Page 7 of Marie’s Merry Gentleman (The Bookshop Belles #2)

CHAPTER 6

Mixed Signals

M arie looked around the parlour-turned bedroom, her heart full. It was truly kind of the housekeeper and staff to have gone to so much effort, though she was well aware that Mrs Ellwood would have done no such thing without explicit orders from her lord and master. Marie still wasn’t quite sure what to think about the earl at times, but there was no doubt he could be extremely generous when he wanted to be.

It was so much more convenient to be on the same floor as the other rooms she liked to visit, especially the library. She didn’t want to be ungrateful at all, but the room’s decor wasn’t really to her taste. The walls were a slightly nauseating shade of pink and the curtains a darker pink in heavy silk that must have cost a fortune. The furniture was rather nice, even if it didn’t quite match and she was sure it had been brought in from another room. Once the gentlemen had departed after nuncheon, she wheeled herself slowly about the room, pausing to look at the charming writing-desk by the window, well-stocked with paper, ink and quills. Having just written to her sisters, she thought she would not need to write again for a few days. Perhaps she’d make some more sketches to share in the next letter, and she would enjoy telling her sisters what she’d been doing, with the lovely people she’d met.

There was another door on the opposite side of the room to the one she had entered by. Curious, she opened it to find a large room on the other side with all the furniture blanketed in Holland covers.

“That there’s the music-room,” a voice said behind her.

Caught snooping, Marie jolted guiltily in her chair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy,” she began.

Mrs Ellwood laughed, coming to stand beside her. “Miss, if his lordship didn’t want you in there, he’d have told me to lock the doors. The twins are allowed in whenever they please, to come and look at that picture.” The housekeeper pointed across the room, to a large portrait hanging on the rear wall. It was of an extraordinarily beautiful woman dressed in a pink gown. Golden ringlets cascaded over creamy shoulders, her mouth open in a soft laugh. She looked so vibrantly alive Marie half-thought she might step out of the portrait.

Mrs Ellwood said, “That’s their mother.”

Marie blinked, looking back at the housekeeper. “George and Richard’s mother?”

“Aye, the last countess.” Mrs Ellwood’s mouth screwed up as though she’d tasted something bad. “We try not to speak of her in this house. But she did leave something behind which may be of use - trunks and armoires full of clothes! Morag and I have brought a few things down you might like to try on.”

“I couldn’t possibly!” Marie exclaimed in horror.

“But you must!” Mrs Ellwood shook her head. “You’ve only a couple of dresses with you, and you’ll be here for weeks - and his lordship agrees with me, what you have isn’t suitable for our cold northern winters. Now come over here with me…”

Mrs Ellwood could be rather forceful when she set herself at something she perceived to be a problem, and Marie found herself wheeled over to the bed, where Morag was piling dresses in what looked to be every conceivable shade of pink.

“The former countess liked pink, then?” Marie asked. That would explain the curtains, and the walls.

“Didn’t wear much else.” Mrs Ellwood made that face again. “Except after the old earl passed. Wore some darker clothes for a while then, though nothing like what I’d call respectable mourning. Come to think of it… Morag, go up and fetch that nice dark blue wool dress, and the lavender one. They’d both look very nice on Miss Baxter.”

“Aye, mum.” Morag trotted off again, and Mrs Ellwood held up a lovely pale grey cloak, the hood lined with a soft silvery fur. It was quite beautiful, and Marie couldn’t resist reaching out to feel the thickly woven lambswool.

“More your style, Miss Baxter?” Mrs Ellwood asked knowingly.

It was beautiful. “Oh yes, if I could afford something of this quality!”

“Does no good mouldering away here, Miss. You should wear it.”

She barely believed her good fortune. “And… his lordship is happy for me to use these things?” Marie asked, a little doubtfully. From the tiny clues of context Mrs Ellwood had let slip, she wondered if the staff hadn’t liked the former countess much, but the earl must have loved her, surely? The woman was stunning. Doubtless the earl kept her portrait in the music room where he rarely went because it must break his heart to look at her.

“He said I could give you anything you’d find of use,” Mrs Ellwood replied, and Marie didn’t remark on the fact that the housekeeper hadn’t actually answered the question she’d asked.

Morag returned with three more dresses, in navy, lilac, and a lovely rust-coloured gown Mrs Ellwood exclaimed over, saying she’d not noticed that. “I don’t think the countess ever even wore it, decided she didn’t like it after it was delivered. It’ll look a treat with your colouring, Miss Baxter!”

It was a beautiful dress, skillfully made with fine lace at the collar and the cuffs of the long sleeves. Marie rubbed the thick, warm wool between her fingers before nodding. “It’s lovely, Mrs Ellwood.” Marie looked over the rest of the outfits and declared, “If you’re quite sure it’s all right… I think perhaps I’ll avoid wearing any of the pink gowns as I wouldn’t want to cause anyone any distress. But these three here in colours she didn’t wear, I could borrow those.”

“Very good, miss. We’ll take these pink ones back upstairs when we’ve helped you dress.”

Carefully, the housekeeper and the maid helped Marie into the rust-coloured gown. These warmer clothes were made of thicker cloth than she was used to; they were heavier on her body, and she had to be careful not to lose her balance as she placed her weight on her right foot.

With the fire burning away in the hearth, she felt properly warm for the first time since leaving Hertfordshire. With tender care, Mrs Ellwood pulled an oversized sock over Marie’s injured foot to keep her toes warm.

The pale grey cloak sat perfectly on her shoulders, as she tucked it about the chair so that it didn’t become caught in the wheels. “Thank you, Mrs Ellwood, thank you Morag, these clothes shall do me very well.”

Mrs Ellwood beamed at the compliment. “It’s a good thing you’ve darker hair than the late countess, otherwise his lordship will think he’s seen a ghost.”

It was an overdone compliment. Bernadette was the beauty in the Baxter family, not she. And compared to the countess’s portrait, Marie was but a sparrow. But it was nice to be compared to a woman with such beautiful features all the same.

“He must miss her a great deal,” she said.

“That’s one way to put it,” Mrs Ellwood said cryptically.

Morag said something unintelligible, but the tone sounded rude to Marie’s ears.

A silence descended as Marie wheeled herself back toward the music room, guessing at what might be under those Holland covers.

“Is that a pianoforte?” she asked, pointing at a familiar shape.

“It is at that. Do you play?” Mrs Ellwood asked as she and Morag moved toward it.

“I do,” Marie said as the women carefully removed the cover and stirred up a little dust.

With some help from Morag to steer her chair, she found herself sitting next to the pianoforte, her hands reaching the keys. She pressed a scale of notes and pulled her hand up in surprise. “It’s in tune?”

“Aye,” Mrs Ellwood confirmed. “Han’t been played f’ years, but his lordship gets it tuned ev’ry autumn’n any case.”

Her accent sounded thicker and Marie saw her wipe away a tear.

“You must miss her so much as well.”

Mrs Ellwood straightened up, pursed her lips and said, “Her companion Miss Ramsgate was a dear lass, but after the countess died, she went back home.”

Again, not really answering the specific question Marie had asked. It was as if the housekeeper was doing everything she could not to mention the late countess at all.

Instead of pressing her on the issue, Marie began to play a French folk tune her mother had taught her, about a woman waving her sweetheart goodbye as he set off to make his fortune.

“Her ghost is waiting still, by the window sill, for the beau that never came…”

“Bit maudlin, innit?” Mrs Ellwood said.

“Yes, you’re correct, I shall…”

In the corner of her vision, she saw two little heads pull back from behind some more furniture, also covered in blinds.

She exaggerated her speech so they would hear her. “It appears, Mrs Ellwood, that I have a larger audience than I expected. Two little mice hiding behind the chaise!”

“Mice!” Mrs Ellwood exclaimed, spinning around in horror.

“Not real mice. We heard the pianoforte,” young Richard said, poking his head out and grinning at Marie.

“And we wanted to see who was playing,” George finished for him.

“Did your mother play often?” she asked, thinking the children might not be so reticent with information.

“Her friend Miss Ramsgate did, but she’s not here any more.”

“Do either of you play?” she asked.

They shook their heads in unison, emerging from their hiding spot and coming to stand beside the pianoforte.

“I suppose your days are full of other lessons,” she said.

“I’d best get back to it,” Mrs Ellwood said, excusing herself. She tisked toward Morag for her to leave them alone as well, even though Morag appeared to be enjoying herself. “Come on, lass, we’ve those other dresses to put away. Let’s be about it.”

“Thank you again, both of you, for all your help,” Marie said as they made their way out. Then she turned to the boys and asked, “Do you sing?”

They curled up their noses and shrugged their shoulders.

“I’m sure you’re both very good. Do you know The Twelve Days of Christmas?”

“I like that one, it’s fun!” George said, his face brightening a little. “Birds everywhere!”

Marie began to play the opening notes and they sang together with vigour, not caring if they hit the wrong key in their singing. As they reached some of the later days, the twins became muddled with the order of swimming swans, leaping lords and ladies dancing and fell into fits of laughter. Marie kept playing and laughing at the same time. The boys drew in a huge breath ahead of crying out, “Five goooooooold rings!”

By the time they reached the end of the song they were red in the face and out of breath, their faces split with happy smiles.

It took them a while to get their breaths back, but soon they were sitting down and begging her to play another song.

“I’m not positioned quite correctly to get to all the notes I want to reach. Could you help me adjust the chair?”

Her wheeled chair was not as close to the pianoforte as the regular playing stool would be. George carefully rolled the chair back and forth a little until she had a much better position.

“Do you know this one?” she asked, playing another hymn that her mother had taught her. This one was in Latin, so the boys would most likely pick it up.

“Adeste Fideles laeti triumphantes, Venite,

venite in Bethlehem. Natum videte, Regem Angelorum;

Venite adoremus, venite adoremus, venite adoremus Dominum!”

The boys joined in heartily.

“We sing that at school,” Richard said.

“Excellent!” She tried another that she was sure they would enjoy, even if they didn’t know the words. “I saw three ships come sailing in,” she started. It was a lively tune and the boys clapped along. They soon picked up the repeated lines and joined in the song.

When that song was done, they all cheered each other.

“I’m so glad you’re staying for Christmas,” George said.

“Could we learn singing instead of French?” Richard asked.

Marie laughed at their lack of enthusiasm for that language, but she was beginning to feel personally invested in improving their fluency. Understanding and speaking French would get them further in life than Latin, she was sure of it. “How about I teach you a French song?”

“Yes please!” they chorused.

Marie moved to place her hands on the keys but suddenly stopped. “I’ve just had an idea. How about we put on a concert for your father for Christmas?”

The boys’ eyes rounded with surprise and delight, and they immediately began to speak over the top of each other about how much fun that would be.

Mr Charles came in just then, obviously alerted to his charges’ location by hearing the singing, and George and Richard immediately begged their tutor to allow them to rehearse for a Christmas concert.

To Marie’s delight, Mr Charles seemed quite enthused about the idea.

“It can be a surprise for Father!” George said happily.

Marie met Mr Charles’ eyes, and saw her own amusement reflected there. Keeping a surprise of this sort of volume wasn’t going to be possible, even in a place the size of Alston Castle.

“The earl does like to go out riding most mornings,” Mr Charles said thoughtfully, playing along with the ruse. “Perhaps when we see him go out on his horse, we can come here and rehearse, if Miss Baxter is willing to play for us.”

“And if Morag can be permitted a small time off from her duties, she could join us,” Marie suggested. “She has the most beautiful singing voice, and perhaps she knows some Christmas songs in Gaelic. I’ll ask Mrs Ellwood.”

When the housekeeper popped her head around the door a few minutes later to find them singing “God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen”, Marie asked if Morag could be spared to join the rehearsal.

“Aye, I suppose,” Mrs Ellwood said, though she did pause for a moment first, looking at Mr Charles. “I’ll send her down.”

Marie noticed the glance and wondered if there was something she shouldn’t ask about. After all, she was merely a guest and did not want to pry.

A few minutes later Mrs Ellwood and Morag arrived at their impromptu salon.

Morag nodded to Marie, then smiled at Mr Charles and moved to stand beside him at the pianoforte. Mrs Ellwood quickly placed herself bodily between the two people and ushered Morag around to the other side. “Your voice is higher, you should be on the other side,” the housekeeper said.

“Aye an oot o’ the way!” Morag muttered under her breath as she took up position on the other side. She smiled warmly at Mr Charles, who made a slight gulp and hastily turned his gaze away, fixing it firmly on Marie.

Marie might not literally understand what the young maid was saying, but she was getting a fair idea from the looks passing around the room.

She cleared her throat and asked, “Morag, do you have a carol we might all sing?”

Morag’s voice was clear and sweet.

“Shid ald akwentans bee firgot, an nivir brocht ti mynd? Shid ald akwentans bee firgot,

an ald lang syn?”

Marie quickly picked up the tune as she’d heard it before over the past few years. She knew the chorus and had the rest of them joining in with a mix of Gaelic and English.

“Fir ald lang syn, ma jo, fir ald lang syn, wil tak a cup o kyndnes yet, fir ald lang syn.”

Morag was in her element, directing her song to Mr Charles. The tutor appeared transfixed and yet also trapped. The sooner this song finished, the better for the poor young man. But lo, Morag had another verse in her:

“An sheerly yil bee yur pynt-staup! an sheerly al bee myn! An will tak a cup o kyndnes yet, fir ald lang syn.”

Marie stopped playing and applauded, “Bravo, how beautiful!” George and Richard did the same. Soon she began to play a sweet little French rhyme she hoped everyone would know.

“Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines! Din, din, don. Din, din, don.”

This led perfectly to singing rounds, with Marie and Morag starting off, Mrs Ellwood and Mr Charles singing the middle and the boys bringing it all home.

When it came to the end, there were smiles all around at how well they sang together. Morag said something to Mr Charles, but he either couldn’t understand her or pretended not to. He then turned to Marie and said, “I’m terribly sorry to spoil the fun, but I must take the boys back to the classroom for the remainder of their lessons.”

Richard and George made some low mutters of displeasure, but Marie assured them they could come back for more singing tomorrow, as soon as their father rode out.

Mrs Ellwood moved quickly to intercept Morag as she made a beeline for the tutor. Marie could hear her, but the teacher and the boys were already walking away by this point.

“Pull yer eyes back into your head, lass. You’re reaching much farther than your sleeves will let you with that young man!”

The particular expression was unfamiliar to Marie, but the tone of the housekeeper was not. Marie might need glasses to read, but she could clearly see how Morag was besotted with the young tutor. He was handsome, so it was not unexpected that he could turn heads, but his future was in the church and he would need a suitably dutiful and possibly more placid life companion than this wild, uneducated Scottish lass.

All the same, Marie felt sorry for the young maid. She must be lonely on this mountain surrounded by no suitable suitors of her own age.

Morag made herself busy with re-stocking the fire, then curtseyed and took the cold tea tray away to the kitchens for a refill, her pretty face sullen the whole while.

“It’s all right, Mrs Ellwood,” Marie said as the maid departed, keeping her voice low. “She may be young and a little silly, but I’m sure she meant no harm.”

“That matters not. What matters is that Mr Charles is a respectable young man who doesn’t need distractions coming between him and a life of service in the Church, especially from a heathen!” Mrs Ellwood tutted and shook her head. “There’s plenty of men will be keen to court a pretty lass like that one, once spring comes and folks are stirring from their hearths again. She needs to stop making eyes at those who aren’t for her. Especially his lordship!” The housekeeper swept out on that final word, leaving Marie suddenly wondering if that last line had been aimed in her direction. Did Mrs Ellwood think Marie had been making eyes at the earl? She hoped not. Marie wasn’t silly; she was well aware that the earl was far, far out of reach for the likes of her.

With a sigh, Marie gently closed the lid of the pianoforte and pushed the toes of her good foot against the floor, pushing her chair back so she could begin the laborious process of steering herself back to her room. She was tired, the slightest beginnings of a headache making themselves felt after the noisiness of the last hour. Perhaps she would lie down for a little while before joining the earl in his library.