Love by the Morning Star (19 page)

“Oh, Traudl, you shouldn't have!”

“Don't fret. It never suited me. I only kept it for sentimental reasons. It was given to me by a man who reminded me of a pug I had as a child. Did your handsome young lord propose yet, by any chance?”

Had he? He'd said so many things that seemed to point to a life together.
I love you
. They'd both said it. That, to her, was bended knee and diamond ring in itself.
I am your very own, forever
. Waltraud might have explained to her that funny way some men have of saying
forever
when they really mean
for now
, a linguistic quibble they never seem to be clear on. But to Hannah, forever was simply forever.

“He prefers me to Nefertiti,” she said at last. “But I think he's still afraid of his mother.”

Waltraud gave an exasperated shake of her head. “The idiot. Well, when he sees you at the ball tonight he'll defy an entire army of mothers to have you.”

“That must be some dress you have for me.”

“Darling, you'd set the Rhine on fire in this gown. Now, I'm afraid we must go and receive our Christmas presents from our employers. Brace yourself.”

“Why?” Hannah asked.

“You'll see.”

They ran downstairs and were lined up in the servants' parlor (really an odd-job room with a few chairs and an old print of Queen Victoria on the wall) with their hands folded demurely, waiting to receive their Christmas bounty.

“Corcoran explained it all to me last night. In a bed, I might add.” Waltraud gave her friend a pointed dig with her elbow. “You see, Christmas is the day when equals exchange presents. The Liripips gave each other, oh, Rolls-Royces and pearl chokers yesterday. But today is the day for giving presents to your underlings. Boxing Day, they call it, though I've no idea why. Wouldn't it be nice to have underlings? As an aside, I wish Lady Liripip would choke on her choker, and all of her silly old ropes of dingy pearls. She was in a tizzy last night, insisting they be cleaned, and had Tilly and me going at them with toothbrushes. They're still grubby, and since some of the royals are coming she insists on wearing them. No amount of pearls will make her look like anything other than an old harridan. Pearls are for young skin, not her wrinkled, yellow old wattle.”

“That's not kind,” Hannah said. “If we're lucky, we'll all grow old and get wrinkles.”

“But we won't grow mean, no matter what sorts of hardships the world throws at us. She's been thrown nothing but cream, and look at her. She deserves every bit of chicken skin. Diamonds­—now, they might help her. Enough of them twinkling under bright light and they might make so much of a glare that no one can see her face, or her soul. But not pearls. Oh! You must wear your pearls tonight!”

“But I'm a servant,” she protested.

“You're serving. There's a difference. Cora's pearls are better than old Lady Liripoop's by a mile. Please wear them. They will be quite the epitome of chic with the dress I've picked out for you. And it is a day to honor the underclass—us. We have to be at our best. Clean aprons and starched caps, and miles and miles of Europe's best pearls.”

“The dress isn't something scandalous, is it?”

“Heavens, no,” Waltraud said, crossing her fingers behind her back. “Would I do that to you?”

They waited for Lady Liripip to come down, while their chores waited for them, undone. She would be cross if anything in the household schedule was delayed or unfinished, but she would also be cross if the servants weren't waiting for her in their orderly rows, standing at attention, primed to bow and scrape and curtsy and tug their forelocks the moment she appeared.

She came down the stairs, those symbolic steps that had divided the classes as a rift or ocean divides species, forcing them into polar evolution. Her hands were empty, for a lady's hands are always empty. Even purses are a sign of the middle class. The nobility has people to do the carrying of even dainty objects—a
mouchoir
, a coin. Though of course a coin would not be needed, as the nobility buy on credit, having their purchases delivered without question, the bill sent and settled by some other minion.

A great many things had changed in England over the course of the last few centuries. But in the best families, things did not change quite so quickly.

Lady Liripip's stepdaughters trailed behind her, picking their way uncertainly down the stairs like amateur mountaineers. They were more hampered than their stepmother, because they could not hold on to the rickety railing. Their arms were filled with soft, paper-wrapped bundles tied up with string, piled to their chins. Behind them, humming strains of a wassailing carol, came Teddy.

Hannah's heart leaped, then crashed, then leaped again. She met his gaze with open, radiant joy. Teddy's delighted, delightful smile rested on her for a moment, then passed, with equal charm and sincerity, to Waltraud, and Glenda, and all of the others in succession.
It's as if he doesn't know me
, she thought.
As if I'm just another servant in his house for whom he feels a vague benevolence but nothing more
.

Then she caught Lady Liripip's stern, unforgiving visage.
Of course he can't look at me with the love he poured out upon me last night. I am still a secret
. She resented being swept under the rug like a stray bit of fluff.
Is that all I am to him, his bit of fluff? No. If I had been in his bed last night I might believe that. But no man spends a freezing night in a December garden with a bit of fluff. He is sincere, in what he said and what he feels. He will tell his mother soon
.

An amusing, wicked thought struck her.
If he doesn't, I will. Just to see her face
.

But a not-so-amusing thought followed:
What if he is not strong enough to resist her orders? He has known me for a few hours, all told. She is his mother
.

Then that hard woman celebrated the brotherhood of mankind, peace, and goodwill by dispensing charity.

Charity
had always been a good word, for Hannah. To her it meant kindness, compassion, understanding. Her father gave to charitable causes because he saw a need and wanted to answer it. He brought a homeless man off the street and fed him on oysters and veal and the little marzipan and rosewater treats called
Bethmännchen
. He gave with love. His gifts were Christmas gifts, all year long, given in the spirit of equal to equal.

Lady Liripip's gifts were Boxing Day in the extreme—gifts for inferiors. She made
charity
an ugly word.

She directed her stepdaughters and Teddy to deliver the packages. Without thanks for a year of service, she said, “Here you will find goods sufficient to make yourselves a new uniform for the coming year . . . if you are conservative with your patterns. Full skirts, as you know, are an impediment to domestic efficiency. Those of you who are thin and find yourselves with extra material may feel free to keep the scraps for your own use,” she added in a paroxysm of benevolence. “Though you may wish to donate them to the plumper members of the staff.” She gave Glenda a significant look that made Hannah want to slap her. She thought about having Lady Liripip for an in-law. Was Teddy worth the price of his mother? Yes, but only just.

Teddy carried Hannah's package to her, and again her eyes silently begged him for just one look of acknowledgment. He grinned at her. He winked at her! His mother said, “Those of you who joined Starkers after the summer are not really entitled to a new uniform yet, but I believe in seeing my staff well turned out. Please remember, though, that if your employment here should cease for any reason before Boxing Day next, any new uniforms acquired during the year must be promptly returned or their cost shall be deducted from your salary and your letter of reference withheld.”

Teddy flinched and gave a little sigh. Hannah felt her lip twitch in an almost smile.

The housekeeper got a pair of gloves that did not fit her meaty hands; the butler received a box of handkerchiefs with the letter
L
embroidered on the corner, allowing him to maintain the illusion that the
L
was for his first name, Laurence, and not that they were an old box of Liripip-monogrammed hankies that no one had ever bothered to open.

“For you, Cook,” Lady Liripip continued, directing one of the stepdaughters to hand her a little box. “Though I trust that if Trapp should return from the sanatorium before the end of the year, you will submit this gift to her, as it properly belongs to the head cook, whoever she might be.”

Lady Liripip gave a little jerk of her head that might have passed for a bow of thanks, and on that cue all of the staff descended once more into their assorted obeisances.

Teddy left last of all, and Hannah's eyes tugged at him with all their might.
Just look back
, she pleaded, feeling foolish but longing for it all the same, that final cast crumb.

He didn't look back, and she slumped, telling herself that it didn't matter, that she would see him at the Servants' Ball and touch him and look at his wonderful face as they glided and spun under every eye, even his mother's. But it still mattered.

Then she heard feet on the stair. He was back! He would take her in his arms and say he couldn't stay away from her. He would kiss her for all to see, unashamed.

He sought her out, looked at her with those eyes so earnest and frank. She might name them that, the left eye Ernest, the right one Frank, she thought giddily as he stood even closer than when she had mistakenly thought he was going to blackmail his way into her favors. What a silly notion that had been. She tilted her head to him, parted her lips.

“I forgot to tell you,” he said affably, “I won't need you to help me with my German after all. I've found another tutor.” He gave a little smile of conspiracy. “I couldn't find a trace of your parents, though. Everyone has someone missing in Germany. I'm very sorry. I'll be going back soon, though, so buck up.” He chucked her under the chin and ran up the stairs, back to his own world.

She did not know whether to be pleased or disappointed. What was that?

“An excuse to touch you,” Waltraud whispered.

The servants took a moment to unwrap their presents, though there was neither anticipation nor enthusiasm. Black or blue material for the house staff, dim florals straight from the remainder racks for the kitchen staff. Hannah received a bundle of calico with a field of sickly yellow asters.

Sally opened her present (or Trapp's present, depending) with a resigned sigh.

“What is it?” Hannah asked, peering over her shoulder.

“A fish slice,” Sally answered wearily. “A used fish slice.”

“I now know why it is called Boxing Day,” Waltraud said, her arched, penciled eyebrows descending in a fierce frown. “Because at this moment I should like to box every one of their aristocratic ears.”

H
ANNAH GOT THROUGH HER MORNING
as best she could with an interminable series of jaw-cracking yawns and long, heavy blinks, during which she seemed to actually fall asleep for a matter of seconds before jerking awake. It might have been the day of the Servants' Ball, but, if anything, their work was increased. The house staff had to have everything impeccably clean and lay out all of the decorations that were supposed to be for their enjoyment but were, of course, to impress the titled guests who would be attending the fete. Servants' balls, with their Saturnalian reputations (for what else but a period of utter riot could induce the classes to mingle?), often attracted the faster kind of aristocrat—younger sons and new money with purchased titles.

The kitchen staff too were kept on their toes. True, they would get to eat with the others before the dancing began, but they also had to prepare the food for their own consumption. It was laid out buffet style, so in theory, once it was prepared, the cook and her minions could relax and partake, but in reality there would be last-minute things to peel and arrange, and if anything ran out, they were the ones who would have to replenish it, recruiting some disgruntled footman in his Sunday best to carry it out. (Things might be topsy-turvy at a servants' ball, but they were not so topsy-turvy as that.)

So on her special day, the day honoring servants and all their hard work, Hannah had no time to rest. In between chores, at the hours when she usually attended Anna, she would creep up to Anna's room and see if she'd woken up. Each time she found the girl with her head buried in her soft down pillow, the blankets pulled up over her ear like a quilted carapace, gently snoring. Hannah would have liked to resent her this comfort—and she did, a little—but mostly she was glad that Anna evidently had had as good a night as she herself.
Love is such a surprising thing
, she thought.
It really is, as Anna said, like a disease, springing unseen, infecting with the most minuscule microbe and proliferating in the unsuspecting body
. She was glad that Anna wasn't as immune as she'd thought. Hardy was certainly a fine fellow.

The one concession to the special day was that the servants (assuming Starkers was spotless and the food prepared) could have an hour of free time to make themselves presentable. Lady Liripip had put forth the idea that it would somehow be more picturesque for the servants to appear at the dance in uniform, but her son and stepdaughters convinced her this might arouse a certain ire in the people who could so easily poison their food or stick pins in them while dressing them, and she reluctantly capitulated. No amount of persuasion, however, could keep her from deducting the hour from the servants' next afternoon off.

Hannah wondered if she could sleep for fifty minutes and manage to dress in ten. It was tempting . . . but no, she still had to snip the strands of pearls out of their hem-and-seam hiding places, and if she didn't want to ruin her one remaining nonservice outfit, she'd have to work slowly and carefully.