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IT TOOK THE REMAINDER of that crisp, cold evening to get everyone settled into new and different accommodations. As it turned out, the extra wide bed already standing in Ardeth, Lady Westcott’s, bedchamber had a truckle bed hidden beneath it, which she was unaware of, and which was actually wide enough for both Tilda and me. We decided Helen would climb in beside Ardeth, and the two older, more portly ladies, Carlotta and Emma, would sleep in the same bed they had been sleeping in.
Once the pair of footmen got the second bed and everyone’s valises and portmanteaus down the corridor and through the door of Ardeth’s bedchamber, the large room looked a good deal less spacious and far more cluttered than it had before. But, when both beds were drawn up as close as possible to the freshly-laid fire that now blazed in the hearth, and everyone was finally settled down to sleep, we all agreed that we were surprisingly warm and comfortable. Tilda and I, tucked into the low truckle bed, were actually closer to the flames than anyone else, so close, in fact, that we found we did not need a second coverlet drawn to our chins in order to ward off the chilly air that continued to seep into the room.
“Goodnight, miss,” Tilda whispered to me. “Sure am glad I’m here with you ‘stead of belowstairs layin’ next to a stranger.”
“I, too, am pleased over how things got sorted, Tilda. Sleep well.”
Unfortunately, Tilda and I were both restless all night for it soon became apparent that either Carlotta or Emma, or both, snored quite loudly in their sleep. The disturbance was so keen that it seemed I had only just fallen into a deep slumber when shafts of morning light began to peek through a slit between the heavy velvet draperies at the window where the drapes did not quite come together. Turning over, I pulled the pillow over my head and was thankful to doze off again. However, in mere minutes, I became aware of voices in the room and realized with annoyance that the new day had already begun and others in the room were stirring.
I soon realized that someone had also already pulled the bell-rope and requested that our morning tea be brought up for two maids soon trouped in, each bearing trays containing pots, cups, and two plates of dry bread and butter; and to everyone’s chagrin, no jam.
“Hmm. No finer fare today than what we were served for breakfast yesterday,” Ardeth muttered. “But, at least the tea is passably warm.”
I could not help noticing in the morning light that apparently just before Ardeth crawled into bed last night, she had removed her . . . coiffure, meaning a blonde wig; for now, this morning, her own hair, being little more than wispy thin locks, had suddenly gone from a glorious golden shade to a drab dishwater color that made her appear a poor replica of the image, that of a glamorous actress, she worked so hard to project. Also detracting from her usually splendid looks was the fact that now, in the stark unforgiving light of day, her face was also completely devoid of paint and she clearly possessed rather wrinkled and blotchy skin. The famous beauty Ardeth Myers, in truth, was anything but a beauty.
However, the woman’s diminished looks did not detract from her imperious attitude. Apparently accustomed to giving orders in her own household, and perhaps also back-stage at the theatre, Ardeth crisply instructed the pair of Montford Hall housemaids to shove aside both beds; and instead place chairs before the remnants of fire, now struggling to stay alive on the hearth. We ladies, most still attired in our wrappers and slippers, could then take advantage of what little warmth drifted up from the few red-rimmed coals now scattered about whilst we all sleepily sipped our tea. Conversation was thin as everyone hurriedly ate a few bites of bread and gulped down their tea so as to hurry and dress, as warmly as possible, for the day. A short time later, as I emerged from behind the four-fold screen in the corner of the room, fully clothed now, I was suddenly shocked to alertness when I heard Ardeth address Tilda in a haughty tone.
“Hang up my dressing gown, girl, and fetch the pins for my hair and be quick about it.”
My jaw dropped.
“Ardeth,” I sputtered, “Tilda is not a housemaid, she is my . . . my personal companion! To tend to the needs of Lady Montford’s houseguests is not amongst Miss Tompkins’ duties. You will not order her about as if she were a mere housemaid!”
Lady Westcott shot me a look of outrage. “Well, aren’t you the uppity one, Miss Abbott? Brought along your personal companion, did you? Well, I do not recall seeing your companion last night at dinner.”
“The dining hall was so poorly lit, it would surprise me if you could clearly see anyone last night at dinner!”
Ardeth’s heavily rouged lips pursed. “If you recall, young lady, I also brought along my personal maid and companion and we all know what happened to her!”
“I, do indeed, recall the harm that befell your maid and you have my sympathies, madam. However, what befell your lady’s maid is none of my doing, nor of anyone in this room. Which means that no one here is now required to wait on you hand and foot.” My tone was as firm, and almost as haughty, as hers. “If you request it of Lady Montford, I expect she would be happy to loan you a personal lady’s maid. Otherwise, it appears we must each make do as best we can on our own.”
I noted that her wig sat slightly askew, so apparently the aging actress did require the help of a lady’s maid in order to rig herself out.
Although the angry actress made no reply to my retort, I was also aware that my unexpected outburst had garnered the attention of the other ladies in the room, all attempting to either dress themselves or to help one another with the odd button or sash. I further became aware that my own snippy remarks to Ardeth’s demands of Tilda was likely due, in part, to me having got so very little sleep the night before. Still, I thought it quite cheeky of her to expect Tilda to do her bidding, and I would not allow it. Ardeth Myers may now possess a title but that did not give her the right to order my lady’s maid about!
I did note that throughout the heated exchange, Tilda’s pale blue eyes had grown quite large and round. She said nothing, however, until moments before the fire in the hearth died completely away and, one by one, all the ladies began to sift through their belongings in search of a shawl, and, or, some sort of warm wrap before heading below stairs to the drawing room where we were all expected to spend the day. I noted Emma pulling on a pair of moth-eaten gloves. Poor woman. All her success on the stage and in the end, she was reduced to living the life of a pauper. As was her friend, Carlotta, who was still busily knitting away on a new warm muffler for herself.
Tilda’s eyes were still wide as she moved closer to me and whispered, “Am I to stay here whilst you goes down to the drawing room with the others, miss, or . . . what?”
I cast a glance at my little maid and noting her fresh, clean appearance, quietly replied, “You will accompany me below stairs along with everyone else, Tilda.”
“But, miss, I-I ain’t accustomed to being in the company of . . .” She cast an anxious glance towards the other ladies.
“You look as presentable as anyone here, Tilda. More so than some,” I added, aiming a cool glance at both Carlotta and Emma, who were both wearing the same non-descript gowns they’d worn the day before and which they were now covering with ratty-looking shawls. I noted that Carlotta had stuck her knitting needles into the wound-up ball of yarn that she, no doubt, intended to take with her. Perhaps she’d have her new scarf finished soon and could wrap it about her neck. Helen had put on a fresh frock, but it was dark in colour and the only embellishment was a simple white collar, which rather made her look like a governess. Tilda’s gown, being a cast-off of mine, was, by contrast, a pretty long-sleeved green worsted trimmed with black braid about the hem and a darker green ribbon tied beneath her breasts.
“Do brush your hair, though,” I replied quietly. “In fact, let us pin it up into a knot, similar to the manner in which my hair is dressed. Then we shall both join the others in the drawing room.” I continued to keep my voice low. “I will not allow you to pass the entire day shut up here in a freezing cold bedchamber all alone.”
“Yes, miss.” Tilda bobbed a quick curtsy.
“And, Tilda,” I added in a tight whisper, “do remember to refrain from curtsying. As my companion, you are not required to curtsy.”
As my dutiful little maid hurried to the dressing table to fetch her hairbrush, Helen looked my way. “Are you coming, Miss Abbott? I see the fire has now completely gone out. I suppose we have no choice but to obey Lady Montford and spend the entire day in the drawing room since that is to be the only heated chamber in the house. Are you coming?”
She turned from where she stood near the doorway; Emma and Carlotta having skirted past her to hastily exit the room. I was unsure of Ardeth’s whereabouts at the moment, perhaps she was still behind the screen attempting to right her wig, or perhaps she had already departed for the drawing room. I did not know, nor did I care.
“Tilda and I shall be along in a moment, Helen. I just need to . . .” I let my voice trail off.
“Very well, then.”
I moved to assist Tilda tidy up her coiffure, then in an effort to further dress up her appearance, pulled a green ribbon from my valise and tied it about the knot at the nape of her neck. “There, now you look as fashionable as any other young lady.”
Tilda very nearly curtsied but caught herself in time and merely nodded. “Thank you, miss. I ‘preciate you standin’ up for me like ye’ done.”
“You are most welcome, Miss Tompkins.” I replied crisply. “I will not have you ill-used, and most certainly not by the likes of Ardeth Myers.” If she were still in the room, I have no doubt the woman heard me. But, at this juncture, I most certainly did not care.
* * *
ON OUR WAY BELOW STAIRS, Tilda shyly asked, “Was Lady Westcott really quite famous on the stage, miss?”
“So I have been told, however, I do not believe she has . . . trod the boards in quite some time, not since she married, at any rate. You must not let Ardeth’s former popularity cause you to think any less of yourself, Tilda. She is no better than you or I. We are all of us human beings and in the eyes of the Almighty, are equal, not a one of us any better than another. Promise me you will remember that, and in future, do not be cowed by Ardeth’s superior opinion of herself.”
Below stairs in the drawing room, which did, indeed, feel toasty warm compared to our chilly bedchamber, we ladies all gravitated towards the top of the room to stand before the fire and warm our foremost side and then our backside. In moments, the four gentlemen houseguests joined us.
“Good morning, ladies,” Mr. Lyttleton’s unmistakable deep baritone fairly preceded him into the cavernous room. “You are all looking well this morning. It is delightful to see you again, Miss Tilda.” Mr. Lyttleton nodded in the direction of my maid.
“Ah, so, I see you have made the acquaintance of Miss Abbott’s . . . companion,” said Ardeth, her chin at a tilt, one eyebrow lifted.
I had not noticed when she joined us, but evidently, she had.
“Indeed, I have made the young lady’s acquaintance,” Lyttleton replied with a smile. “We all rode out from Town together in the same carriage. Quite cozy, were we not, Miss Tilda?”
Though Ardeth’s lips pursed, she said nothing more.
“Well, I have yet to meet the young lady,” declared the stoop-shouldered Mr. Torbitt, who had discarded the blanket he was clutching the previous night at dinner, although not his shawl. Today, he was also leaning upon a battered old cane, one hand pressed atop the other on its hilt. “Will someone introduce me to this pretty little thing?”
I spoke up. “Forgive me, sir. This is Miss Matilda Tompkins. To her friends, she goes by ‘Tilda’.” I smiled. “This is Mr. Tony Torbitt, Tilda, and you remember Mr. Lyttleton. The other gentlemen are Mr. Egerton and the one with the pipe is Mr. Nordstrom.”
Though her blue eyes were now quite wide, Tilda managed a shy smile as she glanced from one to the other of the four elderly men, most of whom were gazing, somewhat eagerly I noted, her way.
Removing the unlit pipe from his mouth, Mr. Nordstrom declared, “Well, I daresay, another pretty young lady to liven up the party is always welcome. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Tompkins.”
“Do call me Tilda,” she pertly replied.
“Very well, Tilda, it is. And you may call me Robert. All my . . . special lady friends do.”
To me, the former stage actor’s grin more closely resembled a leer, but then, I suppose, that should not surprise me. Apparently handsome actors, despite their age, continue to hold high opinions of their allure to the ladies.
Of a sudden, old Mr. Torbitt all but shoved Robert Nordstrom aside with his cane. “Where have you been keeping your pretty little friend, Miss Abbott? Why have we not seen her before now?”
I rushed to say, “Unfortunately since we arrived, Tilda has been feeling a bit . . . out of sorts. Snowy air can often give one a case of the sniffles, don’t you know.”
“Ah, well I hope you are feeling more the thing now, my dear,” said Nordstrom, seemingly loath to allow Mr. Torbitt to claim the bulk of Tilda’s attention. “Are you an aspiring actress, young lady, or simply an admirer of the theatre and . . . famous actors?”
Apparently not knowing quite how to respond to the gentleman’s query, Tilda shrugged shyly.
“Well, I’ve no doubt we can find a small part for you in our little theatrical production, Miss Tilda,” interjected Mr. Torbitt. “What say you, my dear? My, my, she is a sweet young thing, ain’t she, Lyttleton?”
Mr. Lyttleton’s brows drew together. “I daresay Miss Tilda is far too young to have any interest in you, old man; so you’d best reel in your enthusiasm. And, you, as well, Nordstrom. Leave the girl alone.”
By now, I was certain Tilda might be feeling a tad bit sorry she had agreed to me elevating her status, but as old Mr. Nordstrom had declared, a fresh young face was always welcome at any gathering, especially one where the gentlemen were brim full of self-importance.
However, it appeared Ardeth Myers did not quite agree. Seems she had had quite enough of sharing the limelight with the pert-nosed, fresh-faced, six and ten-year-old Miss Matilda Tompkins.
She brushed past both Tilda and me in order to place herself squarely in front of the actors, and one playwright. “So, what have we decided to do today, gentlemen? Perform a few scenes from our most successful productions, or perhaps, Egerton can write a new playlet for us. What say you, Henry? Might you whip us up a simple one act play, one with a special part for a budding young actress . . .” she cast a disdainful look at Tilda, “ . . . who unfortunately has nothing to recommend her? Have you ever acted in anything at all, young lady, upon any stage?”
Although I winced, I said nothing, nor did Tilda, however, unbeknownst to Ardeth, thought I, Tilda is presently acting now and I daresay she is doing a credible job of it, too.