In which Lady Jean makes an intriguing discovery and a rivalry is fuelled.
A collaboration chapter between jjscm01 and ThePennyTealeaf
"Eh, what's goin' on here, then?" Nicola asked brusquely as her young charge bounded into the nursery, leaping straight into the chair by the sashed window. It was a pleasant, bright room, decorated in an elaborate fashion for a child so young, all pink and white fripperies and expensive Morris paper adorning the walls. It was the ideal of girlhood, containing a plethora of dolls, a fine dolls house and two large bookcases crammed with books. The armchair itself was also pink, the softest powder blush with a buttoned back and curved seat.
"Nothing." Jean gathered her knees to her chest, looking forlorn in her now crumpled lace trimmed dress and neat button shoes.
"Doesn't look like nothing to me, young miss." Nicola eyed her suspiciously. "come along now, what is it?"
Jean shook her head, neat dark bob bouncing sweetly with the movement.
Nicola dropped the blanket she was folding and went to the chair where Jean sat, leaning to her level.
"Miss Jean, there's nothing so bad as a child that tells a tale."
"I'm not telling tales!" Jean remonstrated, "I haven't said anything!"
"And that is the point." Nicola adapted her tone to a more stern approach, hauling herself up, "you need to tell the truth."
Jean sighed deeply, preparing herself.
"I saw something." She admitted.
"Oh?" Nicola's interest was piqued. "what did you see?"
Jean looked up at her, briefly, then hung her head.
"Mama...and Foster."
A spark flashed in Nicola's eyes.
"Mama and Foster? You must have that wrong, young miss. Of course you do." Nicola reeled off, secretly filled with glee. What an advantage to have, to have the upper hand for once. Not that she disliked Foster, but he was, in her opinion, cold and obnoxious. "Your Mama loves your Papa dearly, perhaps you thought you saw something, but it was someone else."
"It was Mama. I am sure of it." Jean replied defiantly.
"Now, now, I doubt that. But, it is time for your walk." Nicola checked her schedule, "shall we?" She went to the wardrobe and took out the girl's outerwear, the garments as fine and elegant as her 'Mama's.' Truly, no expense was spared, Nicola knew, as far as her master was concerned.
She placed the hat on Jean's head, taking care to adjust the pleats on the structured swing coat and led her charge downstairs and out of the side door, past the kitchen, where the staff were working frantically to prepare dinner.
In the study downstairs, Christopher looked up from his papers as his valet, Master Biff Fowler, entered.
"You're late," he snarled.
"Apologies, my Lord." Fowler sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth. "I was—"
"Up late with one of the ladies of the village, no doubt?" Christopher sneered. "Spare me your excuses. I need to be in the village by five."
"Certainly, my Lord. I'll ready the car." Fowler headed out to where Christopher's vehicle could be found, leaving the Lord glaring resentfully after him. Christopher despised Fowler, who was young, able-bodied and attractive to the local women, everything that Christopher himself used to be. The same could be said of Christopher's own son, but he felt nothing but pride where Master Joseph was concerned. A fine specimen, in spite of his illegitimacy.
"Good afternoon, my Lord." The groundskeeper, Liam Hammond, had entered, looking scruffy as ever.
"Good afternoon, Hammond," Christopher replied courteously. He'd had an uncharacteristic respect for the groundskeeper, who had been with the family many years, ever since Hammond had rescued the young Joseph from a passing motorcar.
"How is the Earl of Miffield today?"
"My 'sister' is running rings around him, as always." Christopher's sarcasm was obvious, it was an open secret that Jeanie was actually the daughter of Zoya Tate. "As is his wife."
"The Lady Tate should know her place. You and your son are more entitled to your titles than she." Hammond reddened slightly. "I shouldn't speak out of turn."
"By all means, speak your mind. You're practically family." Christopher looked past Hammond to where the returned Fowler was now standing and barked "Is my car ready yet?"
"Trouble with the engine, my Lord."
"I'll take a look," offered Hammond.
"Thank you, Hammond," Christopher returned to his paperwork. "I'm glad there's somebody of competence around here."
Fowler grimaced darkly.
"Time to go in, now I think. They'll be setting up supper soon." Nicola remarked as they reached the end of the rose garden after a brisk, yet tiresome walk.
"I like it out here." Jean replied solemnly, threading another daisy in a chain as she plucked them from the grass.
"You and me both." Nicola muttered to herself, putting a hand on Jean's shoulder, "come on, else they'll miss us."
"Why would Mama kiss Foster?"
"I don't know, Miss." Nicola sighed. In truth she knew exactly why Lady Tate might do so, but would keep that for later.
"He can't love her. She has Papa." Jean stated.
Nicola felt slightly uncomfortable at the prospect of returning the child to the house. Goodness knows what might happen at the dinner table.
"Well, Foster is fond of everyone." She suggested, giving a cursory look to the darkening sky, "we'd better hurry back, it looks as though it might rain. Goodness knows what your Mama would say if I allowed you to get wet!"
She tugged on the girl's arm, leading her back toward the house. The lights were glimmering in all the downstairs windows with a lone glow from the master bedroom.
Jean noticed the car at the front of the house as they approached and ran towards it, Nicola following in haste.
"Miss Jean!" She called, however her attempt was futile.
"The car! The car!" She crowed, dancing around it much to the amusement of Hammond.
"Indeed, Miss. Tis a car! Would you like to see how it works?"
Jean stopped and surveyed Hammond with interest. She had been taught about the boundaries of servants, her position in relation to them.
"Is it appropriate for me?" She asked with dignity.
"I don't see why not, your Mama's got no problem with it."
"Mr Hammond," Nicola fought to catch her breath, "Miss Jean is a young lady."
"I can see, but even young ladies must have some practical knowledge." He grinned at Jean; who smiled sweetly back.
"Go on, then, but be quick about it before Her Ladyship catches you." Nicola gabbled.
Jean listened with interest as Hammond propped her on the bonnet, talking to her as he worked to fix the car. He was surprised at her genuine curiosity, responding with intelligent questions that he could barely answer.
"I think we're done." He declared, sweeping her off the bonnet and setting it back into place, "thank you for your assistance, Miss."
Jean waved her hand courteously as she had seen Kim do and climbed up into the driver's seat, squeezing the horn and laughing breezily.
The sound alerted the household to the windows and within moments, a red faced Frank stormed out into the grounds.
"What is the meaning of this?" He demanded.
"Miss Jean wanted to see the car." Liam explained.
"Papa, Mr Hammond has been telling me about the workings. He's been very nice to me. I have decided I should like to be a mechanic."
Christopher, who had also wheeled himself to explore the source of the commotion, sniggered.
Fury filled Frank's face.
"I see, well, we shall have to see about that." He glared at Hammond, who continued wiping his hands, rubbing the back of one across his brow.
"Kinsett, take the child inside." Francis instructed Nicola, who beckoned Jean to her, helping her down from the car.
"Papa, Mr Hammond was very nice to me, please don't be angry."
Frank remained cold, stern.
"Come away, Miss." Nicola ushered her into the house.
Frank strode to the door of the car, his eyes dark.
"Do you value your position, here, Hammond?"
"Of course sir."
"Then you will oblige me by explaining why my daughter, who holds a position of rank in society, would be declaring that she intends to become a mechanic?"
"I was showing the young lady a car. Teaching her something practical."
"It is not your place to teach her anything, do you understand, Hammond?"
"Dad, if Jeanie wanted to see the car, Hammond was only doing as you asked." Christopher remarked, wheeling himself out onto the drive, accompanied by Fowler.
"Christopher, this is not your concern." Francis replied, without looking at him.
"No, nothing ever is. However, unless you release Hammond I will be late to our appointment with the Wyldes. I can't imagine what scandal that will cause if the Earl of Miffield's son turns up after the designated arrival time, but there you go."
"I have my eye on you, Hammond." Frank relented, his parting words sour as he slammed the front door.
"Don't mind him, will you, Hammond?" Christopher asked.
"I'll try not to, my Lord."
"Please, Milord, I didn't mean for Miss Jeanie to get involved with Mr Hammond and the car." Kinsett begged, running along beside Lord Tate as he re-entered the house, her expression pitiful.
"I hope you will ensure that it doesn't happen again," Francis stopped outside the door to the nursery, Kinsett beside him. "I do not want my daughter consorting with the likes of Hammond, is that clear?"
"Quite, sir." Nicola bowed her head respectfully.
"Good. I am grateful for your loyalty to us, Kinsett."
"Milord." She replied, slipping into the nursery.
Meanwhile her young charge crawled beneath the dining table downstairs, tracing the intricate pattern on the carpet. Besides the under stair cupboard, which was warm and cosy, it was her favourite place to hide.
She crawled across to the spare wheelchair that Christopher used when his main contraption was under attention for its wheels or suchlike and dug her hand into the pocket at the back. Her fingers caught upon a ridged surface and she clasped at it, bringing it out of the pocket.
A black book, engraved with the initials of its owner CFT was the prize of her curiosity.
She opened it carefully, sitting cross legged beside the chair and perused the contents with a concentrated frown.
"Miss Baker, 8pm, Friday, Miss Dingle, 9pm Tuesday, Miss Glover!" Jeanie gaped at the name. Miss Glover was one of the housemaids, a kind yet strong young woman whose family's land was owned by the Tates.
She closed the book and slotted it back into place, checking that no one had seen her before strapping herself into the wheelchair and wheeling around in it.
It was quite difficult to manoeuvre at first, the adjustments had been designed to suit Christopher exactly, but Jeanie was determined to prove to herself that she could manage and let off the brake, pulling herself around the table.
The movement was quite strenuous and her muscles ached, but she wouldn't give up.
She wheeled herself to the window and sat there, looking out on the grounds so lovingly tended by Hammond. She spotted him at the edge of the rose garden and gave him a wave. He raised his hand to return the greeting, but something made him stop and he turned away sharply.
Jeanie slumped back into the chair, sighing deeply.
"My Lady!" Lydia entered the room, her hand poised with the new fangled vacuum cleaner that Blackstock had purchased for the house.
Jeanie looked up at the exclamation and smiled.
"Hello Lydia?"
"Miss, are you sure you ought to be playing in that? Tis Lord Christopher's, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Crispy won't mind. He never catches me, anyway."
She wheeled the chair backwards and then forwards to round the table, just as Christopher entered.
The sight of his able bodied niece in the chair he was bound to infuriated him.
"Oh, Crispy?" Jeanie pursed her cupids bow lips.
"Get out of the chair."
She did so immediately, standing up.
"I'm sorry, Crispy."
"You think its funny? Do you? Being bound to a chair?"
"No." Jeanie shook her head.
"Get out of my sight." He seethed, as she fled.
"And what are you staring at?" He turned upon Lydia, who flinched.
"Nothing, sir." She replied.
"Then get on with your work, do what you're paid for!"
"Sir." Lydia returned to using the vacuum cleaner, rolling it across in neat strips across the carpet.
Christopher allowed his head to fall into his hand, the sound of the cleaner droning in his head.
"Turn that infernal thing off, now." He called out to Lydia, who immediately removed it from his presence, as Joseph entered, finding his father in a state.
"Father?" He approached him.
"Joseph." Christopher acknowledged him coldly.
"I heard the ruckus, I thought you might have want of assistance."
"No." His father looked over him, "and how have you occupied your day, hmm? Still at leisure?" he asked sarcastically.
Joseph huffed, affronted.
"I am not a child, father. I can do as I please. Any such time away from the business is my own."
"Spending the afternoons idle, when you could be learning, applying yourself to the management of the estate."
"I'm never going to run it, Father, you know that. Not as long as dear Uncle James is at the helm."
"However James isn't, is he? I want you to see this as an opportunity, Joseph. To prove your worth to your Grandfather. If you manage the accounts successfully, he may consider providing you with your own part of the estate."
"Oh, father, dash it all." Joseph shook his head, smirking, "I've had enough of classroom workmanship. I've been an apprentice since I returned. Grandfather has always denied me favour over James, but I intend to change that."
"Whilst you present yourself as a charmless brat your fortunes will never change. My father is one of the old guard, Joseph. He expects respect, a certain style of behaviour. You're a threat to him with your modern ideals."
"Oh, come on, father, I don't gamble, I rarely drink..." scoffed Joseph, pacing in a brisk fashion, "what does he expect me to do? Spend the afternoon shut away like James, barely able to string two words together."
"If you could show him that you are committed to the business, he may trust you."
"So I have to win the trust of my own grandfather for him to consider any improvement on my income?"
"Yes." Christopher sighed, "oh and do try not to encourage Jeanie to rebel."
"What difference does it make, Father, really?"
"Because he adores her, she's his little princess. If you offend her, you offend him."
"Alright, I'll take your word. I promise not to corrupt Jeanie's little mind with scandalous talk." Joseph recited, mockingly. "Am I excused?"
"Joseph, I want you to do well. I want my father to trust you. He's never shown faith in me, but you have an opportunity, use it."
"I will do, father." Joseph nodded, patting the back of his chair.
"Good. Do what I can't."