‘Jem, you are a godsend.’ Antonia beamed at him, making him shuffle in confusion. ‘Come in and sit down while we finish this list of provisions. And tell me, Jem, are there any women in the village who would come and clean for us?'
‘Oh yes, M
iss.’ He wriggled, obviously embarrassed about something. ‘Well, that is, er…’
‘For a proper daily wage, of course,’ Donna said firmly and lifted an eyebrow at Antonia. They knew enough of Sir Humphrey to realise why Jem was doubtful. ‘And a rat catcher.’
‘That’ll be Walter Armitage, so long as he’s over his rheum,’ Jem said helpfully. ‘And what about a cat, Miss?’
‘That would be perfect, Jem, if you can find one. Now, here is the list. Do you remember everything we need?’
‘Provisions, rat catcher, cat, charwomen,’ Jem recited confidently. ‘And would you be needing a boy, Miss, for odd jobs, like?’ He stood twisting his cap in his hands and looking hopeful and, although it was a stretch, almost innocent.
‘We will,’ said Antonia. His cheerful open face, which was as clean as one could reasonably expect of a fourteen-year-old, broke into a wide grin. ‘But will your father not be requiring you to help around the inn?’
‘I can do all my chores by ten, Miss, and then be up here directly. I’ll have to be back for ’bout five, a’cos of the stage.’
‘Very well, Jem.’ Antonia settled on a daily wage which, although very modest, made the boy’s eyes gleam, then he shot off through the back door, the list clutched tightly.
‘That was fortuitous,’ Donna said. ‘And the first thing I am going to do when that boy gets back is to send him up the kitchen chimney to get rid of the birds’ nests.’ She unfurled a vast white apron, wrapped a cloth around her neat coiffure and, hands on hips, regarded the kitchen.
‘If you begin here,’ Antonia suggested, ‘I will attack the bedroom, then at least we can eat and sleep in comparative comfort.’
She dropped yesterday’s wrecked dress into a tub of cold water in the faint hope that, once clean, some of the cloth could be saved, swathed herself in an apron and marched upstairs.
She scrubbed at the misted glass hanging on the bedroom wall until she could see her own reflection in it and twisted up her hair under a turban like Donna’s. Really, her coiffure was a disgrace. The unruly brown curls needed the attention of a hairdresser regularly if she were not to look a complete romp, but just now she had neither time nor resources for such fripperies.
At least today’s sprig muslin dress, although faded, had no rips or tears. Antonia rolled up the sleeves, flung open the casement and set-to with a duster on a stick to knock down the cobwebs that swathed the walls. As one large spider after another was dislodged from its eyrie and scuttled for the open door, she gave thanks that the light the night before had been so poor.
By mid-morning the room was swept, dusted and aired. The hangings were in a heap on the floor for the washer-woman and only the bed remained to be attacked. It was a relief to find the mattress not as fusty as she had feared, once the sheets were removed. Even so, it, and the pillows, needed a thorough shake and air to refresh the flattened goose feathers. She dragged it to the window and draped it over the sill. It was too heavy to shake, so Antonia hung over and pummelled it vigorously with her hands.
There was an indignant shout from the path beneath as a shower of dust and stray feathers rained down. Startled, red-faced and still folded in two across the sill, Antonia raised her head to find Marcus Allington beating the dust from his coat.
‘Oh, He– , I mean I am so sorry…’ Even upside down as she looked into his face, he seemed amused rather than annoyed. She bit her lip, half-regretting the instinctive apology to a man who had treated her in such a cavalier fashion only the day before. It was bad enough to be manhandled by his keepers, but to have him force his attentions upon her and then arrive at her house unannounced was the outside of enough.
‘Were we expecting you?’ she enquired. ‘Perhaps you are missing a pheasant or two?’
‘I would not know, Miss Dane. I leave counting my birds to my keepers. And after your very convincing explanation of the circumstances yesterday, I would not dream of looking for them here in any case.’ The Duke seemed very cheerful this morning, and quite unperturbed both by her coldness and the unconventional circumstances. Antonia was visited by the sudden insight that, beneath his conventional exterior, Marcus Renshaw was a man who enjoyed the unexpected.
A strangely comfortable silence ensued. Then she realised his gaze was resting appreciatively on the quite appalling amount of cleavage she was displaying in her upside-down position.
Hastily she scrambled back over the sill, pulled the gown up at the neck, then, with as much dignity as she could muster, looked out again. ‘If you follow the path round to the back of the house you will find my companion, Miss Donaldson, in the kitchen.’
The Duke bowed rather ironically before sauntering off round the comer, hat still in hand. Antonia watched him, his tawny hair ruffled by the breeze, the breadth of his shoulders even more impressive seen from above. For goodness sake, pull yourself together, woman! Antonia put up her hands to remove her turban, then stopped. No. Why should she titivate herself for him when he had coolly arrived without a word of warning or a by-your-leave?
She shook out her skirts and apron and sailed down the stairs, only to discover as she reached the hall that her heart was beating uncomfortably fast. Well, he had caught her at a disadvantage, hanging out of the window in an unseemly manner, entirely inappropriate to her status as a gentlewoman. Anyone would be flustered in such circumstances. She would have felt just the same if it had been the vicar's wife.
Antonia plastered on a cool smile and entered the kitchen with the firm intention of treating Marcus Allington as if yesterday, and that kiss, had never occurred. She found Donna uncharacteristically flustered by being discovered standing on a chair, duster in hand.
‘Do allow me to hand you down, ma’am,’ the Duke was saying in a tone that suggested he was used to assisting middle-aged gentlewomen from kitchen chairs every day of his life.
‘Thank you, Your Grace. I am most grateful.’ Donna’s cheeks were pink as she hastily tossed the duster behind the settle. ‘Will you not take a cup of tea? Oh dear, I do wish I could suggest you took it in the drawing-room, but really, it is not – ’
‘ – fit for habitation,’ supplied Antonia, kicking the duster even further out of sight. ‘Good morning, Your Grace. How kind of you to call, I do trust you have had a pleasant ride over from Brightshill. I regret to say there is at least one dead pigeon – ours and long-dead, I hasten to add – in the drawing-room, so I feel you would be more comfortable here on the settle.’
‘Good morning, Miss Dane.’ He did not appear in the slightest put out. ‘I felt I should look in on you and reassure myself that you had recovered from yesterday’s excitements.’ His eyes met hers, a mischievous gleam in their dark brown depths. ‘You will, I know, forgive me for the informality of not leaving my card first.’
‘So kind. Allow me to introduce my companion, Miss Donaldson. Please sit down,’ Antonia said repressively as she went to help Donna with the tea things.