The Lady's Maid's Secret

Revenge Served Hot: Part 3

In the last edition, our heroine Rose Reed stages a card evening with the avaricious Baroness Honeyfield, her husband and with the Baron's secret paramour, Lady Lydia Voss. Rose discovers an opportunity to enact a piece of sweet revenge against the woman who swindled her mistress.

And as these things go – revenge is always a dish best served cold, but what happens to our clever lady's maid when things heat up?

Dear Reader,
I have been fortunate enough to have had a number of mentors in my life. Some have taught me the social graces, others have taught me how to live by my wits.

Of all the pieces of advice on which I most frequently draw is one taught me by a military gentleman who had been kind enough to take in my mother and I when my father was, shall we say, resting on His Majesty's pleasure.

He said, and I remember this quite clearly, 'prior preparation prevents poor performance'. Isn't that clever? Alliteration aside, it is a motto I've tried my very best to live by.

That's why there has been a conference around the servant's dining table late into the evening every night this week after our Lady Pendrick has retired.

And what are we preparing for, you might ask? I shall be glad to tell you as long as you promise that it will go no further.

As you will remember, Baron Honeyfield has been pursuing a great love affair – no, no, not with Lady Lydia Voss – that affair was over weeks ago when the Baron's wife, the odious Eliza Badgely, discovered who had replaced her in her husband's affections.

It resulted in a rather public scene at one of Countess Hallamshire's parties, where feathers flew!

And literally I might add.

Ostrich feathers, pulled from Lady Voss' hat. Duck feathers from a cushion ripped open when the good Lady retaliated with multiple blows. Everyone running around like a goose – or so the news sheets claimed.

But as we know, the news sheets do not get everything right. Never the less, the servants at Pendrick House take a great deal of pride in their work and my dearest friend Felicity, Lady Pendrick's maid-of-all-work, deserves the credit for providing the citizenry of London with such fine entertainment.

For it was she who just happened to notice that a perfumed letter addressed to Baron Honeyfield had fallen out of a reticule when she was putting away the cloaks. And, being of a romantic inclination, Felicity popped it right into his wife's cloak, so she might surprise him with it later.

And I say all this, Dear Reader, to let you know that the price of quieting two aggrieved women has left the Baron rather 'damned low in the water', as the saying goes, which is why he has made an appointment with our mistress, hoping to further the acquaintance of her young nephew with the view of considering a business arrangement.

As you know, the 'nephew' is, in fact, Felicity's brother Evan, Lady Pendrick's very handsome footman who can think quickly on his feet – and, much to my satisfaction, is also very accomplished with his hands.

Evan has been a right Rumpelstiltskin. He managed to take some broken old pieces of jewellery 'donated' by Lady Pendrick and turn them into gold nuggets all the way from Australia – enough to convince an anxious Baron Honeyfield that riches await a man who has a taste for risk and adventure.

But for such a venture to prove profitable to our venerable employer, we would need much more than a single investor – no, no, no, that would not do at all. And that is why we are gathered around the old and scarred dining table in the servant's hall.

"Ten guineas that Miss Rose won at cards might fix some of the leaks in the roof, but it won't be enough to replace all the slate. That would be one hundred pounds at least," Beatrice the housekeeper said – quite correctly in my opinion.

We look over to Arthur, Beatrice's husband, the loyal and trusty butler – the model of moral rectitude. He is so often the voice of reason and we all admire him greatly.

Butlers have an undeserved reputation of being greedy and grasping characters, but nothing could be further than the truth.

"Twenty thousand pounds," he said, "and not a penny less."

As you can imagine, Dear Reader, Felicity and I nearly fainted with shock to hear such a sum mentioned.

"Last week's game was mere child's play," Arthur continued. "If we're going to see Lady Pendrick right, then we have to play big and do so in a way that no taint of scandal ever attaches itself to our mistress."

Such a declaration was heartily agreed to by all of us.

"That's why it's got to be a syndicate set up by Baron Honeyfield himself," said I. "A secret syndicate with people willing to invest, but who also have a vested interest in staying silent."

I pulled out the diary of Mary Kirkpatrick, Lady Pendrick's late lady's maid and my predecessor. The journal now bristled like a veritable hedgehog with makeshift bookmarks I made to highlight some of the most fascinating pieces of information within.

As I have mentioned before, Mary Kirkpatrick had a sharp mind, a sharper tongue, and razor-edged observation skills. She documented everything she saw – and, unlike the men who hide behind anonymous by-lines, was quite prepared to name names.

I spent the past month poring over every entry and tracking the fortunes of every name. Felicity and Evan scoured the news sheets, made enquiries below stairs at other households.

The result was twenty fat pigeons ready for the plucking.

"I will require Baron Honeyfield hold a house party with the people of our choosing," said Evan. "That will put everyone under the same roof and each will be provided with ample incentive to invest generously in our scheme. Baron Honeyfield, in fact, will be a honey pot."

"With Rose's help, I've put together a dossier on each of our party guests," said Felicity. "The first man we will study is Dr. Algernon Mallard."

Next: Rose finds out that Dr Mallard is a quack. How well will he take his medicine?

Installment due October 2018.