The Lady's Maid Read online

Zolfina climbed the steps into the summerhouse, panting for breath. ‘The labour was long and difficult, but the child is perfect and healthy.’

  ‘And it’s a boy?’

  ‘Alas, no. But she is beautiful nonetheless.’

  ‘Give her to me,’ Miss Hickson said, holding out her hands. ‘This is disappointing. Sir Hector was desperate for a son and heir.’

  ‘No one has a choice in these matters.’

  ‘Apparently not, although I suppose you still want your money?’

  ‘And my lady wants a child to prove that she is not barren and might in future bear a son – so all are satisfied.’

  ‘I doubt if Sir Hector will be.’ Miss Hickson took a leather pouch from her pocket and handed it to Zolfina. ‘Take your money and go. And tell that slut of a daughter never to come near this house again.’

  Zolfina drew herself up to her full height. ‘You need not worry about that. We have honoured our part of the bargain; it is up to you to see that the child is well cared for.’

  ‘You are impertinent, woman. This child will have the finest of homes both here and in London, she’ll have the best of parents and everything that money can buy. She will grow up with wealth and privilege. She is the most fortunate of little bastards ever born. Now go on your way. Our business is done.’

  ‘Not quite. The baby needs a wet nurse. Have you arranged that?’

  ‘You insult my intelligence.’ Miss Hickson drew herself up to her full height. She could not resist the temptation to boast about her cleverness. ‘The wife of our head groom is about to be delivered of her fourth child, but in each case her babes have been stillborn. She is staying at present with her father-in-law who manages the home farm, but she will return to London with the rest of the household at the end of the month. Are you satisfied now?’

  ‘Aye, mistress. I am content.’ Zolfina was about to leave, then she remembered Dena’s tearful plea. ‘There is but one thing, Miss Hickson.’

  ‘And that is?’

  ‘The child has been named Josephine.’

  Miss Hickson curled her lip. ‘I don’t think it is any of your business what my lady chooses to call her child.’

  ‘A gypsy’s curse will be on this great house if the mother’s wish is ignored.’

  Miss Hickson’s eyes widened and her hand flew to the silver crucifix hanging about her neck. Her lips moved silently, as if in prayer. Zolfina turned on her heel and walked away stifling a chuckle; it was ridiculously easy to frighten gorgios with the threat of a curse. She quickened her step as she headed through the wood. The leather pouch was satisfactorily heavy; it would buy Dena a good husband. One day Marko would take over from Yoska as head man. Dena would have a position of respect, and she would be grateful to her mother for covering up her youthful indiscretion. Zolfina blinked away a tear; she must not weaken now. The baby, her granddaughter, would never want for anything. That was the thought she must hold on to, and she must never admit that parting with the baby filled her with anguish. She squared her shoulders – she must be strong. Now she had one more thing to do and that was to find a family who would take poor little Clara’s child. The thin-lipped termagant, Miss Hickson, had given her an idea.

  Miss Hickson wrapped the baby in her apron and scuttled across the grass sward to the stone steps leading up to the drawing room. She hurried through the music room into the great hall, with its high ceiling ornamented with gilded plasterwork, and she mounted the flight of marble stairs, glancing nervously around to make sure she was not seen. Her mistress’s bedroom was at the front of the house overlooking the gravel carriage sweep and beyond it the avenue of copper beeches, resplendent in their burnished summer foliage. She let herself into the room without knocking.

  Marguerite Damerell had been standing by one of the tall windows staring out over the parkland, but she spun round as she heard the door open. Her pale face was transformed with joy when she saw the baby. ‘Hickson, you’ve got him at last.’

  ‘My lady, I’m afraid that it’s a girl child.’

  Lady Damerell’s lips trembled and her eyes clouded with disappointment, but as she took the sleeping infant from Miss Hickson’s arms her expression softened. ‘But she is beautiful, Hickson. And she is mine.’

  ‘Yes, my lady. She is your daughter.’

  ‘And you trust the gypsy woman to keep silent?’

  ‘She has been well paid, my lady. If she should come back I will have the dogs set on her.’

  ‘I hope there will be no need for that, but you must do whatever is necessary.’ Lady Damerell smiled tenderly as the baby opened her eyes. ‘She has beautiful brown eyes, just like my husband’s. I cannot wait to show her to him, and I must choose a name for her. Until now I had only considered boys’ names. I will have to think again.’

  Miss Hickson cleared her throat, mindful of the Romany woman’s parting words. She did not really believe in gypsy curses, but she was not going to take any unnecessary risks. ‘I know that you will not agree, my lady, but the baby’s mother expressed a wish that the child be named Josephine.’ She clasped her hands tightly behind her back, crossing her fingers.

  ‘Josephine?’ Lady Damerell rubbed her cheek against the baby’s head. ‘Her hair is like black silk.’

  ‘The mother has no right to impose her wish upon you, my lady. I was just passing on the information.’

  ‘My husband’s grandmother was called Josephine. I think he will be pleased with the name, and I shall put it to him in such a way that he imagines the choice is his.’

  ‘And when is the master due to return home, my lady?’

  ‘Not until next week, but I will send a messenger to our house in Bedford Square with the good news.’

  ‘Very good, ma’am. Now, may I suggest that you get back to bed while I dress the little one in more appropriate clothes?’

  ‘Of course, we must act out the charade to the end. Everyone will be surprised how quickly I get my figure back after the birth.’ Lady Damerell carolled with laughter as she handed the baby back to Hickson. She leapt into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. ‘We must find a wet nurse for her too. That is of the utmost urgency, but I suppose you have it all planned?’

  ‘I have, my lady. It is all arranged. In fact, you might remember the girl. She was a parlourmaid here before her marriage to your head groom, so you know you can trust her to behave in a proper manner and to be discreet.’

  Lady Damerell frowned. ‘But the baby needs a wet nurse now. Coggins and his wife will have remained in London.’

  ‘Not this time, my lady. Mrs Coggins has produced only stillborn infants during her marriage and I took it upon myself to persuade her husband that she might fare better in the country. Whatever the outcome, she’ll be returning to London with us and will tend the baby for as long as necessary.’ Miss Hickson rocked the baby in her arms, resisting the temptation to crow. Having had several months to prepare for the happy event, she had worked her plan out in the minutest detail.

  ‘Very well, Hickson. I’ll leave it entirely to you, but first I will need a pen and paper so that I can write to Sir Hector. One of the grooms can take it to London. Then you must make all the necessary arrangements with this woman. What is her name, by the way? Not that it is important, but I like to know these things.’

  ‘Bertha Coggins, my lady.’

  ‘Splendid.’ Lady Damerell held out her arms to receive the baby, who was starting to protest as Hickson dressed her in a silk nightgown that had been painstakingly embroidered as part of the baby’s layette. ‘You may spread the good news below stairs too, Hickson. Tell them that I have given birth to a beautiful baby girl.’ She frowned. ‘I hope Sir Hector isn’t too disappointed that it wasn’t a boy, but I shall so enjoy having a daughter. Maybe next time I will bear a son.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ Hickson left the room, wondering if her mistress had lost her mind. It seemed as though she truly believed that she had given birth and could do so again. She headed for the back stairs leadi
ng down to the maze of passages and basement rooms – the servants’ domain. She took a key from the chatelaine at her waist and unlocked a cupboard in which she had secreted a set of my lady’s bed sheets. It was all part of her carefully constructed plan to trick the other servants into believing that their mistress had been delivered of a child, and she smeared the bedding with pig’s blood that she had collected in a flask from the meat larder. She locked the cupboard and carried the soiled sheets to the laundry room where the washerwomen had lit fires beneath the coppers and were already hard at work.

  Hickson held up the sheets with a triumphant smile. ‘The mistress has given birth to a fine baby girl.’ She swept out of the steamy atmosphere, leaving the women to chatter delightedly amongst themselves. The birth had been long awaited. Some said that the mistress would never bear a child – now they would have to eat their words. Hickson went to the kitchen to spread the glad tidings. She went next to the stables to instruct one of the under grooms to be ready to take a message to Sir Hector in London, and then she set off at a brisk pace across the parkland towards the home farm.

  Robert Coggins opened the farmhouse door and his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of a gypsy woman standing on the step. In her arms she carried a baby swaddled in a coarse woollen shawl. He had not slept that night and he blinked against the bright sunlight. ‘What d’you want, woman?’

  Zolfina looked him straight in the eye. ‘I heard that your good lady was about to give birth, master.’

  ‘Get away from here. I don’t hold with your sort.’ Robert tried to shut the door but Zolfina was too quick for him and she stuck her booted foot over the sill.

  She angled her head. ‘I can tell that you’ve had a bereavement, master.’

  ‘I don’t want nothing to do with your black arts. Get away from my door, witch.’

  ‘I’m a true Romany woman, not a witch. But I can help you, if you’ll let me.’

  ‘You’ll get nothing from me, so be on your way.’

  ‘But I have something for you, master.’ Zolfina held the baby out for him to see more clearly. ‘I can tell by your face that the birthing did not go well. Am I right?’

  The hairs on the back of Robert’s neck prickled and he swallowed hard. ‘Yes,’ he murmured, his voice breaking on a suppressed sob. Exhaustion was making him weak. He had been up all night and had just left his wife semi-conscious after a dose of laudanum administered by Dr Smith. Bertha’s labour had lasted for two days and the baby when it finally arrived had been stillborn. She did not know it yet, and he dreaded telling her that their much longed for child had not drawn a single breath. ‘Say what you have to say and then leave me to my grief.’

  ‘Your infant is dead, master. This baby girl needs a mother and a father. You are a good man, I can tell. Take her. She is yours.’

  Robert stared at her blankly – was he still in the middle of the nightmare? ‘What are you saying, gypsy?’

  ‘This child’s mother died giving birth to her. I came upon her by chance and did what I could, but I could not save her. She entrusted her baby to me, begging me to find her a good home.’

  ‘This is madness,’ Robert said, shaking his head. ‘You cannot trade in human life.’

  Zolfina bit back a sharp retort, forcing herself to speak calmly. ‘I want nothing for the babe. All I ask is that you take her in and bring her up as your own. God will reward you.’ She drew the shawl gently back from the baby’s face. ‘Look at her, master. She is a beautiful little girl, and she has fair hair and blue eyes, just like yours. Would your good lady know any different if you were to put this babe in place of the dead child? Would it not be a kindness to let her think that this was her baby girl?’

  He blinked hard. He was not dreaming; this woman was real and so was the child. His dazed brain grappled against the temptation to snatch the baby from the gypsy and place her in the wooden crib that he had made with his own hands. ‘I don’t know. It don’t seem right.’

  Zolfina saw that he was weakening. ‘Think about it, master. If a lamb loses its mother, would you not put the orphan to another ewe that has lost her own offspring?’

  ‘My wife is a woman and not a sheep.’

  ‘But she would have been a mother, and I hear tell that you had almost given up hope of having a child, just like her ladyship at the big house.’

  Robert frowned; he could not rid himself of suspicion. ‘What would a gypsy woman know of the happenings at the big house?’

  ‘Am I not supposed to have second sight, master?’ Zolfina thrust the infant into his arms. ‘Her name is Katherine. Her mother was a lady who had fallen on hard times. Her father was a gallant soldier, killed in the Crimea. She has no one else in the world to care for her. Would you deny her a chance in life? And will you stand by and watch your poor wife die of a broken heart?’

  Katherine opened her eyes, staring up into Robert’s face. It seemed to him that she smiled, and he was lost. ‘I will have to speak to the doctor. I am not sure I can take this decision on my own.’ He looked up, but Zolfina had seized her chance and departed.

  Hickson arrived at the home farm just as the doctor was leaving. ‘Good morning, Dr Smith.’

  ‘Miss Hickson.’ He tipped his top hat as he untethered his pony’s reins from the hitching post.

  ‘Has all gone well with Mrs Coggins and her baby?’

  ‘She is safely delivered of a daughter, Miss Hickson. It must be close to Lady Damerell’s time too?’ Dr Smith bridled, unable to conceal the anger and affront simmering in his breast. ‘I suppose that she has her London physician in attendance?’

  Hickson was quick to note his displeasure, but she had never liked Dr Smith and it gave her grim satisfaction to see his nose put out of joint. She smiled. ‘Her ladyship gave birth last night. All she needs now is a wet nurse for her daughter.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, Miss Hickson,’ he said icily. ‘Mrs Coggins is very weak and must stay in bed for the lying-in period. I have advised her not to exert herself unduly.’ He climbed onto the driving seat of the trap.

  ‘Don’t worry, doctor. I am sure that Mrs Coggins will be honoured to suckle the heiress to the Damerell fortune.’

  Chapter Two

  Tavistock Mews, London, January 1873

  IT WAS ALMOST dark, with only the dim flicker of lantern light emanating from the stables in the mews. The smell of horseflesh, leather and saddle soap mingled with the stench of rotting manure from the dung heaps at either end of the narrow street. Snowflakes fell from an inky sky, settling in white lace crystals on the cobblestones and frosting the detritus lying in the stagnant gutters. Kate hurried homeward as fast as the iron-clad pattens strapped to her shoes would allow, and the clink of metal striking stone echoed off the tightly packed buildings. She wrapped her thin shawl a little tighter around her head and shoulders as she picked her way towards the stables and coach house which belonged to the Damerells’ grand home in Bedford Square. Having just come from the big house, where she was employed as a housemaid, Kate was even more conscious of the squalor in which the coachmen, grooms and their families were forced to live, tucked away out of sight of the Georgian terraces in the elegant residential squares. She stepped over the carcass of a dead rat, suppressing a shudder although vermin were common enough in the city streets, and thrived in the warm conditions of the stables where food was plentiful.

  She let herself into the coach house, and taking care not to wake the stable lads who slept on beds of straw in one of the empty stalls she made for the narrow flight of wooden stairs which led to the room she occupied with her father. She found him, as usual, slumped on his bed, snoring loudly, with an empty gin bottle clutched in his hand. His clay pipe was still clenched between his teeth but it had long since gone out. She removed it gently so as not to disturb him and prised the bottle from his fingers. Having suffered in the past from his drunken rages, she did not want to wake him before he had time to sleep off the effects of jigger gin. She sighed, gazing do
wn at his unshaven face and slack jaw with a dribble of saliva running down his chin. Pa was not a bad man, but he was weak. When sober he was quiet, kind and conscientious, which was how he had managed to keep his job with the Damerells for so many years, but in drink he became a completely different man. He had been like this since her mother died of the lung fever ten years ago when Kate was just eight, and she had kept house for him ever since. Not that there was much she could do to improve their living conditions in the small room beneath the eaves. She swept the floorboards daily and dusted the dresser on which were displayed the plates, cups and saucers that had been a wedding present to her parents and were now prized family heirlooms. Kate handled them with as much care as she did the bone china dinner and tea services owned by the Damerells.

  She raked the coals in the grate in an attempt to rekindle the fire, resorting in the end to the bellows. When the flames licked up the chimney she rose to her feet, holding her hand to her aching back. She had been at the big house since six o’clock that morning and a quick glance at the mantel clock told her that it was getting on for half past ten at night. The family had dined at home that evening and Sir Hector was unlikely to need her father’s services until morning when he went to the office in the City where he held an important position, although she was not quite clear exactly what he did there every day.

  Kate picked up the smoke-blackened kettle but it was empty, and although she would have loved a cup of tea the communal pump was at the far end of the mews and she could not face braving the bitter cold again. She sat down on the only chair in the room and began unbuttoning her boots. It had been a particularly busy day in the Damerell household and Miss Hickson had been on the warpath, although it was not her business to oversee the maidservants, as Mrs Evans the housekeeper had pointed out to her in no uncertain terms. There was always tension between the two of them and Mr Toop, the butler, had his work cut out to keep the peace. Kate sometimes wondered why the rest of the staff put up with Miss Hickson, but the mistress would not have a word said against her. She pulled the second boot off with a sigh of relief. They were too small for her and worn down at the heel but Pa said he could not afford to waste money on new shoe leather when she had a pair that would go on for years. She rubbed a blister on the back of her heel and grimaced with pain. Perhaps Grandpa would buy her some new boots when the Damerell family removed to their country home for Christmas. Grandpa Coggins liked to spoil her as much as he was able, and she looked forward to the brief period in the winter when they went to Dorset and the long summers when Sir Hector insisted that the whole household decamped to Damerell Manor, despite his wife’s pleas for them to stay in town for the London season.