When It Rained at Hembry Castle Chapter 20

Downstairs at Staton House

A

week after Daphne’s presentation was her ball, to be held at Staton House. Familiar figures in black dresses with starched white aprons or freshly pressed liveries bustled through the rooms with the marble floors, the Ancient Roman accents, and the cherub murals on the arched ceilings. Many of the servants from Hembry had been sent to London for the occasion, though Lady Staton wanted to be certain there was enough staff on hand so she instructed Mr. Ellis to hire local help as well. Chandeliers were dusted, furniture was waxed, floors were scrubbed. Food was ordered, prepared, and cooked. The dining room was set up for the help-yourself buffet as well as the formal sit-down dinner. Clothing and hair had to be seen to, jewelry chosen and buffed, shoes mended and polished. No one downstairs had time to rest, or even to complain about the lack of rest, there was so much to be done. Mr. and Mrs. Ellis barked orders and directed traffic in staccato unison.

“See that Miss Daphne has everything she needs.”

“Lady Braythe will be staying the night. She’ll be in the India room.”

“The tables in the dining room need straightening.”

“The carpets in the assembly room must be rolled aside.”

“See that Miss Daphne has everything she needs.”

Mr. and Mrs. Ellis were so overwhelmed keeping the preparations on track they didn’t realize that Henry Horrocks was watching more than he was working. The footman stood in the whitewashed kitchen near the cast-iron stove with the copper pans hanging above it, watching Mrs. Graham assist Mrs. Bucket, the cook at Staton House, with the myriad of soups, salads, savories, roasts, and puddings required for a feast. Occasionally, Henry felt a glare from Colin, or Ruth, or any of the others rushing from here to there and back again, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t be working for the Earl of Staton much longer. In fact, the Earl of Staton was his train ticket out of service and into a more leisurely life. Perhaps he would take up shooting.

Finally, it was time for the servants’ dinner. The maids and footmen straggled to the table in the kitchen (at Staton House the servants’ table was in the kitchen) and slumped into their chairs, exhausted. Henry condescended to his fellow servants enough to take his meals with them, though he said nothing, listening as was his way. You learn far more by listening than speaking, his father had said.

Jemima watched the Ellises as she slurped some soup. “Will your grandson be going to the ball?”

Mrs. Ellis’ head snapped toward the young maid. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your grandson. Will he be joining Miss Daphne at her ball?”

“I believe that is none of your concern, Jemima.” Mrs. Ellis scanned the faces eager for some gossip. “And it’s no concern of anyone else’s either.”

When the butler and housekeeper left to take their meal in the housekeeper’s sitting room, the maids and footmen chortled.

“I’m willing to bet five quid that their grandson will be here with bells on, wagging his tail for Miss Daphne,” said Miss Rowland.

“I think it’s romantic,” said Jemima.

“Romantic?” Miss Rowland snorted back her soup. “She’s the Earl of Staton’s niece. She can’t marry whoever she wants.”

“Of course she can,” said Jemima. “I think his lordship would support Miss Daphne. At least he arrived in time for her ball.”

“It’s a shame he missed her presentation.” Ruth looked at Henry. “What do you think of Miss Daphne and the Ellises’ grandson?”

“Miss Daphne’s too good for the likes of that upstart.”

“You think the Ellises’ grandson is an upstart? What does that make you?” The questions came from one of the hired footmen. Henry looked down upon anyone not of Hembry origin and he never looked at the speaker. He wanted to make certain the hired hand knew he had been cut.

“Young Mr. Ellis is going to be a famous author someday,” said Pamela.

Henry scoffed. “If Edward Ellis is going to be a famous author then I’m best mates with William Shakespeare. It’s time for some people around here to learn their lesson.”

The others looked at each other under hooded eyelids.

“What are you going to do?” Pamela asked.

Henry’s face brightened. “You wait and see.”

After dinner

that night Colin Pratt excused himself from the discussion around the table. During luncheon, in snatches of conversation while working, during dinner, everyone had been talking about the same thing—Miss Daphne and the Ellises’ grandson—and the topic tired him. Who cared who the Earl’s niece married? Of course her ladyship cared, but she was such a shrew Colin hoped Miss Daphne would marry the writer just to make the old hag angry. It would be good for a few laughs downstairs, that. What peaked Colin’s interest was Henry. Henry was always impudent in his way, but that night the first footman was particularly smug and practically begging people to interrogate him about his plans. Since no one liked Henry, no one cared what he was up to. Henry scowled into his shepherd’s pie the rest of the meal. Then he disappeared. Colin tried to follow him, but Mr. Ellis appeared with a list of tasks that needed seeing to so Colin had to put his curiosity aside.

After his work was done, Colin claimed exhaustion and went up to the male servants’ quarters and the room he shared with Henry. As he climbed the stairs he realized that if Henry did in fact have a trick card up his sleeve, the lazy git would most likely hide that card in the room they shared. Colin decided to search the room, which would only take a moment since it was such a sparse space, as all the servants’ rooms were. It was windowless and bare walled, with four faded wooden dressers beside four thin beds. Colin turned to the dresser closest to Henry’s bed and grinned. He tilted his head toward the closed door, trying to gauge if someone, namely Henry, was close by. When he felt confident no one was near, he opened Henry’s drawers until he found the neat pile of letters tucked into a hollowed out book. Colin didn’t bother reading the letters before settling them into his pocket. Colin shut the drawer and sat on his bed, leaning his head against the wall so he would look sufficiently exhausted should Henry walk in.

Then Colin had to think. If he kept the letters, Henry would discover they were missing, and the first person Henry would point the finger at would be him. They had always had an uneasy relationship, and Henry would love nothing better than to have Colin dismissed. But if Colin put the letters back and let Henry keep them, Henry could dispose of them before Colin had a chance to gauge their worth. Colin pulled the letters from his pocket and scanned them—a love letter to the Earl, a begging letter, a—but then he heard footsteps and slid them under his mattress. Obviously they were worth something or Henry wouldn’t bother about them. And there were two other footmen in the room with them, two of the hired hands Henry spat at whenever their backs were turned, so it wouldn’t be too hard to direct Henry into blaming them. No one would believe their protestations of innocence, Colin decided, because no one knew them from Adam. I’ll hide the letters away, put the blame on the hired hands if it comes to it, and then I’ll figure out what Henry is up to. I’ll alert everyone to the plot, helping them spot the evidence the way Guy Fawkes’ gunpowder plot was undermined, only instead of a bonfire I’ll celebrate by getting some accolades, and perhaps a few pounds, for myself.

Colin collected the letters once again, opened the door, and looked down the dark hallway, seeing no one. He snapped his fingers when he knew. He would keep the letters in the loose floorboard near the staircase. It was an innocuous defect, and Colin had only discovered it by accident when he tripped coming up the stairs one night. He stood at the top of the stairs, listened, heard no one, and moved the floorboard slowly so it wouldn’t creak. Colin slid the letters into the floor, pressed the wood back into its slot, and returned to his room. He didn’t hear the heavy footsteps stop when he opened the floor. He didn’t see the hands clasped behind the hunched shoulders or the round-rimmed spectacles gleam in the slivers of moonlight penetrating the small window, and he certainly didn’t see the squint behind the spectacles. Which was probably just as well. Mr. Ellis wouldn’t have wanted Colin’s sleep interrupted by the knowledge that he had been seen.