Rags-To-Riches Wife

‘The gentleman has not yet left, but when he does I shall be sure to go directly to my mistress and apologise.’

‘I should think so! But why were you there? And what on earth made you do it? You are not normally clumsy.’

‘Ah, that I must tell you... Mary cut her head, so I decided to take the tea. Then the gentleman said my name, and it was so unexpected that I dropped the tray.’

Jane, still lost in mortification, could not even describe the disaster properly.

‘He said your name? What on earth are you talking about? Honestly, Jane, sometimes you baffle me with your incoherence.’

‘Sorry, Mama. There is truly little more to tell. I was not particularly listening to their conversation—you have always encouraged me to develop the skill of not attending to business that does not concern me. Then suddenly he said, “Her name is Jane Bailey”.’ She nodded furiously. ‘Yes, I know! I am puzzled too. I have been racking my brains, but I cannot think of why he might be here, or why any gentleman might be seeking me.’

As she spoke, a bell on the wall rang—Jane’s bell—swiftly followed by the housekeeper’s bell. Miss Marianne wanted them both!

They glanced at each other, then wordlessly rose, making for the drawing room.

The gentleman had gone—Jane ascertained as much from the second footman as they went through the hall. Strangely, Jane felt a pang of—something—at this news. But of course he was gone—which was why they were now summoned to their mistress.

‘Enter!’

The Countess’s voice rang out in response to Mrs Bailey’s gentle scratching on the door. Jane was conscious that her heart was beating rather quickly. Despite all her years of service to Miss Marianne, and knowing of her kindness and her loyalty, a servant’s greatest worry was always that of being dismissed.

Lady Kingswood was seated in her favourite armchair, looking pensive.

Jane glanced automatically towards the carpet, instantly spotting various crumbs and tiny shards of china—clear evidence of the recent mishap.

‘Oh, my lady, I apologise! I do not know what came over me, for I am not normally so clumsy.’

Miss Marianne snorted. ‘Well, if you do not know, Jane, I most certainly do. Lord, when he said the name of the woman he was seeking I almost collapsed in shock. If I had been holding a tray I have no doubt I, too, would have dropped it. No—’ she waved a hand ‘—I do not wish to hear any further apologies. It is forgotten!’

Jane smiled weakly.

See? You need not have worried, the rational part of her brain offered complacently.

Her still racing heart and moist palms could not agree.

Mrs Bailey was frowning. ‘Might I ask, my lady, who is this gentleman? And what is his interest in my daughter?’

‘I confess I do not fully understand it myself.’ She picked up a card. ‘His name is Mr Robert Kendal and, in essence, he says he has been sent here by an elderly relative of his to fetch Jane to visit the old man in Yorkshire before he dies. Although his death is not imminent. The old man’s, I mean.’

She was looking closely at Mama, as if waiting for her to say something.

Mama remained silent.

‘But why?’ Jane was mystified. ‘I know no Mr Kendal, nor anyone with the name Kendal, and I have never seen this gentleman before.’

That I am sure of, for I would not have forgotten a gentleman so handsome!

‘Mr Kendal himself seems not to know why you are sought, Jane. In fact, he hoped I could enlighten him.’ Lady Kingswood’s eyes danced. ‘I suspect he thinks you may be the result of a youthful adventure on his relative’s part. He pictures you as middle-aged.’

‘Youthful adventure? What—? Oh!’ Jane gaped.

Mrs Bailey was bristling with indignation. ‘Well, I shall tell him straight! My Jane is no man’s by-blow, for me and my Ned were married fair and square! And my own parents were as respectable as they come! Youthful adventure, indeed!’

‘Of course, Mrs Bailey!’ Lady Kingswood’s tone was soothing. ‘I suspect Mr Kendal knows very little about either of you, and so he has reached his own conclusions.’

‘Well, if he thinks I shall allow my Jane to go off with him to visit some unknown elderly gentleman—’ Mama broke off, as if an idea had just come to her. ‘Did you say Yorkshire?’

‘I did. Does that mean something to you?’

‘Did Mr Kendal specify which part of Yorkshire?’

‘Er—the West Riding. A place called Ardendale or something.’

Mrs Bailey gasped. ‘Ardendale...or Arkendale, perhaps?’

‘Yes—Arkendale!’

‘And his relative’s name?’

‘Mullinthorpe? Melkinthorpe?’ Lady Kingswood was frowning with the effort of trying to remember.

‘Millthorpe?’

‘That’s it! Millthorpe!’

Mrs Bailey put a hand to her chest. ‘Mr Millthorpe! Never again did I think to hear that name!’

Jane rose, touching her mother’s arm. ‘Who is he, Mama?’

‘If it is him, and not some other relative—’ she looked directly at Jane ‘—he is Ned’s father. Your grandfather!’

‘My grandfather?’ Jane almost squeaked in shock. ‘But why is his name not Bailey? And I thought he would have nothing to do with Papa—with any of us—after Papa married you?’

‘So Ned always said. As a servant, I was not good enough for the Millthorpe name, apparently. Ned defied him by changing his name to Bailey—which was from his mother’s side.’

Jane’s mind was reeling. ‘Then—my grandfather may be still alive and wishing to meet me?’

‘So it would seem.’

Jane’s knees felt strangely soft, as if the bones were melting. She had not thought of Papa’s family in years.

My grandfather! What is he like? Do I look like him? Has he, perhaps, forgiven Papa?

An image of a tender deathbed reunion filled her mind. She shook it away—there was nothing to suggest what Mr Millthorpe’s motives might be in trying to find her.

‘And who, then, is this Mr Kendal? A servant?’ Mama’s tone was sharp.

‘No, definitely a gentleman.’ The Countess tilted her head on one side, remembering. ‘He referred to Mr Millthorpe as “Uncle”, yet clarified that he is not truly his uncle but a distant relative. I did wonder if there was some connection with your husband’s family...’

‘Hmph! The whole thing smacks of Mr Millthorpe’s desire to manage everyone around him. That was Ned’s abiding memory of his father. Even now, with my poor Ned long gone, his domineering father seeks to control him through my Jane!’ Mama wiped a tear away with the corner of her apron.

‘Mama!’ Jane touched her arm. ‘Of course I shall not go, if you do not wish it.’

Mama never cried. After that day—the day of Papa’s death—Mama had been careful to keep her grief to herself. Jane had come upon her suddenly on a couple of occasions, and seen her mother wipe away tears, but never had she allowed herself to cry in front of Jane. For her to do so today was shocking, and Jane felt the force of it.

Mama continued, her voice tight with pain and anger. ‘Mr Millthorpe was cold and cruel. He pushed away his only child—and why? Because Ned had the misfortune to fall in love with me: a servant. I have never met the man, but my impression is that he thinks of me—of all servants—as vermin, to be used and discarded. He has no heart, no conscience. He must have known Ned would struggle, yet he never made any attempt to reconcile with him.’

Jane, her mind too disordered to operate clearly, nevertheless felt the force of Mama’s pain. And Papa’s.

Lady Kingswood’s brow creased. ‘How awful! I remember, of course, that your husband had died not long before you came to us, and that he was a gentleman, but I do not recall hearing any more about his family.’

‘I did not speak much of it.’ Mama pressed her lips together. ‘Again, I should like to know, who is Mr Kendal and what is his role in all of this?’ She eyed her mistress. ‘What have you told him about Jane?’

‘Not a word,’ Lady Kingswood assured her. ‘He knows I am acquainted with Jane, but has no notion that he himself has already met her!’

Jane, still in something like shock, voiced her bemusement. ‘My grandfather is alive! Why would he wish to see me? What if he is still angry with Papa, and wishes to punish him—or me...?’ She shuddered. ‘I cannot put myself in any man’s power.’ Cold fear trickled through her belly as Master Henry threatened to resurface in her memory. ‘What is to happen next?’

‘Well,’ said Lady Kingswood diffidently, ‘I thought you both might like to meet him yourself before he knows who Jane Bailey is.’

‘Thank you, Miss Marianne. I declare that is sensible.’ Mama was all gratitude. ‘But how shall we contrive it?’

‘I have invited him to dinner. Lady Cecily is returning later—please prepare her room, Mrs Bailey—and I have sent a note to Reverend Burns to make up the numbers. It is only right that we should attempt to discover more of his character, and of Mr Millthorpe, before you decide whether Jane should go with him.’

Mrs Bailey shook her head. ‘I am not sure she should go anywhere near the old man, no matter how personable this Mr Kendal may be.’

Jane listened with trepidation, and more than a little confusion. At this moment she had no notion of what she wanted, beyond a sneaking suspicion that she would very much like to see Mr Kendal again...

Chapter Four

Strange...thought Robert idly, glancing at the few remaining russet, gold and yellow leaves still clinging to the trees as his carriage rumbled through the country lanes towards Ledbury House. Even in February some of their trees still hold a few autumn leaves, while in Yorkshire winter has been with us for nigh on four months already. Winter comes later and kinder this far south.

He felt a pang of nostalgia for his home. He was often gone from Beechmount Hall on matters of business, but after a few days away he always ached to return. Not long now. If Lady Kingswood would only tell him where he could find this Jane Bailey, then...

Then his next task would be to convince her to come with him—but what method of persuasion Robert was to use he honestly did not know.

He sighed as the carriage pulled up outside the front door. The postilion dismounted from the lead horse and let down the step. Robert descended, glancing around instinctively. Ledbury House was a fine dwelling, comfortable and cosy without being imposing. The contrast with Beechmount Hall, where he had lived for the past twenty years, was stark.

His hostess was there to greet him and introduce him to her guests—the local vicar and a young relative whom she addressed as Lady Cecily. Apparently she was Lord Kingswood’s ward and lived at Ledbury House. She had been away visiting relatives and had just returned.

How could he discover more about the identity and whereabouts of Jane Bailey when there were four of them for dinner?

Shortly after his arrival, dinner was served. Robert accompanied Lady Kingswood to the dining room, with the Reverend Burns and Lady Cecily following. Naturally rather reticent, he had learned over the years to endure social gatherings with an appearance of equanimity. Afterwards, he always found himself drained by the effort of being in company.

I do believe, he thought now, my aversion to empty social intercourse goes back to my circumstances at the time when I first moved to Beechmount Hall.

Tonight, however, Robert had a purpose, and he intended to make the most of the opportunity.

He had the honour of being placed on Lady Kingswood’s right, and as the first course was served she politely drew him out, asking if Yorkshire had always been his home.

‘It has,’ he confirmed. ‘I was born in Harrogate and lived there with my parents until my father died, after which my mother and I moved to Beechmount Hall. I was eight, so that was exactly twenty years ago.’

The vicar and Lady Cecily were conversing politely at the other side of the table. Robert absentmindedly thanked the footman who was serving the first course—soup, along with a squab pie and some leeks. He tried a forkful, which tasted delicious.

‘Your mother is related to the family there?’ Lady Kingswood continued.

‘Distantly,’ he confirmed, as a middle-aged female servant entered, carrying further dishes. She was followed by a maid—the pretty one who had dropped the tray earlier.

Females waiting at table? Unusual. A deliberate informality, Robert suspected.

Lady Kingswood was politely waiting for him to say more.

‘My mother’s aunt is Mr Millthorpe’s second wife—his first having died many years previously. Aunt Eugenia is my mama’s only living relation, so it made sense for us to move there.’ He shrugged. ‘I was too young to fully understand the reasons, but I believe my mother and her aunt provide female company for each other, so it suits both of them.’

‘Wait. Mrs Millthorpe is your great-aunt, and yet you also address her as “aunt”?’

‘Yes—at Mrs Millthorpe’s request. I should explain I call her husband my uncle, although he is in fact only my great-uncle by marriage. Mrs Millthorpe desires me to call them simply “aunt” and “uncle”, as my mother does, declaring she would not suffer the indignity of being anyone’s great-aunt!’

Lady Kingswood smiled at this. ‘And are they both still there at Beechmount Hall?’

The servants, having placed all the dishes on the table and removed the covers, now stood back impassively, waiting for them to eat. Normally Robert would barely notice, but the maid with rosy cheeks continually drew his attention. Not that she was doing anything in particular.

It is just that she is remarkably pretty.

A footman served Robert a slice of pie. ‘Er—yes, they are. My Aunt Eugenia swears she could not manage without my mother.’ He frowned.

Lady Kingswood glanced briefly across the table, to where the vicar and Lady Cecily seemed entirely focused on their own conversation. ‘And it is your uncle who has sent you here?’

Robert nodded. ‘It is.’

‘Tell me more of Mr Millthorpe.’

For the next two hours Robert attempted to reassure Lady Kingswood of his honourable intentions. He could not be dishonest about his uncle, but carefully used words such as ‘eccentric’ and ‘strong-willed’ to signal something of the old man’s character without, he hoped, frightening the Countess.

At times Lady Kingswood conversed politely with the vicar, while Robert chatted about botany and books with Lady Cecily. However, each time the table turned he and Lady Kingswood returned to their discussions of Beechmount Hall and those who lived there.

The name Jane Bailey was not mentioned.

All in all it had been a most pleasant evening, if tiring, he concluded, climbing into his coach while the coachman held up a lantern for him. And hopefully a useful one. Lady Kingswood had asked him to return on the morrow, which he took as a positive sign.

As the post chaise made its way down the lanes by moonlight towards the inn at Netherton his thoughts turned again to the pretty housemaid. It had been a long time since a woman had caught his eye. He had had his share of discreet liaisons—most recently with a London courtesan, and until just two months ago a flirtatious widow in York. He had no thought of marriage, so restricted himself to encounters where the woman involved would understand what he could and could not give.

Respectable servants, no matter how beautiful, had never been of interest to him. Until now.

I wonder what her name is, he thought idly. She should be Diana, goddess of the woods. The huntress, the wild one...

He chuckled at his own flight of fancy.

Ah, but she is a goddess, hiding in a servant’s livery.

‘My fair Diana!’ he muttered aloud, imagining himself offering her a sweeping bow, before kissing her hand. ‘Lord!’ he told himself. ‘You are drunk, Robert. Do not let a flirtation distract you from your obligation.’

Yet as the carriage trundled on he lost himself in imaginings which would have shocked the ladies of Ledbury House.

Jane awoke early, before the first light of dawn began seeping into the basement window of the chamber she shared with her mother. Serving at table—not something she or her mama normally did—had been challenging, and she had needed all her years of training to remain impassive as Mr Kendal had talked of her grandfather, his second wife and her father’s family home.

Until yesterday she had known very little about such things. Sensitive to her mother’s pain—and to her decree that they must not speak of Papa’s family—Jane had kept her curiosity to herself, where it had burned in a glowing ember, deep within her.

Once her mother had frowned at her, and she had, with effort, torn her eyes away from Mr Kendal’s handsome profile. He had been entirely focused on his conversation with Miss Marianne, but Lady Cecily had been eyeing her with puzzlement.

Jane had diverted her gaze from the good-looking visitor, instead staring fixedly into the middle distance, over the heads of all the diners, with, she hoped, no interest. Lady Cecily, who knew full well that the housekeeper and Lady Kingswood’s personal maid should not be serving, had, after a moment, returned to her conversation with the vicar.

After that Jane had been careful not to look directly at Mr Kendal, though in truth she had remained entirely conscious of him throughout the evening. At times she had struggled to hear his words over Lady Cecily’s conversation with the vicar and the scrape and clang of cutlery on china. But she believed she had the essentials.

I find him interesting.

The thought made her heart flutter in a strange and novel way. If he had been, like her, a servant, she might have sought to get to know him. The realisation was disturbing. Ever since Master Henry had attacked her four years ago she had been wary of men of all classes, but particularly gentlemen, some of whom seemed to believe they could use their power however they wished.

She turned over on to her side, watching the light slowly grow on the unadorned wall in front of her.

Will Mama permit me to travel to Yorkshire?

Looking into her heart, she was unsurprised to find her own wishes were now clear. She wanted to meet her grandfather and spend time in the place where Papa had grown up.

And, she admitted to herself, I wish to see Mr Kendal again.

Mr Kendal would return today, she knew, hoping to have an answer to his request for information.

Ten minutes later Mama awoke, and they both rose and prepared for the day. Conscious that her hands were shaking a little, Jane donned a plain grey gown with a lace fichu and buttoned herself into stout boots. She brushed her hair and tied it up, then added the crisp white cap denoting her status, along with a clean apron.

Mama did not mention Mr Kendal, and nor did Jane, yet there was an air of expectancy about everything. It tingled just out of Jane’s reach. Something different. Interesting. Exciting.

In only a few hours all would be resolved one way or another.

‘There you go, my lady,’ said Jane, adding one final pin to her mistress’s coiffure. ‘You look beautiful.’

Lady Kingswood patted her hand. ‘Thank you, Jane. Now...’ She turned as she spoke, away from the mirror, to look at Jane directly. ‘What did you make of Mr Kendal?’

Jane felt a slow blush build in her cheeks. ‘He seems a true gentleman.’

Miss Marianne’s eyes narrowed. ‘I believe he is.’

Unspoken between them were their experiences at the hands of Master Henry.

‘I know,’ said Lady Kingswood after a moment, ‘that you will heed your mother’s advice, but if it were up to you, would you wish to travel to Yorkshire?’

Jane nodded firmly. ‘I would. I have never met my grandfather, and it sounds as though this may be my only opportunity. I assume my grandfather will pay the costs of my travel, and as a serving maid I need no chaperone. In that sense my going will inconvenience only myself and you, Miss Marianne!’ She bit her lip. ‘How should you manage if I am not here to assist you? I could not leave you for so long. Why, it will take nigh on a week to get there, and another to come back, plus whatever time I spend there...’

Lady Kingswood seemed to be considering her words carefully. ‘Jane, you have been my maid since we were but children ourselves, and I shall, of course, miss you dreadfully. But I believe it is important you take this opportunity, should your mama permit. I shall ask Mary to assist me while you are gone.’

‘Mary!’ A spasm of anxiety coursed through Jane.

What if Miss Marianne prefers Mary? What if I am ousted from my place on my return?

She frowned at her own fears. Miss Marianne would not do such a thing!

‘Yes, Mary,’ Lady Kingswood repeated firmly. ‘She can at least dress hair, though I am not hopeful of her mending skills being anywhere near yours.’ She smiled. ‘Do not fret, Jane. There is much more between us than mistress and servant. Your place in my heart makes it impossible you could be forgotten.’

‘Thank you, my lady,’ Jane replied gruffly.

‘Mr Kendal is expected in the next hour. Ring the bell for Mrs Bailey and we shall see what is to happen.’

‘Lady Kingswood!’ Robert gave a smart bow, conscious that the moment of truth had finally arrived.

Was he going to be obliged to return to Yorkshire having failed in his task? He could just imagine his uncle’s biting reaction if that were the case.

The old man could go from mild-mannered and easy to severe and sharp in an instant—particularly when his demands were thwarted. As a child, Robert had quaked in his boots at such moments. Now, remembering his uncle’s wistful expression as he had contemplated the report on Miss Bailey, Robert felt a burning need to succeed in the task set for him.

Do I still seek my uncle’s approval, even after all this time?

‘Good day, Mr Kendal. Please be seated.’

Her expression gave nothing away. They exchanged niceties—he being careful to thank her once again for her hospitality and for the excellent dinner the night before. Then there was a pause.

‘Lady Kingswood,’ he ventured. ‘You understand I have come here in the hope that I may finally be informed about the whereabouts of Jane Bailey. I have been away from home now for a week, and must soon either speak to her or return to Yorkshire.’

She nodded decisively. ‘I am aware.’ She tapped her fingers lightly on the arm of her chair. ‘Let me be frank with you, Mr Kendal. You have given me information about your uncle, and about your home. You have also indicated that you are unclear about why Jane Bailey is being sought in Yorkshire.’

‘That is correct.’

‘Miss Bailey has never been away from her family before, and is not well-travelled. Can you guarantee no harm or upset shall come to her should she go with you?’

He was conscious of a thrill of victory—which might be premature. ‘Whatever is in my power to influence I shall do so in order to protect her, I assure you.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘Your phrasing does not inspire me with confidence, Mr Kendal.’

He spread his hands. ‘I only meant to say I am not in control of the roads, the weather, disease, or unexpected events such as accidents. But I can assure you, my lady, her happiness and comfort will be my priority. I have brought my own post-chaise, and intend to hire horses and postilions at the posting inns. We shall travel by easy stages, and no more than forty or fifty miles per day.’