Rags-To-Riches Wife. Catherine Tinley

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ personal maid to Marianne Ashington, Lady Kingswood, it was Jane’s responsibility to anticipate her mistress’s needs, and weather predicting was part of it. Miss Marianne might wish to walk in the garden today, or visit friends, or she might be content to read or embroider inside the house. Jane, therefore, needed to prepare both a fine silk day dress and a stouter wool walking gown.

      Normally the Countess spent much of her time with her young son, John, and Jane’s life was complicated by the impact of grubby hand marks and food spills on her mistress’s fine gowns. Still, one could forgive little John almost anything, she thought, picturing the child’s angelic smile.

      ‘Good morning, my lady,’ she said cheerfully, entering the Countess’s room a little after nine, as usual.

      She pulled back the heavy curtains, allowing the pale winter sunshine to spill into the chamber. One of the scullery maids came behind her, immediately beginning to clean out the fireplace. Jane eyed her mistress closely. The Countess yawned and stretched, mumbling a sleepy greeting.

      ‘I hope you have slept well, my lady.’ Jane picked up the chamber pot and passed it to Aggie, the scullery maid, who disappeared with it. Everyone in the household knew their place and their tasks.

      ‘I slept very well, thank you.’ The Countess eased herself into a sitting position. ‘Even though I had company.’ She indicated the small tousled head beside her.

      The Earl was in London, dealing with matters of business, so Master John had, it seemed, undertaken to keep his mama company in his papa’s absence.

      Jane smiled. ‘Good morning, Master John.’

      The child was awake, eyeing her with solemnity. Within minutes, Jane knew, he would be up and running around like a spinning top. At nearly two years of age he was the undoubted darling of Ledbury House. His parents adored him, as did all the servants, yet he was in no danger of being spoiled. His mama was not over-indulgent, and neither was—

      ‘There you are, my lambkin!’ Nurse bustled into the room, all starched white cotton and kind efficiency. She scooped little John up into her arms and he nestled into her ample bosom. ‘I shall change those damp linens immediately, my lamb!’

      The Countess, smiling indulgently at her offspring as he disappeared, accepted a cup of tea from Jane with a murmur of thanks.

      ‘Would you like a bath today?’ asked Jane. Miss Marianne had talked of it yesterday.

      The Countess shivered. ‘Perhaps later, when the chamber is warm. For now—’ she threw back the covers ‘—I shall get up.’

      After her mistress had washed, Jane helped her dress in a clean shift and, following some debate, a stout walking dress of fine russet merino. Lady Kingswood’s favourite nightgown was in need of a wash, so she folded it to take downstairs.

      Aggie had returned, and lit a fire in the Countess’s fireplace. As the morning chill began slowly to ease a little the Countess took her seat before the mirror, sipping a dish of tea and allowing Jane to dress her hair.

      Jane smiled inwardly. She loved this part of the day. The Countess’s hair was long, dark and lustrous, and Jane adored brushing and styling it. She had cared for Lady Kingswood for almost ten years—since she was plain Miss Marianne Grant and Jane, then thirteen, had been assigned to serve her. Inwardly, and sometimes aloud, she still called her Miss Marianne.

      After Papa had died, Jane had had to adapt quickly from the carefree life she had lived while he was alive to one where she earned her keep. The first year after Papa’s death had been particularly harrowing. Once their meagre savings had run out, Mama and Jane had left their little cottage and sought temporary work in a series of taverns. They had frequently gone hungry that winter, and their clothes had become decidedly ragged. Thankfully Mama had secured a position in Miss Marianne’s home the following summer, and had risen eventually to the exalted position of housekeeper.

      Jane, too, had done well for herself. After starting as a scullery maid in the same household she had, given her gentle manners, been promoted to the role of upstairs housemaid. At thirteen she had been offered the opportunity to train as Miss Marianne’s personal servant, and had been devoted to her mistress ever since.

      More recently, in the year Miss Marianne had married, Jane and her mama had followed their mistress to Ledbury House, where Jane’s mother was now housekeeper. Apart from a dark few months spent apart, Miss Marianne had been the centre of Jane’s life since she was thirteen.

      ‘Now, Jane. Some French today, I think.’

      ‘Yes, Miss M—I mean, my lady.’

      Miss Marianne, discovering that Jane had, until the age of eight, been raised as a gentleman’s daughter, had decided to continue her education. Over the years Jane had developed a creditable knowledge of French, German and Italian, along with an appreciation of history and philosophy. The Countess was a born tutor, and had used her skills as a governess when she had had to leave her home following the deaths of her parents.

      Jane frowned, remembering that dark time. Miss Marianne’s stepbrother, Henry Grant, had importuned her, causing Miss Marianne to leave her home in the dead of night. Two months later Jane and her mother had been forced to follow, after Master Henry had attempted to violate Jane herself.

      She shuddered. Do not think of it!

      Thankfully Henry had died four years ago, leaving Miss Marianne free to marry the man she loved, and Jane and her mother safe in her employ.

      He no longer has the power to hurt us, she reminded herself as she responded to Miss Marianne’s French conversation.

      And yet Henry was always with her, lurking in the shadows of her heart. Laughing at her.

       We are safe here in Ledbury House.

      But for how long? Ever since that day when the fever had taken Papa, Jane had felt as though the ground beneath her was soft, uncertain. Hunger and insecurity had worked its way into her bones during that year of mourning, of scarcity, of homelessness. Much more had vanished along with her papa—Rose Cottage, a regular income, food, warm clothes...

      But Mama and Jane had worked hard—harder than most of their colleagues—and their industry had been rewarded with long-term positions. Jane had just begun to settle after a few years, begun to believe they had found a new home, when all had shifted again. The master and mistress they had been serving had died in a terrible carriage accident, leaving Miss Marianne orphaned and under the care of her stepbrother.

      Once again the home Jane had come to love had been taken from her, when Master Henry’s evil intent had meant it was not a safe place to live. Once again she and Mama had found themselves homeless and needing to start again.

      But then they had followed Miss Marianne here, to Ledbury House, where they had now been living for almost five years.

      In her heart, though, Jane could not feel fully at ease. Always it seemed to her that some disaster would surely occur, causing her once again to lose her home. She felt as though her life would be ever thus—that she would always be at the whim of others, never the mistress of her own fate. Memories of hunger, of poverty, of homelessness lay buried within her, rising at times to flood her with anxiety.

      When she had voiced her worries to Mama, her СКАЧАТЬ