Corset Diaries Read online

  “Well, it’s a bit yet until tea, but I imagine you’d like something cool to drink,” I said after Penelope had run out of small talk. “I’ll just ring for some lemonade, and you can tell me all about what it’s like to be a vicar in Worston.”

  “That would be lovely,” Kevin said, tugging unobtrusively at his neckcloth.

  I stood up to ring the bell situated next to the door, but I’d forgotten about the hoop skirt. It sproined up after me, smacking me on the butt as I stood.

  “Bloody hell,” said Penelope as her dress came to life again, then her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with both hands, looking with horror at the camera. “Oh! I mean the devil take it!”

  I tugged on the bellpull a couple of times, then went back to the couch and sat on her dress.

  “The duke is home today?” Kevin asked. “I had hoped to speak with him. I’d love for him to read a lesson on Sunday.”

  “Oh, yes, he’s home. He’s just out fishing and throwing temper tantrums, but I expect he’ll return for—”

  The door to the room was flung open suddenly.

  “That’s it, I’ve had it!” the dark-haired, aptly named Raven shouted, storming into the room with a dramatic sweep of her hand. Behind her followed Shelby, the second scullery maid. Both women wore dull gray dresses, stained dark with perspiration, sweat gluing their hair to their heads. Raven glared at Sam and the camera for a moment, then turned to me. “I’m not washing one more pan for you lot, do you understand? I didn’t agree to become a slave, and that’s what I am—nothing more than a slave. Look at my hands, just look at them!”

  She shoved her hands, red and scraped and unhappy-looking, into my face. “It’s not bad enough we have to wash filthy dishes and scour pots and pans. Oh, no, we’re not allowed proper washing-up liquid. Well, no more! We’re revolting!”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, trying for a moment of levity. “You’re a bit sweaty and disheveled, but surely not revolting.”

  The joke went over like a rotting cow carcass.

  “You’re the duchess; you’re supposed to be in charge. We want some changes around here, and we’d better get them or else!”

  Shelby stood nervously behind Raven, nodding vigorously.

  I glanced over at Roger. He waved both hands at me, clearly telling me it was my problem to solve.

  “I’ll see what I can do, Raven, but I’m afraid—”

  The door burst open again. “My lady!”

  “Your Grace,” came a chastising response from the hall, delivered in Teddy’s dulcet tones.

  “Your Grace,” Bret the footman amended, “we have an emergency downstairs.”

  He stopped behind the two girls, who swung around to glare at him. He winked at them both.

  “I’ve already told her we’re revolting,” Raven said.

  “Are you? I don’t think you look that bad. Nothing a quick cleanup can’t fix. If you’d like to meet me later at the dairy, I’d be happy to—”

  “Oh, shut up, you randy git,” Raven snapped.

  “What exactly is the problem, Bret?”

  Teddy stepped into the room, one hand outstretched toward the door as he turned slightly to face the camera, lifted his chin, and said with perfectly clear enunciation, “Your Grace, the butler is stinking drunk.”

  “This is exciting,” Penelope said, bouncing a bit as she wapped down her skirt so she could see what was happening. “Kevin, isn’t this exciting? And we’re a part of it!”

  “Drunk?” I asked, astounded. “Palmer is drunk?”

  “Very exciting,” Kevin agreed, and turned eyes bright with delight back to me.

  “Really drunk? Maybe he has heatstroke. Are you sure he’s drunk?”

  “Arseholed,” Bret nodded.

  “Wonderful,” I said, trying to muster a smile for the camera and failing utterly. “I have two revolting scullery maids and an arseholed butler. Well, we’re just going to have to sober him up.”

  “What about us? We were here first! You have to take care of us before you can coffee up that old souse.”

  “He’s not an old souse,” Teddy said with a flick of his head. “He’s my father!”

  “Your what?” I gasped. I didn’t remember seeing that on the fact sheet.

  “My father,” Teddy answered me, making sure to keep his handsome profile well within the vision of the camera. He emoted for all he was worth. “I have kept this secret all my life, but now, when he needs me most, it is time I admit the truth. I am Ian Palmer’s love child.”

  “He’s good, isn’t he, Kev?”

  “Yes, very. I wonder if he’d like to join the Merry Minstrels? We could use someone like him for next year’s Penzance.”

  Teddy made a subtle acknowledging movement of the praise before resuming a pose with head bowed to disclaim all the grief, anguish, and paternal pride a brave young man could feel for his love-child-spawning arseholed father.

  It was all bull, of course. No doubt Teddy figured he’d try his acting skills for the viewing audience.

  “Your Grace, if I might have a moment of your time?” Mrs. Peters sidled into the room, narrowing her eyes at the footmen and the maids, who were now standing sullenly with their arms crossed, glaring at Bret as he ogled them.

  I took the Athena bust from the table and used it to hold down the part of Penelope’s skirt I was sitting on, rising as gracefully as I could considering that my organs had been crushed together for almost three days. Roger had a hand on a furious Kip, holding him back so he wouldn’t interfere. Sam’s lips twitched as he looked around the room. Wilma was wiping back tears of laughter. Clearly, no one was going to take charge.

  I guessed it was Tessa-to-the-rescue time. Oy.

  “What is it, Mrs. Peters? Is Palmer all right?”

  “I wouldn’t know, Your Grace. He appears to be curled up sleeping in a coal scuttle. I have something of much graver importance to discuss with you.”

  “What would that be?” I asked wearily, wondering if the day would never end.

  “Poltergeists.”

  I stared at her for the count of five. “Ah. I see.”

  “There are poltergeists in the west wing, Your Grace. As you are aware, the west wing houses not only the servants’ hall, but the family’s bedrooms.”

  “You’re sure it’s poltergeists? It’s not just . . .” I waved my hand around vaguely. “. . . mice or something?”

  Her brows drew together as she shook her head, her usual corona of fuzzy hair shaking vigorously with the movement. “Mice seldom rain down herrings, Your Grace.”

  I counted to ten this time, ignoring Roger’s groan and Wilma’s chirrup of laughter. “It’s been raining herring in the family’s rooms?”

  “And the servants’ hall,” she nodded.

  I looked around at the other servants. They all looked as confused as I did. “Have you guys seen it raining herring?”

  “The herring were apports, Your Grace,” Mrs. Peters said quickly before anyone else could speak. “They disappeared into their ethereal forms shortly after they made their appearance. Unless the spirits decide to reveal the apports to you, you might not notice them before they dissolved into ectoplasmic nothingness.”

  I gave in and had a good blink. “All righty. Um. I suppose—”

  “Merde! Get out of my way. I must speak with the Duchess Tessa!” A young woman I recognized from the project information sheet as the governess, Mademoiselle Beauvolais, pushed her way through the fast-gathering crowd, the housemaid named Easter in tow. “Here she is,” she said with a flourish, shoving Easter forward. “Here is the fire starter. You will now masturbate her!”

  I stared at Mile. Beauvolais in stark surprise. “What?”

  “Masturbate, masturbate! Do you not speak the language? You must punish her!”

  I wondered what new sort of hell had descended upon me. Where on the duchess’ duty sheet did it say I was supposed to sexually pleasure the housemaids? “Castigate, you mean?”
I asked slowly.

  “Yes, yes, that is what I say! This one, she is always starting the fires in the day nursery. I tell her it is summer still, it is too hot, but she starts the fires, anyway. Each day I must put them out, deranging myself greatly to do so. This morning I say that I will bring her before you if she start the fire again. As soon as I went to discover where the petite môme has gone, she started the fire again!”

  “Môme?” I asked.

  “The unpleasant one, the child Melody. Quel sale gosse.”

  I had a feeling she wasn’t saying anything nice about Melody, but let that go for the moment. I looked at the housemaid. “OK, Easter, dish. What’s the story?”

  She grinned. “I like to start fires.”

  I looked at her for a moment, then shook my head. “You know what? I think we’re all going to take a time out—”

  The door was thrown open again, but unfortunately Bret was in the way. It bounced off him and shot smartly toward the man standing in the doorway, his hands fisted, his eyes a blue blaze of sapphire, steam all but curling out of his ears. Max caught the door and took a step into the room. Before him, the crowd parted as if he was Moses, allowing him to stalk between their ranks until he stood toe to toe with me.

  “That’s the best glower I’ve ever seen,” I said calmly, waiting for the axe to fall. “Does anyone else here feel like they’re in a Marx Brothers movie?”

  “Melody,” he snarled through gritted teeth, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to strangle something. Or someone. I had a sudden horrible feeling I knew who that would be, too.

  “Your daughter? That Melody?”

  “My daughter has gone off on one of the horses.”

  I tried to look unconcerned. “Oh.”

  “Against my orders.”

  I dropped the unconcerned look and began worrying my lower lip. “Ah.”

  “Alone,” he said, leaning toward me until I thought his gaze would scorch my flesh.

  “Oy.”

  “She told Alec,” he said, leaning even closer, “that she had your permission to do so.”

  “Oh, crap.”

  “I am going out now to look for her. If I do not find my daughter safe and unharmed, Tessa, I will know upon whose head the blame will rest.”

  Somehow, I don’t think he was talking about himself.

  “Er . . .”

  He spun around and stormed back through the line of people, but pulled up when Clara Billings panted her way into the room.

  “Kitchen’s on fire,” she said cheerfully. “Anyone have a fire extinguisher?”

  The At Home kind of went downhill after that.

  Friday

  September 3

  7:22 A.M.

  Morning room

  Max Edgerton is a poop!

  Friday

  September 3

  8:57 A.M.

  Alcove above stairs

  I can’t believe I let him put his fingers inside me. I can’t believe I thought about him all last night. I can’t believe I indulged in smutty thoughts about him. He’s a poop and nothing but a poop.

  Men!

  Friday

  September 3

  1:50 P.M.

  Verandah

  He’s also a horrible judge of people. He doesn’t deserve me. I hope he grows warts. Everywhere.

  Friday

  September 3

  10:33 P.M.

  The room next to His Grace, the Duke of Poopy Pants

  What a day! I wonder if life really was like this for the Victorian duchesses, because if it was, I take back all the smug comments I’ve made about them being useless little dolls. Let’s have a little recap of all that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours, shall we?

  First, there was the kitchen fire. As it turns out, it wasn’t really on fire; the pipe leading from the stove was clogged and belching black coal smoke into the kitchen. Roger, Kip, and Michael the third footman managed to get it cleared enough so that the smoke went up the stovepipe rather than into the kitchen.

  Raven and Shelby were ready to walk out unless they got modern-day liquid dishwashing soap. Roger said no, it would ruin the project, but I sent Teddy into town today with orders to smuggle back a small bottle of liquid soap. What Roger doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I hope.

  We found no signs of herring, ectoplasmic or otherwise. As far as Mrs. Peters goes, I have a feeling that there’s a light on, but no one’s home.

  Roger took Easter the pyromaniac aside and told her to confine her fire starting to the stove until the weather turned colder.

  Palmer slept off his binge in a heap of coal, and appeared this morning limping heavily and talking about the possibility of signing up for a kidney transplant, but with most of his dignity intact. Max supposedly had a talk with him about drinking on the job and the medicinal uses of beer. I wouldn’t know, because Max isn’t speaking to me, but that’s another issue.

  And last but not least, Melody was returned to her father’s doting arms safe and sound. I’m the one who found her, having followed Max when he went out to hunt for her as the others ran downstairs to deal with the fire in the kitchen.

  “Max, wait a minute, I can’t run in this dratted corset,” I yelled after him as he headed toward the stable.

  “I didn’t ask you to come along,” he snapped over his shoulder, not even slowing down.

  “I know you didn’t, you obstinate man, but I’m trying to help.”

  “You’ve done enough to help today, thank you.”

  I thought for a few seconds of hefting a rock and throwing it at the back of his head, but decided that was childish.

  Instead I stuck out my tongue at him.

  “I didn’t tell her it was OK to go riding by herself. I would never say that to a kid, especially one who’d never been on a horse before. Will you slow down?”

  Max muttered something that I didn’t hear, then he hallooed up Alec, who appeared in the doorway to the stables. “Has she returned?”

  “Not yet.”

  Max swore. “How the hell did she get a horse without you seeing her?”

  Alec looked like a blond Adonis in the late afternoon light, his hair burnished, his shirt a stark white in comparison to the tanned column of his throat, his eyes alight with his usual good humor, albeit now a bit clouded with concern. “Thorn saddled up one of the mares for your sister. He said Melody came out, chatted him up a bit, and took the mare when he went in to check on one of the bays.”

  “Hell. She could be anywhere! Dammit, man, why aren’t you doing anything?”

  “Max, it isn’t Alec’s fault. Yelling at him isn’t going to help.”

  He spun around and glared at me. “As this whole nightmare is your fault, would you prefer me to yell at you instead?”

  I looked at him silently for a minute, weighing my options. I knew Max was overreacting about the danger Melody was in, but he really was concerned about her. “Fine, you think this is my fault. Well, then, I accept the blame.”

  Max looked surprised as I turned to Alec. “She took Penny?”

  “Yes. She’ll be safe on Penny, Max. A baby could ride Penny.”

  Max snarled an oath under his breath and spun around, scanning the area visible between the outbuildings.

  “Which way did Thorn go?” I asked as I went into the stable, Alec following behind me. I grabbed the bridle next to Talisman’s stall and greeted the horse as I slid the bridle on.

  “To the north. He thought she might be headed toward the lake.”

  “Right. Max, you take one of the carriage horses and go east, toward the town. I doubt if she’d go toward the road with all the traffic on it, but you never know. Alec, you go south. Talisman and I will head west, out to the farm.”

  Alec nodded and went to fetch one of the remaining horses.

  Max looked like a thundercloud about to burst into a downpour. “I am not getting on any damned horse. I’ll take Roger’s car.”

  I led Talisman outside and o
ver to a barrel that would serve as a mounting block. “His car? Why, don’t you ride?”

  His jaw tightened. “No. What are you doing? You don’t have a saddle on that beast.”

  “Nope, I sure don’t.” I hoisted my skirts up to my knees with one hand, holding the reins with the other, and managed to get onto the barrel with only minor flashing of my combinations. “So you have horse issues as well as a tongue fetish. It’s good to know you’re not perfect. I was beginning to wonder.”

  I swung a leg over Talisman’s back, settling myself and gathering the reins. My dress was hiked halfway up my thighs, but I doubted if anyone but Ellis would care that I was riding in a dress created to do no more than a little gentle promenading.

  Max’s storm cloud darkened even more. “You could be hurt riding without the proper equipment. I’ll have Alec bring you out the saddle. Stay there.”

  I rolled my eyes and nudged Talisman forward. Max backed up quickly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been riding bareback for years. Besides, I’m not terribly comfortable with the sidesaddle. Don’t forget to check along the drive. She might have figured that was the safest area to ride.”

  His jaw worked for a minute, his blue eyes cloudy with emotion as he hesitated, the full measure of his worry and concern for Melody visible. I bent down and pressed a kiss crookedly to the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry, we’ll find her safe and sound. You’ll see.”

  I pressed my heels into Talisman, heading out of the area at a fast canter, leaving Max yelling warnings behind us.

  Twenty minutes later I came across a bedraggled and dirty Melody stumbling through a field left fallow, leading Penny. Her face was streaked and splotched where she’d been crying, her yellow dress stained with grass and dirt, but she was in one piece.

  She looked up when Talisman cantered down the field toward the farm that bordered the estate. For a moment I thought she was glad to see me, then her habitual scowl darkened her face.