beatrice. “But no. I’m going because I want to.”

“Good,” Janie said, the flutter increasing and expanding until she could barely squeeze her words around it. “Then I’m going with you.”

Charlotte hugged her, bouncing up and down on her toes. Beatrice surprised her by kissing her lightly on the cheek. And Andrew shook her hand.

He held it a moment too long, then leaned closer.

“Take care of her, Janie,” he whispered.

“Of course I will,” Janie said, and added confidingly, “But I don’t think she’ll need it.”

“I’m inclined to believe you’re right.”

Beatrice rang for tea. “You must stay, Janie. And Harry, too.”

Janie looked at where Harry stood, his hands clamped to his sides so he didn’t make any marks on the upholstery.

“Thank you, Lady Beatrice —” Janie began.

“Just Beatrice. You and Charlotte must both call me Beatrice.”

“Thank you, Beatrice.” Janie glanced again at Harry and almost laughed. He looked so much more at home in the kitchen. Probably as she herself did. “But I think I should go speak with my mother.”

The servants’ stairs and basement passageway were exactly the same going down as they had been going up, but they looked completely different to Janie. She noticed the scuff marks on the stairs, the scratch on the big hall bell, the single missing leather bucket from the line that hung all the way down the hall, filled with sand in case of a fire.