Susanna Gregory - The Piccadilly Plot

‘It is possible. Do you have any idea who the culprit might be?’

‘Of course! Do you have three hours to spare while I write you a list? His overbearing manners and priggishness have alienated virtually everyone at White Hall, and his only cronies are bigoted old churchmen who share his prudish views.’

Chaloner nodded unhappily, perfectly aware that the Earl would have been more popular had he been of a more tolerant disposition.

‘Wait,’ instructed Hannah, as he stood to leave. ‘I have hired another servant, and you should speak to him before you go out.’

Chaloner was horrified. ‘Another? But we already have two maids and a housekeeper.’

‘We have our status to consider,’ said Hannah coolly. ‘And I do not want to live like a pauper, even if it suits you. Besides, we need these people. Susan is my waiting-woman, Nan is the cook-maid, and we would be lost without Joan as housekeeper.’

Chaloner said nothing, but thought they ‘needed’ nothing of the kind. He considered the trio who now occupied the back half of the house. Joan was an old friend of Hannah’s family, which afforded her considerable leeway in dealing with the household, and also prevented Chaloner from sending her packing for her dour manners. Meanwhile, Susan and Nan were sly girls who never missed an opportunity to side with Joan against him. He supposed he would be spending more time in Long Acre if a fourth member were added to their ranks, because he already felt outnumbered.

‘His name is George, and he will be your footman,’ Hannah continued.

‘But I do not want a footman!’ cried Chaloner in alarm, imagining the fellow dogging his every step, obliging him to take increasingly inventive measures to avoid being monitored.

Hannah grew petulant. ‘I do not understand this peculiar objection towards hired help. Your family had dozens of retainers to help run their huge estates in Buckinghamshire, so you must be used to them. Of course, that was before the Royalists returned to power and confiscated everything of value from Roundheads. I suppose your brothers do not engage many servants now?’

The Royalists had indeed avenged themselves on anyone who had supported Cromwell, and unlike many, Chaloner’s family had declined to pretend that they had really been on the King’s side all along. As a consequence, great tracts of their land, items of furniture and even cutlery had been seized in lieu of crippling taxes they could not pay. He made no reply to her remark.

‘Talk to George before you leave,’ she ordered. ‘He is a Black Moor, and it is currently in vogue to have one. Do not look so dismayed! He is quite respectable, or I would not have taken him.’

‘It is not his respectability I am worried about.’ Chaloner was dismayed, and made no effort to hide it. ‘It is him. It is not right to snatch people from their homes and sell them to-’

‘What odd notions you have! I did not snatch him from his home, and nor was he sold to me.’

Chaloner struggled for patience. ‘You may not have done, but someone else-’

‘George is not a slave, Thomas,’ interrupted Hannah sharply. ‘He is a sailor who has decided he would rather have a life ashore.’

‘And what happens when it is not “in vogue” to employ a black footman?’ Chaloner was unappeased by her reply. ‘Shall we exchange him for one of a different colour?’

‘You know we will do nothing of the kind — I abhor the traffic in human beings as much as you do. However, George is not a slave.’

‘But by following this repellent fashion of hiring black retainers, we are encouraging the trade. I want no part of it, Hannah.’

Hannah was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I see your point, and you are right. But what can we do about it now? We cannot turn him out — he needs employment.’

Chaloner could see no answer, and left the bedroom wishing Hannah had thought through the consequences of her actions before following such an objectionable fad.

Another change that had taken place when Chaloner had been in Tangier was Hannah renting a larger house. He would have dissuaded her had he been home, because it and the servants took too much of their income. However, by the time he returned she had been in residence for weeks, and her move from the pretty little cottage three doors down was a fait accompli. The two maids slept in the attic, while the kitchen and its adjoining parlour, sculleries and pantries were the domain of the formidable Joan. That left Chaloner and Hannah with a bedchamber, a drawing room and a hall-like space for eating. All three were large, chilly places with a marked paucity of furniture — they had not owned much when they had lived in the cottage, and there was certainly not enough to fill the cavernous rooms of a much larger house.

Although it was early, the servants were up. Joan was a stooped, pinched woman with a large nose and a penchant for loosely fitting black clothes. She had reminded Chaloner of a crow when he had first met her, and her grim visage and sharp little eyes had done nothing to dispel the illusion since.

Susan was sitting in a corner, darning a stocking, while Nan was stirring something in a pot over the fire. Chaloner had trouble telling them apart, because they were both disagreeable young women with bad complexions, whom Joan dressed in identical uniforms. They stood as he entered, and he nodded to indicate that they should return to their duties.

‘May I help you?’ asked Joan coolly. ‘If so, perhaps you would wait in the drawing room.’

It was her way of informing him that he should confine himself to those parts of the house that she considered his. He was tempted to retort that he would go where he pleased in his own home, but he had already learned that arguing with her was more trouble than it was worth. He forced himself to smile as he explained.

‘Hannah asked me to speak to George.’

Nan and Susan exchanged a glance that Chaloner found difficult to interpret.

‘He is in the scullery,’ said Joan. She scowled. ‘You should have told me you wanted a footman. It was thoughtless to have gone out and hired one yourself without consulting me or the mistress.’

So there it was, thought Chaloner. Hannah had sensed Joan’s disapproval, and rather than admit that it was her idea, she had decided to let Joan assume it was his. He was tempted to tell her the truth, but suspected it would not be believed: Joan was nothing if not loyal to the family she had served all her life.

‘You have created a very welcoming atmosphere here,’ he said, unable to resist toying with her. ‘I am sure he will soon feel at home.’

‘Have I?’ asked Joan, clearly thinking something would have to be done about it. She eyed him beadily. ‘Will you be wanting something to eat? You do not usually bother us with demands, but Nan can whisk you up a raw egg. Or there are cold kidneys left over from last night’s dinner.’

‘It is a tempting offer,’ said Chaloner, perfectly aware that she would not be starting her day with raw eggs and cold kidneys. ‘But I shall speak to George instead.’

All three women watched him leave. Joan’s expression was openly hostile, while Nan and Susan exchanged a smirk. They had understood his sarcasm, even if Joan had not.

He walked along the tiled corridor to the scullery, and pushed open the door. A man sat there, polishing boots. He stood abruptly, making Chaloner take an involuntary step backwards. He was huge, with muscular arms and powerful legs. His face was smooth and chestnut brown, and his hair so dark as to be almost blue. His eyes were black, and carefully devoid of expression.

Chaloner closed the door behind him, not because he planned to say anything that should not be overheard, but to deprive Joan of a chance to eavesdrop. He heard her sigh of annoyance just before it clicked shut, which gave him no small sense of satisfaction.