The Swan Maid. Dilly Court
was not clinging to her garments. It was bad enough to know that she stank of the alehouse, without adding animal odours as well.
Colonel Dashwood’s blue eyes twinkled beneath his thick white eyebrows, which matched his bushy white moustache. He was obviously a good many years older than his wife – old enough, Lottie thought, to be her father – but despite his portly frame and weather-beaten features, he had a kindly expression. During her eight years at The Swan, Lottie had learned a great deal about human nature, and her instincts told her that here was a man she could trust. She even liked his pig.
‘I’ve laid out your uniform, Colonel,’ Hansford said tactfully. ‘You have a regimental dinner to attend this evening, if you recall, sir?’
‘Dash it, I’d quite forgotten.’ Colonel Dashwood patted Lady Petunia’s head. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, old girl. I must leave you now.’ He followed Lottie from the sty. ‘Make sure you fasten the gate securely, Hansford. She got into the vegetable garden yesterday. Figgis was very upset.’
‘I will, don’t worry, sir.’ Hansford stayed back to make sure that Lady Petunia would not escape again, and Lottie followed the colonel into the house. To her surprise he retraced the route that Hansford had taken and entered through the scullery.
‘Where’s Hansford?’ he demanded, lowering himself onto a wooden stool. ‘I want him to help me off with my boots. Mrs Manners will have a fit of the vapours if I bring pig muck into the house.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Hansford? Where is the fellow?’
Lottie hesitated, wondering what was expected of her. It would not be the first time she had helped a gentleman off with his boots, but she was not at the inn now. She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Hansford out in the yard, deep in conversation with Tilda. ‘Can I help you, sir?’
Colonel Dashwood puffed out his cheeks and his moustache bristled. ‘Where is Hansford? This isn’t a task for a slip of a girl like you.’
‘Let me try, sir. I see a lady in black bombazine coming this way. Could it be Mrs Manners?’
‘Pull off me boots, girl. What are you waiting for?’ Colonel Dashwood held up one chubby leg, turning red in the face with the effort.
Lottie grasped the toe and heel of the muddy boot, gave it a twist and a tweak and tugged hard. It slipped off as if the colonel’s foot had been greased. She used the same technique to pull off the other boot.
‘Well done,’ Colonel Dashwood said, wheezing a sigh of relief. ‘Hansford couldn’t have made a better job of it.’ He rose to his stockinged feet. ‘Take them into the boot-room. Hansford will clean them up.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Lottie slipped out into the yard just as Mrs Manners entered the scullery. She did not want to meet the housekeeper until she had had a chance to change, and she loitered outside until the sound of voices died away. She tried hard not to stare at Hansford and Tilda, who made an unlikely pair, and she looked up into the blue sky, watching the swifts dart and dive about like airborne acrobats.
Hansford turned his head to look at her. He broke off the conversation and strolled across the cobblestones, followed by Tilda. ‘I’ll see to them.’ He took the boots from Lottie. ‘You’d best clean yourself up too.’
‘You’ve got pig muck on your boots and the hem of your skirt.’ Tilda put her head on one side. ‘And your clothes smell something awful.’
‘I know. You don’t have to tell me.’
‘She’ll go mad,’ Tilda said, shaking her head. ‘Mrs Manners can’t stand slovenliness.’ She exchanged glances with Hansford. ‘Tell you what, Lottie, as you’re new here I’ll help you out this once. Leave your boots with Hansford, and I’ll find you a uniform to wear. You can sort your clothes out later.’
‘We have to keep Mrs Manners happy,’ Hansford added. ‘She’s a tartar when she’s roused.’
‘Why does the colonel keep her on?’ Lottie asked curiously. ‘Even he seems to be scared of her.’
‘Who knows?’ Hansford walked off towards the stables.
‘Come on.’ Tilda opened the scullery door. ‘We’ll get you something from the cupboard where Mrs Manners keeps the uniforms.’
The linen cupboard was situated at the end of a wide passage next to the housekeeper’s office. It appeared to be locked, but Tilda jiggled the door and it opened. She glanced over her shoulder and grinned. ‘Hansford was meant to fix this, but it’s handy being able to get a clean uniform or apron without having to grovel to Mrs Manners.’ She selected a black cotton dress and held it up against Lottie. ‘That looks about your size. You can change in the broom cupboard. I’ll keep a lookout for Mrs M.’
Minutes later Lottie emerged from the stuffy cupboard. ‘It fits.’
‘I knew it would,’ Tilda said smugly. ‘You can wash your duds in the scullery when we’ve finished clearing away the supper things. They’ll dry overnight in the laundry room.’
‘Thank you.’ Lottie held out her hand, but Tilda ignored the friendly gesture.
‘I only done it to please Herbie. He seems to think you’ll be good for her ladyship. She led poor old Merriweather a real dance, I can tell you.’
‘Herbie?’ Lottie stared at her, confused.
‘Hansford to you. We’re stepping out together, in case you hadn’t noticed, so hands off.’
‘It’s a promise,’ Lottie said firmly. She could see that Tilda thought she had won a great battle, although it was hard to understand the attraction. Hansford was a good twenty years Tilda’s senior, and his best friend could not in all honesty call him good-looking, but Tilda seemed to think him a great prize.
‘That’s settled then, but don’t expect me to keep getting you out of trouble, because I got better things to do.’ Tilda stalked off towards the kitchen, leaving Lottie to find her own way back to Lady Aurelia’s bedroom, but as luck would have it she turned a corner and came face to face with Mrs Manners.
‘So you are the new lady’s maid.’ Ermintrude Manners looked her up and down. ‘I wasn’t consulted about your appointment.’
Lottie bobbed a curtsey, not knowing what to say or do in such circumstances. It was hardly her fault that the housekeeper had been overlooked.
‘I suppose you understand your duties while you are in this house?’
‘I think so, ma’am.’
‘You address me as Mrs Manners.’
‘Yes, Mrs Manners.’
‘That’s better.’ Mrs Manners frowned thoughtfully. ‘I suppose you will have Merriweather’s old room, although I am loath to surrender it to someone like you.’
‘I can sleep anywhere, Mrs Manners. I shared a room at The Swan; I don’t mind doing so again.’
Mrs Manners flinched visibly. ‘Yes, I heard that you’d been working in a common coaching inn. Well, we’ll have none of your lewd behaviour and bad language in this house, so be warned.’
‘I never swear and I don’t allow men to take liberties,’ Lottie said angrily. ‘I’m a respectable young woman.’
‘So you say, but what were you doing in such a place at all, I might ask?’ Mrs Manners held up her hand. ‘No, don’t answer that. Come with me and I’ll show you to your room. I just hope you will live up to your boast, Miss Lane.’
They climbed the back stairs to the top floor where Lottie discovered she was to have a room of her own. It was large enough for an iron bedstead, a deal chest of drawers, a washstand with a tiled top and splashback, and a small cupboard. The floorboards were scrubbed to snowy whiteness and rag rugs gave the room a homely atmosphere. A dormer window looked out over the front garden, with glimpses of the road between