Lady In Waiting Part 27

The voice was so very peaceful and comforting that she did as asked and lifted her heavy lids.

Three huge faces hovered just inches from her own: the ladies Let.i.tia and Viola, and Meredith.

"W-where am I?" Jenny asked as her mind cut its way through a thick fog.

It was Meredith who answered. "We're in the carriage, headed for home. Are you well? For you don't look it. You're as white as the ice on the ca.n.a.l."

"That's quite enough, Meredith," scolded Lady Viola. "Give Jenny some fresh air. That's right." It was then that Jenny realized that her head was resting on her ladyship's lap.

She bolted upright. "I beg your pardon, my lady."

Lady Let.i.tia laughed. "Whatever for? You were lying precisely as Sister bade the footmen to place you."

"I am deeply indebted to you, child. Had you not cried out when you did, I would have been lured from the ballroom and likely bludgeoned and robbed."

Horrible pale memories began to float to the surface like dead fish on a pond as Jenny slowly became able to focus. Then one thought enveloped her mind, blocking out all others-"Callum."

The two old ladies exchanged disappointed glances.

Lady Let.i.tia patted Jenny's hand to calm her. "Well, as you might recall, he was properly gobsmacked by the news of your ident.i.ty. For a moment or two, I thought he was going to lose his hold on consciousness too."

Jenny was alarmed at this bit of information.

"Don't worry, dear. He is well enough," Lady Viola told her soothingly. "Though once we had you inside the carriage, he charged off from the a.s.sembly rooms without so much as a word, headed, I believe, for Laura Place."

Jenny glanced over at Meredith, who was sitting quietly with her shoulder b.u.mping against the wall as the carriage drove slowly down the road toward Royal Crescent. "Oh, Meredith," Jenny began. "I am so sorry for ruining your ball with scandal. Will you ever forgive me?"

"Ruined?" Meredith looked confused. "What are you going on about? My ball was b.l.o.o.d.y wonderful!"

Lady Let.i.tia scowled. "Your language, Meredith!"

"I am sorry, Auntie, but lud, I have never had such an exciting evening in my entire life." Meredith grinned impishly. "Why, if society b.a.l.l.s are anything like mine was tonight, I shan't allow myself to miss a one."

"The question is, ladies, what do we do now to bridge this schism between our two lovers?" Lady Let.i.tia asked.

Jenny waited, hoping someone might have an answer, but instead the carriage filled with a stifling silence. Her spirits fell into despair.

What had she been thinking? There was nothing the Featherton ladies could possibly do.

Nothing anyone could do.

She had lost Callum... forever.

"You cunning cow!"

The sun had just begun to rise, judging from thin light breaking into the bedchamber, as Jenny opened her eyes to find the scullery maid standing over her.

"Get out of here, Erma," Jenny snapped. "I've had a dreadful enough night and don't need to start my morn by dealing with yet another thief!"

Erma shoved something forward, and Jenny saw that it was the morning paper. "Cook read it all to me, and by the time she had finished, Mr. Bartleby had called to tell me he would be doing business only with you-and no other."

Jenny took the paper from Erma and quickly scanned Hercule's on-dit column. Why he'd even mentioned her ordering system. She looked up at Erma. "Everything in this column is true. Why are you here trying to quarrel with me? I am the wronged party, after all."

Erma glowered at her. "I want to know how you did it-how you turned the b.l.o.o.d.y story around to swing the hatchet at me!"

Jenny pushed the newspaper back at the scullery maid. "Shall we just say that I have friends who look out for me, and leave it at that?"

Erma let out a sound remarkably similar to a cat's hiss. "When the ladies read this, and Cook told me they always read The Bath Herald at Sat.u.r.day breakfast, I'll be sacked, and it will all be your fault."

Jenny scoffed at that. "You listen to me, Erma. If you are sacked, it will have nothing to do with me, but rather with your disloyalty to the family. By trying to ruin me, you very nearly hurt the Featherton ladies." She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at the maid. "So if I were you, I'd keep my head down and mouth closed-and hope, just hope, that the ladies, in their great generosity of spirit, will overlook your shortcomings and keep you on at the house."

Erma just stared at her.

"Now please, leave my chamber. Haven't you got some pots to scour or something?"

"You haven't heard the last of this, Jenny."

"Oh, I think I have."

Erma threw the newspaper back at Jenny, then stomped from the room.

Picking it up, Jenny's eyes skimmed the column again. Lud, after the way she was exposed last eve, she began to think it would have been far more preferable to have been revealed in The Bath Herald.

At least she wouldn't have had to look into Callum's eyes when he learned the whole awful truth of her lies-from another.

Folding the paper in half, she crawled from her tiny bed, washed, and dressed herself in preparation for another day. Jenny sighed. For though her world collapsed under the weight of her lies last eve, today was a new day and life would go on.

Jenny rested her hand atop her belly.

Yes, life would go on.

Later that afternoon, Jenny descended the stairs to retrieve her hat and cloak, intending to walk to Trim Street for some ribbon to update Meredith's flower-festooned straw bonnet.

It was something to do to occupy her mind, since the ladies had given strict orders that Jenny was not to see to her daily duties. Under normal circ.u.mstances, Jenny would be dancing with glee that she was excused from her work, but not today. She needed to remain busy if only to diminish the pain of last eve.

As she pa.s.sed through the kitchen door, out of habit, she walked forward to peer over the edge of the harvest basket by the door.

She didn't know why she bothered, for who would buy a pot of cream from her now that all of Bath knew the whispered-of Lady Eros was naught but a lady's maid?

What she saw inside nearly made her faint. Her breath came fast, and she slapped her hand to her chest to steady herself.

The basket was full. More than full. At least eight stones had fallen out and lay against the woven carrier.

She clenched her fist. If this was Erma's idea of getting back at her... but then she opened her palms. Tiny notes were bound with strings, thread, or colorful wool to the stones. She bent and removed one.

"Two pots for Mrs. Potter, Fifteen Great Pulteney Street," she read aloud. She opened another note. "Mr. Higgins, Six Lower Borough Walls, requests one pot please."

She read three others, but realized there was no need to continue. These were all legitimate orders-but not from the ton. No, these were from ordinary folk. A smile lifted her lips for the first time since the previous night.

Chapter Eighteen.

Each morning for the fortnight following the fateful ball, Jenny awoke to discover her harvest basket bulging with stones.

So, after a day's work blending concoctions for the Feathertons and seeing to the sartorial needs of Miss Meredith, Jenny split her time between the stillroom where she extracted the Mitcham peppermint from her herbs, and the kitchen, where she would stir the creamy emulsion and fill the awaiting gallipots.

Her hands remained busy, though her mind was left to ponder the mistakes she made during her short time with Callum. She knew her betrayal pained him deeply. He'd not even come to call on his grandmother, Lady Viola, as had become his habit just before the ball, and Jenny knew how much that hurt the old woman.

How she wished she could live those weeks over again.

Not that she would have done much differently, for she was who she was after all. Except she would have told him the truth when the opportunity first presented itself, instead of waiting 'til nearly every granule of sand had sieved through the pinch in the hourgla.s.s. For had she been honest with him, her life might have been so different today.

Distracted by such somber thoughts, Jenny failed to notice that the pot over the embers had overheated until it began to sputter and pop, sending globules of cream into the hearth where they ignited into flames.

Scolding herself for her inattention, she yanked the crane toward her and quickly hoisted the pot from its hook, completely forgetting to insulate the handle with a folded cotton cloth. Blast! The metal handle seared her hand, and she dropped the pot onto the slate hearth.

The fatty cream slowly seeped from the lip of the fallen pot and progressed toward the fire. Lifting her hem, Jenny ran across the kitchen pavers to fetch a broom to whisk the emulsion back before it could reach the fire.

The service door swung wide, nearly striking Jenny down, as Annie walked into the kitchen.

"Help me!" Jenny pleaded, frantically waving her finger at the hearth and the steaming cream.

Annie followed Jenny's finger and when she saw the pot on its side, her eyes nearly leapt from her skull. "Great G.o.d in heaven, Jenny, are you tryin' to burn the house down?"

Annie flung her basket to the floor and raced to the hearth. Catching up the ember shovel in her hands, she quickly built a dam of ashes to prevent the cream from reaching the fire.

Jenny's heart pounded in her ears. Thank heavens Annie had come when she did.

A few minutes later, Annie had wordlessly sc.r.a.ped the sputtering emulsion back into the pot and had turned back to Jenny.

"What is in that head of yours, hmm?" Perspiration laced Annie's hairline and her cheeks were flushed from exertion and the heat of the cooking fire.

Jenny slumped to a low stool. "That's just it. I can't concentrate on anything... but the pain I've caused everyone."

Annie came over to her and wiped a smudge of soot from Jenny's face with the hem of her ap.r.o.n. "Look at those rings under your eyes. Haven't you been sleeping none?"

Jenny shook her head. "Whenever my eyes close long enough to sleep, I seem to relive Miss Meredith's ball. All I can see is Callum's stricken face when I have to admit that all those d.a.m.ning words hurled by that thieving woman were completely true."

Lifting an empty gallipot to her lips, Jenny blew into it to remove the flecks of ash from the hearth. "And so I come in here to work until I can barely stand. Only then can I claim a dreamless sleep. But by then, 'tis almost morn."

Annie pulled Jenny into an embrace and hugged her. She leaned back and raised Jenny's chin with her palm. "You can't keep this up. 'Tisn't good for you... or your babe."

The warning startled Jenny. "I-I never said my condition was for certain."

"No, but you didn't need to neither. Because for the first time since I've known you, you haven't been whining about the pain in your belly at month's end. And you ain't just late neither. Why the moon itself sets its month by you."

Jenny pulled away from Annie and dragged the pot of ruined cream toward the door so she could dump it outside come morn. But Annie was right. She was never late, and now had to admit what she'd avoided acknowledging all along.

She leveled a sullen gaze at Annie, not wishing to discuss her condition with anyone. Best to keep it quiet for as long as possible so as not to impact her cream business. For now more than ever, with the babe coming, she'd need every spare shilling she could earn.

Annie had just settled herself before the long trestle table when Jenny pulled up a stool and sat down for the first time all eve. She looked quizzically at Annie. "What are you doing here so late anyway? Shouldn't you be thinking of heading abed yourself?"

"'Tisn't that late, and besides, I've got some news that might brighten your spirits." Annie's eyes were large and she bit her bottom lip with excitement.

"What? Has a new footman come to Bath?" Jenny grinned and raised her brows in antic.i.p.ation.

"Better. And you are going to thank me, Jenny Penny." She paused a moment more, until Jenny's curiosity had her ready to shake the news loose from her friend.

"Well, on Sat.u.r.day next, you and I have an interview with Mr. Malcolm Lewis."

Jenny just stared back at Annie. "The name means nothing to me. Why should I wish an interview with this fellow?"

"Because, ducks, he owns the empty shop on Milsom. You remember. We peered through the window one afternoon."

Yes, she did remember that day, but lud, those happier times seemed like years ago now. "An interview, you say?"

"What with all the orders you've been gettin' from the regular folk, you're certain to have the blunt to let the place now, or at least you will have soon enough, I reckon." Annie stared patiently back at Jenny as if waiting for some reaction.

Then it happened. The dullness that seemed to cover her like a wool cloak these past two weeks began to lift. There was an excitement building within her, something she had not felt in a very long time.

"Ah, there we go, ducks. I can see it now. 'Tis in your eyes, bright and shiny as a new guinea." The grin on Annie's face was contagious, and Jenny found herself smiling as well.

"All right. I'll do it!"

"Knew you would. Well, must be off." Annie retrieved her basket and headed for the door. "I daresay, it mightn't be too soon to start thinking about what you will sell, besides the tingle cream of course."

Jenny nodded, and as soon as Annie had gone, she raced to her chamber. Flipping open her scientific journal, she thumbed through the pages until she found her extensive plans for her very own shop.

The next morning, Jenny did the impossible. Taking her earnings, she paid her accounts in full. Yes, she settled up with every merchant she owed in Bath.

This process took nearly an entire day to achieve, even with Annie's a.s.sistance, but it was worth it and necessary-for her future and the babe's.

For if she was to open her shop and fill it with glorious trinkets, creams, and balms of her own making, she would need to be able to do business on account with a number of merchants in Bath.

Especially the draper. For her latest brilliant idea for her shop was to create a selection of ready-to-wear gowns created in the height of modish Paris fashion.

Annie had scoffed at the idea, for everyone knew that ladies of the ton habitually visited the draper for fabrics, then had a modiste craft the gown. The process took days or even weeks.

Yes, this was the inefficient way gowns had been sold. But what were the ladies to do when an unexpected invitation arrived to a glittering social event? They had to condescend to retrieve an old gown from their trunk or wardrobe, when in their heart they longed to impress with a new gown.

Until now, this was impossible. No modiste could fashion a high-quality gown so quickly. Jenny knew this for certain, for she had tried during her courtship with Callum! And even then, on short notice, the best she had been able to hope for was a remade gown.