A Mistress for Stansted Hall Read online

  The cart was waiting outside the back door, there was no sign of Fred or Jethro. She was quite capable of driving the vehicle herself, the pony looked amenable enough. It was of an indeterminate brown colour, with large intelligent eyes. On impulse she walked round and stroked its long nose. ‘There, you are a fine young man. I'm sure we shall deal well together. Fred must be helping Mr Bucknall, so let us depart immediately. I do not wish to leave my children any longer than necessary.’

  The animal snorted and blew into her hand. She scratched between his pricked ears, untethered him, and climbed nimbly onto the slatted seat. It was some time since she'd driven, but she had been quite competent in her youth at both riding and driving. Expertly releasing the brake handle, unwinding the reins from around the post, she clicked to the pony and they were away.

  *

  ‘Up you come, sir, we're all ready for you now.’ Foster's wrinkled face loomed into view.

  Rupert's vision was somewhat clouded, he was light headed; the loss of blood was taking its toll. He didn't have the energy to reply, remained slack on the carpet allowing his minions to manhandle him on to a trestle. Although he'd lost a quarter of his bodyweight since the fire, he was still a substantial burden for his men to carry.

  He ought to make an effort, somehow get on his feet so they could support him, not carry him. Too late, he was hoisted up and, with the butler supporting his head, was carried with surprising ease back to a chamber. He no longer slept upstairs, only returned to his rooms in order to change his apparel occasionally. If truth were told, he no longer slept anywhere. As soon as he closed his eyes he suffered nightmares, so preferred to sit up in a chair in his study.

  The men lowered him slowly, from a distance he heard someone give instructions, and then he was rolled unceremoniously into bed. He couldn't be in the study, where the devil was he? His head spun and his world went grey. He didn't fully rouse until Dr Andrews, with the help of Jethro and the groom, hoisted him upright.

  ‘Right, Mr Bucknall, let's see what we have here. Good grief, whoever applied this bandage most certainly saved your life.’ The doctor spoke sharply to his assistant and then turned back to him. ‘I shall have to shave the back of your head, you're going to need a prodigious amount of stitches. They need to go in immediately. It's going to hurt.’

  It did, like the very devil. The pain brought him back to his senses as nothing else could. Why hadn't the doctor given him a decanter of brandy to dull the pain? He gritted his teeth, the nails on his good hand dug into his palm; they were all relieved when the work was done. Cold sweat bathed his forehead, he felt appalling but the quack seemed happy enough.

  ‘There, sir, finished. I shall dress the wound, and then leave you to rest. You must drink as much as you can to replace the blood you've lost. Good red meat and claret will do the trick.’

  With a few deft twists the doctor had finished, promising to return the next day to see he had not succumbed to a putrid fever, the man departed leaving him in blessed peace. This didn't last as Foster appeared at his side.

  ‘I have watered wine, it's what the doctor suggested. He was most insistent that you drink several pints before this evening.’

  Rupert took the proffered glass and downed it in one swallow, he held it out and it was refilled. He managed three before his stomach rebelled. ‘Enough. Now, man, tell me where I am.’ He could tell nothing from his surroundings, one bedchamber looked very like another. He was in a large bed, the sheets fresh if somewhat crumpled, but the windows overlooked a part of his grounds that he did not recognize.

  Foster fussed over the pillows, he waved him away impatiently. ‘You are in my chamber, sir, it was a small matter to remove myself to another room for the present. I'm afraid you were too heavy to transport upstairs, so here you are until you are well enough to move.’

  Good grief! In the servants' domain – and his arrival had put the poor old fellow out of his bed. He smiled weakly. ‘I thank you, Foster, I have put you all to a prodigious amount of trouble this morning. I shall not remain here for more than a night, I promise you.’ The thought of being obliged to sleep and thus suffer his recurring nightmare filled him with foreboding. He would certainly vacate these rooms as soon as he was able.

  Something his fair rescuer had said came back to him. ‘Foster, Mrs Reed said she was going into the village. For what reason?’

  ‘To obtain provisions, sir. Do not worry, she is not about to abandon you in your hour of need. I believe that she is God sent to this place to save us all. Already there are smiles upon the faces of the outside staff, I believe that Mrs Reed and her children…’

  ‘Be silent. I want to hear no more of this nonsense. Come back in an hour, until then leave me in peace.’

  The old man retreated, apparently unbothered by his reprimand. He had heard far worse over the past three years, no doubt he too would have sloped off if he had anywhere else to go. Although he had been determined to see the back of this disturbing young woman and her brats, in the circumstances he was relieved that she had ignored his command. When he was back on his feet he would review the situation, if she could keep out of his way then maybe he would reconsider.

  His mouth watered at the thought of the delicious omelette he had eaten last night and the potato pancakes with field mushrooms she had served for breakfast. The doctor had not, as far as he knew, told him he could not eat as normal. Although he doubted he could keep anything down at the present, he was sure he would be ready for a tasty treat later on.

  It was surprisingly comfortable in this sagging bed, the morning light streamed in through the two small paned windows leaving a chequered pattern on the boards. Daytime he could sleep a little, his nightmares were much worse in the dark.

  His head was sore, but no worse than he had most mornings after drinking too much. It was a luxury to be able to stretch out his limbs, to have clean linen against his flesh, he would risk going to sleep. It was three years since he'd closed his eyes for more than a few minutes at a time.

  Drinking to excess was the only thing that gave him respite, a drunken stupor was better than the alternative. He would never forget the screams of his wife as she called to him to save her, he'd done everything to reach her, almost perished himself in his effort, but to no avail. His only consolation was that the smoke overcame her; the doctor had told him she and the baby would have been dead long before the flames reached them.

  *

  The pony trotted eagerly down the drive but when Emma attempted to turn his head in the direction of the village, he ignored her and headed in the opposite direction. Amused, rather than annoyed, by his antics she let him continue; she was intrigued to know what it was that made him so eager to travel this lane.

  Within half a mile she knew the answer, the hideous sound of a donkey braying in a paddock that adjoined a row of cottages was obviously the attraction. Laughing she drew rein. ‘Silly fellow, I shall let you speak to your friend but then I'm afraid we must go to the village. We shall have nothing to eat if I don't make my purchases this morning.’

  To her astonishment the donkey appeared to answer. ‘You'll not get him away from here in a hurry, missus, you'll need a crust to tempt him.’ This speech was followed by a head appearing over the hedge. It was a young man in shirt sleeves.

  ‘I am Mrs Reed, the new housekeeper at Stansted Manor. Are these cottages part of the estate?’

  ‘They are, madam. William Everett, at your service. High time someone took charge up there. If you would care to wait a moment, I'll come out with a bit of bread and bribe your pony.’

  This friendly exchange had attracted a small circle of spectators. None of them looked in dire straits, the children smiling, the women also. Amongst the matrons she saw at least two girls who would be ideal as maids. Had she been brought here by a higher authority to find the staff she needed? Where better than amongst Mr Bucknall's own people?

  ‘I am looking to take on staff. I can promise things will be different th
ere from now on. I need two kitchen maids, two parlourmaids and two inside men. There will be further opportunities for employment later, I am sure.’

  A ripple of excitement ran around the small group. William immediately came to stand beside her. ‘I am recently back from Belgium, Mrs Reed, where I served as a manservant to an officer until he died last month from wounds he received at Waterloo. I have excellent references.’

  Emma tied the reins around the post and stepped down to face the eager crowd. ‘William, you are exactly the person I was hoping to find. Mr Bucknall requires a manservant, he doesn't know that is what he needs, but between us we will convince him. I need someone else who is young and fit.’ She scanned the group, there was no one immediately caught her eye. Then she saw an older man, his eyes pleading, but too proud to beg.

  ‘You, would you be prepared to do heavy work inside? I am not looking for a footman, but someone who can assist with cleaning windows and such tasks as that.’

  The man stepped forward and tugged his forelock. ‘I'm happy to do anything, like Billy there I was a soldier until paid-off. Jed Jones at your service, madam.’

  As William turned the cart Emma selected four women plus one Betty Turner, who was an experienced cook, so everyone told her. Two were little more than girls, they would do in the kitchen, the others were of mature years, they would be ideal as maids of all work. All of them were eager to start immediately, promised they would gather their belongings and set off within the hour.

  One of the girls, Tilly, offered to accompany her to the village. ‘Jenna can bring my things, Mrs Reed, we don't have much between us. If I come with you I can help you with your purchases.’

  The pony, she had discovered his name was Bruno, set off at a spanking pace. He'd achieved his aim of visiting his friend and was now ready to transport them to the village in the shortest possible time. None of the people she'd taken on had asked about conditions of service or their remuneration. But then neither had she asked for more than their word as a reference. Heaven knows what Mr Bucknall would say at her temerity. Her lips twitched, the good Lord moved in mysterious ways, very likely he had caused her employer to be incapacitated for just this very reason.

  Although nobody looked hungry, no doubt like all the other country folk they were finding times hard with corn prices being so high and the lack of employment now that so many landowners had enclosed their fields.

  With the cart laden to the brim with necessities she returned to Stansted Manor. The church clock struck mid-day, she had been gone for three hours. She had never left her children alone for so long. She prayed Jack had not got into mischief in her absence and that her employer never recalled how he came to injure himself.

  Chapter Five

  Outside the Manor the eight villagers she had taken on were waiting patiently for her arrival. Jack was dancing around firing questions at the group, Mary stood talking quietly to Betty. They immediately formed in two straight lines, as if she were the mistress of the house and not a servant like themselves.

  Jack hurled himself into her arms as she descended from the trap. ‘Mama, have all these people come to help you? Does that mean you will not be so busy now?’

  She kissed him and ruffled his hair. ‘I am never too busy for you and Mary, my love. However, I am hoping I will now have time in the afternoon to resume your schoolwork. It's far too long since you and Mary spent time with your books.’

  ‘We don't have any books, do we, Mama? I'm glad about that, I'd much rather be playing.’

  ‘Quiet now, Jack. I must organise these new helpers, they have been waiting for too long already.’

  William, who seemed a natural leader, soon had the goods unloaded and brought into the kitchen. Betty, who must now be known as Mrs Turner although she was a spinster, took little time to discover where the items would be best placed. This left Emma to conduct the remaining women to the attics. She prayed as she ascended the narrow wooden staircase that the accommodation would be usable.

  She emerged into a spacious landing, quite big enough to be used as a recreational area with the addition of a few sticks of furniture and some rag rugs. ‘I have not had the time to come up and examine these chambers. It does not seem too bad so far.’

  Tilly turned to the others. ‘It's grand, madam. Better than sharing a bed with three of my sisters, I can tell you.’

  ‘In which case I shall leave you to sort things out for yourselves. It is only three years since this house was fully staffed, there must be not only linen and bedding, but also aprons and caps, at the very least.’ Emma smiled at the group and they all curtsied. ‘Kindly return downstairs as soon as you are done here. I believe that male servants sleep elsewhere, I shall send William in search of those rooms later.’

  Foster was waiting for her when she emerged into the passageway that connected the various rooms in the basement. ‘Madam, Doctor Andrews has repaired the gash in the master's head. He has given him laudanum to help him rest; I had to put it in the master's wine or he would not have taken it.’

  ‘I have brought back a young man who is experienced as a gentleman's valet. He will take care of Mr Bucknall now. Where is the master? I take it he is not in the study.’

  The old man shook his head vigorously. ‘He's in my bedchamber, Mrs Reed. I have moved upstairs for the present. We couldn't carry him up the stairs safely.’

  A flicker of apprehension ran through her at the thought that this formidable gentleman was but two doors down from her bedchamber. ‘That will make it far simpler to take care of him. However, I shall get the master suite cleaned and made ready. Mr Bucknall will, I am sure, not wish to remain in his study now we have sufficient staff to take care of him upstairs.’

  The butler muttered to himself; she did not catch the whole of it, but was certain he was saying her employer would do as he pleased regardless of her best efforts. He shuffled off leaving her to return to the kitchen and see how matters progressed there.

  At dusk Emma eventually had a few moments to herself. The children were sound asleep, the staff eating their own supper in the kitchen and Mr Bucknall also sleeping peacefully. William had volunteered to spend the night at his side but she had refused his offer. On checking for herself she had discovered her employer to have no sign of fever, no fresh blood seeping through the clean bandage around his head. He was obviously well on the way to recovery.

  Her first task today had been to set the staff to cleaning the study, it had been a herculean effort, but the job was done. When Mr Bucknall returned to his lair he would find it greatly improved. The filthy drapes had been removed and replaced with clean ones found in a well-stocked linen cupboard on the first floor. The room had been scrubbed from top to bottom, the windows left wide open; he would scarcely recognize it as the place where he had wallowed in self pity these past years.

  Tilly had suggested the girls cleaned the private parlour and dressing room that made up the apartment given to the housekeeper. These had been cluttered with debris, but were now fresh and smelling of beeswax. A narrow bed had been carried down from the nursery floor and put in the dressing room. Emma now had her own bedchamber, albeit a third of the size of the one she had allocated to her offspring. It had been suggested the children move into the dressing room, but she would not hear of it. Her children always came first where possible.

  Mr Foster's apartment was as comprehensive as hers, William had made short work of putting that in order. The butler did not stand on ceremony, and seemed perfectly content to sleep on the male side of the house until his master was able to return to his own bedchamber. The master suite was also pristine, the bed made up, the discarded garments collected and taken to the laundry.

  All in all it had been a satisfactory day. If Mr Bucknall had been compos mentis none of the rearrangements could have taken place. His accident had benefited everyone including himself. Mr Foster had told her the master never went to bed because he suffered terrible nightmares.

  Today he had
been sleeping in a bed without any signs of restlessness. It must have been lack of sleep that made him so irritable, it was possible he would be more amenable in the morning.

  Mrs Turner had proved to be an excellent choice as cook. The evening meal had been quite delicious. Roast chicken with fresh vegetables from the garden followed by a strawberry tart and thick cream. She had eaten it in her parlour, the staff found it inhibiting having her amongst them.

  There had been no problem of this sort at her previous employment, she and the housekeeper had eaten with the large staff. Of course, as a senior servant, she had sat at the head of the table but, apart from that, she was treated no differently from anyone else. The hierarchy below stairs was as rigid as that above. Everyone had a place and woe betide them if they did not stick to it.

  With luck Mr Bucknall would remain in his bed tomorrow morning until the doctor had been. He was due to attend at eleven o'clock, so she had been told. This would give ample time to familiarise herself with the rest of the house. She had already been in the drawing room where Mary had found pleasure in the piano, it was a grand room but one she believed Mr Bucknall would not use. When it had been cleaned to her satisfaction she would have the furniture put under holland covers.

  There was a delightful room, known as the yellow drawing room, which would be ideal. The breakfast room would be used as dining room; it would be nonsensical to use the grand dining room and seat him on his own at a table that could easily accommodate more than thirty.

  It remained to be seen if Mr Bucknall would acquiesce to her plans. She hoped that when he saw how pleasant the house was he would accept the changes without losing his temper. If he bellowed at any of the young girls they would turn tail. She had warned them to be as unobtrusive as possible, to do their duties early in the morning or when they knew that their master was elsewhere.