Plain Jane (17 page)

‘I cannot take you driving tomorrow,’ he said quietly. ‘We must talk further, but the conventions forbid me seeing you alone anywhere outside a carriage drive in the middle of the afternoon.’

Jane thought quickly. Mr Bullfinch’s remarks still hurt. She longed for more reassurance.

‘I shall be gone for two weeks at the very least,’ he went on.

‘I could meet you in the servants’ hall when the guests have gone,’ said Jane. ‘Rainbird will not mind. He does not like my mother.’

‘And neither does your father,’ thought Lord Tregarthan, but he said aloud, ‘When we all leave, count two hours from that time, and I shall come down by the area steps. Are you sure the servants will not talk?’

Jane shook her head. ‘Rainbird will tell them not to.’

The guests had recovered their spirits. There was so much delicious gossip to pass on to the rest of society the following day – about Mrs Hart’s scene with her cook, and her husband’s mysterious disappearance in the middle of dinner. Lord Tregarthan waited until the end without talking to Jane again.

Downstairs, Rainbird relaxed in the kitchen with the other weary servants. A bottle of Mr Hart’s best port went the rounds, and even Lizzie was told to leave the dishes and come and join them.

‘Where is Felice?’ demanded Rainbird suddenly.

‘She said she was tired and was going to lie down until Mrs Hart needed her,’ said Mrs Middleton. ‘Oh, my! Madam is going to be in such a taking about the captain leaving. Did he say where he was going?’

Rainbird shook his head. ‘Said if he didn’t tell us, then we could truthfully say we did not know. Mrs Hart should have realized you can’t bully a man like that forever. Most likely he’s gone back to join the navy.’

‘You was awfully lucky, Angus,’ said Alice. ‘A guinea instead of a whipping.’

‘Mrs Hart’s loss was our gain,’ grinned Jenny. ‘Never had such a magnificent supper.’

‘I couldnae think o’ leaving,’ said MacGregor sadly. ‘It was grand o’ Lord Tregarthan to offer me a post.’

‘I know you love us, Angus,’ said Mrs Middleton, her eyes filling with sentimental tears.

‘It wisnae that,’ said the cook grumpily. ‘Lord Tregarthan had a Frenchie in charge o’ the kitchen and thon Abraham says he throws the pots around something terrible. If there’s one thing I cannae stand, it’s a man in the kitchen who does not know how to keep his temper.’

They all burst out laughing, except Joseph.

‘You deserved a whipping, you great hairy thing,’ he sneered.

‘Which you would ha’ taken for me,’ grinned MacGregor. ‘Aye, Joseph, you’re no’ the mambypamby I thought.’

‘Mr Rainbird!’

They all rose to their feet as Jane walked in. How companionable they all were, she thought with a pang of envy. More like a real family than her own.

‘I wish to speak to you, Mr Rainbird.’

Rainbird led the way into the servants’ hall and inclined his head as Jane said she wished to be private with Lord Tregarthan.

‘You may see him alone on one condition,’ said Rainbird. ‘The door to the servants’ hall will be left open and I shall be on the other side of it, in the kitchen. But why on earth does his lordship wish to meet you here?’

‘We wish to be private to talk for a little, that is all.
Please
, Mr Rainbird, I am too tired to go into long explanations.’

‘Very well, miss,’ said Rainbird. ‘Don’t keep me up too late.’

‘Where is papa?’

‘I do not know, Miss Jane,’ said Rainbird. ‘He left with his sea chest.’

‘Does mama know?’

‘Yes, but not where he has gone.’

‘Is he
very
angry with mama?’

‘That is not for me to say, Miss Jane.’

‘Meaning, he
is
. Oh, dear. And where is Felice? I nearly forgot. Mama wants her to go upstairs and help prepare Euphemia for bed.’

‘I shall call her. When is your assignation with Lord Tregarthan?’

‘In two hours’ time.’

‘I shall be there, Miss Jane. How will he arrive?’

‘By the kitchen door.’

Rainbird could hardly wait for her to leave so that he could go and see Felice. Since their night together at the play, they had not been alone. He ushered Jane out and, after telling the others of the secret meeting, went up the stairs and stopped on the landing outside Felice’s door.

He scratched the panels. Then he called. There was no reply. She must have fallen asleep.

He gently opened the door and went in. A shaft of moonlight cut across the darkness of the room. Although the narrow bed in the corner was in darkness, he instinctively knew no one was in it.

There was a desolate, cold,
abandoned
air about the little room.

The fire was dying in the grate. He thrust a spill between the bars and lit a candle.

The bed was neatly made. A letter and a white packet lay on the pillow.

He felt a cold weight in his stomach as he put the candle down on a small table and picked up the letter and packet. The letter was addressed to himself, the packet to Joseph.

Downstairs, Joseph was playing the mandolin and the jaunty twanging music filtered up into the silence of the room.

Rainbird sat slowly down at the table and opened the letter. ‘Dear John,’ he read. ‘I am gone to deal with a certain business which is my own concern. Thank you for all your kindness. Felice.’

And that was all.

Captain Hart, thought Rainbird, in sudden rage and fury. She had run off with Captain Hart. It must have happened when the captain spoke to her after the play. They must have arranged it then. And Felice with her gentle smile saying the captain had only required some translation of her!

Captain Hart. Old enough to be her father. It was disgusting!

Forgetting that Captain Hart was only a few years older than himself, Rainbird sat for a long time, his face a mask of tragedy.

Then he picked up the packet for Joseph and went downstairs.

Mrs Middleton looked up as he came in. Joseph saw the expression on the butler’s face and his hands on the mandolin stilled.

‘What is it?’ asked Mrs Middleton.

‘Felice,’ said Rainbird. ‘She’s gone.’

He threw the packet in front of Joseph. ‘She left that for you.’ He hooked out a chair and slumped into it.

Joseph opened the packet and drew out a cambric handkerchief edged with the finest lace.

The Moocher jumped onto his lap and he patted him absent-mindedly. It was the most beautiful handkerchief Joseph had ever seen, but he would cheerfully have thrown it on the fire if he thought that action would manage to wipe some of the pain from Rainbird’s face.

Lizzie voiced what they were all thinking. ‘Did she run off with Mr Hart?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Rainbird. ‘Oh, God. Alice, answer that bell and tell Mrs Hart that Felice is unwell. I cannot bear any more scenes this evening.’

One by one they tried to cheer the butler up.

That was the French for you, sniffed Mrs Middleton. Fickle to the last woman.

Never could abide her, said Jenny, pouring a glass of port for Rainbird. But nothing seemed to help, and one by one they left, until Rainbird was alone, sitting at the table, nursing his heartache.

He sat there a long time until a knocking at the kitchen door reminded him of Lord Tregarthan’s meeting with Jane.

Jane arrived by the back stairs at the same time, and Rainbird led them into the servants’ hall and left them alone.

He felt wretched and bone weary. He did not care if Lord Tregarthan seduced Jane Hart on the table. With dragging steps he took himself off to bed, unaware that little Lizzie was lying awake on her pallet on the scullery floor, hugging the large cat and crying over the butler’s pain.

. . . riding round those vegetable puncheons
Call’d ‘Parks,’ where there is neither fruit

or flower,

Enough to gratify a bee’s slight munchings;

But, after all, it is the only ‘bower’
(In Moore’s phrase) where the fashionable fair
Can form a slight acquaintance with fresh air.

LORD BYRON
,
DON JUAN

‘I came to say goodbye,’ said Lord Tregarthan.

Jane’s first thought was that he was abandoning her because of her disgraceful behaviour over the letters. He had appeared to understand, but gentlemen had such a rigid code of morals and mama always said they stuck together in the end. He had had time to consider her folly and had found her wanting in grace and manners. His sympathies were all with Mr Bullfinch.

‘Goodbye,’ said Jane, now wishing he would go away so that she might relieve some of the pain at her heart with a hearty burst of tears.

‘So very prim,’ he teased. ‘Sit down, Jane, I have something to say to you. While I am gone you are to proceed no further with your investigations into Miss Clara Vere-Baxton’s death.’

‘Do you think I am in danger?’ asked Jane, wide-eyed.

‘I think you are in danger of making yourself ridiculous in the eyes of society. With luck, I found Mr Bullfinch at Brook’s after dinner, nursing his woes, and was able to persuade him to forgive you. He sends you his apologies for any hard words he may have said to you. He said he was not quite himself, and visiting this house had opened old wounds. I gained the impression that Clara, despite Mr Bullfinch’s worship of her memory, was not the innocent miss we had believed. From what Mr Bullfinch let drop unwittingly, it seemed the fair Clara delighted in tormenting him.’

Jane was about to say she had gathered as much from his letters, but decided it would be better not to remind Lord Tregarthan that she had read them. ‘Are you going away?’ she asked instead. ‘Where are you going?’

He was silent for a moment, and then he said lightly, ‘South.’

‘Why?’

‘I wish to visit a weaver who is supposed to have some very fine cloth. I shall look so dashing and handsome when I return, you will not recognize me.’

‘Is that all you care for?’ asked Jane. ‘Your tailor? Your clothes? The Season?’

‘I care for you, Jane,’ said Lord Tregarthan, to his own surprise. ‘I really do care for you.’

Jane’s feelings shot from misery to exaltation at such a rate that she had to hang on to the table for support. She tried to remember Felice’s teaching, which had included instructions on how gracefully to accept compliments from a gentleman you wished to encourage as well as how to repel unwelcome advances, but her mind was a blank. She hung her head and blushed.

She longed to look up at him, to discover whether he cared for her as a woman or whether he considered her a wayward schoolgirl, likely to land in trouble.

‘I must go now,’ he said gently. ‘We should not be meeting in such an irregular way.’

‘Yes,’ said Jane politely, holding out her hand, while inside her a voice cried, ‘I love you, please love me in return.’

He took her hand and raised it to her lips. She was still wearing her dinner gown and her head was bowed so that he could see only the roses in her hair. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. Jane’s large hazel eyes met his with such a blaze of love that he gave a muttered exclamation and pulled her tight into his arms and bent his mouth to hers.

All in an instant, Jane crossed the threshold into womanhood on a wave of searing passion. As his lips moved against her own, as his arms tightened even more about her, the churning mixture of sweetness and pain, longing and passion inside her made her utter a stifled cry.

Lizzie, lying awake on her pallet, heard the choked sound. She knew that Miss Jane and Lord Tregarthan were alone together in the servants’ hall. She also knew that for some unaccountable reason Rainbird had left them unchaperoned. Lizzie tried to tell herself it was all none of her business, but even down in the kitchens she had heard of Lord Tregarthan’s rakish reputation, and Miss Jane was so very young.

Lizzie decided that if she could get the Moocher to rush into the servants’ hall, then she could race after it and break up whatever was going on. She gave the cat lying against her side an impatient push, but the Moocher had dined well, as well as the servants, on all the rich concoctions MacGregor had prepared and Mrs Hart had refused, and he growled impatiently and snuggled closer to Lizzie.