‘Now, Jane. Some French today, I think.’
‘Yes, Miss M—I mean, my lady.’
Miss Marianne, discovering that Jane had, until the age of eight, been raised as a gentleman’s daughter, had decided to continue her education. Over the years Jane had developed a creditable knowledge of French, German and Italian, along with an appreciation of history and philosophy. The Countess was a born tutor, and had used her skills as a governess when she had had to leave her home following the deaths of her parents.
Jane frowned, remembering that dark time. Miss Marianne’s stepbrother, Henry Grant, had importuned her, causing Miss Marianne to leave her home in the dead of night. Two months later Jane and her mother had been forced to follow, after Master Henry had attempted to violate Jane herself.
She shuddered. Do not think of it!
Thankfully Henry had died four years ago, leaving Miss Marianne free to marry the man she loved, and Jane and her mother safe in her employ.
He no longer has the power to hurt us, she reminded herself as she re
sponded to Miss Marianne’s French conversation.
And yet Henry was always with her, lurking in the shadows of her heart. Laughing at her.
We are safe here in Ledbury House.
But for how long? Ever since that day when the fever had taken Papa, Jane had felt as though the ground beneath her was soft, uncertain. Hunger and insecurity had worked its way into her bones during that year of mourning, of scarcity, of homelessness. Much more had vanished along with her papa—Rose Cottage, a regular income, food, warm clothes...
But Mama and Jane had worked hard—harder than most of their colleagues—and their industry had been rewarded with long-term positions. Jane had just begun to settle after a few years, begun to believe they had found a new home, when all had shifted again. The master and mistress they had been serving had died in a terrible carriage accident, leaving Miss Marianne orphaned and under the care of her stepbrother.
Once again the home Jane had come to love had been taken from her, when Master Henry’s evil intent had meant it was not a safe place to live. Once again she and Mama had found themselves homeless and needing to start again.
But then they had followed Miss Marianne here, to Ledbury House, where they had now been living for almost five years.
In her heart, though, Jane could not feel fully at ease. Always it seemed to her that some disaster would surely occur, causing her once again to lose her home. She felt as though her life would be ever thus—that she would always be at the whim of others, never the mistress of her own fate. Memories of hunger, of poverty, of homelessness lay buried within her, rising at times to flood her with anxiety.
When she had voiced her worries to Mama, her mother had not understood. ‘But we are secure here with Lady Kingswood! So long as she remains pleased with us we need not worry.’
‘But what if she becomes ill, or—or dies? What if some disaster occurs and Lord Kingswood loses his riches? What if—?’
‘Oh, Jane! Do not allow your mind to run away with you. Why, you are lost to all common sense! Why should such things occur? Now, stop thinking of things that are not real and focus on what you can do to keep in favour with Miss Marianne!’
Mama’s words made sense. Jane knew how close she was to her mistress, and she could not in truth imagine displeasing the Countess so much that she would be let go, but there were so many other possibilities that might lead to them once again being homeless. That fear had never left her.
For now, though, she would do as she always did: she would work hard and hope to stay as long as possible.
Having directed the housemaids to make up Miss Marianne’s bed, Jane picked up the Countess’s nightgown and tripped lightly downstairs. No one but her, she had decreed, must deal with milady’s clothing. She washed, ironed and mended everything herself, ensuring Miss Marianne’s personal needs were met.
She also advised the Countess on fashion—poring over the fashion plates in Miss Marianne’s magazines and periodicals and never once wishing for such finery for herself. She and Miss Marianne had an unusual relationship—if it had not been for the differences in their station Jane might even have called her a friend. Miss Marianne was all kindness, and treated Jane with much more warmth and flexibility than she ought.
Sometimes the Countess gave her an old dress she no longer wanted—but, despite her mistress’s protests, Jane would remove the lace and flounces before wearing it. Jane suspected that Miss Marianne looked for ways to be kind, but she herself still heeded Mama’s warnings.
‘You are a servant now, Jane. Never forget it.’
And, as a maid, she should always wear plain, simple clothing and dress her hair neatly.
But she had the pleasure of seeing Lady Kingswood well turned out, and the joy of caring for embroidered silks, delicate lace-trimmed gowns and delightful bonnets.
In those early years in the servants’ quarters of Miss Marianne’s childhood home she would never have dreamed of reaching the great heights of becoming a lady’s maid. And yet here she was. The other servants treated her with respect, she shared a comfortable chamber and private sitting room with her own mama, she had a secure wage and her very own tea allowance, and she had the sweetest, kindest mistress any servant could wish for. It made her secret fears seem even more preposterous.
My situation is a good one, she reminded herself for the hundredth time. How many servants have the opportunities Miss Marianne has given me?
Miss Marianne’s parents, like Jane’s own papa, had not subscribed to the popular view that a lady’s brain was not strong enough for book learning, and Miss Marianne had had an excellent education—much of which she had passed to her maid.
Jane made her way to the scullery with Miss Marianne’s nightgown and spent the next half-hour washing and scrubbing it, along with two shifts and some stockings. The lye was sharp on her hands, which were perpetually red and chapped from her work. Oh, she knew the laundry maid would happily do this task, if asked, but Jane had no notion of surrendering Miss Marianne’s nightgown to anyone else.