“Very well. Since there is nothing better to be had, that will have to do. It is far too nice a morning to be spoiled by something as trivial as the theft of a few plants to disturb it.”
Celeste paused in placing half a muffin on the toasting fork to stare at the Duchess. But she was surveying herself in a small hand mirror and took no notice.She is sincere. She does not realize that ‘a few plants’ could make the difference between wintering well or there being shortfalls for castle and village. Nor does she understand that some of those plants could be poisonous. Well, it is not my place to inform her.
Celeste continued with the chore of toasting the muffin halves. When they were nicely browned she asked, “Will you have marmalade or strawberry jam, Your Grace?”
“One of each, I think. Is there any clotted cream?”
“There is.”
“I would rather have that than butter, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, Your Grace.” Celeste quickly prepared the food for the Duchess.
When she was seated before the fireplace, happily munching, Celeste asked, “Will you dress for the morning, Your Grace? The new sprigged muslin is not quite ready to wear, but your blue morning dress is freshly laundered and pressed.”
“That sounds comfortable,” the Duchess said. “I have nothing in particular planned for the morning. Perhaps you would not mind reading to me? You have such a pleasant voice.”
Inwardly, Celeste quailed from the task, but she asked, “Will you have another story from Tales from Shakespeare, Your Grace.”
“No. The post came last night, and Mr. Christopher Hammonds caused a new novel to be sent. It is titled ‘The Wanderer,’ and it is written by Mrs. Frances Burney, Lady d’Arblay. It should be far more amusing than Charlotte Lamb’s prosy tales.”
After the Duchess was attired in her blue morning gown, Celeste sat down with the new book. It was a marvel to her because very few books had come her way, and this one was newly printed and had not even been opened. Reverently she opened it to the first page and began to read, “To Doctor Burney…”
“Never mind that part,” the Duchess said impatiently. “that’s just the introduction. Skip to the first chapter.”
Celeste obligingly turned several pages until she at last came to the beginning of the first chapter. She then began to read, “During the dire reign of the terrific Robespierre . . .” She read for more than an hour, her voice at last growing hoarse, her mind scarcely registering the trials of a woman “without a protector.”
At last the Duchess said, “Enough. Ring for some luncheon, and prepare my riding habit.”
“Your favorite one is still with the laundress, Your Grace. And are you sure it is wise to go out riding today? Clearly, there is a criminal about. You might be in danger.”
The Duchess shrugged. “There is always some danger when riding. Besides, I will have my groom with me.”
If you don’t give him the slip.
Aloud, Celeste said, “As you wish, Your Grace.” And she rang for someone to bring up a meal.
Once the Duchess was attired and had departed the chamber, Celeste collected the Duchess’s soiled garments, hung the blue morning gown back in the wardrobe, and set about putting the chamber into order. With that complete, she took the basket of laundry down to the washroom. Mrs. Possinger was busy with the regular household linens, while Mrs. Whitehurst worked over a smaller basin that was filled with the Duchess’s stockings. Her soiled riding habit from the previous day hung where the mud caked upon it could dry in preparation for brushing it away.
“More laundry from the Duchess? I declare, she goes through more clothing in a day than most of us do in a month. You’d think she was a princess instead of a mere Duchess. Can’t you do something about it, Miss Singer?”
“Since I do not ride, let alone ride with her, I am afraid that is out of my power,” Celeste replied. “She is currently out riding, so I am sure you will have a full day again tomorrow.”
“Out riding?” Mrs. Possinger exclaimed. “With some madman about? That cannot be safe.”
“I tried to dissuade her from it, but she insisted that she must go out. She said she would have her groom with her.”
Mrs. Whitehurst hawked and spat a brownish liquid into a can by her side. “That one. She’ll have that poor groom ditched in a trice.” Then she said no more, merely taking a fresh dip of snuff, and inserting it under her lip. “No more sense than a gooseberry.”
Since Celeste didn’t disagree with that assessment, but did not think it professional to gossip about her employers, she changed the subject. “Have you heard anything more about the robbery at the orangeries?”
“Only that the Gran’ther is exceedingly upset. He has sent for fresh hot water twice now, and a large can of lye soft soap. It must be a fearful mess.”
Celeste opened her mouth to ask more, when one of the potboys ran lightly down the stairs from the kitchen. “Miss Sedgewick wants you, Miss Singer.”
“Right away,” Celeste replied, picking up the empty laundry basket. “I’ll come back later for the clean laundry.”
When she entered the upper servants’ hall, Miss Sedgewick was waiting for her. “Celeste, I need someone trustworthy and discrete to take a message to the Duke.”
