The Lady's Maid (7 page)

Josie’s lips trembled and tears welled out of her eyes. ‘But Mama, I’ve got my heart set on it, and I don’t want to stay here and look as though I’m chasing after a rich husband. You know how horrid some people can be.’

Lady Damerell held her hand to her head. ‘Oh, dear. Now I don’t know what to say. Where is Sir Hector? Why do gentlemen have to take so long over their brandy and cigars?’

‘You’d better do something to stop her crying before they join us,’ Miss Bourne said, glancing anxiously at the doorway. ‘No man likes to see a girl with red eyes and a blotchy face.’

‘There speaks the expert on men.’ Mrs Horton rose to her feet and swayed over to sit next to Josie on the sofa, which creaked beneath her weight.

Kate hurried forward to rescue the coffee cup and
saucer
from Lady Damerell, who looked as though she was about to collapse.

‘Fetch my vinaigrette from the drum table,’ Lady Damerell moaned. ‘I feel faint.’

‘Nonsense.’ Mrs Horton reached across Josie to poke her ladyship in the ribs. ‘Take deep breaths and pull yourself together.’ She gave Josie a nudge for good measure. ‘And you, girl. Stop that snivelling. I can hear the gentlemen coming. Do you want to ruin your chances?’

Josie stood up, almost tipping Mrs Horton off the sofa. She brushed her hand across her eyes and snatched the silver vinaigrette from Kate’s hand, thrusting it in front of her mother’s face. ‘Say yes, Mama, or I’ll go to my room and to hell with Harry Challenor. I hate being treated like a bitch ready for mating.’

‘Josephine.’ Sir Hector’s angry tones rang out as he strode into the room followed by Harry Challenor and the rest of the male guests.

Kate froze to the spot, her gaze fixed on Josie’s horrified face. Judging by the looks on the faces of the other ladies, it would take more than a silver tongue to get out of this one.

Lady Damerell rose shakily to her feet. ‘Don’t blame, Josie, Sir Hector.’ She pointed a trembling finger at Kate. ‘It’s that girl. She’s a bad influence on our daughter. I want her sent back to the country immediately.’

‘I say, that’s a bit harsh.’ Harry strode forward. ‘I don’t know what I’ve done to offend Miss Damerell
but
she’s not the first young woman to tell me where to go,’ he grinned ruefully, ‘and I doubt if she’ll be the last.’

Sir Hector held up his hand. ‘Generous of you, Challenor, but it won’t do. Josie, go to your room, and you, girl, go back to the kitchen. Both of you will go to the country tomorrow with Coggins. I won’t have such language in my house, Josephine. You will remain in the country if it takes a year or even two, but you will learn manners or you’ll remain there forever. By God, you will.’

Chapter Four

Dorset, September 1874

KATE STOPPED FOR
a moment, setting her willow basket on the ground and leaning over the parapet of the bridge to look down into the fast-running waters of the River Frome. The first signs of autumn were mellowing the Dorset countryside: beech mast tumbling from the trees, hedgerows groaning with blackberries, and clusters of orange berries hanging from the rowans.

It was almost ten months since Josie’s fall from grace, and she was still in virtual exile. She had refused to apologise to Harry Challenor for her behaviour at the fateful dinner party, and as a consequence had missed the London season. What was even worse, Kate had been forbidden to associate with her, but if Sir Hector thought that this would prevent them from keeping each other company he would have been disappointed to learn that it had had the opposite effect.

Josie was under strict instructions not to mix with anyone from the village, but she had declared from the outset that rules were made to be broken, and she was a frequent visitor at the farmhouse where Kate now lived with her father, Sam and Molly. Robert had somewhat reluctantly agreed to take over the tenancy of the home farm, but to Kate’s relief it seemed to
have
been the making of him. Back in the house where he had been born, he was a new man, and his heavy drinking was a thing of the past.

Kate worked long hours but she had no desire to return to the miserable mews in London and the dire living conditions above the stables. She was content, but she worried constantly about Josie. Her banishment had only served to make her more rebellious and had encouraged her wild ways. She often came to the farm in order to escape from the strict regime instigated by her chaperone, Mrs Wardle, whom she described as a prison warder sent from hell to try to make her behave like a lady. Lady Damerell, no doubt influenced by the indomitable Hickson, had employed Mrs Wardle, a widow of good birth but reduced circumstances, to give her wayward daughter lessons in etiquette, deportment and the social graces that would stand her in good stead in the next London season. Infuriated and determined to get her own way, Josie had delighted in making her chaperone’s life as difficult as possible. Instead of behaving like a well-bred young lady, she took every opportunity to roam around the countryside on Sheba, her bay mare, with Kate following more slowly on an aged pony that Josie had long since outgrown.

Josie loved nothing better than to gallop across the fields, urging her steed to take fences and hedgerows like a steeplechaser, while Kate’s mount trotted sedately or at most broke into a canter. Sometimes, if Kate was too busy, Josie persuaded Sam to leave whatever he was doing on the farm and accompany her on one of
her
escapades. The fact that he did so willingly was also a cause for concern. Kate was painfully aware that Sam’s childish devotion to Josie had matured into something deeper, and she feared for him. Josie would take his heart and, if it suited her, she would break it without giving him a second thought.

But despite all this, it had been an almost perfect summer. Kate plucked a dandelion head and tossed it into the water, watching it bob about and float downstream, a tiny golden boat heading for the open sea. Life, she thought, was good. The sun was pleasantly warm on her back and winter seemed far away. She turned her head at the sound of an approaching horse-drawn vehicle.

‘Good morning, Miss Coggins.’ Squire Westwood drew his horse to a halt, tipping his top hat and smiling.

‘Good morning, Squire.’ Kate bobbed a curtsey.

‘Are you on your way to market, Miss Coggins?’

‘I am, sir.’

Edmund Westwood steadied his horse with a light touch on the reins. ‘I’m going there myself. I could take you the rest of the way, if you so wished.’

Kate hesitated. It was little more than a mile to the market place in Dorchester and she was used to walking. Tongues would wag if she were seen driving with the squire. She knew that she ought to refuse politely and continue on her way, but she could not resist the temptation to arrive in style. She smiled up at him. ‘That’s very kind of you, sir.’

He leapt down from the driver’s seat, issuing a
command
to stay to his two black Labradors who were preparing to spring out of the dog cart, their tails wagging and their pink tongues lolling out of their mouths as if they were grinning. The dogs obeyed him instantly. ‘If only my two daughters were so well behaved,’ he said smiling as he picked up Kate’s basket and tossed it in the back of the cart. He handed her onto the seat and climbed up beside her. ‘My girls miss a mother’s guidance, the poor darlings.’ He flicked the whip so that the horse moved forward at a spanking trot.

Kate was well aware that the squire had been a widower for many years, but such a frank confession from a man in his exalted position was embarrassing, and she did not know quite how to respond. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, clutching the side rail of the vehicle as it tooled along the lane, its swaying motion causing her to slide too close to him for comfort. She held on for dear life as he encouraged his horse to go even faster. She suspected that he was trying to impress her, and she was beginning to regret her impulsive decision to accompany him into town. She shot him a sideways glance, and was relieved to see that he was concentrating on the road ahead. He was a large, undeniably handsome man, with craggy features and a leonine mane of auburn hair, but he was twice her age and almost as far removed from her station in life as Sir Hector Damerell. He seemed to sense that she was staring at him and he turned his head to give her a beaming smile. ‘Miss Coggins, I have a confession to make.’

‘A confession, sir?’

‘I came this way in the hope of meeting you.’ He was silent for a moment, concentrating on his driving as they met a farm cart lumbering towards them from the opposite direction. Farmer Coker tipped his cap at the squire, but his expression changed to one of frank curiosity when he glanced at Kate. He nodded his head to her as the two vehicles squeezed past each other. She could imagine him telling his wife that he had seen Robert Coggins’ little maid sitting up beside the squire as bold as you like.

‘It will be all round the county now,’ she said, chuckling. ‘Kate Coggins was seen out driving with Squire Westwood.’

‘They will have to get accustomed to it, if you accept my offer.’

‘Squire?’ She stared at him in surprise and suddenly it was no laughing matter. There was only one sort of proposition a man in his position might offer a girl from her walk of life, and if the dog cart had not been travelling at such a speed she might have leapt to the comparative safety of the grass verge. She sat bolt upright, hardly daring to breathe.

‘I’ll come straight to the point, Miss Coggins. My daughters have reached an age when they are no longer children but are not yet young women. Without a mother’s guidance they are running wild. Miss Morton has been an excellent governess, but she will be leaving soon to take up another position with a younger family, and my girls need a companion who
is
close enough to them in years to understand their wants and needs. I think you would be exactly the right person.’

Relief swept over her in a tidal wave. ‘You are offering me a position in your household, Squire Westwood?’

‘That’s about it, Miss Coggins. If you accept my offer I would pay you a good wage for your services and you would live as one of the family.’

‘Live in, sir? Oh, no. I mean, I thank you very much for considering me, but I might be returning to London with Miss Damerell in the very near future.’ This was not exactly true, but it gave her a valid excuse for refusing his offer.

‘I don’t wish to offend you, but it is well known that you act as unpaid housekeeper for your father, and that you work in the dairy and on the farm as well. It’s no life for a young woman who had the benefit of being educated at Damerell Manor.’

‘I was extremely fortunate, and for that reason I must remain loyal to the Damerells who have done so much for me. I must also help my father while I can. He needs me.’

They had reached the market place and Edmund guided his horse to a shady spot beneath a horse chestnut tree. ‘Whoa, there.’ The wheels of the dog cart crunched on the crisp fallen leaves as the vehicle came to a halt. He turned to Kate and his expression was serious. ‘Your father is still a relatively young man, Kate. May I call you that?’ Without waiting for
an
answer he took her hand in his. ‘One day he might take another wife, and you will find yourself a stranger in your own home.’

The pressure of his fingers and the intense look in his piercing blue eyes both scared and angered her. She snatched her hand away. ‘My father has no such intentions, Squire Westwood. He loved my mother dearly and he would never look at another woman.’

‘My dear girl, your mother has been dead for many years. A man needs a companion and a helpmate in life, and one day, in the not so distant future, you will find a husband.’

He had gone too far now and she was angry. ‘Thank you, sir. I appreciate your concern, but it really is none of your business.’ She scrambled down from the cart, reaching in the back for her basket. The dogs licked her hand and raised themselves, looking at her expectantly, but she was too upset to make a fuss of them. She backed away towards the bustling centre of the market place. ‘Thank you, Squire. But now I have business in the market. Good day.’

‘I did not mean to upset you, Kate. Won’t you at least give my offer some consideration?’

‘I’ve given you my answer. I won’t change my mind.’ She quickened her pace, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that he was not following her, and was relieved to see that his attention had been claimed by one of his tenants. Her thoughts and emotions were in turmoil as she made her way between the market stalls, automatically nodding and smiling in acknowledgement of the many familiar
faces
that greeted her. Squire Westwood’s words had disturbed her more than she cared to admit. It might be due to her vivid imagination, but she had sensed an underlying motive in his sudden desire to have her living in his house. There were plenty of middle-aged widows with limited means who would have filled the position much more ably than she. The squire had deliberately placed ideas in her head that would never have come naturally. It had never crossed her mind that Pa might remarry, or that their way of life would change now that he was settled on the farm. During the past few months she had not minded how hard she worked in the house, and in the dairy where she made butter and cheese. She had tended the chickens, collected their eggs and taken them to market, accepting her new way of life without complaint. Whether she would be called upon to act as lady’s maid to Josie and return with her to London was a matter for conjecture, but she doubted if it would happen. Josie would almost certainly marry well, and her promise of eternal friendship would be forgotten when she embarked on her new life.

Until now Kate had never questioned her lot, but the squire’s offer of employment had made her stop and think. It was true that she had received an education well beyond her station in life, but there was always someone waiting to remind her that she came from humble beginnings. Josie might treat her as an equal when it suited her, but her moods were capricious and Kate was ever conscious of the difference between them.