Salt Hendon Omnibus 01 to 03 Read online

“Less apprehensive? You are not troubled by the contents of Lord Salt’s document?” Uninvited, the secretary sat opposite Jane and unconsciously took back his handkerchief. “You feel better about tomorrow, Miss Despard?”

  Jane smiled behind her hand at his look of total confusion.

  “Mr. Ellis, I do believe your loyalty should be with his lordship and his sad predicament in being forced into a marriage he does not want in the least. Forgive me. I have disconcerted you again. Have you been ordered to collect that document with my signature upon it or face dire consequences? Oh! Mr. Ellis,” she added when he glanced swiftly over at the little escritoire and a huge relief showed itself on his freckled face, “did you think I had burned it? For shame. When you have undoubtedly spent many hours deliberating over every word, and your handwriting so immaculate.”

  “I am only sorry that it was I who had to read it out loud,” the secretary confessed, gaze riveted to her lovely face. “If there had been any other way, if it had not been necessary for me to be present, to save you the embarrassment, but unfortunately—”

  Jane touched the young man’s hand. “—Lord Salt cannot read the printed page without the aid of his eyeglasses. If he reads unaided for any length of time, particularly the newsprint, he suffers from the most unbearable megrims. He should wear his rims, but refuses to do so in public because his pride and vanity prevent him. Obstinate man. But I have said too much, and you are looking at me as if I have sprouted a second head!”

  The secretary was so taken aback that the Earl’s betrothed knew about his employer’s debilitating eyesight that he nodded his agreement and stood when she rose from the chair. Very few people knew that it was an exceptional retentive memory that enabled the Earl to hide his disability upon most occasions, particularly when delivering speeches in the Lords or serving on committees where papers had been distributed beforehand. As for seeing his lordship wearing his gold-rimmed spectacles across the bridge of his long, bony nose, Arthur Ellis was quite certain the number of persons granted this privilege amounted to fewer than half a dozen. It was only when he was shut away in his bookroom, with only Arthur in attendance, that the Earl would sit hunched over a document, reading with the aid of his magnifying lenses. It begged the question how Miss Despard could know such an intimate detail about her future husband, but instead of asking he said diffidently,

  “His lordship has instructed me to offer you my assistance with the sorting of your belongings; those which are to remain with the Allenbys, and those requiring removal to your new home in Grosvenor Square.”

  “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Ellis,” Jane replied, picking up the document off the escritoire, “but I anticipated his lordship’s directive and have only brought with me one portmanteau and two hat boxes. My petticoats and shoes, such as I had, I left in Wiltshire to be distributed amongst the wives and daughters of the parish poor.” She handed the unsigned document to the secretary with an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I have no intention of signing this hateful epistle, Mr. Ellis. I’m only sorry you must deliver the news to his lordship. Hopefully his misdirected wrath will be of a short duration, and he can bottle the rest until he has the opportunity to vent it on me.”

  Arthur Ellis gave an involuntary laugh and shook his head. He couldn’t blame her, but he was surprised that this delicate beauty had the strength of character not to be frightened to stand her ground with his strong-willed employer. Arthur predicted interesting times ahead for the Earl once married to Miss Jane Despard. The anticipation of the upcoming nuptials put a decided spring in his step as he went about his usual business the next day, despite an anteroom full of petitioners and the day’s appointments already substantially delayed with the arrival of Lady St. John, her two children in tow.

  The secretary did not approve of Lady St. John and her mischievous offspring, but it was not his place or right to say so. Nor did it surprise him that she always chose to visit on the only day in the week when the Earl received petitioners, and thus his busiest at-home day.

  Tuesdays were open house day at Lord Salt’s Grosvenor Square mansion, providing an opportunity to anyone who wished to put his case to the Earl of Salt Hendon, be it on a matter regarding a sinecure, patronage for a literary work or some such artistic endeavor, a hawker representing the wares of his manufacturer, or persons with some minor connection to the Sinclair family or the Earl’s estates seeking assistance in some way.

  Petitioners rarely managed to make it to interview on the first Tuesday of their petitioning, and therefore waited all day in the freezing, cavernous anteroom, with its marble floor and no fire in the grate. There were never enough chairs to go round and people stood for hours, only to be told to return the following Tuesday to wait all over again. The more persistent returned three or four Tuesdays in a row, all for the privilege of stating their case in the fifteen minutes allotted to them for an audience with the Earl.

  None of this meant anything to Lady St. John. She sailed into the Earl’s bookroom in a billow of exquisitely embroidered Italian olive velvet petticoats, her retinue behind her, and without a single glance at the nameless, silent and shivering crowd queued either side of the double doors, guarded over by two footmen in the Sinclair blue-and-gold livery.

  Arthur tried to continue on with his work as if she were not there, but of course this was an impossible task when she immediately draped herself on a corner of the Earl’s massive mahogany desk, with no regard for the piles of important papers her petticoats swept to the floor in the process. As for her two children, the boy and girl clambered up onto Uncle Salt’s lap and demanded his attention. And of course Lady St. John’s visits invariably required the involvement of most of the household staff to provide for her and her children’s care and nourishment. The kitchen was sent into a whirlwind of activity to make and bake the little almond biscuits she liked so much and the particular Bohea tea at the strength her palate would approve. The butler was called upon to provide his undivided attention to her ladyship’s whims, and at least four liveried footmen were dispatched to keep an eye on the children, to ensure there was minimal disturbance to carpets, leather-bound volumes lining the walls, mahogany furniture and soft furnishings. All this despite Lady St. John arriving with her own lady-in-waiting, the children’s tutor, a governess and a Negro pageboy whose arduous task it was to go before her ladyship carrying a silk cushion, upon which rested her ladyship’s fan.

  Jane was set down at the door to the Earl’s Palladian mansion in Grosvenor Square in the midst of this midmorning disruption. The under-butler sized her up: From her simply-dressed hair without powder, to her unseasonable silk gown of old gold, with light lace petticoats which lacked the requisite fashionable hoop. Over this was a wool cloak with frayed collar. The fact she had arrived without her maid in tow, put this haughty little man in two minds as to whether to close the door in her face.

  Never mind the indisputable fact that she was the most breathtakingly beautiful female he had ever set eyes on. He had a job to do. It was all very well to admit grovelling petitioners on Tuesdays, but a beautiful female without her maid was another matter entirely. One which, Rufus Willis, under-butler in this noble household, wasn’t too sure he wanted to tackle. Only the fact Jane had arrived in the Earl’s carriage decided him that it was best to let her come in out of the intense cold. Perhaps she was the new maid Mr. Jenkins the butler had told him to be on the lookout for? But he hadn’t expected the girl to use the front entrance. Without a bow and with a small wave of dismissal, Willis ordered Jane to follow a footman to the anteroom off the bookroom. She could wait with the rest of the needy masses vying for his lordship’s attention and deep pockets until he had spoken with Mr. Jenkins to sort out what they were to do with her. Expect a long wait.

  In the cavernous anteroom, Jane was deserted by the footman without so much as a bow of acknowledgement, which surely indicated to the waiting crowd, along with her shabby wool cloak, that she was no one of importance, and in all probability
a newly-employed domestic. But in the midst of a crowd of half-frozen men, her beauty was a welcome distraction and she was immediately offered the rare commodity of a chair by several gentlemen who leapt to their heels, instantly captivated by such exquisite loveliness and effortless grace. A sprightly middle-aged gent with a Malacca cane won out, and Jane sat down beside this gentleman’s wife.

  It was not lost on Jane that as soon as she entered the anteroom every bewigged head turned to gaze directly at her. Bravely, she bestowed a kind smile on them all, as she had been advised to do by the soft-spoken stranger she and Tom had met while visiting the Tower Zoo. The stranger had in tow his nephew and niece and was showing them the lion enclosure, but every visitor was more interested in gazing on Jane, and she had no idea why. The sight of such majestic creatures so far from their homeland and kept in such a horrid space was quite depressingly sad, and perhaps this was why the tourists had turned their attention elsewhere? Yet this did not explain why every time she and Tom had ventured from Arlington Street in search of tourist spots, they had found themselves swamped by a veritable crowd of onlookers.

  The soft-spoken stranger had enlightened them, saying that in this city it was perfectly acceptable for its citizens, gentlemen and ladies alike, to stare at a pretty young woman as a matter of course. No one thought it at all ill-mannered. In fact, it was considered an honor to be thus singled out, and so the object of everyone’s admiration was expected to bestow a smile on all who admired her beauty.

  How bored all these men are, Jane thought, as she finally dropped her gaze to her cold hands, and how icy it was in this massive room of marble and wood without adequate light and warmth. She wished she owned a muff such as the one the lady beside her possessed. She enquired of the lady and her husband why there was no fire in the grate of the large fireplace, at which the middle-aged man with the Malacca cane laughed and shook his bewigged head.

  “If a fire were kept in here his lordship would have twice the number of petitioners waiting to see him.”

  “Yes, but as Lord Salt has only so many hours in the day, I doubt denying his petitioners some warmth is enough of a disincentive to keep people away, do you?” Jane replied mildly. “Providing a little comfort goes a long way in making people more agreeable, don’t you think?”

  The gentleman was momentarily taken aback by such a forthright speech from a wisp of a female, but his wife embraced Jane’s maxim wholeheartedly.

  “How right you are, my dear!” she agreed with a smile of approval. “This is our third and last Tuesday waiting to see his lordship, and every one has been as cold as the last.” She glanced around the imposing room, with its high ornate ceiling, wood paneling and marble floor, and at the long, tired faces, adding loudly, “I know his lordship can’t make allowances for the frosts, and he labors long and hard on behalf of those who owe him their allegiance, but it wouldn’t hurt to put a fire in the grate, and perhaps offer one or two more seats, or a bench.”

  “Hear, hear!” agreed an elderly man in an old-fashioned full-bottom wig.

  Several other gentlemen nodded their powdered heads, and there was a general low rumble of assent. Even the attending liveried footmen, who were chilled to the bone, cast the woman a look of approval.

  “Now, good wife, there ain’t reason for us to complain about his lordship,” the middle-aged gentleman reproved. “Not after all he’s done for our boy.”

  The woman was immediately repentant and said confidentially to Jane, as if she were a friend of long-standing, “We have a great deal to be thankful for in his lordship’s good offices. What with everything that’s usually heaped on his lordship’s plate, it was such a good kind act for Lord Salt to take Billy under his wing.”

  “Our son Billy is a very bright lad, and was up at Oxford with his lordship’s secretary, Mr. Ellis,” the husband added proudly. “He was determined to come to London to seek his fortune, little realizing the great hardship involved in securing gainful employment without the necessary good word of people of influence. We are well-connected people in our little corner of Wiltshire, make no mistake about that, miss, but the metropolis is cut from an altogether different cloth.”

  “And with five more children to launch into the world, it’s not as if we could help Billy as much as we would’ve liked to,” apologized the wife, an understanding smile up at her husband, who leaned in towards them with the aid of his Malacca cane to take the weight off his gouty toe, and to affectionately squeeze his wife’s shoulder.

  “But his lordship found a place for our Billy in the Foreign Department under the guidance of Sir Antony Templestowe,” continued the husband, adding proudly for Jane’s benefit, “Sir Antony is a most distinguished diplomatist, and Billy has every expectation of accompanying Sir Antony when next he embarks for foreign climes.”

  “Your son could do no better than have Lord Salt as his mentor,” commented Jane, feeling that the couple was seeking her endorsement of their son’s success. “And under Sir Antony’s wing, I know Lord Salt’s faith in him will be justly proved.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” said the wife, taking her warm hand from her muff and placing it on Jane’s cold fingers. “Goodness gracious! Your hands are as cold as the blocks of ice floating in the Thames! Should you like to borrow my muff for a few moments, child?”

  Jane shook her head and thanked the woman, more than ever selfconscious in her worn cloak, a gift from her father at Christmastime when she was seventeen that she hadn’t the heart to give up, not even when Mr. Allenby had presented her with a lovely new fur-lined velvet cloak with shiny silver buttons. She hid her cold hands in her lap under the cloak, the bitter cold from the marble floor seeping into her stockinged toes and up her thin ankles, and shivered, not from the cold but with apprehension of what was to come. It was the first time she had allowed herself to think about the consequences of going through with marriage to Lord Salt. The fact Tom was not with her increased her dread. He had gone to fetch his lawyer as witness, a stipulation of Jacob Allenby’s will, and promised to be at Grosvenor Square not an hour after she was set down at the Earl’s residence. The hour was almost up.

  “What a pity his lordship can’t find himself a wife as easily as he found our Billy employment,” the husband announced good-naturedly, which brought Jane out of her abstraction to ask curiously,

  “Why do you say so, sir?”

  “What, miss? A nobleman with his wealth and looks and an ancient coronet to pass on to his descendants, why wouldn’t Lord Salt want to marry? Stands to reason he’s in need of a countess by his side, wouldn’t you say so, wife?”

  “Indeed he does, sir!” agreed the wife, a look about the room to ensure their conversation was being listened to by the rest of the frozen occupants. “Why, his lordship even favors children… Well, indeed he must, for the last two Tuesdays we’ve been here, he’s always found an hour or two amongst his appointments to spend with Lady St. John’s son and daughter.”

  “The young lad’s his heir, wife,” confided the husband with a knowing point to his nose. “And between you and me and those of the local gentry in our little corner of the world who regularly join the Salt Hunt, there is every reason to believe he has his eye on making the Lady St. John his Countess. And a more suited couple I ask you to name!”

  At least a dozen powdered heads around the anteroom nodded in approval of this statement. There was a general rumble of consensus that the stately creature who had swept passed them with her retinue, without a look or a glance, had the noble bearing and condescending demeanor required in a Countess of Salt Hendon. A small number of petitioners were in silent dissent, glaring at the firmly shut double doors to the bookroom, all because they were being kept from their allotted appointment by the lady in question.

  One gentleman in an absurdly tall toupee, stockinged legs that showcased padded calves, and an armful of rolled parchments, and who had arrived in the anteroom only minutes before, dared to voice this silent resentment, saying in a
whining voice,

  “I say! But if her ladyship becomes Countess none of us will ever see the inside of that bookroom. I, for one, won’t. She don’t like poetry. She don’t like poetry at all.”

  Jane couldn’t help a smile at this pronouncement, which was light relief amongst the general run of conversation about Lord Salt’s need for a wife which had brought the heat into her pallid cheeks. The wife saw this and before her husband could launch into an attack against the young man in the absurdly tall toupee, said in a loud whisper,

  “Husband, hush now about his lordship. We have put this young woman to the blush with all our talk about wives and children for Lord Salt, and we’ve no right, not if she has come to join his lordship’s household. Oh, and look, the footmen are opening the doors!” She turned to Jane with a bright smile. “Mr. Ellis will soon be out with the list, so you won’t have to suffer the cold for much longer.”

  “My good woman, pray don’t raise the beauty’s expectations,” pronounced the gentleman in the absurdly tall toupee, who Jane noticed wore clothes cut from cloth befitting a gentleman. “Until Lady St. John makes her grand exit, there is little hope of a winter thaw anytime before spring.”

  He snorted so loudly at his own wit that a fine dusting of powder from his wig settled on his upper lip, causing him to sneeze and his armful of parchments tubes to fly up in the air before descending to scatter and roll away under chairs and across the marble floor. In panic did the gentleman-poet get down on all fours to scurry across cold marble with little thought to his rich attire, to retrieve his precious collection of poems, much to the delight and amusement of the petitioners.

  Jane felt sorry for the young man. She immediately went to retrieve one of his cylinders which had come to rest in her corner of the anteroom behind the gentleman with the cane. She had to stoop to pick it up, had it in her hand and was about to rise, when a female voice, close, clear and authoritative spoke above a general commotion of leave-taking. Accompanying this voice was a heady feminine scent that, as if by sorcery, made Jane instantly nauseated, and she sank down on the cold marble. It was not that the perfume itself was offensive. It was sweet-smelling with hints of lavender and rose, and had it been used in moderation, no one could have called it offensive. But to Jane, it conjured up echoes of the past, and she was forced to put a hand over her small nose and breathe deeply through her mouth, telling herself that the wave of nausea would pass, that there was no reason to panic.