The Companion of Lady Holmeshire (16 page)

“
I do; I love them. I am afraid I must go very soon.”

She gave him a chocolate that she had redeemed and wrapped with loving care. “I hope that we will be able to talk again!”

“
I am sure that we can find a way! Can you read and write?”

She nodded yes, and laughed. “Please recall the note I scribbled and dropped to you from the balcony!”

“
Ah, yes! Brilliant! I have written down some places where I can be at certain times, and I will watch for you there. Come only when it is safe, and should you not arrive, I shall wait for the next opportunity.” He gave her the list on a piece of old rag-paper. She slipped it into her pocket. “And be sure,” he continued, “to be at that window every opportunity to reassure me that you still care to see me, should we not meet otherwise.”

“
That desire will never change, sir,” she promised, “but I do not know how I will bear it when we leave for Holmeshire again!”

“
Write me notes,” he said, as he tried to pull himself away, “and leave them for me behind the General’s portrait near the Duke’s bedroom door. It is at the far end of the hall, down from the nursery. You can slide them into the bottom of the frame. Nobody walks in that area, from their breakfast until they dress for their dinner, except for the valet. He will not mind, but the housemaids! Watch out for the housemaids! I can find excuses to go there and retrieve the messages and leave some for you.”

“
How wonderful this will be after so much time,” she whispered. “I must go now; I shall soon be hunted down.”

“
We
must
be together. We
must
find a way. I do so wish to know you better!”

“
I shall write long letters to leave you. I will tell you all about myself, and you do the same.”

“
I shall. I shall.”

And Anne reappeared around the statue again, this time so happy that her mates knew exactly what had happened. She was poking a rose bud into her bouquet as they approached, but they knew better.

“
Where did the little white lilies come from, Anne? None grow here!” She had no reply. “Where were you? Is it that footman? Where is he?” No reply. This was truly Shakespearean. They were Romeo and Juliet alone, with no support, no help and no one to understand. But they were impervious and happy now; they had found a way.

***

Holmeshire Hall gardens were in bloom. Caged birds could be heard indoors and a variety of wild ones filled the air without.

“
I ‘eard that Lord Wilfred has arrived ‘ome from London,” announced lanky Mr. Scott, “and I ‘ave come ‘ere to talk to him.”

Barreby stared at the unkempt man with hat in hand. “And should he be here, who would I say was calling? Do you have a visiting card, sir?”

“
Card? I don’t have any sort of card. I do not
need
one. But I know the Lord will want to see me.” He nodded his head firmly; his conviction was surprising.

“
Your name?”

“
Mr. Benedict Scott. Father of Alexander Scott.” He stood proudly.

Barreby’s eyebrows went up in interested surprise. “Mr. Scott. It is kind of you to call, but Lord Holmeshire has returned to London.”

Barreby was taken aback by a sudden burst of anger on the part of his caller. “Gone back to London! It took everything I ‘ad in the world to get us transport from London to ‘olmeshire to see him! And...” Mr. Scott tried to calm himself, “you say he’s gone back to London.” His voice became sweeter with every word. “And ‘e’ll be back when?”

“
He’ll return with the end of The Season,” the butler informed him, “When hunting begins, and possibly later.”

Benedict, nourished with a quart of ale, wove around on the porch, along with his thoughts of what to do. Finally he spoke. “Then here we are in want of a place to stay. There’s three of us.” He plunked down the tip of his walking stick. Barreby somehow managed not to cough and sputter.

“
I’m afraid, sir, without a card or a letter from the Lord Holmeshire, I would not be able to offer you hospitality. You will find an inn in the village near the road.” He shut the door without apology, preventing the miscreant from falling in.

***

“‘
e’s gone! Back to London! We’re lost! What are we to do now? You said ’e was ‘ere to build on his ‘ouse!” Benedict shouted at his son.

“
He was, Paw! I know he was. I checked it out thoroughly!”

“
Well, you checked it out wrong. He is not here now!” Benedict was as loud as he could be, but the couple had waited for him down the road quite a distance, so nobody in the house heard the complaints. “We cannot make it back to London. We’ll starve ‘ere, is what we’ll do.”

“
Come on down to town, Paw. We can find stuff. We can look for work should we ‘ave to. They’ll ‘ave work you can do somewhere!”

***

Anne’s responsibilities were limited that night, with the ladies staying home. She found herself free; from the time they arrived home from the park until she was to dress Emma for dinner. She told Gwyn and Elizabeth that she was going to prepare clothing and jewelry, but they pointed out, with Elizabeth being quite firm, that she had about six hours for that. She may as well relax, for a time, after the outing. No, she said, she believed she had buttons to resew and a stubborn spot to remove. “‘Twas a good thing Mama trained us so well,” she cheerily pointed out to her sister.

Off she went, knowing that she was now under their highest suspicions at all times. Once down the pillared hall and into Emma’s regal quarters, Anne quickly ran past the bed to the dressing room and threw some stockings onto the proper dressing table. She tossed some sewing tools near to the dress that she hung out for the evening. Now she had a bit of a mess, but at least it looked as if she were in the middle of her work.

She hurried to Emma’s desk drawer for some of her fine perfumed paper, the new sort made from wood, a steel dip pen and ink. She felt guilty taking these expensive materials, but where would she find any inexpensive ones? She could rarely get to the shops, and these felt exquisite in her hands, a perfect medium to express her feelings!

Anne had to decide where to sit for this labor of desperate love. Should she stay here and risk being found by Emma? Would her sister perhaps appear to check on her? Aye, she thought, she had better go elsewhere. Her own room was too far away, so…could she perhaps go into the next room, an unused guest room? Aye. She would never be expected to
dare
to hide in there.

She put the supplies into a woven sewing bag and walked in the most casual way possible down to the next door. She made herself comfortable at a desk in a lowered ceiling nook where she would not be seen by someone who might open the door; giving her a chance to hide behind a nearby wardrobe should anyone walk in.

And now, what should she write? Pure adoration? How would he take to that? She could not wait for him to write first and set the tone, or she would surely burst. Then they could never be together! And each word had to be done correctly; she had no blotter. She felt stressed for time so that she would not be found at this, but what could she say? She wished to propose immediate marriage and swear to never let go of his arm for any reason whatsoever, but that was probably far from acceptable.

So she contented herself with writing how very lovely it was to have talked with him that day, how she had grown up in Holmeshire Village in a family of eight, had been well trained in the ways of womanhood and seamstressing, so very well trained that here she was a lady’s maid, and that she would very much like to meet with him again.

All went well for her—not a blotch nor a smear on the paper, not a crease on the envelope and not a sister or nanny bursting into the room in search of her, although they had looked for her in Emma’s rooms. This all encouraged her very much, and she made her way around the interior of the second story all the way to the Duke’s area, where she inserted the document behind the framed picture on the wall, which, incidentally, did not prevent the perfume from filling the air.

***

Lucy obtained a job at the Village Inn, working in the kitchen. Her industrious ways saved the situation for her little family, and they had a warm room to share, right above the cook stove. A willow outside the window provided shade and a roost for songbirds, which delighted her as she dressed for work early each morning. Charles was ecstatic about the plump, stuffed bed and vowed to remain in it for the rest of his life. In the following days, though, he was forced to go searching for work, at least a bit, and Benedict found the pub. His first beer on the third day enlightened his mind, and he decided to try a new approach up at the castle on the hill.

“
Mr. Benedict Scott again, sir, father of Alexander Scott.” Winnie’s growling dog did not much help his case.

“
I recognize you fully well, sir, though you have combed your hair.”

“
Yes. I am sure, sir, that you are aware of the needs of a good family for a proper income. Now, my daughter-in-law ‘as found lodging for ‘erself and my second son Charles in the village and ‘as a small income. My son is looking for honorable work amongst the farm ‘ands, as he is well experienced at that,” he lied, “to take proper care of his lady. It is only myself, now, that is in want of employment from Lord Wilfred, so that I am not a useless old burden on a young couple who should be planning an ‘appy little family. I am sure that you ‘av the authority to do as you know the Lord would do if he were ‘ere, and that is to grant me a position in the ‘ousehold. I would require a position that does not involve strenuous activity, being a few years older than some. I may be just the man to supervise some of the stable ‘ands or to manage the lads who do the work in the gardens.”

“
Many of our workers are as old as you are, sir, or older. I always have the authority to hire servants who arrive with good references, whether the Lord is in residence or not. I am the steward of the house and choose to serve as butler as well. But I do...”

“
Then there you ‘av it. I can take over your position as butler and allow you a reprieve, as you are gaining in years as well. The income should, besides, go to two gentlemen, sir, in a world where there are many not employed. But, ah, why are we discussing it out ‘ere in the cold?” Benedict looked his sweetest, and then fully as pompous as a butler ought, though his stick did not support him well when he swayed.

“
Sir, there is nothing to discuss. I have want of no help other than some skilled construction workers next fall. I will ask you to knock at the servant’s door, should you have a question in the future. Good day.” He closed the door, but Benedict stood outside and yelled that the Lord would ‘ear of what was done to Mr. Alexander Scott’s own father at the Lord’s ‘ome.

***

Simon made his way to the hallowed picture frame early the next morning with a note that he had composed the night before in the privacy of his room, having sent his roommates on a wild chase. They did need to know around 11 p.m., did they not, whether all the horses were healthy for the next day’s service? Or at least whether the stable hands had gotten off to sleep and would not complain about early hours? The men were glad for an opportunity to pour an ale, with the kitchen unattended, and take care of these matters.

Simon had not had all the concern that Anne had for the aesthetics of his letter, but with sincere feelings to express, had done so beautifully. His opening words had been a nearly poetic tribute to Anne’s comeliness, followed by expressions of desire to find a way to keep her near him always. He’d written how he would surely become depressed should she go back to Holmeshire. He had elaborated on the dreadful treatment she had received at the hands of Grantham and everyone under him at the downstairs table. He’d quoted them, railed against such ill manners, and praised her gracious treatment of them in return. He had apologized that he could not continue writing, but would surely write again the next night, should he be able to find the privacy. And finally, here he was at the hiding place, receiving a perfumed note from his angel and replacing it with his hastily composed profession of love.

***

The following Tuesday, the ladies were in the Duchess’ rose and cream-colored Sitting Room when a message was brought in for Winifred on parchment from Holmeshire Hall. Forgetting caution, she read aloud:

“’
Dear Most Honorable Lady Holmeshire, I have thoroughly but discreetly searched every drawer and pocket in the castle and have not turned up your missing bracelet. Perhaps it has been sold, I am sorry to suggest.’”

Emma interrupted apprehensively, “A bracelet?”

Winnie sighed, “Yes, actually, a bracelet did go missing. It was the sapphire and emerald bracelet that Charlotte of Wales once gave me from her collection.” She winced. Both Helena and Emma were deeply disturbed.

“
When did this misfortune befall you, Milady, do you know?” asked Emma, visibly alarmed for her own reputation.

“
Yes, Emma, it was the Sunday after Wills returned from Italy, before church. It had been laid out for me to wear. Emma, I fully know that you did not take the bracelet. Why would you? You had never stolen before and have had more than enough opportunity. You are shy to wear even the small ruby necklace. Now, how could you be suspected?” Her words comforted Emma somewhat, but the bracelet was still missing. “Now let me go on…