The Lady’s Companion

Chapter Three

She did not expect her father to say anything to her over breakfast, and he did not. After selecting from the sideboard, he sat quietly in his chair, his gaze going more often to the icy window than to the eggs on his plate. If he was chastising himself, Susan knew that it would pass soon enough. In a week, or maybe even a few days, he would be casting about for something else to stake on the flip of a card. I hope you do not take to stealing from your sister, Susan thought, as she ignored her own breakfast. You have stolen everything from me now, and I have nothing left to lose.

She applied herself to the porridge in front of her, patting down the mush and watching the cream swell inside, then seek a lower level. She created a series of connecting terraces before she looked up at her father.

“I am going to seek employment.”

It was not a question, nor was it spoken with any heat or blame. It was the most matter-of-fact sentence she had ever uttered in her life. She put down her spoon and took a deep breath as Aunt Louisa gasped.

Sir Rodney said nothing. Aunt Louisa looked at him, her face a study in stupefaction. “Can’t you say anything?” she asked finally.

He could not. She turned to her niece, her words coming out as brisk and cold as sleet on window glass. “No Hampton has ever worked, Susan. How can you forget that?”

Susan let her breath out slowly. Either I continue now or I fold for good, she thought. “Then perhaps it is time one of them did, Aunt,” she said, each syllable distinct. “I cannot continue to be a charge on you, and you will be the first to remind me that I am getting old. My mind is quite made up, Aunt.”

“You can’t mean that!” Louisa burst out “What will our circle think when they learn that you have hired yourself out as... as... what? Think what this will do to Emily’s chances!”

“It will do nothing to Emily’s chances, Aunt,” Susan said quietly. “The only one affected will be me.”

Aunt Louisa leaned back in her chair. “I forbid you to even think of such a thing!” She put her hand to her forehead. “Now I have a headache, and there is so much to do today!” She rose, cast another scathing look at her brother, and swept from the room.

Susan finished her breakfast, wiped her lips, and rose to go while Sir Rodney still sat staring at his plate. She went to the door, but turned back when he cleared his throat “Don’t do anything rash, daughter,” he begged, raising his eyes to hers for the first time.

And how many times did Mama and I plead so with you? she wanted to scream at him. Instead, she took another deep breath until she felt calm enough to speak. “Papa, I am taking charge of my life now,” she said, her voice rising with emotion, despite her efforts to control it. “I am long of legal age, and I have such a grievance against you. You know I have!”

He said nothing more. She went upstairs and stood for a long time staring out the window in her bedroom. It was snowing lightly, and her determination wavered. Perhaps there will be no snow tomorrow, and all the walkways will be swept, she considered. In another day or two, the snow could be entirely gone. She leaned her forehead against the windowpane. And in another year or two of days, I will be too old to make this attempt. I will be biddable and do whatever Aunt wishes of me, as if I never had plans of my own.

Perhaps I don’t, she thought, as she pulled on her boots and wound her muffler tight around her throat. I wanted to marry and have children, but unless some miracle happens, that plan is gone. I cannot depend upon a man to make my way safe or smooth. I must learn to do that for myself.

It was a daunting thought, and not one that she had entertained much in her life. All the women that she knew were taken care of by men, or at least in Aunt Louisa’s case, were left pots of money to keep the coal flowing freely into grates, and excessive dinners on the table. I wonder, can I do it? she asked herself as she pulled on her mittens and picked up Aunt Louisa’s book for the lending library.

“Susan!”

She looked up, startled and a little guilty as Aunt Louisa bore down on her from the front salon. With a gulp, Susan held up the book. “You wanted me to return this, Aunt?”

Louisa stopped and eyed her. “You’re not planning anything foolish, are you, my dear?”

It’s not foolish to want to provide for myself, Susan reasoned. “No, Aunt, nothing foolish,” she said. “I’ll be back before you know I’m gone.” And with any luck, you and Emily will be out trying on hats or gloves, or taking measurements or umbrage, she thought, and won’t have any idea when I return.

Aunt Louisa smiled at her, and Susan owned to a prickle of conscience. “I’ll overlook your nonsensical little comments this morning, Susan,” her aunt said generously.

“Very well, Aunt,” she replied, standing aside for the footman to open the door. That was noncommittal enough, Susan thought as the door closed behind her. I could become an accomplished liar, if I worked at it.

Her determination wavered as the wind tugged at her skirts and spat snow into her face. I could return this book tomorrow, she thought as she stood, indecisive, on the front step. But it was beautiful outside, with a skiff of snow covering muck on the road and muffling the sound of horses’ hooves. She shrugged at the particles of snow that trickled down her neck and started off at a brisk pace.

The lending library was busier than she expected, considering the blustery nature of the day. Obviously she was not the only person on the planet who enjoyed stretching out on the sofa with a good book, especially on a raw day. But now what? Susan returned the book and stood looking out at the snow, panicked suddenly by the realization that she had no idea how to look for employment.

Her mind in turmoil, she watched a young matron with her small daughter, their heads together over a book. The sight was a familiar one from her own childhood. It calmed her and gave her an idea. She remembered earlier, more plentiful days when she had a governess.

Here I go, she thought as she made her graceful way through the stacks toward the woman.

“Excuse me, madam,” she said, smiling and nodding. “My name is Susan Hampton. I am new to London, and I am looking for both an abigail and a nursemaid. Do you know... can you tell me of employment agencies in town?”

The woman smiled back and handed the book to her daughter. “It’s hard to find good servants!” she said, taking in Susan’s modish pelisse and smart bonnet. Yes, I am one of your kind, Susan thought, as she dimpled and smiled back. You can speak to me, for as of ten-thirty this morning, I am still respectable.

“Is it so hard to find help?” she asked, her eyes wide with what she hoped was country naivete. How excellent for my chances, she considered. Perhaps I will be lucky today, if good servants form a distinct minority.

“Let me suggest the Steinman Agency four blocks toward the Strand,” the woman replied, gesturing toward the window. She leaned close to Susan then. “That’s where I found our treasure of a governess. Of course, Steinman is Jewish, but a good businessman.”

The woman giggled behind her hand, and Susan joined in. My, we are superior Christians, she thought. Enjoy the hypocrisy while you can, Susan. When you’re earning a living, you’ll be fair game, too. She thanked the woman for her advice and left the bookstore. It was snowing in good earnest now, but she bowed her head against the wind and hurried on.

Susan almost walked past the agency, but Steinman in modest letters on an iron plaque caught the edge of her vision. She stopped and stared at the door, wishing that an earthquake would suddenly swallow it. I could always pretend to myself that I couldn’t find the place, she considered. Maybe in a year or two, I would even believe that I had done the right thing by flinging myself back into Aunt Louisa’s web.

But there it was, a substantial door with two neatly curtained windows to one side. A discreet sign in the window closer to the door said Now Hiring . Susan took a deep breath and opened the door.

A young man looked up from the desk as a blast of wind came in with her. He grabbed at the paper he was writing on, leaning on it with his body and trying to clutch other papers now fluttering to the floor. Susan closed the door quickly behind her, wondering briefly why he did not just grab the papers, and then noticed that he had only one arm. Oh, this is a good beginning, she thought as she knelt on the floor and gathered up the papers.

“There you are, sir,” she said a moment later. “I’m sorry for the commotion.”

“Until I reach such a lame disposition that I have to blame a young lady for the wind, I thank you.”

She smiled at him, considered the matter, and nodded. “I am Susan Hampton,” she said simply.

He nodded in return, and indicated a chair, where she sat. “I’m Joel Steinman, he with too many papers and not enough fingers anymore to subdue them all. Are you interested in hiring a maid or a governess? I might warn you that this is a difficult time of year to hire. What can I do for you?”

He was impossible not to smile at, with his rumpled black hair and lopsided grin. There was no question that he was a son of Abraham, as the lady in the library had mentioned. His nose was long and high-bridged, his warm, olive complexion a striking contrast to the average pallid Londoner adrift in a gloomy English winter.

She smiled back, struck by the fact that this was the first man she had ever spoken to who was unknown to her father or aunt. I have never spoken of business matters to anyone before, she considered. And if I keep on grinning, he will think I am an idiot. The thought only widened her smile.

And he smiled back, apparently as unconcerned as she was bemused. “What can I do for you?” he asked again.

“You can offer me some tea,” she suggested as she pulled off her gloves and wondered if she had taken complete leave of her senses. “It’s cold out there and I need to talk business.”

Nothing seemed to surprise him. He leaned back in his chair. “Mama! Do put on some tea.”

In a few minutes a lady came in. Other than being a foot shorter, she was almost a duplicate of Joel Steinman. She carried a tray. She nodded to Susan, set the tray on the desk, and settled herself into the chair at the other desk.

“Miss Hampton, this is my mother. We are equal partners in this business.”

Enchanted, Susan held out her hand for the cup and saucer. “You run a business together?”

“Since my husband died, Miss Hampton,” said the woman as she stirred two lumps of sugar into her tea. The glance she gave to her son was almost as warm as the tea Susan sipped. “If you could wait a few months, I am sure we will have a better selection of servants for you to select from. As it is now...” She shrugged her shoulders in an eloquent way that Aunt Louisa would have found uncouth, but which delighted Susan.

I cannot dupe these kind people, Susan thought as she set down her cup. “You do not precisely understand. I want to hire myself out as a governess.”

The Steinmans looked at each other and frowned. This is going to be more difficult than I thought, Susan considered, but forged ahead. “I am proficient in French, piano, and needlework, and know the rudiments of grammar, math, and composition,” she offered, stammering in her desire to please.

Mrs. Steinman shook her head, while Joel Steinman frowned at her. “It won’t do, Miss Hampton,” he said, and his tone was decisive. “There’s not a married woman in the whole country who would hire you.”

“But... you just told me how hard it is to find good servants, and here I am offering ...”

The Steinmans exchanged glances again and sighed. “Mother, you tell her,” Joel said. “She might think I’m being forward.”

Mrs. Steinman folded her arms in front of her and leaned toward Susan across her desk. “Miss Hampton, when was the last time you looked in a mirror?”

“Why . . . only this morning. I don’t understand,” Susan protested.

“Ladies come here for abigails and governesses, my dear, and most particularly they do not hire pretty women with tiny waists, dimples, and curly hair. You can’t be over twenty.”

“I am twenty-five,” Susan asserted. “But I am qualified in every way for such a position!” And you cannot imagine how badly I need it, she thought, leaning forward, too.

“Ladies do not want women in the house that look like you,” Joel explained, his face a dull red. “They have husbands and older sons who would consider you too much temptation.” He held up his hand against the militant look on her face. “I’m telling you this for your own good, Miss Hampton. I assure you it’s nothing personal. I mean, I think you’re charming.” He blushed some more, and Susan laughed in spite of herself.

“Thank you, I think,” she said, rising to go. Now what, she asked herself as she looked outside. It was snowing harder. “No,” she said, and sat down again. “I need a job. My father Sir Rodney Hampton is a gambling fool, my aunt wants to turn me into her footstool, I am twenty-five with no dowry, and I need a job.” I could cry without too much effort, she thought as she looked from one Steinman to the other. She wondered briefly which one would yield the faster to tears, then rejected the notion. This is business, she told herself. Tears are out.

“You’re making this difficult,” Joel said after a moment, but there was more regret than dismissal in his tone.

She took heart and hitched her chair closer to both desks. “I suppose I am,” she began, “but I ...”

“... still need a job,” he finished for her, his eyes merry in spite of her dilemma.

“Oh, I do,” she sighed. “Please help me, sir.”

Steinman looked at his mother for a long moment and then drummed his fingers on his desk. The rat-a-tat sound had a definite military cadence, and Susan wondered again where he had lost his arm.

Her attention was broken by the postman’s whistle and the whoosh of letters shoved through the opening in the door. Without thinking, Susan got up and gathered the mail, brushing off the snow. She handed it to the man in front of her. He glanced at the letters, then slapped one of them.

“ Oy gevalt, Mamele , here’s another one from Lady Bushnell.” Forgetting her presence for a moment, he made a face at it, then took the envelope in his teeth and carefully slit it open with the letter opener. He took out the letter and shook it open, looking over it at Susan again. “You’d appreciate this lady, Miss Hampton. I think she is almost as persistent as you.”

He was about to toss it into a wire basket when he stopped and read it through again, looking over the letter at her when he finished. With scarcely concealed excitement, he glanced at his mother. “ Mamele , I have an idea,” he said finally, triumph in his voice as he looked at Susan. “Miss Hampton, I have an offer for you.”

“Joel! You can’t be thinking ...“

He swiveled in his chair to watch his mother. “And why not, Mamele ? Everyone we’ve sent, she’s rejected. ‘Too old, too slow, too stupid, too vulgar, too this, too that’ until I want to smack her!”

Susan grinned in spite of herself. Joel Steinman, you are irresistible, she thought. “She sounds like a dragon.”

“Most certainly. And Lady Bushnell is only the dog guarding the entrance to the underworld. What was his name?”

“Cerberus,” she said automatically, wondering what he would say next

“Ah ha!” he exclaimed, kissing his long fingers at her. “Exactly. I have here a letter from Lady Bushnell, widow of Lord Bushnell, late colonel of the Fifth Regiment of Foot, the Cotswolds Guards. I have been trying for months to please her with a lady’s companion for her mother-in-law, the dowager Lady Bushnell.” He leaned across the table until he was closer to her face. “Miss Hampton, do you have any objection to old ladies?”

Captivated by him, she shook her head.

“Strong-willed, stubborn, drive-you-crazy martinets?”

Again she shook her head. “I’ve been living with them for years, sir,” she said.

His smile was beatific. She thought for one amazed moment that he was going to kiss her, but he sat down again, slapped the desk in triumph, and nodded to his mother. “Miss Hampton is going to put us out of our misery.”

Mrs. Steinman considered the matter a while longer, then slowly nodded her head. “There’s no one there beyond the bailiff ever to be tempted by Miss Hampton,” she considered, working through the matter out loud. “Not that he isn’t a nice man, but after all, a mere bailiff. We needn’t worry about her there, Joel.”

“Done, then,” Steinman exclaimed. He leaped to his feet and grabbed for his overcoat on the rack behind him, shrugging one-handed into it, then reaching for his muffler. “Don’t just sit there,” he insisted. “I’m going to see you employed before the morning is over.”

“Not until your muffler is wound tighter,” Susan said. She stood before him, and he stooped obligingly for her to perform this little service. She tucked the ends inside his overcoat. “Very well, sir, lead on.”

Blaming the snow, he took her hand in the street, hurrying along sidewalks empty of pedestrians, but full of drifting snow. After several blocks of concentrated walking, he slowed down when he noticed that she was breathing heavily and almost skipping to keep up with him.

“I’m sorry, Miss Hampton,” he said, smiling at her in such a way that she could never be out of sorts with him. “It will be such a treat to lift this burden from my shoulders and put it on yours!” She laughed, and he joined in, standing still for a moment while she tucked in his muffler again. “Lady Bushnell—widowed since Waterloo—is about to marry the colonel of her late husband’s regiment. She has been wanting to find a lady’s companion for her old mother-in-law, but she is a high stickler, indeed.”

“The old woman, too?”

Joel made a face, and managed to look contrite, all in the same expression. “If you survive the younger Lady Bushnell’s interview, she’s your second hurdle. Old Lady Bushnell insists that she wants nothing to do with a companion. She insists that between her and David Wiggins ...”

“David Wiggins?”

“... the bailiff... they can get along quite fine,” he concluded, taking her arm more firmly and pulling her back as a carter splashed through the intersection. He sighed. “She declares that companions are only for old ladies with one foot in the grave.” He raised his hand and made a spitting sound onto his mittens. He looked sideways at her, apologetic. “Never tempt the devil with death, Miss Hampton,” he said solemnly as he started her across the street.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, wondering what kind of Hebrew charm Joel Steinman was working on her.

“So it stands. She tried other agencies without success, then turned to us. One or two of our companions got beyond the first scrutiny, but failed after a week in the Cotswolds with the dowager.” He paused to consider the matter, and she had to tug him out of the street. “Sorry.”

“Since then, Lady B the Younger has found fault with everyone we’ve brought over,” he said as they turned onto a quieter street off St. James Park. “It may be that you’ll do. Our other potential employees have been capable, but not particularly genteel. That you are, Miss Hampton.”

“Why, thank you,” she said, trying to keep the amusement from her voice.

He chuckled. “I do sound a bit managing, don’t I, Miss Hampton?”

“You do, sir. I will overlook it, if this gets me a job.”

They paused in front of an elegant town house not two blocks from Aunt Louisa’s residence. “Oh, I know this place,” she exclaimed. “And I do remember the windows draped in black and the black wreath on the door after Waterloo. And straw on the street to muffle the passing traffic.”

“Ah, yes. No, no, Miss Hampton!”

She had started up the front steps, but he tugged her back. “We use the servants’ entrance.” He indicated the flight of steps behind an iron grating. When she did not move, he touched her elbow lightly and spoke into her ear, his voice sympathetic. “Miss Hampton, I think that only the first step down is difficult. I’ll help you.”

So it is, she thought as she swallowed the lump in her throat and allowed him to help her down the shallow flight to the servants’ door. Her eyes filled with tears and she asked him to wait a moment before knocking. He did, fumbling inside his overcoat to draw out a handkerchief and dab at her eyes, his own eyes kind.

“Forward, Miss Hampton,” he said as he raised his hand to the door. “If Daniel can survive a discussion with lions in a den, you can stare down Lady Bushnell.”

He was well known belowstairs, everyone from the scullery maid to the footman greeting him as they made their way to the butler’s parlor, where they left their coats. The butler led them upstairs to a small parlor, where he suggested they make themselves comfortable.

It wasn’t a long wait. While her heart may have sunk to her boots during that longest journey down the servants’ stairs, it bounced back into Susan’s throat when the door opened. Joel was on his feet at once, shifting his feet to compensate for the overbalance of his missing arm. She rose, too, her hands clasped behind her to keep them from shaking in plain view.

Lady Bushnell nodded to them both, seated herself, and indicated that they sit, too. Joel accepted her offer of tea, but Susan declined politely, imagining the disaster that would occur if she dropped the cup in her nervousness. The maid withdrew to fetch tea.

There was silence for the longest moment, then Lady Bushnell directed her clear, unblinking gaze at Susan, even as she spoke to the employment agent. “Mr. Steinman, I do believe you are bringing me the infantry now,” she protested, her voice cultured but tinged faintly with resignation.

“My lady, I am quite twenty-five,” Susan said, her voice steadier than her hands.

To her relief. Lady Bushnell smiled at her. “I wish I were,” she said, the humor subdued, but evident in her voice. Susan relaxed slightly and began, unaccountably, to hope. “It’s obvious that you have more breeding than the usual scaff and raff Mr. Steinman brings to me,” she continued. “Who are your parents?”

“My mother was Maria Endicott of the Marling, Kent Endicotts. My father is Sir Rodney Hampton.” Susan looked Lady Bushnell in the eye and politely dared her to make something of it.

“Oh.” It was concise and said, “I know who you are,” as loudly as if Lady Bushnell had spoken it. She hadn’t needed to; Sir Rodney’s tattered reputation hung between them like a flag of surrender.

“You will understand why I need a position, my lady,” Susan continued.

“Is it that bad with him?” Lady Bushnell asked, her inquiry still polite.

Susan nodded, and gave herself a moment to reply. “There is very little between me and ruin, my lady,” she managed finally. “My father may mean well, but he cannot provide.’’

“You have an aunt, I believe?”

“I do. She would like me to be available to fetch and carry for her.”

“That’s what you will be doing for my mother-in-law, if I select you,” Lady Bushnell said, her words reasonable. “Why not stay under the protection of your family?”

It was a good question, quietly put and extremely apt. In a way that no words could express, Susan knew that her acceptance hinged on her answer. Joel Steinman felt it, too, and she was grateful. He stirred in his chair, his leg touching her dress briefly. She felt the movement of the material and took heart. It was as though he had taken her hand for support.

“I could, of course, my lady,” she said. “I am sure there are those who say I should remain under their protection, but it wouldn’t be any time at all before I vanished.”

Lady Bushnell cocked her head to one side. “Vanished?” she asked. She nodded when the maid entered quietly with the tea.

“She means well,” Susan went on when the door closed again, “but I would become Aunt Louisa’s unfortunate niece, and not a person in my own right.” She managed a smile with no mirth in it. “I am already Sir Rodney’s daughter, my lady, and that is difficult enough to bear.”

“Running away to the Cotswolds won’t change that,” Lady Bushnell interjected, her voice mild.

“It might,” Susan disagreed. “There I would be Susan Hampton, and I might discover that that is a nice thing.”

“Miss Hampton, my mother-in-law does not want a companion, and has told me this on numerous occasions. She is sixty-five and has buried a husband, a daughter, and a son. She followed the drum through India and the Peninsula, and is a legend in the army.” Lady Bushnell paused for the briefest moment, then continued in her masterfully calm voice. “She is independent, stubborn, and dear to me beyond all reckoning. I want great care to be taken of her without her knowing it. Do you think you could do that? Her bailiff does it, but he is busy with the estate. She will try you and exasperate you.”

Lady Bushnell sighed. “I fear she does not wish to give up even one inch of her independence.” She regarded Susan. “Something in your face tells me that you sympathize,” she said in amusement. Her voice turned serious again. “Still, it will be difficult. Are you equal to it?”

I must be, Susan thought. This is all the chance I have. “I do not fold easily, my lady.”

Lady Bushnell smiled. “Susan Hampton, I do not think you fold at all. Pour tea for us, won’t you?”

Susan eyed the teapot. “I think my hands are shaking too badly, my lady.”

“And you are an honest body, Miss Hampton,” Lady Bushnell noted. “That will suit Lady B’s bailiff. Pour it anyway.”

Susan did, picking up cup and saucer, and taking a firm grip on the teapot. She kept her back straight, as Mama had taught her, and even managed an artful splash at the end that sent a little geyser of tea evenly creating its cultured wave to the edge of the cup. Head high, she held out the cup to Lady Bushnell, who ac-cepted it with a twinkle in her eye.

“You are made of sterner stuff.”

Sterner than what, was unspoken. I will spend a lifetime living down my father, she thought as she poured a cup for Joel Steinman.

“The position is yours, if you want it,” Lady Bushnell offered, after a sip of tea. “Can you leave right away?”

“Tomorrow, if that’s soon enough.” Heaven knows Aunt Louisa will wash her hands of me.

Lady Bushnell smiled. “I think that will be soon enough, my dear! Now you have to see if you can please a woman who doesn’t need you, and a bailiff who feels the same. I don’t know which will be more difficult.”