The weeks continue, but things are stirring...
For a while it seemed that things were settled. The preparations for the party continued downstairs, whilst upstairs, Christopher, Joseph and James went about their business and Foster and Kim continued their dangerous liaisons.
"Good morning, Lord Tate," said Miss Windsor flirtatiously as she entered the drawing room where Christopher and Zoya were seated.
"Good morning, Kelly," said Christopher unctuously. Miss Windsor, who had recently been employed as a maid, was another pet member of staff chosen by Lord Christopher, although unlike Miss Glover, she welcomed the Lord's attentions. "Haven't I told you to call me Christopher?"
"Oh I wouldn't feel right, sir, you're practically royalty!" Miss Windsor tittered. Christopher basked in the adulation.
"Did you want something, Miss Windsor?" Zoya asked coolly, barely glancing at her.
Miss Windsor cast a scornful eye over Zoya's attire. The Lady was back in her androgynous clothing. This time, a set of checked trousers, a navy waistcoat that looked as though it might just have been purloined from a gentleman's tailor and had been fitted to Lady Zoya's exact proportions. Kelly swept forward in her grey calf length dress and white apron, neat frilled white cap atop her caramel coloured hair. "Just checking if his Lordship required anything?"
"If he does I'm sure he will ring for you."
Miss Windsor nodded, turned and curtsied to Christopher and left the room, smoothing down her skirt at the back.
"I do wish you wouldn't embarrass yourself over the staff so," Zoya remarked as Miss Windsor closed the door. "She's young enough to be your..."
"What? Younger sister?" Christopher returned. "She's only our dear brother's age..."
"Which is younger than your son." Zoya turned a page of the book she was reading.
"Yet still older than your daughter. Sorry, I meant our sweet little sister. Papa's darling."
"Just because you were allowed to keep your illegitimate offspring and I wasn't..."
"Always the victim," Christopher mocked harshly. "Perhaps if you'd been born a man all your problems would be solved."
"I have no interest in being a man." Zoya glared at her brother. "Your sex is of no interest to me."
"Perhaps you should keep that to yourself. We want to avoid any further scandal, where we can." Christopher turned his attention back to the newspaper.
"What are you doing?" Fowler asked as he approached the drawing room, having heard the bell for service. Miss Windsor was standing with her ear to the door, raised voices coming from within.
"Shh," Miss Windsor hushed him. "Lord Christopher's having a row with his sister."
"So? They're always rowing, that family." Fowler shrugged.
"Did you know Miss Jeanie was Lady Zoya's?"
"Of course, the whole household knows."
"Lord Christopher don't seem too happy about it."
"Why do you fawn over him?" Fowler asked disgustedly. "He's vile."
"He's not that bad. You can tell he used to be handsome, before he was crippled."
"I'll thank you not to talk about my father like that," said a voice behind them. The servants swung to see Lord Joseph Tate glaring at them. "And I don't believe you're paid to stand around and gossip."
"Sorry, Lord Joseph," said Miss Windsor, batting her eyelashes. "I was just saying what a handsome man your father still is... like father, like son," she added, running her eyes down Joseph's form. The young Lord was attired in another country style suit, with a fine burgundy coloured tie and sharp white cuffs. Fowler rolled his eyes.
"Don't you have something to be getting on with?" Joseph asked Fowler.
"Yes, my Lord." Fowler avoided making eye contact with Joseph as he retreated.
"And as for you…" Joseph approached Miss Windsor, who braced herself to be sacked. "Do you often listen at doorways?"
"No sir, of course not!"
"Pity." Joseph frowned. "I was going to ask you to follow my step-grandmother, report back on her movements. But if you're not interested..."
"Why do you want me to follow Lady Tate?" asked Miss Windsor, intrigued.
Joseph looked around to make sure nobody else was listening. "Let's just say Lady Tate has been indiscreet lately. I need evidence to present to my grandfather. Will you keep an eye out for me? There's an extra few shillings in it for you."
"Of course, but how do I know what I'm looking for?"
"You'll know when you see it." Joseph's eyes roved over Miss Windsor's skirt. "If you'll excuse me, I must talk to my father."
The younger Lord let himself into the drawing room, leaving Miss Windsor rather confused outside the door.
"Christopher, that is outrageous!" Zoya snapped at her brother, standing, with her cheeks flushed and eyes aflame.
"Zoya…"
"Oh, good morning Joseph." She greeted her nephew, "see if you can talk some sense into your father, will you? He seems to be struggling this morning."
"What is going on?"
"Your aunt believes that I indulge the servants too much."
"Isn't that how I came to be?"
"You're as bad as each other. Enjoy your breakfast, Joseph." Zoya shook her head, leaving the room.
"Oh, Zoya, darling," Kim swept past on her way to the front door, "oh, going riding?"
"No, just out to the village. One of the farmers has a problem with a poorly sheep, I thought I should attend as an observer to the treatment."
"Zoya," Kim took her hand, smiling sweetly, "you know how much I admire your dedication, your determination to support these causes of equality and suffrage."
"thank you."
"Oh no, it is my pleasure. However, there were a few…remarks made at our last…gathering for tea, with Miss Macey in attendance."
"Oh?"
"Yes, she implied that it was not in her interest to visit the home of someone who allows their household to be run as a bohemian slum."
"Did she?" Zoya was wise to Kim's snideness and removed her hand. "Well, it is none of Miss Macey's concern as to what I choose to do with my life. No more is it yours. I am a grown woman, Kim. I will not be coerced into your narrow minded view of how I should conduct myself. Now, if you will excuse me," she sought her hat in the row within the cupboard, picking out a maroon cloche with upturned trim and pulled it down with vigour, setting her chin and walking with grace to the door.
Kim turned away, helpless and knocked on the door of the study.
"Frank?"
"Yes, what is it?" Her husband glanced up briefly to acknowledge her appearance before resuming his work.
"We really must talk about Zoya."
"What is there to say, hmm? As you have so often said, she is not a child."
"No, but she has a child. Or have you forgotten?"
"Of course not." Francis put down his pen, sighing.
Kim assumed the seat opposite Francis at the desk, her eyes skimming across the headed letters.
"Surely you have noticed her attitude? The way she stomps about the house with an air of petulance?"
"Yes, my love. I am aware that Zoya is discomforted at present. I have tried to talk to her and will continue to do so, but even I cannot constrain her."
"I am not asking that…of course, she is your daughter."
"She is," Francis nodded, "but I thank you for your concern. I had hoped that in the years that have passed that you might find some…settlement between you. It appears I was wrong."
"You cannot win every battle, Frank." Kim wandered around the desk to him, cupping his face, "the atmosphere is so distracting here. Look at Christopher, two marriages and a child growing up to be a rebel with no occupation, or purpose. It cannot be good for any of us, especially for Jeanie." She sighed, "I love her dearly, but it seems so cruel to deceive her. If she were away at school…"
Francis' face hardened.
"I thought we had discussed this."
"We did, however I considered that you might have given it further thought?"
"And come to an alternative conclusion which would relinquish you of all responsibility to the child." Francis observed, "no, Kim. Jeanie will remain here."
"Francis…"
"I won't hear anything more, Kim. My decision is final. Jeanie stays. I will, however talk to Zoya."
Kim flounced to the door.
"I am glad I now know of your priorities." She opened the door.
"Kim."
"No, please, I shall see myself out, find something to occupy myself." Kim assured him. Francis threw down his pen, spurting ink across the documents.
"Damn!"
Kim kept her composure, remaining calm as she moved swiftly along the hall to the entrance to the servants quarters, seeking one servant in particular for comfort. Yet she could not bear to beleaguer herself with their gossip and retreated, noticing the very person she had sought out standing by the doors to the dining room.
"Foster, a word please?"
Foster allowed Lady Tate to pull him aside into the dining room, which was deserted.
"My Lady," he said, a smile playing across his lips.
"We have a problem," was all Lady Tate said.
"What is it?" Foster frowned at her expression.
"Joseph knows about us."
"What? How? That's impossible."
"Little Jeanie saw us embracing, apparently she confided in her odious cousin. No doubt he encouraged her."
"Has Joseph told Lord Francis?"
"Not yet, which means he and his father are probably plotting something."
"If it's just Jean's word..." said Foster slowly. "Surely that can be denied. She's an imaginative child."
"Francis may believe that, but Joseph won't. Nor will Christopher. They want me gone, as a threat to their inheritance..."
"Come now." Foster put his arms around her. "We must just be more careful in future, that's all."
"We mustn't be seen together at all until this problem is solved." Lady Tate pushed him away, standing with her arms folded. "I cannot afford to lose what I am owed."
"Perhaps I could talk to Joseph," Foster suggested. "He still has a certain fondness for me, from school..."
"You talk as if he had a heart," Lady Tate cried. "Talking to him would only give confirmation."
"Then what do you suggest?"
The lady thought for a moment. "If a little accident was to befall my grandson..."
Foster took a step back. "You wish me to murder Lord Joseph?"
"As you say, he's fond of you. You could go hunting with him, perhaps an unfortunate incident with a shotgun..."
"My Lady has gone mad."
"Not at all, my Graham," she purred. "It's simple logic. Lord Francis is not a well man, as you know. When he's gone I shall inherit all this - what's left when his miserable brats have received their share - and then we can live together openly, just you and me. And James," she added as an afterthought.
"And you would kill your own child's nephew to achieve that?"
"Joseph despises James. He is his father through and through. If he tells Francis about us, if he presents proof..."
"What proof could he present? The world of a child who still thinks Lord Francis is her father?"
"He won't stop until he gets further evidence! If Francis found out we would both be ruined. I would be on the street with no inheritance, you would be a nobody again..."
"We would still have each other." Foster ignored the stinging sensation at her choice of words.
"Sentiment doesn't supply food and clothing, Foster!" Lady Tate snapped. "I've been poor once and I won't go back there. If you are not prepared to take care of Joseph, then we would have to stay away from each other, until Lord Francis is gone..."
"I would sooner kill Lord Francis than Joseph."
The lady's eyes widened. "What an idea." She laughed softly. "Nevertheless, Francis must die of natural causes. Otherwise suspicion will fall on those closest to him. Nobody will question a simple hunting accident, with one as foolish as Joseph..."
"And if Joseph has already spoken to his father about this? Are we going to kill the Lord Christopher too?"
"Nobody would take the word of a grief-stricken father seriously. Christopher is unhinged at the best of times. Even Francis despises his own son."
"There must another solution..."
"There isn't." Lady Tate looked towards the closed door as if hearing a noise from there. Crossing the room, she opened the door and found Miss Windsor out in the hall, dusting the staircase bannister.
"What are you doing?" Lady Tate asked suspiciously."
"Just dusting, my lady." Miss Windsor's eyes widened innocently.
Lady Tate swept a finger along the bannister, leaving a trail in its wake. "Doing a terrible job, by the looks of it," she remarked. Foster appeared behind her, looking impassive.
Lady Tate turned to Foster. "We'll continue this conversation later, Foster."
"Yes, my lady." Foster returned to his duties. Miss Windsor watched him depart as she continued dusting.
"Do be careful on those stairs," Lady Tate warned Miss Windsor as she swept down the hallway.