Rose tried to keep calm, pacing backwards and forwards in time with the distressed old man. He had woken disorientated and grouchy, but as the afternoon had worn on the disorientation had turned to agitation and she was fast running out of ideas on how to keep him safe and settled.
‘Come, Lord Digby, sit for a moment and I will read to you,’ she said, reaching out for his hand. He shook her off and shrank away, not seeming to recognise her. It was not unusual for him to forget who she was. He never remembered her name, but after two years sometimes there was a flash of recognition. Today, though, there was nothing.
‘Leave me alone,’ he muttered, lashing out with an arm.
‘What do we do, Miss Carpenter?’ Mr Watkins said from his position by the door. He was standing to attention, trying to adopt the pose of a conscientious valet ready to spring to his master’s aid, but in truth his aim was to guard the door.
Rose desperately trawled through her mind for what had worked in the past. Already this afternoon she had tried to take him to his plants in the glasshouse and had read to him from his favourite book, but neither of these things had helped. Normally, her words could soothe him, but today nothing was getting through.
‘Music,’ she declared. ‘Do you play, Mr Watkins?’ She motioned at the pianoforte in the corner of the room. Lady Digby played beautifully, often singing to accompany the relaxing melodies. Lord Digby could sit for hours listening to her.
‘No.’
Rose bit her lip. She doubted any of the servants could play the piano—it wasn’t something that was high on the list of priorities for education for people who were going to spend their life in service.
‘I shall ask Mr Digby—perhaps he can play. I will be a few minutes...call if you need help.’
Quickly, she slipped from the room and headed for the study downstairs. The door was open and she saw Mr Digby behind the desk, a pile of papers in front of him. He smiled at her as she entered, but Rose could not summon anything cheerful in return.
‘Can you play the piano?’ she asked without any preamble.
‘Yes. What has happened?’
‘Your father is agitated. I have tried everything I would normally do, but he will not settle.’
Mr Digby frowned, but stood immediately, coming from behind the desk. ‘The piano normally helps?’
‘Lady Digby will often play to soothe Lord Digby if he becomes worked up. I do not have any other ideas.’
‘Then we shall try this.’
Rose was grateful to find that Mr Digby came without protest or criticism—he seemed to be beginning to trust her judgement when it came to his father.
Upstairs, she knocked on the door softly and Mr Watkins opened it immediately. Lord Digby had not stopped pacing and did not pause even now. His head was bowed, his steps slow as he shuffled backwards and forwards across the carpet. Every so often he would mumble under his breath, but his words were not directed at anyone.
‘Good afternoon, Father,’ Mr Digby said, but he had the sense not to approach the agitated man. ‘I thought I might play a little on the pianoforte, if you have no objections.’
He took a seat on the piano stool and then beckoned Rose over.
‘What does he like?’
Rose shrugged. She had no musical knowledge whatsoever. Her early years had been spent traipsing from hovel to hovel or trying to survive on the street and, until her guardians had taken her in at the age of ten, she had not been able to read or write. Desperate not to be doomed to a life of poverty, Rose had worked hard at her lessons until she surpassed her peers in reading, writing and arithmetic, but there had been no space for anything more in her education.
‘He likes the slow ones,’ she said. ‘They calm him.’
Mr Digby flexed his fingers and began to play. She was surprised that he didn’t have to leaf through the sheets of music that were stacked on the music stand atop the piano or rifle through the papers hidden inside in the piano stool. Instead, he played from memory, his fingers dancing over the keys confidently.
At first the music seemed to have no effect on Lord Digby, but after a minute he stopped pacing and came to stand beside his son, watching him as the notes rang out. There was still a deep frown on the old man’s face, still a look of fear and uncertainty, but it was not as intense as before and some of the agitation had melted away.
The first piece of music lasted only a couple of minutes, but Rose was pleased to see Lord Digby did not move away as the last note faded to silence.
‘Have you any requests?’ Mr Digby asked, looking up at his father.
The old man didn’t answer so Mr Digby hovered his fingers over the keys again before selecting a piece himself.
Rose recognised this one as well and was relieved to see Lord Digby relax further as the familiar music washed over him. He stood, not moving, by his son’s elbow, mesmerised by how Mr Digby’s fingers travelled over the keys. Slowly, the music did its work and the frown on the old man’s face lifted and was replaced by an expression of serenity.
They were on the fourth piece of music when Lord Digby suddenly moved from his position and approached Rose.
‘May I have this dance?’
Rose blinked, uncertain. She knew Lord Digby liked to dance—sometimes Lady Digby would place her hand in his and they would sway together in time to some imagined music. Rose would do most things for Lord Digby, but she didn’t want to upset him by not knowing the steps he wanted her to take.
Hesitantly, she glanced at Mr Digby, who nodded in encouragement. Until a few years ago Rose had never danced before. It was another thing people of her background grew up not learning how to do. She shuddered when she thought of the last time a man had held out his hand in that expectant way and tried to push all thoughts of Mr Rampton, her previous employer, from her mind. The circumstances were very different and Lord Digby was an innocent.
She placed her hand in Lord Digby’s, and he gently looped an arm around her back. His touch was feather-light, but he took the lead, guiding her round the room. Rose tried to smile, tried to relax, but it was too difficult to separate what was happening here from the traumatic memories of being forced into dancing with Mr Rampton.
Something must have shown on her face for Mr Digby stumbled over a few notes for the first time and as they passed the piano he leaned out and murmured quietly, ‘Is something amiss?’
She gave him a tight smile, but did not answer, thankful for the moment the song came to an end and she could step away from Lord Digby.
‘Thank you for the dance, my lord,’ she said, trying to cover her discomfort with a light tone.
‘I am tired. I would like to sit,’ Lord Digby said and Rose felt the relief blossom inside her as he made his way to his favourite chair overlooking the garden and the river beyond.
Mr Digby played a few more gentle pieces quietly in the background while Rose and Mr Watkins made Lord Digby comfortable, plumping the cushion he always sat with behind his back and fetching a tray of tea.
‘Might I have a moment, Miss Carpenter?’ Mr Digby said when Lord Digby was settled and happily staring out of the window at the view.
‘Of course. Let me know if you need something, Mr Watkins.’
The valet nodded in response, taking a seat next to Lord Digby and speaking in a low voice to his master. Over the last couple of years, they had found that a gentle companionship was one of the best ways to keep Lord Digby calm and settled. At any time either Rose, Mr Watkins or Lady Digby would ensure they were present, close by, making observations about the view or the occurrences of the day. It seemed to keep Lord Digby grounded.
When Rose had first joined Lady Digby’s household the Baroness had explained she did not expect Rose to work as the other maids. She might change Lord Digby’s sheets or do some light tidying in Lord Digby’s rooms, but her focus was the Baron.
Much of the time she would just need to be present, close by, a reassuring, friendly face to keep Lord Digby calm and happy. It was an unusual set up, but it worked, and between Rose and Mr Watkins they were able to foster an environment of peace and tranquillity as well as keep Lord Digby well-groomed and generally content.
Rose followed Mr Digby from the room, making sure the door clicked closed behind her before following him downstairs. He led her into the study and motioned for her to sit in one of the comfortable chairs. The study had once been Lord Digby’s, but he hadn’t set foot in it for a long time now.
Lady Digby took care of the essential estate business from her little writing desk in the drawing room and for a couple of years this room had been rarely entered. In the time he had been home Mr Digby had taken to setting himself up in the study in the evenings or sometimes mid-morning and Rose could see he was slowly making his way through the pile of paperwork Lady Digby had not had the time or inclination to deal with this past year.
‘Thank you for playing the piano for Lord Digby,’ Rose said as she perched on the edge of the chair. Although Lady Digby was kind to her and upstairs in Lord Digby’s rooms Rose would sit back as she talked to the Baron, she felt a little uncomfortable relaxing in the study as if she were a guest.
‘It was a good idea, Miss Carpenter. He calmed almost immediately.’ Mr Digby smiled softly. ‘My mother taught me to play when I was young and then I had a music tutor before I left for school. Sometimes during my lessons, I would catch a glimpse of my father, standing somewhere out of the way, trying to be unobtrusive, just listening to me play.’
‘Lady Digby always reminds us that Lord Digby is the same person he always was. He has the same likes and dislikes, the same passions, it is just part of his mind that is failing. It does not mean he has changed completely.’
‘She is right, of course. A man who has always liked listening to the piano and dancing is not suddenly going to hate it after sixty-five years, no matter what else is happening with him.’ He looked at her seriously. ‘You seemed uncomfortable in there, when my father asked you to dance.’
A shudder passed through Rose’s body, and although she tried hard to conceal it, she could see Mr Digby noticed.
He cleared his throat and then leaned forward in his chair. He was sitting across from her, the two comfortable armchairs set at an angle to allow two people to talk, but also enjoy the views over the formal garden. Now his knees were almost touching hers.
‘Has something happened before?’ Mr Digby asked, his eyes coming up to meet hers. She thought of Mr Rampton, of all the months she had spent trying to reject his advances and the awful sense of disgust when she had finally given in.
Rose didn’t know how to put anything into words so she sat there, completely still.
Mr Digby cleared his throat. ‘Has my father been inappropriate towards you?’
‘Lord Digby?’ Rose said, then shook her head vigorously. ‘Never, not once.’
The look of relief on Mr Digby’s face was complete and all-consuming. He allowed his head to drop for a moment before he lifted it again, frowning.
‘But you were uncomfortable.’
‘Yes, but not because of your father. He has never once been inappropriate; despite his failing memory, he still only has eyes for your mother.’
‘Someone else then? Someone here?’
Rose shook her head. ‘No, do not for one moment think there is anyone in this house like that. Your mother would not allow it. She prides herself on having built a welcoming, loving family home where everyone feels safe and respected.’ She swallowed hard and looked down at her hands. ‘My last position was not in such a supportive environment.’
Mr Digby frowned, but motioned for her to go on.
‘I was nanny to a young boy and girl. They were sweet enough children and I enjoyed the work. Their father was a widower and, at first, I barely saw him. He spent a lot of time in London seeing to business, but after a few months he returned home for a while.’ Rose couldn’t look up, couldn’t tear her eyes away from her fingers that were bunched in the material of her dress.
‘What happened?’
‘He pursued me,’ she said, making it sound much simpler than it had actually been. Every day she would be caught in this unpleasant game of cat and mouse. He stalked her through the halls of Thetford House, surprising her in dark corners where she least expected it. It had made every day a chore to get through and she had resolved to resign her position so many times. ‘I resisted, but I think he just saw that as a challenge.’
‘He wanted you to be his mistress?’
Rose hesitated. She never normally shared anything too personal, knowing it could make her vulnerable. Many people would hear the story of her liaison with her old master and label her as a harlot. In some places it might end up costing her a position alongside her reputation. She didn’t think Mr Digby was like that and she thought back to earlier in the day when he had opened up to her and told her about his past when he did not owe her any sort of explanation.
‘At first I think he just liked the idea of a quick fumble whenever it suited him, but as I rejected him, he became more and more obsessed with the idea of possessing me.’ She glanced up and saw the suppressed anger in Mr Digby’s eyes.
‘For a long time I held out, but then one evening I received a letter informing me Sarah, the woman who had looked after me in childhood, had died suddenly. I was devastated and Mr Rampton saw that.’
‘He took advantage of you.’
‘He took advantage of my despair. Once again, I felt all alone in the world and he offered me comfort.’ She felt a wave of nausea rise inside her as she remembered the way he had held her down, not stopping even as she sobbed into the pillow. It was not comfort he had resolved to give her in the end, instead catching her at her weakest moment and taking what he wanted, leaving her feeling worse than ever.
‘I thought after that he would dismiss me, send me on my way. Or perhaps we would return to our normal positions—a good nanny is hard to find, after all—but he told me I was his mistress and I had no choice in the matter.’
‘You didn’t leave?’
Rose shook her head. ‘Not at first. He had this persuasive way about him and could convince me he cared about me. In the darkness of the night, he would tell me we would be together, that he would marry me, then in the cold light of day he would treat me with contempt.’
‘The worst sort of man.’
‘He was, but very clever. He reeled me in by playing on my guilt and the loss of my virtue and then he kept me exactly where he wanted me by pushing me away and pulling me back to him.’ She shivered and risked a look at Mr Digby. His opinion mattered to her, she realised with a jolt. She did not want him to think her a woman without morals, or a foolish girl who could be taken in by any man.
‘Every evening he would order me to his study and then he would ask me to dance. I think he knew how uncomfortable it made me. I had never danced before and I was completely at his mercy. I hated the feeling of having to surrender my trust to him and I think he knew it.’
‘That is what you felt when my father asked you to dance.’
‘Yes. Even though I know your father is a kind man, a gentle man, it brought back the memories.’
‘I am sorry, Miss Carpenter,’ he said with a sad shake of his head. ‘I cannot imagine what it must have been like living with a man like that and I am sorry you were reminded of it this afternoon.’
‘Your mother calls me Rose, Mr Digby. Everyone except you calls me Rose.’
‘You would like me to use your given name?’
‘If you do not think it inappropriate.’
‘Of course,’ he said with a faint smile. He paused for a moment, looking at her with his intense blue eyes. ‘How did you get away from him, Rose?’
‘Mr Rampton? I was numb with grief for a while, from losing the first person who had ever loved me unconditionally. I mourned Sarah for months, but slowly I recovered from the shock and realised I was not living the life she would have wanted me to have.
‘We were not wealthy by any stretch, but when I came to her and her husband, this filthy little street urchin, she resolved to use any money they had to ensure I had a good education. She wanted more for me than a life in the gutters, yet I was so unhappy I knew this wasn’t what she had planned.’ Rose paused and smiled faintly. ‘Her love saved me. I packed my bags and confronted Mr Rampton. I refused to listen to any of his manipulative lies and then I left.’
‘Is that when you came here?’
‘Yes, I took the first coach I could find and it took me to Cambridge. While I was there I met your mother and father.’
‘That led to you having a job here?’
Rose smiled at the memory, allowing her thoughts to turn away from the distasteful to a happier time.
‘I was planning on returning to London. I had no family left, but I did have a few friends. I thought I might talk to one of those agencies that places nannies with families who are looking for someone, but I had to lodge overnight in Cambridge before the next coach to London.’
‘It was a chance meeting, then?’
Rose nodded. ‘Your mother had taken your father to visit one of the eminent doctors in Cambridge to see if there was anything that could be done. Lord Digby’s memory issues were starting to become more obvious and I believe there had been a few uncomfortable incidents in public. The doctor had told your mother there was nothing to be done, but to be prepared for the future.’
She watched as Mr Digby grimaced and realised the weight of the guilt he carried for this as well. He could never change the past few years, never alter the fact that he had not been there when his parents had most needed him, as they had come to terms with his father’s illness.
‘Lord Digby was understandably upset at the diagnosis and walked off to spend some time by himself, but even though I understand he knows Cambridge well, he could not remember where he was or where he was meant to be meeting your mother.’
Rose could remember it as though it were yesterday. The sunny April day as she sat by the banks of the Cam watching the punts and the rowboats drift by. She’d felt this wonderful sense of freedom, knowing she had finally done the right thing. She hadn’t been aware of Lord Digby at first, she’d been so caught up in her own world, but after a few minutes of him pacing backwards and forwards she had noticed him.
‘I met your father by the River Cam and I could see he was agitated. I managed to calm him down and eventually piece together where he could have left your mother. I walked with him up Silver Street to Trumpington Street and there was Lady Digby, frantic but ever so grateful.’
‘She offered you a job.’
‘Yes. She saw how I was with Lord Digby and said she admired how calm I had kept. At first the job was to be one of a housemaid, but if things went well, I think your mother was already thinking of the position I hold today.’
‘It was a brave decision, taking a job with from a woman you did not know.’
‘It was an easy decision. I had nothing of great substance waiting for me in London.’ Rose shrugged. ‘And I could tell Lady Digby was the sort of woman I would want to work for.’
‘You seem to make up your mind about people very quickly.’
‘I do.’
‘Do you find your first impressions are generally right?’
‘Most of the time.’ She looked up at him and gave a wry smile. ‘One day I’ll tell you about my childhood and all the times I had to rely on my instincts to survive.’