bit of town bronze.’
Felice shook out the folds of burgundy silk on her lap. ‘Miss Jane will look very well tomorrow evening, I think,’ she volunteered.
It was so unusual for the lady’s maid to say anything that her remark was greeted in surprised silence.
‘Is she going?’ asked Rainbird curiously.
‘Yes,’ said Felice. ‘I am to alter an old gown of Miss Euphemia.’
‘But she should wear white, surely,’ said Jenny.
‘White would not serve,’ said the lady’s maid. ‘This colour will flatter her and I, myself, will arrange her hair.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Rainbird. ‘Miss Jane has done nothing but mope about her room and ask morbid questions about Miss Clara.’
Felice’s busy needle paused. ‘Who is this Miss Clara?’ she asked.
‘The Honourable Miss Clara Vere-Baxton,’ said Rainbird. ‘The Vere-Baxtons were our second tenants after the death of the old duke. Miss Clara was very beautiful. A great tragedy.’
‘Was?’ Felice’s black eyes looked intently at the butler.
‘She was found dead in the Green Park near the reservoir without a mark on her,’ said Rainbird.
‘Miss Jane’s been asking all sorts of questions like, ‘What did she die of? She must have died of something.’ I told Miss Jane that the physician, Mr Gillespie, could not find any explanation of her death.’
‘I’m sure if anyone can give Miss Jane a bit of town bronze it will be yourself,’ said Joseph, gazing with open admiration at the lady’s maid. Lizzie felt a sharp pain somewhere in the region of her heart.
‘In any case, it’s unhealthy for little Miss Jane to be left alone to brood about such things,’ said Rainbird, ‘with only a servant like myself to talk to.’
They all clucked and shook their heads in sympathy. It was indeed a sad state of affairs when the gentry had to rely on such as themselves for conversation.
Upstairs, Jane was content that she was to attend the rout. She had longed to ask her mother whether a certain Lord Tregarthan would be present, but did not dare, knowing her mother’s curiosity would be roused and also that Euphemia would tease her to death.
The idea of a party was lovely. Jane naively thought it would be a jolly affair with, perhaps, some dancing, never having met anyone who had been to a London rout. The social columns had been no help, for they only described who had been at various routs without pointing out the lack of refreshments or amusements.
Euphemia’s gown was to come from Madame Duchasse, one of London’s leading dressmakers. Jane knew her own gown was to made be out of one of Euphemia’s old silks. She did not find this state of things unfair although she often chided herself over her own jealousy. It was surely natural that the elder and fairer should claim all the attention.
Jane adored the butler, Rainbird, since she saw a side of him that he hid from the rest of her family. She was vastly amused at the way the butler cleverly manipulated her mother into opening the purse strings a little wider. It had not taken the astute Rainbird long to find out that it was Mrs Hart who was head of the household and not the silent Captain Hart.
So Jane dreamt sensibly of meeting some pleasant gentleman who might find her interesting enough to chat to, and put Lord Tregarthan firmly to the back of her mind.
The rout was such a squeeze, such a crush, that it was doubtful if poor Jane, who had been placed in a corner of the back parlour and told to stay there, would have met Lord Tregarthan but for two factors.
Before the rout, the normally abstemious Rainbird had drunk long and deep, and Euphemia had been rude to him.
Rainbird, finding he had money in his pocket for the first time in many months, slipped out to The Running Footman, that pub frequented by upper servants, and there met Blenkinsop, Lord Charteris’s butler from next door.
Blenkinsop was complaining about the load of coal he had found in the cellar. He had ordered
Felice shook out the folds of burgundy silk on her lap. ‘Miss Jane will look very well tomorrow evening, I think,’ she volunteered.
It was so unusual for the lady’s maid to say anything that her remark was greeted in surprised silence.
‘Is she going?’ asked Rainbird curiously.
‘Yes,’ said Felice. ‘I am to alter an old gown of Miss Euphemia.’
‘But she should wear white, surely,’ said Jenny.
‘White would not serve,’ said the lady’s maid. ‘This colour will flatter her and I, myself, will arrange her hair.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Rainbird. ‘Miss Jane has done nothing but mope about her room and ask morbid questions about Miss Clara.’
Felice’s busy needle paused. ‘Who is this Miss Clara?’ she asked.
‘The Honourable Miss Clara Vere-Baxton,’ said Rainbird. ‘The Vere-Baxtons were our second tenants after the death of the old duke. Miss Clara was very beautiful. A great tragedy.’
‘Was?’ Felice’s black eyes looked intently at the butler.
‘She was found dead in the Green Park near the reservoir without a mark on her,’ said Rainbird.
‘Miss Jane’s been asking all sorts of questions like, ‘What did she die of? She must have died of something.’ I told Miss Jane that the physician, Mr Gillespie, could not find any explanation of her death.’
‘I’m sure if anyone can give Miss Jane a bit of town bronze it will be yourself,’ said Joseph, gazing with open admiration at the lady’s maid. Lizzie felt a sharp pain somewhere in the region of her heart.
‘In any case, it’s unhealthy for little Miss Jane to be left alone to brood about such things,’ said Rainbird, ‘with only a servant like myself to talk to.’
They all clucked and shook their heads in sympathy. It was indeed a sad state of affairs when the gentry had to rely on such as themselves for conversation.
Upstairs, Jane was content that she was to attend the rout. She had longed to ask her mother whether a certain Lord Tregarthan would be present, but did not dare, knowing her mother’s curiosity would be roused and also that Euphemia would tease her to death.
The idea of a party was lovely. Jane naively thought it would be a jolly affair with, perhaps, some dancing, never having met anyone who had been to a London rout. The social columns had been no help, for they only described who had been at various routs without pointing out the lack of refreshments or amusements.
Euphemia’s gown was to come from Madame Duchasse, one of London’s leading dressmakers. Jane knew her own gown was to made be out of one of Euphemia’s old silks. She did not find this state of things unfair although she often chided herself over her own jealousy. It was surely natural that the elder and fairer should claim all the attention.
Jane adored the butler, Rainbird, since she saw a side of him that he hid from the rest of her family. She was vastly amused at the way the butler cleverly manipulated her mother into opening the purse strings a little wider. It had not taken the astute Rainbird long to find out that it was Mrs Hart who was head of the household and not the silent Captain Hart.
So Jane dreamt sensibly of meeting some pleasant gentleman who might find her interesting enough to chat to, and put Lord Tregarthan firmly to the back of her mind.
The rout was such a squeeze, such a crush, that it was doubtful if poor Jane, who had been placed in a corner of the back parlour and told to stay there, would have met Lord Tregarthan but for two factors.
Before the rout, the normally abstemious Rainbird had drunk long and deep, and Euphemia had been rude to him.
Rainbird, finding he had money in his pocket for the first time in many months, slipped out to The Running Footman, that pub frequented by upper servants, and there met Blenkinsop, Lord Charteris’s butler from next door.
Blenkinsop was complaining about the load of coal he had found in the cellar. He had ordered
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