“I draw the line at dishonesty,” the housekeeper warned.
With effort, Charlotte shut her mouth. Thank George Washington, she was not a stray cat. This woman probably scalded the poor creatures with boiling water rather than give a puss the smallest morsel of chicken. Ha! Charlotte thought. She wouldn’t rate even a chicken bone if this continued.
But the formidable Mrs. Pots was not finished with her scalding. “Lord Dewhurst’s mother is the only Lady Dewhurst I know, and you, miss, have a long way to go before aspiring to her class.”
“Be that as it may,” Charlotte said, straightening her spine. “I am your new mistress, and as such—”
Mrs. Pots turned her back. “Now what have you done to poor Wilkins?” she asked, peering at the man still sprawled on the floor. Charlotte exchanged incredulous looks with Addy, while the housekeeper motioned for a girl hovering near the stairs with a basin and linen to come forward. “Hester, dab his face with that water. Lazy girl. Be quick about it. That is sure to revive him.”
Hester followed the order, kneeling beside the poor valet. A moment later, the man spluttered awake, snapping, “Not the cravat! Don’t dampen the cravat!” He sat up, hands protectively clutching the stiff linen at his throat.
“Ah, back to his old self,” Mrs. Pots said. “Now, what other havoc have you wreaked?” Mrs. Pots said, glancing about.
Addy stepped forward, obviously unwilling to tolerate any further insult to her mistress. “Don’t you talk to Miss Charlotte like that. I won’t tolerate disrespect.”
Charlotte put a hand on Addy’s forearm. “Addy, let me—”
“Don’t interrupt, Miss Charlotte. This woman seems mighty confused.”
Charlotte threw up her hands. Now even Addy was shushing her.
“I think you owe Miss Charlotte an apology.”
On the floor, Wilkins whimpered, but Mrs. Pots frowned, puffed her chest out, and rose to her full height, which was at least a foot shorter than Addy. “Addy, is it? Addy, you are mistaken. It is you, not I, who are in error.”
Addy crossed her arms. “Fancy talk isn’t worth chicken spit.”
“Oh, dear Lord!” Wilkins cried, shrinking back.
“I ain’t going to hurt you, little man,” Addy growled, then added under her breath, “Unless you give me reason.”
Wilkins made a small sound of distress and swooned yet again, and Charlotte, worried she might be trapped in the foyer all day if she didn’t take action soon, pushed forward. “Mrs. Pots, I know all of this must come as quite a shock, and I am certain Dewhurst will answer any questions in his own good time, but for now, would you please take me to him?”
Mrs. Pots frowned. “I don’t think—”
“Oh, never mind,” Charlotte said. “I’ll find him myself.” And she started down the hallway in the direction Dewhurst had taken.
“Where are you going?” Mrs. Pots called after her. “Come back here!”
Charlotte kept walking, past door after door after door. She paused to stare at the mammoth, polished wood edifices spaced evenly before her. Dewhurst could be behind any of them. She turned in a full circle, noting the fine rosewood ornamental tables and the treasures they displayed. Three of those fine porcelain vases, two gold candlesticks, or one of the antique clocks would absolve her of money worries for a half year or more. As she stared, a blue and gold liveried footman emerged from a hidden door in the wall behind her and, when he saw her, bowed.
Charlotte nodded, and the man began to walk away, but Charlotte called after him. “Wait! Sir!”
He turned back, seeming surprised.
“Can you tell me where—ah, His Lordliness— Lord Dewhurst is?”
“Yes, madam. I believe he retired to his room.”
Charlotte nodded and turned back to the row of doors. “And which door might that be?”
“His Lordship’s room is two floors up, madam.” Charlotte frowned back at the foyer. She had been standing there a moment before, looking up at the high chandelier and the glossy black and white marble steps. The footman seemed to note her confusion. “I believe he took the servants’ stairs to avoid the”—he followed her gaze down the corridor, where they could hear Addy chastising Mrs. Pots and the housekeeper giving as good as she got—“commotion. Through there, madam,” the man said, indicating the wall panel.
“Thank you, sir,” Charlotte said, grasping his hand.
He smiled. “Andrews, madam.”
“Andrews.” She squeezed his hand, then slipped through the panel and started up the stairs. When she emerged on the third floor, she was staring down another corridor lined with towering doors. George Washington, but this place needed street signs! Well, there was nothing for it but to try each door and hope she didn’t intrude on anyone. She took a deep breath and started walking, pausing at each door to try the handle. The first three were locked, but the fourth turned.
