‘A good thing the lock on my chamber door was so cheap. I never really believed that a bent hairpin would work, but it seems novels are right after all.’ Laura felt cheered by the success of her escape. Her relatives clearly had no idea that she had the resolution or the competence to plan and carry out such a scheme – and all without having to involve any of the servants at the Manor.
‘When is Perry expected home, Mrs Bishop?’
‘A month, near enough, although he’s up to his usual tricks of gadding about and driving his man of business mad trying to keep track of him. No point in writing to him, I’d say. Do you think he’ll be able to help you?’
‘I hope so. I daren’t trust any local lawyer not to tell my uncle and even if I did, I can’t lay my hands on my own money to pay fees. But Perry can lend me some and act for me. He is sure to know how to find a good London man who’ll be able to deal with my uncle’s lawyer. My birthday is in three months time, so there’s not long to hide.’
‘He’ll stand by you. A good man, the master. Chop that ham for me, there’s a love. We’ll have a nice savoury pie for our supper and – Sir?’
The man stood at the open door to the yard, blond hair bright in the morning sunshine, and smiled. ‘I beg your pardon. I did ring the front door bell, to no effect, then I saw the smoke from the kitchen chimney. Mrs Bishop, is it not? I recall your game pie with much affection. Is Manners at home?’
Mrs Bishop wiped her hands on her apron, moving in front of Laura as she did so. ‘His lordship’s not here, sir. That’s why there was no-one to answer the door. Both the footmen have gone into Holt to pick up the beer because Mr Hempstead’s wagon’s broken an axle and the girls are at market… Why, it’s Mr Quenten, isn’t it? We weren’t expecting you for a while.’
Quenten? Theo Quenten? Laura’s memory presented her with the image of a gangly young man with beautiful blue eyes and a smile that had been more than enough to give a impressionable girl a severe attack of calf love for an entire month.
‘I know I’m early, but Town was becoming tiresome. I’m Northam now, for my sins,’ he added.
‘Oh. My lord. I’m sorry, I’m sure.’ For once Mrs Bishop seemed at a loss. ‘But we weren’t expecting you until next month, you see, and I’ve no idea where the master is just now.’
‘Next month?’ He turned. ‘Pitkin!’
Laura, her view obstructed by Mrs Bishop’s substantial form, glimpsed a thin, painfully neat young man with anxious eyes and curling hair, standing just behind Theo. Lord Northam. He won’t recognise me, he never knew I existed…
‘My lord?’
‘You knew I was not due here until next month and you tried to tell me?’
There was a mumble of agreement.
‘And I told you to shut up or
be sacked. Not good of me. Not good at all. Apologies, Pitkin.’
Well, that’s a novelty for a lord, apologising to his valet or secretary or whoever that nervous wisp is, Laura thought, as the man dissolved into more anxious murmurings. Rosie peeped out of the scullery, stared at the newcomer, fanned herself with one hand and vanished back to her sink with a wink at Laura.
‘Well, here’s a pickle.’ Lord Northam strolled into the kitchen, his man trailing behind. ‘I could turn right round and go back to Town, which would be a bore, or I could stay. Now you tell me truly, Mrs Bishop – would I be a nuisance? I confess I’ll eat all the pies you can make and I’ll add to the laundry and I’ll drink Manners’ port. But I will restock his cellar and Pitkin here will look after me. And I’ve brought my own groom and coachman.’
The smile faded and he managed to look as pathetic as about six foot something of healthy, well-dressed aristocrat could, in Laura’s opinion. Theo Quenten had grown up and this was no longer Perry’s wild young friend.
‘I’m sick of London, I need fresh country air and a rest, Mrs Bishop.’
‘Well, seeing as you were so often here when you and his lordship were at university together and you’re a friend of the family, I don’t see as… But – ’ She glanced back at Laura, then away quickly, realising her mistake.
‘I beg your pardon. I did not see you there.’ Lord Northam moved so he could look at Laura directly. She stood and saw his eyes narrow as he took in her plain, but good, morning dress, the small gold earrings and the pendant at her neck. He hadn’t recognised her, of course: the one and only time they had met it had been fleeting, she had been almost two years younger and in mourning. But she was not dressed like a servant and at any moment he was going to ask to be introduced.
‘This is, er…’
‘I am the new housekeeper, my lord,’ Laura said, and bobbed a very correct curtsy on shaky knees.
‘So, will you pronounce my fate, Mrs – ?’
Name? Laura, Laurel… ‘Myrtle. Mrs…’ Darke, Light… ‘Albright. Mrs Myrtle Albright, my lord. And of course Lord Manners would want us to make you welcome.’ What else could she say?
‘The girls finished freshening up the Blue Bedchamber before they went out, did they not, Mrs Albright?’ Mrs Bishop said. ‘I’m sure his lordship’s man can manage his baggage, seeing as it is only one flight up and the first door on the left,’ she added helpfully.
‘Yes, of course. If there is anything too awkward, Pitkin, just leave it in the hall and the footmen will take it up just as soon as they return. If you would care to come through to the drawing room, my lord? I am sure some refreshments would be welcome while water is heated for you. A tray of tea and biscuits for Lord Northam, if you please, Cook.’
What have I done? she thought as she led the way through to the drawing room. But what else could I have done? I cannot stay here with no reason and I can’t pretend to be a maid, not dressed like this.