“Well, I think so too, and I can copy with a neat hand to make it easier for him to read later. If you need me for anything, you’ll know where to find me, then. You know I’m always at your disposal, Rowena.”
“I know, dear. You are very good, and you were indispensable to me before Caroline was born and I had nothing worthwhile with which to occupy my days, but now that I have my lovely girl to tend to, you are free to spend your time in whatever way pleases you best. I would not have you cling to my side like a limpet, and Mr Hammond has more need of you than Caroline and I do just at present. When she is older, you will be able to teach her to embroider those exquisite cushion covers of yours.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Georgie said, with a quick laugh, and soon thereafter made good her escape.
She always left the nursery shaking from head to toe, and with a physical pain inside her that made her feel weak. Her own child would have been… goodness, almost five, now. He would have been running about, shouting, because boys always shouted, didn’t they? Or would it have been a docile little girl? Or a hoyden! That would be more fun, a girl who ran about and shouted and climbed trees and scraped her knees, just like a boy. Yes, boy or girl, she would not have wanted a timid child.
It was madness to think of such things, she knew that. For her own peace of mind she must accept her childless state, and acknowledge that it would never change now, because first there would have to be a husband, and where was to be found a man who could measure up to Henry? Not that he had been perfect, for a wife who had seen her husband foxed as often as she had could not deceive herself on that score. But he was such a charming, good-humoured and downright lovable man. She had loved him from the moment he had first winked at her across his aunt’s crowded parlour, and the flame of her love had never wavered for a moment.
The breakfast parlour contained only Mr Godley, the chaplain, a man both tall and skeletally thin, who considered it part of his ministry to make ponderous conversation with the ladies of the household. He no doubt thought himself to be brightening their lives with a little gentle flirtation. Georgie thought him a bore, but she would never dream of responding with other than kindness. He was a dependent employee, just as she was, and therefore much to be pitied.
Happily, Mr James Hammond came in not long after. He was the duke’s secretary and memoirist, a pleasant man who was always ready with a smile. He reminded Georgie a little of Henry in that regard, although Mr Hammond’s slighter frame,spectacles and light brown hair that turned blond in summer were nothing like Henry’s darkly handsome looks.
“Good morning, Mrs Hastings. Morning, Godley,” he said, bowing politely to Georgie before serving himself from the chafing dishes on the sideboard. “Plenty of leaves down overnight. I trust the wind did not disturb your repose, Mrs Hastings?”
“I woke once or twice, but not for long,” she replied. “I hope there was no damage to the building works.”
“I had a quick look, but everything that was upright seems to have remained so, and everything that was horizontal has stayed close to the earth, so I think we need not be unduly worried. Mr Grumbridge was there, and he seemed unconcerned.”
Mr Grumbridge was the builder charged with taking the designs for the proposed new gallery and orangery, and turning them into actual stone and glass and wood.
“That is good news,” Georgie said. “Mr Hammond, my services are not required by Mrs Richard Merrington today, and the domestic duties are ably undertaken by Merrington ladies, so if you can use another pen to work on the duke’s diaries—”
“I should be most grateful,” Mr Hammond said. “His grace’s scribblings are… extensive, shall we say, but a little hard to read.”
“The word I should use is illegible,” she said.
“Perhaps,” he said with a chuckle. “Your eyes seem better able to read his hand than mine, so perhaps you might continue where you left off yesterday? The workings of the House of Lords are not the most riveting of subjects, but that section is important from a historic perspective.”
“Then I shall be delighted to assist.”
***
Finishing their breakfast at much the same time, Jamie walked behind Mrs Hastings to the study. This was no hardship, for she had a trim little figure, with the slightest sway to her hips, and the sliver of a cap that she wore did little to hide the mound of auburn hair that was piled up on her head. Jamie was not, like Godley, a man who habitually admired and complimented females, but he was only human, and in his occasional inner musings on the subject, Mrs Hastings’ glorious hair featured rather more than was good for him.
He had not thought much of her when she had first arrived, the poor widow accompanying her equally poor friend, with her dowdy clothes and quiet demeanour. The friend had married the heir to the dukedom and hoisted herself a great many rungs up the social ladder, while the widow was still poor and quiet, even if her nimble fingers and a few pounds in her purse had made her much less dowdy. But she was sensible and practical, finding work for herself even when her friend was too absorbed in her new husband and child to remember her.
“Will Mr Hammond Senior be joining us today?” Georgie asked, for although Jamie had entirely taken over the position, his father had been the duke’s secretary before his son, and still liked to help out from time to time. He no longer dealt with the duke’s letters, but he was fascinated by the project of transferring the details of the duke’s long and many-faceted life into a memoir.
“He sent word that there are branches down and a few roofs damaged in the village, so he is going there to assist with the repairs,” Jamie said.
After that, silence fell as their pens scratched across the paper. Apart from the footman coming in to attend to the fire, nothing disturbed the tranquillity until Mrs Hastings laid down her pen with a heavy sigh.
“Mr Hammond, I wonder if I might summon your more experienced eyes to my assistance. There is a word here I cannot make out at all, no matter how long I stare at it.”
Willingly, he crossed from his desk to the large table where she worked, and peered at the offending text. “I am not sure… it is an odd sort of word. Is it— oh! Oh, my goodness! Heavens, where did this come from? I thought this section was nothing but dull Parliamentary business.”
“So it was, but after a particularly late session one evening, the duke went off with Lord P, Lord C and D of D, whoever they might be, to a house of recreation.”
“A house of recreation,” Jamie said, uncertainly. “Does the text describe the… ertypeof recreation on offer?”
“No. Gambling, perhaps? There seems to be a great deal of that. All that is said is that they went to the house with the blue door.”
“Oh dear! I am so sorry, Mrs Hastings. I seem to have exposed you to some rather unsavoury events.”
“Unsavoury? The house with the blue door sounds rather charming, I thought.”
Jamie was silent, quite at a loss how to deal with this odd twist in the duke’s notes. He was perfectly aware, having been working on them for some years now, that the duke was a man who had enjoyed life to the full, but such matters were not suitable for a lady’s eyes.
