Lady In Waiting Part 5

Jenny drew up the other stool and told Annie the amazing string of events that led up to that very moment. "So you see, Annie, I only have until tomorrow to remake this gown. I haven't got time to set up any pots tonight either. I am sorry."

Horace, who stood with hat in his hands, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "But, Jenny, my master sent me to Annie special for the tingle cream. I can't go back without it. I just can't."

Jenny laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "But I haven't got a single pot to spare."

Horace pulled a small leather bag from his waistband. "He gave me a few shiners to pay. See?" He emptied the bag into his palm.

"Yes, but-" Jenny stared at the stacks of gold coins in the footman's hand and a shiver of excitement skimmed her scalp. Why, with Horace's money she could buy all the ribbon and the slip of cream satin she needed to remake the gown.

Horace emptied the coins back in the bag, sighing all the while. "Well, if you haven't got any..."

Suddenly she recalled the pot of peppermint facial cream sitting unopened on Lady Let.i.tia's dressing table. The solution was simple. She could borrow that one, and replace it with another in a day or so. It's not like there weren't other pots and bottles on the table. Why, her employer would never notice.

A bright smile lit Jenny's face. "On second thought, Horace, I might have just one pot left. I'll be back in a tick." With that, she lifted her skirts to her knees, raced up the back stairs, and slipped into Lady Let.i.tia's bedchamber.

Her heart beat loudly in her ears as she stealthily padded toward the cherry dressing table. Heavens above, if she was caught sneaking around that would certainly be the end of her dream.

Her hand shook like a rain-spattered fern as she reached out for the pot and concealed it in the folds of her cambric work frock.

As she tiptoed back below stairs, guilt pummeled her insides. But, she reasoned, she was doing it for the ladies anyway. If she was not dressed appropriately, the Feathertons' matchmaking game would fail, now wouldn't it?

When she reached the kitchen, she removed the pot from her gown and held it out to him. "Here you go, Horace."

The footman grinned broadly and reached for it, but she s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand back for a moment. "Remember now, no one is to know where you bought the cream. Do you understand? It must remain our secret."

"I understand, Jenny. Annie already made me swear on me mum's head-and she's got a cold on her chest just now. So you can rest easy that I won't give you up."

"Very well then." Lifting the pot in her palm, she opened her hand and allowed Horace to take the cream.

"Ah, my thanks, miss. My master will be most pleased... as will the mistress." Horace winked then.

Clearing her throat, Jenny lifted her brow and gave a glance to her empty palm, still poised midair before the footman.

"Oh, yeah. 'Ere you go, Jenny."

Her fingers closed around the bag of coins and she smiled to herself. Now she could buy exactly what she needed for the gown. She opened the bag and peered giddily inside. But then she paused a moment in thought, and withdrew a single crown. "Here you go, Horace. Take this, for your mum."

The footman's eyes widened as he accepted the money. "Thank you, miss. Thank you!"

Jenny shrugged. "You earned it. Brought me the business, after all."

Annie folded her arms over her ample chest. "So what about my pots, Jenny? I brought you some business too."

"I suppose I'll have to make some more. Tonight, after the ladies are abed," Jenny sighed.

Odsbodikins. The production of the cream would take hours.

Jenny sank onto a stool and rested her head in her hands. Lord above, this was going to be a long night.

"Here you are! Get up, Jen. It's already seven, and here you are sleeping the morn away."

Jenny raised her head from the stillroom table and blinked up at her mother, who was staring angrily down at her. "Seven?" Jenny murmured as she stretched her arms above her head and yawned. "Already?"

Her mother thrust several folded notes before her.

Jenny stared blankly down at them. "What are these?"

"You know very well what these are. s.n.a.t.c.hed them off my lady's morning salver before she could open them!"

Jenny stared down at the addresses and noticed that not a one was intended for her, but rather for Lady Let.i.tia. "What are you thinking, Mother. I can't open Lady Let.i.tia's letters."

"Well you had better, and do something about what's written inside. What if I hadn't been there to take them? What if she'd actually read them?"

With slow deliberation, Jenny opened the first letter, noting that the return direction did seem familiar somehow.

She looked at the heading. Why, it was from Smith and Company. Jenny read on and a sudden cold chill crept over her skin. She looked up with horror at her mother. "It can't be. Oh, no!"

"Again and again I've warned that your excesses will get you into trouble. And now it has. Your unpaid accounts are being sent to your employer for payment. And not just one either. There are two others beneath that."

Jenny looked at the directions on the other letters. "Marbury's Millinery. Oh, dear. Wait a moment. What is this? Darnfield Ironworks?" She looked up, somewhat c.o.c.kily at her mother. "This one clearly isn't for me. I've never been to the ironworks."

Mrs. Penny s.n.a.t.c.hed the letter from her and tore it open. "One pair of pattens." The rigid words were still in the air when her mother shoved the bill back at her. "Yours."

Pattens? Jenny thought back for a moment and suddenly remembered the days last month when it seemed to rain forever. Why, she ruined two pairs of slippers that week alone. Would have muddied even more than that too, had she not put the pattens on account. "Oh, now I remember. My mistake."

Mrs. Penny folded her arms across her chest. "So what are you going to do about your debts? I can't stop the notices from reaching the ladies forever, you know."

Pulling a brittle, dried peppermint leaf from her tangled hair, Jenny gestured to the twenty pots sitting at the end of the table and smiled up at her mother. "Simple. I'll sell these and pay off my debt at Smith and Company."

"And why would anyone want your homemade facial cream? Hmm?"

Jenny raised her shoulders and let them fall. "I cannot say. But for some reason, the ton is beginning to take to them. They've become quite popular. In fact, thus far, I've been able to sell every pot I've made." And then some, Jenny silently added with a little wince, remembering the pot she owed Lady Let.i.tia.

Mrs. Penny lifted a dubious brow. "Then for goodness' sake sell them today, if you can, and settle your debts." With that, she turned and stomped from the stillroom.

"Yes, Mother," Jenny droned as she leaned back on the stool, one-handedly gripping the table for balance, and tossed the notices into the smoldering fire.

A thumping at the door drew Jenny's gaze upright again, to where Erma, one of the horrid scullery maids, stood. Her arms were folded across her chest and she was looking down her hatchet-shaped nose at Jenny.

"You've got visitors," she spat, mockingly adding a curtsy to her announcement. "My lady."

Scowling at the maid, Jenny rose and brushed past the wretch.

When Jenny arrived at the kitchen door, she was surprised to find not only Annie, but at least three other abigails and two footmen, all from the finest houses in Bath.

Surely they weren't all here for the cream. But then she caught notice of the small bags in their hands. Her heart leapt.

"What's all this about?" Jenny schooled her features and looked to Annie for a reply.

Annie glanced down at her boot, and seemed particularly interested in a long sc.r.a.pe along its edge. "We've come for some cream-if you've got some more, that is."

Catching Annie's arm, Jenny pulled her forward. "What happened to our secret? You've got all of bleedin' Bath standing outside the door!" she whispered in her ear.

"'Twasn't me. I swear. I only told Gretchen here," Annie admitted with a nod to the plump girl with red curls.

Horace edged forward. "I only told Old Tom."

An elderly man made his way forward. "Annie told me that the cost was a half guinea. But I told my master I heard the cream was a guinea. Thought I could pocket a halfer for myself."

Jenny exchanged a confused glance with Annie, who waggled her eyebrows at her, urging her to play along.

"I was hopin' to do the same," squeaked Gretchen.

Jenny stiffened. She never really set a price for her cream, but if they could easily get a guinea... Hmm. Maybe she could ask for-"The pots are one guinea each," she blurted before she had time to think.

There was a collective groan, then the group folded in among itself and Jenny suddenly wondered if she'd asked for too much. In fact, she was about to drop the price to three crowns, when Annie moved to the front of the throng again.

"A guinea it is." But then Annie paused. "But you sell the pots only through those in service. And we decide how much we'll sell them for to our masters. Does this work for you, Jenny?"

Jenny bit her lips and sucked them into her mouth to prevent a joyous cry from bubbling out. She nodded, and excused herself to gather up the pots she'd made, taking care to set one aside to replace the pot she'd nicked from Lady Let.i.tia's dressing table. Quickly depositing them into her harvest basket, she hurried back to the door.

An excited giggle slipped from her mouth as Annie exchanged a palmful of guineas for the six pots of cream Jenny owed her. Then she turned to fill the other servants' orders. Only one minute later, her basket was nearly empty-only four spare pots of cream remained-but her hands were full... of money.

She was going to be rich. Rich! Why, just today, she was making fifteen pounds. It was a fortune!

In no time at all her debts would be paid in full. Soon, shops would open their doors to her again. And with a full purse, the keeps would surely offer her a cup of tea, or sherry, like they did when someone of the Quality entered their establishment. And she would sip her beverage quietly while all the latest fabrics were paraded before her.

Yes, it was all quite clear to her now.

A lady she would be-in her own way. If not through birth, or marriage-for it was ridiculous to believe the Feathertons' scheme to engage the viscount would ever survive the light of day-then by her own hand.

Jenny smiled brightly to herself, quite liking the notion.

Jenny opened her bedside table drawer and fished inside for her gloves. Instead she found a stub of candle, wound with tag-along pieces of scarlet thread, three sh.e.l.l b.u.t.tons from her gray morning gown, and the crumbs of a biscuit she'd smuggled home in her reticule from the Fire and Ice Ball.

Blast! Where were her gloves? They couldn't have walked off on their own.

Oh, it was those wretched scullery maids. She just knew it. Erma probably sneaked in that afternoon and stole them while Jenny had been shopping for the ribbon she needed.

Jenny started for the door, ready to twist the chit's fool head off for thievery, when she saw Meredith at her chamber door.

"He's here!" Meredith bounced on her toes, hardly able to contain herself.

"Already? But it's not even four yet."

"Still, he's in the drawing room with my aunts. But don't you worry, Jenny. Once you appear, they've promised to disappear for a time."

"But I can't see him now. Those scullery maids have made off with my gloves."

Meredith's eyes sparkled with mischief. "You are missing your gloves? Really?" Then she pulled a parcel from behind her back. "Then maybe you can make use of these."

"What have you done, Miss Meredith?" Jenny smiled as she took the parcel and sat down on her bedstead to open it. She could scarce believe her eyes. There inside the wrappings were the most beautiful, certainly the softest, ivory kid gloves she'd ever seen. She looked up at Meredith, feeling her eyes fill with wet heat. "Oh, Miss Meredith. They're lovely."

"I'm sorry you thought the maids took your gloves. I had to borrow them to make sure of the fit." Meredith grinned. "No harm done though... right?"

Jenny laughed as she eased her hands into the cool satin-lined gloves. "No harm done."

Meredith drew Jenny up from the bed and smoothed down the deep red gown. "I can't believe what you've done with this dress. If I didn't know better, I'd think it'd come straight from France."

"Well, don't look too closely. I haven't had time enough to do a proper job. The dress is barely tacked together."

Meredith cringed. "Best not move around too much then."

"Exactly my thought." From the grin on Meredith's face, Jenny knew she expected a giggle in response, but she just couldn't manage it. The thought of her gown unraveling before the viscount was all too horrifying.

Gingerly lifting the dress, Meredith glanced up at Jenny. "Do you need help dressing?"

Though amused at the irony of the lady offering to dress her own maid, Jenny shook her head. "I'll be fine, really. But thank you."

"I'll wait for you above stairs. Try to hurry above stairs though. Don't want to keep Lord Argyll waiting."

Jenny's heart pounded in antic.i.p.ation as she eased herself into the gown. Then giving a pinch to both her cheeks, she took one last appraising glance in her oval looking gla.s.s and headed above stairs.

Meredith was waiting for her in the entry hall. "Much more appropriate! I'll leave you here. Good luck, Jenny." Meredith leaned close and gave Jenny a quick peck on the cheek. "Just make sure this is the only kiss you receive, young lady."

Jenny nodded and watched Meredith disappear down the pa.s.sageway. She laid her hand on the door handle and was about to enter the parlor when she heard the viscount's deep voice.

"I know 'twas a long while ago, but if ye can remember anything, anything at all, it might have meaning. She was yer kin, she must have come to call."

Jenny pressed down the handle and allowed the door to open just enough to peer inside.

Lady Viola blanched at the question. Within the time it took Jenny to open the door another inch, Viola's face actually became as white as her snowy hair.

Just then, however, Edgar, who'd somehow sneaked up behind her, reached over Jenny's head and pushed the door wide.

Jenny glanced up and gasped at the look in his eye. She'd been caught spying on her employers. Edgar was sure to inform her mother-as if she wasn't already in enough trouble with her mum.

As the door swung wide, Lady Let.i.tia caught notice of Jenny and used her appearance to redirect conversation. "Lady Genevieve. Lord Argyll has come for an interview. Do come in, gel, and sit down."

Immediately Lord Argyll came to his feet and looked into Jenny's eyes in such an interested way that she actually colored.

"Yes, ma'am," Jenny muttered, then made her way to the settee.

Within seconds, Edgar stood before her with a silver tray of sherry. His aged eyes were blazing. Jenny glanced at Lady Viola, who nodded to the diminutive gla.s.ses.

Jenny lifted the stem of the crystal gla.s.s between her fingers, tossed the amber liquid down her throat, and replaced the empty crystal on Edgar's tray with a smile. But her smile fell cleanly from her lips as she noticed the look of horror on both the Feathertons' faces.

From the corner of her eye, however, she saw the viscount's mouth twitch with amus.e.m.e.nt and decided that perhaps her blunder had not been so great after all.