Penelope Goes to Portsmouth (7 page)

As the cart bearing Hannah and Mr Cato jogged off into the night, the others returned to the inn to wait.
Penelope searched through her luggage until she found a plain dark dress she had worn for writing classes, dark so that ink-stains would not show. It had expensive lace at the collar and cuffs, which she carefully cut off. She found a cap, one of the frivolous kind meant to be worn under a bonnet, and took the lace edging off that before tying it on her head.

Lord Augustus was not impressed. ‘If, by any mad folly, we do take you with us,’ he said, ‘that white cap will show in the darkness.’ Penelope took it off and threw it down on a chair. ‘Then I shall go without it,’ she said defiantly. ‘I do wonder what Miss Pym is doing. It’s a mercy Lady Carsey really saw only you, my lord.’ Then she reflected under what circumstances Lord Augustus had seen Lady Carsey and of how much he had probably seen of that lady, and she blushed fiery-red in the candlelight. Lord Augustus looked at that blush and reflected with a tinge of regret that Miss Trenton had made up that story about Penelope. The girl positively screamed Virgin.

Hannah felt nervous and strung up as Mr Cato drove up the Manor drive. ‘To the kitchen door,’ whispered Hannah urgently, seeing the American was about to stop at the front. ‘It will be at the far side. No, leave me here and I will find it on foot.’

‘But what if they won’t have you?’ protested Mr Cato. ‘You don’t want to have to walk back.’

‘Then wait on the road outside the grounds. If I am not with you in half an hour, say, then go and fetch Lord Augustus.’

Mr Cato watched Hannah’s spare figure as she
resolutely marched to the side of the building. She had her trunk in her hand. He found himself admiring her tremendously. Hannah Pym, he thought, would make a good American.

Hannah found the servants’ entrance and raised her hand and knocked loudly at the door.

While she waited, she thought herself into her role. She was desperately in need of work. She had been travelling through Esher to stay with relatives in Portsmouth and had learned that the Manor was in need of a housekeeper. She was once more Hannah Pym, servant.

After some time had passed and she was just raising her hand to knock again, she heard the shuffle of footsteps. The door swung open. The butler she had seen before, holding a candle in a flat stick, surveyed her. He was a cadaverous-looking man in his shirt-sleeves and wearing a baize apron.

‘I heard there was a vacancy for a housekeeper, and I am come to apply for the post,’ said Hannah firmly.

‘At this time of night!’

‘What better time,’ said Hannah briskly. ‘Are you going to keep me on this doorstep, sir, or are you going to ask me inside?’

The butler reluctantly stood aside. Hannah walked through a scullery into a large shadowy kitchen that smelt strongly of onions and grease. After the kitchen came the servants’ hall. The servants were just finishing their supper. Hannah thought that, apart from a few frightened girls, she had never seen such a villainous crew.

‘This here,’ announced the butler behind her, ‘is some female who wants the housekeeper’s job. What’s your name?’

‘Miss Hannah Pym,’ said Hannah firmly, seeing no reason to lie about her name. On that visit to the Manor, only Lord Augustus had presented his card.

‘Wait here and I’ll tell mistress.’ The butler shrugged himself into his coat after removing his apron and shambled out. Hannah sat down at the table with the others, who surveyed her in silence.

‘Are you not going to offer me some refreshment?’ snapped Hannah.

The servants looked at each other, and then one of the footmen rose, took a tankard from the shelf, and filled it with house ale from a barrel and then set it down in front of her with a bang.

Hannah raised her tankard. ‘The King!’ she said.

The others echoed the toast.

Silence fell again. Hannah could feel herself becoming increasingly nervous.

By the time the butler returned to say that my lady would see her, Hannah felt she had been sitting there a lifetime. She picked up her trunk, determined not to leave it behind in the servants’ hall in case anyone looked inside it, and with the heavy bag banging against her legs, she followed the butler up the stairs. She left her trunk in the hall, hoping it would be safe there. The butler led the way up to a drawing-room on the first floor and threw open the doors.

‘Here is the person who has come about the job,’ he said.

Hannah gave a quick tug to her cap so that the frill fell lower over her forehead, shadowing her face.

She walked into the room and stood with her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes lowered.

‘Name?’ demanded Lady Carsey.

‘Miss Hannah Pym.’

‘Ah, so my butler said. Why “miss”?’

‘I never adopted the courtesy title of “Mrs”,’ said Hannah.

‘Experience?’

Hannah raised her eyes briefly and then lowered them again quickly. There was something uncomfortably sharp and penetrating about Lady Carsey’s gaze.

‘I was only with one household, my lady. Mr Clarence of Thornton Hall, Kensington. He died a few months ago. I started in a lowly position in that household and rose to the position of housekeeper. I keep excellent and correct accounts. I am expert at training maids. I work hard.’

Lady Carsey held out her hand. ‘References?’

Hannah opened her reticule and slowly took out a stiff folded piece of paper. When she had been sure that Mr Clarence was dying, she had asked him for a reference. She reluctantly handed it to Lady Carsey, for she was afraid she would not get it back.

Lady Carsey who, it seemed, did not trouble about her appearance in front of servants, popped a serviceable pair of glasses on her nose and read. ‘Dear me,’ she murmured, ‘Mr Clarence makes you sound the veriest paragon. But what is such a paragon doing on my doorstep at this hour of the night?’

‘I was travelling to stay with relatives in Portsmouth,’ said Hannah, ‘and heard there was a vacancy here. I have used up my savings. It seemed a good opportunity.’

Lady Carsey leaned back in her chair and swung one slippered foot. She waved the precious reference to and fro, perilously near the flame of a candle.

‘I demand absolute loyalty from my servants,’ she said. ‘I will not tolerate gossiping in the town. You will be allowed two days off a year and your salary will be eighteen pounds a year, to be paid out on quarter-day. You are on trial. Biggs, the butler, will report to me of how you go on. I will not tolerate insolence in my servants. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, my lady.’

Lady Carsey rang the bell. When the butler appeared, she said, ‘Biggs, show Miss Pym to her room and explain her duties. She is on trial. Watch her carefully.’ She waved a white hand to show the interview was at an end. She had not even bothered to ask Hannah whether she wanted the job or whether she considered the terms favourable.

Hannah gave a low curtsy and then held out her hand. ‘My reference, my lady.’

‘No, I shall keep this,’ said Lady Carsey. ‘It will need to be checked.’

Hannah stifled an exclamation of dismay. If she found Benjamin, she would have no time to waste looking for that reference.

She followed the butler out. She picked up her trunk in the hall and said, ‘Show me to my quarters.’

‘You will address me as Mr Biggs at all times,’ said the butler heavily. ‘Don’t go getting uppity with me. Better be pleasant, too. I can get my lady to send you packing any time I want.’

He suddenly leered at Hannah, who gave him a slow smile and fluttered her short sandy eyelashes. The servants who had once been under her command would have been amazed to see the stern Miss Pym trying to flirt.

The housekeeper’s room was on a half-landing on the back staircase. The butler followed her in. ‘I shall just prettify myself, Mr Biggs,’ said Hannah with a coy titter, ‘and then I will join you in the servants’ hall.’

The butler grinned, pinched Hannah’s bony bottom, and shuffled out.

‘I shall slap his face before this night is out,’ muttered Hannah. She opened her trunk and took out a length of stout cord and then fastened it to the handle. She opened the window, noticing with relief that it overlooked the front, and lowered the trunk down into the bushes. Then, squaring her shoulders, she went down to the servants’ hall.

Her heart sank when she pushed open the door. Mr Biggs was alone. She guessed he had sent all the other servants off to bed so as to indulge in a little dalliance with the new housekeeper.

‘A little brandy, Miss Pym,’ said Biggs.

‘Yes, I thank you,’ said Hannah. ‘But first, may I have my keys and a tour of the house? I am anxious to begin my work early.’

Biggs scowled, but he could not risk Lady Carsey’s
finding a housekeeper in the morning who did not know where anything was.

Hannah followed him around the house, or rather tried always to keep behind him, for if she moved in front, he pinched her bottom. If I really were going to be housekeeper here, thought Hannah, noticing dirty hearths and cobwebs, I would make some changes. Although she appeared to listen intently, she had no interest in which keys fitted which doors on the upper storeys. Back downstairs she insisted on examining the still-room. ‘Why do you not have a brandy yourself until I examine all these bottles,’ said Hannah. ‘What if my lady should want, say, rose-water?’

‘Don’t be all night about it,’ growled the butler, but he retreated to the servants’ hall. Hannah’s sharp eyes ranged over the bottles. She took down a little bottle of laudanum and put it in her pocket. Then, fastening the keys firmly at her waist, she went into the servants’ hall. ‘You have not shown me the cellars,’ she said.

Biggs stiffened. ‘That’s my preserve,’ he said suspiciously. ‘What was you wanting to see the cellars for?’

‘Because, my dear Mr Biggs, should you fall ill, I would need to know which wines were which and in which bins to find them.’

‘Sit down. I’m never ill. Tell you what, two days’ time and I’ll take you down. Finished then.’

‘Finished with what?’ demanded Hannah.

‘Finished cleaning them cellars.’

‘Oh.’ Hannah sat down at the table and looked into his eyes and smiled. ‘What about that brandy, Mr Biggs?’

‘Give us a kiss first.’

‘Oh, Mr Biggs,’ said Hannah coyly. ‘You are the veriest rake. One little drink to give me courage.’

He grinned and poured a glass for her and refilled his own.

‘What’s that?’ cried Hannah suddenly, pointing over to a door that she was sure led to the cellars.

The butler started up with an oath, tipping his chair over, and ran to the low door. He pressed his ear against it and listened hard. Hannah took out the bottle of laudanum and tipped a generous measure into the butler’s glass.

‘Nothing there,’ he said, coming back and sitting down. ‘Rats, most like.’

Hannah gave a feminine shudder. ‘La! I do so detest rats.’ She raised her glass. ‘To you, Mr Biggs.’

He drained his glass in one gulp. ‘Now,’ he said, edging his chair next to her own, ‘what about that kiss?’

Hannah screwed her eyes up and puckered up her mouth. She would just have to endure it. His mouth approached her own and she shuddered as brandy fumes fanned her face. Then his lips descended on hers. Hannah’s stomach heaved with revulsion. She thought she could not bear it a moment longer and was just about to push him away when his mouth became slack and then slid wetly from her own. He looked at her in a fuddled way and then put a shaky hand to his brow.

‘I hope my kiss has not made you faint, sir,’ said Hannah archly.

He tugged at his cravat. ‘It’s hot in here,’ he said faintly. His dimming eyes looked at the glass and then at Hannah. ‘Why, you bitch,’ he said thickly. His hands reached out for her throat. Hannah darted from her chair and stood with her back to the wall. He heaved himself up and came at her. She darted away to the far side of the room. He stumbled towards her and then with a groan fell headlong on the floor. Soon he was breathing deeply, completely unconscious.

Hannah found she was trembling. She thought of Sir George Clarence and wished he were there. She felt very weak and womanly.

‘Courage,’ she told herself aloud.

She went to the cellar door, or the door she was sure led to the cellars. Then she realized the folly of not paying attention to which key fitted which lock. She would now have to try them all. But first she went back to the door of the servants’ hall and patiently tried all the keys until she found the right one and locked herself in. Now for that cellar.

It was a very large keyhole, so she tried all the large keys until at last she found the right one. The door swung open. Hannah picked up a candle and made her way down. The cellar was cool and musty. She walked between the high racks of wine. It was no use calling to Benjamin. He could not hear her or shout a reply.

After half an hour of diligent searching, she sat wearily down on a wine barrel. There was no sign of the footman.

She sat and prayed for help. She could not think what else to do.

Then suddenly a thought came into her head. If Benjamin had still been unconscious when he was brought to the Manor, he would have been dragged to whatever prison they had ready for him.

She rose and picked up the candle and went back to the foot of the stairs and began to study the floor. And then she saw them – two trails across the dusty floor, looking like the marks made by heels when a body was dragged across the ground.

She followed the marks, which stopped at a wine barrel set on the floor. She looked around the barrel, but there were no more marks. She raised the lid of the barrel. It was full of wine. Shaking a little with fear, she rolled up her sleeve and plunged an arm down into the wine in case Benjamin had been drowned like the poor Duke of Clarence. She could feel nothing. Perhaps there was something under the barrel. A trapdoor.

She set down the candle in its flat stick and tried to move the barrel but could not.

She looked around the cellar until she found a small firkin. Using it as a pail, she began to bail out the wine, spilling it on the cellar floor, working with such haste that her dress became soaked in wine.