Chapter 3
ALEXANDER
Afull moon was high over Barnett’s unkempt gardens, illuminating the shrubbery.
I inhaled deeply and exhaled, appreciative of the fresh air after spending the day trapped in a room stinking of smoke, spilled wine, pomade, and soot.
Play had finished for the evening, affording me the opportunity to escape from Barnett’s dubious hospitality.
Surrounding me was more evidence of his estate’s ruinous decline, from box hedges in wont of a sound trim and towering syringa, to clumps of Sweet William and lavender overrun with weeds. It was a tangled mass on once carefully cultivated soil.
The crunch of gravel alerted me to Edward’s presence before I turned, grateful for the companionship of my trusted steward after a day fraught with tension. For some reason, the servant girl Barnett had reprimanded rose in my mind before I banished the thought.
“How much did you lose today?” Edward inquired quietly.
No one else had ventured to the gardens at this late hour. Likely, most of the other houseguests had already fallen into bed with bellies full of wine. But discretion was wise. I had no desire for word of my true intentions to reach the baron.
“Enough to make Barnett think I’m an easy mark.”
A breeze ruffled the boughs of the trees overhead as clouds passed before the moon, blanketing us in shadow.
I turned my attention toward the darkened shrubbery, an odd restlessness settling over me.
I was closer than ever to obtaining what I wanted, and yet, I felt no satisfaction.
There was only a hollow sense of disgust for it all—the baron, the greed, the vices.
Was I the only man in that room who had taken note of the true fear in the maid’s voice when she had apologized to Barnett for taking too long to clean the threadbare carpets?
I told myself it didn’t signify, that she didn’t signify. And yet it rang hollow.
“Was he using the marked cards?” Edward asked, interrupting my thoughts.
I looked away from the ruined gardens, trying to keep my mind settled upon the task at hand.
“Yes. And I saw where he places them when we are finished for the day. There is a hidden drawer in the table. I lingered in the hallway watching him, and he was so busy congratulating himself over his winnings that he didn’t notice my presence.
We will have to slip in once the house is abed and switch them for tomorrow. ”
We would linger here in the gardens until it was safe to accomplish the substitution. Given the dearth of domestics, we likely wouldn’t have long to wait.
Edward nodded. “How will you play the day?”
Tomorrow was another day, another opportunity to seize what I wanted. The groundwork had already been laid, and I was confident of our success.
“Off and on. I will let my luck run out a bit, then pick up again so he is not completely suspicious. Two of the crowd have already run out of their funds.” I snorted derisively.
“Young pups who have no business gambling. I let Barnett pick them off to get him overconfident. There are two more who will be gone before the afternoon is over. That will leave four of us for the evening.”
“Everything is falling into place.” Edward’s voice was pleased.
And well it should have been. My victory was his victory. We were nearer to obtaining our objective than ever. Triumph was at last within reach. Yet oddly, I didn’t share his sense of satisfaction.
“You’re quiet,” he observed. “Is aught amiss? Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
I stared into the shadows, contemplating the whirlwind of the day, and sighed heavily. The girl’s face rose in my mind.
“Nothing is amiss,” I reassured him.
We passed a few more minutes in pleasant conversation, and I was grateful for the distraction. The last thing I needed was to dwell on a servant girl. She was Barnett’s concern, not mine.
MADELEINE
I rose before dawn in the cramped garret room I shared with Lydia.
Even beneath a thick layer of old counterpanes, my feet were so cold that I could scarcely feel my toes.
Shivering, I emerged from my small, uncomfortable bed and made my way through the darkness to perform some hasty morning ablutions.
Candles were a luxury that couldn’t presently be spared for those of us who worked belowstairs.
They were reserved for the baron’s guests.
Sun seeped through the rafters in odd gaps, enabling me a small amount of light.
Lydia was little more than an indistinct lump across the room in her own small bed.
The sound of my friend’s rhythmic breathing suggested she was yet asleep.
I would wake her soon, but I was reluctant to intrude on the pleasant escape of slumber, so oft our only release from the drudgery of our days.
Although, for me, even my dreams were haunted.
I dressed and secured my hair with pins before hiding it beneath a mobcap. I had just finished when a faint rustle and yawn from Lydia’s bed told me she was awake.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked, her voice raspy with sleep and an edge of worry. “I didn’t mean to be a slugabed.”
“You’ve time aplenty yet,” I reassured her. “I thought to let you rest for an extra few minutes. The day is sure to be a long one.”
We all secretly dreaded the baron’s house parties.
Our work increased threefold during the revels, as drunken lords indulged in gambling and demanded feasts to satiate their seemingly endless appetites, all whilst we went without.
The sole source of consolation to me was that the baron’s attention was usually diverted to his guests rather than to me.
I preferred hunger and exhaustion to my father’s wrath.
“I’m not the only one of us who needs rest,” Lydia said pointedly. “You are always fretting over everyone else. What of yourself?”
She worried about me, I knew, and I did the same for her.
I smiled, grateful for her companionship. “I don’t need the extra rest. I’m accustomed to the baron’s house parties.”
Lydia harrumphed as if to say she disagreed, but there wasn’t much time for conversation with the day’s work waiting to be done.
I made my bed and swept up the scarred floor while Lydia washed her face and dressed.
Then we quietly made our way from the cold garret to the main floor of the house.
Once there, we parted ways to attend our separate duties.
I began in the drawing room as usual, going to the hearth and turning up the threadbare carpet surrounding it for a sound sweeping.
Next, I moved to the soot in the fireplace, taking up the dirty task of cleaning as much as I could before tending to the fire itself.
There was an art to the proper lighting of a fire that calmed me.
Perhaps it was the distraction or the careful attention to detail or the relative solitude of early morning hours.
Or perhaps it was that I found comfort in the familiar.
I had learned long ago how to stack the coals and cinders and wood to avoid smoke billowing into the room, a feat that some other housemaids could not readily accomplish.
It pleased the baron to keep the rooms as clean and free of soot and chimney smoke as possible, and it was my duty to make certain that he was well contented.
When he wasn’t, all of us paid the price.
By the time I finished my tasks, the guests had stirred from their chambers in search of the handsome breakfast that was laid in the dining room for their delectation at the same time each morning.
My stomach rumbled with the reminder that I had gone to bed hungry the evening before and would need to wait a few more hours until I could break my own fast. I ignored it and made my way to the guest chambers to continue my duties.
I began with the finest room, the blue bedchamber, which had been given to the Marquess of Wheaton.
Whilst some of its fine mahogany furnishings had been sold off, the linen press, dressing table, and bed remained.
The Axminster had yet to become as faded and thinned as some of the parts of the household that saw more frequent wear.
There was a difference to a room when it was inhabited.
The notions a chamber’s occupant left behind were telling.
Some were slovenly and careless. Bed linens rumpled and scattered, soiled garments flung everywhere, curtains pulled wide to admit the sun without a care for the damage it might do to the paintings on the walls and the carpets.
Others were neat and tidy, leaving only the slightest hint that they had even been within the four walls.
Fortunately, the marquess was the latter.
A lone book was on the table at the bedside, the counterpane had been pulled smoothly over the sheets, and the curtains were drawn.
I wondered which of the gentlemen assembled at the baron’s table yesterday was the marquess, and then I just as swiftly reminded myself it hardly mattered.
But I couldn’t shake the memory of those dark eyes that had burned into me, seeing me just for a moment.
Shaking my head to dispel all such unwanted notions, I drew aside the curtains and opened the windows to allow a bit of crisp air into the space while I freshened the room.
The day beyond was gray and cold and damp.
I inhaled deeply to chase the pleasant scent the marquess had left behind—leather, shaving soap, and a faint hint of lemons.
The sooner I moved on to the next room, the better.
Hastily, I attended to the fire and then spread damp tea leaves on the Axminster by the hearth before sweeping them up to collect the dust. I closed the window and drew the curtains, knowing the sun, should it pierce the fog and clouds, would be at its brightest around noon.
Mrs. Wells was strict in her expectations for the preservation of the rooms. And well she had to be, for the baron’s profligacy seemed to increase by the day, as did his desperation.
Rumors abounded belowstairs that he was in danger of losing Cliffwood to his debts since it wasn’t entailed.
My thoughts weighed heavily upon me as I dusted and took my leave of the chamber. I wasn’t afraid of losing the only home I’d ever known. These walls had been mostly a prison to me rather than a refuge. It was what the baron would do should he lose everything that worried me most.
I could only hope and pray that the outcome of his house party proved a boon for us all.