5. Chapter 5
Mrs Barrington seemed determined to make Kitty’s life as miserable as possible. For fifty years, the old lady had been eaten up by malice, and for the past fortnight, Kitty had been receiving the full measure of her revenge, as the granddaughter of the woman who had beguiled her beloved Walter.
There was no escape. Though she’d written to Edward again to share what she’d been told about their father, she was yet to receive any word from her brother.
Not that he would be able to rescue her until he returned from the war.
If he ever came back. No, she was alone and at the mercy of a spiteful old woman.
If another option presented itself, Kitty would grasp it with both hands, but she knew she must be sensible.
She possessed little apart from her mother’s pearl necklace, a few books of sentimental value, and a depressingly small pile of coins.
It would be too risky to leave with no guarantee of other work, and no one would employ her in a respectable role without a reference—a reference her current mistress would never give.
She might have been tempted to move on, despite the lack of anywhere to go, if it hadn’t been for Mrs Jarvis’s kindness.
From the first night, the woman had acted her friend.
Shocked to see a lady reduced to working below stairs, the housekeeper had refused to have her emptying chamber pots and had assigned her to help the cook instead.
When Mrs Barrington had dismissed her latest lady’s maid the very next morning, Mrs Jarvis had promoted Kitty to the post. Styling hair was a much more pleasant occupation than chopping vegetables.
The bell rang, summoning her to her mistress’s room to prepare her for the day ahead.
The housekeeper shot her a sympathetic grimace, and Kitty drained her teacup before hurrying out the door.
Inhaling deeply, she prayed for strength, reminding herself to be grateful for daily blessings—food in her belly and a safe place to sleep.
She bobbed a curtsey and set to work brushing out Mrs Barrington’s grey locks and arranging them in her preferred style.
“Bah! You clumsy creature, Lacey. The pins are supposed to go in my hair, not in my head.”
“Sorry, madam.” She knew the complaint was unjust, but there was no point in arguing her case. It pleased her mistress to find fault with everything she did.
The old lady examined her reflection in the glass. “Hmm. It’s still not a patch on the way Greaves used to arrange it, but I suppose it will do.”
Kitty was tempted to ask why Mrs Barrington had let Greaves go if she was going to sing the praises of her previous maid all day long, but as she had no wish to become the next victim of the old lady’s bad temper, she kept her mouth closed.
She knew she was blessed to have been given the role rather than being consigned to help the cook, but it meant she was on the receiving end of her mistress’s caustic tongue.
“I tore the hem of the lilac gown I wore yesterday. Mend it. I won’t be needing you downstairs. My son is visiting today. If I need you, I’ll ring. Mind that you answer without delay.”
“Yes, madam,” she said for the twentieth time that morning and bobbed another curtsey as Mrs Barrington departed with a swish of her silk skirts.
Kitty put the room to rights, picking up the nightgown and wrapper that her mistress had discarded, and tidying her brushes on the dressing table. She went to the needlework box she’d been given and looked for a thread that matched the lilac of the dress with the torn hem.
Fortunately, she had made and mended her own clothes for years, as well as those of her grandfather and brother, and she had often been praised for her neat stitches. But her sewing wouldn’t be good enough for her mistress. Nothing ever was.
Perhaps her indomitable spirit irked Mrs Barrington, making her try harder to break her, but Kitty knew the old woman would fail. Even if the worst happened and she discovered Edward had died, she knew God would never forsake her.
Kitty had just finished repairing the hem of Mrs Barrington’s dress when the bell rang. Putting her mending aside, she brushed down the front of her skirt with both hands, straightened her cap, and made her way downstairs.
Having been scolded on more than one occasion for looking too cheerful, she schooled her face into an expressionless mask and entered the drawing room.
Mrs Barrington sat in her usual winged armchair to the right of the fireplace. Opposite was a middle-aged gentleman and a young lady, whom she guessed to be a few years younger than herself.
The man was well dressed, with thinning brown hair on the top of his head and thick sideburns.
Though not handsome, there was nothing unpleasant about his features.
Kitty was inclined to approve of him, especially since he had risen from his chair as she entered the room, although she was only a servant.
He glanced at her and then addressed his mother in a deep voice that reminded Kitty of her grandfather. “Will you please introduce me to your new companion?”
Mrs Barrington scowled. “Sit down, Hugh. I told you. The girl is no blood relative of ours and deserves no such civility. She is a penniless orphan, and I have only kept her here out of charity.”
The man ignored his mother and bowed. “I am sorry to meet you under such circumstances, Miss Lacey. I understand my great uncle died recently.”
It was the first time she had received kind words from a Barrington, and they brought a slight smile to her lips.
“Just Lacey,” the old woman growled. “She would be in the kitchens, and even less fit for my drawing room, if I hadn’t needed a new lady’s maid.”
“You let Greaves go?” the man asked.
His mother sniffed hard and raised her nose in the air. “I had no choice. The girl was carrying on with one of the grooms. I’ll not have such wanton behaviour beneath my roof.”
“Of course not,” he said in a soothing voice. “Nobody would expect that of you.”
He turned once more in Kitty’s direction.
“Please forgive my mother. Old grievances are the hardest to bear, but they are hers alone. However, her reluctance to introduce us forces me to perform the task myself. I am Mrs Barrington’s only son, Hugh, and this is my daughter, Laura,” he said, motioning toward the young lady.
She rose from her seat and dipped into a curtsey. Mr Barrington nodded his approval and continued to talk to his mother.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Laura said, “though rather disappointing to learn we’re not related. I have no brothers or sisters or cousins, and would have liked a female relative who could be my friend.”
She smiled weakly and fell silent, leaving Kitty free to take in the full glory of her appearance. Perhaps if they were cousins, she would have inherited some of the beauty which the girl had in abundance.
Her chestnut locks were piled on her head, showing off a long, creamy white neck to advantage. One or two stray curls fell at the sides of her heart-shaped face, and her complexion was clear, shining with natural radiance.
Unlike Kitty’s own skin. Forced by her mistress to tie back her hair in a severe style, her pock-marked forehead was visible to all. But she was not here to impress the gentleman. Only to serve his mother.
She returned her gaze to Laura. Her eyes were the deepest blue. Her mouth, a rosebud of perfection. In short, the young woman was stunning, and dressed in a fashionable muslin gown, she would make a fine model for a fashion plate in La Belle Assemblée.
It was as well that Edward wasn’t here. He was at just that age and disposition where he might fall for such a dazzling appearance—at least, he had been before he went to war.
The thought sobered her. It wasn’t true. She would be delighted to have her brother here under any circumstances.
Kitty listened to the conversation Mr Barrington was having with his mother. “And you say her father was not uncle’s son?”
“A noble by-blow. Your uncle raised another man’s bastard as his own. Poor, disillusioned Walter. Believed in his precious Catherine to the end, although she failed to bear him a child of his own.”
Kitty cringed to hear her papa spoken of so harshly. No one could choose their parentage, but she could not help wishing her grandfather had told her the truth—to prepare her for this. Perhaps he had hoped his sister would have forgiven him by now.
“Bah! Don’t you dare take pity on the girl, or I’ll throw her out on the streets. It is, after all, where she belongs.”
Kitty continued to stand, listening to them talk about her as if she were not there.
“Is there a chance you are mistaken about her parentage?”
“No!”
She watched Mr Barrington’s face. The lines around his eyes suggested he did not approve of his mother’s callousness.
“You cannot blame Miss Lacey for your brother’s behaviour.”
“He chose that woman over me, and he would have claimed to be the boy’s father if she had let him. Stuck by her story to the bitter end. And after all this, he had the gall to send the girl to me.”
“Has she nowhere else to go? No relatives who might take her in?”
“None, except her brother, who is fighting in the Peninsula—if he’s even still alive.”
Kitty winced at the harsh reminder of the reality of war, but it was Mr Barrington’s sympathetic look that brought a tear to her eye.
“Do you intend to keep her here?”
Mrs Barrington sneered. “Till her spirit’s broken, and then—”
“Enough. Let me take her off your hands.”
“Oh no. Don’t go feting her to spite me.”
“You have not thought, Mother. If it becomes common knowledge that you have spurned your dead brother’s adopted granddaughter, it will not do you any good.”
“What do I care about others’ opinions?”
“If not for yourself, think of me and Laura. Your behaviour might damage our standing in the community. Besides, my daughter would benefit from a companion.”
He met his mother’s eyes with a hard stare, and at length, Mrs Barrington averted her gaze.
“Very well. Take her. I only kept her on a whim. Do what you like with her. I can’t stand the girl.”
“What say you, Miss Lacey? Will you come and make your home with us, and be a friend to my daughter?”
Kitty hesitated. Mr Barrington seemed honourable, but she had only just met the man.
Could she trust him? He had shown her more kindness in half an hour than her mistress ever had, and treated her like a lady and not a servant.
But appearances could deceive, and she did not wish to inadvertently put herself in a compromising position.
“Has the cat got your tongue?” his mother asked.
“Where is your gratitude for such a generous offer? How dare you dither as if you had bountiful options available to you? If the decision is so hard to make, I will decide for you. Pack your trunk and get out. My son has a use for you, and I refuse to keep such an ungrateful chit in my service.”
Kitty glanced at Mr Barrington, who grimaced in sympathy. It was the assurance she was looking for. Living in his household could not be worse than working as a kitchen maid or serving at an inn, which were probably the only positions she could get without a reference.
“As you wish, madam,” she said, resigning herself to the change. She would take her chances, and with God’s help, she would live to write another chapter in the adventure of life.