‘Good thing I got the lads to light the fire under the copper before they went out,’ Mrs Bishop said as Laura hurried back to the kitchen, shut the door and leaned on it with a feeling that she was holding the hordes at bay. ‘He’s turned out well, that young man. Wilder than the master, he was then and hadn’t grown into himself. Did you ever come across him when he visited last? Must have been two years ago.’
‘I think I might have glimpsed him,’ Laura said vaguely. ‘I need an apron and the keys if I am to look the part.’
‘The housekeeper’s room has been shut up since Mrs Gaunt left to live with her sister in Brighton last month.’ Mrs Bishop took a key from a hook on the dresser. ‘I meant to get the girls to turn it out ready for when his lordship took on a new housekeeper but I haven’t got around to it yet. Let’s see what she left.’
The room was under Holland covers, the curtains drawn, but the sun flooded in when Laura drew them back. My room now, I suppose. She began to pull off covers and found a chest of drawers. ‘Look, aprons.’ There was a stack of small white aprons, all with a narrow trim of lace to indicate the housekeeper’s status as someone who did not work with their hands. ‘And caps.’ She tried one on, her reflection blurred in the dusty mirror. ‘Perfect.’ It slid towards her nose. ‘But a bit on the large side.’
‘And here’s her chatelaine.’ Mrs Bishop held up the clasp with its bright steel chains, one with a pair of scissors, one with a needle case, another with a closing hook to take the bunch of keys that were a housekeeper’s badge of office. ‘We’ll have the girls give the room a thorough turn-out when they get back. You’ll be snug in here once we get that mattress aired. I can hear that kettle singing.’
She led the way back to the kitchen and Laura set out the tray with napkin and a plate of shortbread biscuits, tea cup, milk jug and sugar basin. ‘Oh, Pitkin, you made me jump.’ The man moved like a ghost, she thought, glancing at him as he stood hesitating in the doorway. ‘If you take the tray, I will bring the teapot in a moment. Did you find everything you need in his lordship’s chamber?’
‘Yes, Mrs Albright, thank you. I will take the hot water up when it’s ready.’
‘There’s no rush. Sit yourself down and have a bite to eat when you’ve taken the tray in,’ Mrs Bishop said comfortably. ‘The water can wait until his lordship has finished his tea.’
She sent Laura a quizzical look as she poured the hot water on the tea leaves and gave a jerk of her head towards the valet as he went out, carefully balancing his load. ‘Odd one that,’ she murmured. She raised her voice, ‘Rosie – you make sure you keep mum about Miss Laura, now. Remember she’s Mrs Albright the housekeeper.’
‘Yes, Mrs Bishop.’ The girl came out of the scullery wiping her hands on a cloth. ‘I won’t say a word. His lordship’s a lovely-looking gentleman, isn’t he?’
Laura left Mrs Bishop, hands on substantial hips, delivering a lecture on not ogling gentlemen guests and took the teapot through. That’s two of us who had best heed that message. Lord Northam was wandering around the room, looking at the pictures, a biscuit in one hand.
‘Shall I pour, my lord?’
‘Yes please.’ He turned, smiled. ‘Am I making a great deal of unexpected work for you, Mrs Albright?’
‘Not at all, my lord. It is good to have the house occupied and the staff busy.’
‘And you have no idea where Lord Manners is or when he will return?’
‘No, my lord. The master dislikes being tied down to routine.’
As she closed the door behind her she thought she heard him say, ‘Lucky devil.’
Laura stood in the hallway and studied her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t say that a large white cap exactly enhanced her features, but looking like a floppy mushroom was the least of her worries. She certainly didn’t look like a miserable seventeen year-old swathed in unflattering black which is how Lord Northam would have remembered her, if he had ever given her a thought. But she had hoped for a hiding place until Perry came home and could help her and now she was pretending to be a housekeeper with no idea for how long she had to keep up the charade.
At least he’s polite, sober, seems to know how to behave himself around female staff and is an old friend of Perry’s. Perry had remained close to Theo Quenten, she knew, but they always seemed meet elsewhere of recent years. But what if he goes calling in the neighbourhood? What if the Swinburns return a call… Stop it. She was borrowing trouble. Even if her uncle or one of her cousins did call on Lord Northam, there was no need for the housekeeper to make an appearance. Reassured, she tweaked at the cap and went to see what they could discover from the valet.
Chapter Two
Theo ate another biscuit, drank some tea, shook his head over Perry’s choice of rather wooden still life paintings of dead game birds and finally settled into a chair, the better to wonder about the housekeeper. When he’d last visited there had been a formidable old dame, very appropriately named Gaunt. He supposed she’d retired, because it was a good two years since he’d been here. More recently he’d visited Perry at his hunting lodge in the Shires or at his Town house.
It should be no surprise to find a housekeeper he did not recognise, but this one was exceedingly young for such a responsible position. She couldn’t be more than three and twenty, he decided, although with that cap on it was hard to be certain. It swamped her delicate, heart-shaped features and almost hid her black hair. On the other hand, those big green eyes and the long dark lashes showed all the better for it.
And she was a lady, not someone who had painfully perfected her accent through elocution classes in order to rise through the ranks of the servants. Perhaps she was a widow, come down in the world and forced to earn her living. An officer’s widow, perhaps: there were enough of those around, sadly. Perry might have taken her on as a favour to a friend who had known the dead man.
On the other hand, she had worn no wedding ring, he recalled. He’d watched her pouring his tea and she had steadied the cup with her left hand as she’d done so. Long, slender fingers and no rings. All housekeepers and cooks, married, widowed or single were Mrs, as a mark of their status in the household, but surely a widow would retain her ring?
It was a mystery, even if a very small one that could be answered by a question to Mrs Bishop. Theo enjoyed mysteries, although he had only ever been involved personally in one, when his uncle had been poisoned and he and Guinevere, the widow, had been cast as murderous, guilty lovers. That experience had not been enjoyable – the scurrilous cartoons were the least of it – but he had found being involved in the investigation and the dramatic dénouement, fascinating.
That was what he needed now – a mystery to solve.
Be careful what you wish for, Theo. He must be getting old, he decided with a grin, snagging a final shortbread biscuit from the plate and settling back in the armchair. He was positively looking forward to rusticating in the depths of the country, even t
hough the only prospects of entertainment were fishing, swimming in the freezing sea, solving the puzzle of a youthful housekeeper or exploring the countryside on foot or horseback.
He should not be here at all, of course. There were plenty of properties of his own to chose from if he wanted to immerse himself in country life. He had inherited estates in the West Country, in Yorkshire and some smaller farms in Hertfordshire, but somehow he still did not feel like Lord Northam, the man who owned those lands. He didn’t know what he wanted, what he wanted to be.
A good landowner, of course. Progressive, fair to his tenants, good for the land he would one day hand on in his turn. But it did not feel like him. Guin had said that when he married and started a family then he would find that sense of belonging, of having a purpose – yet here he was, fleeing from London with still weeks of the Season ahead. Leaving his pretty fiancée…