Dilly Court - The Swan Maid

‘The best.’ Hansford wiped his hands on his apron. ‘You’ll be expected to unpack and put everything in its place, but I expect you know that.’

Lottie stared at the pile of luggage. ‘I’m used to working hard. This will seem easy by comparison.’

‘Better you than me, that’s all I can say.’ Hansford made a move towards the doorway. ‘Is there anything you want to know before I go?’

‘There’s just one thing,’ Lottie said hesitantly. ‘Who is Lady Petunia? Is she related to the colonel?’

Hansford’s twisted lips curved into a semblance of a smile. ‘You want to know who Lady Petunia is. You’d best follow me. I’m sure the unpacking can wait for five minutes.’

Lottie could not resist the opportunity to see more of the house and its grounds, and she was eager to discover who it was whose charms outdid those of the beautiful, spirited Lady Aurelia. She followed Hansford as he retraced his steps down the back stairs and through a maze of passages until they were outside in a large yard facing the stable block and coach house. He strode on, making surprising speed despite his uneven gait, and Lottie had to run in order to keep up with him. They passed through the kitchen garden where an aged gardener was tending to the rows of leafy vegetables, and at last they came to a low building surrounded by a brick wall. Lottie was used to the smell of horse dung, but the odour emanating from the pen was far worse. She covered her nose with her hand.

‘You’re having me on, Mr Hansford.’

He stopped with his hand on the gate. ‘It’s just Hansford, miss.’

‘All right, Hansford. Then it’s just Lottie from now on.’

He might have been grinning – it was hard to tell – but he unlatched the gate and ushered her into a straw-filled pen. ‘Permission to enter, Colonel?’

‘Permission granted, Hansford.’ A straw hat appeared from the depths of the sty, followed by a corpulent body, and then, as the colonel straightened up, a large black pig emerged.

Hansford closed the gate. ‘Her ladyship has arrived, sir.’

‘By Jove! Is it that time already?’ Colonel Dashwood bent down to stroke the sow’s head. ‘Sorry, old girl. I’ll have to leave you now.’ He looked up and frowned. ‘Who’s this, Hansford? Lady Petunia doesn’t usually like visitors, but she doesn’t seem to mind this young person.’

Hansford pushed Lottie forward. ‘This is Lady Aurelia’s new maid, sir.’

‘What happened to Merriweather? The old girl hasn’t turned up her toes, has she?’

‘I believe not, Colonel. Apparently she is unwell and has remained in Bath.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’ Colonel Dashwood looked Lottie up and down. ‘Pretty girl. Best keep her away from the barracks, Hansford. What’s her name?’

Lottie stepped forward. ‘My name is Lottie Lane, sir.’ She tickled the pig behind the ears.

‘Well, well, Lady Petunia approves. You’ve got a way with animals, Lottie Lane.’

Lottie stared at the pig in wonder. So this was Lady Aurelia’s rival. ‘I worked in a coaching inn until yesterday, Colonel,’ she said, controlling her desire to laugh with difficulty. ‘I’m more used to horses, but she seems like a nice pig.’

‘Lady Petunia is a Black Berkshire. She’s more intelligent than a dog, and most people, if it comes to that.’ Colonel Dashwood produced an apple from his jacket pocket and handed it to Lottie. ‘Give her this. She’s partial to an apple or two.’

Hansford cleared his throat. ‘Lady Aurelia is in the drawing room, sir. Shall I tell her that you’ll be with her as soon as you’ve changed your clothes?’

‘Eh? What’s wrong with the way I’m dressed?’

Lottie held the apple on the palm of her hand and Lady Petunia took it with surprising gentleness. ‘She has very good manners, Colonel.’

‘Of course she has. Lady Petunia is a thoroughbred, and better behaved than most of the nobility. I’d have her in the house, but Mrs Manners wouldn’t approve.’

‘I’d best get back to my work,’ Lottie said, hoping that the smell of the pigsty was not clinging to her garments. It was bad enough to know that she stank of the alehouse, without adding animal odours as well.

Colonel Dashwood’s blue eyes twinkled beneath his thick white eyebrows, which matched his bushy white moustache. He was obviously a good many years older than his wife – old enough, Lottie thought, to be her father – but despite his portly frame and weather-beaten features, he had a kindly expression. During her eight years at The Swan, Lottie had learned a great deal about human nature, and her instincts told her that here was a man she could trust. She even liked his pig.

‘I’ve laid out your uniform, Colonel,’ Hansford said tactfully. ‘You have a regimental dinner to attend this evening, if you recall, sir?’

‘Dash it, I’d quite forgotten.’ Colonel Dashwood patted Lady Petunia’s head. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, old girl. I must leave you now.’ He followed Lottie from the sty. ‘Make sure you fasten the gate securely, Hansford. She got into the vegetable garden yesterday. Figgis was very upset.’

‘I will, don’t worry, sir.’ Hansford stayed back to make sure that Lady Petunia would not escape again, and Lottie followed the colonel into the house. To her surprise he retraced the route that Hansford had taken and entered through the scullery.

‘Where’s Hansford?’ he demanded, lowering himself onto a wooden stool. ‘I want him to help me off with my boots. Mrs Manners will have a fit of the vapours if I bring pig muck into the house.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Hansford? Where is the fellow?’

Lottie hesitated, wondering what was expected of her. It would not be the first time she had helped a gentleman off with his boots, but she was not at the inn now. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Hansford out in the yard, deep in conversation with Tilda. ‘Can I help you, sir?’

Colonel Dashwood puffed out his cheeks and his moustache bristled. ‘Where is Hansford? This isn’t a task for a slip of a girl like you.’

‘Let me try, sir. I see a lady in black bombazine coming this way. Could it be Mrs Manners?’

‘Pull off me boots, girl. What are you waiting for?’ Colonel Dashwood held up one chubby leg, turning red in the face with the effort.

Lottie grasped the toe and heel of the muddy boot, gave it a twist and a tweak and tugged hard. It slipped off as if the colonel’s foot had been greased. She used the same technique to pull off the other boot.

‘Well done,’ Colonel Dashwood said, wheezing a sigh of relief. ‘Hansford couldn’t have made a better job of it.’ He rose to his stockinged feet. ‘Take them into the boot-room. Hansford will clean them up.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Lottie slipped out into the yard just as Mrs Manners entered the scullery. She did not want to meet the housekeeper until she had had a chance to change, and she loitered outside until the sound of voices died away. She tried hard not to stare at Hansford and Tilda, who made an unlikely pair, and she looked up into the blue sky, watching the swifts dart and dive about like airborne acrobats.

Hansford turned his head to look at her. He broke off the conversation and strolled across the cobblestones, followed by Tilda. ‘I’ll see to them.’ He took the boots from Lottie. ‘You’d best clean yourself up too.’

‘You’ve got pig muck on your boots and the hem of your skirt.’ Tilda put her head on one side. ‘And your clothes smell something awful.’

‘I know. You don’t have to tell me.’

‘She’ll go mad,’ Tilda said, shaking her head. ‘Mrs Manners can’t stand slovenliness.’ She exchanged glances with Hansford. ‘Tell you what, Lottie, as you’re new here I’ll help you out this once. Leave your boots with Hansford, and I’ll find you a uniform to wear. You can sort your clothes out later.’