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That hadn’t been the case at all, but Mrs. Jerkins wasn’t stupid. She thought suddenly of the chipped dishware, of the linens that were tattered and moth-eaten, of the draperies in the Crimson Room that had seen better days a generation ago.
“Well, perhaps,” she began, her tone grudging. After all, this still was a savage little Scottish girl ... well, perhaps not savage. “There are the dogs, my lady!”
“Dogs?” Frances repeatedly blankly. “What dogs?”
“His lordship ... his former lordship’s hunters. His new lordship normally brings them into the Hall, but he didn’t this time, for what reason I don’t know, but still—”
“I perceive the problem, Mrs. Jerkins. There will not, of course, be any more animals allowed to frolic in the Hall.”
Mrs. Jerkins pulled her scattered wits together by a thread. Everything was changing so quickly, at a dizzying pace. She could but nod.
Their tour of the vast house produced a surprise for Frances. Mrs. Jerkins was marching her through the long, narrow portrait gallery in the West Corridor when Frances spotted the painting of a young woman who looked like the feminine counterpart of her husband. She walked to the picture and stared up at it blankly.
“That is Lady Beatrice, my lady,” said Mrs. Jerkins, “his lordship’s older sister.”
I can’t very well tell her that I never heard of a sister, thought Frances. She said instead, “Tell me about her, Mrs. Jerkins, since of course I have yet to meet her.”
Mrs. Jerkins’ lips thinned a bit, but blood loyalty was strong. “Well, you know of course that Lord Nevil was the eldest, would have been thirty-one had he not drowned. Lady Beatrice is twenty-eight and his lordship twenty-six. Lady Beatrice was a very high-spirited young lady, married against her father’s wishes when she was nineteen to a man older than her father, a Lord Dunsmore.”
Frances frowned a bit at that. It wasn’t as if Beatrice—her sister-in-law!—was impoverished. “Why did she marry this man?”
“I shouldn’t know, but old Lord Dunsmore was quite wealthy and Lady Beatrice wanted to be her own mistress.”
“Where do she and her husband live now?”
“Lord Dunsmore died two years ago. Lady Beatrice is in London, I believe, now betrothed to a much younger gentleman, a Viscount Chalmers.”
Frances didn’t wonder why Hawk hadn’t mentioned he had a sister. Heavens, he hadn’t told her anything about himself or his family, for that matter. She wondered now if she would ever meet Lady Beatrice, particularly since her husband wanted her in the north of England, out of his way.
She forced a bright smile. “Onward, Mrs. Jerkins.”
Mrs. Jerkins said later to Mr. Otis, in the privacy of her small sitting room, “Just like a whirlwind she is, James. And her looks! I don’t mind telling you that I was bowled about the head!”
“She informed me,” said Mr. Otis, unbending just a bit at this confidence, “that she doesn’t care for the footmen’s livery! She said she’s been studying the Rothermere coat of arms and that our colors aren’t quite right.”
Mrs. Jerkins clasped her bosom in instant commiseration.
“What his lordship will say, I can’t begin to imagine. The change in her, ‘tis astounding, though.”
The two old martinets drank their tea in silence for some minutes, each thinking that life as they had known it was long gone and wouldn’t likely return.
“More milk for your tea, James? No, well, I tell you, she needs to be put swiftly and firmly in her place, that’s what I think! Why, his lordship left her without a backward glance! It’s all very odd, you know. And her appearance, her former appearance—very smoky, I say.”
“Agatha, she is the mistress, no matter what his lordship has done, no matter what she has done to herself. It is very odd, but it appears that she has just realized the fact that she is mistress here. It is the marquess’s doing.”
“She knows how to read,” Mrs. Jerkins exclaimed as if it were a mortal sin.
“That is a relief,” Mr. Otis said, sipping his tea. “A bit more milk, please, Agatha.”
“More dresses and gowns and riding habits arrived for her this morning from York. Agnes is all agog. What his lordship will say with her spending all his blunt—”
“Her need was most pressing, I should say,” said Otis.
Mrs. Jerkins glanced toward her small clock on the table beside her.
“Oh dear, I believe that Lady Bourchier is to arrive shortly. Her ladyship requested a special tea.”
“I believe,” Mr. Otis said calmly, a glimmer in his rheumy eyes, “that Mr. Carruthers is to join her ladyship for dinner. She has given orders that only the second dining room is to be used.”
