Carla Kelly (20 page)

“It looked like a bad dream,” the bailiff murmured, kissing her forehead. “I thought to wake you easy from it.” He must have noticed the question in her eyes. “My dear, I have a lot of experience in bad dreams. Imagine, if you will, a whole regiment twitching and mumbling.”

“It is bad enough that I was dreaming of my father,” she said, drawing up her knees and tucking her skirts about her legs. “I don’t know what to do about him.”

“May I suggest a course of action?” David asked. He leaned his head on her knees. “I think we need to see him and tell him what we are doing tomorrow morning.”

She sighed, and reached up to touch his hair. “I suppose we must.”

“We must.”

After a frustratingly brief interlude involving buttons, hooks, and eyes, the bailiff thought it best for him to retreat to his room and put away the special license before it was too wrinkled to read. Susan replaced the pins in her hair, looked in the mirror to note that she would probably never need artificial coloring for her cheeks, and went downstairs to wait for him. Mrs. Steinman kept her company in the sitting room and found time to offer her three kinds of pastries and tea better than she was used to. Susan ate to oblige her, smiling inwardly with amusement as Mrs. Steinman reached over every now and then just to touch her knee and say something low and endearing in a language much like German.

“Mrs. Steinman, how is it that
everyone
in this household knew my business before I did?” she asked finally, when the pastries were consumed.

“Simple, my dear. You never mentioned the bailiff once in your letter,” the woman replied. “Now, if you did not like him, we would have heard about it. Isn’t it reasonable to suppose that since you said nothing, it was because you didn’t want anyone to think you were interested?”

I learn new things every day, Susan thought as she left the agency with the bailiff. Here I thought I was so clever. She tucked her arm through David’s and looked up at him. “Mr. Wiggins, if, in future, I ever get to thinking I am terribly smart, will you just remind me that everyone at the Steinman Employment Agency—and you, too, I think—knew my own mind before I did?”

“Mrs. Skerlong, as well,” he said, kissing her cheek quickly as they hurried through the after work crowds. “She muttered something to me about quality not knowing their place anymore, and what did I think of that?”

“And what
did
you think of it?” she asked, her eyes merry.

He only smiled. “There I have the advantage of knowing something about women, Suzie. I just mumbled something around my oatmeal and kept eating. That usually satisfies women, I’ve discovered. Some want verification more than real answers.”

“I suppose that means that I won’t be able to get away with anything,” she said, softening her words by holding rather tighter to his arm as they hurried to cross Hyde Park.

“What it means is that you’ll be even more creative than most women in getting what you want, which you will get, I have no doubt.” He smiled down at her. “What I don’t have is any illusions about superiority.”

She was still smiling as they arrived at Aunt Lousia’s and the bailiff knocked on the door. The butler opened it, and she thought she saw just a glimmer of surprise and pleasure in his eyes. She couldn’t be sure, of course; this was, after all, a butler.

“Ames, is my father about?”

He opened the door wider to let them in. “He is, Miss Hampton, and may I add I am sure he will be pleased when I tell him you’ve come back. Follow me.” He led them to the door of the sitting room, then stopped and looked at the bailiff, as if puzzled to see him following Susan. “Is there something you need?” He permitted himself the smallest of smiles. “Miss Hampton, I beg your pardon. Are you owing the jarvey?”

Susan looked at him in surprise. “Why, no, Ames.”

The butler appeared not to have heard her. He took a coin from his waistcoat and flipped it at the bailiff. “For your troubles, good man. If Miss Hampton owes you more, follow me belowstairs.”

The bailiff caught the coin, bit it, grinned, then tossed it back to the butler. “Mr. Ames, I’m here with Suzie, and
we
want to speak to her father.”

What happened then was something Susan never expected to see in her life. To her utter astonishment, the butler took a step back, his mouth open in dumbfounded amazement, his eyes wide and staring. “You couldn’t possibly!” he gasped.

She stared at him and then at David, who had no smile on his face anymore. With a start that almost made her shudder, she realized that she had never seen a butler with any expression before. I am so ashamed, she thought, unable to look at either man. In all my years, have I ever thought of butlers as humans capable of expression? And come to think of it, what about bailiffs and shopkeepers and others who do the work of my class? It was a disturbing realization and it shook her to her marrow.

“Ames, where is my father?” she asked.

With monumental effort, the butler gathered himself together and nodded to her. “If you will wait in here, Miss Hampton, and, uh . . . you, there.” He indicated the sitting room, then started down the hall, picking up speed as he approached the stairs.

“Can I tell you what will be the topic over dinner in the servants’ hall tonight?” the bailiff murmured, more to himself than to her as they went inside.

She said nothing, but walked to the window and stood looking out upon nothing, still ashamed of herself. Joel Steinman is right, she reflected. This is an age of industry, and everything must change, except that I did not believe that the changes would have to begin with me. There will be many who cannot comprehend the changes.

“Suzie?” the bailiff asked, and he sounded uncharacteristically doubtful.

Before she could respond, the door opened and her father came into the room. To her sudden relief, his smile was genuine and brilliant, a brightness to it that she remembered from years ago, when he would return to them on the estate after business in London. “My dear,” he began, holding his hands out to her, “I knew you did not mean to stay away forever. Welcome home.”

He took her hands and kissed her before he noticed the bailiff standing by the fireplace. As Susan watched in shame, Sir Rodney took in the bailiff’s casual stance, clothes, and demeanor, and replaced his genuine smile with the vague one reserved for inferiors. He looked back at Susan with a question in his eyes. “A rustic from the Cotswolds to see you home to London?” he asked her. “That was kind of him, but hardly necessary.”

“No, Papa,” she began, realizing that there was no good way to say this. “May I introduce David Wiggins to you? He is Lady Bushnell’s bailiff at Quilling Manor, where I am working. He and I . . . we . . .” She couldn’t get the words out, no matter how she tried.

“Actually, Sir Rodney, Susan wants to tell you that she has consented to be my wife, and we are to be married tomorrow. We wanted you to know.”

Susan winced. Even the music of David’s Welsh accent could not disguise the plain-spoken words and the bald fact that there was no other way to make such an announcement, no flowery phrases to make it palatable. She tried to look at him as her father was doing even now, and saw a man in travel-worn clothes, his shoes a little run-down, his hair in need of a good combing. You cannot see him as I see him, she thought with sorrow.

Sir Rodney sat himself down, almost missing the sofa. He opened and closed his mouth several times, then turned on her the patient, wistful look that made her draw her hands into tight fists. “My dear Susan, is it wise to carry a fit of pique to such an extreme? I have won your pearls back, and I feel in my bones that by next Season, you can have a brilliant comeout, perhaps even a presentation at court.”

She put up a hand to stop him. “Papa, that’s all right. I am glad about the pearl necklace, because I would like to wear it tomorrow and take it with me.”

It was Sir Rodney’s turn to look away in embarrassment. “When I say I have the pearls, well, I have, only I do not have them right now precisely,” he temporized. “They are as good as won back—depend upon it.”

“How many times have they changed hands since January?” she asked, her voice quiet, even as she burned with shame.

“Only three times, daughter,” he said proudly. “And I always get them back. You’ll see.” He turned his kindly, patient gaze on the bailiff. “You’ll see how well I can take care of her, once I win them back again. You may go, sir. I’m sure we don’t need you.”

“I think Susan does,” said the bailiff gently, as if he were speaking to a child. “We wanted to let you know about the wedding tomorrow morning at eight in St. Andrews.”

There was a long pause. Susan looked hard at the bailiff, willing him to end the interview so she could tug up what remained of her dignity and tow it after her from the room. Sir Rodney came closer to the bailiff, peering at him with curiosity, as though he were another species.

“See here, sir. I could call you out for offering such an insult to my daughter.”

“I would never accept such a challenge because there has been no insult,” David said evenly. “I love your daughter, and I will provide for her.”

Sir Rodney shook his head helplessly. “I seem to have loaned my dueling pistols to someone, anyway.” He looked at his daughter, and she cringed at his desperate expression. “Susan, did we lose those with the house to that Lancastershire weaver?”

“Oh, please, Papa, that’s enough,” she begged. “David, I . . .”

“Brother, shall I send for the Watch?”

Susan gasped and turned around. Her aunt stood in the doorway, Ames at her shoulder, looking wooden in a righteous sort of way.

“That won’t be necessary,” the bailiff said. “Susan and I are leaving.”

“It can’t be soon enough!” she snapped, turning on her heel.

In another moment, Susan heard her moving quickly up the stairs. Sir Rodney cocked his head to one side and listened, alert for trouble from the look of apprehension in his eyes. He sighed with the relief of a child when a door slammed, and then regarded them again, his expression perplexed, as if wondering what to do with them.

The bailiff nodded to Sir Rodney. “Grand to meet you, sir. For my part, you may keep the pearls, if you ever get them again. Your need sounds greater than ours. Come, Susan, or we’ll be late for dinner.” He held out his hand to her, and she took it gladly, even if she was unable to meet his eyes. “Excuse us, please.”

He tugged her into the hall, then stopped suddenly as he took her face in his hands. “Save your tears for outside, Susan,” he said softly and kissed her forehead.

By great force of will, she made it to the steps outside, then burst into tears. David kissed her again and stood there a moment with his arm tight around her shoulders.

“Let’s go, my dear,” he said finally as she rummaged for a handkerchief in her reticule. “At least they can never accuse us of not telling them.”

She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and was about to speak when the second-story window above them opened. She looked up instinctively at the sound and saw Aunt Louisa lean out, a dress box in her hands.

“Don’t leave without all your clothes, Susan,” she said. “You’ll need something in sarcenet and satin for mucking out stables and paying calls on milkmaids!”

“Oh, Aunt, no!” Susan exclaimed as the woman dumped out the evening dresses she had carefully packed away, and her mother’s wedding dress. She stood in dumbfounded, amazed misery as the beautiful fabrics rained around her, some impaled and torn on the iron railings by the sidewalk, and others to catch the breeze, to drift and sink into the standng water of the gutter. Caught by a particularly malicious gust of wind, Maria Hampton’s wedding dress sailed into the street and fell under a carter’s muddy-wheeled wagon. The fabric caught in the spokes, ripped, and dragged behind the wagon as it rumbled down the street.

She felt David tense beside her, and despite her own shame, and the deepest pain she had ever felt, she looked at him. His face was a study in rage, a mirror of the greatest fury she had ever seen before. Her terror increased as he grabbed a silk shawl that drifted past him, twisted it into a rope and turned to go back into the house.

“No!” she shrieked, grabbing his arm and throwing all her weight against him. The window slammed shut, even as she heard the click of the lock on the front door. “No, David,” she repeated, her voice low now, pleading. “No.”

The bailiff looked down at the shawl in his hands and threw it away from him as if it had a disgusting smell. Without a word he took her hand and pulled her down the steps and away from the house. She hurried to keep up with him, heedless of the pedestrians who stepped aside for them, startled by the cold rage on his face.

He stopped finally to catch his breath, sitting on the stoop of a darkened house. She stood a little away from him, not fearful of him, but in such agony over her relatives that if the Lord had seen fit to advertise the opening of a chasm, she would have been the first in line for the drop. The bailiff had the good grace not to look at her, which did more for her immediate peace of mind than anything else could have.

“Susan, come here,” he said finally. “Oh, come on, I won’t bite.” He held out his hand.

In another moment she was sitting beside him, his arm around her again. “Forgive me, Susan,” he apologized. “I sent a man to the hospital once for less provocation than that woman provided.”

She rested her head against his shoulder. “It is I who should ask your pardon, David. I’m sorry my relatives are so appalling.”

He chuckled, and drew her closer. “I’ll say this only once, Suzie: I was raised better in a workhouse.” He kissed her cheek. “How in God’s name did you turn out so well?”

She thought she was too numb to cry, but she surprised herself. When she finished, she straightened her bonnet and smoothed her skirts about her. I wonder if I will dream about Mama’s dress dragged behind that cart, she thought as she stared into the street, then blew her nose vigorously. “I hope that you have not changed your mind about marrying me,” she said, putting the image of the dress from her mind, even though she knew it was etched on her heart forever.