The Magnificent Masquerade Part 3

She looked about her uneasily and found Gowan, with a trunk hoisted on his shoulder, staring at her curiously.

"What're you up to, Miss Kitty?" he asked disapprovingly. "Up to?" she responded with pure innocence, her brain bubbling with the joy of challenge and adventure. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Y're up to somethin', I kin tell. Those ain't yer clothes." Kitty put out her chin. "They are now. I made a wager with my abigail and I won. Not," she added, tossing her head coolly, "that it's any of your business."

The wizened coachman, with the familiarity that comes from years of a.s.sociation, sneered at her. "It's a queer winnin'

that trades gold fer dross. Somethin's brummish about this. An' I might make it my business to tell yer da' that ye went to meet yer betrothed wearin' muslin an' a mobcap."

"Do what you like," Kitty retorted, striding away across the terrace, "but you'll only be making a fool of yourself. Muslin and mobcaps are all the rage in Paris this season."

"All the rage?" The coachman stared after her for a moment and scratched his forehead with his free hand. The girl was probably trying to tip him a rise, he thought. It was very like her to try to pitch him some gammon. But on the other hand, it was just possible that housemaids' garb had become stylish for the n.o.bs. After all, weren't the sprags who liked to drive coaches for sport always trying to buy his overcoat from him?

The bemused fellow shook his head. The ways of the gentry were beyond him. His best course of action, he decided, was to put the matter out of his mind. This he did with a sigh and a shrug, and, without troubling his head about it further, he trudged off to deliver his load.

Chapter Six.

Lord Edgerton led the way to the Blue Saloon, a room of relatively modest proportions that his mother preferred at tea time to the much larger East Drawing Room which, his lordship explained as they entered the house, was the more suitable room for tea parties. Emily, scurrying to keep up with his lordship's long stride, was awestruck at the magnificence surrounding her. They'd entered the mansion through a double door at least fifteen feet high, pa.s.sed without a pause through a domed, round entrance hall called the Rotunda, whose marble floors gleamed richly in the light of six windows cut into the base of the dome, and then proceeded down a wide corridor which was wainscoted in gilded oak and boasted a ceiling gorgeously decorated with painted cherubs disporting themselves on painted clouds. Wide-eyed Emily had never seen the like.

The Blue Saloon was not, in Emily's view, the least bit modest. It was at least thirty feet long and contained three blue velvet sofas, a dozen chairs of all sorts, a tea table elegantly set with silver service and platters of sandwiches and scones, several lamp tables, and, in the far comers of the room, two magnificent Chinese vases atop matched pedestals of sculpted marble. The room's four recessed windows reached from floor to ceiling, each recess containing a jardiniere covered with plants and topped with swags of ecru satin with a blue floral print. The blue flowers were also visible in the design of a Persian carpet that almost completely covered the floor. If this room was modest, Emily couldn't imagine what the Drawing Room would be like.

They found Lady Edith seated behind the tea table, her attention not on the approaching guest but on a brooch she was attempting without success to pin to the left shoulder of her gown. "Here's Miss Jessup, Mama," Edgerton announced informally. "Miss Jessup, this is our mother, Lady Edith Wishart."

Emily dropped a curtsey. "How do you do, your ladyship?" Lady Edith glanced up at her guest with a nervous little smile. "How do you do, my dear? Excuse me for a moment from further conversation. I seem to be having difficulty with this catch."

Lord Edgerton gave an imperceptible sigh before leading his guest to a chair beside the tea table. "You must forgive Mama, Miss Jessup. I'm afraid she's often abstracted. She always has difficulty with anything the least bit mechanical. Although why she is struggling with that bauble herself, when she has a perfectly competent dresser to help her out of just such difficulties, is quite beyond my comprehension."

"That's because you know nothing of the difficulties we women face," his mother responded, a tinge of querulousness in her voice. "The brooch was perfectly in place when I left my room. But a moment before you entered, I reached for a scone-which of course I shouldn't have done until you'd come in and I'd served the tea, but I hadn't had a bite since breakfast and I was famished-and just as I reached out I felt a p.r.i.c.k in my shoulder. When I looked down, I saw the pin had come undone. How it managed to undo itself in the short time since I came downstairs I just can't explain."

"I'd be happy to do it up for you, ma'am," Emily volunteered without thinking. "I'm quite handy with pins and catches and-Oh!" She looked up at his lordship in horror. "I'm sorry," she whispered, wide-eyed. "I suppose that was not. . . I mean I shouldn't have said. . ." Her voice faded away in hideous embarra.s.sment.

"On the contrary, my dear," Edgerton a.s.sured her, hiding his puzzlement at her strangely diffident behavior with a smile, "I'd be most grateful to you if you could help Mama. If you don't, she'll be fussing with that brooch forever, and we shall never get our tea."

Relief flooded Emily's chest. She jumped up from her seat and ran eagerly to Lady Edith's side. Kneeling down beside the dowager, she managed, despite the fact that her fingers were still shaking, to lock the pin in the catch.

Lady Edith tested the brooch, found it secure, and beamed.

"Oh, my dear child," she cooed, "I most sincerely thank you.

You do seem to be a treasure." She turned to her son and pointed an accusing finger at him. "I thought you said, Greg, that the girl was a hoyden. She doesn't appear the least bit hoydenish to me."

"Nor to me, Mama, nor to me," his lordship said, shutting his eyes and shaking his head in mock despair. Leading Emily back to her chair, he explained calmly that his mother's lack of tact was more than made up for by her charming ingenuousness. "I did describe you in those terms," he admitted, "but only because that's how your father described you to me."

"Yes, I suppose he would. I ... I am often described in that way," Emily responded, realizing how well the word did de scribe Kitty.

"Are you indeed?" He pulled up a chair beside her. "Judging from the impression you've made on us thus far, Miss Jessup, I would have chosen hoyden as the least appropriate word for you in the entire dictionary."

"I quite agree," said his mother, still beaming as she poured the tea. "You don't seem to have a hoydenish bone in your body. Though I don't suppose bones can be hoydenish, can they? Do you take two lumps, my dear? No, I suppose only one. You could not have kept such a tiny waist if you were in the habit of taking two. Oh, dear, the tea is quite strong. What is keeping Naismith, I wonder? I sent him for some more, hot water and a plate of those raisin biscuits everyone likes. Well, never mind. Here, Greg, give the child her tea. The tedious journey from London is dreadfully exhausting, and even if the tea is strong it's bound to give the child a lift. There's nothing like tea to bring one's spirit back, I always say."

"Yes, Mama," his lordship said obediently, throwing Emily a conspiratorial wink as he handed her the cup.

Lady Edith, having decided that the girl her eldest son had so abruptly thrust upon the household was not going to be at all troublesome, leaned back in her chair, sighed contentedly, and stirred her tea. She was an artless woman who often found life intimidating. Anyone whose motives she didn't understand frightened her, so early in her life she developed a simple method by which to protect herself. She evaluated everyone she encountered by holding them up to a shallow witted yardstick which measured only one characteristic: kindness. People, she decided, were either kind or unkind. She kept a safe distance from those she judged unkind, but to those who seemed kind she gave instant affection and intimacy. This intimacy she was eager to offer to Emily at once, without requiring any further evidence of the girl's character than she'd already seen. And what better way could she find to show her warm feeling to this lovely child who was to become part of the family than to disclose a confidence that her son had warned her not to reveal? "Dear child," she began, leaning forward in her chair and smiling at Emily fondly, "has Greg explained to you why Toby will be a bit late?"

Greg lifted his head and glared at her. "No, Mama, I did not. I was trying to spare her feelings."

"Nonsense," his mother said, waving away his annoyance with a flick of her wrist. "There's nothing in it to hurt the child's feelings. You see, my dear, Toby promised to be here early to greet you, but his man arrived about an hour ago and told us that Toby stopped off at Manningtree to call on a friend. He should not have done so, I admit, but our Toby is notoriously unreliable."

"Is unreliability supposed to be an excuse?" Edgerton asked irritably. But he bit back the other angry words that rose to his throat. His brother was behaving like a d.a.m.nable loose screw, but his own good manners prevented him from showing his annoyance. It was inexcusable of Toby to have delayed his arrival, especially when he'd been clearly informed that his presence was necessary. Edgerton would certainly give his brother a dressing down as soon as the fellow showed his face.

And to make matters worse, his sister, too, had failed to make an appearance to greet their guest. What a harum scarum family they must seem to poor Miss Jessup! "I must apologize for both my siblings, Miss Jessup. My sister, too, seems to be missing. Where is Alicia, Mama? Why hasn't she joined us for tea?"

Her ladyship's face fell. "She was taken with a migraine again, I fear. It came on her quite suddenly, just before luncheon. The pain was so severe that she took immediately to her bed. My poor little Alicia is very delicate, Miss Jessup. Her health has always been precariously balanced." She took a handkerchief from her bosom and sniffed into it. "I sometimes think she will not long be with us. I don't know how I sh-shall bear it if she is taken from us."

"She will not be taken from us, Mama," Edgerton said, gritting his teeth. He usually listened to his mother's babblings with patient endurance, but today he was feeling on edge.

"Please don't indulge in these waterworks in front of our guest. Besides, Dr. Randolph a.s.sured you only last week that your daughter is likely to outlive us all."

Emily, not having shared Edgerton's long experience with his sister's hypochondria, couldn't help being touched by Lady Edith's tears. "Have you tried a licorice tisane?" she offered shyly. "Miss Marchmont uses it at the school whenever one of the girls complains of the headache. It seems to work wonders."

"Licorice?" The damp handkerchief fluttered from her ladyship's fingers to her lap. "You can't mean it! Why, we've tried all sorts of tisanes-fennel in the barley water, and prunes, and sometimes even the rind of lemons, boiled and pushed through a sieve. But I've never even heard of using licorice."

Lord Edgerton stared at Emily in surprise. It had been astounding enough to find that the girl-whom her father de scribed as wild, unpredictable, and given to scandalous behavior-looked and behaved like a frightened little wren, but to observe her sitting there opposite him with her hands nervously clasping her saucer and her elbows primly pressed against her sides while she exchanged recipes for medicinal draughts with his mother ... well, that was completely beyond his expectations. The only explanation he could think of was that she was teasing them. "I think, Mama, that Miss Jessup is cutting a wheedle. Licorice sounds very much like a hum to me. You are shamming it, aren't you, my dear?"

"Shamming it?" The girl appeared to be sincerely shocked. "Oh, no, my lord, of course not! I would never joke on matters of health."

"Really, Greg," his mother chided, "that was most unkind of you. Anyone can see that Miss Jessup is nothing if not sincere. Do you think, Miss Jessup, that you might concoct one of your tisanes now? I could have Naismith bring the ingredients to Alicia's room, if you'd be so obliging as to mix them for us."

"I'd be most happy to be of service," Emily said eagerly. "We shall only need a bit of dried licorice root-or a teaspoon of extract, if you have some-and the juice of two lemons. And the barley water should be quite hot, of course ..."

"Licorice extract, lemon juice, hot barley water," Lady Edith echoed, rising from her chair. This caused her forgotten handkerchief to flutter to the floor. "I shall tell Naismith to bring them to us in Alicia's room. There's no need for you to hurry your tea, my dear, but as soon as you're ready we can go upstairs."

"Oh, I'm quite finished," Emily said, jumping up. She placed her cup and saucer on the table and automatically knelt down to pick up her ladyship's handkerchief. Just as she reached for it, she remembered Kitty's warning: Don't pick up anything anyone drops. Quickly, she withdrew her hand. But she was too late. Lord Edgerton, who had risen when she did, had already bent down and was picking it up himself. When they both stood erect, she couldn't fail to notice that he was looking at her with an intent stare, as if she were a puzzle he couldn't quite unravel. Her face reddened painfully. "I'm ...

sorry..." she mumbled.

"Whatever for?" he asked, holding out the lacy kerchief. "Oh, no, it's not mine. It's ... it's your m-mama's," she explained, feeling breathless and very stupid. "I only meant to g-get it for her. Have I ... committed another faux pas?"

"Faux pas?" Lady Edith asked, looking round. "Whatever can you mean? I am not aware of your committing any."

"Neither am I," his lordship agreed. He handed the handkerchief to his mother but continued to address his visitor. "You are, I venture to say, the most proper guest ever to have graced this room."

"My son is quite right, my dear. You mustn't feel ill at ease among us, you know. We're a very ordinary, unaffected family. And you've done nothing at all out of the way, I promise you. You aren't discomfitted by having to take leave of my son so abruptly, are you?"

Emily hadn't even been aware of that solecism. "Oh, dear," she muttered miserably, "I didn't think ... that is, I suppose I should have ... I mean, perhaps his lordship would prefer me to remain ... ?"

"Not at all, Miss Jessup, not at all," Edgerton rea.s.sured her. "You must make yourself completely at home. By all means go along with Mama, if that's what you wish to do. Don't give me another thought."

"No, indeed," his mother agreed, "don't worry about Greg. He's only too happy when we females leave him to his own resources. Whenever we're fixed here at Edgerton, he involves himself in estate business to the exclusion of almost everything else. He keeps himself busy from mom 'til night, unless we order him to cease and desist. If he had his way, he'd never join the ladies at all."

"That is an outright calumny, Mama," the maligned son said as he opened the door for them. "I'm always pleased to join you at dinner."

"Perhaps so," his mother retorted as she pa.s.sed him by, "but whether it is for the pleasure of our company or the taste of the roast I couldn't say."

Emily, hurrying after her hostess, dropped him an awkward curtsey. "Pray excuse me, my lord," she mumbled.

"Until dinner," he answered with a smile and a bow. "When you've finished with your tisane, Miss Jessup, Naismith will show you to your room. Please ask him for anything you might need. You'll have plenty of time to rest, for I've put off dinner for two hours. We dine at seven tonight, if that is satisfactory to you. Toby's bound to have arrived by then."

"Oh, yes, my lord, quite satisfactory. Thank you, my lord." And with another quick bob, she scurried after Lady Edith.

Edgerton watched after her until she rounded the stairway landing, his brow knit in confusion. Could this be the same girl that Lord Birkinshaw had described-the one who made her schoolmates drunk, who flirted with a footman, who ran up enormous bills at her shoemaker's, and who p.a.w.ned her mother's emerald? In appearance and manner, she certainly did not seem the sort. She seemed too timid to have even thought of such deviltry.

It was possible, of course, that she'd been sternly warned to be on her best behavior. If so, the girl was making a valiant effort. She'd given no sign, thus far, that there was now or had ever been a mischievous thought in her head. She'd been polite to a fault. In fact, she seemed always to be begging pardon for behavior that needed no apology. Edgerton couldn't understand it.

But there was no cause for concern, he told himself. After all, the girl was to spend a fortnight under this roof. If she truly was wild, could she possibly hide her natural roguishness for fourteen days and nights? Could the notorious Kitty Jessup spend an entire fortnight concocting tisanes, blushing shyly at compliments, making sick calls on his sister, and generally being obliging and obedient? He doubted it. No one, not even Kitty Jessup, could dissemble for so long. It was not possible. In that length of time, her true colors were bound to show themselves.

Thrusting his hands comfortably into his pockets and whistling softly, he strolled down the hallway to his office. There was something amiss here, but he felt surprisingly exhilarated by the challenge of the mystery. He smiled to himself at the prospect of solving it. The next couple of weeks might prove to be more amusing than he'd expected.

Chapter Seven.

"And what. may I ask, are you doing hanging about the Rotunda as if you had nothing in the world to do but stand there and gape?" the butler demanded, having been distracted from his mission (carrying a covered china teapot of hot water and a plate of freshly baked raisin biscuits to the Blue Saloon) by the sight of Kitty, who'd just come into the house and was interestedly studying her surroundings.

Kitty, unaccustomed to hearing that tone of voice from a servant, reflexively put up her chin. "I'm not hanging about." she said coldly, "and I wasn't gaping. I was merely admiring the way the light slants in from those windows. Do you always greet guests in this rude fashion?"

"Guests? Since when does an abigail consider herself a guest?" Naismith looked her up and down, frowning in disapproval. Although he never smiled in any circ.u.mstances, he found frowning to be an efficacious expression in dealing with underlings. Thus, though his lips would never turn up, they quite often turned down. "Lord Birkinshaw must run a ramshackle household. I must say."

Kitty, reminding herself that she was now a servant and had to watch her tongue, nevertheless couldn't help taking offense. "Oh?" she asked, trying not to show her anger. "Why do you say that?"

"Judging from your deportment and appearance, my girl. I would guess that the Birkinshaws have a shockingly careless staff."

"I don't see what's wrong with my deportment. And as for my appearance,"- she looked down at herself uneasily-"this is only my traveling dress, after all."

"You've a very free and easy way of speaking, my girl. Too free and easy for this establishment, I can tell you. I'll cure you of that soon enough. You mayn't have learned anything in the Birkinshaw household, but you'll learn something here. How so ever, I haven't time to deal with you now. Go upstairs and unpack your mistress's things. And report to me downstairs in one hour." Having delivered these orders in what he considered a sufficiently threatening manner, the butler turned his back on the girl and proceeded on his way. "But wait!" Kitty cried, following him. "I don't know where-"

Naismith turned round as furiously as his butlerish self control allowed-that is, angrily enough to jiggle the cover of the china pot he carried but not so precipitously as to dislodge it. "You will address me properly, if you please. I am Mr. Naismith to you." He glared down at her, imperious as a lord.

"You will say 'Please, Mr. Naismith," and wait to be acknowledged before you say anything further." Then, rolling his eyes heavenward (for he often felt that the G.o.ds above took particular delight in making his life troublesome), he added, "Didn't they teach you anything where you come from?"

"But..."

"Please, Mr. Naismith," he prompted in disgust. "Please, Mr. Naismith, I don't know where-" The butler reddened in frustration. "Didn't you understand me? You were not acknowledged! Don't you know how to wait?" His eyes turned heavenward again. "Why am I always afflicted with gowks like this to deal with?" The volume of his voice rose to an unaccustomed level and reverberated in the cavity of the dome above him. The echo, like a heavenly reprimand, reminded him of the inappropriateness of scolding a maid in a public room. He winced and forced himself into calmness by taking two deep breaths. "What is your name, girl?" he asked, still disdainful but much more subdued.

"E-Emily, Mr. Naismith. Emily Pratt."

"Well, Emily Pratt, I can see we shall have our hands full with you. But I have more important tasks at the moment." He turned again to go.

"Please, Mr. Naismith ... ?"

He stopped in his tracks but did not turn. "Yes?" She hesitated. "Is that an acknowledgment?" He glared at her over his shoulder. "Of course it's an acknowledgement. What did you expect, a bow from the waist? Well, girl, speak up. I haven't all day."

"I don't know where Miss Jessup's room is."

"Then ask, for heaven's sake, ask!"

"I've been trying to ask ever since I came in," she retorted. "Saucy puss!" he muttered, shaking his head in exaggerated hopelessness. "I shall have a great deal to say to you later, you can 4e sure of that. Meanwhile, ask one of the footmen at the bottom of the main staircase to show you up.

What do you think they're stationed therefore?" And he disappeared down the hall, shaking his head and muttering to himself about the shocking decline in the quality of servants in these G.o.dforsaken times.

The footman who escorted Kitty to "Miss Jessup's room" did not seem to her to be of particularly high quality either. He leered at her in outspoken admiration of her face and form and made lewd insinuations regarding future encounters. His name was Gerald, but he insisted she call him Jimmy, "since we're bound't' be good friends." Then he licked his lips suggestively and added, "Really good friends!"

By this time they were at the door. Kitty, weary from the trip and full of misgivings about what she'd done, merely turned in the doorway, glared at the footman, and shut the door in his face.

Emily was not in the room. A housemaid, who was just completing the ch.o.r.e of dusting and airing the room, told her that Miss Jessup was visiting the sickly Miss Alicia. "Jemmy tol' Lily, an' Lily tol' me that Miss Jessup was fixin' Miss Alicia a tisane."

"Fixing a tisane?" Kitty echoed in horror. "Good G.o.d! Whatever for?"

The housemaid shrugged. "Sounds a queer start't' me," she confided, gathering up her dustmop and broom. "We'd 'eard, downstairs, that Miss Jessup was a real high flyer. But some one who likes't' spend 'er time makin' tisanes don't sound like a high flyer't' me."

"Nor to me," Kitty muttered under her breath. She'd have to give Emily a good talking-to.

But Emily did not return to her room in time to receive Kitty's scold. Kitty emptied the large portmanteau, the boxes, and all the packages her parents had sent and stowed away all the contents, but still Emily did not appear. The hour the butler had given her was almost gone. There was nothing Kitty could do but lay out a gown for Emily to wear to dinner and go down and face Mr. Naismith. She only hoped he would finish with her in time to permit her to return and a.s.sist Emily to dress for dinner. She had a strong feeling that Emily would be in dire need of her a.s.sistance and advice. She was halfway down the main staircase when she realized she should have taken the back way down. Fortunately, no one was about. She scrambled back upstairs and searched for the servants' staircase, nervously opening the doors of two unoccupied bedrooms before finally coming upon the pa.s.sageway that contained the stairs. With a sigh of relief, she ran quickly down.

The stairs led directly to the servants' hall. It was a huge, dark room with a high vaulted ceiling on which the smoke of hundreds of years of cooking had acc.u.mulated. The room was gloomily lit by several windows placed high on the walls, but Kitty had to admit that, except for the ceiling which was unreachable, the entire place was scrupulously clean. It was evidently used both as a kitchen and a dining room for the servants, for in the wall directly opposite the door in which she stood was an enormous fireplace that Kitty could see was used for cooking; it contained a number of frying pans, griddles, pots, and kettles which hung from chains over the fire. But there was also a large Rumford stove (similar to the one her mother had bought for the Birkinshaw kitchen) on which something was boiling. Whatever it was emitted a deliciously aromatic smell of sage and onions, reminding Kitty that she hadn't eaten since morning and was now painfully hungry. But if she was to spend time being scolded by the butler, and if then she had to help Emily dress for dinner, and if the staff then would be busy serving that dinner, it might be very late before anyone would think of offering her something to eat. She wondered for the first time in her life when the servants had time to take their meals.

The only persons she could see from her vantage point in the doorway were the cook-a tall, muscular, red-faced female who was so busily kneading dough at a worktable near the stove that she took no notice of Kitty at all-and three scullery maids who were a.s.sisting her. One was hovering over the cook's shoulder, adding flour to the dough whenever the cook nodded her head. The second was sitting on a stool on the opposite side of the worktable, sc.r.a.ping carrots. The third was setting mugs at each place of an ancient and very long dining table in the center of the room. This was evidently where the servants took their meals. The sight of the servants' table being set gave Kitty a glimmer of hope-perhaps she'd be permitted to eat soon.

She was about to ask the scullery maid when the servants' dinner was served when a rebuking cough, coming from somewhere above her, reminded her of why she was there. "Well, girl, how long do you intend to linger down there?" came the butler's voice. She stepped into the room and turned in the direction of the voice. She discovered Naismith standing above her on a balcony which bridged the comer at her right and which therefore couldn't be seen from the doorway. As soon as their eyes met, the butler lifted his hand and beckoned her-with the imperious gesture of a monarch summoning a slave-to mount the curved stone steps in the comer which led up to his perch.

"Here I am, Mr. Naismith," Kitty said cheerfully when she came up to him.

"So you are." He studied her with displeasure for a moment, while she, in turn, looked about her. The balcony was larger than it seemed from below and led, through a doorway behind them, to what Kitty realized must be the butler's office and his living quarters. But the balcony itself was furnished with a pair of comfortable armchairs and a table on which were set some crystal goblets and several decanters of liquor. But until Naismith said, "Well, Mrs. Prowne, what do you think of her?" Kitty hadn't realized that someone else was there.

Kitty turned round to find that a tiny woman with black eyebrows and the whitest of white hair was seated in one of the armchairs, her fingers nimbly st.i.tching a strip of lace onto a white muslin cap. "Wild little thing she looks't' be," the woman said, barely glancing up from her work. "Just as you said."

"It's only my hair," Kitty protested in self-defense. "I haven't had time to braid it."

"Mrs. Prowne was not speaking to you, girl," the butler said with a glare. "Were you not taught never to speak until spoken to? You see, Mrs. Prowne? Not only has the girl no manners, but she has something to say about everything." Mrs. Prowne nodded. "Very free with 'er mouth, just as you told me, Mr. Naismith. I see just what you mean." Taking a momentary pause in her needlework, she peered up at Kitty and wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Goodness me, child, take off that 'orrid cap. And is that shabby frock your service dress?"