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.’
‘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
