Mr. Darcy's Dream by Elizabeth Aston

Author:Elizabeth Aston
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Touchstone
Published: 2013-08-23T04:00:00+00:00

The minute that Mrs. Makepeace realised that the delay to the postboy and Mr. Rutland meant that Lady Redburn would arrive at any minute, she had flown into action. Rounding up Sally and a young under–parlour maid, she set off towards the back staircase at a pace remarkable for one of her years and dignity.

The servants’ stairs were a far cry from those in the main part of the house. No marble floors here, no heating in winter, no great canvases of men on horses or gambolling nymphs hung on the walls above the staircase. The steps were of well-worn oak, the banister a mere rail, and the walls were painted a depressing sludge colour. Small windows at the turn gave some light, but new servants, until they got used to the uneven tread, were always tumbling down the stairs, unable to see the next step. The landing that led off the stairs was carpeted in a serviceable drugget, so that the servants wouldn’t make too much noise. Mrs. Makepeace and her entourage hurried along the corridor, only pausing in front of a row of cupboards at the end for her to instruct the youngest girl to take out the linen for her ladyship, and to look sharp about it. “And don’t forget we’ll need some for that Foujay. She won’t sleep in the servants’ wing, oh, no, she has to have a bed made up in the dressing room.”

They were through the doors and on to the other end of the landing with several closed doors. These were the main bedrooms, and it was in one of these that Lady Redburn would expect to stay.

“I can hear her in the hall; lawks, Mrs. M., she’s coming up the stairs already.”

The housekeeper and Sally stood and looked at each other. “We’ll never hear the end of this,” said Mrs. Makepeace grimly.

“T’aint our fault, what with everything at sixes and sevens on account of the storm, and us only knowing she was on her way here a few minutes before she tips up at the front door.”

“Much she’ll care about that. We’d best wait till she gets to the top, and then I’ll ask her to wait in the little sitting room while we make up the room.”

“Hark, what’s that?” said Sally as a wail rent the air, followed by a hubbub, running feet, a child’s sobs, voices raised.

“I do believe she’s run into the children; well, thanks be, she never can leave well alone, she’ll take the time to scold the governess or the nursery maid, and that will give us our chance.”

“Well,” said Sally, dashing in through the door which Mrs. Makepeace held open, “I hope it’s that toffee-nosed Miss Verney, and not Sukey who’s getting it in the neck. I can’t abide that governess, giving herself airs, and all the time—”

“That will do. Pull back the curtains, and open the shutters so that we can have a light here. Molly,” she added as the under–parlour maid came in, staggering under a load of sheets and covers, “put those down on the table, and get that fire lit.

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