Joanna Maitland – A Penniless Prospect (страница 9)

Flattered by such a show of confidence from one of the highest servants in the household, Tom grudgingly agreed to look out for Jamie when he could. ‘But out in the gardens he’ll be on his own, for I’ll not be able to go out there much. He’ll be all right with old Mr Jennings. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Caleb, now, is a different kettle o’ fish. Nasty piece o’ work. Got a vicious temper, he has. Jamie’ll need to keep out o’ his way.’

‘Who is Caleb?’ asked Annie.

‘Undergardener. Came after you left. Mr Jennings is getting too old for all the work, so his lordship wanted someone younger, ready to take over when the old man retires. Mind you,’ he added with a chuckle, ‘Mr Jennings ain’t the kind who’ll give up easily. Yon garden is his pride an’ joy an’ he’s like to rule it ’til he drops.’

‘Thank you for the warning, Tom. I’ll try to make sure Jamie keeps out of Caleb’s way as much as possible.’

As the door closed behind Tom, Annie set about unpacking Jamie’s belongings. Jamie watched helplessly as Annie inspected her few clothes with pursed lips.

‘We must sort out some more boy’s clothes for you. You can’t possibly work in the garden in those you have on. As for these’—she picked up a plain green gown and held it disdainfully at arm’s length between finger and thumb—‘I’ll put them among my things. Though how anyone could think I would de-mean myself to wear such a monstrosity, I cannot imagine.’ She dropped the offending garment on the chair.

It was that single gesture that brought home to Jamie just how impossible her situation had become. She had fully intended to revert to being a girl as soon as she reached Bath, but now she was buried on a private estate, miles from anywhere, and irrevocably cast as a gardener’s boy. Could she carry it off? What if she were discovered?

Looking down at her filthy hands and travel-stained clothes, Jamie concluded that, even if she were found to be a girl, no one would ever guess she was a lady. She had needed a hiding place for a few weeks, until she came of age. What could be better?

As Annie continued to scrutinise Jamie’s meagre wardrobe, muttering darkly, Jamie began to giggle. The giggle grew uncontrollably until she was laughing in great gusty whoops, gripping her aching sides. In the face of such infectious hilarity, Annie too began to laugh until they both collapsed in a helpless heap on the bed, wiping tears from their eyes.

‘Oh, Annie,’ gasped Jamie at last, ‘however did we get into this? And how shall we ever get out of it again?’

‘I don’t know, I’m sure. I doubt if I shall ever find another place after this, that I do know.’

‘Of course you will. If I were rich, I’d take you like a shot. Perhaps when I come of age—’

‘If you were rich, Jamie, we wouldn’t be in this fix. And what self-respecting abigail would have anything to do with a lady who looks like a—’

‘A dirty little scarecrow? Yes, well, perhaps with the right sort of dresser I could be improved.’ Jamie made a face. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think that it’s high time I found some more boy’s clothes for you, so that you can start your apprenticeship. Let’s see how happy you are with this silly play-acting after a week’s hard work.’ Annie’s sharpness failed to conceal her real concern.

‘Annie, dear, don’t worry. No matter what they give me to do, I won’t give myself away, I promise you.’

Annie grunted. ‘Well, see that you don’t.’ She made for the door, warning Jamie not to leave the room until she returned.

While Annie was gone, Jamie reassessed her own position with some care. She must not be discovered, for that would mean disaster for her—and the work-house, or worse, for Annie Smithers.

Jamie refused to dwell on the risks they ran. Instead, she thought hard about the handsome Earl, in an attempt to identify what it was about him that affected her so. She could not decide. He was an enigma. She found it impossible to reconcile his relative kindness to her with his behaviour to poor Annie. He must have given Lady Calderwood reason to believe that Annie was not fit for a position of trust, considering how rapidly she had been dismissed. It was monstrous! She said as much, yawning widely, when Annie came back into the room with a large pile of worn, but serviceable, working clothes.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ retorted Annie flatly. ‘I have no way of knowing what he might have said to Lady Calderwood and, since he has seen fit to re-engage me at Harding, I really have very little to complain about. It could have been much, much worse. As for you, young lady—’ Jamie yawned again ‘—you need to go to bed. Did you not sleep last night?’ Jamie shook her head. Annie made to turn down the covers on the bed.

‘I can’t sleep there, Annie. That’s your bed.’

‘It wouldn’t be right for a lady to sleep on that little truckle there,’ protested Annie, tight-lipped. ‘It will do very well for me.’

‘And how will you explain it to anyone who happens to come in and finds you there, while your little brother lies in luxury? Come, Annie, you know it won’t do. I shall be perfectly comfortable here.’ With that, she lay down on the truckle bed and closed her eyes. In less than a minute, she was asleep.

Countess Hardinge closed the book-room door quietly behind her.

Her son strode across the room to embrace her and place an affectionate kiss on her cheek. ‘That was remarkably swift, my dear,’ he said. ‘I take it they are settled? Thank you. I’m only sorry I could not explain properly when we arrived, but with both of them listening…’

He relaxed as she nodded, lingering for a moment in his embrace.

‘I understand now why you brought them, Richard—or Smithers, at least—but it seems such an unlikely route to recovering our losses. Can we really afford to spend our time on a mere abigail—situated as we are?’

He stood back slightly to look more carefully into her face, noting her worried frown and the anxiety in her eyes. ‘It is nothing like as bad as you fear, my dear,’ he said gently. ‘We are still comfortable enough. And we shall come about.’ Gently he drew her to the best chair by the fire. ‘Come, sit down,’ he murmured. ‘Let me fetch you a glass of madeira.’

Lady Hardinge let out a long sigh as she sank into the chair. Her son could feel her eyes on him as he filled a single glass from the crystal decanter.

‘I should pour one for yourself too, Richard,’ she advised, before he had even turned round.

That sounded ominous. He looked questioningly at her, but her eyes had closed. Something really serious was on her mind, but surely it couldn’t be money this time? They already knew exactly how much was missing. And now that he had given up his gambling and his opera dancers, they should be able to manage—just—on the income from the estate.

That left only one other possibility—another impassioned plea that he set about finding himself the wife that they had long ago agreed he must have.

As he placed her glass on the little table by her elbow, he attempted to deflect what might be coming. ‘I have been thinking about what we said before, Mama, and I have concluded that you are right. I do need to marry soon. So, I have decided to offer for Emma Fitzwilliam. After all, we have known each other for nearly twenty years, so there would be few surprises. She may not be witty or clever, but she is nothing like as fickle and flighty as most of her sex. I imagine we could rub along pretty well together.’

His mother sighed again. Her features registered some inner turmoil, but she did not respond to his sweeping slight on womankind.

Richard realised he was making a poor fist of his explanations, but he was in too deep now to withdraw. And besides, his mother was the very one who constantly urged him to marry. She…no, that was not quite fair. His mother wanted him to fall in love and then marry. On that count, Emma Fitzwilliam most definitely did not qualify.

He swallowed hard. ‘May I take it that you approve my choice, Mama? After all, the Fitzwilliam estates march with ours, and she will inherit them some day. Her dowry will be handsome. She has, besides, all the attributes a man must seek in a wife: beauty, breeding, a conformable nature—’

‘She may have all the required qualities, Richard,’ interrupted Lady Hardinge at last, ‘but you do not!’ She ignored her son’s gasp of protest. ‘Family tradition requires that you give the Hardinge betrothal ring to your bride as a token of your deep love for her—’

‘Oh, tosh, Mama! Forgive me—but people like us do not marry for love, especially nowadays. Marriage is a matter of business. It would be a union between two families—the Hardinge title and the Fitzwilliam wealth. You’re not still hoping for a love match, are you, my dear?’ He softened his words by smiling warmly at her.

‘The head of this family must marry for love,’ she replied firmly. ‘That rule has held true for all the Hardinges, for centuries. Your father believed in it— and so do I. You know that. And you know, too, that disaster struck on the only two occasions when the tradition was flouted.’

Richard did not reply.