Free Plain Jane by MC Beaton Page B

to be replaced by the all too plain reality of a sleepy lazy lord with the dress of a Corinthian and the mind of a fop.
    ‘You should not encourage that child, Mr Rainbird,’ said Mrs Middleton after Jane had left.
    ‘She’s a taking little thing,’ said Rainbird indifferently. ‘I doubt very much if such a great man as Lord Tregarthan will encourage her in her funny ideas. Miss Jane told me that Lord Tregarthan had promised to help her find out who killed Miss Clara.’
    ‘Then he should know better than to make fun of the girl,’ said Mrs Middleton. ‘Murdered indeed! If murder had been done, then Mr Gillespie would have discovered it. Who is Miss Jane to doubt the word of a gentleman who has attended no less a personage than King George himself?’
    ‘I thought Miss Clara was ever so sweet and pretty,’ said Alice dreamily. ‘Lovely hair she had, masses and masses of it. A sort o’ chestnut. Too good she was for the likes of Mr Bullfinch.’
    ‘I never knew whether Miss Clara was as sweet and kind as she chose to appear,’ said Rainbird. ‘I always thought there was something sly about her.’
    ‘Not her,’ said chambermaid Jenny stoutly. ‘Ever so kind to us, she was.’
    Joseph swanned into the kitchen. ‘There’s talk again that the Prince of Wales might be made regent.’
    ‘Such a thing!’ exclaimed Mrs Middleton. ‘Poor King George has come about before this. His madness is only temporary.’
    ‘Some say,’ said Joseph, who loved a gossip, ‘thet the losing of the British colonies in America fair turned his brain.’
    ‘And some think,’ said Rainbird with a malicious twinkle in his eye, ‘that we
lost
the colonies because of His Majesty’s madness.’
    ‘Sedition, Mr Rainbird,’ cried Mrs Middleton in alarm. ‘What if someone should hear you!’ She looked anxiously up at the area window as if expecting to see a listening soldier.
    Felice came into the kitchen to ask for hot water to make a pomade for Euphemia’s hair.
    Mrs Middleton bustled about. ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she said. ‘What else will you need?’
    ‘A pennyworth of borax and half a pint of olive oil to go with a pint of water,’ said Felice.
    ‘Ah’ll get it for ye,’ said MacGregor eagerly.
    ‘Sit down, Felice,’ said Rainbird, drawing out a chair.
    Felice sat down and opened the small workbasket she always carried with her and took out a half-finished piece of lace.
    ‘Do you
make
lace?’ asked Joseph, looking greedily at the delicate white froth in Felice’s fingers.
    ‘Yes. I was taught in France.’
    ‘That would be before the Terror when you was a young woman,’ said Jenny maliciously – meaning the French Revolution of 1789.
    ‘No,’ said Felice equably. ‘I was only a child then.’
    ‘Of course you were,’ said Rainbird, giving Jenny a hard look.
    ‘That lace would look lovely on a handkerchief,’ said Joseph longingly.
    Rainbird looked around for Lizzie and then remembered to his relief that she was out on an errand. He knew how much that present of Joseph’s meant to the little scullery maid.
    ‘Ta, ta, ta,’ laughed Felice. ‘Do not edge so close, Joseph. I will make a handkerchief for you.’
    ‘
Thank
you,’ said Joseph. ‘When?’
    ‘Joseph!’ admonished Rainbird.
    ‘Very soon,’ said Felice with that small curved smile of hers. Joseph smiled at her dreamily. He could see himself producing that handkerchief in The Running Footman and flicking it under Luke, the next door footman’s, envious nose.
    ‘Mrs Hart is in high alt,’ said Rainbird. ‘Madam has seen fit to tell me that the Harts have been invited to a ball at Barcombe House in Berkeley Square next Thursday. If Dave will stay to guard the house, it means we can all take an evening off. I received many vails from our drunken guests last night. In fact, Lord Petersham was generous enough to give me something towards paying for the broken glass although I did not tell Mrs Hart
that
. So I suggest we stick