The Lady's Maid (2 page)

She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. The baby had stopped suckling and she hitched Josephine over her shoulder, rubbing her tiny back until she gave a satisfactory burp. She had often held other women’s babies and cuddled them, breathing in their milky scent, but she had never experienced the flood of emotion and protective love that she felt at this moment. She cradled the infant in the crook of her arm and Josephine stared up at her with a dark unfocused gaze. Who would have thought that this perfect little creature could have emerged from her womb? A shaft of fear stabbed Dena in the heart. She could not bear the thought of giving her beautiful baby to sour-faced, acerbic-tongued Miss Hickson, Lady Damerell’s personal maid. It was she who had noticed Dena’s swelling belly, and her condition would have warranted instant dismissal but for the servant’s determination to help her barren mistress. Miss Hickson had sent for Zolfina, and between the two of them they had worked out a plan to hide Dena away until her confinement while Lady Damerell acted out a phantom pregnancy. The irony of the situation was not lost on Dena; she might not have produced a son, but Josephine was a Damerell. She was being forced to give her baby to another woman, who would pass her off as her own, when all along the child was of the family blood line.

Josephine slept, but now Clara’s baby had begun to cry. Dena did not want to suckle another woman’s child, but it seemed as though it was the only way to quieten the infant. She was shocked that she felt nothing for this helpless little scrap of humanity,
but
she could not allow her to starve for want of a mother. She had her own baby cradled in one arm, and Clara’s baby at her breast, when Zolfina came crashing through the undergrowth.

‘You’ll have to stop that very soon or you’ll have paps like a cow. I’m taking her to Miss Hickson in the morning. She wanted the babe as soon as it was born, but it’s too late to go tonight.’

In spite of everything, Dena could not suppress a giggle. ‘I’m sure that my lady will be glad to deliver the cushion that she has been wearing stuffed beneath her corsets these past few months.’

Zolfina scowled at her. ‘It’s no laughing matter, my girl. You’ll be hard put to convince Marko that you’re still a virgin when he claims you for his bride. At least the money from the Damerells will give you a big enough dowry to buy his silence if he does realise that you are spoiled goods, but you’ve still got to play your part.’

Dena licked her lips. She had worked it out in her head and now she must convince her mother that she had the perfect solution. ‘Perhaps she will take the gorgio child instead?’

‘What are you talking about, girl?’

‘No one knows about Clara and her baby. And you said that she was a lady, so why not give her baby to Lady Damerell?’

‘Because, you silly girl, Clara’s child is going to be as fair as her poor dead mother. The Damerells are all dark-haired, which is why Miss Hickson and I worked out a deal which would benefit us all.’

Tears spilled from Dena’s eyes. ‘But she is mine, and I love her. I cannot give her up.’

‘You have no choice.’ Zolfina modified her tone. She did not want to see her daughter suffer, but she must be firm. She must not waver now, for all their sakes. ‘Marko is a good man, and it’s fortunate for you that his travels have kept him away for many more months, because if he were to find out about this he would seek another bride.’

‘I know that, Mother, but I can’t give my baby away.’

‘You will have many more babies, and they will be true Romany. We will leave tomorrow morning, at first light. You must say goodbye to her, and there will be no argument.’

Dena bowed her head. Her heart was crumbling inside her breast, but she knew that she must obey her mother and Romany law. ‘Promise me one thing, Mother.’

‘And that is?’

‘That you will tell them her name is Josephine. It is the only thing that belonged to her real father that I can bestow on her.’

Zolfina nodded in agreement. ‘I will try. Now get some sleep.’

‘But what will happen to Clara’s baby?’

‘I’ve thought of that and I think I have the solution.’

Dena glanced at the shape beneath the woollen blanket. ‘And Clara?’

‘Yoska is going to see that her poor dead body is
treated
with respect. You need not worry your head about Clara. Nothing in this world can harm her now.’

Next morning, Zolfina awakened as the first grey streaks of dawn appeared in the east. She crept over to where Dena lay sleeping beside the two infants, who were swaddled in woollen shawls. There was no mistaking Josephine, with her shock of dark hair, and Zolfina picked her up gently. She made her way stealthily from their makeshift camp, and set off to walk the two miles to Damerell Manor, the family’s country home.

As arranged, Miss Hickson was waiting for her in the summerhouse by the lake. The black bombazine skirts of her dress swirled around her skinny body as she paced the floor, and her shawl flapped in the breeze, giving her the appearance of an agitated crow. Zolfina quickened her pace, terrified that the infant would awaken, start crying and draw the attention of the grooms and gardeners who were already beginning their day’s work. This transaction had to be done in the strictest secrecy if the servants were to believe that Lady Damerell had been delivered of a baby.

‘Where have you been?’ Miss Hickson demanded angrily. ‘I waited for hours last night, and I’ve been here since the crack of dawn.’

Zolfina climbed the steps into the summerhouse, panting for breath. ‘The labour was long and difficult, but the child is perfect and healthy.’

‘And it’s a boy?’

‘Alas, no. But she is beautiful nonetheless.’

‘Give her to me,’ Miss Hickson said, holding out her hands. ‘This is disappointing. Sir Hector was desperate for a son and heir.’

‘No one has a choice in these matters.’

‘Apparently not, although I suppose you still want your money?’

‘And my lady wants a child to prove that she is not barren and might in future bear a son – so all are satisfied.’

‘I doubt if Sir Hector will be.’ Miss Hickson took a leather pouch from her pocket and handed it to Zolfina. ‘Take your money and go. And tell that slut of a daughter never to come near this house again.’

Zolfina drew herself up to her full height. ‘You need not worry about that. We have honoured our part of the bargain; it is up to you to see that the child is well cared for.’

‘You are impertinent, woman. This child will have the finest of homes both here and in London, she’ll have the best of parents and everything that money can buy. She will grow up with wealth and privilege. She is the most fortunate of little bastards ever born. Now go on your way. Our business is done.’

‘Not quite. The baby needs a wet nurse. Have you arranged that?’

‘You insult my intelligence.’ Miss Hickson drew herself up to her full height. She could not resist the temptation to boast about her cleverness. ‘The wife of our head groom is about to be delivered of her fourth child, but in each case her babes have been stillborn. She is staying at present with her father-in-law who
manages
the home farm, but she will return to London with the rest of the household at the end of the month. Are you satisfied now?’

‘Aye, mistress. I am content.’ Zolfina was about to leave, then she remembered Dena’s tearful plea. ‘There is but one thing, Miss Hickson.’

‘And that is?’

‘The child has been named Josephine.’

Miss Hickson curled her lip. ‘I don’t think it is any of your business what my lady chooses to call her child.’

‘A gypsy’s curse will be on this great house if the mother’s wish is ignored.’

Miss Hickson’s eyes widened and her hand flew to the silver crucifix hanging about her neck. Her lips moved silently, as if in prayer. Zolfina turned on her heel and walked away stifling a chuckle; it was ridiculously easy to frighten gorgios with the threat of a curse. She quickened her step as she headed through the wood. The leather pouch was satisfactorily heavy; it would buy Dena a good husband. One day Marko would take over from Yoska as head man. Dena would have a position of respect, and she would be grateful to her mother for covering up her youthful indiscretion. Zolfina blinked away a tear; she must not weaken now. The baby, her granddaughter, would never want for anything. That was the thought she must hold on to, and she must never admit that parting with the baby filled her with anguish. She squared her shoulders – she must be strong. Now she had one more thing to do and that was to find a family who would
take
poor little Clara’s child. The thin-lipped termagant, Miss Hickson, had given her an idea.

Miss Hickson wrapped the baby in her apron and scuttled across the grass sward to the stone steps leading up to the drawing room. She hurried through the music room into the great hall, with its high ceiling ornamented with gilded plasterwork, and she mounted the flight of marble stairs, glancing nervously around to make sure she was not seen. Her mistress’s bedroom was at the front of the house overlooking the gravel carriage sweep and beyond it the avenue of copper beeches, resplendent in their burnished summer foliage. She let herself into the room without knocking.

Marguerite Damerell had been standing by one of the tall windows staring out over the parkland, but she spun round as she heard the door open. Her pale face was transformed with joy when she saw the baby. ‘Hickson, you’ve got him at last.’

‘My lady, I’m afraid that it’s a girl child.’

Lady Damerell’s lips trembled and her eyes clouded with disappointment, but as she took the sleeping infant from Miss Hickson’s arms her expression softened. ‘But she is beautiful, Hickson. And she is mine.’

‘Yes, my lady. She is your daughter.’

‘And you trust the gypsy woman to keep silent?’

‘She has been well paid, my lady. If she should come back I will have the dogs set on her.’

‘I hope there will be no need for that, but you must do whatever is necessary.’ Lady Damerell smiled tenderly as the baby opened her eyes. ‘She has beautiful
brown
eyes, just like my husband’s. I cannot wait to show her to him, and I must choose a name for her. Until now I had only considered boys’ names. I will have to think again.’

Miss Hickson cleared her throat, mindful of the Romany woman’s parting words. She did not really believe in gypsy curses, but she was not going to take any unnecessary risks. ‘I know that you will not agree, my lady, but the baby’s mother expressed a wish that the child be named Josephine.’ She clasped her hands tightly behind her back, crossing her fingers.

‘Josephine?’ Lady Damerell rubbed her cheek against the baby’s head. ‘Her hair is like black silk.’

‘The mother has no right to impose her wish upon you, my lady. I was just passing on the information.’

‘My husband’s grandmother was called Josephine. I think he will be pleased with the name, and I shall put it to him in such a way that he imagines the choice is his.’

‘And when is the master due to return home, my lady?’

‘Not until next week, but I will send a messenger to our house in Bedford Square with the good news.’

‘Very good, ma’am. Now, may I suggest that you get back to bed while I dress the little one in more appropriate clothes?’

‘Of course, we must act out the charade to the end. Everyone will be surprised how quickly I get my figure back after the birth.’ Lady Damerell carolled with laughter as she handed the baby back to Hickson. She leapt into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. ‘We
must
find a wet nurse for her too. That is of the utmost urgency, but I suppose you have it all planned?’

‘I have, my lady. It is all arranged. In fact, you might remember the girl. She was a parlourmaid here before her marriage to your head groom, so you know you can trust her to behave in a proper manner and to be discreet.’

Lady Damerell frowned. ‘But the baby needs a wet nurse now. Coggins and his wife will have remained in London.’

‘Not this time, my lady. Mrs Coggins has produced only stillborn infants during her marriage and I took it upon myself to persuade her husband that she might fare better in the country. Whatever the outcome, she’ll be returning to London with us and will tend the baby for as long as necessary.’ Miss Hickson rocked the baby in her arms, resisting the temptation to crow. Having had several months to prepare for the happy event, she had worked her plan out in the minutest detail.

‘Very well, Hickson. I’ll leave it entirely to you, but first I will need a pen and paper so that I can write to Sir Hector. One of the grooms can take it to London. Then you must make all the necessary arrangements with this woman. What is her name, by the way? Not that it is important, but I like to know these things.’

‘Bertha Coggins, my lady.’

‘Splendid.’ Lady Damerell held out her arms to receive the baby, who was starting to protest as Hickson dressed her in a silk nightgown that had been painstakingly embroidered as part of the baby’s layette. ‘You
may
spread the good news below stairs too, Hickson. Tell them that I have given birth to a beautiful baby girl.’ She frowned. ‘I hope Sir Hector isn’t too disappointed that it wasn’t a boy, but I shall so enjoy having a daughter. Maybe next time I will bear a son.’

‘Yes, my lady.’ Hickson left the room, wondering if her mistress had lost her mind. It seemed as though she truly believed that she had given birth and could do so again. She headed for the back stairs leading down to the maze of passages and basement rooms – the servants’ domain. She took a key from the chatelaine at her waist and unlocked a cupboard in which she had secreted a set of my lady’s bed sheets. It was all part of her carefully constructed plan to trick the other servants into believing that their mistress had been delivered of a child, and she smeared the bedding with pig’s blood that she had collected in a flask from the meat larder. She locked the cupboard and carried the soiled sheets to the laundry room where the washerwomen had lit fires beneath the coppers and were already hard at work.

Hickson held up the sheets with a triumphant smile. ‘The mistress has given birth to a fine baby girl.’ She swept out of the steamy atmosphere, leaving the women to chatter delightedly amongst themselves. The birth had been long awaited. Some said that the mistress would never bear a child – now they would have to eat their words. Hickson went to the kitchen to spread the glad tidings. She went next to the stables to instruct one of the under grooms to be ready to take a message to Sir Hector in London, and then she set
off
at a brisk pace across the parkland towards the home farm.