CHAPTER 14

Kate knew her position as housekeeper at Kenrick Hall was most unorthodox, for she had more authority—and more responsibility—than such a position usually entailed. But had the earl not made that clear from the beginning? Many of her duties—planning menus, deciding on household projects—would have been performed by a countess were one in residence, or by Lady Elinor were she less infirm. Occasionally, rumors, raised eyebrows, and snide questions dotted local gossip, especially in the days following Nurse Cranstan’s departure. However, Lady Elinor’s consequence and her friendship with the vicar’s wife helped deflect negative comments. Also, according to gossipy Rosie, servants interacting with friends and relatives over tankards or teacups protested vehemently against scurrilous rumors. Kate herself maintained a professional demeanor with both her employer and her fellow employees.

But it was not easy.

Often of an evening, the staff would gather in the servants’ dining room downstairs to play cards, dominoes, or draughts even as they were on call to serve the family upstairs. On rare occasions, Kate joined the group with her guitar for an informal song fest. At such times, Ned and Cassie frequently joined in as well. The gathering always broke up for an early bedtime, not so much for the sake of the children as for the fact that, in any well-run household, servants were expected to rise long before their masters. Kate treasured her camaraderie with the staff, but took care to preserve an invisible line of decorum.

Such a line was not so easily maintained on the other end of the spectrum. The history—and now the secret—she shared with Robert precluded treating him privately as anything but what he was: a valued friend. Robert continued to press her to tell Kenrick the truth, but Kate demurred, partly from fear of the unknown. What action would Lord Kenrick feel compelled to take? And what would he think of her? Had he not at their first meeting made a point of telling her how he valued honesty and integrity?

Lately, though, her concerns had extended to Kenrick himself. She had overheard him mention to Robert that he expected to take his seat in the House of Lords when Parliament met in the new year, for he had decided views on reform measures being bandied about in the highest circles. A scandal involving a connection of the powerful Duke of Wynstan and a not-so-well-known earl would render the earl’s political views meaningless before he uttered them. Her very presence in his life offered a potential hazard.

Maintaining stiff formality with Lord Kenrick was proving very difficult indeed. Her mind would not let go of that kiss, the waltz, his occasional gentle teasing, the kindness he extended to Ned, and—most of all—the sheer magnetism of a fine masculine form and compelling blue eyes.

“Oh, good heavens,” she admonished herself. “Robert has fine eyes and a fine physique as well. You are not daydreaming about him like some green girl!” The truth was that with each passing day, her feelings for Lord Kenrick grew stronger. She found herself even thinking of him as Jeremy instead of the title his position—and hers—required. She was sure that he was attracted to her to some degree. There had been that kiss, after all....

But there was tension as well. She occasionally caught him looking at her with speculation and curiosity. Did he suspect that she was not the person she purported to be? She was tempted to tell him the truth. She wanted to share the problem—as she had often shared issues with Arthur. But no. Such a move would change—destroy—the status quo. Best leave things alone. The unknown was too frightening. Eventually she and Ned would have to leave. She could explain then—maybe write a letter.

The morning after his return from surveying Kenrick holdings with Robert, Jeremy went to the stables with a handful of carrots, thinking he would accompany Cassie and Ned on their morning ride. Perhaps Ned’s mother would be there too, and he could smooth over any awkwardness of last night. Cassie and Jack, the stable hand who usually oversaw the riding lessons, were alone.

“Where is Ned?” Jeremy asked.

“He can’t come today,” Cassie said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Can’t come? Why? Is he ill? He seemed perfectly fine last night.”

“He’s not allowed for three days,” Cassie explained.

“Who does not allow him?” Jeremy looked from Cassie to Jack.

“His mama,” Cassie said with the same all-knowing frankness of children.

“You know anything about this?” Jeremy asked of Jack.

“Yes, my lord.” But Jack seemed reluctant to elaborate and glanced at Cassie.

Jeremy handed Cassie the carrots. “See if Toby would like these.”

“Oh, I know he will.” She scampered out of hearing of the two men.

“So—why is Ned not allowed to ride?” Jeremy demanded of Jack.

Jack drew circles in the dust with the toe of his boot. “Well, my lord, you know how boys can be at times. The lad were just feelin’ his oats. But he made the mistake of letting his ma hear him.”

“ ‘Feeling his oats’? Explain that, Jack.”

Jack sighed. “We come back from a sort of long ride couple days ago. He were tired an’ it was rainin’ an’ he didn’t wanta put the horse up proper-like. I told him as how you’d made that part of their ridin’ lessons.”

“And?” Jeremy prodded.

“Well, he got real uppity an’ told me to do it myself since I was a stable hand an’ it were my job an’ all.”

“Ned said that?”

“Yep. You know how young folks gotta try the fences now an’ then. He added some other choice words you might hear around a stable. What he didn’t know—me, neither—was his ma was just inside the stable door. Come down to wait for ’em.”

“What happened then?”

“She come chargin’ out that door like a whirlwind, grabbed that boy by his ear an’ told ’im to apologize to me immediately and then laid into ’im somethin’ fierce. Told ’im his behavior was totally unacceptable, how could he hope to take his proper place in society if he had no respect for the animals an’ people who made his life easier—an’ on an’ on. Made ’im apologize to Lady Cassandra too, ’cause no gentleman would ever use such language in front of a lady.”

Jeremy shook his head, pondering this.

Jack went on. “She ended by telling him—an’ me—that he was not to come near the stables for three days. An’ you know how that boy does love horses.”

“Did he apologize?”

“Most definitely. He knew he done wrong. I think he was real sorry—not just for his careless words to me, but that his ma was shamed by what he done.”

“What did she mean, ‘take his place in society’?”

“I got no idea, my lord. But she were mad as hops!”

Jeremy was still mulling over this information and only half listening to his daughter chatter as the two of them set off on a leisurely ride, Jeremy holding his mount back to match the pace of Cassie’s pony.

“Is that true, Papa?”

“Is what true?”

“What I just said. Weren’t you listening, Papa?”

“I guess I wasn’t, sweetheart. What was it?”

“Is a duke more higher than an earl?”

“Higher, not ‘more higher,’ ” he corrected. “Yes. In the grand scheme of English society, a duke outranks an earl.”

“Oh.” She sounded deflated.

“Why do you ask?”

“Ned said when he grows up he will be a duke like Welgundon and then I’ll have to curtsy to him. Is that true, Papa?”

Jeremy chuckled. “You mean Wellington, love. But yes, if he managed to become a duke, you might. Of course, you could marry a prince, and then Ned would have to bend his knee to you.”

“Then that is what I shall do,” she said, lifting her chin for emphasis. She abruptly changed the subject. “This is tomorrow, Papa. Can I please have one of Petunia’s kittens? Pleeease?”

“When we get back, you may show them to me,” he said, already knowing he would give in on this issue, not only to make his daughter happy, but also to prove to Mrs. Arthur that he was not as heartless as she might think.

As they continued the outing, his mind reverted again to his housekeeper. More pieces to the puzzle. A place in society? A housekeeper’s son a member of the aristocracy? But how did these pieces fit the picture? Could be a mother’s natural ambition for her child, on the one hand, and childish babble based on soldiers’ gossip when Parliament elevated Wellington, on the other hand. Perhaps he would ask Robert—assuming Robert could answer without betraying a confidence.

Meanwhile, there was still the matter of the kitten. As he accompanied Cassie to the back entrance of the hall, they found the mama cat and her babies cavorting near the stoop. Jeremy could not help smiling at their antics, jumping over plants and each other, chasing shadows.

“They are having such fun!” Cassie said with a giggle.

“They are that,” he agreed. “So which one has stolen the Lady Cassandra’s heart?”

“This one!” She snagged a ball of fur sporting splashes of brown, white, amber, and black, and hugged it close.

“Why that one? Why not this little yellow one with white stripes?”

“I like this one.” She hugged it closer. “She makes me think of Running Fox.”

“She does?” Jeremy was mystified by the connection between this small feline and Cassie’s erstwhile Arapaho playmate.

“His pony, Lobo. ’Member all the patches? I am going to call her Lady Lobo. Can I keep her? Please, Papa?”

“Yes, you may,” said, sure his correcting her grammar went entirely unheeded.

She nuzzled the kitten. “Did you hear that, Lady Lobo? Papa said yes!”

 

Jeremy’s idea of asking his brother about Mrs. Arthur was overshadowed by Robert’s greeting when the two met in the library later.

“Jeremy! You must have a guardian angel looking out for you!”

“Oh?”

“The market for that wool you are sitting on is up this week. Up! And just when we need that space to store hay!”

Robert’s excitement was contagious.

“Maybe luck is swinging our way,” Jeremy said. “I stopped by the home farm to speak with Porter this morning. He said we should start cutting hay tomorrow. When we finish we can have the cutters load the wool on the wagons to haul it to market in York.”

“Sounds like a good plan. Do we still make a holiday of the mowing the hay on the home farm?”

“We did last summer. But I had only just returned then.”

Mowing hay on Kenrick holdings was a communal activity. Able-bodied men brought their scythes and pitchforks and went from one tenant farm to another cutting grass for the winter’s fodder. The home farms were always the last of the Kenrick fields to be mowed, and the event culminated in a shared picnic at which farmers’ wives tried to outdo each other with tasty dishes. The Earl of Kenrick supplied kegs of ale and cider; impromptu games of horseshoes, a tug-of-war over a freshly made mud puddle, and three-legged races supplied ample entertainment. As a child, Jeremy had always enjoyed this event and enthusiastically endorsed continuing the tradition.

 

When she heard the details of this Kenrick tradition, Kate felt none of the apprehension she had experienced at the Midsummer festivities. After all, this would be a much smaller gathering, involving only people directly connected to the Hall and Kenrick lands. She readily joined in preparations, overseeing the baking and packing food and utensils into baskets for the short journey to the home farm three miles away. The Hall’s younger men, including Lord Kenrick and his brother, had been gone since dawn to get the most strenuous work done in the cooler morning hours.

Kate rode in the open carriage with Lady Elinor, Ned and Cassie, and Mrs. Jenkins. Ned, having served out his punishment, looked forward to the prospect of races and games with other boys; Cassie held her kitten close and chattered happily about what a wonderful pet Lady Lobo was. Others of the Hall’s staff either walked or rode on the wagon, carrying food and equipment. When they arrived, Kate was pleased to see that much had already been done. Long tables and benches had been set up on a grassy area between the farmhouse and two barns some fifty yards or so away.

Their daughter being married to one of Kenrick’s tenant farmers, the vicar and his wife were included in this affair. Kate was glad when Mrs. Packwood laid claim to her friend and whisked Lady Elinor off for a friendly coze on the sidelines. She was also grateful to Mrs. Jenkins and the Davis sisters, who saw to it that Kenrick’s housekeeper was introduced to folks she had not yet met.

As the women spread large tablecloths and set out the food, Kate smiled at snippets of conversation she heard.

“Surely we could feed the whole of Yorkshire with this feast.”

“Oh, Martha, you say that every year.”

“We never have to carry too much of it home with us.”

“Haying makes men real hungry.”

“I’m that glad to see Mrs. Porter made her spice cake.”

“And Mrs. Edmunds her gooseberry tarts.”

Talk of the food was interspersed with news of weddings, births, deaths, which young man was sweet on which young woman, and so on. Kate reveled in the general atmosphere of gaiety and friendship, with children of all ages scampering about, adults exchanging greetings and news. It reminded her of similar gatherings in her youth—ordinary English life she had missed during those years on the Peninsula and later in a duke’s castle. She experienced twinges of regret with these memories. Surely her brothers and sisters still did such things in Surrey.

The men arrived looking a bit tired and sweaty and definitely ready for the feast. As they washed up at a bench set off to the side with basins of water and towels, Kate noted that both Lord Kenrick and his brother fit right in with the other men, sharing the horseplay and general pleasure in finishing an annual job vital to everyone. All in all, the day was offering Kate an idyllic departure from the stress of worrying about her future.

There seemed no protocol for seating at the tables. When mothers had seen to feeding their youngest children, the women spaced themselves about the tables and the men then joined them. Kate winked at Robert when she saw him sit next to Squire Dennison’s pretty daughter, Delia, who just happened, Kate had learned earlier, to have been visiting the eldest Porter daughter exactly when the mowing season reached a climax. Then she felt that now-familiar visceral reaction when the earl folded his long frame into a place on the bench next to her.

“Thank you for seeing to Cassie’s care,” he said softly, leaning close. He smelled of sunshine and fresh-cut grass.

“You are welcome, of course.” She consciously steered her mind to something besides the very masculine form near her.

“I’m glad to see that Ned is back in your good graces.”

She gave him an inquiring look.

“I saw him at the stables this morning.”

“Oh. He was never out of my good graces, my lord, but like all children, he manages to challenge his elders at times.”

“I see.” She thought he wanted to say something else, but just then the vicar called for grace and gave a pleasingly short blessing. General conversation took over with some light competition about who had done best out in the field that day. Throughout the meal, despite her attempts to quell her feelings, Kate was keenly aware of the man seated next to her. When his knee happened to touch hers, she drew in a sharp breath at the intensity of her reaction.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

She nodded but inwardly admitted to a small thrill of pleasure—then chastised herself for her unseemly reaction. She launched into another of those silent arguments with herself. Just why was it “unseemly”? After all, she was a normal, living, human being—with all the needs and desires of a mature woman. He was an attractive man. “And forbidden goods,” as you well know, she told that other self. “And you know very well your feelings go beyond ‘an attractive man’ and ‘a mature woman.’ You can at least be honest with yourself, can you not?” She was thankful to be pulled out of this silent debate when she heard her name. Mrs. Jenkins, seated at the far end of the table on the opposite side, was telling the woman across from her that Mrs. Arthur, who had a way with seasonings, was responsible for a marvelous pudding.

Folks had eaten their fill and were lazily awaiting the start of the games. Some still sat at the tables; others had moved to sit or recline on the grass. Conversations were more subdued in tone, but just as lively in content. After all, such gatherings came infrequently; one had to store up information and relish the conviviality.

Lord Kenrick sat with his back to the table now, leaning back on his elbows, his long legs stretched out before him. Kate too sat facing the grassy area, idly watching the people around her as his lordship filled her in on who some of them were in relation to the earldom as a whole. He pointed out the blacksmith, named Carlson, a man whose brawny shoulders might well have announced his profession. “The fellow next to him is Taylor—a genius at grafting fruit trees. Mrs. Grimes there lives with her son—helps take care of the children. She makes wonderful cider.”

“Perhaps she will share her secret,” Kate said.

Kenrick laughed. “I’m told she guards it like the crown jewels.”

Kate shrugged. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

Any response Lord Kenrick might have made to this was lost in someone’s announcing, in an alarmed tone, “I smell smoke.”

“ ’Course ya do. We been eatin’ roasted meat.”

“No. This smells different.”

“I smell it too.”

“Look!” It was a shout and the speaker pointed to the larger of the home farm’s two barns. A wisp of smoke spiraled up from the far side of that building. It was followed immediately by the first sighting of flames.

“Oh, my God! The wool!” Lord Kenrick yelled as he jumped up from the bench and ran toward the barn, his brother and several others on his heels.

Behind him pandemonium erupted.

People who had been lazily relaxing one moment jumped up in surprise, wanting to be of help, but clearly at a loss as to how.

Having taken in the details of the location of the fire, Kenrick yelled, “Buckets! Get them from the dairy! Form a line!”

Dairymaids and stable hands ran to do so. Mrs. Porter and her housemaids gathered buckets and small tubs from the farm kitchen and the laundry. A husky young man was already manning the pump over the well in the middle of the yard.

Immediately a line of men and women formed to pass buckets of water to those nearest the conflagration. Once she had ensured that Ned and Cassie would stay near Lady Elinor, Kate joined this line.

The men who had gone into the barn struggled to remove bales of wool through the rear door of the barn as those fighting the fire did so from the side of the building from which flames were now shooting. The stench of burning wool permeated the scene. Two fairly organized lines now struggled mightily against this force that had, from the beginning of time, been mankind’s greatest blessing and most feared destroyer. One line manned the water buckets; the other passed the heavy bales to safety in the field behind the barn.

She heard Lord Kenrick shout, “Robert, check the other barn. Be sure it’s all right.” Robert and two others ran to do so.

It was a matter of minutes, but it felt like hours until people had formed themselves into a unified army to fight the monster. There was an occasional shout—an order or a warning—and yelps of pain now and then, but mostly they worked methodically. Kate concentrated on grabbing a bucket from Nell Davis on her left and passing it to Mrs. Weston on her right.

Suddenly, she saw a streak of movement headed toward the front door of the burning barn. Cassie’s kitten! A yapping dog chased it. To Kate’s horror, Cassie was right behind them; the dog veered away.

“No! Cassie! No!” Kate screamed as the little girl disappeared into the barn.

Kate jumped away from the line just as Ned ran to follow Cassie. She jerked him by his arm and in the sternest voice she had ever used with him said, “Stay here!” She shoved him in the direction of some onlookers who clutched him tightly, then she grabbed one of the tablecloths. She quickly dipped it into the nearest bucket and ran after Cassie.

Inside the barn smoke was overwhelming, stinging her eyes, blurring her vision. Her throat burned and she felt she was suffocating. She jerked off her mobcap to use as a mask; hairpins flew.

“Cassie!” she screamed. Where was she?

A wide space separated stalls on either side of the barn. Smoke was so heavy she could see only a few feet in front of her. Flaming debris fell from the loft above. She whipped the tablecloth over her head and felt more pins loosen in her hair as she did so.

“Cassie! Answer me!” she called again as she ran in a zigzag line to check the stalls. Oh, God, where was she?

The heat was oppressive; the smoke stole her breath; the stench of burning wool was almost palpable. She ignored the panic and despair and ran on. Then, in addition to the crackling fire and falling timbers, she heard a sob on her left. She whirled in that direction. Cassie was curled in the corner of a stall clutching her kitten, trembling in fear.

Kate extended her hand and tried to keep panic out of her voice. “Hurry, Cassie. We have to get out of here.”

Cassie scrambled to her feet, still holding the kitten. Kate threw the tablecloth over the child and her pet, grasped Cassie’s free hand, and ran for the door, stumbling awkwardly. A falling timber crashed to the floor, blocking their way. Kate picked up child and kitten and jumped over the flaming timber. There! The door was only ten feet away. Please, God. Please, God.

Another piece of flaming wood fell from above, striking Kate a glancing blow on her head, then her shoulder. She stumbled and lost her grip on Cassie.

“Run, Cassie! Run!”

Kate was relieved to see Cassie do just that—and to see the child swept up by a male figure and passed off to the arms of someone else.

Somehow—Kate never knew afterwards exactly how—they both had made it through the door. The fire emitted a terrible roar behind her with intermittent thuds of falling timbers. Kate was faintly aware that her hair was flying about her face and the hem of her skirt was ablaze. Her lungs bursting painfully, she sucked in fresh air. Someone threw a soaked cloth over her and beat at the flames on her clothing. She started to collapse, but strong arms prevented her doing so.

Darkness closed in on her.