CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Julia had plenty of time to sort through her troubled feelings for Charles in the weeks that followed, for she seemed never to see him at all. Though the patrol of footmen continued daily through the grounds, that was the only indication of any change in Harding Hall's occupants. The Marquess rose early, ate breakfast before anyone beyond Sally and Miss Graham were awake, went riding, and returned only briefly before departing again to spend his evenings in the company of Lord Kit and his crowd of young bachelor friends. His visits to the schoolroom had stopped altogether. Julia supposed it must be due to his trust in her teaching methods. She did not wish to guess at a deeper motive behind his absence.
Annabelle fretted without her father. She was more severely affected by his neglect now that he was close by; at least when he was in Cornwall there was no hope of seeing him. Julia checked with Peter Kildare each evening whether the Marquess wished to kiss his daughter goodnight, and was always met with the same answer: "His lordship is not presently at home."
Charles was running away from something. Whether it was his daughter, his memories, or Julia herself, she could not guess. When Mrs Potter and Miss Kelsey discussed the change in him in hushed voices of an evening, Julia refrained from joining the conversation. The last thing she wanted was for someone to suspect what had passed between them.
She knew now that, much as she might long for another kiss in the depths of her own heart, it had been the worst kind of inappropriate behaviour. She was a governess, he a Marquess. Even when she set aside the problem of her unsavoury family connections, it was simply an untenable fantasy to imagine there could ever be anything more between them.
She could have forgiven Charles's moment of weakness much more easily if it did not return to her each night in her dreams.
"Are you stuck?"
Julia's head jerked up, awaking from her reverie as if from a deep sleep. Mrs Potter was smiling at her across the table. "You haven't knitted a stitch these past ten minutes, Miss Mallory."
"Oh..." Julia looked down at the half-finished scarf in her lap. She wanted to make Annabelle a new set of woollen winter things for Christmas, but at this rate it would be summer again before she got on to the hat and the gloves. "Perhaps I'm just a little tired."
"It's these dark nights," sighed Miss Kelsey. "I never get on as well by candlelight as I do on a nice summer evening."
"The dark hasn't put his lordship off his nightly adventures," remarked Mrs Potter. "I declare, he's a brave man to be out and about in this weather." Only the day before, they had all been surprised by a flurry of snow. It had delighted Annabelle, frozen Julia half to death, and eventually come to nothing.
"I expect he's warm enough wherever he is," said Miss Kelsey. Julia smiled and nodded, hoping they would not invite her to speculate on where he might be.
"I haven't known him to be away from home so much in years," Mrs Potter continued, counting her stitches. "Not since the young Marchioness passed on. My, but that was a difficult time. It's no easy thing, seeing such a great man brought so low."
"Is it the season, perhaps?" asked Miss Kelsey. "Christmas can be the most unhappy time of year for a man without a wife. You need a woman's touch to make things merry, that's what I always say."
"He usually adores the Christmas season," said Mrs Potter. "This year, he hasn't even ordered us to decorate the house."
"Why not do it anyway?" asked Julia. "Perhaps it will lift his spirits."
"Do you think that would be right?" asked Mrs Potter. Julia could tell she liked the idea. "I must say, it doesn't feel like Christmas without a bit of holly about the place."
"Not to mention mistletoe," said Miss Kelsey, winking at Julia. Julia jumped as though she'd been burnt by a hot poker.
"Who on earth do you imagine I'd be kissing?"
"Oh, I wouldn't like to presume," Miss Kelsey laughed. "If I were given the choice, though – I don't mind telling you I'd corner that Peter Kildare under the mistletoe and no mistake!"
Julia laughed, relieved. The thought of the portly, grey-haired Miss Kelsey swooping down on the young and handsome Mr Kildare was too funny. "Then let's hang some mistletoe and see whether your luck wins out!"
"I'll talk it over with Mr Larkin tomorrow," said Mrs Potter. "You know what a miserable stick-in-the-mud he can be. I shall have to use all my wiles to convince him."
"Perhaps there should be a sprig of mistletoe in it for him, too," teased Miss Kelsey.
"Lawks! The very thought of it!" Mrs Potter flapped her knitting to shoo the idea away. "Well, ladies, it doesn't seem that we're getting much done in the way of needlework. What do you say to a glass of mulled wine and a game of cards?"
"Mulled wine, Mrs Potter?" Miss Kelsey's eyes gleamed greedily. "I wouldn't say no."
"Let me just pop down to the kitchens, then, and see if I can rouse Miss Graham. Not a word to Mr Larkin, mind. You know he wouldn't approve."
"I'll go," said Julia. Mrs Potter suffered from terrible pain in her knees in the cold, and she didn't want her to go downstairs unnecessarily.
"Don't forget your broadsword and shield," said Mrs Kelsey slyly. "I wouldn't brave the dragon without them."
"Hush, Miss Kelsey!" laughed Mrs Potter. "What a tongue you have on you!"
Julia left them laughing between themselves. In perfect honesty, she did not think Miss Graham was as much of a dragon as the other servants believed. Prickly, certainly, and very proud of her hard-won station, but that was only natural in someone who had achieved her position so young. The pressures of running a kitchen in a great house must certainly be extreme, and Julia did not envy her the task.
The kitchen was empty and silent except for the crackle of the ever-burning fire under the oven. Julia considered taking out the spices for the mulled wine herself, but she had long since learned that the cook did not appreciate strange hands meddling in her kitchen. Miss Graham kept a strict watch over her kitchen stock and she would notice immediately if something were missing.
Julia went into the servants' quarters and knocked softly on Miss Graham's door. To her surprise, it had not been properly closed, and it sprang open.
Miss Graham was sitting on her bed, still dressed in her day clothes but with her hair hanging loose, and was holding something in her hand. A little wisp of something, tiny and delicate. It took Julia a moment to realise what it was.
A pressed sprig of honeysuckle.
Miss Graham dropped it in shock when she realised Julia was watching her. "Oh! Oh, no!" The anguish in her voice said all it needed to about the importance of that fragile dried flower.
"I'm so terribly sorry," said Julia. "I didn't mean to startle you – the door sprang open quite by itself. Here, let me help you look –"
"Stay back!" snapped Miss Graham, flinging up her hands to ward Julia away. "What are you doing, coming to disturb me at this time of night? Go away!"
She sank to her hands and knees and began running her hands over the floor, searching for the flower.
"Wait a moment!" cried Julia, spotting it. "Don't move, Miss Graham – it's just there, just by your knee. I'll get it – don't move." She bent down and picked the flower up carefully. Yes, there it was unmistakably – two tiny, trumpet-shaped golden flowers. Honeysuckle without a doubt.
Miss Graham held out her hand. "Give it back at once."
Julia dropped the flower in obligingly. Miss Graham held it to her chest, cupping it gently to avoid crushing the delicate petals. "You had no right to come in here and touch my things. I don't come barging into your chamber of an evening, do I?"
"I was only trying to help," said Julia. Felicity Graham tossed her hair back, and Julia was struck by how uncommonly pretty the young cook was.
"You have helped quite enough. What are you doing here, anyway? What is it you want?"
"I was only after a little mulled wine for Mrs Potter," said Julia meekly. "I didn't want to go messing around in the kitchen without your permission."
Felicity sniffed, mollified. "Quite right, too. I'd cut your hands off if I saw you messing in there."
Julia blanched, thinking her quite capable of it. Felicity rolled her eyes. "You're such a frightened little mouse, Miss Mallory! It was only a joke. Come, let me put this away." She slipped the flower back between the pages of a diary, which she tucked under her pillow. "Let's see what we can find you."
The kitchen was the warmest part of the house. Julia was glad to stay a few moments as Felicity heated the wine, throwing in a pinch of cinnamon and a few cloves for good measure.
"You wouldn't believe the budget his lordship sets aside for spices," she said, when Julia raised her eyes at the extravagance. "I could put nutmeg in every dish and not make a dent in it."
"I love nutmeg!" Julia exclaimed. "May we add a little to the wine?"
"Certainly, but I have something even better than mulled wine, if you'd care to try it?" Felicity opened a cupboard and withdrew a bottle of some luminous golden liquid. "Honey wine – mead. They brew it in the village. His lordship buys them oranges to put in the barrels for flavour. Try a little?"
"I'd love to," said Julia, surprised by Felicity's generosity. She realised that, in all the months she'd been at Harding Hall, she'd avoided the kitchens as much as possible. Perhaps the cook was simply lonely. Julia could understand that. She felt suddenly guilty for not making more effort to get to know her.
The honey wine was cool and refreshing, with a spicy, floral scent and a lingering sweetness. It was delicious.
"Now this is the stuff I'd be drinking, if I were a fine lady," said Felicity, holding the bottle up to the light. "None of that nasty brandy his lordship likes."
"I'd have him off the brandy altogether, if I were Marchioness," Julia mused. "And I'd banish that awful Lord Christopher from Harding Hall for good."
Felicity's eyes sparkled. "You don't like Lord Kit?"
"I think he's a terrible influence on the Marquess."
"I think the Marquess ought to take responsibility for his own demons," shrugged Felicity. "Now, Mrs Potter will be wondering where you are. Here's a tray to carry up the glasses. Would you like me to send up Sally to help you carry them?"
"Oh, no, let her rest." Sally's first morning task was lighting the fires, and so she was always awake long before the rest of the household. "I'll be fine. Thank you, Miss Graham."
"Call me Felicity," said the cook. "If it's not too bold of me to say."
"Not too bold at all," Julia smiled. "You may call me Julia."
They smiled at each other for a moment before Felicity held open the door for Julia to walk through with her tray of mulled wine.
Julia wondered what it had been that convinced Felicity to extend her friendship. The care Julia had taken over her precious pressed flower? The shared glass of honey wine? Or perhaps simply the loneliness she had inflicted on herself with her rough manners?
Julia sensed that she was on the verge of a discovery. It was too much of a coincidence that Felicity had kept a honeysuckle flower, and that the thought of honeysuckle had upset Charles and Lord Kit so greatly. Perhaps this new friendship with the cook would bring her one step closer to uncovering one of the secrets of Harding Hall.