She shot a fulminating glance in the direction of the study window and there was the Duke standing at the casement, regarding her. Antonia straightened her shoulders, gathered up her frightful skirts in one hand and swept an elaborate curtsy to the semi-clad deity on the nearest pedestal. Looking closer, she saw he bore a quite remarkable resemblance to the Prince Regent, although without the corsets, a thought to revive her natural sense of the ridiculous.
Chapter Three
Giggling faintly, and without a second backward glance, Antonia walked down the drive as though she owned it. Once through the gates she stopped laughing. That was verging on reaction, she realised, not humour. I’ve been manhandled, insulted and kissed by a duke. And now she must hurry. She began to walk fast, almost running, conscious that it must be a good two hours since she had parted from Donna and she would be becoming anxious.
The wind through the bare hedges was turning sharp as the afternoon drew in. However pleasant the day had been, it was still only March and she was without her pelisse and bonnet.
Suddenly the neatly cut and laid hedges and sharply defined ditches gave way to a raggle-taggle of overgrown bushes and choked muddy puddles. Through one of many gaps in the boundary she caught glimpses of an ill-drained field with clumps of dead thistles here and there. This must be Rye End Hall land. The fruits of her father’s and brother’s neglect were only too evident. No wonder Allington had chided her about her tenants.
Here, at last, was the entrance of the Hall, rusted gates hanging crazily from the tall posts. The lodge houses were empty, their neat little gardens, which she remembered from her childhood, now lost under brambles and nettles.
As she hurried up the drive Antonia constructed a light-hearted version of her adventures to tell Donna. Nothing about that insolent, exciting kiss. Donna might be small in stature and a gentlewoman to her backbone, but she would have no compunction in marching round to Brightshill and telling the Duke precisely what she thought of his behaviour.
The front door opened as she approached and Donna came out onto the step, an anxious frown lifting in relief. ‘There you are, my dear. I was just trying to decide whether I should go in search of you.’ She broke off as Antonia came close enough for the other woman to take in the full awfulness of her appearance.
‘What have you been doing? There is blood on your face – are you hurt? Have you fallen in the woods?’ She almost pulled Antonia inside as she spoke, hurried her through the hall and into the kitchens at the rear of the house.
‘No, no, I’m not hurt. It is pheasant blood, not mine. I have had quite an adventure, Donna, and another encounter with our infuriating neighbour the Duke.’
‘Infuriating, dear? Oh, bother this fire, it will never get the water warm if I cannot get it to draw better.’ She raked at the smouldering logs in the grate to little effect.
With a groan Antonia sank onto a settle and stared round at the dereliction that was the kitchens. The walls she had always remembered as lime-washed twice a year were begrimed with smoke and hung with cobwebs. The chimney crane and jacks were rusted and the wide shelves and dressers were either empty or heaped with filthy piles of chipped crockery. Miss Donaldson had obviously found a broom because the flags in front of the hearth and settle had been swept, which only served to reveal the ingrained grime of the floor beneath.
‘It can’t have become so squalid in a mere six months, surely?’ Antonia said despairingly. ‘No wonder the lawyer advised against our returning here. Well, perhaps this is the worst room. If Father hired some slattern of a cook…. No? Are they all as bad as this?’
Donna came and sat next to her on the settle and took her hand. Antonia was not certain who was comforting who. ‘Perhaps the kitchen seems worse because you remember it bustling with activity, all bright and clean in your dear mama’s day. l have not looked into every room, but those I have seen are filthy and there is hardly any furniture remaining.’
Antonia took a deep breath and ruthlessly quashed the strong desire to burst into tears and run pell-mell down the drive to take refuge in the inn. This was their home now, and they were going to have to make the best of it. ‘It is getting dark and we must find candles, heat water and have something to eat before we go to bed. It is too late now to try and improve matters.’
Faint steam was at last rising off the kettle. Antonia poured a little into a bowl and washed her face and hands while Donna fastidiously brushed off the surface of the table, spread out a cloth she had brought in the food hamper and began to unpack their provisions.
It was a simple supper but after the day she’d experienced it looked like a feast, Antonia thought as she scrubbed two plates. There was potted ham, cheese, apples, bread and butter and a fruit cake. Donna made tea, after scouring a cracked teapot she found on a shelf, and they drank it, grateful for its warmth.
As they ate, Antonia related the heavily-edited tale of her afternoon’s adventure. Even that version was enough to make Donna shudder and exclaim at intervals.
Antonia sat back and pushed out her feet towards the faint heat from the range. She was full, she was more or less warm and they had a roof over their heads. That was a lot to be thankful for. ‘Let’s simply leave everything as it is until the morning. We cannot see to do anything, and we have had a long and wearisome day.’ Even as she spoke, there was a rustling and a scuttling from behind the dresser. ‘Oh, that’s the last straw – mice.’
‘If we are fortunate,’ Donna said grimly, packing the food back into the wicker hamper as she spoke. ‘I did not like to tell you, my dear, but when I first entered the kitchen I fear I saw a rat.’
‘Urgh! Well, that means tomorrow’s first task is to find a rat catcher and a large cat. Let’s see if we can find a bedroom fit to sleep in.’
A dispiriting survey by candlelight revealed a series of dismal rooms, only three of which contained beds. They finally decided on the chamber that evidently had been occupied by the housekeeper, before she had finally been driven out by Sir Humphrey’s outrageous behaviour and total unwillingness to pay wages.
Made up with their own linen, the bed was at least clean, if not particularly comfortable. But even the pervading smell of damp was not enough to keep Donna awake. Antonia heard a soft snore, tried to keep her own eyes open while she planned the next day and felt herself drift off as soon as her head touched the pillow.
By seven o’clock the next morning they had already breakfasted and Antonia was attempting to make a list on a piece of paper retrieved from the study, along with a blunt quill pen and a pot of thick brown ink. ‘I will put down some ink on the list first of all.’
‘I don’t know how you can be amused by it, dear. Any other young lady of our acquaintance would be having a fit of the vapours by now. I know you will cope with this disaster of a house and not allow it to break your spirits, but I really do not see what you have done to deserve the burden.’
‘There’s no point in repining.’ Antonia tapped the quill on the crusted neck of the ink bottle. ‘Things can only get better. We need to make a list of provisions and one of us must walk into Rybury and see what we may purchase there. No doubt young Jem from the inn would be willing to fetch the rest from Berkhamsted for a small consideration. He seems a reliable lad, don’t you think?’
A furtive scrabble in the wainscot reminded them of another pressing need. ‘And send up the rat catcher,’ said Donna, with a shudder. ‘There must be a woman in the village who will come up to scrub, don’t you think?’
‘Let us hire two, if we can. It will take more than one woman and our own efforts to set this place to rights.’ And it might provide some much-needed employment for at least two of the neglected villagers. They were on her conscience. Badly. ‘I do believe the sun is shining, although it is hard to tell through these windows.’
Donna blew out the candles and crossed the kitchen floor to throw open the back door. It let in a flood of spring sunshine and the smell of damp earth along with young Jem, cap in hand and pink with the importance of his message.
‘Good morning, and begging your pardon, Miss, but my ma says, do you need some things fetching, or any help, like?’