Chapter 8
EIGHT
CLARA
One door to a room was not sufficient for a ducal estate like Rushlake.
Each of the rooms on the main floor was fitted with two doors, separated by a small vestibule in which was located a closet for storage or shelves to display trinkets of value.
The set of doors allowed for more privacy and for heat to be kept more efficiently in the rooms requiring it.
The servants there, Clara had found, referred to this space as “the in-between” and would speak of “the drawing room in-between” or “the library in-between” when explaining where certain supplies were stored.
She balanced the broom and dustbin in one hand and opened the door leading to the library in-between.
She contemplated organizing the closet, for once she put these supplies away, she would be obliged to go speak with Mrs. Finch in the housekeeper’s room below stairs.
She was under no illusion that would be a happy conversation.
She placed the broom and bin amongst the other cleaning supplies and shut the cupboard door. The door to the library was ajar, and she grasped the handle to close it, halting at the sound of her name.
“You believe I should dismiss Clara, then,” said the duke from within the library.
“I do, Your Grace,” Mr. Cartwright replied.
Clara stiffened. In her time at Rushlake, she had learned that Mr. Cartwright acted as a sort of personal secretary and advisor to the Duke of Rockwood. The other servants thought well of him, but Clara couldn’t help resenting him a bit. He seemed to have taken a dislike to her from the beginning.
“It would be terribly cruel, Edmund,” the duke said. “She has done nothing wrong.”
“That is arguable.”
“How?”
“It was her decision to marry a drunkard. That choice put her in the position in which we found her.”
Clara couldn’t move, but her stomach turned, perhaps because she felt a grain of truth in his words. But if she had truly known John’s vices, she would not have entertained the thought of marriage to him.
“She says she was a lady’s maid before,” Mr. Cartwright continued.
“Why, then, had she stooped to performing the duties of a common inn maid? And now a housemaid? Why not continue as a lady’s maid elsewhere?
To me, the situation seems suspect. But the point is, Your Grace, that there are any number of people who could perform the work she is doing here, so I struggle to think of any reason for keeping her on when her presence causes such harm to your reputation. ”
There was silence, and Clara could barely breathe as she waited for the duke’s response. But it was Mr. Cartwright who spoke again.
“Do you understand the harm it does?”
“Yes,” the duke said quietly.
Clara’s heart twinged. What had she expected? For him to rise to her defense? Her mind seemed to be concocting absurd fantasies of the duke, thrusting him into the role of a chivalrous knight who had come to her rescue. And yet, her heart hurt all the same.
“I cannot in good conscience dismiss her, Edmund. I told her I would provide her a position, and I am a man of my word. Surely, you can make an effort to quell the gossip below stairs. Mrs. Finch ought to have put a stop to it already.”
Clara let go of the handle and slipped out into the corridor, shutting the door as quietly as possible behind her. She put a hand on her stomach and forced herself to breathe. Mr. Cartwright was desperate for her to be gone. And the duke? It was pity that kept him from having her dismissed.
Well, given her destination, they might soon have their way.
Clara batted the gathering tears away from her eyes, took a breath, and made her way to the servant staircase. Brushing at the lingering soot on her apron, she tried to prepare herself for the meeting with the housekeeper.
How would she defend herself? What would she do and where would she go if she was dismissed? The mere thought sent her nerves into a frenzy.
Mrs. Finch was seated at the desk in the large room allotted to her as both living and working quarters. Some evenings, various servants would be invited to take tea with her in this room. Clara had not yet enjoyed that honor.
The housekeeper looked up, her gaze settling on Clara in the doorway. “Come in.”
Clara obeyed and came to stand in front of the desk.
“Have a seat,” the housekeeper said, her voice colorless.
Clara sat in the wicker chair opposite her and waited as the housekeeper scribbled a few more words on the page in front of her, replaced the quill in the inkstand, and sat back to look at Clara.
“Your work here at Rushlake has been satisfactory, Clara. Indeed, if circumstances were different, I would be quite happy to keep you on, for you are thorough and quick in your tasks. However…”
Clara kept her gaze on the housekeeper, refusing to allow herself the luxury of showing any emotion.
“Strict rules govern our conduct at Rushlake. Particularly our conduct as it relates to His Grace.” Her gaze grew more intense and condemnatory, her lips thin with displeasure. “I cannot have those under my stewardship crossing—nay, leaping—over the lines of proper decorum.”
“Mrs. Finch,” Clara said, “there has been a great misunderst—”
The housekeeper put up a hand, silencing her.
“I have no desire to know the particulars of your connection”—she said the word with distaste—“to the duke. As those employed by the Duke of Rockwood, it is our task, first and foremost, to seek his good, for his successes are our successes, his failures our failures. Do you want what is best for His Grace, Clara?”
“Yes,” Clara responded, entirely earnest. She also wanted what was best for herself. She couldn’t imagine she would find a situation better than upper housemaid at a ducal estate.
“If that is true,” Mrs. Finch said, regarding her intently, “you will not remain under this roof.”
Clara swallowed. “You are dismissing me.”
“No. You would be leaving of your own volition.”
Clara stared, waiting for her to expound. It certainly felt as though she was being dismissed.
“The duke has shown himself reluctant to dismiss you, and I will not cross him. But I encourage you in the strongest terms of which I am capable to leave his service immediately.”
Clara’s heart thumped, and her mind whirred.
No one wanted her at Rushlake. For the past two weeks, she had convinced herself that the duke, at least, did.
But the conversation she had overheard proved otherwise.
He was keeping her here out of pity. How could she stay somewhere she was so unwanted, so despised?
Mrs. Finch watched her carefully. “Because of your satisfactory work, I am prepared to provide you with a reference so that you may seek employment elsewhere.”
Clara’s gaze flew to hers.
“However,” the housekeeper continued, “I absolutely insist that you leave all thought—any thought at all, you understand—of carrying on with a future master in the way you have done here. Do I make myself clear?”
Clara’s cheeks flamed. “I have not done anything untoward with the duke—or with any master, Mrs. Finch.” Indeed, it was her refusal to do so which had led to her dismissal from the service of Lady Redgrave.
“If what I observed in the duke’s bedchamber today does not strike you as untoward, Clara, we have a serious problem.”
Clara clenched her jaw to keep her mouth shut. She could defend herself and say it was the duke who had asked for her wrist, but her conscience balked at casting the blame upon him.
The blood in her veins thrummed at the memory of his touch. But it was not his fault she had reacted to it. He had been thinking of his mother.
“Can I trust you to behave yourself with decorum wherever you find work?”
“Yes,” Clara said firmly. With the reference Mrs. Finch promised, she could leave Rushlake. But she needed more than that. She required money. “I will leave Rushlake, but in return, I ask that you give me wages for the short time I have been here.”
Mrs. Finch nodded. “What I am asking you to do is not easy, so I will do more than that.” She opened one of the drawers of her weathered desk and took out a coin purse. From it, she extracted three coins and held them on her outstretched palm.
Clara stared at the three gold sovereigns and glanced up at the housekeeper. Those coins were just over a quarter of her annual wages. For just two weeks of work.
It was either a testament to Mrs. Finch’s generosity or evidence of how desperate she was for Clara to leave. Either way, Clara was grateful for it. Along with the reference, it would make all the difference.
And yet, as she waited for Mrs. Finch to write the reference, her heart felt heavy at the thought of leaving.
By the time Clara had finished her evening duties and was ready to leave, dark was falling.
Mrs. Finch had assured her the mail coach passed by the nearest inn at half-past ten, which meant Clara should arrive in plenty of time.
It would be a long night—and an early morning when the coach arrived in London.
She had decided upon London as her destination, for it seemed most full of opportunity.
With the small sack of belongings she had acquired in the past two weeks hanging over her arm, Clara descended the servants’ stairs from the top floor.
She slowed as she reached the landing for the main floor.
It looked toward the principal corridor, with its long, thick rugs, tall windows, and high, plastered ceilings.
The sight brought a lump to her throat. Rushlake was beautiful.
She wished she could say goodbye to the duke, but it was an absurd thought.
What would such a thing accomplish? Part of her was undoubtedly hoping he would ask her to stay.
Her! A housemaid. The presumption was unprecedented and would only confirm what Mrs. Finch had said: she had no sense of proper decorum. She did not belong there.