Fenella Miller (3 page)

"I have your coffee, sir, shall I put it on the side table?"

He spoke from behind her, she almost dropped the tray. "No, give it to me, I shall have it at the desk."

"Very well, Mr Bucknall. I do apologise for spilling the cream, but something startled me and caused me to stumble." It was impolite to criticise one's employer, but the words were out before she could stop them.

His hands appeared and removed the tray from her grasp. It was only then she noticed he wore a black leather glove on his right hand. "I must thank you for the meal, I did not employ you to cook but am pleased you did so. I shall not require anything further tonight."

Her eyes were drawn to his. For a moment she was pinned by his fierce grey stare, then he looked away and she was free. He really had the most remarkable face, the scars down his right cheek hardly detracted from his looks.

In the few precious minutes she had to herself before her children came back and demanded her attention, she could not help but think about the man she was now committed to spending her foreseeable future with. Before he had been burned he must have been an Adonis, for even with the damage he was still the most handsome man she'd ever seen. He reminded her of a bird of prey, an eagle perhaps, with those piercing grey eyes.

This would not do; whether he was the ugliest man in Christendom or the most handsome, it was nothing to do with her. She was his housekeeper, a mere servant, he was so far above her in status that he would not even notice her existence. As long as he got his meals on time, his household ran like clockwork, she was certain he would not give her a second thought.

No matter that before her marriage she had been the daughter of a wealthy and respected industrialist, for her father had disowned her when she'd eloped with John. He had been a charismatic young lieutenant, irresistible to a girl who'd led a sheltered life, in his scarlet regimentals. She had been visiting an elderly aunt in Bath when she had met him at the pump room.

Within a matter of weeks she had been head over ears in love. She had reached her majority that year, so had no need to seek her father's permission, and throwing caution to the winds, she had forsaken everything she'd known to follow the drum.

She sighed. Many was the time over the years she had regretted her impulsive action, John had not proved to be a satisfactory husband. Money slipped through his fingers like quicksilver, and with two small children to take care of it had not been an easy marriage. But nothing had prepared her for the disaster that his death had brought. Penniless, and pursued by ruthless officers looking for a mistress, she had fled back to England. Since then she had barely kept the family together.

Stansted Manor would be their home now; however curmudgeonly her employer, she would not allow herself to be driven away. She would make this a happy place again, then maybe Mr Bucknall would start to take a pride in his appearance and find himself another wife. Why on earth did the idea of a second Mrs Bucknall make her heart skip a beat?

* * * *

Rupert sipped his coffee, letting the dark, aromatic brew soothe his irritation. There was something about this woman that got under his skin, made him aware that he was living little better than an animal in it's filth. For the past three years he had closed himself off from the world, let his house and his health deteriorate, as he wallowed in his grief and self-pity.

This woman had turned up with her two noisy brats and turned his world on end. He was no longer a man any woman would want, wealth did not compensate for hideous deformity. It was inexplicable that a servant could somehow make him feel ashamed of his appearance, ashamed that his once beautiful home was now in disarray.

He closed his eyes and, instead of seeing flames and hearing screams, he saw a golden haired woman with sparkling blue eyes. He choked on his coffee, spluttering and coughing as he tried to get his breath. Whatever Mrs Reed was, she was not lowly born, not a true servant, but a lady fallen on hard times.

Why had he agreed to employ her? He must have been in his cups when he'd sent her the letter and included the money for her coach fare. He could not have a gentlewoman under his roof looking down her nose at him, making him mend his ways. She must go in the morning. He had no wish to move on, he liked the way he lived, however reprehensible it might seem to her.

It was late before Emma had the kitchen ready for the morning. The children had been asleep for hours, exhausted by their long walk from the village and all the running about they'd done afterwards. The last thing Jack had said to her before he fell asleep was that he liked it here and wanted to stay for ever. Mary had not been as enthusiastic, she was a nervous girl and had not taken to Mr Bucknall. Emma was of the same mind as her sensible daughter.

She looked round the huge room; the table was clean, the smart modern range cleaned out and ready to light first thing. The extra potatoes she'd cooked were mashed with butter and cream ready to make potato pancakes for breakfast.

Her accommodation was in the basement, where a housekeeper should be; she supposed there were rooms in the attic available, but she preferred to have the children within earshot in case they woke whilst she was busy. The house was quiet, she held her candlestick high, she was certain there were both rats and mice lurking in the house. What they needed were a couple of cats to rid themselves of these vermin.

She yawned as she trudged to her rooms. She was as fatigued as the children had been, but pleasantly so; hard physical work seemed to suit her and took her mind away from what might have been if John had not perished. He had inherited a small estate in Essex, they were intending to move there when he gave up his commission. This option no longer existed for on his death the estate, and all its monies, went to a distant cousin.

Why this should be so she was not sure, had thought that Jack would inherit in his father's stead. However, when she had applied to the lawyers who are dealing with the matter she had been told in no uncertain terms that the will had clearly stated the estate should go to the next adult male heir and not a child.

Once she was secure in her employment, had managed to put by sufficient funds to do so, she would employ her own legal gentleman to look into the matter. This was likely to be some time in the future, it was still quite possible Mr Bucknall would insist that she left his employment.

When she checked the little ones they were sound asleep on either side of the large bed; she had made up the small truckle that would normally be used by a maid servant. Quietly she removed her garments and, by the flickering candlelight, sponged off as much of the accumulated dirt as she could. She had no other change of raiment suitable, fortunately she did have a clean apron and cap. The soiled ones were already washed and hanging in the scullery to dry.

Before she settled down for the remainder of the night she pushed up the window. The room was filled with the glorious sound of nightingales singing in the nearby woods. Her spirits lifted, she leant on the windowsill and listened until her eyes began to droop. It seemed barely a moment before the dawn chorus filled the room and dragged her back to wakefulness.

Sleepily she sat up, as she did so the church clock struck five times. Excellent, the children would not rouse for a while yet, she would have plenty of time to get on with her chores before they woke. Mary was accustomed to assisting her little brother with his dressing, she was a good girl and, through necessity, old beyond her years.

She disliked putting on a gown that was not clean and pressed, but was pleased she had sufficient undergarments to remain fresh and sweet beneath. Releasing her long braid she quickly brushed it and twisted it up on to her head. She doubted it would remain in place without the added security of the cotton cap she wore to cover it.

Checking that Mary had a clean pinafore and that Jack's britches and shirt would do another day, she slipped out and walked quietly to the kitchen. She pushed open the door and found her passage blocked by a solid wall of flesh. Her startled exclamation, as liquid of some sort tipped down her pristine apron, was echoed by his rude comment.

"Sir, I beg your pardon, I did not expect to find you in my kitchen at this time of the morning."

Mr Bucknall glared down at her. "I was under the impression, madam, this is my house and therefore my kitchen. I believe I am at liberty to go wherever I please without your permission."

She bit back an angry retort. "Is there anything I can get for you? It will not take a moment to get the range burning, I can have your tea tray upstairs within a half an hour."

He waved his empty pewter mug at her. "If you had not got in my way, I should have had cider to drink. Now the last of it is spilt. I suppose I must drink tea if that is all there is."

Without apologising for covering her clean apron with cider he marched off muttering to himself. It was not a propitious start. She reeked like a brewery and her employer was displeased with her and it was only just after dawn.

It was a matter of minutes to strike the tinderbox and light the kindling in the range. As soon as she was sure it would stay alight she put on the kettle. Now the kitchen was a lot cleaner she could see it had been refitted with the latest appliances. The kitchen range was the height of modernity, it even had a small tap on one side from which hot water could be extracted. Of course the reservoir must be filled first, but it would make the washing of dishes, and one's person, so much easier.

The greatest innovation, in her opinion, was the fact that there was a water pump in the scullery. To be able to draw water inside the house was an unheard of luxury. Was it possible that somewhere upstairs he also had a room specially designed for bathing and one of the newfangled water closets? If she remained she would have ample time to discover these things for herself.

Mr Bucknall did not have a valet, if he had he would not be so disreputable in his appearance, she prayed this did not mean she would have to empty his commode herself. That was one job she felt herself incapable of doing.

She had used all the eggs last night, she would go out into the barnyard and forage for some more. It was a great pity there were no hams hanging in the larder, she was certain her employer would be more sanguine if he had good meat on his plate. She had counted the money in the leather bag, there was five pounds. It was a fortune to her, two quarters wages at least. For all his unpleasant habits, she could not fault his generosity.

However, she was determined to use the money to replenish the empty larder and employ at least two girls to help with the work. She hoped also to obtain the services of an indoor man who could act as both footmen and valet. Mr Foster could not do all that was required in a house this size without assistance.

Outside the air was cool and sweet, a perfect June morning. She was greeted by both Fred and Jethro. "Good morning to both of you. I see that you are early risers too. Mr Bucknall spilt his cider." She glanced ruefully at her wet apron. "I don't suppose there is any out here that I could replace it with? I had not wished to upset him, I wish to stay here and make a home for myself and my children. I have not made a good impression this morning."

Jethro touched his forelock. "You bide there, madam, I'll fetch you a flagon. The master don't deserve it, but I'd not want you to suffer because of his bad temper."

"I've got a dozen eggs waiting, missus, you don't need to scramble about looking. From now on me brother and I will keep you supplied with what you need."

"I thank you. Fred, do you and your brother live at Stansted Manor?"

"That we do. Along with the outside men, we're right and tight above the stables. None of us ain't been paid since last year, but we have good pickings and live like kings. About time the master thought about his tenants, they ain't having too good a time of it."

Emma was under the distinct impression that these old men, and the butler, thought she had come to rehabilitate Mr Bucknall. That was quite ridiculous, why should he take any more notice of her then he did of his other employees?

* * * *

Mr Foster, looking more sprightly than he had yesterday, refused to let Jethro and Fred cross the threshold. "Not in here, not in your boots. Give me the flagon, Jethro Smith. Wait there, Fred, I shall take your items in a moment."

"It's all right for them to come in, Mr Foster, I'm not scrubbed the floor yet."

All three elderly gentleman stared at her as if she was a ninny hammer. The butler recovered first. "I should think not, Mrs Reed. It's not your job to do that. You are the housekeeper, a position of authority and respect. It would be quite wrong for you to scrub floors."

Smiling at her three protectors she shook her head. "It has to be done, Mr Foster, and as I am the only person here, it falls to me to do it." The idea of him attempting to do this task did not bear thinking of. It was unlikely he would survive the experience.

"In which case, Mrs Reed, we must rectify that matter. Servants must be obtained from the village immediately. Under your direction this establishment will soon recover its former respectability."

"I have funds that Mr Bucknall gave me for that very purpose." She disliked having to deceive on this point, but she had no intention of letting these three discover the money had been to encourage her to leave directly. "I was intending to send the groom into the village this morning with a list for the local emporium."

Jethro clicked his tongue. "No point in asking him, he answers only to the master. I can harness the pony cart, Fred can drive you in to make the purchases yourself."

"I cannot leave my children unattended, especially Jack, he's not yet six years of age, has not the sense to keep out of danger without supervision." She shrugged. "His sister is an excellent nursemaid, but he does not always mind her."

Mr Foster exchanged glances with the other two. "We shall supervise the young lady and gentleman, Mrs Reed. There's a pianoforte in the drawing-room that Miss Mary can play, and Master Jack can help with the animals. They'll be perfectly safe in your absence."