She snatched back her fingers as if she’d been burned. “Ah. I see. That is…” She drew a deep breath, searching for inspiration.
Had she ever really looked at this particular maid before? She knew Carter, Lady Hathergill’s abigail, only because Carter also arranged Penelope’s hair. The housemaid who stood before her now, though—was her name Sally? Or was Elinor only imagining having heard the housekeeper address her that way?
At home, before her parents’ death, Elinor had known not only the names of their two maids, but all the familiar details of their families and lives. Saying goodbye to them had been one of the many painful wrenches of the past year. But Elinor’s home, comfortable though it had been, had been no Hathergill Hall. Matters were run very differently here.
Sally was only one of the many maidservants in Hathergill Hall who lit the fires and cleaned the rooms, neat in their uniforms and utterly impenetrable in their silence—at least in front of the Hathergills and their guests. Elinor had never paid close attention to her, any more than—she’d imagined—Sally or any of the other servants had ever paid close attention to Elinor, a poor relation whose opinion and influence could not matter.
Now, though, she looked into Sally’s startled grey eyes and remembered with a jolt that these servants might be too well-trained to draw the attention of any members of the family…but that didn’t stop them from observing everything around them with keen intelligence.
It wasn’t only her own family that Elinor had to fool this week with her disguise.
Forcing a laugh, she stepped back. “No, I can see that this wouldn’t be my room. It’s rather small and dark, isn’t it?”
Then she remembered who she was talking to, and winced. The maids in this great house slept two to a room in the dark upper attics, without any windows to brighten their cramped quarters.
“Yes, ma’am.” Sally lowered her eyes submissively. “If you’ll follow me…”
Elinor followed, silently cursing herself at every step.
When she’d first arrived at Hathergill Hall, she’d been surprised and chilled by the anonymity of the servants, as well as by Penelope’s treatment of them. But perhaps she had absorbed more than she’d known—or hoped—from her cousin’s attitudes.
The room Sally led her to instead was large and airy, with long windows overlooking the gardens and wallpaper striped a bright yellow and white. It was exactly what Mrs. De Lacey would consider her due, but it took Elinor a long, frozen moment at the door before she could bring herself to step inside as if it truly belonged to her.
Foolish, she told herself as she sank onto the canopied bed at last.Dangerously foolish.
“May I bring you anything else, ma’am?” Sally asked.
“No,” Elinor said, and then added, because she couldn’t help herself, “thank you.”
She saw the flash of surprise on the girl’s face even as Sally dipped her head in a curtsey. The door closed quietly behind her, and Elinor closed her eyes with a groan. “Argh!”
Sir Jessamyn nosed her cheek with an inquiring cheep. She sighed and reached out to stroke his face. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m fine. I’m a fool, that’s all.”
The cuddling helped, though. After a few minutes, she managed to open her eyes again, and Sir Jessamyn seemed to take it as a sign. He uncoiled himself and hopped down onto the bed. As he paced around the flowered bedcover, searching for the best patch of sunlight in which to bask, Elinor opened her eyes, rubbed her forehead and forced herself back to work.
All she wanted was write to her sisters now, to unleash the unhappiness and fear that she felt. But any letter that she wrote would be passed through the butler at Hathergill Hall, and Mrs. De Lacey couldn’t possibly write to Elinor’s sisters, not without arousing the suspicion of the household. Mrs. De Lacey would only send letters to her fashionable friends, her London correspondents, or…
“Oh!” Elinor straightened with a jerk that made Sir Jessamyn raise his head, golden eyes glittering with lazy curiosity.
“That’s it!” she said. “Oh, Sir Jessamyn. I couldn’t afford to travel to London to search for employment. But I don’t need to anymore! Sir John orders all of the newspapers from London and Bristol. I’ll search the advertisements and apply for a post from here!”
She stood up, filled with new resolution. “All I have to do is ask for the morning papers to be delivered to me every day once Sir John is finished with them. Who knows? By the end of the week, I may have found us a new home. If they’re reasonable people, they might even pay for our transportation.”
Sir Jessamyn lowered his head back to the cotton bedcover, clearly unexcited about going anywhere. His jewel-coloured body sprawled in a long line of contentment, bathing in the sunlight from the windows as Elinor started for the bell-pull that hung by the door.
“Where do you think you should like to live?” she asked him. “Clifton is said to be a lovely town. Or perhaps Taunton or—oh!”
A soft knock had sounded on the door. Elinor blinked, her hand still halfway to the bell-pull. Had Sally somehow known that she was wanted without being asked? No, that was absurd. Why would a maid bother to knock? It had to be one of the family members—probably Lady Hathergill, roused to unusual exertions by news of her famous guest.
“Come in,” Elinor called.
She smoothed down her gown and lifted her chin, ready for her final reintroduction. Lady Hathergill, at least, had never said anything openly cruel in all of Elinor’s time here. So she mustered quite a creditable smile as she turned towards the opening door. “How nice—” she began.
Then her mouth dropped open as she saw who stood just outside her bedroom.
“Mrs. De Lacey,” said Benedict Hawkins in a low, urgent whisper, “I beg your pardon for such a shocking intrusion upon your privacy, but I really must speak with you in private.”
Chapter 10
