Royal Blood (7 page)

Chapter 8

I arrived home, cold and wet, to be told by an almost gloating Fig that Mr. O’Mara had called and been told that Lady Georgiana would be attending a royal wedding in Europe, at the request of Their Majesties, and should be left in peace to make her preparations. She also hinted that she’d admonished him for preying on innocent girls and suggested that he should not stand in the way of my making a suitable match.

This made me furious, of course, but it was too late. The damage had been done. All I could do was console myself with the thought that Darcy would probably have found Fig’s lecture highly amusing.

The next morning they left, abandoning me for the warmth and luxury of Claridge’s for their last night in London. I breathed a long sigh of relief. Now all I had to do was to pack for my trip to Europe and hope that the promised maid materialized. A telephone call from the palace informed me that my chaperon had had to put forward her traveling date, so it was hoped that I could be ready by Tuesday next. Tickets and passports would be delivered to me and, yes, tiaras would be worn. I had to telephone Binky at Claridges and I imagined Fig was gnashing her teeth at the expense of sending a servant down from Scotland with my tiara. But one couldn’t exactly have put it in the post, even if we had the time. Then I realized that I would now not have time to place an advertisement in the
Morning Post
or the
Times
. It would have to be Mrs. Huggins’s relative or nothing.

For a while it looked as if it was going to be nothing and I was just about to rush to Belinda and confess that I had changed my mind when there was a timid tap at my tradesman’s entrance. Luckily I was in the kitchen at the time or I would never have heard it. I opened the door and standing outside in the dim and damp November twilight was an apparition that looked like a giant Beatrix Potter hedgehog, but not as adorable. It then revealed itself to be wearing an old, moth-eaten and rather spiky fur coat, topped with a bright red pudding basin hat. Underneath was a round, red face with cheeks almost matching the color of the hat. When she saw me a big smile spread ear to ear.

“Whatcher, love. I’m ’ere to see the toff what lives here about the maid’s position, so ’ere I am. So nip off and tell her, all right?”

I tried not to let her know that I found this amusing. I said in my most superior voice, “I happen to be the toff that lives here. I am Lady Georgiana Rannoch.”

“Blimey, strike me down with a feather,” she said. “Begging your pardon, then, but you don’t expect to find a lady like you opening the back door, do you?”

“No, you don’t,” I agreed. “You’d better come in.”

“Awful sorry, miss,” she said. “No hard feelings, I hope? I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot. My mum’s aunt ’ettie knows your granddad and she told me you was looking for a personal maid and she said why didn’t I give it a try.”

“I am looking for a personal maid, that’s correct,” I said. “Why don’t you take off your coat and I’ll interview you here. It’s the warmest place in the house at the moment.”

“Right you are, miss,” she said and took off the fur coat, which was now steaming and smelling rather like wet sheep. Underneath the coat she was wearing a rather too tight mustard yellow home-knitted jumper and a purple skirt. Color coordination was not her strong point, clearly. I indicated a chair at the kitchen table and she sat. She was a large, big-boned cart horse of a girl with a perpetually surprised and vacant expression. The thought passed through my mind that she’d be expensive to feed.

“Now, I’ve told you my name. What is yours?”

“It’s Queenie, miss,” she said. “Queenie ’epplewhite.”

Why did the lower classes seem to have all these surnames starting with
H
when it was a letter they simply ignored or couldn’t pronounce? And as for her Christian name . . .

“Queenie?” I said cautiously. “That’s your Christian name? Not a nickname?”

“No, miss. It’s the only name I got.”

I could see that a maid called Queenie might present problems for one about to attend a royal wedding, where there would be several real queens, but I told myself that most of them wouldn’t speak English and would probably never run into my maid.

“So tell me, Queenie,” I said, taking a seat opposite her, “you have been in domestic service, I understand?”

“Oh, yes, miss. I’ve already been employed in three households so far, but nothing like as grand as this one, of course.”

“And did you serve in the capacity of a lady’s maid?”

“Not exactly, miss. Sort of general dogsbody, more like it.”

“So how long were you with your former employers?”

“About three weeks,” she said.

“Three weeks? Which employer were you only with for three weeks?”

“All of ’em, miss,” she said.

“Why such a short time, may I ask?”

“Well, the last one was her at the butcher’s, and she only wanted help during her confinement, so as soon as the baby came she told me to push off.”

“And the other two?”

She chewed on her lip before saying, “Well, the first one got pretty upset when I knocked over her bottle of perfume when I was dusting. It went all over the mahogany dressing table and took the surface off, but that wasn’t what really upset her. It was a really expensive bottle of perfume, apparently. She’d brought it back from Paris. Oh, miss, you should have heard the words she used. You don’t hear words like that from a fishmonger down the Old Kent Road.”

“And the third employer?” I hardly dared to ask.

“Well, I couldn’t very well stay there,” she said. “Not after I set her evening dress on fire.”

“How did you do that?”

“I dropped a match on the skirt by accident when I was lighting the candles,” she said. “It wouldn’t have been too bad, but she was wearing it at the time. She made a terrible fuss too, although she was hardly burned at all.”

I swallowed hard and wondered what to say next. “Queenie, it appears that you are an absolute disaster,” I said. “But it so happens that I’m desperate at the moment. I expect your aunt told you that I am due to go abroad to a very important wedding and I leave next Tuesday. It is essential that I take a maid with me to look after my clothes, help me dress and do my hair. Do you think you could do that?”

“I could give it a bloody good try, miss,” she said.

“Then let us get a couple of things straight—one, there will be no swearing or any kind of bad language, and two, I am Lady Georgiana so you are expected to call me ‘my lady’ and not ‘miss.’ Do you understand?”

“Right you are, miss. I mean, my lady.”

“And you do understand that this job means going abroad with me, to a foreign country?”

“Oh, yes, miss. I mean, my lady. I’m game for anything. It will be a bit of a lark, and wait till I see Nellie ’uxtable down the Three Bells, her what’s always boasting that she took a day trip to Boulogne.”

At least one had to admire her pluck, or maybe she was just completely clueless.

“And as to money—I do not intend to pay you any money at first. You will travel with me and receive your uniform and of course all your meals. If you prove satisfactory I will pay you what you are worth on our return and what’s more I shall write you a letter of reference that will guarantee you a good job anywhere. So it’s up to you, Queenie. This is your chance to make something of yourself. What do you say? Will you accept my terms?”

“Bob’s yer uncle, miss,” she said and thrust a big meaty hand in my direction.

I arranged for her to come to Rannoch House on Monday. She plonked the shapeless hat on her head and turned back to me at the door. “You won’t regret this, miss,” she said. “I’ll be the best ruddy chambermaid you’ve ever had.”

So I was due to undertake a journey fraught with avalanches, brigands and wolves with possibly the world’s worst chambermaid who was likely to set fire to my dress. It would be interesting to see if I came out of it alive.

Chapter 9

Rannoch House
Monday, November 14
Due to leave for Continent tomorrow. Still no maid. Still
haven’t heard from Darcy. Still raining.
How tiresome life can be.

By Monday morning I had still not heard from Darcy. Now I would be going abroad without letting him know. Really he was a most infuriating man. I simply didn’t know what to make of him. Sometimes I thought he was really keen on me, and then other times he’d disappear for ages. Anyway, there was nothing I could do about him now. If he hadn’t chosen to give me his address or even come to see that I had survived the visit from Binky and Fig, then too bad.

Queenie turned up a little after nine. It took some time rummaging through the housekeeper’s closet to find a uniform that fitted and looked suitable, because she was a hefty girl, but eventually we poured her into a black dress, white cap and apron. She looked very pleased with herself as she stared in the mirror.

“Stone me. I look just like a real maid now, don’t I, miss, I mean, me lady?”

“Let’s hope you learn to act like one, Queenie,” I said. “I take it you have brought your case with you with the items you’ll need to travel. You can now come up to my room and pack the clothes I shall need. Bring that tissue paper with you so that they don’t become creased.”

We spent a rather fraught morning as I stopped her from wrapping my boots with my velvet dinner gown, but eventually all was ready. Tickets, passports and letters of introduction were delivered from the palace. My tiara arrived by courier from Castle Rannoch and Binky had generously slipped a few sovereigns into the package with a note saying
I expect you’ll need some expenses for the journey. Sorry it can’t be more.

He was a sweet man, useless but sweet.

The money at least allowed us to take a taxi to Victoria Station on the morning of Tuesday, November 15. As I followed a porter to the platform where the boat train departed, I felt a sudden surge of excitement. I was really going abroad. I was going to be part of a royal wedding, even if it was Moony Matty’s. My compartment was found and the porter set off for the baggage car with my trunks, leaving me with my personal luggage. I knew that in normal circumstances I would have entrusted my jewel case to my maid but I thought that Queenie might try dressing up in my tiara or let the rubies slip down the sink in the lavatory.

“You should go and find your own seat now, Queenie,” I said. “Here is your ticket.”

“My own seat?” A look of panic crossed her face. “You mean I’m not traveling with you?”

“This is first class. Servants always travel third class,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll meet you on the platform with our luggage when we reach Dover. And I expect my chaperon’s maid will be sitting with you so you’ll have someone to talk to. Oh, and Queenie, please don’t let the other maids know that you’ve only been in my employ for a day or that you set fire to your last employer’s dress.”

“Right you are, miss,” she said, then put her hand to her mouth, giggling. “I still can’t get the hang of saying ‘my lady.’ I always was a bit thick. My old dad says I was dropped on my head as a baby.”

Oh, brilliant. Now she told me. She probably had fainting spells or fits. I was beginning to wish I’d taken up Belinda’s offer after all. I had gone to see her to tell her the funny story of my new maid, but neither Belinda nor her maid was at home. It had to mean that she had probably fled somewhere warm again. I couldn’t blame her.

A very nervous Queenie made her way down the platform to find the third-class carriages. As I watched her go I pondered on the irony that my maid was wearing a fur coat, whereas I only had good Scottish Harris tweed. Some girls were given a fur coat for their twenty-first birthday. I had been tempted to buy one with the check from Sir Hubert, the one of Mother’s many husbands and lovers of whom I had been the most fond, but luckily I had banked it instead. It kept me in funds for over a year but had finally run out. The thought of Sir Hubert sparked an exciting memory. He was still in Switzerland, recuperating from a horrible accident (or was it attempted murder?—now we’d never know). I could visit him on the way home. I’d jot him a line as soon as I reached my destination.

As I stood there alone in the carriage I realized two things. One was that my chaperon had not appeared and the other was that I had no idea of the actual destination to which we were going. If she didn’t turn up I didn’t even know at which station we were to alight. Oh, dear, more things to worry about.

The hour for departure neared and I paced nervously. I was just double-checking that my jewel case was securely on the rack when the compartment door was flung open and a voice behind me said, “You, girl, what are you doing in here? Maids belong in third class. And where is your mistress?”

I turned to face a gaunt, horsey-looking woman wearing a long Persian lamb cape. Standing behind her was a most superior-looking creature in black, laden with various hatboxes and train cases. Both were staring at me as if I were something they had just discovered on the sole of their shoe.

“I think you’ve made a mistake. I am Lady Georgiana Rannoch, and this is my compartment,” I said.

The horsey face turned decidedly paler. “Oh, most frightfully sorry. I only saw your back and you have to admit that that overcoat is not the smartest, so naturally I assumed...” She mustered a hearty smile and stuck out her hand. “Middlesex,” she said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“That’s the name. Lady Middlesex. Your companion for the journey. Didn’t Her Majesty tell you?”

“She told me there would be a chaperon. She never gave me your name.”

“Didn’t she? Dashed inefficient of her. Not like her. She’s usually a stickler for details. She’s worried about the king, of course. Not at all well.”

She pumped my hand energetically all the time she was speaking. Meanwhile the creature in black had slunk past us and was busy loading cases onto the rack.

“All is done, my lady,” she said with a strong French accent. “I shall retire to my own quarters.”

“Splendid. Thank you, Chantal.” Lady Middlesex leaned closer to me. “An absolute treasure. Couldn’t travel without her. Completely devoted, of course. Worships me. Doesn’t mind where we go or what hardships she has to endure. We’re on our way to Baghdad now, y’know. Dashed awful place, baking in summer, freezing in winter, but m’ husband has been posted there as British attaché. They always post him to a spot where they expect trouble. Damned strong man is Lord Middlesex. Doesn’t allow the natives to get away with any kind of nonsense.”

I wondered how Chantal and Queenie would get along. Our door was slammed shut and a whistle sounded.

“Ah, we’re off. Right on time. Jolly good show. I do like punctuality. Absolutely insist upon it at home. We dine at eight on the dot. If ever a guest dares to show up late, he finds we have started without him.”

I almost reminded her that she had nearly missed the train herself, but I consoled myself that she would not be coming to the wedding with me. I’d disembark and she would travel on to Baghdad where she would boss around the natives. We started to move, first slowly past dingy gray buildings, then over the Thames and picking up speed until the backyards became a blur and merged into bigger gardens and then to real countryside. It was a splendid autumn day, the sort of day that made me think of hunting. Clouds raced across a clear blue sky. There were sheep in meadows. Lady M kept up a nonstop commentary about the places to which Lord Middlesex had brought British law and order and she herself had taught the native women proper British hygiene. “They worshipped me, of course,” she said. “But I have to say that living abroad is a sacrifice I make for my husband. Haven’t had a decent hunt in years. We rode with the hunt in Shanghai, but it was only over the peasants’ fields and that’s not as jolly as good open countryside, is it? And all those silly little people shouting at us and waving their fists and scaring the horses.”

It was going to be a very long journey.

At Dover we alighted from the train and found Queenie and Chantal.

“Dear God in heaven, what is that?” Lady Middlesex demanded on seeing Queenie, who was wearing the spiky fur coat and red hat again.

“My maid,” I said.

“You let her look like that?”

“It’s all she has.”

“Then you should have outfitted her suitably. My dear girl, if you let servants go around looking like oversized flowerpots you’ll be a laughingstock. I only allow Chantal to wear black. Colors are reserved for people of our class. Come along now, Chantal.” She turned to the maid. “My train cases. And I want you to stay with those porters every inch of the way until the trunks are safely on board the ship, is that clear?”

“You do the same, Queenie,” I said.

“I ain’t never been on a ship, miss,” Queenie said, already looking green, “apart from the
Saucy Sally
around the pier at Clacton. What if I get seasick?”

“Nonsense,” Lady Middlesex said. “You simply tell yourself that you are not going to be ill. Your mistress will not allow it. Now off you go and no dillydallying.” She turned to me. “That girl wants bringing in line rapidly.”

Then she strode out ahead of me toward the gangplank. It was a pleasant crossing with just enough swell to make one realize one was on a ship. Lady Middlesex and I had lunch in the dining room (she had a hearty appetite and devoured everything within sight) and emerged in time to see the French coast ahead of us. We found Queenie, who was clinging to the railing as if it were her only hope of survival.

“It don’t half go up and down, don’t it, miss?” she said.

“Your mistress should be addressed as ‘your ladyship,’ ” Lady Middlesex said in a horrified voice. “I can’t think where she found such an unsuitable maid. Pull yourself together, girl, or you’ll be on the next boat home.”

Oh, dear. I’m sure that was exactly what Queenie wanted at this moment.

“Queenie is still learning,” I said quickly. “I’m sure she’ll soon be splendid.”

Lady Middlesex sniffed. We sailed into Calais Harbor and then we sailed through the hassle of customs and immigration thanks to Lady M and the royal warrants, which allowed us to bypass the long lines and the customs shed. I had to admit she was marvelous—frightening, but worthy of admiration as she chivvied French dockworkers and porters until luggage was loaded and we were safely in our wagons-lits compartments of the Arlberg Orient Express.

“Run along now,” Lady Middlesex said, waving Chantal away as if she were an annoying fly. “And take Lady Georgiana’s maid with you.”

I was relieved to find I had my own sleeping berth and didn’t have to share with Lady Middlesex. I was about to come out into the corridor when I heard words I never would have expected to escape from Lady Middlesex’s lips.

“Ah, there you are at last, dear heart.”

I simply couldn’t imagine Lady Middlesex calling anyone dear heart, and I knew her husband was already in Baghdad, so I was brimming with curiosity as I slid my door open. Coming up the corridor, clutching a bulky and battered suitcase, was a middle-aged and decidedly frumpy woman. She was wearing what was clearly a home-knitted beret and scarf over a shapeless overcoat and she looked hot and flustered.

“Oh, I’ve had the most awful time, Lady M. Most awful. There were two terrible men sitting across from me on the ship. I swear they were international criminals—so swarthy looking and they kept muttering to each other. Thank God it was not a night crossing or I’d have been murdered in my bunk.”

“I hardly think so, dear heart,” Lady Middlesex said. “You haven’t anything worth stealing and they were not likely to be interested in your body.”

“Oh, Lady M, really!” And the woman blushed.

“Well, you’re here now and all is well,” Lady Middlesex said. “Ah, Lady Georgiana, let me introduce you. This is my companion, Miss Deer-Harte.”

“I am honored to meet you, Lady Georgiana.” She bobbed an awkward curtsy, as she was still clutching the large suitcase. “I’m sure we’ll have some jolly chats on the way across Europe. Let us just pray that there are no snowstorms this time and that none of those dreadful Balkan countries decides to make war with its neighbor.”

“Always such gloom and doom, Deer-Harte,” Lady Middlesex said. “Buck up. Best foot forward and all that. Your cabin is just down there. Why you had to struggle with that suitcase yourself instead of employing a porter is beyond me.”

“But you know how hopeless I am with foreign money, Lady M. I’m always terrified of giving them a pound when I mean a shilling. And they always look so sinister with those black mustaches, I’m frightened they’ll take off with my bags and I’ll never see them again.”

“I’ve told you before, nobody would want your bags,” Lady Middlesex said. “Now, for heaven’s sake go and get settled and then we’ll find the dining car and see if they can produce a drinkable cup of tea.”

As she finished speaking she looked down the corridor and opened her mouth in horror. “What in heaven’s name?”

Queenie was rushing toward us, blindly pushing past people. She reached me and clutched at my sleeve like a drowning person. “Oh, me lady,” she gasped, “can’t I come in with you? I can’t stay down there. It’s all foreign people. Speaking foreign and acting foreign. I’m scared, me lady.”