The Maid of Fairbourne Hall (12 page)

Through the open library door, he glimpsed his brother sweeping through the hall, unannounced. He supposed Lewis felt he needed no announcing in his own home, infrequently though he slept there.

Nathaniel added his signature to the letter, replaced the quill in its stand, and rose to find and greet his brother. He hoped to make peace with him. And to be firm about the family's need to get their affairs in order—and keep spending in line with their reduced income.

Arnold appeared in the threshold. “Excuse me, sir, but your brother has just arrived. He did not wish to be announced, but I thought you would want to know.”

Nathaniel found the under butler's ingratiating manners irritating, but forced himself to reply civilly, “Thank you. Where is he now?”

“The sitting room, I believe, with Miss Upchurch.”

Nathaniel thanked the man again, crossed the hall, and climbed the stairs. His family had long preferred the upstairs sitting room to the formal drawing room on the main level. As he neared the sitting-room door, he heard his brother's booming voice and his sister's calm happy tones.

“Lewis, you can't know how pleased I am to see you.”

“So you've said. Twice. Did Nate tell you what he did to me in London?”

“Ask you to come home?”

“He punched me—right in the midst of the Valmores' ball.”

“He never!”

“He did. Of course, I got my licks in too. Man has to stand up for himself, you know.”

“Oh, Lewie. Is that where that bruise came from? I was afraid you'd been breaking hearts again.”

“Only two or three a week.”

“
Lewie
 . . .” Helen scolded fondly, “one of these days someone's father, or brother, or sweetheart will do worse than bruise you.”

“Then perhaps I ought to swear off women. After all, you are my favorite, Helen, and always shall be.”

“Oh, go on. I can tell the difference between charm and a hum, you know.”

“And which has old Nate been giving you?”

“Neither. Though he has been a
bit
overbearing since he's been home.”

Helen's words stung. Nathaniel crossed the threshold in time to see Lewis rub his jaw.

“As I am painfully aware. Had I known things were so bad here, I would have come sooner.”

Helen raised one brow. “I did write to you.”

“Yes, but you are always so mincing with your words, so careful not to alarm me, that I had no real idea how bad the situation had become.”

“Servants up in arms, shopkeepers at the door, butler gone without notice . . .
that
was mincing words?”

Lewis tweaked her cheek. “Well, I am here now. Do say you forgive me. I cannot abide having both of my siblings vexed with me.”

Helen smiled adoringly at their handsome brother. “I could never stay vexed with you, Lewis.”

“That's my girl. Now, that's what I like to hear.”

Nathaniel cleared his throat and crossed the room. “Hello, Lewis. Glad you could come.”

“You made sure of that, didn't you?”

Nathaniel saw the purple bruise on his brother's jaw and grimaced. “Sorry.”

“That's all right. I made good use of it, I can tell you. The ladies were full of sympathy and comfort, never doubt it.”

“I don't.”

“And look at you!” Lewis gestured toward Nathaniel's sling and the bandage on his temple. “Told you I got my licks in, Helen.”

Nathaniel and Helen exchanged a look. Deciding not to worry her with more discussions of thieves—pirates or bankers—he asked Lewis, “Would you mind joining me in the library? I would like you to meet our new steward and take a look at the books together.”

Helen frowned. “But Lewis has just arrived.”

“I am afraid several items simply will not wait.”

Helen looked ready to protest further, but Lewis patted her hand, then hauled his tall lanky form to his feet. “Oh, very well, I'm coming. Don't knot your neckcloth.”

The whole household assembled in the hall in the
morning, before breakfast, for family worship.

—
A Memoir of the Reverend Alexander Waugh,
1830

Chapter 9

T
here was a great deal of buzzing and giggling that night as Margaret made her way along the basement passage to the servants' hall for supper. When she entered, she saw Fiona, Betty, and the kitchen maid Jenny standing clustered about Hester, speaking in smiles and whispers.

Curious, Margaret approached the small clutch of women. Fiona's green eyes sliced her way but immediately returned to Hester as though she had not seen her. Betty sent her a quick smile without pause in conversation or invitation to join them. Margaret stood there, a little apart, feeling like a third shoe.

Thomas entered the servants' hall with a young man she had never seen before. He was of middling height—not quite as tall as Thomas, but his shoulders were broader. At least they appeared so, under the well-cut black coat, grey pinstriped waistcoat, and crisp cravat. He held himself with athletic ease, smiling at Thomas as the two men talked. His hair was deep red, thick and slightly wavy, brushed just so across his forehead. His complexion was fair, his nose straight, his eyes a bright blue. Margaret realized she was staring. He returned her gaze, and Margaret looked away, embarrassed. She was sure Fiona would be scowling at her. But all the other maids were staring at the handsome young man as well.

Betty stepped to her side and whispered, “That's Connor. I've known him since a lad. Isn't he a handsome one?”

“Indeed. Who is he?”

“Mr. Lewis's valet,” Betty said with evident pride. “They arrived from London this afternoon.”

Margaret's heart raced.
Lewis Upchurch is here!
Under the same roof. Perhaps she would see him soon. Might she find a way to speak to him in private?

The valet crossed the room to greet them. “Hello, ladies.”

A chorus of grins and good-evenings rose in reply.

Connor kissed Betty's cheek, then his sparkling eyes lingered on the stillroom maid. “And Hester, my girl, how are you?”

Hester smiled, her face glowing in round-cheeked loveliness. “A sight better, now you're here.” She turned to Margaret. “And this is Nora. New to us since your last visit.”

“How d'you do, Nora? A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” His smile was genuine but quickly returned to Hester. “A pleasure to be among you all again.”

At nine the following morning, the house servants once again filed into the hall for morning prayers. The valet Connor stood among them, between Hester and second footman Craig, who sent doleful looks his way.

Margaret, as was her habit, found a spot at the back behind someone taller than she, usually Monsieur Fournier. They were all creatures of habit, she had noted, and in general occupied the same places each morning. Connor was upsetting this order. Is that what had Craig looking resentful? Or was it the man's obvious popularity with the ladies?
Poor Craig.

Margaret surreptitiously peeked out from behind the chef's white-coated shoulder, keeping an eye on the library door, heart beating hard.

The door opened and her stomach knotted. Nathaniel Upchurch, with his sister at his side, entered from the library. There was no sign of Lewis. Disappointment and relief warred within her. She guessed Lewis was still abed or had gone for a morning ride.

Nathaniel's arm was no longer in a sling, but a small bandage still graced one temple. And this time he wore his spectacles. Ah . . . she remembered him in spectacles. Apparently he only wore them for reading these days. With them, he looked more like a clergyman than a pirate.

Nathaniel found his place in the book and cleared his throat. He hesitated, left his thumb marking the spot and looked up at them, then down once more. “Many of you have been with us for years and remember me as the arrogant youth I no doubt was. Perhaps you think it hypocritical of me to stand before you now, as though I think myself worthy to be your spiritual leader. I do not. I am convinced not of my own worthiness, but of God's. I need to hear the words of this book—its truth, forgiveness, hope—as much as anybody.” He looked up with an apologetic smile. “I know I'm no great orator. But I ask you to bear with me as I fumble through this new duty.”

Margaret felt it, the easing of tension and resentment. Mr. Hudson grinned, and Mrs. Budgeon and the under butler exchanged impressed glances. At the far end of the front row, Betty nodded, tears in her eyes.

Nathaniel found his place once more and read, “ ‘The God of peace, that brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the everlasting covenant, Make you perfect in every good work to do his will, working in you that which is well pleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ; to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.' ”

After morning prayers, once the Upchurch family had gone to their own later breakfast, Margaret, Betty, and Fiona went back upstairs and retrieved their boxes from the housemaids' closet. The days previous she and Betty had worked side by side in Helen's and the absent James Upchurch's rooms, Betty demonstrating how all was done. But today Betty was leaving her alone to clean two different rooms—those of the Upchurch brothers.

An unmarried lady in a gentleman's bedchamber? Normally such a thing would mean instant ruination. But there was nothing normal about Margaret's current situation.

As she departed, Betty told her to fetch Fiona when she was ready to remake the beds, as making beds properly was often a two-person job, especially for a new girl.

Margaret sighed, bracing herself. At least the rooms would be unoccupied at this time of day.

Opening the door, she surveyed the first masculine bedchamber, paneled in dark wood with rich burgundy draperies. She tied back the bed curtains, stripped the bedclothes, laid them over a chair, and pushed open the windows to air out the room. Then she steeled herself and reached under the bed, pulling forth the chamber pot with averted eyes and stopped nose, pleased to find its lid in place. Hopefully, Fiona had emptied it during the early morning water delivery.

Margaret carried it into the dressing room, grimacing at the wadded cravat, soiled shirt, and stockings on the floor. She wondered which Upchurch brother slept in this room and guessed Nathaniel, based on his unkempt appearance at the ball. She imagined Lewis to be more fastidious, considering how exquisitely dressed and groomed he always appeared. Though, perhaps his valet, Connor, was due the credit. Setting the pot aside, she tidied the dressing room, wondering why the man's clothes were in disarray. She did not recall any mention of Nathaniel Upchurch having a valet, so perhaps one of the footmen or the under butler performed double duty, though poorly.

She dumped the soapy water from the washbasin into a pail. Wiped clean the vessel, changed the water in the pitcher, and returned both to the washstand. She put off emptying the chamber pot as long as possible. Finally, she resolutely lifted the lid. Breathing only from her mouth, she tipped the pot over the pail, heard the slosh, and then risked a peek. Something had stuck to the bottom. She tapped the pot against the lip of the pail to dislodge the remnant.
Ugh.
She had not spent two years at Miss Highworth's Seminary for this!

Successful at last, she cleaned her hands and returned to her other duties. She swept the floor and carpets, and began dusting. She noticed several coins and wadded receipts on the bedside table. As she picked up the crumpled papers to dust the table beneath, she glanced at them. One was a scrawled note.
Meet me at 11. Our place. —L.
The others were receipts from White's, a men's club in London. With a twinge of guilt, she replaced the papers and the coins.

Reminded of Sterling's money, and of Joan, Margaret asked forgiveness once again and finished straightening the room.

Leaving the bed to air as instructed, Margaret took herself into the second bedchamber and dressing room assigned to her. She glanced at the clock and realized she would need to hurry if she was to finish by eleven. Fortunately, this second pair of rooms was much neater than the first. Lewis's room, she guessed. No clothes lay strewn on the floor. The papers and books on the corner desk were neat and orderly.

She went about her routine, relieved the chamber pot had already been emptied, whether by Fiona or dutiful Connor she did not know but silently thanked them both. She noticed an open book on the bedside table and, curious, glanced beneath her spectacles to read its print. It was the Bible, opened to the gospel of John. This gave her pause, and she began to second-guess the room's occupant. She had not thought Lewis the sort of man who read his Bible in private, though she would be happy to be proven wrong. Her father had been such a man.

She was leaning far over the bed, attempting to pull free the tangled bedclothes to air them, when the door burst open behind her.

She gasped, chagrined to be found hands and knees on the bed, rump in the air. She leapt to her feet, whirling to see who had entered. Was it Fiona come to help her remake the bed?

No.

Nathaniel Upchurch entered the room, barely looking her way. He held up a staying hand when she would flee. “Go about your work. I shall be out of your way in a moment.”

Margaret felt as though she had just run up a flight of stairs. She took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. She picked up the pillow and began to plump it, stealing a glance over her shoulder to where Nathaniel was pawing through a desk drawer for something. Nathaniel's room. Nathaniel's Bible. That made sense. Not Lewis's. Lewis was the slovenly one. Well, what did it matter if Lewis was not neat? That was what servants were for. She bit her lip, hard, at the thought.

How strange it felt, to be . . . well, almost embracing Nathaniel Upchurch's pillow. To be running her hands over his bedclothes. The thought made her cheeks heat.

Apparently finding whatever he was looking for, he turned and strode across the room without a second glance.

Of course a man like Nathaniel Upchurch would never notice a housemaid, would never pay her unwanted attention as Marcus Benton might. Would never look at her closely enough to recognize her or to find her attractive. She should be relieved.

She was still standing there beside Nathaniel Upchurch's bed when Fiona strode in. “There you are. Not finished yet? Never knew a maid so slow. Come, come. I'm to help you make up the beds. Heaven knows you cannot manage it alone.”

Fiona's stinging reprimand reminded Margaret of Joan. How her former maid would snigger to see her now.

That evening, Nathaniel entered the dining room, dressed for dinner. Helen sat alone at the long table, wearing a dull burgundy evening gown that did little to flatter her complexion.

“Where is Lewis?” he asked, taking his place at the table.

“He won't be joining us tonight. Said he was visiting friends in Maidstone.”

Irritation flashed through Nathaniel. Lewis had barely arrived and was already finding reasons to leave Fairbourne Hall. “Which friends?”