The Viscount’s Vendetta by Kathy L. Wheeler

Twenty-One

M

aeve tapped the feather of her quill against her chin, studying the woman across from her. Threads of faded red interspersed the gray of her hair. “So, you’re my new housekeeper…” Maeve drew her words out.

“Aye, milady.”

“And your name is…”

“Ina.”

“That’s right. Ina. What is your surname, Ina?”

“McCaskle.”

Maeve glanced down at the foolscap and read the list of her supposed qualifications. “I see. And Mr. McCaskle?”

“He be me husband, milady. Going on twenty some odd years now.”

“Your qualifications appear outstanding,” Maeve grudgingly admitted.

“That they are, milady.”

Maeve had been in desperate need of a housekeeper. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t hesitate to tear a strip of hide off Harlowe at her first opportunity. “All right,” she relented on a sigh. “You may stay.”

Maeve dismissed her new housekeeper as in ‘allowed her” to take up her new duties.

She rose from behind the escritoire in the smaller parlor and settled in one of the winged back chairs near the fire and pinched the bridge of her nose. She should be furious with Harlowe’s high-handedness, but in truth, he’d saved her the tremendous headache of filling two of the key positions of her new household. There were several more needed for a house this size. Scullery maids, a groundskeeper, a cook. The list was endless.

The long clock in the hall chimed. Nine o’clock. She was exhausted. She worried for Penny, but she was ensconced in the same room with Mary, so if she woke there would be someone nearby to sooth her terror.

Maeve had been able to get a little more out of Penny regarding her sister. For one thing, she’d misunderstood her name. It was Melinda. After the grime from Penny’s nose had been cleared the matter of her name had been rectified. So instead of “Blinda,” Penny now said “Mlinda” which eventually became Mellie.

“Would you care for tea, Lady Alymer?” Agnes’s soft voice sounded from the arch of the small elaborate drawing room.

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Maeve smiled as she brought in a tray already prepared.

“Shall we visit, Agnes?”

“Visit? Oh, milady, I couldn’t possibly.”

“I know it’s unusual, Agnes. But I wish to talk to someone, and there doesn’t appear to be anyone else about.” Not to mention the questions Maeve had regarding her previous employer.

“So ye’ll be akeepin’ Mrs. and Mr. McCaskle then?”

“Yes. But Lord Harlowe has most definitely overstepped his bounds, and I intend to tell him so at the first opportunity.”

A fleeting smile touched her lips as she lowered slowly across from Maeve, sitting on the edge of the settee, prepared to flee if need be.

Maeve filled a cup of tea for her and added a generous amount of sugar and cream. She had every reason to believe Agnes would never allow herself such a liberty. She handed over the cup.

Agnes accepted the offer with trembling hands.

“How old are you, my dear?”

“Twenty, milady.” There was nothing defiant about this young woman. She knew her place and was careful not to appear she was above it. She was slight in build, her dark hair pulled away from a sylphlike face, white mob cap atop. Large gray eyes studied Maeve.

“Can you read?”

Her eyes dropped to the contents of her cup. “No, ma’am.”

“I think we should do something about that,” Maeve said.

Her shocked gaze flew to Maeve.

Maeve smiled. “I must say, Agnes, it’s quite the feat you managed, handling the household affairs as you did for as long as you did. How on earth did you do it?”

“I didn’t steal nothin’, yer ladyhip.”

Maeve pulled up. “Oh, dear. You misunderstand me, Agnes. I truly am in awe. I’m not going to sack you. I’m beside myself with admiration.”

“Y-you are?” she whispered.

“I certainly wouldn’t have fired my maid if I hadn’t been.” Maeve sipped at her own tea. “How do you feel about stepping in as my lady’s maid? As you are currently aware, I’m in desperate need.”

Agnes still held her cup, not drinking. She gaped. “But… you’re a… lady.”

Maeve stifled her sigh. “Yes, and I require a lady’s maid if you recall.”

Her eyes fluttered with a suspicious glistening. “Are ye sure, yer ladyship?”

“Did you assist Miss Hollerfield and Lady Harlowe with their toilets? With their dress? With their hair?”

She nodded, apparently unable to speak.

“From my understanding, Miss Rowena Hollerfield had been turned out in the first stare of fashion. I take it you had a hand in that?”

She nodded again.

“I knew Corinne. She was a beautiful young woman.” If melancholic. “And you assisted her as well, correct?”

“Yes, milady.” Agnes’s voice did not rise above a whisper.

Maeve took another sip of her tea. “Then the matter is settled. You are hereby hired, with a pay raise, as my personal lady’s maid.” Maeve hid a smile behind her cup and spoke with a blandness that would never fool another soul. Then she frowned. “Of course, I would appreciate any help with Penny and the others. I’m not completely convinced of the McCaskles at this juncture. Has there, um, been any incidents of which I should be made aware?”

Her nose wrinkled. “No. She is much better than Miss Rowena’s old housekee—” she stopped, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Agnes.” Maeve reached over and patted her knee. “Please don’t feel as if you cannot speak of Miss Rowena. She was your previous employer. While I was not forced to provide for myself and others as she was forced to do, it would be remiss of me to not acknowledge how similar in temperament we might be. She did what she had to do to survive.”

Agnes stared at her in awed shock. It was almost… flattering.

“I cannot fault her for taking care of her staff so diligently. And Miss Corinne. I admire you greatly, Agnes. You ran this house without a mistress for over a year, my dear. You’ve looked out for Mary and Stephen as well.” She shook her head. “If anyone I know deserves praise, it’s you.”

There was an audible swallow. “Thank you, milady.”

“There is still the small matter of filling the other household positions.” She flung out her hand. “Upstairs maids, a cook, a gardener, and the like.” Again, Maeve found herself stunned at how this uneducated young woman managed Cavendish Square with no one the wiser. It boggled the mind. “I’m most curious, dear, to know how you kept the house running on your own with only Mary and Stephen.”

Breath held, Maeve waited as a range of emotions flashed across Agnes’s face, her struggle evident. But there was something there. How did a servant keep a house afloat for over a year without funds, without vagrants storming the place? Maeve leaned in and put a lemon square and a biscuit on a small plate and handed it to Agnes.

Agnes downed her tea and accepted the plate. “I should love to learn to read. Mary and Stephen could use some learnin’ too, milady.”

It took a moment for Maeve to readjust her thoughts. Agnes was answering the other question Maeve had forgotten she’d asked. “Excellent,” she murmured. “We shall put together a schedule. There’s certainly plenty of room on the third level for a school room.

Agnes nibbled at one of the biscuits, watching Maeve from the corner of her eye, still looking uncomfortable.

Maeve waited.

Agnes seemed to steel herself then set her plate aside coming to some conclusion of her internal debate. There was a stiffening of her spine, a raising of her chin, before her eyes lifted to Maeve’s. “Come with me… yer ladyship. Er, if’n you don’ mind. We shall have to be very quiet, mind, with the McCaskles now installed.”

Maeve nodded and followed Agnes below stairs, past a number of bedchambers, almost all of them empty. Agnes paused only once, to grab a candle from the kitchen and light it, then led Maeve down another flight of stairs into an elaborate wine cellar.

“Close the door, ma’am,” she whispered.

The hair on Maeve’s neck raised, though she did as Agnes asked, even going a step further, and turned the lock.

Full wine racks of dusty bottles lined two of the three walls. Maeve had no doubt they were worth hundreds of pounds. Along a third wall, another case of shelves that was only half the length, held various other liquors: whiskey and rum. Brandy, she guessed, smuggled during the war. These bottles alone would have kept the house in riches for the next twenty years. Beside that shelf was a tasting table of scarred wood with two stools.

Agnes shot a fear-filled look over her shoulder.

Maeve gave her an encouraging nod.

Resignation tinged with bleakness emanated from the younger woman. She turned away and went to the tasting table. Agnes removed the two stools then, despite her slight build, shoved aside the table, went down on her knees, and tugged at a considerable piece of the wall at its base. She tugged out a velvet bag the size of a thick book.

Trepidation sent Maeve’s insides into a chaos that rivaled a storming of the house guards. Agnes stood and set the bag on the table and Maeve’s hands grew clammy. Instead of opening the bag, Agnes stood back and clasped her hands in front of her and, in a silent plea, left Maeve to the task.

Maeve approached the table and ran her fingers over the luxurious texture of the fabric. She untied the strings and opened the bag. Inside she found bank notes and a smaller, leather purse full coins. Nothing Maeve could blame the girl for using. She glanced over at Agnes whose arms wrapped her stomach, a stance much too fearful for mere coin. Maeve took the edges of the bag from the bottom and upended it, spilling the entire contents on the table.

Her breath caught.

Jewels—diamonds, emeralds, sapphires in a variety of settings: ear bobs, bracelets, necklaces, pins—of the likes Maeve had never seen. She picked up a ring with a large square cut ruby. She recognized this particular piece of jewelry. It was the ring Corinne had worn in the painting Brandon was brooding over when Maeve had returned from Oxford’s ball. She set it down with the other pieces and went through the other treasures. A book. She picked it up and flipped it open. “Rowena’s memoirs.” One or two pages in she said, “Begins in 1798”—she paged to the back—“through 1818, or thereabouts.”

“I saw her writin’ in it all the time, ma’am. I-I thought it might be important like.” Agnes’s hands entwined, her features twisted in anguish. “It’s all there, milady. I never used any of the jewels. As you can see there were plenty of blunt. I was real careful. Using just what we needed…” her voice trailed off in a tremor of despair.

“I believe you, Agnes.” Maeve kept her own voice soft and nonthreatening. “Where did you find it?”

“In the safe, milady. I knew the combination, ye see. Miss Rowena never even told the housekeeper. She didn’t trust her. But she trusted me,” she said fiercely. She gulped for air. “Not long after we—Miss Rowena and Lady Corinne and me—departed for the country, she told me that if anything ever happened to her to look after the house.” Agnes’s eyes filled with pain. “She musta knew she were in danger.” One tear trekked down her cheek.

“Go on,” Maeve said softly.

“’Tweren’t long after I got back home, we had housebreakers. I never been so scared. I knew they’d be back if’n I din’t take precautions. I-I stuffed the blunt in the bag with the jewels and the book with her scribblins’ in it, and hid ’em. I left the safe open, so as when they come back, it’d look like somest beat ’em to it.”

“Is the safe still open?”

“Far as I know, milady. ’Tis in her office under the stairs.”

Maeve couldn’t help admiring Agnes’s mettle. “How on earth did you manage to keep others out for a year?”

“Me, Mary, and Stephen, we kept the lights on. Made certain there were shadows in the windows, making it look like somest lived ’ere and was always about. Course, we couldn’t do nothin’ till the housebreakers returned for another look and found the safe raided.”

Stunned by Agnes’s story, Maeve stared back at the gems winking up at her. It was an incredible tale. One that took courage and fortitude to carry out. Maeve turned back to Agnes, realizing the real gem in that cellar was standing right before her.

“Did you happen to mention any of this to Lord Harlowe?”

“No ma’am. I din’t have the chance. We was s’posed to speak the one night he stayed here. But he run outta time, and I couldn’t tell ’im. Not with Mary and Stephen sittin’ there. They’re young and coulda slipped up and said somethin’.”

“Yes, I see what you mean.” Maeve tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Was there anything else left behind? Notes and such?”

“Just papers his lordship took. Some other things, I don’t know what.”

The muscles in Maeve’s neck strained. The danger her young staff had been in and managed to divert awed her. “All right, Agnes.” Maeve replaced the contents in the velvet bag and tightened the strings. “Go to bed. I’ll take care of this with his lordship.” She inhaled deeply and released it in a slow stream. “As I said, I’ll need your assistance in filling the positions for the rest of the house. But you are hereby officially declared as my own personal maid and companion. Cavendish Square’s most revered employee. We’ll sit together tomorrow morning and determine the extent of your duties and set about hiring a cook, and the like.” Maeve couldn’t help herself, she wrapped an arm about Agnes’s shoulder, hugging her. “Thank you for trusting me, Agnes. I won’t ever forget it,” she said softly.

The breath rushed from Agnes’s body in a huge shudder. “Thank you, milady,” she muffled against Maeve’s shoulder. “Thank you.”