Chapter 6 – On Pins and Needles

- A budding friendship, gossip and ghosts;

Juliette was a young girl of 17, wavy locks of chestnut brown trimming her round smiling face, she bounced on her feet like the floor was covered in coal. Mr Kingsley had never dared leave the girl unsupervised with Lady Basington, but he had the foresight to anticipate some understanding, perhaps even kinship, between her and the new mistress, who seemed closer in age and spirit. His inkling was rewarded more handsomely than he could have known. The two took to each other like hot summer sun to cool lemonade.

Juliette did not have Miss Keane's education, her posture, splendid handwriting or skill at the piano. The two however did share a rebellious spark which made Priscilla break her composure more often than the Baroness would have liked and whatever sense of grandeur was left was not enough to put off the eager maid. Where Priscilla was lacking in friends, Juliette was excited to establish herself as one, to form a relationship outside of her family and her two competitive sisters. She was also eager to share all the gossip she had gathered over the years with a noble who was wiling to listen. Or in this case, as close to a noble as she could hope, at the very least one with immaculate clothing courtesy to her expanding number of benefactors.

Not wanting to seem gauche or inappropriate Priscilla hesitated at first to ask too many questions about the house. It quickly became obvious however, Juliette was not the kind to find fault with curiosity and the tales flew out of her like a whirlwind of snowflakes, excited and chaotic, details swirling this way and that in a mess of sense. It took all the attention she was capable of, for Priscilla to tie together a coherent story from the girl's scattered chatter.

Juliette talked of the house as if it were a person. A glorious genteel, with a life of mystery and glamour, whose lineage was wrapped in the soft velvet of royal purple and lined with the gaudy red of intrigue. Its story pleased both the noble and paltry tastes in equal measure. The land, now part of the flourishing Portugal street in Mayfair, was originally gifted to poet Langdon Lee Glass, when it was still naught but a dusty country road. According to Juliette, different stories accounted for the gift with varying degrees of taste and scandal and she knew all of them. The official records insisted it was a mere favour to the court poet, far from unusual and far from significant given the obscurity of the location at the time. Others claimed His Majesty was the true author of many of Glass’ works and the property was a means of buying the poet’s silence in front of a judgemental court. Juliette's favourite and most tawdry version of history whispered of a lover’s secret and passages from Westminster leading to a meeting place in the near Green Park. Whatever the truth, it died with Glass, mere 5 years after the finished construction of the original Glass Hall. The land, steadily increasing in value, was offered to a number of royal family members over the following years and though some were less offended than others, all turned it down, until the 1st earl of Gloucester claimed it, ostensibly as a gift to his new bride. The reality was that lord Astley, whatever faults his son attributed to him, had vision. He saw what others could not at the time – potential.

Portugal street was dusty and provincial compared to the diamond shine of the crown, but the construction on the nearby Green Park reduced access to Charing Cross and mandated the interest of the public. Thus, a stage was created, which Bertram Astley was not about to let go to waste.

And so the house was renovated. The style was bold and conspicuously European, baroque features appearing in the balustrades, the furnishings, the decorations, the height of the candles, the foyer which Lord Astley insisted calling a bel étage and the grand french and venetian windows.

Priscilla listened to these stories of foreign fashion and architecture with surprise that anything so historical could have retained Juliette's attention, but the anecdotes were quickly interspersed with salacious details of the foreigns' loose behaviour and copious amounts of French wine. Priscilla listened to these with the conditional patience of someone with an agenda. She waited for a hint of Lady Katherine to puncture the narrative like a ray of light, or failing that, like a sharp chill on a warm day. Juliette's stories however seemed to waltz around the mistress of the house with masterful deftness. The girl talked of everything, of the horses, the balls, the neighbours, the relatives, the master, whose conspicuous absence she clearly couldn't help but revel in, but never his wife.

"Oh, the master is rarely home these days," she declared, voice barely contained like soup threatening to bubble out of the pot, lid rattling with excitement. Asking after the Earl was Priscilla's most brazen endeavour to uncover the faith of his wife and while, another time she might have simply left Juliette's giddiness over her master's absence speak for itself, now she prodded on.

"The Astley's estate in the country must be quite impressive. I suppose it takes a lot of looking after." She picked a number of complicated looking pins for Juliette to weave into her curls hoping the task would buy her more time.

"Oh, to be sure," Juliette nodded impressively, her eyes bulging with assurance Priscilla thought quite bold considering the girl couldn't have had even a glimpse of the house, but she remained obligingly awed by the vision. "To be sure it does, my lord took the majority of the staff with him when he left."

"I see." But Priscilla didn't really see at all and, with a deep internal sigh chastising herself, she asked: "Perhaps with his wife gone he found it difficult to stay."

At that Juliette startled, her head whipping up. The pin slipped through her limp fingers and she gasped, reaching to catch it at as it tugged at the edge of Priscilla's hair.

"I'm sorry, miss," she she stumbled.

"Not at all, I apologise if I startled you."

Something crossed over Juliette's face, equal part fear and curiosity, and Juliette made a breathless effort to compose her features. "I- Her ladyship was a beautiful soul and a wonderful mistress." The words came out jagged and hesitant. "Her presence is difficult to overcome," she added with a strange emphasis on each word and Priscilla got the distinct impression she was being told a riddle.

"You could not have been very old yourself when she was here. If you don't mind me asking," Priscilla added despite her curiosity, "how do you remember her?"

"Oh, my mother works in the kitchen, miss," Juliette immediately brightened at the thought. "I have a cousin in the stables as well, you could say serving the Astleys has been a family business for us," she joked with a wink and returned to fastening the pin back in a carefully coiled ringlet before moving on to the next one. "I used to come and help as a child when my grandmother had one of her migraines and couldn't take care of me."

"You must have been a very obedient child, to not be tempted by such a playground," Priscilla added.

"That's what Lady Katherine said," Juliette's smiled softly. "She would catch me running off down some corridor or other, I'm sure I must have dragged mud over the carpets and the clean floors, but she would stop me and give me a smile and a daisy and just tell me to be careful. The gardens at Astley Hall were always the best of anywhere, miss. Have you seen the hydrangea bushes in the back, miss? She was particularly proud of them, aunt Georgia said the mistress helped plant them herself." Juliette looked up, measuring the symmetry of Priscilla's ringlets in the mirror. "Georgia Blackthorn I mean, miss, she's still working in the gardens though not as much anymore, her back isn't what it used to be. And she's not my aunt really, only everyone in Astley Hall is like family to me, I've known them all my life."

Juliette's mind had staunchly returned the conversation to more pleasant memories and it was beyond Priscilla's ability to steer it back into the pit of discomfort which Lady Katherine Astley's name elicited. She decided to drop the question for the moment.

"Ms Blackthorn was not one of the group which joined the Earl in the country then?"

"No, miss," she hesitated a little. "I don't think his lordship would have brought her even if her back wasn't giving her trouble, to tell the truth. She was too close to her ladyship she was."

"Another difficult reminder?"

"You could say that," Juliette snickered. "Ms Blackthorn is a very outspoken woman, as outspoken about her memories of Lady Katherine as any other thing."

"I can't imagine such honesty would match well with Mr Kingsley's sense of propriety either," Priscilla mused, remembering the steward's severe expression.

"Oh, it does," Juliette giggled. "But she likes to remind him she's been here longer and the Viscount would never get rid of her. Between you and me, miss, sometimes I swear he enjoys the confrontation," the girl giggled mischievously. "But we're so grateful for Mr. Kingsley," she added in a rush to dissipate any impression of insubordination. "If it weren't for him, we would struggle to manage the place. There was no one as experienced to run such a grand household."

"Lady Basington is generous to part with her steward then."

"Generous indeed."

There was a twist to the remark and Priscilla raised an eyebrow as Juliette started arranging the bedclothes.

"Of course, Lady Basington is too smart to do anything to her own detriment," Priscilla added, prodding.

"She is indeed, miss. She looks after all of us. The Viscount especially, such a good master he is, if you don't mind my saying, takes after his mother. Since she passed, God rest her soul," Juliette hesitated, "sometimes it feels as though the Baroness has fostered us all."

This was the moment. Her outfit was ready, her hair was in place, she was late to meet the Baroness for tea and she couldn't flirt with the subject anymore, especially given her lack of practice.

"Juliette," Priscilla bit her lip, "when was the last time you saw Lady Katherine?"

It was the question they had been dancing around since Priscilla's first night in the house, 3 days ago. Since she first heard of Mrs Astley's ghost.

"The last time Lord Astley was here, miss. She comes back every time he does."

"That's very romantic, I suppose," Priscilla said, her voice barely audible over the thumping of her own heart.

"No, miss. She comes back to haunt him. And to remind us all of how she died."