Reforming Lord Ragsdale (Carla Kelly’s Regency Romances)

Chapter 6

E mma’s neck was aching in good earnest by the time the scullery maid nearly tripped over her on the way down the back stairs to begin another long day in the kitchen. She grabbed onto the banister, scowled at Emma, and then snickered.

“Can’t find a place to sleep, can we?” she mocked. “Find a peat bog.” The maid hurried on down the stairs, tying her apron as she went and laughing at her own cleverness.

Emma drew her knees up to her chin and watched the maid’s progress. “No, but I will find a place someday,” she said, too quiet for anyone to hear.

Not that anyone was listening to her. As Emma sat on the back stairs, she heard the butler giving his orders. Soon the upstairs maids would be coming up the stairs, staggering under the weight of cans of hot water and then teapots. Another day has come to the Ragsdale household , she thought as she looked down at the paper still clutched in her hand. She spread it out on the landing and wondered for a moment at her audacity. She shook her head over the document containing Lord Ragsdale’s shaky signature. I must be crazy , she thought.

She made herself small in the corner—something she was good at—as the first maid hurried upstairs with hot water. Five years ago—or was it six now?—she never would have done something that outrageous. There was a time when I cared what happened to me , she thought as she carefully folded the paper. I wonder which room is Lady Ragsdale’s?

The problem was solved for her as she quietly moved up the stairs in the wake of the upstairs maids. The first closed door she identified from last night. No one went in there, and she knew it would be hours before anyone stumbled out. Two doors down was Sally Claridge’s room, if she remembered right. Ah, yes. The woman who opened the door was the dresser who had made herself quite at home in the little space Emma had carved out of the dressing room before the trip to Oxford. Robert had slept in the room next, but now the maid was tapping softly on the door beyond. The tall, thin woman with the sneer who opened the door was Lady Ragsdale’s dresser.

Emma thought at first that she would wait until the maid left and then knock, but hurriedly discarded that idea. The dresser probably would not let her in. She took a deep breath and followed in after the maid, who looked around in surprise and glared at her.

“I am sure you do not belong in here,” the dresser said. The cold glint in her eyes told Emma that if Lady Ragsdale’s servant had not been occupied with the tea tray, she would have thrown her out. As it was, the dresser could only sputter and protest as Emma hurried to the bed where Lady Ragsdale sat awaiting her first cup of the day.

“Emma, whatever are you doing in here? And for heaven’s sake, why are you so rumpled?” Lady Ragsdale asked, staring at her unexpected morning visitor.

“I slept on the stairs because no one provided a room for me,” she explained. She spread out her hands in front of her. “I know that you would have, my lady, but you were so tired from yesterday’s journey.” She flashed her most brilliant smile at the lady in the bed and was rewarded with a smile in return.

“Thank you, Acton,” Lady Ragsdale said to her dresser, who handed her a cup of tea and stood glowering at Emma. “That will be all for the moment. Sit down, Emma. And do excuse this ramshackle household. I will instruct Lasker to find you a place to sleep tonight.”

Emma perched herself on the edge of a chair close to Lady Ragsdale’s bed. She sat in silence for a brief moment, willing her heart to stop jumping about in her chest, then held out the paper to Lady Ragsdale.

The other woman took it and read the few words on the page as Emma held her breath. To her vast relief, Lady Ragsdale began to laugh. She set down the teacup on her lap tray and leaned back against the pillows, indulging herself until she had to wipe her eyes with the corner of the sheet. “Emma, you are a shrewd one! Why on earth do you want to attempt this Promethean task?” she asked as she handed back the document.

Emma chose her words carefully. “I owe your son a hefty debt and mean to pay him back. It was his idea, by the way.”

To her chagrin, Lady Ragsdale regarded her in silence. Emma returned her stare, pleading in silence for the woman before her to understand. I must have an ally, or this will not work , she thought. Oh, please, Lady Ragsdale.

She leaned forward, testing the waters. “Lady Ragsdale, doesn’t it bother you that he is frittering away his life?”

“It bothers me,” the widow replied quietly after another substantial pause. She took a sip of tea. “John is a stubborn man. I cannot control him alone. Since his father’s death. . .” She paused again, then visibly gathered herself together. “I’m afraid my guidance is not to his liking.” She sighed. “He’s bitter about the loss of his eye, and he can’t seem to settle down. What he needs is a good wife, and so I have told him.” She took another sip. “Naturally, he does not listen to his mother.”

Emma settled back a little in the chair. “What I propose is this, Lady Ragsdale. Since he told me last night to reform him, I intend to do just that. When he is organized, dried out, and—hopefully—married, I think he will agree to ending my indenture. I will feel the debt is paid.”

“ If he will go along with any of this,” Lady Ragsdale warned. “John sober is different from John drunk. What will you do if he denies all knowledge of this pledge of his and refuses to listen to you?”

Emma looked Lady Ragsdale right in the eye. “Then I will plague his life until he does.”

How, she did not know. She knew as well as John Staples’s mother that there was nothing she could do if Lord Ragsdale decided to ignore her. But Lady Ragsdale was looking at her with something close to hope in her face, and she knew she had an ally. She took a deep breath.

“The first thing I want to do is lock up the liquor supply in this house.”

Lady Ragsdale opened her eyes wide. “I do believe you are serious.”

Emma stood up and went to the window. The rain thundered down. It was perfect weather for reformation, she decided. “I have never been more serious. I truly intend to tidy up your son and receive my release papers from him in exchange.” She hesitated, and then plunged on. “I have business of my own in London, and now that I am here, I need the liberty to carry it out.”

The two women regarded each other for a long moment, and then Lady Ragsdale held out her hand. After another slight pause, Emma extended her own, and they shook hands. Lady Ragsdale smiled and called for Acton, who came out of the dressing room so fast that Emma knew she had been listening at the door.

“Acton, I want Lasker up here right away. We have a matter of a lock and key to discuss.”

When the dresser left the room, Emma returned to the chair. “It is perfectly obvious that for some reason Lord Ragsdale cannot stand the sight of me,” she said. “Why? I never did anything to him. ”

Lady Ragsdale indicated that Emma remove the tea tray, and she did. The widow settled more comfortably in bed as the storm raged outside. ‘‘It is not you, my dear, but the Irish that he loathes.”

“Why?”

It was a simple question, but it seemed to hang on the air.

Emma watched as Lady Ragsdale’s face grew as bleak as the morning outside. I have to know , she thought as Lady Ragsdale touched the corner of the sheet to her eyes again. She folded her hands in her lap and looked at Emma again.

“My husband commanded a regiment of East Anglia Foot—our family seat is located near Medford. He was sent to Ireland in 1798, to serve under Lord Cornwallis.” She paused and looked at Emma. “Do you remember the ’98?” she asked.

It was Emma’s turn to look away. Oh, how I remember it , she thought. “Yes, I remember,” she said, her voice low.

Lady Ragsdale looked at her, a question in her eyes, and Emma was grateful for once to be a servant. The woman in the bed knew better than to bother with the affairs of a servant, so she did not ask.

“John had finished his second year at Oxford, or nearly so. His father purchased him a captaincy in the regiment, and they were posted together in County Wexford. They were very close, Emma.”

Lady Ragsdale was silent then. Emma sat back in her chair.

And somehow I know what follows , she thought. “Did your husband die at Vinegar Hill, my lady?” she asked, her voice soft.

Lady Ragsdale nodded and then waited a long moment to collect herself. “He was captured by that rabble and piked to death. John watched.”

Oh, mercy, this is worse than I thought , Emma told herself. “And John was injured,” she said when Lady Ragsdale could not continue .

The widow nodded, her eyes staring into the paisley pattern of her bedcovers. “His men managed to drag him away before they killed him too, but he lost an eye. And my husband. . .” Her voice trailed away, and she began to weep. “Emma, they never found enough of him to bury.”

Emma sat in silence as Lady Ragsdale sobbed into the sheet.

“My husband was dead, and John was so gravely injured,” she managed to say at last. “I despaired of his living, and then when he finally recovered, I knew that my son was gone too, to some private horror I cannot reach.”

“Lady Ragsdale, I am so sorry to have asked you,” Emma said, her own eyes filling with tears.

To her surprise, the widow reached out again and grasped Emma by the arm, her grip strong. “You needed to know. John has never allowed an Irish servant into this house. He is moody and bitter and drinks too much for his own good. He engages in frivolous pursuits and cares for no one. He uses people.” She released her grip on Emma. “He may say some terrible things to you.”

I am sure it will be nothing I have not heard before from the English , Emma thought, and I doubt he will resort to torture. “Words, my lady, only words. Will you help me, then?”

“Most emphatically,” Lady Ragsdale said as she dabbed at her eyes and looked up as the door opened. “Ah, Lasker. How good of you to come to me. We have some work to do. Tell me, can we lock up the wine cellar?”

~

Well , thought Emma as she stood outside Lord Ragsdale’s door, this certainly can’t be any worse than other indignities I have suffered at the hands of the British. She crossed herself, said a little prayer, and opened the door. She took a step back as the odor of stale liquor assaulted her nostrils. Courage, Emma , she thought as she entered the room and closed the door firmly behind her .

The room was still shaded into darkness, so she hurried to the windows and pulled back the draperies. To her relief, the rain had stopped. Letting out her breath, she threw open the windows, and the cold air blew in like a declaration. Emma looked back at the bed where Lord Ragsdale lay sprawled on top of the covers, in much the same pose as she had left him.

“Johnny boy, you are a disaster,” she whispered as she tiptoed closer. She looked down at him, his face pale, his eyelid flickering now as the light streamed across the bed. His dead eye was half open, staring whitely at her. He groaned and then belched, and Emma stepped back again. His breath was foul with stale liquor. At some point during the night, he had been sick all over himself.

She shook her head. By all the saints, I am going to earn this release from my indenture , she thought grimly as she squeezed out a washcloth in the warm water she had brought with her. She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and wiped his face, brushing the hair back from his forehead as he tried to pull away from her.

“Not so fast, my lord,” she muttered, pinning him down until his face was wiped clean. “I wish you would open your eye. It’s morning.” She smiled, in spite of her extreme revulsion. “Morning is probably a phenomenon you have not experienced in some years, my lord.”

She did not expect an answer, and she did not receive one. She refreshed the cloth and continued to wipe his face and neck until the evidence of his evening of excess was gone. Emma watched him, grateful right down to her shoes that none of the men in her family were drinkers beyond an evening sherry or an eggnog at Christmas. “It is a vile business, Lord Ragsdale.”

To her amazement, he opened his eye. “Yes, ain’t it?” he agreed. He lay there watching her, as if trying to rally those parts of his brain necessary for rational thought. The attempt was unsuccessful, because he burped and closed his eye again .

She should have been revolted; he was a disgusting sight. As she sat looking at him, he sighed and rested his head against her leg, and she found herself resting her hand on his shoulder. In another moment, she brushed at his hair again. “So you are an ogre who uses people?” she whispered. “Well, I am an ogre too, and I intend to use you, sir.”

Her thoughts were interrupted by a scratch on the door. “Do come in,” she said, and the door opened on the footman and several housemaids, who carried buckets of water. The footman went into the dressing room and pulled out a washtub, setting it in front of the fireplace. Emma nodded to the maids, who stood on the threshold, appalled at the messy room. “Pour it in there. Is it good and hot, Hanley?”

The footman nodded, then grinned in spite of himself. “I disremember when he ever got up before noon.”

Emma smiled back, grateful there was one person in the household who didn’t regard her with indifference or disdain. She looked at the maids. “We’ll need more water.”

They left and Emma looked down at Lord Ragsdale again. His eye was open and he was watching her. When she glared right back, he looked away, his disfavor pointed.

Emma took Hanley’s measure, and saw a young man in service, starting out as a footman and probably full of ambition. She gestured with her head, and he followed her to the corner.

“Hanley, I need your help. Lord Ragsdale is going to become furious and hateful in about a minute.”

“More than now?” the footman joked, his voice as low as hers.

Emma nodded. “He might threaten to sack you. Will you trust me?”

He considered the matter seriously then. “If he turns me off without a character? ”

“He will try, but I’ll make certain he doesn’t,” Emma told him, wondering how on earth she could make good that promise. Nothing ventured, nothing gained , she thought. “You have to trust me.”

Hanley favored her with a smile. “Aye, miss. Emma, my relatives are all from County Down,” he whispered.

“Never!” she declared, then lowered her voice again. “You have no accent. None whatever.”

“A man can’t make it in service in a great house with an Irish accent,” he said simply.

They regarded each other in perfect understanding. “Take off your coat and roll up your sleeves, my friend,” she whispered back, then turned to the task at hand.

Lord Ragsdale now eyed her with suspicion. “I don’t recall inviting you into my room.”

“You didn’t. I am here to hold you to your word, my lord, and a certain signed document.” She turned to the footman. “Hanley, unbutton his shirt.”

Lord Ragsdale stared at her, and she nearly laughed out loud as she watched a variety of expressions cross his face. He finally settled on irritation. “Leave my shirt alone, Hanley,” he ordered.

The footman took a deep breath, glanced at Emma, then started on his employer’s buttons. Lord Ragsdale tried to brush his hands away, but he still suffered from the effects of last night’s liquid debauch and missed the mark. “Don’t touch me, Hanley,” he threatened again.

Emma put on her most cheerful face, which she knew would drive her employer into the boughs. “As to that, if you wish to take a bath with your shirt on, you may, but it seems a little ramshackle, even for an Englishman.”

He tried to glare at her, but the effort of squinting must have hurt his tender head. “Who said I was going to take a bath?” he asked, rubbing his forehead.

“I did, my lord,” Emma stated firmly. “You are disgusting and we have things to do today. Take off your shirt. ”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

They stared at each other. Emma hoped she had won when he blinked, but she could be charitable to the vanquished. She turned around. “I will not watch, of course, but you will remove your shirt and everything else that doesn’t belong in a tub of water.”

Oh, please obey me , she thought, folding her arms and staring at the wall. She heard the maids returning with more water, which they poured into the tub. They shrieked, and Emma knew that Lord Ragsdale was stripping in front of them. She couldn’t help her smile as the maids ran for the door.

She heard the man step into the water, but she didn’t hear him sit down.

“I seem to recall something last night. I signed a paper.”

“You did, my lord,” she said, hoping her voice sounded firm now, something like the worst teacher she had ever endured. “You asked me to reform you, and even signed a statement to that effect.”

To her dismay, she heard him step out of the tub. Irritating, stupid Englishman, she thought. Now what? She heard footsteps and a door opened.

“What’s he doing, Hanley?” she asked in a low voice.

“Going into his dressing room. Uh-oh. He has a bottle.”

“Take it from him.”

“This is going to get me sacked.”

“Trust me.”

She heard a tussle, then language better not repeated, ending in, “You are sacked, you worthless footman!”

“Naughty, naughty,” Emma said. “You signed a document giving me full power. You cannot sack the footman. Hand me that bottle, Hanley.”

The footman did as she asked, his eyes merry. Emma took a deep breath and walked to the window. She looked down to make certain no one was passing below and then dropped the bottle, listening with satisfaction to the crash and tinkle on the pavement below.

Lord Ragsdale sucked in his breath, but he didn’t give up, even though Emma knew the game was over. His voice turned silky and wheedling.

“Hanley, my good man, go to the cellar and get me more brandy.”

“I cannot, my lord. The wine cellar has been sealed, according to your orders.”

“What?” he shrieked.

“Just so, my lord,” Emma chimed in. “You signed a paper last night. I am to reform you.”

“Never!”

Emma put her hands on her hips. “You are the worst kind of whiner, my lord. Sit down in that water.”

“Who is going to make me?” The menace was there, along with a little-boy threat that suddenly reminded Emma of her youngest brother.

She thought of everything she had been through. “No one except yourself, my lord. You signed an agreement and I will honor it. If you are a gentleman, you will too.”

The silence almost hummed. Emma closed her eyes in relief when Lord Ragsdale sat down in the water.

“Scrub his back, please, Hanley,” she said.

“You could at least close the window,” Lord Ragsdale said, sounding like a half dozen sulky boys. “I have goose bumps all over.”

“I am certain that will not prove fatal, my lord,” she said, wishing she could rush into the hall and laugh herself into a coma.

She heard a monumental sigh, followed by the sound of a washcloth, and pressed her lips tight to keep from breaking into a guffaw so loud that passersby could hear it on Curzon Street.

“Emma, you are no lady,” Lord Ragsdale said.

“And you are most certainly no gentleman,” she snapped back. “I have not peeked, nor will I. ”

“The water is deep. If I drown, you’re to blame,” he said, his voice virtuous now.

“It won’t come to that.”

The sound of washing continued. She heard him stand up to finish the job, then sit down again. “I usually sing in the tub,” he told her, his voice conversational now. “Do you have a favorite selection?”

She laughed, unable to help herself. “Not one, my lord.”

“Well, then.” He cleared his throat and sang a ditty so filthy that even Hanley gasped.

When he finished, Emma applauded. “You could probably perform that in an alley behind Covent Garden,” she said. “That might be enough, though.”

Lord Ragsdale cleared his throat and began another song, worse than the one before.

“Dunk him under the water, Hanley,” Emma ordered.

“You wouldn’t d—”

Evidently Hanley would, and did. When the footman allowed Lord Ragsdale to resurface, sputtering and swearing, Emma just shook her head. “Tsk, tsk.”

“I’ll see you in Newgate Prison!” Lord Ragsdale roared, quite sober now. His washcloth swished past her face and landed against the wall.

“That was childish, my lord,” she said. “I’ll happily go to Newgate. I was planning to do that this afternoon. Your mother tells me that your secretary is incarcerated there, and I mean to ask his advice.”

“You can’t be serious. Hand me that towel, Hanley, you wretched excuse for a footman.”

Her back still to her employer, Emma edged toward the door. “I am quite serious, my lord. If I am to be your secretary too, I had better learn the business from a master.”

She heard the rustle of material, and Lord Ragsdale stood before her in his robe, water streaming down his face, soap still in his hair. His dead eye didn’t even make her flinch. She had seen so much worse in the last few years .

Well now , she thought. I am one step closer to far away from this place. She regarded the angry man before her and felt the tiniest bit of sympathy. She knew it would pass.

“I promise not to cheat you, but I will reform you. After luncheon then, Lord Ragsdale?”

“I wouldn’t follow you across the street, you presumptuous parcel of Irish baggage.”

“Oooh, sticks and stones, my lord,” she replied. “Then I’ll go by myself. If you want anything, once you have dried and dressed, I will be in your book room, sorting out your bills.”

“You can’t do this!” he shouted, shaking his finger at her.

“Watch me.”