Lady In Waiting Part 1

Lady in Waiting.

Kathryn Caskie.

For my sister Jenny Byers, the original Jenny Penny.

Acknowledgments.

I must thank those generous souls who a.s.sisted in bringing Lady in Waiting into being.

Dr. Kenneth Hylson-Smith, of Bath, England, for his willingness to share his great knowledge of the history of Bath Abbey.

The very patient docents from the Bath Preservation Trust, who graciously answered my numerous very odd questions about Number One Royal Crescent without batting an eyelash.

My dear friends and fellow writers, Deborah Barnhart, Denise McInerney, and Pam Palmer Poulsen, who dropped everything to read and comment on my ma.n.u.script before publication.

Nancy Mayer, for helping me with Regency-era facts. Any mistakes are completely my own.

My editor Melanie Murray, who encouraged me to let my imagination soar.

And my wonderful friend and fellow author, Sophia Nash, who, besides being there every step of the way, taught me the true joys of retail therapy.

Author's Note.

The Featherton sisters' Bath home, Number One Royal Crescent, actually exists to this very day and several of its rooms are open to the public through the generosity of the Bath Preservation Trust.

The house itself is actually quite famous, and The Bath Chronicle records on September 27, 1787, that Princess de Lambelle, Lady in Waiting to Queen Marie-Antoinette of France, stayed at Number One Royal Crescent.

Between the years 1814 and 1823, there are no records of who actually occupied the house, so of course I immediately moved the Featherton sisters, their niece Meredith, and their staff into Number One.

For purposes of this story, I took some liberties with room layout, placing the dining room next to the study. In actuality, a wide entrance hall divides the two rooms. I also placed the drawing room on the ground floor, when it exists on the next level.

For more information about Number One Royal Crescent, please visit my Web site where I have posted some photographs, or contact the Bath Preservation Trust for Number One Royal Crescent, Bath, An Ill.u.s.trated Guide and Souvenir; or The Royal Crescent in Bath by William Lowndes, The Redcliffe Press, Bristol, 1981.

Prologue.

Scientific Diary of Miss Genevieve Penny.

20 December, 1817.

I have made an important scientific discovery-one that will change my life forever.

By crossing two particularly vigorous varieties of Mitcham peppermint, I have produced an essential oil of unmatched potency. Alas, which two varieties, however, I have no memory, having no mind for storing such dreary details. Hence, the introduction of my exquisite new scientific journal with fas.h.i.+onable marbled facings, satin page mark, and soft leather spine. I purchased it today, along with a gorgeous cairngorm brooch I saw in the window of Bartleby's, which has fast become my favorite shop on all of Milsom Street, if not all of Bath. But I digress.

Through a most fortuitous accident, I found that this particular oil has the curious effect of causing the skin to flush with youthful vigor immediately upon contact. Thus far, there have been no ill side effects, therefore I shall commence blending a half-dozen gallipots of the peppermint cream for the Featherton ladies. No doubt they will be pleased, as will the shopkeeper at Bartleby's, for the guinea the Feathertons will likely gift me must be applied directly to my overdue shop bill before I am barred from the establishment forever.

Chapter One.

Bath, England.

January 2, 1818.

Genevieve Penny spun around and stared, quite unable to believe what she was hearing. "What, pray, do you mean she used the cream down there? My G.o.d, Annie, it's a facial balm. Did you not explain its intended use to her ladys.h.i.+p?"

"Course I did, Jenny. I'm not daft." Her friend, an abigail like herself, punctuated her words with a roll of her eyes and settled her plump behind on the stool before the herb-strewn table. "But how could I have known Lady Avery and the viscount had a more amorous plan for the cream?"

"And now she wants a pot of her own?" Jenny nervously tucked a loose sable curl behind her ear. "I gave the Feathertons' cream pot to you. My gift was meant to be our secret. I never intended for the cream to find its way above stairs."

Above stairs? What an awful thought. Jenny's stomach muscles cinched like an overtight corset and she gasped for a breath.

What if the Featherton ladies learned of her little gift born of supplies they paid for-blended in their own stillroom? Heaven forbid. She might find herself out on the cobbles without a reference! Where would she be then, hawking oranges on the street corner for her daily bread?

She seized Annie's shoulders. "You did not tell your mistress that I gave you the cream."

"Nay, of course not. Said a friend gave it to me." But as she spoke, Annie's keen eyes drifted across the table to the sealed clay gallipots on its edge. With a twist of her ample form, she broke Jenny's grip and made her way across the stillroom.

"Have some made up, do you?" Prying open the lid, Annie lifted the pot to her nose and, as she breathed deep, let out a pleased sigh. "Well, my lady wants two pots of the tingle cream to start-"

Jenny's cheeks heated. "Lud, stop calling it that! It's not tingle cream. It's a peppermint facial cream."

"You can call it what you like, but I tried a dab myself. You know... there." Annie flushed crimson and looked away. "And I own, Jenny, the way it tickled me below... positively sinful. I do not doubt it revived my lady's desire."

Jenny heard Annie return the clay gallipot to the table, but then she heard something else. Her ears p.r.i.c.ked up at a faint but unmistakable jingle of coins.

As Annie turned around, she withdrew a weighty silken bag from her basket and pressed it into Jenny's palm. "My lady bade me to give the maker this, if that maker could be persuaded to oblige her with two pots today."

Jenny loosened the heavy bag's satin tie and emptied ten gold guineas onto the table. It was a fortune for a lady's maid like her. A blessed fortune! Her blood plummeted from her head into her feet and she sank onto a stool, unable to stop staring at the gleaming mound of riches.

"You do have two spare pots, don't you, Jenny? Her ladys.h.i.+p would be most displeased if I returned to the house without her cream."

Jenny nodded absently and pushed two of the three gallipots forward. This was certainly not the use she intended when she blended the cream. But what else could she do except oblige? This was more blunt than she'd ever seen in her lifetime.

"Jolly good. Knew you'd come around." With great care, Annie wedged the pots into her basket and covered them discreetly with a square of linen. "Must run now. Haven't much time, you know. I'll be needing to dress Lady Avery for the Fire and Ice Ball this eve."

"Of course." Jenny glanced at the rough-hewn table and the lone gallipot sitting amid the crushed herbs. "Only one left," she muttered to herself.

Annie set her fist on her fleshy hip. "One? You mean that's all you have-at all? Well, dove, if I was you, I'd set about making more of that tingle cream right away."

"Why should I need more?" Jenny raised her brow with growing suspicion.

Beneath the snowy mobcap, Annie's earlobes glowed crimson. "Well... I might have overheard Lady Avery telling Lady Oliver about her thrilling discovery of an amazing cream. Of course, I knew she was talking about the tingle cream. And, Jenny, Lady Oliver was most interested."

A jolt raced down Jenny's spine. "You do not mean others in society know of this? Lud, this is a disaster."

"Oh, Jen, you're getting all foamy for nothing. What's so wrong with an abigail making a few bob on the side? Who knows, a society connection could be the very thing to catapult your sales and help you remove yourself from debt for good."

Jenny forced a snort of laughter, but as the idea settled upon her, she became very still.

Criminy. The idea was intriguing, even if a little mad. But the more she thought about it, the more enticing the suggestion became to her.

No, no, this was ridiculous. She couldn't possibly produce enough pots to clear her accounts-not without getting the sack from her employers.

Could she?

Rising, Jenny walked to her supply cupboard, twisted the wooden door wedge, and peered inside. She was keenly disappointed at what she saw-or rather at what she didn't see. The cupboard was nearly bare. She'd need more emulsifying agent. Plenty more. Gallipots too. Of course she'd have to distill some more Mitcham peppermint.

This was going to be real work.

But she would do it. In fact, if she worked very hard, she might even come to terms with her accounts before the last spring leaf unfurled. If not before. She had a society connection, after all.

"Jenny, are you listening?"

She looked up blankly.

"I need to stop by Bartleby's and retrieve some ribbon for my lady. Care to join me?" Annie scooped up a guinea from the table and flipped it spinning through the air. She grinned as Jenny opened her palm and caught the coin before it hit the table.

"Why not." Tossing the glittering coin atop the pile, Jenny cupped her hand and neatly corralled the ten guineas in the silk bag. She looked up and flashed a jubilant smile.

Annie laughed. "Won't the shopkeep be gobsmacked when you actually pay ten guineas on your account?"

Jenny winced a little. "Well, maybe not the full ten. I think I might stop by the apothecary and fetch a few more supplies."

Annie's eyes widened with excitement. "Does this mean you're going to do it-start a business?"

"A business? Oh, I don't know." Moving to the wall hooks, Jenny crowned herself with her new velvet bonnet, then swept her perfectly coordinated pelisse over her shoulders. "But it can't hurt to have a few more pots of... tingle cream on hand, now can it?"

m.u.f.fling their giggles so they wouldn't be overheard above stairs, Jenny and Annie headed out the door in the direction of Milsom Street.

"The man is entirely unreasonable!" Jenny jerked the handle hard, slamming Bartleby's shop door behind her. "Eight guineas I paid him, and still he wouldn't let me put the pearl earbobs on my account." With envious eyes, Jenny glanced down at Annie's neatly tied packet of ribbon.

Annie stuffed the parcel into her basket and drew the linen doily overtop as if purposely hiding it from Jenny's view. "You must owe him an awful lot."

Jenny shrugged. "I suppose. But I am a loyal customer. He should have more faith."

"Can I ask... how much do you owe?"

"I don't know really. Dropped all his notices in the dustbin. After all, he needn't remind me that I owe him payment. It is not as if I've forgotten."

"There's Smith and Company too, don't forget. What was it you put on account there?"

"A black bear m.u.f.f. You should buy one. Most fas.h.i.+onable this season." Jenny wrinkled her brow as they walked. "I should have brought it today. Would have kept my hands warm as embers."

Annie sighed. "And then there's the jeweler on the Lower Walk-a quartet of garnet b.u.t.tons, wasn't it?"

"Now you must admit those were a bargain. All I need to do is replace the sh.e.l.l b.u.t.tons with the garnets and my pewter gown will be transformed. Why, I've actually saved the cost of a new gown simply by buying the b.u.t.tons. Really very economical."

Annie stepped before Jenny and caught her shoulders. "Just look at you, Jenny. We're headed for the markets and you're wearing a pelisse of apple-green kerseymere, vand.y.k.ed with satin! Why do you do it? What need have you for fine gowns and trinkets? You are wasting what little money you earn on this nonsense. You are a lady's maid, Jenny. Not a real lady."

"I am." Jenny caught Annie's wrists and yanked them from her. "Or I would have been... had my father married Mama. He was a highborn gentleman, you know."

"Yes, I do know. But, ducks, he didn't marry your mother, and you are not a lady, no matter how you dress and adorn yourself."

Jenny was about to snap a retort when the sun's reflection off a large s.h.i.+ny object momentarily blinded her.

When her eyes refocused she found herself looking at the most exquisite, certainly the most modish, carriage she'd ever seen in Bath-or even London.

"Will you look at that, Annie? Have you ever seen anything so grand?" Jenny started slowly toward the conveyance, feeling quite incapable of stopping herself. "Come on, I have to see inside."

"Jenny, no." Annie ticked her head toward the first pairing of ebony horses. "The footman. He's bound to stop you."

"Oh, botheration. You can keep him busy for me. Come on, Annie, be my friend and chat him up, while I just go and have a tiny peek inside, all right?"

"Jenny, you can't."

But Jenny's boots were already upon the cobbles and she was making her way to the far door.

Once Jenny heard the sultry tones of Annie's voice mingling with those of the footman, she crouched low and skulked around the gleaming carriage. Rising up, she peered wide-eyed through the door's lower windowpanes.

To her delight, the carriage was empty. Now, if only the door was... she pressed the latch down, and the door opened. Jenny smiled and gave a wink to the heavens, for someone up there was certainly looking out for her this day.