Plain Jane (9 page)

Jane had naively supposed that the servants would be delighted to have a visitor from upstairs, but the servants were irritated by her presence, and Mrs Middleton looked openly shocked that this young member of the gentry should not know her place – which was abovestairs.

Undaunted, Jane looked curiously at the members of the household staff she had not seen before – at the cook, MacGregor, at Lizzie, the scullery maid, and at Dave, the pot boy.

She averted her eyes from Lizzie, however, after that first look. There was something about the small scullery maid that reminded Jane painfully of herself. It was so much easier to imagine that one had undiscovered mysterious facets of attraction when one was not being faced with a near mirror-image. Like Jane’s, Lizzie’s hair was dark brown, and she had the same waif-like appearance and short figure. But where Jane’s skin was golden-brown, Lizzie’s was pale, and Lizzie’s eyes were pansy-brown where Jane’s were hazel.

‘What can we do for you, Miss Jane?’ asked Rainbird. He was feeling very tired. He and the others had been up most of the night, moving the furniture back into place and clearing up the mess. Although Mrs Hart did not get to bed until three in the morning – the bed that had to be carried back upstairs by Rainbird and Joseph – that sturdy matron had risen with the lark and had started to ring for attention and service instead of sleeping until two in the afternoon like any other respectable member of the
ton
.

‘I wanted to find out a bit more about Miss Clara,’ said Jane, feeling awkward under Mrs Middleton’s openly disapproving eye.

‘Come through to the servants’ hall,’ said Rainbird tolerantly. The dining-room bell began to jangle.

‘Answer that, Joseph,’ said Rainbird over his shoulder as he led Jane out of the kitchen.

‘Meh feet,’ moaned Joseph. He wore shoes two sizes two small for him because he considered small hands and feet aristocratic. Now his tortured toes looked like globe artichokes. He longed to escape to The Running Footman for a comfortable coze with Luke, the footman from next door. Never before had Joseph had such fascinating gossip to relate. Never before had he seen so many top members of the
ton
gathered under one roof and all of them behaving badly.

‘Sit down, Miss Jane,’ said Rainbird, pulling out a chair at the table in the servants’ hall. Jane sat down, and Rainbird, after some hesitation, decided he was too weary to observe the conventions and sat down as well.

‘The most marvellous thing has happened, Mr Rainbird,’ said Jane, wide-eyed. ‘Lord Tregarthan is to take me driving this very afternoon and he has agreed to help me find out what happened to Miss Clara.’

‘It was not anything sinister or mysterious as I have already told you,’ said Rainbird. ‘If Mr Gillespie, her physician, could find nothing the matter, then her death must have been caused by some rare disease. These rare diseases come and go. In my youth there was a plague of something the doctors called Whirligigitis, but you never hear of that these days. Besides, the crowner passed a verdict of accidental death.’

Jane frowned. ‘Did she have a beau?’

‘Her parents wanted her to marry a Mr Bullfinch. Mr Bullfinch is extremely rich.’

‘Did she love him?’

‘I never considered the matter,’ said Rainbird. ‘Ladies do not often make marriages of affection. It was considered a fine match by her parents.’

‘After her death, did Mr Bullfinch marry anyone else?’

‘No. He was grief-stricken.’

‘He could have been tortured by a guilty conscience?’

‘Mr Bullfinch is a very respectable gentleman,’ said Rainbird repressively. ‘I have heard he is in London for the first time since Miss Clara’s death. No doubt you will meet him.’

‘Is he handsome?’

‘Miss Jane,’ said Rainbird with a sweet smile, ‘you should not be belowstairs. You will get me in bad odour with Mrs Hart.’

‘Meaning you want me to go away.’ Jane stood up with a sigh. ‘Wicked Mr Rainbird.
You
should be in bad odour with mama because you made all her guests tipsy.’

‘
I?
’ Rainbird opened his eyes to their fullest. He took five oranges from a bowl on the table and started to juggle them. Jane laughed and clapped as Rainbird stood up, and, still juggling, led the way out.

Jane ran lightly up the stairs to her room. The very idea of going out in London was exciting, particularly as she had not seen very much of the city since her arrival.

Her bedroom overlooked the street, Euphemia preferring the larger, quieter room at the back. A noise from the street below drew her to the window. A group of acrobats was performing in the street outside. There were two men in soiled pink tights and a girl in a tawdry spangled dress. Jane watched them idly while her mind drifted back to that bright, brave image of Beau Tregarthan, which was fading fast to be replaced by the all too plain reality of a sleepy lazy lord with the dress of a Corinthian and the mind of a fop.

‘You should not encourage that child, Mr Rainbird,’ said Mrs Middleton after Jane had left.

‘She’s a taking little thing,’ said Rainbird indifferently. ‘I doubt very much if such a great man as Lord Tregarthan will encourage her in her funny ideas. Miss Jane told me that Lord Tregarthan had promised to help her find out who killed Miss Clara.’

‘Then he should know better than to make fun of the girl,’ said Mrs Middleton. ‘Murdered indeed! If murder had been done, then Mr Gillespie would have discovered it. Who is Miss Jane to doubt the word of a gentleman who has attended no less a personage than King George himself?’

‘I thought Miss Clara was ever so sweet and pretty,’ said Alice dreamily. ‘Lovely hair she had, masses and masses of it. A sort o’ chestnut. Too good she was for the likes of Mr Bullfinch.’

‘I never knew whether Miss Clara was as sweet and kind as she chose to appear,’ said Rainbird. ‘I always thought there was something sly about her.’

‘Not her,’ said chambermaid Jenny stoutly. ‘Ever so kind to us, she was.’

Joseph swanned into the kitchen. ‘There’s talk again that the Prince of Wales might be made regent.’

‘Such a thing!’ exclaimed Mrs Middleton. ‘Poor King George has come about before this. His madness is only temporary.’

‘Some say,’ said Joseph, who loved a gossip, ‘thet the losing of the British colonies in America fair turned his brain.’

‘And some think,’ said Rainbird with a malicious twinkle in his eye, ‘that we
lost
the colonies because of His Majesty’s madness.’

‘Sedition, Mr Rainbird,’ cried Mrs Middleton in alarm. ‘What if someone should hear you!’ She looked anxiously up at the area window as if expecting to see a listening soldier.

Felice came into the kitchen to ask for hot water to make a pomade for Euphemia’s hair.

Mrs Middleton bustled about. ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she said. ‘What else will you need?’

‘A pennyworth of borax and half a pint of olive oil to go with a pint of water,’ said Felice.

‘Ah’ll get it for ye,’ said MacGregor eagerly.

‘Sit down, Felice,’ said Rainbird, drawing out a chair.

Felice sat down and opened the small workbasket she always carried with her and took out a half-finished piece of lace.

‘Do you
make
lace?’ asked Joseph, looking greedily at the delicate white froth in Felice’s fingers.

‘Yes. I was taught in France.’

‘That would be before the Terror when you was a young woman,’ said Jenny maliciously – meaning the French Revolution of 1789.

‘No,’ said Felice equably. ‘I was only a child then.’

‘Of course you were,’ said Rainbird, giving Jenny a hard look.

‘That lace would look lovely on a handkerchief,’ said Joseph longingly.

Rainbird looked around for Lizzie and then remembered to his relief that she was out on an errand. He knew how much that present of Joseph’s meant to the little scullery maid.

‘Ta, ta, ta,’ laughed Felice. ‘Do not edge so close, Joseph. I will make a handkerchief for you.’

‘
Thank
you,’ said Joseph. ‘When?’

‘Joseph!’ admonished Rainbird.

‘Very soon,’ said Felice with that small curved smile of hers. Joseph smiled at her dreamily. He could see himself producing that handkerchief in The Running Footman and flicking it under Luke, the next door footman’s, envious nose.

‘Mrs Hart is in high alt,’ said Rainbird. ‘Madam has seen fit to tell me that the Harts have been invited to a ball at Barcombe House in Berkeley Square next Thursday. If Dave will stay to guard the house, it means we can all take an evening off. I received many vails from our drunken guests last night. In fact, Lord Petersham was generous enough to give me something towards paying for the broken glass although I did not tell Mrs Hart
that
. So I suggest we stick to our old policy of dividing the money equally.’

‘
Tiens!
How strange,’ said Felice. ‘Surely the upper servants should receive the largest amount.’

‘Not in this house they don’t,’ snapped Jenny. ‘We’re one family, ain’t we, Mr Rainbird? Or we were afore you come,’ she added under her breath.

‘What will you do with your free evening, Mr Rainbird?’ asked Mrs Middleton, suddenly shy. Although Rainbird had never given her any encouragement, Mrs Middleton nourished a dream that the butler would one day propose to her when they both had a chance of retiring.

‘As to that,’ said Rainbird casually, ‘I have a mind to go to the playhouse – if Miss Felice will do me the honour of accompanying me.’

Alice, the housemaid, looked slowly and wonderingly at the butler. The servants, in her innocent mind, had always been like brothers and sisters. Rainbird was head of this kitchen family. The thought that the butler could have warm feelings towards a woman had not entered her mind.

Mrs Middleton looked ready to cry. Jenny muttered something and went out of the kitchen. Joseph, face flushed, was staring at the floor.

‘Well?’ asked Rainbird softly. His eyes were warm and caressing as they looked at the lady’s maid.

Felice raised her black eyes from her sewing. ‘Thank you, Mr Rainbird,’ she said. ‘I would like to see the play, I think.’

‘John,’ said Rainbird. ‘My name is John.’

It was Jane who stood at the upstairs window to watch Euphemia leave, as the elder sister was to go driving first. At first Jane only had envious eyes for her sister’s ensemble. Euphemia looked like a fashion plate. She was wearing an apron-fronted dress of white muslin, the skirt ties of which passed right round the body to form a bow under the bust. The neckline was edged with the frill of her chemisette. The gown had short, full sleeves, and a skirt with a short train and tucked hem. Over it, she wore a mantle with a frilled edge. Her little pointed shoes had ribbon ties and very low heels. Her hair was dressed
à la Titus
, that style which consisted of tousled curls confined by a bandeau, which went round the head and under the chin as well.

Then Jane turned her attention to the Marquess of Berry. He was a very tall thin man, quite old, perhaps about forty years. He appeared to have no chin at all, although his cravat was so huge and his shirt points so high it could have been buried somewhere among the folds of linen. He had great padded shoulders and a nipped-in waist. A bold black-and-gold-striped waistcoat, black coat, and thin shanks in black breeches gave him the appearance of a wasp. Euphemia seemed well content with her company.

At that moment Felice came hurrying into the room, exclaiming in horror when she found Jane still standing in her shift. She rushed out again to collect suitable items from Euphemia’s wardrobe and at last she had Jane attired in a simple white muslin gown covered with a green silk pelisse that had very long sleeves with mancherons, frogging on the bodice, and a tucked hem. There was too little time to arrange Jane’s hair properly, so it was twisted up on top of her head and covered with a pretty straw gypsy bonnet. Gloves, reticule, parasol, and fan were snatched up by Felice as she urged Jane downstairs.

When Jane entered the front parlour, it was to find Lord Tregarthan deep in conversation with her father. Mrs Hart was, for once, being ignored. Lord Tregarthan seemed reluctant to finish his conversation with Mr Hart, and, when he at last looked at Jane, his blue eyes were vague and dreamy and he did not appear to see her properly.

He made his bows and goodbyes and Jane was helped up into his carriage. It was a high crimson curricle with two bay mares harnessed tandem fashion in front of it. Lord Tregarthan in his fawn-coloured driving coat, leather breeches, and top boots looked every inch the Corinthian whip.

He had no servant on the backstrap. He waited until Jane was settled beside him and then he gently shook the reins, made a clicking noise, and the horses moved off, the sun shining on their silken flanks.

There was a great deal of traffic in Piccadilly, and his lordship muttered something about it having been better to go by Curzon Street. Then he raised his voice. ‘I trust the Park will not be too dusty. Nothing but volunteers drilling and marching. I think we have more soldiers in London than we have fighting the French.’

Each district had its volunteers – the Bloomsbury Volunteers, the Chelsea Volunteers, the Clerkenwell Volunteers, and so on. The fear of Napoleon had been carried well into this new century. There were troops, volunteers, and pressed-men in such numbers that 1,500 were encamped in St George’s Fields, 1,000 at Blackfriars, 1,000 at Tower Hill, 1,200 at the Foundling Hospital, and 2,700 in Hyde Park.

A pretty housemaid in a print cotton gown walked along Piccadilly past the carriage just as he had finished talking. Her dress was disgracefully short – it showed nearly the whole of her ankles. The beau cast her an appreciative glance.

Jane did not want him to look at pretty housemaids, or anyone other than herself for that matter. She bit her lip in vexation. Euphemia would be in Hyde Park with her marquess. All at once Jane knew that Euphemia would make a point of accosting them with a view to claiming all of Lord Tregarthan’s attention.

‘I do not want to go to the Park, you know,’ said Jane brightly. ‘I have not been out and about before and I know nothing of London.’