Dilly Court - The Swan Maid

Farrell had ridden alongside them for most of the way, but had gone on ahead when they neared their destination, and was waiting to hand Aurelia from the carriage. Lottie was the first to alight and she stood on the path feeling shy and apprehensive. It was too late to change her mind, but she felt shabby and out of place in her new surroundings. The housemaid fixed her with a curious stare, but neither of them spoke.

Aurelia sailed into the house, leaving Lottie little alternative but to follow in her wake.

The interior was spacious, and cool air wafted in through open windows, adding the scent of roses to that of lavender and beeswax polish. The stark whiteness of the walls was relieved by large oil paintings, mostly scenes of victorious military battles, and a cocked hat had been left on a pier table as if to emphasise the fact that this was a soldier’s residence. Aurelia took off her straw bonnet and tossed it in the air so that it landed on a marble bust of the Iron Duke.

Her merry laughter seemed to bring the silent house to life. ‘A direct hit, every time.’ She turned to Gillingham. ‘I’ll wager you couldn’t do as well, Farrell.’

He tucked his shako under his arm. ‘I’m sure you’re right, my lady.’

‘Don’t be a spoilsport.’ Aurelia snatched the hat from the duke, where it had hung over his sightless eyes at a rakish angle, and she placed it on Gillingham’s head. ‘Give me a smile, Farrell.’ She seized his shako and put it on. ‘How do I look?’

‘Dashing, as always, my lady.’

‘Lottie, remind me to order a shako from my milliner.’ Aurelia peered at her reflection in one of the many gilt-framed mirrors. ‘It is rather fetching.’

Lottie stood beside the housemaid, watching this piece of theatre wide-eyed. She had not imagined that titled ladies behaved with such frivolity, and there seemed to be little difference between Ruth’s flirtatious behaviour and that of the colonel’s wife. She glanced at the maid, expecting to see her looking shocked or at least a bit surprised by her mistress’s antics, but she appeared to be unmoved and was staring straight ahead.

‘Is it always like this?’ Lottie whispered.

‘This is nothing. Wait until they have a party, then you’ll see some goings-on.’ The maid jumped to attention at the sound of her name.

‘Tilda.’ Aurelia snapped her fingers. ‘Stop gossiping and bring tea and cake to the drawing room. By the way,’ she added casually, ‘Merriweather is unwell and will be staying in Bath for the foreseeable future. Miss Lane is my new maid.’

Tilda bobbed a curtsey. ‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Is the master at home?’ Aurelia demanded im-periously. ‘He should have been here to greet me.’

‘I believe he’s with Lady Petunia, my lady.’ Tilda curtseyed again before hurrying off.

‘If I didn’t know better I would be jealous of Lady Petunia.’ Aurelia posed in front of the mirror, making a moue at her reflection as she tilted the shako at various angles.

Gillingham crossed the floor to stand behind her. ‘You know, you do look splendid. In my hat.’ He tweaked it off her head. ‘But it’s a trifle too large for you, my lady.’

‘Spoilsport.’ She turned to face him. ‘Come and have some tea, Farrell, and stop calling me “my lady”. Lottie is one of us now. She won’t gossip if you call me Aurelia.’ She shot a sideways glance at Lottie. ‘You won’t, will you? I’m sure I can trust you to be discreet.’

‘Yes, my lady.’ Lottie followed Tilda’s example and curtseyed. ‘I mean, no. I won’t gossip. I saw things you wouldn’t credit when I was at The Swan.’

‘I’m sure you did.’ Aurelia beckoned to the manservant who was standing by the entrance with the pile of baggage. ‘Hansford, take my things to my room and show Lottie to her quarters. She will have Merriweather’s room.’

Hansford bowed. ‘Yes, my lady.’

‘When you’ve done that I want you to find the colonel and inform him of my arrival.’ She slipped her hand through the crook of Gillingham’s arm. ‘Dashwood simply adores Lady Petunia. I am definitely second best.’

‘Never,’ Gillingham said gallantly. ‘You have never come second to anything or anyone in your whole life, Aurelia.’

She laughed and pinched his cheek as they strolled off, arm in arm.

Lottie turned to Hansford. She had thought him surly at first, but now she could see that a long scar on the right side of his face was the cause of his permanent scowl. She simply had to satisfy her curiosity. ‘Who is Lady Petunia?’

‘Ask no questions and you’ll be told no lies.’ He picked up as much of the luggage as he could carry. ‘What happened to Merriweather? Why are you here instead of the old girl?’

‘I don’t know exactly. I think she was taken ill. That’s what her ladyship told me.’

‘Where did she find you?’ Hansford demanded as he limped off, burdened by his heavy load. ‘You smell like a taproom.’

Lottie sniffed her sleeve and her heart sank. He was right. Her clothes were impregnated with the smell of beer and tobacco smoke, but she had never noticed it until now. She followed him towards the back stairs. ‘I worked in a London coaching inn.’

He said nothing, concentrating all his energy on mounting the narrow staircase. He came to a halt on the landing and dumped the baggage on the floor, flexing his fingers. ‘I’d keep out of the servants’ quarters if I was you; at least until you’ve got rid of that stink. Mrs Manners, the housekeeper, don’t approve of public houses. If she thinks you’ve got loose morals you’ll be out on the street afore you can say knife.’

‘I am very respectable,’ Lottie said stiffly. ‘And Lady Aurelia hired me, so if Mrs Manners doesn’t like it she knows what she can do.’

‘Ho, like that is it? You’re going to be trouble, I can see that. What’s your name, girl?’

‘It’s Trouble with a capital T.’ Lottie picked up one of the heavier carpetbags. ‘But you may call me Lottie. Now, where do I take this?’

‘Follow me, and less of the cheek. You’d best mind your manners in the servants’ hall. You’ll find it a bit different from working in a hostelry.’ Hansford picked up the bags and led the way along a wide corridor, coming to a halt at the top of the main staircase. ‘This is her ladyship’s room. Open the door for me, there’s a good girl.’

Despite his condescending tone, Lottie did as he asked without any argument. She could hold her own with ostlers, coachmen and male travellers who thought that inn servants were easy game, but for now she would bide her time. She opened the door and stepped inside to the room of her dreams. Furnished in the French style with ornate gilded furniture upholstered in blue toile de jouy fabric, the room was light and sunny. Aubusson rugs placed in appropriate places made pools of delicate colour on the highly polished oak floorboards, and the scent of flowers vied with the lingering fragrance of Aurelia’s perfume. It was a heady mix and to Lottie it seemed a boudoir fit for a princess, let alone the wife of an army colonel.

Hansford dumped the baggage on the floor with a sigh of relief. ‘I dunno how one woman could need to bring so much with her, but it’s the same wherever we go, whether it’s on a campaign abroad or moving between Bath and Chatham.’

‘Do you always travel with them?’ Lottie asked curiously. She had noticed that Hansford walked with a limp. ‘Are you a soldier too?’

‘I was, until I was wounded in Afghanistan. I was the colonel’s batman in India when he was a captain seconded to the Bombay Sappers. He kept me on as his orderly, even when I was unfit for service.’

‘I see,’ Lottie said slowly. ‘He sounds like a good man.’