Monday for Tea

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 13

Haverford House, London, July 1812

Her strategy had worked very well, and she had gloried in her two little girls. Haverford’s disinterest had the benefit that she did not need to counter his influence in choosing servants or selecting tutors. She had no need to fear he would suddenly command the children’s attendance and carry them off to activities that no child should witness.

Indeed, the presence of their little sisters had much to do with the sweetness of character both of her sons managed to retain, and the truth that their treatment of women was so much better than their father had taught them.

She could trust Aldridge to manage this situation with Haverford. Her son would get Haverford to the castle, and Eleanor must go and prepare for an evening in Society. The future of her girls might depend on the social alliances she strengthened tonight.

It was some time later that Eleanor realised Aldridge hadn’t asked, and she hadn’t explained, why she needed to hear that Sutton was unhurt before the rest of Society got hold of the story. Had anyone been listening, they would think that Sutton was more to her than a fond memory.

 

Chapter Six

Haverford House, London, July 1812

As soon as she arrived home, Eleanor ordered a tea tray to her room and then sent the servants away. Her visit to Miss Clemens’ Oxford Street Book Palace and Tea Rooms had left her trembling, but gloriously happy.

Grace and Georgie had been unable to attend their arranged meeting, but James had come in their stead. No, Sutton. No, James. She would call him James in her own thoughts. She had seen him, of course, in the street or at various entertainments. But to see him up close—to touch him, even with her gloved hands! To talk with him for upwards of half an hour, just the two of them, alone!

Ah, she was every kind of fool. The Earl of Sutton was famous for having defied his father to remain with the Persian princess he married; the mother of his children. They had spoken of her today, the Princess Mahzad. James loved her still; it was in every word he spoke of her. Poor James, a widower for more than a decade.

But they had talked! It was a gift beyond price. Perhaps, when all this nonsense with Haverford was over, she and James could be friends?

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 12

Haverford House, London, July 1812

She had intended only the one—a daughter to satisfy the longing for a little girl to raise and love. But fate had other ideas, and the second child arrived within a matter of months.

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Haverford House, London, September 1792

When Mrs Watterson had asked for this meeting, she had seemed so nervous that the Eleanor had offered to meet her in the housekeeper’s sitting room, thinking the woman might be more at ease on her own ground. It had made no appreciable difference. The housekeeper sat bolt upright, not sipping from her cup, her knuckles white with tension, her voice strained as she tried to make conversation.

Mrs Watterson praised the baby, little Miss Matilda, reminding Eleanor that she would far rather be upstairs in the nursery than down here in the cluttered little room, where the furniture was overstuffed and the fire too hot.

Eleanor was discovering the joys of mothering a baby, and would have spent the whole day in the nursery with her little ward, had her duties allowed. The duchess was a mother twice over, but both the ducal heir and the spare had been taken from her at birth, handed over to a retinue of servants, and thereafter presented for a ceremonious inspection for a few minutes a day whenever she and they happened to be in the same residence.

When Aldridge was born, she had been so oppressed by her marriage and the expectations that crushed her, she had accepted the duke’s dictate: that aristocratic women had little to do with the children they produced for the well-being of the title. By the time Jonathan arrived, she had recovered some of her confidence, but the pregnancy and birth, coming after years of miscarriages, left her frail both emotionally and physically, and her little boy had been six months old when she wrested control of the nursery from the despot who had ruled there since Haverford appointed her in the early days of their marriage.

The woman had been gone for more than five years, and sweet little Matilda was in the care of her replacement: a woman chosen by Eleanor, with testimonials from people Eleanor trusted, and completely devoid of the physical attributes that were the only qualifications of interest to the duke when he interviewed a female for any position.

An apology dragged Eleanor’s attention back to the conversation. Mrs Watterson had finally begun to approach the matter that had her so anxious. “Forgive my impertinence, Your Grace,” she said, “but is it true that Miss Matilda… that her mother…?”

Seeing Eleanor’s raised brows, she rushed on. “I don’t ask out of idle curiosity, ma’am. It is just that…”

All suddenly became clear. Eleanor sighed. “One of the  maids? Or a villager’s child?”

Much of the tension rushed out of Mrs Watterson, expelled in a huff of air. “My niece, Your Grace. I would not have said anything, but…” Tears began to roll down the pale cheeks.

Eleanor patted her hand. “I shall help, of course. A pension. A place to live in a village where she isn’t known.”

Mrs Watterson shook her head, the tears increasing in volume. Eleanor suppressed a sigh for her lost afternoon with Matilda, and devoted her energies to soothing the housekeeper and eliciting the rest of the story.

It was a sad tale, but one she had heard many times before during nearly fifteen years of marriage to the Duke of Haverford. Jessie, the orphaned daughter of Mrs Waterson’s only sister, worked for a neighbouring household. “I would not have her in this house, Your Grace, saving your pardon,” the housekeeper said. It did not save the girl. She was returning from an errand to the village when a gentleman (Mrs Watterson began ‘His Gr…’ then changed the word) overtook her on the road. He saw that she was young and pretty, and led her off into the woods on the side of the road. Having exercised what he regarded as his rights, he rode on his way.

Jessie told no one until six months later, when one of the maids with whom she shared a room noticed the swelling she had managed, until then, to conceal. Of course, she was dismissed, but her aunt found her lodgings in the village, and paid for her keep and the services of the midwife. “It was a hard birth, Your Grace,” Mrs Watterson explained. “Little Jessica survived, but my niece did not. I’m the only kin she has, poor little baby, and what is to become of her?”

Haverford had only just noticed Matilda, and had not been pleased. Eleanor had managed to threaten him in a way that did not cause his unstable temper to explode. Another of his by-blows in his nursery might be a straw too far, and when Haverford was angry, he cared nothing for consequences.

On the other hand, Matilda would benefit from growing up with another little girl of much the same age. The seven-year age gap between Aldridge and Jonathan meant they both lacked companionship, except for that of their servants.

Eleanor temporised. “Where is the baby now, Mrs Watterson?”

“The midwife knew a woman who could feed her, Your Grace, having recently lost her own youngest. Mrs Fuller. It was the best I could do, ma’am, but I don’t want to leave her there.”

Eleanor didn’t blame her. Cold, neglect, and disease carried off Mrs Fuller’s children with alarming frequency. She was one of those women that every village seems to produce–almost certainly not entitled to the honorific, making a living for herself and her surviving offspring by serving drinks and food in the local tavern, and other more intimate services wherever a man with a coin might care to take her. Eleanor had tried to help the female into an honourable job, but whether she was too beaten down by life or just preferred earning her living on her back, the experiment had not worked out.

Eleanor stood. “Very well, Mrs Watterson. We shall visit Mrs Fuller and meet little Jessica. Then we shall see.”

She had, of course, already made up her mind. No need to tell His Grace this was another of his unwanted children. This time, she would not even wait until he noticed. She would simply announce that she had taken in another orphan to keep Matilda company. She would not discuss the child’s origins. As long as he did not feel she was censuring his behaviour, he probably wouldn’t care.

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 11

Haverford House, London, May 1792

Tolly advised against the meeting. He said he would deal with Miss Kelly’s problem. “I quite agree Haverford ought to do something to assist the opera dancer, given he is the immediate cause of the young female losing her job and needing to spend all her savings.” Haverford would not, so it was for Tolly and Eleanor to intervene, as they had before. “You should not speak to such persons yourself,” Tolly insisted. Tolly was quite firm on the subject, which Eleanor found sad, since his mother had been another such person.

Eleanor had insisted, so here was Miss Kelly, sitting in one of the smaller parlours at Haverford House, a delicate tea cup cradled in both hands.

She was exceptionally pretty; slender, with a heart-shaped face framed by dark curly hair, and blue eyes that were currently wide with wonder as she looked around the parlour.

The duchess allowed her a few minutes, until she overcame her curiosity and remembered her manners. “I beg yer pardon, Your Grace. It’s rude, it is, to be staring at yer things like this. I can’t be telling ye how grateful I am that ye agreed to see me.”

“I must also admit to curiosity, Miss Kelly,” Eleanor replied. “The gentleman who brought you here advised against my seeing you, but I ignored him.”

The question, ‘and why was that?’ sparked in Miss Kelly’s expressive eyes, but she simply repeated, “I am grateful.”

Eleanor leaned forward to examine the unfortunate consequence of Miss Kelly’s association with the Duke of Haverford, currently asleep in a basket at Miss Kelly’s feet. The little girl was well wrapped against the cold, but the tiny face was adorable. Dark wisps of curl had escaped from the knitted bonnet, and a tiny hand clutched the blanket, pink dimples at the base of each chubby finger.

“My friend tells me that you seek a home for the baby,” Eleanor commented.

Miss Kelly heard the question. “I cannot be taking her home, you see. I have a chance… There’s a man. He wanted to wed me when my Ma and Pa died, but I had my head full o’ dreams. He went home without me, but he’ll take me yet. He knows how it is for girls like me. He’ll not blame me for not being a maid, but—Patrick is a proud man, Your Grace. He’ll not raise another man’s babe. Or if he does, he’ll make it no life for her, and we’d finish up hating one another and the poor wee girleen.”

Eleanor could see the point. “So, you will leave her behind.”

Miss Kelly must have assumed a criticism in that. “I’d keep her if I could, Your Grace, but here in London? How can a girl like me earn enough to support her and keep her with me? I want a good home for her; somewhere safe where she can grow up to better than her Ma. Then what happens to me don’t matter, so I might as well take Patrick as not. Better than another protector. Leastwise, if I get another baby in my belly, I’ll have a man to stand by me.”

As Haverford had not. He had turned his pregnant mistress out of the house in which he’d installed her, with a few pounds to ‘get rid of the brat’. Miss Kelly did not have to tell Eleanor that part of the story. She knew it well enough from past liaisons. Tolly proposed to find a childless couple who wanted a daughter to love.

At that moment, the baby opened her eyes, looked around with apparent interest, then fixed her gaze on Eleanor, or—more probably—on the diamonds sparkling in Eleanor’s ear lobes. The little treasure smiled, and reached up her arms, babbling an incomprehensible phrase.

Eleanor was on her knees beside the basket, reaching for the dear child before she thought to look up and ask permission. “May I?”

When she called for her secretary, thirty minutes later, little Matilda was still in Eleanor’s arms. “Ah. Clara. This is Miss Kelly. She will be staying in the nursery for the next few days. I need you to hire me a wet nurse and a nanny to look after Matilda after Miss Kelly leaves. I also want to purchase a smallholding in—Kinvara, was it not? It shall be your dowry, Miss Kelly.”

It was nearly five months before the Duke of Haverford discovered that the nursery, recently vacated by his younger son Jonathan, was once again occupied. He was moved to challenge his wife on her presumption, but her only response was to tell him the child’s full name—Matilda Angelica Kelly Grenford—and to add that the scandal of her presence was long past, but the scandal of her removal would be ongoing. As his duchess and a leading figure in Society, the woman had the power to make the outrageous threat stick. He dealt with the impertinence in his usual fashion. He left, and never mentioned the little girl’s existence again.

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 10

Chapter Five

Haverford House, London, July 1812

The Duchess of Haverford took tea in her rooms this quiet Monday afternoon. She was alone for once; even the maid who brought the tray sent off back to the servants’ hall. Her life was such a bustle, and for the most part, that was how she liked it, but just for once, it was nice to have an afternoon to herself. No meetings. No entertainments to attend or offer. Not even any family members—her current companion had gone to visit her mother for her afternoon off, Aldridge was about his own business, her youngest ward was at lessons, and the two older girls had been invited on an outing with a friend.

As to Haverford, who knew where he was? But he would not disturb her here.

The thought had barely crossed her mind when a knock sounded; not the discreet tap of a servant, but a firm rap. Not the duke. He wouldn’t knock. “Enter,” she called.

Aldridge let himself into the room.  He greeted her with his usual aplomb, asked after her day, but she could tell immediately that he was agitated. “What is wrong, my son?”

“I have no easy way to say this, Mama.” He knelt before her and took her hands. “Sutton has been assaulted in the street, and his schoolroom party was also attacked. A runaway brewer’s dray that was not a runaway at all.” He squeezed her hands, pulling her back from her sudden dizziness. “Sutton gave his assailants a drubbing, and the children and their attendants are unhurt, thanks to swift action on the part of their escort.”

Eleanor let out the air she was holding. “Thank goodness! And thank you, my dear, for letting me know before gossip made it so much worse.”

Aldridge frowned slightly. “There is more. I heard of the assault on Sutton before it happened, and arrived with help just after. Mama, my secretary was asked to be the paymaster for the assailants. And guess who gave him the command.”

She knew before her son said it. Breathed the words with him. “His Grace? Surely not. After the assassin at the duel, why would he do something like this again?”

“His Grace.” Aldridge confirmed. He leapt to his feet and paced the room, not able to keep still for a moment, his body expressing the agitation his face refused to display. “He is getting worse, Mama. Whether it would have happened anyway, or whether the arrival of Sutton lit the flame, he lives on the point of explosion.”

“I know, my dear.” She knew better than Aldridge, in fact. Despite the long estrangement between her and her husband, they nonetheless lived in the same house, attended some of the same social gatherings, worked side-by-side for the same political causes. Aldridge kept largely to his own wing when he was under the same roof as his parents, which was increasingly rare. He managed all the vast business of the duchy, but Haverford had long since let go those reins to the extent that his only association with Aldridge tended to be through the bills and notes of hand that arrived regularly to be paid.

Aldridge thumped the mantlepiece. “This latest start… if word gets out that Haverford was behind the attack on Sutton and his family, it will be a disaster. Sutton would be well within his rights to demand Haverford’s trial for attempted murder. This family is no stranger to scandal, Mama, and there’s no doubt in my mind His Grace deserves to be hanged, silken noose or not, but…”

Eleanor’s distress was such she found herself chewing her lip. “Thank God no one was seriously hurt.”

“Thank Sutton and his sons for their warrior-craft, and my secretary for telling me in time to lead a rescue.” Aldridge heaved a deep sigh and took another fast turn around the carpet. “He intended murder, Mama, and when I confronted him with it, he laughed and said he did it for England. He has gone too far, Mama. If he is found out, he puts us all at risk. What if the Regent decides to regard a murder attempt on another peer as treason?”

Eleanor had not considered that possibility. The title could be attainted, the lineage considered corrupt. Aldridge had worked for years to rebuild the wealth of the duchy after his father’s mismanagement. He could lose it all, including the title, and the Prince would be delighted to benefit.

Haverford had become more and more erratic as the year progressed. He insulted and alarmed other people at every event he attended, completely ignoring social conventions and saying whatever he thought, often using the foulest of language. Thankfully, he was showing less and less inclination to go into Polite Society. Even so, the duchess frequently needed to use all her considerable tact and diplomacy to soothe ruffled feathers and quiet the gossip that claimed the duke was going mad.

“He is going mad,” she acknowledged to her son, the one person in the world who could be trusted with the knowledge. “It is the French Disease, I am sure. It is rotting his brain.”

“We cannot bring in doctors to examine him, Mama. Who knows what would come of that; what he would say and who they would tell? He cannot be allowed to continue, however.”

Eleanor frowned. It was a conundrum. Who could prevent a duke from doing whatever he pleased?

Aldridge, apparently. “I have made arrangements. He has been persuaded to travel to Haverford Castle. When he arrives, trusted servants know to keep him there. He will be comfortable, Mama. I have arranged for him to be entertained, and have nurses on hand in case he needs them. The disease will kill him in the next year or two, probably, and he is likely to be bedridden long before the end.”

He was brave, her son. He was breaking the laws of God and man in showing such disobedience to his father and a peer of the realm. She was sure God would understand, but the Courts might not. She would not ask about the entertainment Aldridge had provided. Knowing Haverford as she did, she did not want to know details. “He must never be set free,” she concluded. Should anyone find out he was insane, the scandal would be enormous. Worse still for Aldridge.

“I understand that such spells may come and go, so we need to be prepared for him to return to sanity, at least for a time,” Aldridge cautioned. “But if that does not happen, my instructions are to keep him from understanding he is imprisoned for as long as possible. With luck, the confusion in his mind will prevent him from ever working it out. I needed you to know, Mama, for two reasons. First, we need a story for the ton. Second, if he does not recover and if anything happens to me, it will be for you to keep him confined until Jon returns to be heir in my place.”

“I hope dear Jonathan comes home soon, Aldridge. I miss my son. But do not speak of your demise, my dear. I could not bear it.”

Aldridge stopped beside her and bent to kiss her forehead. “You are the strongest woman I know, dearest. Fret not. I am careful, and I intend to live to grow old.”

Eleanor hoped so. She certainly hoped so.

After he left, she sat and stared at her escritoire, the concealer of her secrets. If Haverford’s madness came out, what would it do her darling wards, the daughters of her heart? Her two eldest had only just made their debut this year, and the rumours about their origins made their lives hard enough!

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 9

Tolly blinked. Clearly, that was not what he expected.

“Blackmail?” he stuttered in response. “Is he… Has he…”.

Eleanor pursed her lips, considering how much to tell him, then nodded decisively. “I shall be frank, Tolly. You shall not be shocked, for you know the duke even better than I do, in some ways. Some time ago, when he gave me a loathsome disease he picked up from one of his intimate companions, you helped me broker an agreement with him. He intends to repudiate the agreement. I intend to prevent him from doing so.”

Tolly was reduced to stammering again. “I am sorry, Eleanor.”

Eleanor waved off his commiserations. “I need to a truce with him, Tolly, for he has the power to keep my children from me. I wish to live apart, but in the same house. Will you find me the ammunition to bend him to my will?”

Tolly sat back. She knew he admired her. Would he be willing to fight the duke for her? It would not be easy. The Duke of Haverford was one of the most powerful men in the country. He feared little and was embarrassed by nothing.

She was relieved when he said, “I think I may be able to help, Eleanor. I have a couple of ideas.”

Eleanor’s smile broadened. “I have in mind to be a proper mother to my children; one who spends time with them as real mothers do, and also to do good for others with my position and my wealth. I can build a good life, Tolly, if I can just keep Haverford at arms’ length.”

Tolly narrowed his eyes as he thought. “I shall investigate, Eleanor. He will have secrets that will embarrass even him. I will find them for you.”

“Thank you, Tolly.”

He gave her a distracted smile as he continued to list strategies. “Entertainments,” he said. “Eleanor, build alliances with the other great ladies of the ton and become a formidable hostess. You have it in you. If you have the support of the ladies, Haverford will have to think twice about acting against you.”

Perfect! She knew he would be the right person to talk to. “And if I continue to host his political cronies and support his public life, he will have far less objection to my removing myself from his private one.”

“You will have to fight him for influence over Aldridge,” Tolly warned.

“I know,” Eleanor agreed. “But I have an advantage there, my friend. I have never bullied or beaten my son.” She lifted her cup as if it was filled with port or brandy rather than tea. “To my freedom, Tolly.”

He grinned and returned the salute. “To your freedom.”

Haverford House, London, July 1812

She had been free, too; as much as a woman could be when married to the Duke of Haverford. She had been cautious about using the information that Tolly brought her. Haverford in a rage would ignore his own best interests, and any scandal would hurt her children and her other protegees as well as him. But usually, she had been able to live as she pleased.

She had considerable freedom, the opportunity to help others, and her children—what more could any woman expect?

At the firm rap on her door, she tucked the cloth rabbit away, slid the hidden compartment back into place and moved the panels to return the escritoire to its normal appearance. She knew that knock. “Enter,” she called.

As expected, the visitor was Aldridge. Also as expected. He had been coming to her to be calmed after he’d worked himself into a fury since he was a little boy.

“Brandy, rather than tea, I think, my dear,” she said to him. She was so proud of her son. In the silent battle for Aldridge’s spirit, Haverford had done some damage, but the young marquis still retained his kindness and his innate decency. Eleanor was grateful for that.

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 8

Chapter Four

Haverford House, London, June 1812

Eleanor had withdrawn to her private sitting room, driven there by His Grace’s shouting. Her son, the Marquis of Aldridge, was as angry as she had ever seen him, his face white and rigid and his eyes blazing, but he kept his voice low; had even warned the duke about shouting.

“Let us not entertain the servants, Your Grace, with evidence of your villainy.”

Unsurprisingly, the duke had taken exception to the cutting words and had shouted even louder.

Could it be true? Had Haverford paid an assassin to kill the sons of the man he insisted as seeing as his rival? An assassin with a pistol in the woods who had been caught before he could carry out his wicked commission.

His Grace’s jealousy made no sense. Yes, James was back in England, but what did that matter to Haverford?

He had been furious when James and his family attended their first ball, and beside himself with rage when Society refused to accept that the prodigal returned was an imposter. She expected him to continue to attack the new Earl of Sutton with words. Even his petition to the House of Lords to have James’s marriage declared invalid and his children base-born was typical of Haverford. But to pay for an assassin?

He had failed. She would hold onto that. And Aldridge was more than capable of holding his own.

As she sat there with her tea tray, sheltering from the anger of her menfolk, she gave thanks that her son had not been ruined by his father’s dictates over how he should be raised. She had been able to mitigate some of the damage, but more than that, his younger brother Jonathan and his older half-brother David had been his salvation, giving him the confidence that he was loved and the awareness that he was not the centre of the entire world.

Aldridge’s fundamentally loving nature helped, too. He was a rake, but not in his father’s mould. Rather, he loved and respected women, even if he did treat them according to the stupid conventions applied to aristocratic males. And he was a good son.

Putting down her tea, she fetched a little box of keepsakes from her hidden cupboard. The fan her long dead brother had given her before her first ball. A small bundle of musical scores, that recalled pleasant evenings in her all too brief Season. Aldridge’s cloth rabbit. She had retrieved it when Haverford had ordered it destroyed, saying his son was a future duke and should not be coddled. Aldridge had been eight months’ old. Anthony George Bartholomew Philip Grenford, his full name was, but he had been born heir to his father, and therefore Marquis of Aldridge, and by Haverford’s decree no one, not even Eleanor, called him by anything but his title.

Even so, the cloth rabbit had not been the first time she secretly defied her husband. She had been sneaking up to the nursery since Aldridge was born, despite the duke’s proclamation that ladies of her rank had their babies presented to them once a day, washed, sweetly smelling and well behaved, and handing the infants back to their attendants if any of those conditions failed or after thirty minutes, whichever came first.

It was not enough for Eleanor, if she had grown bolder and bolder and slowly taken control of her life, it was for their sweet sake.

Hollystone Hall, December 1791

Eleanor poured tea for Tolly Fitz-Grenford, wondering if he would agree to her plan. After Haverford had exiled David and sent Aldridge off to school, she had pleaded with him to bring them both home, but he had laughed at her; pointed out that she had no power over him. In fact, he declared, her open defiance was enough to cancel the agreement they had made before Jonathan’s birth.

So, she had then packed her bags and retreated to this lesser estate, the one place in the vast Haverford holdings that belonged to Her Grace and not His Grace.

“There, Tolly. Milk and no sugar. Is that not correct?”

Tolly took the cup. “Yes, Your Grace. Thank you.”

She smiled. “We are brother and sister, Tolly. Will you call me ‘Eleanor’?”

Tolly’s face heated. As Eleanor knew, his relationship to the duke was not precisely a secret, but he had never been acknowledged. The father they shared had brought the son of a favourite mistress to be raised on the estate, and had even kept on his half-brother’s tutor to train Tolly in the skills he would need to serve the duchy. Still, he had not been encouraged to show any familiarity, and the duke liked Tolly no more than Tolly liked the duke. “His Grace…”

Eleanor scowled. “I do not mean to concern myself ever again with the opinions of His Grace, except as I must for my safety and that of my children and the servants. Will you not call me by my name, Tolly, when we are not in company? Will you be my friend? For I stand in great need of one.”

Tolly leaned forward to pat her hand. “I will always stand your friend, Eleanor,” he told her.

“Good, for I need your help. Can you find me information with which to blackmail Haverford?”

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 7

A Haverford townhouse in Brighton, May 1812

Eleanor opened the secret compartment of the escritoire that travelled everywhere with her. She didn’t bother with Tolly’s notes, but she did bring out the box of wooden toys that David had carved for his half-brothers. Aldridge’s soldiers were particularly fine, the paint barely flaking. David had made them for Aldridge’s twelfth birthday, and Aldridge never touched them again after Haverford threw David out.

Four-year-old Jonathan had been grief-stricken, though not as broken-hearted as Aldridge. Not that Aldridge spoke of it, then or later, but she’d seen the change in him; seen, too, the devastation he’d suffered when he and David met again, just a few years ago, only to be split even more decisively. That time, he’d admitted to Eleanor that he blamed himself: for Haverford’s actions when he was twelve and David seventeen, and for the mistake that nearly cost David the life of the women he and Aldridge both loved.

Eleanor ran her hands over the scarred and dented head of the push-along toy David had made Jonathan so he wouldn’t feel left out when Aldridge got his present. The stick to push it had long since gone. It had been Jonathan’s favourite toy for years, till the pegs that made the legs move broke so they dangled, and the paint was completely worn away. A few specks of the bright colours it had been painted remained in the cracks. Eleanor kept it as a memento of the happy times with all three boys, when they stayed at Haverford Castle, and the duke did not.

Perhaps it could be repaired? If Jonathan ever married and had a son, she would like him to have it.

She chuckled at her own hopeful dreams. Certainly, nothing in his letter indicated the approach of that day! And, to be fair, he had no need to wed. He was a second son, independently wealthy, and could please himself. She just wished he would do it in England.

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 7

“Your Grace, enclosed please find reports of the interviews I conducted on your behalf into the journey of the boy David. He seems a nice lad. I will look forward to hearing how he goes on. Sincerely yours, Tolly.

***

Gerald Ficklestone-Smythe
Manager of Cowbridge Mine, Llanfair

The boy was gone when I got back from the funeral. Little bastard. I told him I’d kick him to next Tuesday if dinner wasn’t on the table, but nothing was prepared, and he was nowhere to be found. And he’d let the fire go out. He’ll come back when he’s hungry, and I’ll have the skin off his back, see if I don’t.

Where else is he going to go? London? To the duchess? My slut of a daughter told the boy to go to the duchess when she was dead, but he is stupid if he thinks she’s going to want her husband’s by-blow, and so I told him when I took the money she’d left with his mother. I had a right to it, didn’t I? I took his mother back after the duke had finished with her. I gave her a home. I even let her keep the boy.

The duke owed me that money. Yes, and more. Made a harlot out of my daughter, and turned her off with a measly few hundred pounds. Wouldn’t pay more when that ran out. Then, when my daughter lay dying and couldn’t keep house for me anymore, that pernicious swine sent his wife to steal the boy I raised, promising him I don’t know what.

Now the bitch is dead, and the boy can’t be found, but where could he have gone? He has no money for the coach fare, and it’s a long walk to London, especially with winter coming on, and the Black Mountains between here and England.

He’s no fool, the boy. He’ll be back.

***

Jeremiah Penchsnith
Captain of the Merry Molly, Bristol

We didn’t find the lad till we was near Avonmouth. ‘E was ‘id in the coal, but we saw ‘im when ‘e tried to escape over the side. ‘E fair wriggled when we caught ‘im, begged us to let ‘im go. But ‘e owed us ‘is passage, and so I told him.

If we let away every lad who wanted a free trip over the Bristol Channel, we might as well set up as a ferry, and that’s what I said.

Give the lad credit, ‘e worked ‘ard. Four trips ‘e did wiv us, not counting the first. And then he left us in Bristol. I’d’ve kept ‘im on, I would. Good worker, that lad. I ‘ope ‘e gets where ‘e’s going.”

***

Maggie Wakefield
Farmer’s wife, Ditchford Frary, East Cotswolds

He was a mystery, young David. Turned up in a snow storm, he did. Bessie the dog found him when Matthew went out after the sheep, huddled up in the midst of the flock where they’d taken shelter in the lee of the old stone wall.

Matthew brought them all home: boy and sheep, the boy limping along on a stick because his ankle was swollen to twice its size. “I’ve a lamb for you to warm by the fire, mother,” Matthew said, and then stood aside. Just a sprain, it turned out to be, but a bad one. I would not turn man or beast out in weather like that, let alone a boy, and no more would Matthew, so of course we let David stay.

Where did he come from in that awful weather? Wales, he said, but that couldn’t be, could it? Wales is a long way away, across the wolds and then the water. And mountains, too, they say.

David was a good boy, so perhaps he was telling the truth. He made himself useful until he could walk again. He was a good hand in the kitchen, and he read to me and Matthew at night, which was a great blessing, for our eyes are not what they were. Not that I’ve ever read more than enough to piece together a few verses from the Bible. Not like David. It was a treat to listen to him, and I was sorry when he left.

But he had people waiting for him, he said, so off he went, off to London. We got him a lift as far as Oxford with Jem Carter. I hope he made it to his people. A fine boy like that? They would have been missing him, I’m sure.

***

Sir Philip Westmacott
Gentleman, London

My tiger? He’s taken off. Ungrateful brat. Good boy with the horses, too. But there you go. That’s what I get for taking a boy off the streets. I found him in Oxford, you know. Oh yes, I told you before, didn’t I. He made sure I got back to my inn after a rather exciting evening. Didn’t rob me, either, though he could have. I was somewhat—er—elevated.

I told him to come back in the morning for his reward, and he was waiting outside in the stable yard when I woke. And all he wanted was to come to London with me. I bought him a suit of clothing, of course. Couldn’t be seen with him in the rags he had. Not livery. Not in Oxford. But I thought silver blue, to set off his dark hair. It would have looked stunning against my matched blacks.

We arrived late at night, and in the morning he was gone. Ungrateful brat.

***

Henry Bartlett
Gatekeeper, Haverford House, London

Of course I didn’t let him in. A boy like that? Tidily dressed enough, and nicely spoken, but what child of substance is allowed to walk around the streets? But he wasn’t a street urchin, neither. He asked if he could send a note, and he wrote it right there on a piece of paper I found him. Never was a street urchin that could read and write.

Anyway, I sent it in to the duchess. Told him he’d have to wait, but it wasn’t but an hour before Her Grace’s own maid came down to fetch him, and the next thing I knew, he was part of the household.

He seems a pleasant enough lad; always polite. But it just doesn’t seem right, raising the duke’s bastard under the same roof as his legal sons. The duke agrees, or so goes the talk in the servant’s hall. But the duchess got her way, this time. And we’re all to treat the boy as if he were gentleman. Her Grace has hired him a tutor, and word is he’s off to Eton in the autumn. And the little Marquis follows him around like a puppy dog.

What will be the end of it, do you suppose?

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 6

Chapter Three

A Haverford townhouse in Brighton, May 1812

The package was stamped with the welcome postmark—ST PETERSBORGH, all in capitals. Eleanor guessed its origins when the butler brought it into the room, properly presented on a salver. The package itself was anonymous from across the room, but her butler’s face, usually professionally impassive, told the tale. Only dear Jonathan brought that lift to the corners of Parswarden’s lips, as if he was fighting a doting smile.

Sure enough, she recognised the slanting hand, just far enough away from a scrawl to escape his tutor’s heavy hand. She reached out for it, grinning at Parswarden. “News from Jonathan,” she affirmed. “Wait while I open it, Parswarden, and I will give you news to take below stairs.”

Parswarden’s smile almost escaped his control.  “If Your Grace would be so good, I am sure Cook would be pleased to hear how our young lord is managing in those foreign parts. I will send for a tea tray for Your Grace, while you open your package, shall I?”

Fifteen minutes later, the butler sailed out of the room, as close to hurrying as his dignity would allow, eager to regale the upper servants with stories of their young lord and his adventures: racing a troika—a sleigh pulled by three horses; dancing with a Russian imperial highness; hunting wolves with a wild band of Cossacks.

Eleanor shivered at the risks he took, but she had to admit that Jonathan led a charmed life, and waltzed through danger that made her hair curl. Indeed, he had been both charmed and charming since his birth.

She smiled as she sipped her tea. He had arrived after a further miscarriage, when she had almost lost hope that the birth of a son would deliver her from the consequences of her husband’s lifestyle. Haverford had kept his word. As soon as it was certain that she was with child, he stopped visiting her, and before long she and her husband had established a pattern of separate lives, intersecting only when Eleanor would be a social or political asset to the duke.

Later that summer Haverford demanded she serve in such a role when he insisted on her joining him for a house party in Wales, where he wanted her assistance to impress a former ally who had changed sides.  Later, she looked back on that chance meeting with the daughter of a local mine owner as a watershed moment in her life. The woman’s son had the Haverford hazel eyes.

He arrived at her house a few months later, escaping his cruel grandfather after his mother’s death. In helping him, Eleanor discovered what became her life’s passion: helping the helpless, particularly those with a call on His Grace or the Haverford family.

Perhaps it was not the life she had dreamed of, but she had made a difference in many lives. She mattered. Her pregnancy ended in a difficult birth, and it took her time to recover, but by the time Lord George Jonathan Creydon Walter Grenford received his unwieldy list of names at his baptism, the boy from Wales was established in her house. In her hidden cupboard, tied into a neat package, lay the notes that confirmed her in her path.

Haverford House, London, August 1787

Thomas Oliver, or Uncle Tolly as her son called him, balanced the delicate porcelain cup carefully on his knee, not taking his eyes off his hostess. A slow blink was his only reaction to her announcement that she intended to defy both Society and her husband. The Duke of Haverford was not a gentle man, and did not tolerate rebellion in his household. As his base-born brother, Tolly Fitz-Grenford had reason to know this fact at first-hand.

“The duke will not be pleased,” he warned.

“His Grace will not wish to upset me.” The duchess smiled serenely, and placed a hand on her middle. Tolly nodded his understanding. Eleanor had lost several babies since the son who secured the succession. Even His Grace would hesitate to counter his duchess’s express commands when she had recently delivered the backup hope of the Haverfords.

“Does His Grace know the boy is here?” Tolly asked.

“His Grace left London immediately after Jonathan’s christening, Tolly, which gives me time. I would like to be armed with some information before he discovers David’s presence.

“So, what, precisely, do you wish me to do?” Tolly asked.

Eleanor had her answer ready. “Talk to the boy, then trace back his steps and talk to the people he met on the way. I have made my own judgement based on my meeting with him and his mother. Your report will confirm or disprove that he is fit company for the Marquis of Aldridge and the baby. I believe him, Tolly, but I do not trust myself in such an important matter.” She waved an impatient hand. “You understand. You are His Grace’s half-brother, as David is half-brother to my sons.”

Fitz-Grenford smiled, despite the caution he felt impelled to offer. “Unacknowledged half-brother, and the duke will bar the door to me if I presume on the relationship in the least. Very well, Your Grace. I shall see what I can find out.”

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Tea with Eleanor: Paradise Lost Episode 5

He straightened, and opened his mouth, but Eleanor spoke over the rebuke that was certain to come. “I have no objection, sir, but I assume you have not given her license to neglect your heir or to be impertinent to me.”

The duke frowned. “Certainly not. I shall have a word with the bitch.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. You have always required others to treat me with the respect due to your wife, and that is why I was certain I could depend on you for what I am about to ask.” Honey worked better than vinegar, one of the Haverford great aunts was fond of saying.

The duke smirked at the compliment and inclined his head, graciously indicating that she should continue.

Now for it. Best to say it straight out, as she had rehearsed a dozen times since she and Haverford’s base-born half-brother, who was also his steward, had concocted the strategy. “You may be aware, Your Grace, that I have been taking the mercury treatment for the pox. As I am a faithful wife, and have only ever had intimate knowledge of one man—yourself, Your Grace—I must assume it originated with you.”

As expected, Haverford erupted. “I will not—”

Eleanor held up a hand. “Your Grace has needs, and I would not normally comment on how you meet them, as long as any lovers you take within the household you have given me to manage are willing partners.”

She kept talking over his attempt to interrupt, hoping his temper would not override his manners. “I owe you a second son, Your Grace, and I fully intend to attempt to carry out that side of our bargain, but I have a request to make to keep me safe from falling ill again.”

He frowned, silenced for the moment. Eleanor thought it best to wait for him to speak. At least he was listening.

“Go on,” he said at last.

“My doctor has assured me that fewer than half of all people who contracted second stage syphilis moved into the deadlier third stage, and most of those have had the disease multiple times. Repeated infections may also kill or deform any further children we have. I would like to take steps to limit the risk, Your Grace.”

“What steps?”

In the end, Haverford lost his temper twice more before he signed the document she put before him. In it, he promised to not to require intimacy from Eleanor unless he had refrained from any potential source of the disease for six weeks, and had been inspected by a doctor.

She had delicately hinted at the retribution that would follow if he didn’t keep his word. A gentleman’s word was his bond, of course, but only when given to other gentlemen. Haverford would not hesitate to break an agreement with his wife, if it suited him.

Thanks to the duke’s training in politics, she knew all about the pressure to apply—in this case, the social contacts who would be informed of the whole disgusting situation if he broke his word. She had been a lady of the chamber to the Queen, was friends with several of the princesses, was sister to the current Earl of Farnmouth and sister-in-law to another earl and an earl’s second son.

Added to that there were all of her social contacts. Those she specifically mentioned to him were only the start. Being Haverford’s hostess had given her huge reach into the upper echelons of Society, especially those families headed by his political cronies and rivals. He was a consummate player of the game of Society. He knew all of that without her saying.

One son, she contracted for, and a maximum of two more pregnancies. Eleanor prayed she would conceive quickly, that she would suffer no more miscarriages, and that she would deliver a healthy son without any further ado.

***

Haverford House, London, April 1812

To give Haverford credit, Eleanor conceded, he had stuck to the agreement for several years. Her copy of the agreement was still in her secret compartment, somewhere. Her co-conspirator, Tolly Fitz-Grenford, had a second copy, and the third had been given to her brother in a sealed envelope, to be opened only if she died unexpectedly or sent a message asking him to read it.

Presumably, that copy was somewhere in the papers inherited by her nephew. Perhaps she should ask for it back, for Haverford had not approached her with marital duties in mind since she announced that she was enceinte with the child who proved to be the wanted spare son.

She very much doubted that he ever would. After all, his mistresses and lovers were all twenty or thirty years younger than Eleanor.

On the other hand, he was behaving like a bad-tempered guard dog over James Winderfield’s return, and she wouldn’t put it past him to—mark his territory, as it were. The copies of the agreement had better stay where they were.

In truth, as long as the disease never recurred, Haverford had done her a favour. Without the incentive, she might have taken much longer to grasp what freedom she could.

Eleanor felt dizzy again, just thinking about James as he appeared last night. Haverford’s command was not to be borne. Grace and Georgie were her dearest friends, and she was not going to be separated from them.

She would need to be careful, though. Perhaps one of her goddaughters could pass a note to one of Grace’s daughters. The Society for the Betterment of Indigent Mothers and Orphans was meeting tomorrow. That would do nicely.

She moved to her escritoire, took out a sheet of her monogramed paper, and sharpened a quill. Now. Where could they meet? Perhaps Grace or Georgie might have a notion.