CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Household Business
“. . . she was about to meet with a species of attack so unprecedented and alarming, as to shake her resolution . . . ”
Langdale, Charles, Memoirs of Mrs. Fitzherbert
Thankfully, Mrs. DeLupe was busy elsewhere when Amelia returned to 6 Tilney Street, so Amelia was able to hurry through the servants’ hall and back upstairs without stopping for a quizzing about why she’d been out for so long. On the stroke of ten, she was there to open the curtains in Mrs. Fitzherbert’s room and set about getting her ready for the day.
“Were you able to make your appointment this morning?” Mrs. Fitzherbert asked as she sat at her dressing table so Amelia could arrange her hair.
“Yes, madam.”
“Have you any news?”
“No, madam, I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Fitzherbert’s hands tightened. “Perhaps it is over already,” she said. “Perhaps it has been destroyed and I should simply leave England, as I originally planned.”
She sounded so tired, Amelia could not help but feel a twist of sympathy.
“Have you ever been in love with someone who turned against you, McGowan?”
It was an outrageous question, but the role of lady’s maid was also one of intimate. It was expected that Amelia would hear and be asked a great deal that she would never repeat, even if she and Mrs. Fitzherbert were only playacting.
“Yes, madam,” she said.
“Were you able to forget them? To remove them from your heart?”
“After a while,” she said. “And once I found someone else.”
“Ah,” she murmured. “There, you see, is my problem. I am unable to take that last step.”
“But surely . . . That is, you’re still a lovely woman, and you’ve plenty of life about you and m—” Amelia stopped.
“Money?” Mrs. Fitzherbert finished for her. “Yes, and that never fails to make a woman attractive, does it? But you see, there is the nature of my particular attachment. The gentleman in question makes others rather shy. Then there is the fact that should I form a new attachment, I am guilty of the very thing I have so long protested against. So, here I sit.” She looked at herself in the glass, and after a moment, she smiled. “Well, never mind me. It is only that I am tired of waiting for my answers, and that makes me melancholy. Go and see to the girls, McGowan. I am quite capable of finishing myself.”
* * *
The girls, however, were in no mood to be seen to. When Amelia threw back the curtains, both Miss Seymore and Miss Mary Ann burrowed farther under their covers.
“Leave us alone, McGowan,” wailed Mary Ann. “It’s too early.”
“Yes, do.” Miss Seymore yanked her pink counterpane up so only the ends of her curls showed on her bolster. “We’ll do each other up. You can just . . .” Her fingertips made a little shooing motion.
Amelia hesitated, the words I have my instructions from madam poised on the tip of her tongue. But then she changed her mind.
“I can give you another half an hour,” she said. “After that, you need to be on your feet and getting ready. All right?”
A flurry of muffled thank-yous rose from under the counterpanes. Amelia closed the boudoir door and hurried to the servants’ stairs. From there, she took herself down into the foyer.
“I’m looking for Faller,” she told Peters, the footman on duty at the front door.
“Ain’t we all?” he growled. “Says he’s too sick to move. My arse he is. Like we didn’t all see him coming in this morning with his box and all.”
“I heard about that,” she said. “What do you reckon he was up to?”
Peters looked like he wanted to spit. “Maybe I should ask, ‘What’re you up to?’” he said suspiciously. “Not your business, is it? Faller’s Mr. Holm’s worry.”
“All right, all right,” said Amelia. “There’s no need to get yourself in a twist over it. Just making conversation.”
“Well, make it elsewhere, if you please. I’m not giving you any rumors to feed to upstairs.”
Amelia turned up her nose and headed away as if she didn’t care, but those parting words sent a shiver through her. Maybe she hadn’t been as careful as she thought.
Well, that’s a worry for later. Amelia took herself down to the servants’ hall.
“Cook, can I have a pot of tea, if you please? And maybe some bread and butter?”
“Miss Seymore refusing to get out of bed, then?” asked Cook as she began to assemble the things.
“Thought I’d take them to Tom Faller,” she said. “He’s saying he’s sick.”
Cook stopped, knife in one hand, slice of bread in the other. “Ain’t no one warned you about Faller yet? He’s always using those pretty eyes of his to scrounge a favor or three.”
“Oh, I know,” she said breezily. “I’ve seen the type. But I thought I’d give him the benefit of the doubt this once.”
Cook gave her a sharp sideways glance, and Amelia thought the woman was going to refuse to give her anything, after all. But she just shook her head and finished making up the tidy plate and filling the pot.
“Thank you,” said Amelia. “And don’t worry. He’s not putting anything over on me.”
“We’ll see, won’t we?” muttered Cook.
* * *
Thankfully, this was one of the houses where the male servants slept on the lower floor, on a hallway of their own, past the butler’s pantry and the laundry room. Amelia did not fancy toting her tray all the way up to the top of the house.
Cook had told Amelia that Faller had the third room on the right. She kicked at it once to warn him someone was coming and then shouldered her way inside.
Faller was sitting hunched over on the bed, like he’d had his head in his hands just a heartbeat before. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
Amelia ignored his tone and deposited the tray on the little scarred table by the chimney.
“I came to see if you’re all right.” She poured a cup and held it out for him. “Thought you might want some tea.”
“I don’t need you watching out for me,” Faller growled. But he did take the tea.
“Well, I think you might. You’ve got everybody talking, you know.” She nodded toward the door, which she now pointedly nudged shut with the heel of her shoe. “What’s happened?”
“What do you mean?” he muttered, more to his tea than to her.
“You weren’t planning on being back here today.”
Faller’s head jerked up. “You been spying on me?”
Amelia snorted and held out the plate of bread and butter. Faller just glared at it. Amelia shrugged and took a slice for herself.
“Last night you get all sly, hinting that Miss Seymore might need a new friend,” she said between bites. “This morning you’re out early, in your civvies, with your box on your shoulder, and I catch you coming back with a face like a wet Monday, and I’m supposed to just say, ‘Lawks! What do you suppose happened to him!’” Amelia threw up her hands, scattering crumbs as she did. “Then you tell everybody you’re sick and vanish into your room, and you think nobody’s noticed? They’re all talking. I’m just surprised his nibs Mr. Holm hasn’t been in here already.”
Faller’s sour look told her he had been. She rolled her eyes and finished off her bread.
“So, what’s gone wrong, then?” she asked as she dusted the remaining crumbs from her hands.
Faller glowered at her but gloomily drained his teacup. Amelia waited in silence until he was done, and then held out the bread and butter plate again. This time, Faller took a slice.
“Thanks,” he mumbled around his mouthful.
“Well, don’t get used to it,” she told him briskly. “I’m no one’s nanny, and you can get that back to the kitchen yourself.” She nodded to the tea tray. “Now, I’ve got my own work to do, and if you take my advice, you’ll get over this sudden illness of yours, and you’ll go apologize to everybody who’s been picking up your slack before they really start looking at you even funnier than they are now.”
Faller took a deep breath. “You’re right. I know you are. I just . . . Well, it was bad this morning, that’s all.” He stopped. “You . . . you won’t say anything? About . . . you know.”
“What do you take me for? We got to—”
She was interrupted by the slow creak of the door. Amelia whirled around, and Faller shot to his feet. Both of them stared as Minney Seymore stepped tentatively across the threshold.
“I . . . oh . . . I’m sorry,” she stammered.
“Miss Seymore.” Amelia drew herself up and arranged her features into the appropriate servant’s mask. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb . . . you.” Miss Seymore’s eyes flicked from her to Faller.
“Not at all, miss,” said Faller.
“It’s just that . . . Well, I noticed you weren’t in the breakfast room, and Mr. Holm said you weren’t feeling well . . .”
“Nothing serious, miss,” said Faller quickly. “I’m much better now.”
“Well, good, then. I expect we’ll see you at lunch.” She turned to go.
“Miss Seymore?” said Faller.
She stopped and hesitantly turned to face them again. “Yes?”
“Was there anything else?” asked Faller.
Her gaze flickered to Amelia again. “No, no, nothing.”
“You can trust McGowan, miss,” Faller told her. “I promise, she’s a friend.”
Miss Seymore bit her lip. Amelia drew herself up and tried to radiate an air of general trustworthiness.
And failed.
“I’m sure she is,” Miss Seymore murmured. “Get your rest, Faller.” She hurried away down the corridor.
Damn.
Leaving Faller where he was, Amelia trotted after the young lady. Not that she could say a word down in the bustling warren belowstairs. But Amelia caught up with her just as Miss Seymore emerged into the front hall.
“Miss,” began Amelia, but she got no further.
“Minney!” Mrs. Fitzherbert came out of the breakfast room. She carried a folded newspaper in one hand.
That cannot be good.
“What on earth is going on?” said Mrs. Fitzherbert. “Mary Ann said you were still upstairs.”
Miss Seymore tried to affect a casual air, but she succeeded only in looking awkward. “I, no, I . . .”
“She had a tear in her . . . blue,” tried Amelia. “She came to find me to mend it.”
“Yes, my blue pelisse, Mama,” said Miss Seymore quickly. “I caught it on the door, and I can’t possibly wear it now.”
Mrs. Fitzherbert clearly did not believe a single word, but she also clearly did not want to argue the details just then.
“Well, you should know that your father has written me,” said Mrs. Fitzherbert.
“Oh,” said Miss Seymore.
“Yes, oh,” agreed Mrs. Fitzherbert. “And he is grateful to know that you and Mary Ann are safe, and he will be sending the carriage for you the day after tomorrow.”
“What!” cried Miss Seymore. “No! I will not leave you alone while . . .”
“Stop it, Minney,” said Mrs. Fitzherbert firmly. “I am out of patience with this pretense. You are here because of Captain Dawson, as we are both fully aware.”
“No, Mama! Who told you that? Was it Mary Ann? Or—” She turned to Amelia, her dark eyes alight with the sort of rage only a young lady could muster.
“No one told me, Minney,” Mrs. Fitzherbert snapped. “Do you think that I could be fooled with a schoolgirl’s tricks? You met Captain Dawson last night, when you were supposed to be lying down.”
“No, Mama, I promise I did not.”
Mrs. Fitzherbert did not bother to acknowledge this statement. “You know how dangerous things are for me at this time, and you used that as an excuse to come and meet with him, when I had expressly forbidden such a thing.”
“If you had not—”
“And yet you look at me as if my sending you away again was the betrayal.”
Miss Seymore closed her mouth.
“Now, I had hoped to send you both back to your father today. Unfortunately, it is now known you are in town.” She handed the newspaper to her daughter. Amelia glimpsed the tiny paragraph among the social notices.
Their Highnesses the Duke and Duchess of York dined yesterday with Mrs. Fitzherbert. Also in the company Miss Seymore and Miss Smythe.
Miss Seymore lowered the paper. “Mama,” she tried again. “I don’t see what the fuss is. Last night I had a headache, that’s all. McGowan will tell you—”
“Do not attempt to drag McGowan into this,” said her mother sternly. “As I say, I thought you would both be on your way back to your father today, but as your presence has been announced, it would look very odd to have you leave again so suddenly.”
Amelia watched the flicker of . . . something in Miss Seymore’s eyes, and she found herself wondering just how that little notice had got planted in the papers.
But if Miss Seymore thought she’d scored a victory, Mrs. Fitzherbert did not let her enjoy it for long.
“Now, today I am at home. You and Mary Ann will stay with me and receive our callers. We will let it be known that you came to town to do some shopping and to make your farewells ahead of your departure with your father to Berlin.”
Miss Seymore’s face went dead white.
“Thursday you will accompany me as I make my calls, and you will make those farewells. You will make them smiling, and you will talk about how excited you are to travel to the Continent. Your father will send his carriage down to us so that Friday you may return to the country, and that, Minney, is my last word on the subject.”