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Chapter 42: The Joys of the Country
The passing countryside was dark green with the rain that had fallen early that morning. "I feel as if I know this road already," Jane remarked, looking out the window. An earthy scent rose up on the chilly wind.
Tavington was pleased that she was so interested. "And you will know it even better in years to come."
Moll leaned out of the window on the other side. "Those trees—I know them. Are we close to the Bell?"
"Not far. We must be fairly close to—where you were set upon."
"Well!" declared Jane. "Any outlaws seeing this carriage will know to stay far away! I still have my pistol!"
It was right under her seat, in its own little box, next to her husband's pistols, in their own very elaborate case. The thought made her feel very secure.
Tavington's lips twitched. "Yes, my dear. You still have your pistol. Where did you get your pistol, by the way?"
"Moll helped me buy it in Charlestown, didn't you, Moll?"
"That I did, ma'am, and taught you to use it, too!"
"You see?" Jane demanded archly.
They had had a small disagreement about the pistol and the box. In the end, Tavington knew her too displeased with him to try to take her weapon away. It would only add fuel to the notion that he wished her harm. Besides, she had used it fairly well against the highwayman. Had she actually shot Lord Fanshawe, however…
"That's it!" Moll called out. "That's the place! See those big old chestnuts?"
"I think you're right, Moll!" Jane turned excitedly to her maid. "Pullen, look! Doesn't this look like the place where they came out of the trees?"
"Don't know, ma'am," Pullen replied, turning sickly green at the memory. "I was that terrified. I was cowering, like, on the floor of the coach the whole time." She shuddered, and pretended to be intent on sewing Jane a new garment.
Jane had determined that she was going to need something warm and not too grand to wear about Wargrave, while she helped supervise cleaning and repairs. Among her old clothes was a silk gown with a broad floral stripe. It was too small and the wrong style. Pullen had picked it apart and was now refashioning it as a carico—a jacket-like short gown—that Jane could wear with either the woolen petticoat from her green habit, or with the petticoat that she usually wore with her emerald silk gown. The carico would be lined and quilted, and Jane would not have to wear a cloak indoors.
For October in England was not the October she knew from South Carolina. This seemed more like winter, and Jane was feeling the chill. Moll, too, drew her cloak close around her. Jane was concerned for her servants. If absolutely necessary she would get them something warm for newer, heavier winter clothes. She could dig into her tin box, or perhaps at Christmas, when the interest on her money was paid, she could give them each a handsome present of warm wool. Or she could order them each a quilted petticoat.
Pullen must be tired of grey. A lady's maid could expect to receive her mistress' castoffs, but Jane did not have an extensive enough wardrobe to have castoffs. Possibly that sprigged muslin, though, Jane considered. It's useless to me now, and not at all fashionable, but it will be a pretty thing for Pullen in the spring. She is as small as I, and it will be something fresh and new…
Tavington leaned out of the coach to shout to the coachman. "Scoggins! Up ahead the road branches off. You'll see a small lane going west. Take it, and look sharp. It is not in very good condition." He sat back against the green cushions, and remarked, "Like so much else at Wargrave. The repairs to the house must come first."
"I cannot disagree, unless I have to walk all the way," Jane answered carelessly.
He did not answer, and instead looked for the first glimpse of the Hill and the village. Jane was pretending to be unimpressed, but he could not wait for her to see Wargrave Hall. Even on a rainy day, its grandeur was certain to move her. As they approached their destination, he began a running description: of this or that one's cottage, and the High Pasture, and the history of the mill. From every corner, people were coming to see the coach passing by.
Jane wondered if she should wave to them, but felt too shy. She was listening, very interested in spite of herself. William was talking with such genuine excitement. Clearly, he loved this place, and did not even try to maintain that air of aristocratic indifference that often irritated her. She liked to see him like this—happy—enthusiastic, even. Perhaps Lucy is right, and this place has a good influence on everyone.
A great green mound rose up before them, and her husband launched on further tales of Old Wargrave Hill, and the fighting it had seen. Moll and Pullen were listening to the stories, too, very interested. The weather was not right for it now, but Tavington promised to show them all the Barrows when they had a fine day.
"We really could walk out there—or take the carriage part of the way and walk the rest. I have been thinking though, my dear, that when we are able—perhaps next year—we should get you a horse of your own."
Jane did not want even to think about such an expense at the moment. "I'm sure it would be nice—when we are able."
She could not imagine ever riding confidently enough to participate in a hunt, but riding would be good and needed exercise. Even if I had just a pony of my own—The words of the "Dapple-Grey" rhyme sounded in her head, and the thought of her husband as a little boy on his rocking horse brought a smile to her lips.
Seeing that Jane's mood was improving, Tavington felt more cheerful himself. Yes, it was so good to be going to Wargrave! "Up ahead," he continued. "You can see the church spire. It is accounted very fine. The present church was built in 1245, over the foundations of two previous houses of worship. It is perhaps a little large for the parish, but the population here was greater in former days. Across the churchyard, and behind those trees, is the vicarage. I have not had an opportunity to examine it in detail, but I have the keys, and perhaps we should have a look at least."
"I should like that," Jane agreed, "though it would seem that the Hall will need most of our attention."
Tavington only smiled, watching for the moment when Wargrave Hall would be revealed. There, just around the bend, beyond the Low Pasture. "Look!" They looked, and he glanced back, eager to see Jane's expression. Her face brightened, as if a shadow lifted from her.
Then she smiled. "How splendid!" Yes, she liked it very much. It was not as big as Colneford Castle, and was built in an entirely different style. Colneford looked like the fortress it was. This was a home: huge and imposing to be sure, but still within human dimensions.
Mellow brown stone rose up, with plenty of windows for light. It was H-shaped and three stories tall, with garrets at the top. There was a little low wall enclosing it, protecting the lawn. Angling from the back she could see a small structure with a pointed dome.
"What is that?" she asked, pointing.
"That is one of two Pudding Houses. The family used to go to them after the rest of dinner was done, and enjoy their desserts there. In our time, one was used as a summer tea house, and the other—largely was our playhouse, when we were children. The gardener kept some of his tools there, too. Do you like the house?"
"Very much! Can we drive all the way around it?"
"If you like. Here! Scoggins! Take the sweep around the house and then come back to the front door—yes, that one."
He sat back, exchanging smiles with Jane. The servants, too, seemed to like the place. In a little over a week, the house had lost it derelict look. Weeds had been cleared from the front, and smoke puffed up from the kitchen chimney. There was scaffolding on the north side of the house, and a confusion of wagons and equipment to serve the men working on the roof. Aside from that, Wargrave was starting to look as it ought.
The back of the house was particularly beautiful, and Tavington was happy to see it again.
"This was originally the front, but my grandfather moved the entrance to the other side by adding a new façade and the Long Gallery as you enter. I've always liked the back of the house, because it's what the original builder meant a visitor to see first."
Moll spoke up. "What are those statues up there? Family portraits?"
"If only they were!" Tavington laughed. "No. Those are the Nine Worthies. I'll never forget John pointing them out to me when I was—well, I must have been very little. Grandfather, it seems, had pointed them out to him, when the old man was still able to get about, and used them to illustrate what a man ought to be."
Jane was embarrassed to reveal her ignorance, and was relieved when Moll fearlessly asked, "Nine Worthies? Who are they?"
"Oh!" Tavington was pleased to talk about the subject, and replied, "In olden days, they were the renowned heroes of history. Three each for the Pagans, the Hebrews of the Old Testament, and the Christians. They were all mighty warriors, but also upholders of honor and chivalry." He called to Scoggins. "Stop for a moment." The coach slowed and rumbled to a stop, and in the quiet, Tavington pointed to the stone figures one by one, his eyes shining with a curious innocence that Jane found very touching. "First," he said, "You see Hector of Troy, Alexander the Great, and Julius Caesar."
Jane followed his moving finger eagerly. "That side?"
"Yes. In the middle are Joshua, King David, and Judas Maccabaeus. And further on are King Arthur, Charlemagne, and Godfrey of Bouillon."
"Who's he?" asked Moll, completely entranced. "Heard of Joshua and David, but never of the Godfrey fellow."
"He was a very great knight who fought in the First Crusade and refused the crown of Jerusalem, saying, "I will not wear a crown of gold where my savior wore a crown of thorns." He felt uncomfortably humbled, keenly aware for a moment of his own shortcomings. To hide it he gave a faint dismissive chuckle, trying to recover his usual hauteur. "There are wonderful stories about all of them, and they were my favorite lessons in boyhood." He called to the coachman. "Drive on!"
The staff, such as it was, gathered at the front door to greet them. Tavington saw the Carters, the Jeffreys, two strong-looking young men, and some local girls who had been taken on as maids and kitchen help. The Jeffreys were especially to be relied on, though they were getting on in years. Maggie was a fine plain cook, and Jeffreys himself was restored to his position as head groom, however much the stables were diminished.
There were some others in the little group, too: the foreman of the roofers, his assistant, the head carpenter, and Mr. Cox, the builder from Colchester who was in charge of the repair operations. They had all found accommodations in the vacant servant quarters, where they might remain for some time.
The Carters were living in the empty butler's room on the ground floor, and while Carter could hardly be described as a butler—caretaker was the most fitting term—Tavington was not going to have them turned out after their faithful service. They had a cottage on the grounds, but it was in such a tumbledown state that the old couple had taken refuge in the Hall proper. When funds ran to it, the cottage must be thoroughly repaired—and improved, if Tavington had anything to say about it. Mrs. Carter was nominally the housekeeper, and Jane would find her easy to work with.
The builder and his crew were eating at an extra trestle table set up for them in the servant's hall. John was considering having the work crew build a cottage on the grounds for their own use, but for now, it was easier and cheaper to give them houseroom at Wargrave itself.
The coach stopped. Tom jumped down from the back, opened the door, and stood aside as Tavington helped Jane alight. Tom helped the two maidservants down, taking great care with Moll, who had the baby in her arms. Once she was safe, he brought up the rear of their procession, along with Doggery, who had climbed down from the roof of the coach.
"No butler, and those lads are no better than country louts. I'll have my work cut out for me, won't I?" Tom muttered to the valet. "Give us a hand with the luggage--there's a good fellow."
Tavington gave Jane his arm, presented the servants and workmen to her, and then led her proudly through the door to show her her new home.
Jane could not help herself. She found it lovely. It was Old England in every room. The walls were all dark oak wainscoting, and the furniture old as well. It was too old simply to be out of date. Rather, it seemed all precious and antique and quaintly made. The Great Hall was sparsely furnished: not much more than a long table in the center of the room, some silver candlesticks of great antiquity, and a pair of matched bronze goddesses—Ceres and Diana—ornamenting the mantel of the huge hearth. Above each door was a relief in marble, showing harvest and hunting scenes. Jane stopped in delight, finding it quite wonderful. Tavington, seeing his wife was favorably impressed, felt delight himself.
"You must want to find your room and rest," he said, "but I'm sure you would like to the see the rest of the house as soon as possible."
"Oh, yes, indeed!" Jane cried, glancing out of the mullioned windows, and liking the view. "I long to take off this heavy hat, but then I would like to see it all. We must get the baby settled, though, right away. Where is the nursery?"
Old Mrs. Carter, came forward then. "Bless you, Madam, what a fine little boy! The old nursery is in sad shape, I fear. We have put a few of the rooms on the floor above in order, but nothing is fit on the second."
"That is quite all right, Mrs. Carter. We shall use one of the rooms you have already prepared as our nursery, at least for now. It will be more convenient for me to have the baby nearby, anyway." Jane felt she would not miss the endless stairs at Mortimer Square one particle.
"Then follow me, if you please, Madam. I'll show you the rooms and you can choose at your pleasure. There is the Great Chamber, to be sure—"
Tavington interrupted. "That is the Master's room, and as such ought to be reserved for Sir John, I think."
"I quite agree." Jane did not want to be selfish, especially since her brother-in-law was being so generous as to let her live in his house. "I am sure that they are all perfectly comfortable."
"Just as you please, Madam. If you will follow me." And they followed her slow footsteps. Jane was nearly mad with impatience to see the upstairs, but she walked slowly after the kind old woman, already thinking about how she would find ways to keep Mrs. Carter busy on the ground floor, and save the woman's feeble legs.
They were eventually in the long hall on the first floor, and Jane was shown the Great Chamber anyway (for Mrs. Carter was very proud of it), and said many sincere things about its grandeur. Facing the Great Chamber was another huge bedroom that Jane admired, but which still needed work, and then they paraded to the central portion of the house. She wanted to see all the available rooms before she made her choice.
"Perhaps you'll prefer this room, Madam," Mrs. Carter suggested, leading Jane to the other end of the hall.
Opening a door she showed her a large and charming room with a deep bay window facing the rear lawn. There was a pleasant, sunny seat built into the window, with cushions scattered about. The furniture was dark oak like that in the rest of the house, carved with a multitude of old-fashioned patterns, and with a running barley-twist motif throughout. The bed was huge. The four posts sprouted massively from the floor like living trees, and the coverlet was superbly embroidered with a field of flowers . Nearby was a wonderful, if slightly frayed tapestry. There was a large clothes press that stood on four legs, also carved with a barley twist, and a writing table with a sturdy chair. By the hearth were two armchairs, the seats upholstered with dark red velvet. A door led off to the side.
"Where does that go?" Jane asked.
Mrs. Carter opened the door and showed her a little windowed room with a small and plain bedstead, a large wardrobe, a small dressing table with a small stool, a round table with three chairs, and a clutter of crates. "This room has been many things in its day, ma'am. A dressing room, a nursery, a box room, and a maid's room. It's handy to the bedchamber, as you see."
"I do see," Jane said eagerly. She made her choice instantly. "It would be just the place for Pullen! Pullen, come here!" she called. "We shall clean this room out for you. It will serve as your bedchamber, and my dressing room. The table will make it fit for your sewing room as well."
Pullen wrung her hands, feeling very excited herself. It was a fine room, and it was to be all her own. She would be near her mistress and grandly apart from the rest of the servants. She nodded, and being a well-trained servant, did not gush with the gratitude swelling inside her. Instead, she simply said, "Very good, ma'am, " and saved her rejoicing for later.
Next to Jane's room on the other side, closer to the Great Chamber, was another handsome bedchamber, furnished in much the same grand style as Jane's, though it was slightly smaller. It, like Jane's room and the Great Chamber, showed signs of recent cleaning. Jane made up her mind at once.
"I would like Mrs. Royston and the baby to be here for the time being, since you say the regular nursery is still being refurbished. Have the cradle brought up here, if you please."
Moll raised her brows nearly to her hairline. She would stay in this palatial room? No matter that it was just a stopgap. It was a fine, fine place, with a bed big enough for her to stretch out on. Big enough for two, even, she thought with a secret chuckle. Might want to try it out, if Tom behaves himself.
Within a few minutes, tea was ordered for the drawing room, Jane had removed her hat, and wash water was being fetched. Tom and Doggery were upstairs and down, fetching and carrying. Jane was not sure what to do with her spinet, and had it taken to her bedchamber for the time being. She washed, and then, while her husband washed, Little Will demanded his own tea.
While Moll pottered about, putting her things away, Jane sat in the deep windowed alcove that was directly over the rear entryway. Seen close to, she could tell that the windows had been washed in haste, for they were streaked in places. She considered Moll's room carefully while she fed the baby, looking for other sorts of slovenliness. The room had been very dirty indeed before they started on it. Jane could still spot cobwebs here and there in the corners of the high ceiling. She suspected that there was dust under the bed. Moll found, however, that the bed itself had been scrubbed, and that the bedclothes were clean.
"Leastways, I won't have to worry about bugs. I feel like I can't wait to sleep in such a fine bed!"
"Now that we're here, the rooms will be done up with more care. The Colonel will show me over the house shortly. At dinner, bring Will and his cradle to me. I'll watch him this evening so that you can go to the servants' hall and become acquainted."
"That's right kind of you, Mrs. Tavington. I can't deny I'd like to get to know the place, too."
Tavington knocked, and came in to find his son finishing his meal, and his wife quite ready to take her tour of the house. She told him her plan to have the baby join them at dinner, and Tavington was happy to indulge her. He might as well spend as much time with the boy as possible, for he might not see him again for weeks.
Little Will was tucked in for a nap, and Moll and Pullen continued with putting the three occupied rooms in order, with the help of Tom and Doggery. The menservants had not yet been told where they were to sleep, but Mrs. Carter had briefly mentioned that there was plenty of empty space in the servants' quarters. What condition those quarters were in, however, was anybody's guess. Jane peeked into the bedchamber that Mrs. Carter had not shown her, which lay next to the Great Chamber. It answered all her speculations about the original wretched state of the rooms. Its walls, however, were covered with lovely horticultural prints in wonderful colors. It would need to be seen to, eventually, but Jane wanted to get an idea of the house as a whole before she decided where to begin.
Tavington then took her into the Great Chamber for a closer look, and to show her the warped paneling that he had noticed. Possibly whole sections might need to be replaced, but the room was well enough for now. He paused now and then, to show her some family portraits that hung on the walls.
"Up first, or down?" he asked as they reached the wide staircase.
"Up, I suppose. Eventually, I would like to inspect the servants' wing too."
"Eventually," he agreed, "but not now. Besides, Mrs. Carter says that part of the house is in fairly good condition. The leakage in over on this side."
"Up, then."
They dawdled down the hall, looking at a few more paintings, some very darkened with age. Tavington showed her his old schoolroom, with the governess' little chamber behind it. The wall of the schoolroom were still paneled, but the governess' room had been badly damaged by water. It was in the process of repair, and the window frames were being entirely replaced.
"Some of the worst damage on this floor was here," he remarked.
Across from the schoolroom, and above the Great Chamber were two small bedchambers, both of which were in very poor condition. These would need the same degree of repair as the governess' room.
Eventually they came a large and shabby room with crumbling plaster, scarred wainscoting, and a window seat, which Tavington told her had been the nursery. Sheets draped odd shapes, which were revealed to be plain oak furniture and a few toys. It would take work to make this room as pleasant as the nursery at Mortimer Square. Tavington showed her one the small bedsteads.
"This was my bed," he told her. "You can see that I initialed it in my wanton youth."
Pale against the dark oak was carved "WMT," followed by "1754."
"You wicked boy!" Jane reproved him, only partly in jest. She was thinking, If I ever catch William Francis playing such a trick, I shall warm his behind!
All the rooms would need cleaning and work, of one sort or another. Jane made mental notes of the most pressing concerns, and then stood for awhile, looking out the windows at the fine view.
William tugged at her arm, and asked, "Do you want to see the garrets? The workmen are up there now, Cox told me."
"Yes. I'd like to see what they are doing."
The stairs were narrow, and Jane climbed them carefully. There was a stink of pitch and of something metallic that Jane did not recognize. Up in the attics and garrets, there was tremendous activity. Lumber was stacked all about. Some windows had been removed, and in the midst of everything, there boiled a pot of pitch, and a great cauldron of what Jane was told was molten lead.
"For the roof, ma'am," it was explained.
The roof was sheathed in the metal, and it was that and the damaged framework underneath that were being rehabilitated. The men seemed to know what they were about, and so Jane left soon, after letting Tavington ask some pertinent questions, and making a few queries herself. The smell was unpleasant, and Jane hoped the work would be over soon. In another three weeks, she was informed.
"And then," Tavington observed, "even after the roof is whole, there will still be work for the carpenters and plasterers and glaziers. An expensive business!"
"Yes," Jane agreed faintly. "I would imagine so."
They went down all the stairs and Jane noticed that the quality of the paintings and tapestries improved as they descended. Along the Long Gallery, there were pictures that even she could tell were remarkable, including a portrait by Holbein of Sir Nicholas Tavington in 1530. Jane paused, studying the picture for a resemblance to her husband, but found none. The subject was certainly a handsome man, but the mustache and beard and velvet doublet concealed any likeness to the modern Tavington beside her. There was a suit of armor, and a collection of swords and pikes mounted on the wall. It was very martial and suited the house somehow.
"Now, you'll like this next room," Tavington said. "It is the library."
He opened the door with a smile that quickly changed to puzzlement, as a white and grey shape darted away from the door with a mrrrrrow! Jane jumped, very startled, and then saw that the troublemaker was a small and long-tailed cat that had fled to the far corner of the room, and peered at them with huge and alarmed green eyes.
"Well," managed Tavington, laughing. "At least the mice are unlikely to devour the books. I must ask Mrs. Carter if she knows about the animal."
"I have never had a cat in the house," Jane told him, eyeing the animal uncertainly. "Papa hated cats. It is very pretty, though."
They left the cat in possession of the library, and Tavington took her back through the Great Hall to the dining room. "We'll go to the drawing room last. The dining room was once the buttery, but—"
He paused, and was startled in his turn. The room was already occupied--by a gaunt and dirty man and two tiny, filthy boys. They were black with soot from head to toe and the smaller one was crying noisily, his face streaked white with tears and snot. The man swatted the little fellow, and shoved him over to the dining room fireplace.
"Get your arse up there, ye whinging little bastard, or I'll light a fire under ye."
He saw the lady and gentleman too late, but shoved the boy again, and touched his greasy forelock with an ingratiating cringe that made Jane hate him on sight. "Beg pardon, sor and milady. Just sweeping the chimbleys."
Jane muttered to Tavington, "The boys are sweeping. He appears only to stand about cursing."
"Well, get on with it," Tavington told the sweep impatiently. "Come, my dear. We can see this room later."
"And he had better not light a fire under that child!" Jane replied with indignation. She stalked out of the room.
Tavington gave the sweep a significant look. "You heard the lady. No roasting of small boys."
The sweep nodded, and then scowled horribly at Tavington's retreating back and gave the child another cuff.
Jane was still indignant. "What a horrible man! Imagine threatening his apprentice so!"
"Well, Jane," Tavington pointed out reasonably. "The chimneys must be swept, or we shall burn the house down. The flues at Wargrave are a tangled maze. The fellow will be well-paid if he does a thorough job."
She was still concerned about the children, imagining her own little boy forced to work at such a tender age. Nonetheless, she still felt all the pleasure Tavington intended at the sight of the drawing room. It, too, was still a relic of Elizabethan England, furnished sparsely but comfortably with elaborately carved oak chairs, settees and tables. More tapestries and pictures softened the walls. There was a harpsichord, Jane noted with delight, though it was closed and locked. An ornate cupboard held forgotten musical instruments of bygone days: a consort of recorders, a stringless lute, and an oddly shaped horn that Jane did not recognize. There was some old music inside as well, which Jane vowed to investigate later. No doubt, it would be a quaint and old fashioned as the rest of the house. Her first thought was: I must show this to Letty!
Immediately she remembered that Letty was no longer with her, and a terrible feeling of desolation swept over her. William noticed the change in her expression, and she forced a smile. She would certainly show it to Letty one day. Lucy was right—Jane should not complain because her sister now had a life of her own.
When Mrs. Carter and a little maid arrived with tea, Jane asked for the key to the harpsichord.
"Save you, Madam. I'm sure I don't know where it has got to. I shall look for it directly."
"Thank you, Mrs. Carter. And I want you to make certain that those little chimneysweeps have a good meal tonight."
"That I will indeed, though they are the dirtiest little bodies under the sun—"
"—And there is a cat in the library."
"Oh, yes, Madam. Nemesis earns her keep, indeed. I was afeared that the mice would chew the books into nothing, but Mr. Strakes, the schoolmaster that was, he gave us a cat and named it himself, which is why she has so heathen a name. He was partial to cats himself, and I must say we have little trouble with rats and mice in this house—"
"Is it not—untidy—to allow an animal to wander about the house? I mean—"
"Oh, no, Madam! Nemesis is a very clean creature. Mr. Strakes had discovered that a cat could learn to use a little box with sand like a privy. I change the sand now and then and give Puss a bowl of milk—when we have it—and water other times, and she is no trouble at all. I've grown quite fond of her, I must say."
"Well, then—" Jane looked in confusion at her husband, who grinned at her in amusement. "I suppose it does no harm. I should certainly hate to have the house overrun with mice!"
Tea was very simple, with only bread and butter and a bit of plum cake.
"Ah! Maggie Jeffreys' plum cake!" Tavington said, enjoying his very much. "A souvenir of my happy childhood."
"It's very good," Jane agreed. She admired the room some more. "I like it all very much. I am surprised that it has remained so, however. So many people must have everything in the latest style."
"My mother always wanted to renovate here. She was all for tearing out the paneling, and plastering and painting and getting rid of the old furniture. But my father would not hear of it. He wanted to pass on Wargrave exactly as he had found it. Though, of course, in some ways he did not."
Jane found it all very odd, but pleasant. William had not spent so much time alone with her since they were in the little cabin in the backcountry. She had come to look on those times, hard as they were, as some of the happiest of her life. Her husband would only be here another day, but she would enjoy it to the full while he was here. And then she would have plenty of interesting work to do. Jane had feared that she might have nothing to say to William, but the condition of the house provided plenty of matter for conversation. They settled down to a serious discussion of the estate and its needs, the sort of practical duties that Jane liked talking about, and felt she could perform well.
While the house was starting to function again, many of the outbuildings and offices were still not in operation. The dairy was empty of cows, and milk and butter and cheese would have to be purchased. So too the poultry yard. They would have to restock completely, and engage servants to care for the animals. Tavington had found the former head gardener and set him to work with a pair of helpers, but that was only a skeleton staff. Eventually they would need many more, but for the time being, the men could focus on the kitchen garden and getting everything they could salvage from it. The Carters had done their best, but it was too much the old couple, and Joe did not have a gardener's touch. The boy was much happier in the stables, working for Cobb Jeffreys, and was needed there anyway.
Porter had not yet disposed of the year's entire harvest from the Home Farm, and some was being diverted to the house. They would have flour, and apples, and all manner of root vegetables. Some of the harvest Tavington would send to the house in London, to ease Penelope's concerns about their provisions there. A few porkers had been purchased and slaughtered—not enough for the household, really—but the best they could do for the time being. The lack of beeves on the property was a problem, and would involve the expense of buying their meat from the tenant farms or from Chelmsford and carting it out to Wargrave. In fact, Tavington had resolved to spend much of the following day shooting game.
"I'll get an early start. The woods have always been full of pheasant. I'll see if I can bag a few, and you'll have something to eat while I'm gone."
"Pheasant would be very nice." Her lips curved in a teasing smile. "Perhaps Moll should go with you."
Tavington sputtered into his tea. "Perhaps she should!" He sipped and paused thoughtfully. There's many a true word spoken in jest… "My dear, that's actually a very good idea, however odd it may sound. Moll is an excellent shot, and two guns are better than one. Do you know if Tom Young can shoot?"
"I really don't know. He knows how to load, though. When we took the highwaymen's pistols, I let him have one. Whether he has ever used a fowling piece, I cannot say."
Tavington set down his cup and slapped his thigh. "It'll do! If you don't mind, Jane, I shall be borrowing Moll for much of tomorrow. I will take Doggery, of course, and we can take Tom, too, We'll train them as loaders, and Tom can learn a bit about shooting game. If Moll and he can go out and shoot now and then, it might be a great addition to the larder!"
"Moll will love that, I'm sure," laughed Jane. "How wonderful that you are liberal-minded enough to permit it. I think Moll has missed the out of doors. She should have a maid under her in the nursery anyway. We'll find some nice girl to help her, and send our huntress-nursemaid out on frequent shooting expeditions!"
"I'll call them to the library this evening, and we'll see to cleaning our arms for the morrow. I'll take them out to Three Farthing Wood, and to the hill…"
And Jane relaxed into the straight-backed old chair, listening to her husband's enthusiastic plans with some amusement. This was a William she had not seen often. He was very fond of outdoor sports—she had witnessed his delight in fox-hunting—and they seemed to her wholesome pastimes. If he wanted to go out shooting, that was a very constructive activity, and she did like pheasant so very much.
After their tea, she insisted that he show her the rest of the ground floor so she could see the kitchen, at least. He felt very agreeable, and they strolled together through the door that led to the South Door, the kitchen and the servant's hall. Jane admired the size of the kitchen, still not quite used to the idea of a kitchen inside a house. In South Carolina, the kitchen had been a separate structure, saving the house the heat and smells of cooking. Of course, in a cooler climate, the extra heat was welcome. Mrs. Jeffreys gave them a brief bob, not to be distracted from preparing dinner.
Mrs. Carter approached her and they talked a little about finding a poultry-maid and a girl to help in the nursery. Jane glanced into the large and welcoming servants' hall, not wanting to disturb some maids who were cleaning in there. She was curious about the cellar, too, and insisted on going down the narrow stairs, wandering past the stored wine and a scantily stocked larder.
"Could we see the vicarage now?" she asked her husband, as she examined some recently preserved apricots. William had told her there was a fine apricot tree against a wall of the kitchen garden.
"It is a quarter of a mile," he told her, "Would the walk be too much for you?"
"Not at all!" she declared in mock indignation. "I can walk. It is you dragoons who must ride a horse everywhere. Do you have the key? Do you mind if I do not put that hat of mine back on?"
He laughed at her impatience, and only said, running a finger along her collarbone, "You would be cold. I'll have a servant fetch my coat and your cloak, and we can have a walk, if you like."
Not too much later, they left the house for the village. Jane realized with some surprise that she had never before taken a long walk with William alone. It was a new experience and one that she decided she would like to repeat often. William was not talking much, but seemed happy, and was watching the woods intently for birds. He paused, in thought.
"There are deer in these woods—or used to be. I wonder if I could get a buck—"
"I shall be very happy with whatever you bring home—be it deer or even pigeon. Anything will be a gain. If all else fails, I know where you can find a cat!"
Laughing, they were quickly at the door of the vicarage, and Tavington drew a massive key from his pocket. The place smelled of disuse and dust, and there was a flutter and a rattle that suggested a bird's nest in the kitchen chimney, but the house was whole, if in desperate need of cleaning and airing. Jane poked about, peering under the dustcloths and behind draperies. There was a strong odor of mice. Perhaps Nemesis—or a sister—might be useful here, too.
It was a roomy and rather rambling house, and the parlor—or drawing room, she supposed they would call it-- was nicely shaped and full of light. Jane could see how a good housekeeper could make it a very pleasant home. She certainly could, had circumstances been different. She wondered if the unknown Mrs. Bordon would like it. She ought to. A home of her own, to order as she pleases. I do hope she is nice. Perhaps we might become friends…
She knew little of Mrs. Bordon, other than that she was from New York, and that Captain Bordon had met and married her there. William thought well of her, she knew, and she wondered if she was the sort who might flirt with him. After that brief horror, she calmed down. Captain Bordon was civil and well-bred, but she could not for a moment imagine him being the sort who would tolerate his wife favoring another man with her attentions. That reflection filled her with relief, and Jane decided that when the Hall was in better condition, she would turn her attention to the vicarage.
William showed her the empty church. It badly needed cleaning too. Ordinarily a church had a ruling vestry to see to such things, but in this parish, only Sir John—and by extension his steward—had the authority to appoint the sexton and the verger. Jane added that to the list. If they could find the men who had held those positions formerly, well and good. The church needed sweeping and scrubbing, and the Hall's servants could not do everything.
They came back, and Tavington sent a servant to summon Porter to appear before him. He must present the unworthy fellow to Jane, and make clear that she was to be obeyed. Jane knew enough of the situation to be brisk with Porter, and stand for no nonsense. The man himself came soon, glancing fearfully at Tavington, and bowing low to Mrs. Tavington. She was an unknown quality, and looked gravely upon him, but did not deride or insult him. She listened to his report about the sale of the wheat and barley with as much keenness as her husband. Porter could only hope she was more merciful than the dreadful Colonel. His accounts were examined minutely, and guardedly approved, and he was dismissed, for the time being. Mrs. Tavington told him she would want to see him late on Wednesday morning.
By the time the Tavingtons were done with him, Mrs. Carter had found the key to the harpsichord. The instrument's lock was a little rusty, but with Tavington's assistance, the lock was persuaded to grind open and reveal an instrument in need of tuning, but still very splendid. The inside of the lid was painted with a dreamy landscape. Jane fingered a twanging, dissonant arpeggio, and grimaced.
"I shall put it in order as soon as I can. The tuning key is here, and the strings appear sound. If they snap, I shall have to send for a professional. I haven't spares for an instrument this large." She tried a bit of Scarlatti, which came out in an appalling jangle.
"Good God, Jane! My ears!" Tavington groaned.
She defiantly played a final, ghastly chord. "You won't know it for the same instrument, when next you hear it," she declared. "A simple pleasure, music: but one I cannot do without."
Dinner, too, was simple: a capon with a bread and dried apricot stuffing, some buttered parsnips, a good salad, and a rice pudding to finish. William had sent for a bottle of French wine that had been gathering dust in the cellars. Mr. Porter had not been bold enough to sell off any of the contents of the house, fortunately.
Little Will wriggled in his cradle nearby, clutching a soldier doll, a bit of red felt stuffed with cotton that Moll had made for him. He uttered soft little noises, but let Jane eat her dinner without interruption. A mild night, and an elegant sufficiency at table. The maids had not quite succeeded in cleaning the floor of the soot left by the sweeps, but Jane refused to be bothered by it. William was in a very good humor and seemed in a good humor with her. As they finished dinner, he proposed that they go to the library.
"The guns are there. I'll summon the rest of the servants and we'll make our plans for the morrow."
Tom, who had served dinner, followed along with the cradle, grinning at the wide-eyed baby within. A fire had been lit in the library, and at Jane's direction, Tom carefully set the cradle down near it, while Jane pulled up a comfortable chair. The footman was sent to find Moll and Doggery and was told to come back with them. The baby threw aside his doll, and Jane gave him his ivory teething ring, which he chewed at and drooled over with every sign of contentment.
Tavington began rummaging through the locked cupboard that contained the household firearms and powder. There was nothing very current here. The most recent addition was a good fowling piece John had bought in 1771. Tavington could have kicked himself for not getting himself a first-class rifle when he had bought John's. It might have made all the difference in hunting deer. He would have to make do with a musket.
Jane, rocking the baby, thought her husband was like an excited small boy. She did not notice the cat's stealthy approach until it had jumped into her lap, and lifted its head with an appealing mew.
"My goodness!" She smiled, and extended a tentative finger for the creature to sniff. Introductions thus complete, the cat curled up and demanded to be petted. Jane stroked it cautiously at first, but the animal began to purr loudly, and Jane was quite taken with it. The fur was so very soft, a striped grey and white that looked very neat, and reminded Jane absurdly of Pullen in her grey gown. The cat stretched, and kneaded it paws against the silk of her gown in a playful way. Jane was almost certain by now that Papa, who had been wrong about so many other things, was wrong about cats as well.
The servants arrived, and Moll was not pleased at the sight of Nemesis on Jane's lap.
"You'd best keep an eye an that creature, ma'am. Don't let it near Little Will. A cat can suck the breath right out of a baby's body!"
"Can it really?" Jane asked, concerned. "Thank you for telling me, Moll. Certainly I will not leave the cat alone with the baby. I wouldn't trust a dog with a baby either."
Tavington did not agree at all about dogs. He did not want to argue with Jane in front of the servants, but he well remembered a big sheepdog that had been a companion in the nursery and had watched over him when he rambled about the grounds as a little boy. Dogs were perfectly reliable. He had not seen any dogs about the place. The empty kennels seemed a deplorable deficiency to him. The want of dogs would be a problem tomorrow. Maybe his uncle might lend him one another time. He would talk to Jane about it later.
In the meantime, he disclosed his plans for a shooting party to the servants, and Moll beamed at his wish to include her.
"That's mighty reasonable of you, Colonel. If there are birds to be found hereabouts, I'll get 'em."
"I know you are fond of your musket, Moll, but perhaps a fowling piece might be more practical for pheasant."
"Never you mind about me! I'm used to the old girl, and I can load up with shot, just as easy as ball."
"Have you ever shot game, Tom?"
"No sir," the footman replied, looking rather surprised. "Grew up in London, didn't I? Never spent much time in the country, but I reckon if Moll can do it, I can learn to do it."
Moll nudged him, looking proud, and Tom made up his mind to be a mighty hunter before her. Doggery simply looked resigned.
The weapons were chosen, and a great cleaning ensued. Bags of shot and powder flasks were filled. There was much talk about the right size of shot for different birds. Jane had not grown up in a sporting household, and knew nothing about it. She was happy to sit by the fire with the cat and her baby, and watch the others enjoying themselves. Moll ran up to her room to fetch down her musket, and it too was oiled and polished and prepared.
"Reckon I'll wear my old clothes tomorrow," she decided. "Don't want to tear up my good ones, creeping though the brush."
Jane was reminded that Moll only had two sets of clothing. I must definitely provide her with something new for winter.
They did not sit up late. Once the preparations were made, Tavington told them they had all best get some sleep, as he wished to get an early start in the morning. Moll and Jane went to the nursery, and the baby was fed and changed and sung to sleep. Moll was left to her grand room and a bed long enough for her--another matter that Jane took to heart—and Jane herself was ready to try out her own huge bed. Tavington might have wanted to turn in early, but that did not mean, she found, that he immediately wanted to sleep. The bed was comfortable and they had a very pleasant time making it theirs.
Afterwards, on the edge of sleep, Jane murmured, "I've had such a wonderful day. I wish all our days could be like this."
"Umm."
She whispered, "You must never hurt me again, William. I couldn't bear it. I can put it by this once, but if you ever again make a fool of yourself over another woman, I'm done with you. Do you understand?"
A soft snore. Jane bit her lip, and sighed, and settled down to sleep herself.
Next day's hunt was a great success. All the participants got very muddy and grubby, but the total bag was impressive. They did indeed bring home a deer, though Tavington reluctantly admitted that he thought the shot that brought it down was Moll's. It was not a very large buck, but they would have venison for some time. They had also managed to shoot a half dozen pheasants, four of which would be smoked. The other two would hang until just right for the table. To round out their exploits, there were a brace of quail and a pair of unlucky rabbits that had not run fast enough to dodge Moll's aim.
"Always been partial to rabbit stew," she declared frankly.
Tavington awarded those prizes to her and told Maggie Jeffreys to prepare the rabbits for the servants' table in any way that Moll chose.
While the shooting party stalked their prey, Jane was busy with her own plans to get the house running as it should. She made a list of the stock they would need to start raising their own poultry. October was not a good time to begin, but they would do what they must: a flock of chickens, a few geese at the very least. There would be little beef or mutton this winter at Wargrave, but they could at least have fowl.
They needed a minimum of three milch cows desperately. Mrs. Carter could name a half dozen girls in the cottages who would fight each other for the chance of being poultrymaid or dairymaid. Finding anyone willing to sell a cow, however, would not prove easy. Jane noted it down on the list of things to discuss with the steward. If nothing else, Porter could spare some of his own, which might well have been filched from the estate anyway.
They needed more soap. Jane told Mrs. Carter that she would buy all there was to be had. Mrs. Carter advised her to send to the other villages—High Wargrave and Larrowhead-- for Wargrave Cross itself was, so to speak, "cleaned out."
The oldest girl from a large family was brought in to be Moll's helper, a rather pretty, nicely spoken girl, named Rose Atwood. The sister next to her in age was old enough to be of use at home, and so the mother could spare Rose to the Great House, especially now that there was a lady there to look after her.
Jane next wanted to see the maid's quarters for herself. All four were in a large room on the second floor. There were another two beds available. The maids had been engaged in great haste, and Jane did not like the condition of the room. She ordered the girls to stop their other tasks and scrub their own quarters immediately. The bedding was old and ragged. Jane sorted through airing cupboards and presses to find better sheets and blankets.
"There's a great store of muslin, Madam." Mrs. Carter said, showing her yet another cupboard. "The girls could make their own sheets."
"And so they will," Jane agreed. "It will be something to do this winter, but I want the maidservants to be settled now. When the house is on a more regular footing, each will have a new quilt. We can make them together in no time at all."
Mrs. Carter could hardly credit the "we," since Lady Cecily had never lifted a finger about the place. Mrs. Tavington seemed more like a hired housekeeper than a fine lady, but the old woman held her peace. Likely the young lady was just anxious to be helpful and friendly, but it wouldn't do for her to be too familiar with the servants. When they knew each other better, she would tell Mrs. Tavington about how things were ordered in Essex. On the other hand, if she knew a good quilt pattern, that was more than Mrs. Carter did. Maybe she could show that maid of hers, and she could teach the others. That would be more fitting.
Dinner was a little late, but Jane had never had a better meal than the collops of roast venison and stuffed quail.
"Perhaps you ought to take some of the game back with you to London," she considered.
"No. You have little enough here, my dear. I shall try to come again soon, perhaps in three weeks. I hope I can bring John and borrow some dogs from my uncle, and then we'll do some serious shooting indeed. I've let everyone know in the meantime that Moll has my permission to shoot game on the estate, and perhaps you can persuade Jeffreys to do a bit of fishing. Perhaps Tom might take that pastime up, too. There used to be trout stocked in the pond by the Low Pasture, and there are pike in the Colne."
A memory stirred, and she smiled. "When you were convalescing in the backcountry, do you remember how you went fishing with Seth and Silas?"
He took her hand and kissed it. "I remember it well. I remember everything of our time there together, and how much you endured for my sake. And now," he continued, somewhat bitterly, "you are called on to endure privation again."
She shook her head. "Hardy privation! Not having two covers at table is no hardship to me. We shall not be gluttons here, true: but no one shall starve, or anything like it. And once the estate is running properly again, all will be well. In a year, you will see plenty and prosperity through the village, and Ceres and Diana will be appeased."
"Ceres and Diana?" He frowned, not quite understanding her.
"Are they not your household gods? I thought they must be, from their images in the Great Hall."
His eyes lit in understanding. "I see what you mean! Ceres and Diana, indeed. Well, we seem to have their good will for grain and game. The rest is up to us!"
-----
She was very sorry to bid him farewell the next morning. The past two days had been so happy—so exactly what she had always hoped their marriage would be. No matter that Wargrave was not really their house: it was a home for her and their child when they most needed it. Nor was she certain how long she would stay. At the moment, she felt she would be happy if she could put down roots into the very earth here. Moll had the right of it: one ought to make the most of what the moment afforded.
She sat down to write her letters: to Caroline and Penelope, Lucy and Mrs. Tazewell. She was here, she was well, the house was delightful, and the weather was fine. To her sisters-in-law she amplified a little, telling them of the current state of the estate and what she planned to do about it. The funds afforded her by Sir John were not limitless. Nonetheless, she felt much could be accomplished, and the house repairs were proceeding apace. She told them about the great hunt, and about her hopes that William and Sir John would come and shoot more game for them, too.
By the time she had finished her bright little missive to Mrs. Tazewell, Porter called, and she received him in the library, stroking the cat as the steward stood nearly trembling before her. It reminded her of her days in South Carolina, when a slave feared a whipping. She told him to sit, and tried to put him at ease. William despised the man, and he had indeed been wicked, but he would serve them better if he were not so terrified. Jane kept her voice calm, and listened carefully to what the man had to say for himself.
"Yes, I quite understand, Mr. Porter," she finally replied. "The wheat will turn a good profit, and you've done well disposing of the rest of the grain. I believe my husband told you that you must continue to keep back the Home Farm's crops. Are the barns in good condition?"
He was so eager to reassure her on that head that he nearly fell out of his chair. Jane thought he was probably telling the truth, as dilapidated barns would lead to a spoiled crop, and thus less profit for him. Still, she made a little note to have them looked at by a third party. She might walk over to the Home Farm herself, but she was not secure enough in her knowledge of the matter to leave it there.
"And we must get the dairy working again. I need three milch cows as soon as possible. Do you know where any are to be had?" In the end, he gave her two of his outright, and promised to negotiate for her for another he knew of. She went down her list of necessities and won her point about the chickens as well. He was so quick to offer her them gratis to her, as well as some geese, that she knew it was guilt that prompted the offers. Nonetheless, as long as she got what she needed, she would not make the man's lot harder. He promised to find her all the soap she wanted, and she was satisfied enough by the end of the conversation to offer him a sop to his dignity.
"I have heard you have children, Mr. Porter. How old are they?" This was a sure touch, for his manner grew warmer and he began talking about them the way a father ought to talk, with pride and tenderness.
"Harry is just six—just six this month—but the finest little fellow you could want to see. Clever as a barrel of monkeys—he can already recite his catechism and he knows his numbers. My dear wife hopes we shall someday make a scholar of him."
"I am glad to hear it. And you have daughters?"
"Oh—yes! The sweetest girls—Deborah is ten, and quite the little woman already. She is such a help and comfort for my wife. Little Betsy is four, and has golden curls like her mother. Our newest little stranger is but eleven months old, and we named her Priscilla after my mother. My mother died last year, you see, quite suddenly, and we—" He stopped, embarrassed to be babbling at the lady. She was not exactly the mistress of Wargrave, but she was near enough to be an object of terror. She smiled kindly, though, and seemed happy to hear about his nearest and dearest.
"What a fine family! And how delightful to have daughters." Jane rang for Tom to show Porter out, and bade the man a kind farewell. "I shall look forward to seeing you on Saturday, if that suits."
"Of course, ma'am. I am at your service."
"Thank you. I know that we shall work well together. Good day to you, sir, and my compliments to Mrs. Porter and your children."
Afterwards, she did not feel like writing any more letters, but went to the nursery to play with William Francis and relax in Moll's company. Moll liked her room very much, and said so frequently. Jane, listening to what was meant, as well as what was said, determined that Moll would have a comfortable bed in the refurbished nursery, even if one had to be made to her measurements.
-----
The days followed: busy days full of problems to be solved and work to be done. The bedchamber next to Moll's was cleaned out, and put in order. Brocade bed curtains were found and mended and hung. A fine old Indian palampore covered the bed. All the pretty horticultural pictures were dusted, and when they had finished with the Print Room, Jane almost wished she had taken it for herself.
They now had a dairymaid and three cows. They had a poultrymaid and chickens and geese, and finally some ducks as well. This resolved some of the victualing issues, but Jane was determined to continue to use restraint in her own dining, especially since she was dining alone. She arranged meals with Mrs. Jeffreys with moderation and economy, not demanding that everything be laid before her first, and then the leavings given to the servants.
Tuning the harpsichord proved a project, for it was too out of tune to be brought up to pitch at one time. She must be patient, and let the strings adjust. Two more tunings over the next week should suffice.
She felt a little alone at the big table, and then in the drawing room or library of an evening. The house was very quiet, and she was glad to have so many faithful servants with her. Now that she was quite alone, she took out the copy of Fanny Hill, and proceeded to read it in the course of a night and a day. She walked about blushing for hours after, desperately longing for William. Good God! Could people really be like that?—and doing that all the time! Her own experience suggested that it might be true to life. And the novel was particularly startling in that Fanny was not punished for her many—graphically depicted—sins, but lived happily ever after with the love of her life. And that, too, might be true to life. It was definitely food for thought.
She pushed the enticing visions aside, and gave her attention to domestic duties. Her new servants were willing enough, but many were quite inexperienced. Mrs. Carter did what she could with the maidservants, but only Tom had anything like proper training as a footman. Jane took on two young lads, and gave Tom a brevet promotion to butler and the task of teaching the new menservants. He felt all the glory of his new position, and his celebration with Moll was perhaps a little too enthusiastic.
Jane was awakened just after midnight by a groan from the next room. Immediately she jumped from the bed, worried that Moll had taken ill. Not bothering to knock, she flung open the door and was greeted by a candlelit scene she had never imagined.
Moll and Tom, completely naked, were sprawled on the huge bed, engaged in what Mr. Cleland had described as lovemaking in the Persian style. Jane thought it was like a very grand Rubens, such as she had seen in London—if Rubens had painted very naughty pictures. Moll saw her and then Tom saw her, and he let out a yowl like a scalded cat. Leaping from the bed, he snatched at his breeches, and missed, and then snatched at them again. He managed to get one leg in, but the other was inside out, and he hopped in circles on one foot, frantically trying to cover himself.
Jane, staring in disbelief, noted absently that he had a handsome figure indeed, the dignity of which was somewhat marred by that part of his anatomy that was still somewhat stiff, and bouncing with every hop. Finally the other leg was in, he drew a gasping, victorious, breath as he pulled up his breeches, and then swept Jane a bow. "At your service, Madam."
Jane giggled helplessly. Moll, who had had the sense to just cover herself with the sheets, asked nervously, "Are you all right, ma'am? Something you need?"
"Ah—ah—I thought you were ill. I heard a groan."
Tom's face split in a terrified, zany grin.
Moll cleared her throat, and said, "Why no, ma'am, can't say that I'm ill. I'm feeling mighty fine at the moment. Me and Tom were figuring that we might get married sometime, that's all. I reckon you heard us talking it over."
Tom said nothing, and grinned again.
"Yes," said Jane. "I think your marrying might be a very sensible idea. I suppose you are officially betrothed now?"
"Aye, ma'am, that we are."
"Oh, good," replied Jane, wondering if she was asleep, and dreaming very oddly. She glanced at the baby, whose slumber was angelic and profound. Perhaps she was dreaming. "I wouldn't want you to set a bad example to the other servants. Whenever the new vicar arrives or we go to London, I think you should marry straight away." She was shocked, but hated to reprove Moll, who had borne so much and deserved some happiness. "Please don't do anything that would cause the other servants to talk. And don't make any noises that might wake me or the baby. And please, please-- draw the curtains in future."
She left with what composure she could manage, and shut the door behind her. Instantly, she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, thinking of Tom and his—his—thing—bouncing around like a sausage. She was back in her own bed in a moment, still giggling. Am I wrong to permit such a thing? Ought I to dismiss them? No. She was certainly not going to dismiss faithful servants on whom she depended. They were irreplaceable. She would insist that they marry—which seemed to be their intent anyway—or Moll's at least. If they were betrothed, it mitigated the wrong to a great extent.
Yes, they must marry, and a way would be found to accommodate their married status. She had learned that in England it was not that unusual for a butler to be married. And now they had young Rose, who could sleep in the nursery upstairs when it was finished. Perhaps a room nearby could be fitted up for Mr. and Mrs. Young. She giggled again, thinking that reading Fanny Hill had thoroughly corrupted her.
Saturday was dark and wet, and Jane decided she would stay indoors that day. It was a lazy sort of morning, and her only great accomplishments were eating her breakfast and writing a letter to Mr. Bellini, asking for all the news of concerts and for gossip about the musicians he knew. One feature of her letters to him that she had decided on—if they were to have a real, official correspondence—was to ask him to describe a different city he had seen in each letter. Going to the enormous folio atlas in the library, she shut her eyes and pointed a finger at random. The name surprised her. She knew nothing about the place, but Bellini had mentioned it.
"My dear sir, as your knowledge of the world far surpasses mine, I ask you for news of it---"
"—Tell me about Prague."
She was no Madame de Sévigné, astonishing generations with the profundity of her own observations, but perhaps she could elicit wonderful letters to herself. After writing the letter, she spent a little time in research, learning what she could herself about that city. How wide the world was! And then she thought of poor little Mr. Pevensie, at sea with no parents, and she wrote him a letter too, telling him about the pleasantest things she had done in the town and in the country.
She saw to the baby, and she and Moll wisely behaved as if Jane had noticed nothing amiss. In a day or two, perhaps, Jane would discuss possible choices for a room for the betrothed couple to share when they were married—a room with a sufficiently large bed for two tall people—but for now she would let it go.
There was much to see to, and one of the workmen had burned himself with the hot pitch, and the new laundrymaid did not quite seem to understand what was required of her. All sorts of challenges rose throughout the day, but there was nothing that threatened to overwhelm. Jane simply wished that Letty were still here to talk to. She sighed, thinking of her sister, wondering where she was, and what she was seeing.
One of the new footmen dashed into the library, and proclaimed with rather improper excitement, "Beg pardon, ma'am—I mean, Madam. There's a carriage a-comin'!"
Clearly, carriages in this country were a great event. Jane humored the boy, and rose to see who might be calling. By the time she had pushed the cat from her lap, and crossed the length of the Great Hall, and opened the door, she could hear the sound of horses' hooves and rumbling wheels. She looked and did not recognize the coach. For a moment she had hoped it was William, and then wondered if it might be the Earl, come to see that she was all right, but there was no coat of arms on the door. It appeared to be a hired carriage, and before she could formulate the hope fully, the door opened, the occupant descended, and Jane rushed to embrace Miss Gilpin.
Notes: Lighting fires, unfortunately, really was often done to force small chimneysweeps to keep working. It was not a mere threat.
A palampore is an Indian textile, now usually used as a wall hanging, that features a central design--usually a tree (esp. the Tree of Life), and has surrounding rectangular borders. The 18th century Western derivation was often quilted and used as a bed coverlet.
Jane's knowledge of the paintings of Rubens was very limited. She had not, for example, seen The Rape of the Daughters of Leucippos.
I have posted more illustrations at the Tavington's Heiress portion of my website.
Thank you to my reviewers. Once again, I would very much appreciate my readers' feedback, even if it is only a brief word or two!
Next—Chapter 43: Letters from Lady Fanshawe