Jacob blinked in surprise. “To work in the house? As what exactly? I saw the girl yesterday, and up close she seems rather frail for it.” For that matter she seemed rather frail for such a long walk with such a heavy load. He sent his horse down the road toward her, without stopping to wait for his brother’s reply.
“Good day, Miss!” Jacob called as he approached. “It seems a fearsome day for such a walk. Might I render some assistance? A ride perhaps? Or at the very least to carry your load?”
“I can carry it myself,” she said with a sharp look at his face. She had stopped at his approach, and even bobbed a short curtsey. “Good day, Your Grace.” With that she continued past him as though he were not there at all.
“Stay…!” He dismounted, feeling more than a little protective of her after their encounter yesterday, and came to walk alongside her. “At least let me walk with you. ‘Tis but a short distance, but it troubles me to see you out here alone. In the meantime, we could allow the horse to carry the bag. Such a small thing would scarce be a burden to him at all.”
He eyed the cloth bag in her arms. It likely held the girl’s worldly possessions such as they were, but he knew well from his own experience tramping through the hills around Eton, how even a modest burden grew heavier with each mile.
One corner of her mouth quirked up in an amused smile. “If my bag is such a small thing, scarce likely to be a burden, then I should think you would not trouble me so over it, Your Grace, but rather allow me the dignity of arriving in my own way, in my own time. Perhaps it has not occurred to you that I was enjoying my last moments of freedom before accepting the yoke of service to your household.”
“I daresay she has you there,” Owen said, joining the two of them and likewise dismounted. “It is good to see you again, Miss Price. I doubt you have been properly introduced. This bumbling fool is none other than Jacob Alexander Thorndyke Norton the Third, the newly appointed Duke of Woodworth, as I am sure you have already guessed by use of the phrase ‘your grace’ in addressing him.”
He shot a smile at his brother who was still standing awkwardly holding the reins of his mount in one hand. “Your Grace, allow me to introduce you to Miss Alicia Price, late of Ballycrainn, who will be serving us henceforth. Or at least will be doing so if we allow her to be about her business and quit delaying her foolishly.”
Jacob eyed the girl dubiously. Her thin face seemed pale, and he wasn’t sure but she might have wavered upon her feet. It was a long walk from the village, and she did not seem strong. “Are you a seamstress, then?” he asked, trying to figure just what sort of servant would appear so frail and delicate. Something not physically strenuous, he supposed.
The girl started in surprise, then laughed. To his surprise it was a glorious sound, light and pleasant, as though she were a girl who knew how to laugh well at life. Perhaps with a father such as she had, much laughter was needed in her life.
“I have not been hired to do so, Your Grace,” she replied, “though I am happy to try if that is where you will have me. I will warn you now my seams are not straight, nor is my embroidery particularly well done. I am told I lack the patience to do well with needle and thread.” Miss Price smiled. “It was my understanding that I would be serving at table and managing the rooms.”
“And so you shall,” Owen interrupted. “We shall leave you to it then. You will see the roof of the house just through those trees there. You are but a single turning from your destination, so it should not take you long to get there.”
The girl looked in the direction that he’d indicated and half turned to go before twisting back to face him again, speaking to Owen as though Jacob were not there, frowning slightly, her voice hesitant and uncertain. “My Lord, I am wondering if this is perhaps not as good an idea as I have formerly thought. I am thinking perhaps Kathleen might be better suited…”
“Nonsense!” Owen exclaimed, “Your father and I have discussed your employment at length. The recommendation he has given has been glowing, as were the kind words of the priest. I expect you will do fine within the household. Do not let my brother’s bluster distress you.”
“Thank you, my Lord, Your Grace.” She bobbed a curtsey at both of them and continued on her way.
Jacob frowned and watched her go, mounting his horse again, thoughtfully. “Are you sure it is prudent to hire a girl such as she? References notwithstanding, she does not look quite strong enough to manage what will be required of her,” he asked as soon as she was safely out of earshot.
“Are you calling into question my judgement? I assure you, I have managed the hiring for quite some time now, and in case you have not noticed, the estate is not only making a profit, there is no doubt that the work is being done.” Owen gestured toward the well-manicured fields on both sides of the road.
“I am sure you are quite astute in your hiring, but despite qualifications, had a sailor been presented to me with such frail bone structure and pallor, I would have declined to take him on board ship,” Jacob retorted crossly, pulling his horse around toward the mill which had been their original destination.
“In which case you might have lost that man the opportunity to return to health, exposed to the healing power of the sea air and a steady diet, and would likewise have lost the loyalty that only comes when you have earned it, by giving to an individual the one thing that no one else would—a chance to prove themselves,” Owen replied, frowning a little. “I am surprised you are not more compassionate.”
What could he do but accept the rebuke graciously? For in truth, Jacob’s concerns were more for what he could not explain—the behavior of Miss Price in the village, her sharp tongue, and the contemptuous way he had been treated by her father. He had not told his brother of his adventure in Ballycrainn, and was loath to discuss it now. The story did not put him in the best light.
And, as he was fast coming to realize, he didn’t truly understand the connection here between estate and village. Between those of the nobility, and commoners.
None of this was how things would have been done in England. There was a certain familiarity with which these Irish spoke. The underlying tension was something that needed to be further understood. Strangely enough, Jacob had the uneasy feeling that he’d carried with him when at sea and could tell by the very feel of the air upon his face that a storm was brewing.
“I apologize,” he said finally. “I seem to be speaking out of turn. Why not show me that mill you are so proud of? I would like to see how it works.”
Owen nodded, somewhat mollified, and led the way. Jacob, though, could not resist the opportunity to turn back once, noting without surprise that she stood at the top of the hill, her slender form silhouetted against the sun, that bag of hers lying at her feet. She watched him a long moment without moving, then turned to go.
Chapter 5
There was no denying the Duke was a handsome man. Seen for a second time, up close, had left Alicia tongue-tied and completely unable to think. She’d spoken out of turn. She’d spoken badly. She’d been so flustered, she’d done absolutely everything wrong—a thing that did not bode well for her mission.
Alicia stomped down the road, raising swells of dust with each step, furious at herself, furious at him, furious at her father who had put her there for this mission, knowing full well that she was not good at subterfuge. There had been many reasons to hesitate, more than she could count, this being chief among them. She was not suited for this mission, something no one seemed to care about at all, save her.
The house loomed before her, larger than Alicia had even imagined. She had not been to the manor before, and was surprised by it now. She’d been expecting something more along the lines of a castle, she supposed, though she’d seen the ruins of the old place on the way in. This was different, beautiful in its own way, though still a fortress both in size and construction.
Built of stone, the edifice boasted towering windows all the way around, the multi-paned glass winking in the sunlight
. The roadway gave way to a cobblestone drive on the other side of a short bridge over a brook, giving the place the appearance of having a moat, though one could easily cross the stream on foot should one wish to. Graveled walkways trailed between carefully tended gardens, every shrub growing in British precision.
This was not an Irish manse, but a very British country home down to each rose petal. Never had Alicia felt so far from home—or so completely out of her depth.
I feel as though I have left Ireland completely. I do not belong here.
No. They were the ones who did not belong here. This entire house was an affront to her people, to her country, to the very ideals that her brother had died for. It was houses like this, filled with English aristocracy, that stood in mute testament to the vile takeover of her homeland and was the very reason she was here in the first place.
Shoulders squared, and no longer feeling the burden of carrying her possessions, Alicia made her way to the kitchen door and announced her presence.
For a long moment she went unnoticed. The door was propped open to allow for the summer breezes to cool the room, giving her a clear view into the bustle of the household. A plethora of aproned and capped figures moved in seemingly chaotic profusion, rushing through the midday meal preparations. The Duke and his brother would be home from the tour of the property soon, and would expect to eat.
“Excuse me?” she called, trying not to let show on her face just how far out of her depth she felt. “I am to report to a Mistress Marigold?”
The girl nearest the door turned, her hands full of flour. She had a bright, happy face, and had been humming under her breath as she rolled out dough for pastry crust. She pushed the hair off her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a white streak against the mahogany strands but didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she laughed a bit.
“Mistress Marigold? You will find her shouting orders somewhere or t’other. She was here a moment ago. You canna miss her.” The girl nodded toward the door. “There she is now.”
The figure that burst through the doorway was definitely not one easily missed. Mistress Marigold was a commanding figure, both in size and sheer presence. She swept into the room, a towering woman of nearly six feet tall, matched by a broad girth. Despite that, she walked swiftly, going from fire to stove to table, checking the progress of a half dozen girls who skittered out of her way, like so many birds startled from their roosts.
She should have been terrifying, but there was something about the woman that Alicia liked instantly. Perhaps it was the way that the woman chided gently when she saw something that needed correction, or the smiles that she gave out as easily as compliments.
“More salt, Jane. They will want to be tasting the soup. Meghan, see to it the crust is thinner. They like it thin as paper though heaven knows it’s impossible to brown evenly. Patrice, we’ll be needing another half dozen potatoes, at least.” Mistress Marigold paused to take breath, standing for a moment in the center of the kitchen with a satisfied look upon her face. This was clearly her domain, and she was content in it.
Alicia chose that moment to dart forward. “Mistress Marigold? My name is Alicia Price. I was sent from the village to take the place of Elspeth.”
She felt tiny standing next to this giant of a woman, who looked her up and down. For a moment, Alicia held her breath, knowing full well she saw what everyone else did, what that annoying Duke did today. That she was small, and her bones were fine and delicate, giving her the look of one who would fall over in a strong wind.
But whatever Marigold saw pleased her, for she simply said, “You’ll do. Come with me.” And just like that, Alicia was put to work.
With scarce more than a minute to lay her bag in a tiny room upstairs that she would be sharing with Meghan, the girl rolling out the pastry crust, Alicia found herself thrust into a dish room between kitchen and dining room, and was bid to polish silver until it was time to set the table.
Everything at Ravencliff was done quickly. Alicia was swept from one task to the next with such speed that in seemingly no time at all, she was told to neaten herself to be ready to serve at table. She found herself crowded alongside another three girls at the washbasin, overwhelmed, and quite frankly wondering how it was that anyone in town thought she’d have time to spy out any information at all when she was so busy.
“Is it always like this?” she asked in a quiet whisper as she rinsed the polish from her hands.
The girls exchanged glances and laughed. “You will soon grow accustomed to it,” Meghan said, and the others, two brown-haired girls that looked very alike, nodded. “Though to be sure, having the Duke himself at home has made us perhaps busier than usual. I expect things will settle soon enough.”
“Girls! The first course!”
The shout from Marigold broke up the group and they scurried to pick up the dishes they would serve, filing out of the kitchen with a seriousness that Alicia strove to match though her thoughts were racing. The Duke! For a time, she had almost forgotten the unpleasant encounter on the road, and the even more troubling one in the village. Now, she would be forced to face him here, in his own home.
Her hands had just the merest of quavers as she set the tureen upon the table and turned with the intent of returning to the kitchen. She’d been careful to keep her eyes down, her attention on her work and not on those she served, but her name, spoken by that cultured voice, paused her in her duties. She looked up in dismay to find the Duke himself wanting her attention.
“You there! If you could perhaps fetch me a fresh napkin. I appear to have spilled my wine.” The Duke smiled at her from his seat at the head of the table, lifting the soaked napkin to her view.
Not something her fault then, and easily remedied. “Right away, Your Grace.” She reached to take the soiled cloth from his hand and quickly fetched a fresh one from the drawer where the linens were kept. She presented it to him with a slight curtsey.
His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her, sending a soft warmth stealing through her flesh. Startled, she glanced up into his eyes and found him smiling at her, as though amused. “There is no need to run,” he chided her gently.
Alicia blushed. She had rather dashed in the errand, not wanting to take time from whatever other duties awaited her. “I am sorry, Your Grace.”
“You will grow used to it in time. I should think, as in any task, that pacing oneself is optimal,” he said softly, for her ears alone, then turned back to his conversation with the lady seated at his left as though he had not spoken to her at all.
Clearly dismissed, and not sure whether his words had been meant as censure or kindness, Alicia slipped into the kitchen, not entirely sure why she felt so close to tears. She was still holding the soiled napkin and had no idea where to put it, or even what next to do.
Her mixed feelings must have shown on her face, for in the next moment, warm motherly arms came around her in a brief hug. “There now, girl. Jane told me the whole thing. You have not done so poorly as all that. You will learn in time to spot such things and be ready to attend to them, and will learn how we do things here.”
Mistress Marigold’s words were meant kindly. Alicia nodded and tried to smile, though the effort was hard. She did not cry, though, and of that she was proud. “Thank you, Mistress. I truly do wish to learn to do things properly.”
Mistress Marigold laughed and gave her a push toward the dishes waiting to be served. “This is no slapdash boarding house. They expect to be waited upon with a quickness that is not shown through exertion. Take a moment to breathe! When the girls come back with the empty tureens, it will be time to deliver the next course. There is a trick to it. Watch as they do.”
There was a trick to it. Alicia watched as the other girls somehow managed to look unhurried, yet still very quickly had the next course upon the table. They also managed to note misplaced utensils and napkins, offering replacements as needed, without need to say so much as a word.
All of this wa
s very different from keeping a house for herself and her father. Meals there were so much simpler. Alicia’s hair clung to her sweaty forehead by the time they had finished serving the meal and were given leave to eat their own dinner. She barely tasted the food, so weary was she.
“So will you be doing as Elspeth did, then?” Meghan asked as she brought her plate to sit next to her on the long bench at the kitchen table.
For a moment Alicia froze. Elspeth had been bid to keep eyes and ears open for information that would be pertinent to the cause. How many people had she brought in on this secret? Was the cause of the Ribbonmen already in danger with her only three hours in the house?
It was Mistress Marigold who answered. “I expect we’ll try her on it and see how it goes. Elspeth did much of the heavier work. Do you have any special skills? Perhaps you bake or weave? One of our weavers left us yesterday, and we’re in sore need of a replacement.”
They were not speaking of the mission, then, only work within the house. She thought quickly and managed a short laugh. “I am not so skilled as all that. While I know how to boil a potato, my kitchen skills leave much to be desired if my father is any judge. I am sturdier than I look, though, and am very good at cleaning. And I have an eye to arranging a room pleasantly.”
The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady: A Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 4
