Orchid Pink

by Toni Sands

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

Demure Adelaide hides a passionate nature beneath her elegant gowns. After hiring new maid Daisy, she's eager to introduce her to the delights of the orchid house. Enjoying Sapphic romps and determined to resist paternal pressure to marry businessman Thomas, Adelaide is surprised to find excitement in his touch and his whispered promises. Yet, when he reveals his sinister side, she seeks familiar solace.

Christmas brings snowflakes, also a vivid reminder of a heart-wrenching past. Intrigue and obsession rock this Victorian household as Adelaide's poignant search for love leads her into storms. Will she ever bask in the sunshine?

Release date: January 12, 2012

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 314

Sample

Chapter One

Claremont House, London – 1900

When Daisy first walked into the drawing room, her loveliness made our ornate furniture seem lacklustre. She stood before me, her hands twin doves against the tired grey frock flattening her breasts and it was easy to picture her in maid’s uniform. Yet, as a sunbeam painted her wavy, corn-gold hair, part of me needed to find fault.

My father had begun peppering mealtime conversations with advice from his good friend, Thomas Mercer. This situation stemmed from the late Mrs Mercer’s unfortunate demise a year or so before. I understood the desire to fill the gap in his life but his interest in our affairs irked me.

Yet when this gentleman recommended Daisy for a position in our household, I could hardly refuse to interview her, even while chafing at the pressure. My father was vague about the girl’s background, presumed Thomas Mercer knew her current employers. These people were unable to offer her a better position in their household and were willing to provide a good reference.

I’d wondered if this girl might be an impatient sort. Decided should I take an instant dislike to her, that would be the end of the matter and I could look for someone else. Now, having met Daisy, how could I resist taking her on? She was fresh as the petals of her name.

Her eyes explored the mahogany desk and widened at the sight of the brocaded fireside chairs with their fat, scrolled arms. I felt a wave of compassion and twirled the garnet ring on my little finger. ‘Please sit down, Daisy,’ I said.

She seated herself on the button-back chesterfield. I watched her fingers stroke its smoky leather before she met my gaze with sapphire eyes I knew had seen too much, too soon. The tips of shabby boots peeped from beneath her skirt. I blinked rapidly. Did she see my longing? Someone who stirred my senses so, surely spelled danger. Should I turn her away for both our sakes?

‘So, you feel it’s time for a change of scenery, Daisy?’

She nodded. ‘I do, Miss Beauchamp. May I say something, miss?’

‘By all means.’

She picked at a fingernail. ‘My mother used to be a seamstress. She’s taught us to be handy with a needle but all I gets is pots and pans. Not to mention black leading.’

I laughed. She seemed bright enough.

Her eyes sparkled. ‘Begging your pardon, miss. No disrespect intended.’

Spirited yet polite. I looked at the reference I held in my hand. ‘You are a hard worker with a pleasant disposition. What makes you hanker after for a new post?’

‘I don’t want to wait ten years for the job I really wants, miss.’

‘I see.’ I liked this refreshing frankness. She could be the little sister I’d never had. A clean slate. How exciting it would be to polish this little gemstone. She probably stared into soap suds and saw a knight on a snow-white steed.

‘So, do you think you’d like working for me, Daisy?’

‘Yes, miss. It’s a sight for sore eyes, this room, miss.’ She pointed to the oil painting of a raven-haired beauty opening the lid of an ornate golden casket. ‘I never seen a picture like that before.’

‘Thank you. My father’s the collector, not me.’

Her eyes were still on the picture. ‘It looks like that lace on her dress is real.’

‘That’s because the artist is so talented.’ I hesitated. In my bedroom was a picture my father had given to my mother. It was, shall we say, daring. I wondered what kind of people this girl had been working for.

‘Have you seen many oil paintings, Daisy?’

‘Pictures of people – in Mr and Mrs Carfax’s house. Big dark old things they were.’ She giggled. ‘I mean the pictures not the master and mistress.’

‘Portraits don’t have to be dark and dreary. But you’ll see more landscapes here. Explosions of colour and pictures of plants and flowers, of course. This isn’t a grand household, but we do have standards.’ I didn’t want her to expect high society. ‘And it’s a tidy trot uphill from the village if you’re courting,’ I said slyly.

A faint pink tinged her cheeks. ‘I’m not bothered, Miss Adelaide.’

Did she mean she enjoyed walking? Or that she wasn’t interested in young men? I was ashamed of my reaction. This wasn’t about me. If I employed Daisy, her younger siblings would be sure to taste meat now and then. Enjoy gravy dribbling down their chins. I was certain she’d raked oodles of cold ashes and scrubbed miles of kitchen floor in her first years of service. It was time for her to grow her fingernails. Finding good staff was a treasure hunt often unrewarded and I knew I must be honest with her regarding her duties.

‘I can help you become a lady’s maid,’ I said. ‘Mr Mercer has informed Mr Beauchamp that’s what you want. But you’ll be peeling potatoes as well as pressing petticoats. I can offer only a small step up from what you’re doing now. The wage is a better one, though.’

She inclined her head as if she didn’t want to speak in case I changed my mind. I cleared my throat. ‘All right, Daisy. Rest assured, black leading steps will not be one of your chores. But this is a large house with a small staff. You’ll be expected to turn a hand to many different duties.’

I waited for a response but she sat, eyes fixed on me, hands sill folded demurely.

‘Very well. In that case, I’d like you to prepare some tea for my father and me while I write to your mother. Mrs Dodge, our cook, will show you where to find things.’

Those blue eyes shone. ‘Yes, miss.’

‘I’m advised you are free to come to us provided you work out your week. I’ll send Mr Faraday to collect you and your belongings at nine on Monday morning. Please don’t keep him waiting. He’s a busy man.’

‘No, miss. Thank you, miss. You won’t regret taking us on.’ She uttered a little sigh before turning away to walk from the room.

I was left feeling as if the sun had vanished. When I sat down at my desk and dipped my pen in the inkwell, the brief sentences, outlining Daisy’s terms of employment to her mother, Mrs Pook, whispered not one jot of how her eldest daughter stirred my senses.

When Daisy returned, carrying a tea tray, every item was in place. I poured myself a cup and judged the brew right. I doubt I’d have complained had it not been.

On impulse I pressed a few coins into her palm. ‘This is for you to buy a treat for the family’s supper, Daisy. For a small celebration.’

‘Thank you, miss.’ Her smile would have warmed an ice house.

‘Off you go then. Ask Cook for a cup of tea from her pot. She and Mr Faraday always have one this time of day. If she offers a piece of her shortbread you’ll know she approves of you. ’

Alone, I felt breathless yet couldn’t resist a pirouette, a child again, smiling at myself in the gilt-framed mirror. I smoothed my skirts before knocking on the door of my father’s study. He’d agreed the choice of maid should be mine, though I guessed anybody recommended by Mr Mercer would have risen like cream to the top, even if she’d resembled a turnip.

‘I think this young woman’s the ideal person to fill the position.’ I passed Pa his tea, taken black, in a wide-bowled cup.

A frown creased his forehead. I was about to remind him of Daisy’s interview when he smiled, nodding so much I feared his tea would spill. ‘This is the girl Thomas recommended?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m delighted. It’s high time you had more help. Which reminds me, I must speak to John about someone to assist with the horses and the garden.’ He put down his cup and sat a little straighter in the chair. Suddenly I noticed a frosty tinge to his dark moustache. I didn’t like to think of my dear Pa ageing.

‘I wonder, Adelaide,’ he said, ‘whether you might like to meet with Thomas soon?’

‘Surely you’ve seen enough of him for a while, Pa?’

It seemed to me Mr Mercer was now visiting the house where once Pa had met him in the city for whatever fraternising the two indulged in. To my certain knowledge, he’d called once or twice lately. Too often for my liking.

‘My friendship with Thomas has changed since he lost his poor wife. Apart from business matters, we share a mutual liking for politics and current affairs. It is a pity you’ve not been at home when he’s called.’

The mildly reproving tone jarred. But if I hadn’t known better, I’d have described Pa’s next remark as coy.

‘I never see him without he asks after you,’ he said. ‘Maybe we could run to a quiet supper for three?’

I clasped my hands together so he couldn’t see how they trembled and forced a rueful smile. ‘I’ll have other things on my mind for a while, Pa. I need to instruct my new maid in our ways. Setting up a routine from the beginning’s important.’

He sighed. ‘You’re a perfectionist, my dear. You work too hard. But you need a taste of society. Selfishly, I’ve kept you to myself too much.’ He shook his head. ‘I fear I’ve let you down badly in that respect. I want to make amends. You have a lot to offer.’

Perspiration trickled down my spine. ‘I have my Sunday school class. You know I don’t hanker after party invitations and dance cards. I wouldn’t know how to simper.’

He chuckled. ‘I understand and I commend that lack of guile. Even so, remember that all work and no play …’ He peered at me over his spectacle tops. ‘You should be married, Adelaide. You need some joy in your life. It would give me great pleasure to see you settled with a gentleman who’d appreciate your talents.’

What he really meant was he harboured a wish to find a man to look after me. I counted to ten, very slowly. This notion of my father’s needed banishing. Had he realised how my need for the sensual moments of life occupied me, he would doubtless have called for the brandy decanter.

That night I undressed, fantasising Daisy’s fingers loosening my buttons and stays. My nipples hardened under this imaginary touch. I refused to acknowledge the danger of employing someone so capable of melting my willpower. I’d conducted my personal life with discretion, avoiding tittle-tattle, but now my longing for tenderness and laughter swamped my common sense like a deluge from a watering can. She was inexperienced for the post of lady’s maid but I could coach her, talk to her of books and society scandals. Show her pretty things. Even if I didn’t frequent front rooms and foyers, I read plenty of newspapers and periodicals.

I turned back sheet and coverlet and climbed into bed. Daisy Pook had invaded my senses and I was too alert for sleep. In my bedside drawer was something to help, something to which I tried not to resort too often. My very first lover had attempted to teach me to applaud my body’s needs. But my upbringing was a tight corset and though Ruth Carroll had loosened the stays, I still felt I was beguiled by the devil’s violin.

I dipped the dildo between my thighs, working it gradually inside me and closing my eyes to the ruffled ruby-redness of my bedroom. I needed to shoo away that shadow of prudishness. Like a scene from a magic lantern show, I saw a slice of azure sea, a half-moon of sandy cove flaxen as my first lover’s locks. Ruth had captured my heart and my soul three years before. “You need unbuttoning, Addie,” she used to say.

But now it was Daisy, her hair no less bright, dancing through my thoughts. No man had ever courted me. The thought of masculine hands fondling me where once Ruth’s fingers had lingered was … what? Abhorrent? Certainly untried.

I felt safer, fantasising about Daisy. But I shouldn’t allow myself to wonder whether or not she enjoyed the attentions of fellows or females. I mustn’t risk frightening her away. I knew this conflict between conscience and craving heralded storms. Had I made too reckless a decision?

Chapter Two – Silken Puddle

On Monday morning, John Faraday, our loyal general factotum, brought my new maid to me in the glasshouse. I spent hours here, noting the temperature and keeping the plants moist. I liked to think my bad girls, the orchids, missed me when I attended to their rivals, the ferns. These weren’t so showy but I adored seeing their fronds unfurl into lush green fringes. They were the perfect foil to my prima donnas.

‘Thank you, John,’ I said, brushing soil from my hands. ‘Cook has your breakfast waiting.’

He bowed his big, balding head though I’d often told him not to. There was not one lazy bone in John Faraday’s body and he met my father’s frequent and idiosyncratic requests with good humour, even though an injury sustained in a riding accident meant his left leg swung as if strapped to a board. As a child I had thought he walked like a wind-up toy soldier and, for a while, even practised his gait. I remember enjoying making my mother laugh with my mimicry before she changed her tune and scolded me.

John stepped away, leaving my new charge and her baggage in a pool of sunlight. Her solitary suitcase caught my attention. It looked as if it didn’t belong to her. Where had she found the money to purchase something of such fine quality? I didn’t allow myself to pry but speculated as to whether her former employers had found it in their hearts to reward her conscientiousness.

Her gaze roamed the luxuriant foliage. What did she make of all this? I wondered. All this magnificence, it had to be said. Although to me it was a modest feast against the bounties of Kew.

I was curious as to what she’d left behind but remembered my obligations as mistress of the house. ‘Would you like some breakfast too, Daisy?’

A shy grin displayed small, higgledy-piggledy teeth. ‘If I could live in this glasshouse, I likely wouldn’t need feeding,’ she said.

Laughter bubbled inside me. I’d chosen well. ‘You approve of my charges, then?’

‘I wish I was the size of a mouse so’s I could play hide and seek among them, miss.’ She licked the tip of one finger and pressed it to the lip of a succulent plant.

I felt a pang of pleasure. ‘Wait till I show you the bad girls!’

I saw her sharp intake of breath. ‘I meant my orchids, Daisy. Now, off you go and find Mrs Dodge. You know where the kitchen is. I’ll come for you when I’m ready.’

Her stomach rumbled. Neither of us could fail to hear. She clapped a hand to her mouth and looked at me, stricken. I hid a smile and walked to the doorway with her. My father was making his way across the hall to the dining room and Daisy dipped a pretty curtsey before trotting towards the kitchen.

My father stared after her a moment then turned to me, beaming. ‘Of course. The new girl, I take it? I shall have to remember we have an addition to our household.’

I followed him to the breakfast table. ‘Her name’s Daisy. I’m looking forward to being freed from certain of my chores but I’ve promised to instruct her in the duties of a lady’s maid.’ I poured tea for him. ‘It will take time but it’s part of our agreement.’

‘This is all most suitable,’ he said. ‘I have absolute faith in Thomas’ judgement.’

I hoped he didn’t think I would accept Mr Mercer as my suitor as readily as I’d accepted the paragon’s choice of employee. It was time to press another request.

‘Pa, may I bring up the matter of John? He needs help not just with the garden but with the fires as well.’ I thought of the black leading. ‘I don’t want Daisy’s hands to become too rough.’

‘My word – doubling our staff so quickly? I don’t know what Thomas will say.’

In my head, a brass band blared. Damn Thomas! I needed to divert Pa.

‘I imagine,’ I said, ‘as your friend he’ll be delighted to hear you’re ensuring the smooth running of our household. You really should consider driving out with John more often, Pa. Make the most of the good weather. Will you ask him to give his mind to finding a suitable lad? Or shall I?’

‘I’ll see to it, my dear. You have enough to do.’

Once we’d breakfasted, I left my father reading his letters and made my way to the kitchen to find Daisy. I could hear the rumble of John Faraday’s voice as I approached. But from what he was saying, it was clear Daisy must have gone to settle into her room.

‘Not a lot wrong with that young ‘un’s appetite,’ said John.

‘When she came for her interview she took one taste of my shortbread and told me I baked like an angel. Did you hear her?’ Cook’s chuckle was rich as her buttery biscuits.

‘I did. I can’t hear you asking me if I’ll take a second cup of tea, though … Ah, I don’t mind if I do.’

I could not be seen from where I stood a yard or so from the half-open door. My intention wasn’t to be malicious. I held both these two old faithfuls in high esteem. But I was interested to hear their candid opinion of the new member of the household. Daisy was decades younger. Her role was not as clearly defined as theirs. I didn’t want the small, smooth pond of our household to seethe into a boiling cauldron.

‘There’s something niggling me,’ said John. ‘When I carried that big case of hers up top, I took a good look at it.’ He gulped another mouthful of tea. ‘Nice bit of leather. No old toot. I doubt she’d got much in it. What d’you reckon then?’

I heard a teaspoon clatter against china.

‘Can’t make it out,’ said Cook. ‘She said when her dad done a runner, he left her poor ma with a fair few mouths to feed. No cash for fine luggage, that’s for sure.’

‘She don’t look like no tea leaf. You mark my words, Dora. That’s a gift from someone she’s got there. Or a hand-me-down, more like.’

‘Go on! You mean from them she’s been working for?’

I heard John crunching biscuit. ‘I don’t think so. Didn’t you notice them two special features?’

‘You dirty old devil. And you old enough to be her granddad.’

‘Watch it, Mrs D. I meant them two initials on the suitcase. Nicely embossed they are. I’m not saying no more.’

I left them to it. Tiptoed back the way I came. I’d give Daisy time to arrange whatever belongings she’d packed in that fine leather valise. My father called to me as I reached the drawing room.

‘What is it, Pa?’

‘Thank goodness you’re here. I can’t find my wallet. Have you seen it, Adelaide?’ Agitation wobbled in his voice.

‘I haven’t, I’m afraid. When did you last have it? It can’t be far away.’

‘Now let me think …’

My stomach lurched. John Faraday’s judgment didn’t mark out Daisy as a thief. But were we being duped? Was she at this moment helping herself to my silver-backed dressing table set? Or was she pouncing upon my mother’s jewel case, about to do a runner as her father seemed to have done? Then what would Pa think of Mercer the Magnificent’s recommendation?

‘Adelaide? Did you not hear me? I’ve found it. See? It must have slipped down the side of the chair. I knew it couldn’t be far. Now, where was I?’

From then on, I resolved to take Daisy on her own merit. If she didn’t prove worthy of her new role, I would try to resolve the situation, rather than toss her out on a whim. Soon I realised her sometime gaucheness was offset by her intuition. She possessed an uncanny knack of anticipating my needs. As days passed, I wondered how I ever managed without her.

When Ruth and I were together, she used to bristle at the idea of employing a maidservant, even though I protested the title dwarfed the role. In spite of this disapproval, I didn’t dismiss my former maid just because my friend disliked the class system. That particular employee had applied for a post in a household where party invitations jostled for space on mantelpieces and I managed without a maid for months until I realised my orchids were missing the devotion they craved.

Daisy soon made herself at home. She was respectful to her elders and a willing worker.

‘She’s a breath of fresh air, that little girl,’ Mrs Dodge told me at the end of Daisy’s first week. ‘Good worker too.’

Indeed she was. But the time had arrived for my new maid to learn boudoir skills. So far, her walks along my corridor had been accompanied by a morning tea tray. When I’d shown her around the house on her first day, she’d noticed the big painting adorning the wall facing the fireplace in my room. Her jaw had dropped and she’d glanced away in a fluster. I said not a word. But when I pointed out which garments went where, I saw her eyes slide back to the lush curves of the naked lady reclining on a fur spread.

The previous occupant of my delightful quarters was my mother. My father had used the room next door. My nursery had been at the other side of the house. As I outgrew the need for a nanny, I sensed my mother outgrowing my father. Only children are more likely to notice subtle indicators. In my case, I also possessed an imagination far too big for its boots.

My mother presented me with a copy of Jane Eyre to keep me occupied when, aged about ten, I took a nasty chill. My throat felt like the sandpaper I’d seen John Faraday use at his workbench and my neck was mummified in goose grease-soaked flannel. I was told to remain in bed and read. I think Ma was terrified of catching my germs and it was her maid, Betty, who administered the throat wrap and the dosings of glycerine. I still shudder at the memory of trying not to gag while swallowing that unctuous oil. Betty would pop an aniseed ball into my mouth afterwards.

So began many visits to Lowood. Also to Thornfield Hall as I grew with Jane. Revisiting her red-room torment often preceded a lurid childhood dream for me and in daytime, if entering my mother’s boudoir, I would shoot nervous glances around its dark crimson walls. I would force myself to look at the towering wardrobe and hold my breath as though Mr Reed’s sneering corpse might fall through its doors at any moment.

Once I became 21, I decided it was time to banish the ghosts. My father had already selected a large bedroom overlooking the back garden. More influenced by the lush décor than the front-facing location of my mother’s old room, I moved in, with help from John Faraday. The avalanche of white bedspread was long gone. I replaced it with a counterpane of buttercup yellow. And I still empathised with Jane. She’d been lonely, as I had. Friendships did not come easily for her. Sometimes I wished for a warm, friendly body lying beside me during the long, winter nights.

I added touches of my own, slowly erasing my mother’s presence. Her green leather jewel case still squatted on the floor of the wardrobe and I remained intrigued as to why she hadn’t taken it with her. Maybe it had been guilt, or the desire to travel without too many tangible memories of her former life.

Daisy chuckled with delight when I first flung open closet doors to display my clothes. My passion for vivid colours spilled into the room along with the zest of spicy oranges. Daisy sniffed and gave an appreciative little sigh.

‘I like pomanders placed with everything hanging up, Daisy.’ I pointed to the tallboy standing beside the big bay window. ‘My freshly laundered undergarments are always layered with bars of scented soap or lavender bags.’

‘Yes, miss.’ Daisy’s eyes gleamed as if she couldn’t wait to start reorganising my lingerie. ‘It’s a bit like playing house, miss.’

I wanted to hug her; such was my little doll’s energy and playfulness. ‘Let’s hope you still feel like that after Mrs Dodge shows you how to wield a flat iron. Especially on flimsy fabrics.’

She noticed another of my mother’s possessions on top of the chest of drawers. Her hands flew to her face and she shook her head back and for. ‘That thing! What is it?’

‘It’s only a workbox to keep sewing things in. It’s made from armadillo shell. The lining’s quite fragile now.’

‘It’s made from . . .