Chapter 14

Laid low, very low,
In the dark we must lie.

 

Ainsley had not ventured down to the kitchens of the Belgravia house since he was a young boy. Despite a near free reign at The Briar, all the Marshall children were promptly dispatched by Billis should they try to head down. The butler's office, which he shared with the head housekeeper, was set right at the bottom of the stairs. An open door was all Billis' needed to ensure there was no unauthorized entry into his domain. That day, however, Billis was not in his office and Ainsley was able to walk past without being noticed.

The basement was a long hallway with the kitchens, scullery and larder on one side and Billis' office, and laundry area on the other. Ahead of him Ainsley saw Julia walk from one of the rooms with a silver dress draped over her arm. She walked toward him with her head bowed and her hand running along the smooth satin fabric, a smile hinting at the corners of her mouth.

“Is Margaret wearing that tonight?” he asked.

The young maid stopped, suddenly aware she was not alone. “Yes, sir,” she answered sharply. Her dreamy demeanor vanished and her gaze fell to the floor as he walked toward her. “I was just checking the hue against some ribbons I found...” her voice trailed off, uncertain.

“Is Violetta about?” he asked, sensing her discomfort. He looked into the doorway of the kitchen but saw only the scullery maid at the sink.

Julia glanced up slightly and nodded. “She is down the hall, sir.”

Ainsley smiled his thanks and continued down towards the far end of the hall. After a few steps, he looked over his shoulders to see Julia staring after him. It was not the fact that she was looking at him that unsettled him. He was used to that sort of attention. It was the look in her eyes, a look of sadness that came over her when she saw him. Ainsley felt as if he had seen it before.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, before she turned abruptly and dashed up the stairs, the long shirt of Margaret's silver dress rippling behind her as she went.

Violetta was seated near a long thin window that allowed in a small measure of light. A length of fabric in one hand and a threaded needle in the other, she strained against the dim light to sew tiny beads into the fabric. As he stepped closer, Ainsley recognized the fabric as a dress his mother was in the habit of wearing on special occasions. It became obvious the lady's maids were spending much of the day preparing for the engagement dinner later that evening.

Ainsley watched for a long while before Violetta finally looked up. “Mr. Marshall,” she said, lowering the needlework that made her hunch over. She smiled at first and then it faded. “Is something amiss? The mistress?”

He shook his head. “No.”

Violetta gave an audible sigh and raised a hand to her heart. “Even His Lordship does not venture down to the kitchens,” she answered with a slight laugh.

“I have come with enquiries,” he said, deciding he needed to take a firm tone with her if he expected her to give him the answers he needed. Her loyalty to his mother was commendable but it would not serve his purpose. “I need to know where Her Ladyship was.”

He saw Violetta swallow nervously and then bite her lower lip. She shook her head and opened her mouth as if to say something but nothing came.

“You know my mother better than anyone.” Ainsley coaxed, “And you were with her, Violetta.”

Older than his mother, Violetta could have been a grandmother or great-aunt to Ainsley and his siblings. She could be both stern and loving within the same sentence. This instance was no different.

“Mr. Marshall knows better than to ask me for his mother's secrets,” she answered firmly. “They are hers alone.” She turned back to her needle and thread.

Ainsley hadn't expected his quest to be fruitful, his mother had a way of inciting loyalty as easily as she provoked smiles, but he knew he must try.

“I know about the laudanum,” he said.

Violetta's work stopped, her hand frozen mid-air, her fingers pinching the needle. She remained quiet for a moment, her eyes trained on her mistress's dress and then she started again, saying nothing.

“She takes it regularly,” Ainsley prodded. “I know this. Now that I have found her empty bottles I can see the signs clearly enough.”

“I can not say,” Violetta answered. “Even if I wanted to tell what I know, you know I couldn't,” she replied, looking up from her work briefly.

“She works you like a mule,” Ainsley nearly yelled. He could feel heat rising into his cheeks and his hands curling into fists. “How can you be loyal to that?”

“Because convention—”

“Oh damn convention!” Ainsley turned from her and paced the wide room. The smell of lye and ash invaded his senses as he walked to the corner. “Violetta, I am not defending my father,” a laugh accompanied his words, “but my mother—”

“Needs help. Yes, but I will not betray her confidence to open her to ridicule and abuse.” Violetta spoke firmly, like any good matron would over her charges. Perhaps she felt his mother was in need of her care and, therefore, protection.

Her position seemed solid against Ainsley's barrage. He could not argue against such loyalty. It did not seem right that she paid such loyalty to his mother forsaking everyone else.

“Your heart is placed right, Mr. Marshall, however misguided.”

Ainsley nodded and turned to leave stopping short at the threshold. With his head bent to the floor, his arms holding both sides of the door, he spoke in a near whisper. “Was she with him?” he asked.

The maid was silent and he was forced to turn. He needed to see her face in response to his query. She had gone pale and her needlework nearly slipped from the precipice of her skirt.

His frustration was undeniable.

“She was, wasn't she?” he pressed. “She was with him.”

“I do not have many more years on this earth, Mr. Marshall,” she answered deliberately, “I simply could not live the rest of them in peace if I were to betray her ladyship's confidence.” Violetta gathered her mistress's dress, stood and slipped past him. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly as she went.

 

Later that evening Ainsley found Margaret seated at her toilette table staring blankly into the mirrored glass as Julia finished her hair. Margaret had the look of someone lost to another world, neither hearing nor truly seeing the activity around her. Ainsley hovered at the door as Julia placed a final pin into Margaret's hair, gingerly patting the secured curls with an open hand.

“How is it, my lady?” Julia asked, coaxing acknowledgement from Margaret who refused to look up from the various bottles and jars on the table before her.

“Thank you, Julia,” Margaret said by rote rather than genuine appreciation.

Julia gave a quick curtsey and turned toward the door where Ainsley stood, leaning against the door frame. Her eyes trained on the floor, Julia passed him.

Walking toward Margaret, Ainsley saw that her copious curls, pinned up from the neck with only a few tendrils cascading down, were dressed with silver ribbons twisted to look like rose buds. The effect was quite stunning against her deep, chestnut hair.

Margaret finally looked up into the mirror, recognizing her brother standing behind her. “Beautiful, isn't it?” she asked, turning her head side to side to look at the elegant effect the tiny roses had on her hair style. “Goodness I hate her,” she said with a scowl.

“Margaret,” Ainsley said with a wide smile, “Why would you say such a thing?” Ainsley found a seat on the edge of a chair at the foot of her bed. He took his place carefully, aware that his formal evening wear could easily be marred or wrinkled with any slight carelessness.

Margaret turned, throwing her arm over the back of the chair on which she sat. “Because she is so good. She can do everything and anything. I bet she goes to Whitechapel every Sunday afternoon to read to the orphans and brings them the crumbs from her week’s worth of dinners!”

“Margaret, you are being unfair.”

“Am I?” Margaret turned from him and grabbed for her silver, elbow length gloves laying flat on her toilette. “Yes, well what do you expect from someone so inferior as I? I mean really Peter, you'd think she was the princess of Norway the way you and Daniel fawn all over her.”

“Daniel and I?”

“Yes!” Margaret began pulling on her gloves, careful to pull each finger into the form fitting satin. “I have seen more of Daniel in the last two days than I have the entire previous year.”

It was worse than Ainsley had previously thought. He had never believed his brother capable of such philandering. His engagement party was hours away and he had been spending his time eyeing their family's newest maid.

Ainsley must have bore his concern on his face because Margaret's face fell and she grew serious. “Peter, tell me it's just a coincidence.”

He wished he could, but he knew better. He had seen it in his brother's teasing tone and hungry eyes and knew it was more than some slight flirting. He was to be a married man before long and already he was giving in to his wandering eye. He worried for Julia, but most of all, he worried for Evelyn who truly had no idea who she was marrying.

Ainsley fell silent but Margaret must have been thinking along the same lines as he. “Poor Evelyn,” she said.

“Perhaps I should warn her,” Ainsley said, suddenly feeling a tightness at his collar.

“They will be in their own home before long and Julia won't be a distraction for him,” Margaret reasoned, though she must have known her tone was less than convincing.

“Until another maid comes along that catches his eye?” Ainsley asked. He saw her press her lips together and her gaze dart to the floor. “Face it, Margaret, our brother is morally corrupt.”

“Well if Mother is his example, should we be surprised?”

“Father is not known for his moral choices either,” Ainsley added, with a raised eyebrow.

 

With Margaret on his arm, Ainsley headed down the stairs and saw Daniel waiting impatiently for the rest of the family to join him in the foyer. In full dress he matched Ainsley almost exactly with black trousers and waist coat, a pleated white shirt decorated with a pristine white neck tie. He held his tall, silk hat in his one gloved hand while the other was thrust deep into his trouser pockets. A sigh of relief came over him when he saw Ainsley and Margaret walking gingerly down the imposing, curving staircase. “We have to only pray no one is about in the streets,” he said, “Or Jacob will have a time of it getting us there on time.” His tone hinted at annoyance. He appeared nervous, or so it seemed to Ainsley, who smiled at his brother's eagerness and then sneered at the memory of his ill-advised attentions to the newest house maid.

At the base of the stairs Margaret turned to the footman, Cutter, who waited with her evening cape. Billis stood at attention two paces off.

“Where is Father?” Ainsley asked his brother but his question was almost immediately answered.

Lord Marshall exited his study door at the far end of the foyer, looking as if he had been ready for hours. He spread his arms out to the side and came straight for Margaret. Planting a kiss on each of her cheeks, he beamed.

“What a very becoming look for you, my dear,” he said, surveying the ribbon roses in her hair.

Margaret patted her hair. “Julia did all the painstaking work this morning,” she explained. Ainsley saw her look to Daniel who appeared neither interested nor impressed by the maid's artistry. Apparently he cared only to tease and taunt the girl relentlessly.

“She has done a mighty fine job, if I may say so,” Lord Marshall said. He looked to Ainsley, pressed his lips in a tight smile. “Shall I keep my eye out for you tonight? I hear Evelyn has a slew of female cousins.”

Ainsley gave a smirk. “No need, Father,” he said, “I am quite capable of picking my own bride, should it ever come to that.”

The fact had not been lost on Ainsley that Lord Marshall had pointed Daniel toward a young lady. Their union was not based on a mutual attraction, friendship or any other fanciful notion of matrimony. Daniel and Evelyn were thrust together by the mutual benefit of both their fathers and if there was a more archaic means for soliciting lifelong disaster Ainsley was not aware of it.

Lady Marshall appeared at the top of the stairs just as Billis presented Lord Marshall with his hat and Margaret reached over to straighten Ainsley's neck tie. Frozen in action, the family watched as Lady Marshall began her descent, clutching the handrail with a vice grip, smiling daintily though she wobbled slightly. Ainsley could only watch her take two perilous steps, each time fearing she would collapse down the stairs, before finally bounding up toward her two steps at a time.

“Thank you, Peter dear,” she said in a quiet voice. She smiled at him as she gratefully took his arm and allowed him to anchor her as she stepped.

One glance to Margaret at the bottom of the stairs confirmed that she saw what Ainsley had. This woman, who had once been strong and formidable, had turned weak seemingly overnight. She had always been the picture of grace and elegance but that facet of her seemed a distant memory. Even as Ainsley clutched her arm, grasping her hand to steady her, she faltered and would have fallen had Ainsley not been there to brace her. With just a few more steps to go, Ainsley saw his father turn from them, exasperated.

Once safely on the marble tile of the foyer, Lady Marshall gently placed her gloved hand on Ainsley's cheek and smiled. “You are too good for this family,” she said, without any regard to the other family members who stood within earshot. Made uncomfortable by the slight against Margaret and Daniel, Ainsley said nothing. He stepped back, allowing his mother to turn into the fur lined cape Billis held for her.

“Shall we go now, Mother?” Daniel asked, his words pushed out by a sudden exhale of breath.

Billis held the door, and the family filed out into the street where their carriage awaited them. The ride was quiet and somber, despite Margaret's repeated attempts to lighten the mood and insight conversation. No one seemed in the mood for conversing and soon she relented, allowing the five of them to slip into an awkward silence.