Dawn on a Distant Shore
Page 140
She had the composed manner of a woman who did not need to use her voice to make her wishes known, or have them followed. Utterly polite and deferential, but Elizabeth could not read the expression in her eyes. Because she does not wish me to. Dislike? Disdain? In another lifetime she would have wondered why this woman should bear her so little goodwill, but it did not matter: they would not be here long enough for her to make Mrs. Hope a concern.
Elizabeth said, "Does the earl wait for us at table?"
"The laird sends his apologies."
Carryck had more important things to do than to speak to those people he had dragged across an ocean for his own pleasure. Irritation flooded through her, but Elizabeth smiled politely.
She said, "My husband is resting and must not be disturbed. We will take our dinner here."
"Very well, madam. I'll put the maids tae work in the dressing room."
"Mrs. Hope."
The housekeeper paused. "Madam?"
"Where exactly is the earl engaged?"
A discourteous question, but it did its work: some unchecked surprise flickered across her face.
"He is in the conservatory, madam."
Elizabeth folded her hands before herself. "Is he? And I was planning to walk in that direction this afternoon, as the weather is so very fine."
Mrs. Hope inclined her head. "As you wish, madam. Entirely as you wish."
Fine damask and heavy silver, porcelain and crystal and solid, hearty food served by footmen who moved about the room in perfect symmetry. There was marrow broth thick with barley and peas, roast partridge, red cabbage, runner beans dressed with cream. Curiosity ladled broth into the babies, and Elizabeth filled Nathaniel's bowl twice before he fell back into an uneasy sleep.
When the footmen had been dismissed, Elizabeth and Curiosity ate together while the twins rolled across the carpet, determined to perfect this new trick.
"Go on then," said Curiosity when they had eaten as much as they could hold. "Go find the earl. You won't rest until you talk to the man, anyway. The little ones are due for a nap, and I'll just take my rest with them. I can keep an ear out for Nathaniel, 'case he needs anything."
As tired as she was, Elizabeth knew that Curiosity was right; she was too much on edge to sleep. "Very well, but I must change first."
"I'd say so," Curiosity said with something close to her old grin. "A bath wouldn't be the worst idea, neither."
But in the dressing room Elizabeth found that the maids had been too thorough in their duties: both of her other gowns had been spirited away for cleaning. This news she had from Mally, who had stayed behind to begin the mending.
Elizabeth looked down at herself. It should not matter to her if the earl found her dowdy and poorly groomed, as long as he listened to what she had to say to him. And still it was very hard to go out among strangers in such a sorry state.
Mally was watching her with a puzzled expression. "The other gowns have been hung, mem." She pointed with her sewing needle.
"Other gowns?" Even as Elizabeth turned she knew what she would find.
In the confusion of transporting their belongings here from the King's Arms, someone had included Giselle Somerville's trunks. The maids had unpacked them all, and now Giselle's many morning gowns and evening dresses, shawls and capes and redingotes, had been carefully hung to shimmer white and silver, gold and green.
Her perfume, musk and lilac and something else, something sharper, clung to a brocade shawl that had been draped across a velvet settee. Silver-backed brushes had been carefully arranged on the dressing table, and a heavy-bottomed crystal flask caught the light to spin it into rainbows. Elizabeth picked up a small hand mirror with an elaborately engraved motto in the ivory and pearl handle: Sans Peur.
A woman without fear. For a moment Elizabeth found herself thinking of Giselle with envy.
The shelves were filled, too, with her hats and bonnets and gloves, scarves and petticoats, corsets and pelisses--exactly the kind of elegant dress that Elizabeth had always shunned. She had favored the simple Quaker gray that her mother had worn, and told herself that she did so out of admiration and rationality. But the truth was that she had left the finery to her younger and prettier cousins out of pride and--she could admit it now--pure willfulness. Her uncle Merriweather had called her a drab behind her back but within her hearing, and she had taken a perverse pleasure in his disapprobation.
Elizabeth sat down on an elegant little chair upholstered in blue and yellow brocade and considered. She should have all of it sent away, given to someone who knew nothing of Giselle and would be glad of such pretty things. It was what she wanted to do. But to indulge one kind of pride would mean sacrificing another, and at the moment she was more concerned about the earl than she was about Giselle Somerville, wherever she might be.
Mally took her hesitation for indecision, and clearing her throat gently she ventured to make a suggestion. "Shall I send for hot water, mem? Wad ye care tae bathe first?"
Elizabeth let out a soft sigh. "Yes," she said, reaching out to run Mantua silk between her fingers. "Please do."
The simplest of Giselle's gowns was a clear lawn with a sash, bodice scarf, and shawl embroidered in silver and green. The matching kid slippers were slightly too small, but Elizabeth was glad of the distraction as she made her way down the grand stair. She felt like an imposter, awkward and out of place, and furious with herself for her timidity.
A scullery maid hurried by, pausing to curtsy without meeting Elizabeth's gaze and then continuing on her way, a bucket of ashes thumping against her leg. Elizabeth followed at a safe distance, knowing that there would be some access to the gardens from the hall that led to the kitchen. It took a full five minutes to find it, but then she stepped into the warm summer afternoon.
Elizabeth said, "Does the earl wait for us at table?"
"The laird sends his apologies."
Carryck had more important things to do than to speak to those people he had dragged across an ocean for his own pleasure. Irritation flooded through her, but Elizabeth smiled politely.
She said, "My husband is resting and must not be disturbed. We will take our dinner here."
"Very well, madam. I'll put the maids tae work in the dressing room."
"Mrs. Hope."
The housekeeper paused. "Madam?"
"Where exactly is the earl engaged?"
A discourteous question, but it did its work: some unchecked surprise flickered across her face.
"He is in the conservatory, madam."
Elizabeth folded her hands before herself. "Is he? And I was planning to walk in that direction this afternoon, as the weather is so very fine."
Mrs. Hope inclined her head. "As you wish, madam. Entirely as you wish."
Fine damask and heavy silver, porcelain and crystal and solid, hearty food served by footmen who moved about the room in perfect symmetry. There was marrow broth thick with barley and peas, roast partridge, red cabbage, runner beans dressed with cream. Curiosity ladled broth into the babies, and Elizabeth filled Nathaniel's bowl twice before he fell back into an uneasy sleep.
When the footmen had been dismissed, Elizabeth and Curiosity ate together while the twins rolled across the carpet, determined to perfect this new trick.
"Go on then," said Curiosity when they had eaten as much as they could hold. "Go find the earl. You won't rest until you talk to the man, anyway. The little ones are due for a nap, and I'll just take my rest with them. I can keep an ear out for Nathaniel, 'case he needs anything."
As tired as she was, Elizabeth knew that Curiosity was right; she was too much on edge to sleep. "Very well, but I must change first."
"I'd say so," Curiosity said with something close to her old grin. "A bath wouldn't be the worst idea, neither."
But in the dressing room Elizabeth found that the maids had been too thorough in their duties: both of her other gowns had been spirited away for cleaning. This news she had from Mally, who had stayed behind to begin the mending.
Elizabeth looked down at herself. It should not matter to her if the earl found her dowdy and poorly groomed, as long as he listened to what she had to say to him. And still it was very hard to go out among strangers in such a sorry state.
Mally was watching her with a puzzled expression. "The other gowns have been hung, mem." She pointed with her sewing needle.
"Other gowns?" Even as Elizabeth turned she knew what she would find.
In the confusion of transporting their belongings here from the King's Arms, someone had included Giselle Somerville's trunks. The maids had unpacked them all, and now Giselle's many morning gowns and evening dresses, shawls and capes and redingotes, had been carefully hung to shimmer white and silver, gold and green.
Her perfume, musk and lilac and something else, something sharper, clung to a brocade shawl that had been draped across a velvet settee. Silver-backed brushes had been carefully arranged on the dressing table, and a heavy-bottomed crystal flask caught the light to spin it into rainbows. Elizabeth picked up a small hand mirror with an elaborately engraved motto in the ivory and pearl handle: Sans Peur.
A woman without fear. For a moment Elizabeth found herself thinking of Giselle with envy.
The shelves were filled, too, with her hats and bonnets and gloves, scarves and petticoats, corsets and pelisses--exactly the kind of elegant dress that Elizabeth had always shunned. She had favored the simple Quaker gray that her mother had worn, and told herself that she did so out of admiration and rationality. But the truth was that she had left the finery to her younger and prettier cousins out of pride and--she could admit it now--pure willfulness. Her uncle Merriweather had called her a drab behind her back but within her hearing, and she had taken a perverse pleasure in his disapprobation.
Elizabeth sat down on an elegant little chair upholstered in blue and yellow brocade and considered. She should have all of it sent away, given to someone who knew nothing of Giselle and would be glad of such pretty things. It was what she wanted to do. But to indulge one kind of pride would mean sacrificing another, and at the moment she was more concerned about the earl than she was about Giselle Somerville, wherever she might be.
Mally took her hesitation for indecision, and clearing her throat gently she ventured to make a suggestion. "Shall I send for hot water, mem? Wad ye care tae bathe first?"
Elizabeth let out a soft sigh. "Yes," she said, reaching out to run Mantua silk between her fingers. "Please do."
The simplest of Giselle's gowns was a clear lawn with a sash, bodice scarf, and shawl embroidered in silver and green. The matching kid slippers were slightly too small, but Elizabeth was glad of the distraction as she made her way down the grand stair. She felt like an imposter, awkward and out of place, and furious with herself for her timidity.
A scullery maid hurried by, pausing to curtsy without meeting Elizabeth's gaze and then continuing on her way, a bucket of ashes thumping against her leg. Elizabeth followed at a safe distance, knowing that there would be some access to the gardens from the hall that led to the kitchen. It took a full five minutes to find it, but then she stepped into the warm summer afternoon.
