Dear Deceiver

‘That is not in the least necessary. The laundry maid…’ She caught sight of Teddy laughing and frowned at him. ‘Everything is being seen to and will be put to rights by tomorrow. But I thank you for the offer.’ She picked up her reticule which lay on the table at her side and stood up. If she stayed any longer she could not trust herself not to ask where she had met him before and that would be embarrassing for everyone. ‘If you will excuse me, I will retire. It has been a tiring day.’

‘Of course.’ He rose and bowed to her. ‘Are you staying in London?’

‘For the moment.’

‘Then I wish you a pleasant stay.’

‘Thank you. Come along, Teddy.’ With that she swept from the room followed by her bemused brother.

‘What was all that about?’ he demanded as they made their way up the stairs to their room.

‘Nothing.’

‘It didn’t look like nothing to me. Why, you were as red as a turkey cock…’

‘I was not.’

‘Yes, you were.’

‘Then it was because the room was so hot, and perhaps I had drunk too much of the wine.’

‘It couldn’t be because you took a shine to him, could it?’

‘No, of course not. I have hardly spoken half a dozen words to the gentleman. Why, I don’t even know his name.’

‘Do you want to know it? I will run back and find out if you like.’

‘You will do no such thing! Go to bed, we have a great deal to do tomorrow.’

Teddy sighed. ‘Pity. I wouldn’t have minded making his acquaintance. He’s a real Corinthian, don’t you think?’

‘No, I don’t. It’s obvious he is a nabob. I think he has shares in the Silken Maid’s cargo.’

‘So what? Are you become so high in the instep, you can look down on honest trading? He seems to have done well from it, judging by his dress.’

‘And if he has, what concern can it possibly be of ours?’ She paused outside the door of her room. ‘Goodnight, Teddy.’

It took her a long time to go to sleep that night. Her head was filled with the newness of everything, the sights, the smells, the sounds of a strange country. And yet it was the country her father had always called home. She must make it her home. But, oh, how difficult it was going to be! She missed Papa dreadfully. If he had been alive and bringing her to England on a visit, it would have been a wonderful adventure, but as it was she felt lost and, in spite of Teddy who was very dear to her, very lonely.

It was all very well for Mrs Goodwright to give her a book on etiquette, but it didn’t go nearly far enough. For instance, in England was it permissible for a lady to speak to a strange man in a public dining-room, if he did one a service? Ought she simply to have thanked him and turned away? But that would have been rude, especially after he had taken the trouble to find out her name and ask about the voyage.

Six months ago, she would not have troubled herself about it; she would have done what came naturally to her, secure in the knowledge of her place in society. She would not have given the rights and wrongs of it a thought, much less spent sleepless hours worrying about it.

Had she really blushed? Oh, how mortifying! Whatever had he thought of her? It was just as well they were moving on tomorrow. She didn’t want another uncomfortable encounter with that gentleman.

Two mornings later Emma and Teddy set out from two tiny rooms on the top floor of a lodging house on the north side of Oxford Street to look for work. A slight breeze had blown away the misty rain and the sun was shining, a day for optimism, they decided. It was an optimism which was soon deflated. Emma had a notion that she could look after young children or even teach, but, according to the agency to whom she applied, no one wanted their children taught by someone whose sole experience was giving Indian children the rudiments of English. She was very conscious of her outmodish brown bombazine gown and tanned complexion; English ladies seemed to be uncommonly pale.

If she had not been so concerned about their dwindling resources, she would have enjoyed exploring the city. It was so different from Calcutta and yet there were similarities. Many of the fine buildings had their counterparts in Calcutta, which had been dubbed ‘the city of palaces’, but the people who thronged the streets and rode in a bewildering array of carriages, were, for the most part, white.

The markets, like markets the world over, were colourful and noisy but the produce they sold was different: hot peas, meat pies, herrings, cabbages and bootlaces instead of chuppattis, samosas, melons, copper ornaments and saris. And though there were English churches in Calcutta, there did not seem to be any mosques and temples in London, shining pink and gold in the sun, no ruins, no fort. St Paul’s was impressive and one day she might go inside, but at that moment she was too anxious to reach her next interview. Having given up the idea of teaching, she had decided to try for a position as a lady’s maid.

The encounter lasted less than five minutes, which was the time it took to realise she would be nothing but a slave to a cantankerous old lady twenty-four hours a day, and for a pittance. Judging by the tiny fire in the grate and the chill in the house which was mirrored in the lady’s demeanour, there would be no warmth there. It was the same in many of the places to which she was sent and on the few occasions when she liked what she saw, she was turned down on the grounds of her inexperience. She returned home in the evening, hoping that Teddy had had better luck.

He had not. ‘I didn’t get any further than speaking to a supervisor,’ he said, disgustedly, as they sat over a frugal meal. ‘All he said was, “Go to Haileybury and finish your schooling, then we might be able to use you.” He said Haileybury College was like Fort William in Calcutta, intended to produce Indian administrators.’

‘I wish you could,’ Emma said. ‘But I’m afraid it’s out of the question.’

‘I know. I thought of journalism, but when I tried a newspaper office, they laughed at me, said I knew nothing, but I could be the tea-wallah, if I liked. I am not that desperate, Em.’

‘No, of course not.’

‘If I cannot work for The Company, then I would wish to do something with some excitement in it. Do you know there are hundreds of stage coaches in London? They go all over the country every day at a bruising speed, twenty miles an hour some of them. And the coachmen are fine fellows. I wouldn’t mind being a coachman or a guard. The guard has a blunderbuss to frighten off highwaymen. Come to think of it, it might be exciting to be a highwayman. Your jewels or your life, and all that.’

Emma laughed. ‘Oh, Teddy, you are a goose, but what would I do without you?’

‘I can’t stay tied to your apron strings forever, Em,’ he said, suddenly serious. ‘If you are worrying what will happen to me if you are offered a position, please don’t. Whether you will have it or not, I am a man now and must find my own way.’

‘I haven’t been offered anything so it doesn’t signify.’

‘You had no luck either?’

‘No.’

‘You’ll have to find a husband, like I said before.’

‘And just how am I to do that?’

‘Cultivate any eligible you meet, instead of rebuffing him, as you always seem to do. There was that gentleman last night—he was interested, I could tell. All you did was complain about the voyage and tell him to mind his own business…’

‘I did not!’

‘As good as. If you had accepted his offer of compensation, who knows where it might have led…?’

‘Teddy, you sometimes talk the most dreadful nonsense. Of course he wasn’t interested in me. He’s probably married with half a dozen children. Anyway, I have no intention of marrying for money…’

‘Why not? I am persuaded that is how most marriages begin.’

‘How can you say that, when you know how much Mama and Papa loved each other?’

‘They were an exception.’

‘Then I shall be another.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘And I could hardly be married within a week and that is how long our funds are likely to last.’ She paused, serious again. ‘I will try again tomorrow. I’ll go to a domestic agency…’

’emma, you can’t be a housemaid, it is as bad as me being a tea-wallah.’

‘I think this business of having an uncle who is a viscount has gone to your head, brother dear. We cannot afford pride.’ Which was only too true, though she lamented it as much as Teddy did.

The next day she tried a new agency and her luck changed, though she did wonder if it was because she furnished them with a glowing reference from Miss Emma Mountforest who had employed her as a companion while residing in India. ‘Society among the English community in India is very little different from that in England,’ she told the proprietor, tongue in cheek. ‘I shall soon adapt.’ Emma did not like the deception, but she was beginning to realise she would get nowhere telling the truth. She was given an introduction to take to the Marquis of Cavenham, who required a companion for his sister, Miss Lucilla Besthorpe.

She returned home to leave a note for Teddy, telling him where she was, before following the directions she had been given to the Marquis’s house in Bedford Row. It was a tall mansion, identical to those on either side of it, with rows of sash windows and a heavy oak door with a large brass knocker and flambeaux either side. She took a deep breath and knocked, prepared to lie, if necessary, to obtain the post.

The maid who answered the door took the agency’s letter from her and left her waiting in an anteroom for several minutes, which seemed like an hour to Emma, who found that her hands were shaking with nerves. She gave herself a good scolding and managed to calm herself by the time the girl returned.

‘Come this way, please.’

She led the way up a curving staircase, covered with Turkey carpet, to a large sunny room on the first floor, where she left her. Emma, looking about her at the upholstered sofas with their faded gilt scrolling, the spindly chairs and satinwood sofa table, the secretaire in the corner, the gilt framed pictures which could have done with cleaning, the spotted mirror and ormolu clock on the mantel, the striped taffeta curtains and worn carpet, came to the conclusion that the room had once seen better days.

She had thought there was no one there, but a slight movement by the window caught her eye and a young lady emerged, from behind the curtains. She was about seventeen, Emma judged, dressed very simply in a morning dress of spotted muslin, with a deep frill at the hem and lace about the neck. Her hair, which was fair, was worn tied back with a blue velvet ribbon with no attempt at fashionable arrangement. And yet she was lovely, mainly due to a cheerful countenance and sparkling blue eyes.

‘I thought I would take a look at you before you saw me,’ she said, coming forward and seating herself on one of the sofas.

‘Oh, and what conclusion have you come to?’ Emma asked, deducing that this was the Marquis’s sister and would be her charge if she were to be appointed.

‘You are not what you seem.’

Emma gasped. Surely she had not been seen through by a schoolmiss? ‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘At first I thought you rather dull, a little brown sparrow, but then I saw the way you looked about you, as if summing us up, and I realised that there would be no deceiving you.’

‘Does anyone need to deceive me?’ Emma asked, conscious of the irony of that remark.

‘No, but you have already deduced that we are not as plump in the pocket as we would like. Dominic wants to set the place to rights, but it all takes time and he has not been the Marquis for long enough to bring us round…’

‘Should you be telling me this, Miss Besthorpe? It is a private matter, surely?’

‘But if you become one of the household, you must know what you are falling into.’

‘Your brother, the Marquis…?’

‘Oh, Dominic is as open and honest as the day is long. Everyone knows our circumstances, but matters are improving. Dominic has just made a huge profit on some investment or other and so I am to have a Season, after all. You do not know how relieved I am, for otherwise I would have been packed off to Aunt Agatha in Yorkshire, and that is not to be borne. She is old and so strict, I might as well be in purdah. Even Dominic does not wish that on me.’

‘Miss Besthorpe, I really do not think you should be divulging that.’

‘Oh, do call me Lucy, everyone does. If I am to have my come-out this year, I need a maid who will also be a companion and chaperon. I think we should suit very well, don’t you?’

Emma felt as though she were being swept along on a tide, but she liked Lucy, who had a refreshing candour and was not in the least conceited. ‘Yes, but I have yet to meet the Marquis and he may not agree.’

‘Oh, Dominic will like you, I know. And besides, I can bring him round my little finger, if I have a mind to. I have already turned down three applicants—three old dragons breathing fire.’

Emma found herself laughing and it was at that point Dominic entered the room.

He stood watching them from the doorway, realising that when Miss Woodhill laughed, her whole face lit up and she came vibrantly alive. Even in her dowdy brown clothes there was something about her that made her stand out; she had a natural grace, a way of carrying herself, a quiet dignity which, to his way of thinking, reflected good breeding, and yet she seemed totally unaware of it. She had, he supposed, found out who he was and decided to take advantage of his offer of compensation, after all. He was both disappointed that she might have a mercenary streak and delighted to see her again. He took a further step into the room and Lucy, seeing him, ran to take his arm and drag him forward.

‘Dominic, this is…’

He smiled. ‘Miss Woodhill, I know.’ He bowed to Emma. ‘Your servant, ma’am.’

‘You know?’ Lucy looked from him to Emma, who seemed to have been struck dumb. Her face was flushed and her mouth partly open as if she had been frozen in the middle of a laugh. ‘You did not tell me you knew my brother.’

Emma was thunderstruck. Her confused thoughts ranged from how handsome the Marquis was in his blue superfine coat, buff pantaloons and polished hessians, to wondering why fate had decreed they should meet again and so soon, too. Then she remembered what Teddy had said the evening before about the gentleman being interested in her and she felt the colour flood her cheeks. Would he think that she had engineered the meeting? Oh, how dreadful if he did!

‘I didn’t. I don’t.’ She managed to speak at last. ‘I had no idea…’

‘Miss Woodhill and I encountered each other yesterday,’ Dominic said, realising that the young lady was as surprised as he was and had not come to dun him. ‘Twice.’

‘Twice! Then you must tell me all about it.’

‘There is nothing to tell,’ Emma said, pulling herself together. ‘His lordship came on board the ship on which I travelled from India and we met a second time when my brother and I were dining at the hotel. I had no idea he would be there. Nor did I know who he was until now.’ She hoped he was convinced.

‘Oh, but that is good, don’t you see? We are connected already.’ Lucy turned to her brother. ‘Dominic, Miss Woodhill is applying for the post of companion. Do say you will agree.’

‘Miss Woodhill is a little young, Lucy dear,’ he murmured. ‘I am surprised the agency sent her. I asked for a mature lady, preferably one with a little experience of guiding young ladies.’

‘Dragons!’ said Lucy scornfully. ‘They would be as bad as Aunt Agatha. I don’t want to be hemmed in by dos and don’ts and lectures on etiquette and what is becoming to a young lady. And you know after I turned the last one away, they said they would not send any more.’

He smiled. ‘No, they said Miss Besthorpe was obviously spoiled and they would not wish anyone of sensibility on her. Which is not at all the same thing.’ He turned to Emma. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Woodhill, I did not mean to imply…’

She had recovered sufficiently to smile. ‘That I was lacking in sensibility?’

‘Not at all. I was simply pointing out that my sister can be impossibly difficult to please.’

‘That’s not fair!’ Lucy cried. ‘If I had someone I liked I would be as biddable as you please. And I like Miss Woodhill.’

Emma smiled. ‘Thank you, Miss Besthorpe, but it is of little consequence what the agency thinks of my suitability. The decision is his lordship’s.’

’Touché!’ He laughed in delight. Here was no terrified underling, but a girl of spirit and he liked that. Not that Society would consider her as a suitable duenna for his sister. Lucy needed a strong hand. But their present situation was highly irregular, as everyone had been pointing out, ever since their parents had died within a few weeks of each other just over a year before; he was a bachelor and it was highly improper for Lucy to continue to live with him, either in town or at their country estate, though it wasn’t so important at Cavenham House.

Aunt Agatha had offered to take her, but Lucy had begged not to go and, as usual, Lucy had got her own way. She had not been boasting when she said she could wind him about her little finger.

When their fortunes began to take a turn for the better, he had promised her a Season and for that, they must observe the rules of Society, which meant Lucy must have a companion and chaperon, someone who would observe the proprieties and guide her in the correct behaviour, preferably someone of mature years. Miss Woodhill hardly fitted that description.

He paced the room, while the two girls watched him in silence. He ought to turn her away, letting her down as gently as possible, but it was true that Lucy had been very difficult to please and the agency was losing patience. There was the added complication that, because of Princess Charlotte’s wedding, everybody who was anybody would be in London this year, even those who had long ago retired to the country, and good servants would be hard to find.

He stopped pacing and turned towards Emma. ‘Please sit down, Miss Woodhill, and allow me continue the interview.’ He indicated one of the sofas and, as soon as she had taken her seat, sat opposite her, leaving Lucy to prowl about the room.

‘Now,’ he said, ignoring his sister. ‘Tell me all about yourself. Captain Greenaway told me you have lately become bereaved and I offer my condolences…’

‘Thank you, my lord. My father was employed as a Civil Servant.’ She had decided not to reveal that her father had been a soldier; it was too easy to verify the names of serving officers. ‘He died about seven months ago.’

‘I am sorry. Tell me why you decided to come to England.’

She hesitated only momentarily. ‘It is not easy for a lady to live alone in India, and I had my brother to think of. We thought it would be easier to find employment here. I had no idea it would be so difficult. There is so much prejudice…’

One well-defined brow lifted. ‘Prejudice or caution, Miss Woodhill?’

‘Both. Although my parents were English, I was born in India and lived all my life there until now; prospective employers seem to think it means I have lived like a savage. I can assure you, my lord, that British Society in Calcutta is every bit as civilised as that in London.’ It was no more than the truth, but she knew she was on shaky ground. It was not that she thought he was prejudiced but if he were to check on her story, he would discover that no one in Calcutta had heard of Miss Woodhill.

She stood up suddenly, unable to continue. ‘I am sorry to have taken your time, my lord.’

‘Sit down, Miss Woodhill. I have not finished.’

His voice was so authoritarian, she almost fell back into her seat.

‘Dominic, don’t bully,’ Lucy said. ‘You frighten Miss Woodhill.’

He smiled at Emma. ‘Do I frighten you?’

‘Not at all, my lord.’ Which was true. It was shame, not fright, which had made her want to run away.

‘Then let us continue. You are, how old?’

She stifled the retort that it was ungentlemanly to enquire a lady’s age; he had every right to ask and, as far as he was concerned, she was no lady. ‘Twenty-two.’

‘Twenty-two is very young for a chaperon, Miss Woodhill. Why, you are not above an age for needing one yourself.’

‘Oh, come, my lord, you flatter me. I am old enough to be independent and to have had some experience.’

‘And what form has that taken?’

This business of deception was more difficult than she had imagined, especially when her interrogator looked at her with such warm friendliness. She had to force herself to meet his gaze. ‘I was lady’s maid and companion to Miss Emma Mountforest.’

‘But that’s…’ Lucy began but Dominic held up his hand to silence her.

‘If you persist in interrupting, Lucy, I shall send you away.’ He turned back to Emma. ‘You have the same Christian name as Miss Mountforest.’

‘Yes, I was named for her.’ She and Teddy had decided not to change their given names because they might be uneasy with new ones and forget to answer to them. She opened her reticule and produced the reference she had written herself. ‘This is from Miss Mountforest.’

He took it but did not read it immediately, preferring to trust his own judgement about people, but the name of Miss Woodhill’s previous employer had astonished him. ‘Why did you leave her employ?’

Emma faltered. She had not realised how one untruth led to another and was beginning to wonder where it would end. It would be almost a relief if she were turned away, but then what else could she do? ‘Miss Mountforest had lately lost her own father and was going to live with friends. I don’t know where, but she said she would no longer be able to employ a personal maid.’

‘I see. And so you came to England to seek your fortune.’ He smiled suddenly and his whole face was lit with warmth. ‘You know, it is usually the other way about. People travel from this country to India to make their fortunes.’ He paused, watching her face. Why did he have the impression she was hiding something? It made him curious. ‘But perhaps not ladies.’

‘No, but I am hardly a lady. I am used to making my own decisions and looking after myself.’ She brushed a brown, ringless hand over her skirt and noticed it was shaking. His questions were becoming too probing, too personal, and more and more difficult to answer. She would do better to steer him towards more practical matters. She clasped her hands together in her lap and forced herself to look at him. ‘I should, of course, like to know exactly what my duties would be and the hours I should be expected to work. And the remuneration, of course.’

‘Naturally. Your duties would simply be to be a companion to Lucy, to help her dress, advise her on such things as etiquette, act as her chaperon. It follows that the hours you work will vary from day to day, but rest assured they would not be onerous. Do you think you could manage that? My sister is very self-willed, you know.’

Emma smiled. ‘Miss Besthorpe seems to me to be a delightful young lady and no more self-willed than any other of her age and I envisage no difficulty. I am sure she knows very well how to go on. Age is no criteria for wisdom.’

Lucy clapped her hands with delight. ‘There! I knew Miss Woodhill would be a match for you, brother. I don’t know why you are quizzing her so hard, when I already know all I need to know.’

‘Oh, do not be hard on him,’ Emma told her. ‘He has only your welfare at heart and he would be a poor guardian if he did not make every endeavour for your safety and comfort.’

‘Thank you, Miss Woodhill,’ Dominic said solemnly, bowing towards her. But his seriousness was counterbalanced by the twinkle of humour in his brown eyes, to which she responded with a smile which almost overwhelmed him. He found himself wanting to help her. How else could he do it but give her employment?

His doubts about her suitability gave way to a conviction that she would be an asset to any household, not as a servant, but as wife and mother. The thought startled him, for was he not engaged to be married? He forced himself back to the matter in hand and tried to look stern. ‘I presume you are unmarried with no emotional entanglements? I ask because you will be required to live in and devote yourself to my sister.’