by Zoë Archer
When he was sure they were safe, he continued quietly. “The jewelry was sold to the mourning emporiums for a tidy profit, profit that went straight into the Larkfields’ pockets. But the coppers weren’t able to link the Larkfields directly to the workshop at the orphanage, even after the raid.” Frustrated, he fought the urge to smash the bottles of distilled liquors lining the stillroom walls. “Nemesis has been keeping a close watch on them, but they’re slippery eels, those Larkfields. With all the tools in our kit, even we can’t come up with anything to prove the nobs were the ones pulling the strings at the orphanage. Can’t even find anything in their banking accounts.”
Ada lowered her brow in thought. He’d come to savor that look, knowing that it meant her clever brain was hard at work. But tension still snapped between them, her mistrust of him plain as a house on fire. Watching her think was a rough and jagged pleasure.
“The Larkfields wouldn’t go abroad this year,” she murmured, “not with the law on them like hounds. So it’s off to see the country cousins instead. There’s got to be something in that.”
“So Nemesis thinks,” he said. “That’s why we’re here. To keep an eye on them. Find out whatever we can. What they’ve done can’t go unpunished.”
“It bloody well can’t,” she answered hotly, then blushed at her language.
He almost smiled. All her years in service had ingrained in her the decorum demanded by the senior staff. Though servants out of the eyes of the butler and housekeeper could talk as rough as sailors.
Service had been nearly half of Michael’s life, ever since he was a lad of fifteen waiting on the upper servants. He knew the rules and ways of grand households the way some men knew how to navigate the seas, or the workings of the Stock Exchange. His father and grandfather had both been in service, and he’d naturally followed in the family trade.
If he hadn’t crossed paths with Nemesis, he might still be in service, hoping one day to become a valet or butler, and enjoying the fine ladies and village girls who loved to bed a vigorous young man in livery.
Everything changed when he’d managed to find and contact Nemesis. He’d been working in a house where the butler had been bilking the servants out of their pay, but no one could prove it. Only through Nemesis stepping in had the evidence come out, and the weasel butler blackmailed into paying the servants what they were owed. Michael’s eyes had been opened to the world of Nemesis, and soon after joined their ranks, helping to dole out justice where he could. It didn’t even bother him that he had less time for the ladies. The work meant more than his cock.
Sometimes Nemesis received temporary help from those they’d assisted in the past. From people like Ada.
And everything had changed again.
He went on, “You and me have to figure out why the Larkfields beat a hasty retreat to the country. What their plans are. Jackals like them always have plans.”
“Mrs. Byrd said they show up tomorrow,” Ada said. “Me and the other maids have been preparing the guest bedrooms all day, and there’s to be more cleaning of the less-used chambers.”
“The footmen have been polishing silver ’til our thumbs are raw.”
“Polishing silver or cleaning twenty fireplaces, dusting dozens of rooms, beating scores of rugs, scrubbing bathing tubs and chamber pots.” A corner of her mouth turned up, the closest she’d come to a smile since he’d seen her that morning. “How do you keep standing?”
Her smile, small as it was, hit him with a burst of aching warmth in the center of his chest. Jobs always took priority, but he’d hoped that maybe, just maybe, he might be able to mend things with her. Maybe they could do more than mend the rift between them. But she was still as guarded as a mint. Was he too late? Could things be set right? Hell, he didn’t even know if she’d found a new sweetheart.
He took a step toward her. “Ada—”
Two things happened at once. She edged away from him until her back pressed against the stillroom table, her tiny smile disappearing instantly. At the same time, voices sounded outside the stillroom door.
“Where’s Ada?” It was the senior housemaid. “We’ve still got the Green Salon to clean.”
“Haven’t seen her.” That was the senior footman. “But if you see Michael, tell him he’s still got to refill the lamps in the South Wing.”
The upper servants’ voices faded, but the danger remained. Michael and Ada couldn’t be gone for too long. Getting sacked at this stage would be terrible.
All his explanations to her had to wait. If he ever got the chance to speak to her about more than the mission.
“We’ll meet up once the Larkfields arrive,” he said quietly.
She gave him a tight nod. “Until then, don’t expect to hear much from me.”
Then she slipped from the room. He was alone as he silently, floridly cursed. He’d forced himself onto this mission in order to be near her, and while he wasn’t sorry about his decision, he had to wonder if it was some form of self-punishment. If that was the case, he was doing a bang-up job.
* * *
Readying a grand country house for guests was organized chaos. Covington Hall wasn’t the largest estate at which Michael had worked, but it was still damned sizable. And with heaps of visitors about to descend on the stately house—and a master and mistress determined to impress their guests—there wasn’t a shortage of work.
Servants bustled from room to room. Many of the Cowans had retreated to their private chambers, except for three plump, velvet-wearing children Michael spotted peering over a railing on the landing when the huge Christmas tree was hauled into the front drawing room.
Easy to forget that a seemingly joyous holiday was nearly here, when his own thoughts were torn in three directions: his duties as a footman, his responsibilities for the mission, and Ada.
He spotted her throughout the rest of the day, always with a brush, broom, or pail in her hand. His heart lifted then sank every time he saw her, but he carefully kept his gaze from lingering on her. As far as the staff of Covington Hall believed, he and Ada were strangers. Strangers who’d never fought side by side to make sure swine like the Larkfields got what they deserved. Strangers who’d never known the taste of each other’s mouths, or the close press of their bodies, tight with wanting.
If Ada ever looked at him during the course of her duties, he never knew it. She wore a cool expression, focused only on her tasks.
He cursed himself again for thinking just showing up in her life would set everything to rights. It would take much more to gain her trust again, let alone ignite the passion they’d once shared.
As he and a regular staff member trimmed the lamps in one of the innumerable parlors, Michael asked, “These toffs coming to stay—what sort are they?”
The other footman shrugged. “They’re all the same. Mind, some aren’t too bad, and give us vails when they go, but there’s not much difference between ’em. Rich and lazy.”
Michael used to think the same thing, until he’d met Simon, who came from the highest ranks in society, and played the part of a gentleman of leisure, but it just served as a disguise for his real work for Nemesis.
“Any of them I need to be on the lookout for?” Michael pressed. “Some drunk lordling going to puke on my shoes? Or maybe that Lady Larkfield will pinch my arse.”
“We keep basins in the sideboards in case a toff can’t hold his wine,” the footman answered. “And Lady Larkfield—who knows? Never met her, so I can’t say if your arse is safe. Her husband’s cousins with the master. From what I heard, they used to be close. Lord Larkfield used to summer here as a kid.”
“But he and the master aren’t tight anymore.”
“The master hates London. And his cousin married, then stopped coming out. Maybe his bride didn’t like the country. Heard they’re quite the glittering pair.”
Glittering like cheap tinsel, Michael thought. “Can’t wait to clap eyes on them,” he said.
He hoped that he’d be able t
o get more information from the Larkfields’ valet and lady’s maid. No one was closer to the family than their personal servants, with access to their master’s and mistress’s deepest secrets. If anyone was going to have information about the Larkfields’ connection to the orphanage, it’d be them.
Good to learn that Lord Larkfield used to come to Covington Hall as a child. He’d know the estate well. How that fit into the picture, Michael couldn’t yet figure, but it was a small piece of a knotty puzzle. Then there was the riddle of how to fix the rift between him and Ada. At least with Larkfield, Michael could map out a strategy. Ada would prove a much more difficult mystery.
Chapter Three
The carriages started arriving late the next morning. Ada had been up for hours, even before the six o’clock summons, lying in her narrow bed in a cramped attic room she shared with the two other temporary maids. By rights, she ought to have fallen into a dead sleep last night. It’d been months since she’d acted as a housemaid, and working as a clerk in a mercer’s shop was far less taxing.
But after the servants had finished their tea and evening duties, she’d tossed in her bed like a stirred coal. So much so that one of her roommates had thrown a pillow at her and threatened to tie her to the bed if she didn’t settle. For the rest of the night, Ada had drowsed, trying to get as much rest as she knew she’d need. Yet it was almost impossible, with her thoughts tumbling. She couldn’t stop mulling over the terrible Larkfields using children’s forced labor to pay for their esteemed lifestyle in London. Of the great responsibility entrusted to her by Nemesis. And, most of all, of Michael.
They hadn’t spoken for the rest of the previous day, but she never lost her awareness of him. He looked too cursed handsome and elegant in his livery. Somehow, he lent the blue and silver ensemble a dangerous masculinity.
She’d been careful not to look or talk to him when the servants had sat down to their meals, but the other maids and lower female servants were more free, asking him questions, flirting. It was a wonder she’d been able to eat at all, with her jaw locked tight in unwanted jealousy. It riled her, that possessiveness. She shouldn’t feel anything for him.
Why did the Lord the heavens have to bless him with such a velvety voice? It was a luscious torture.
He left you, thick-brain, she’d reminded herself. Said all sorts of lovely things about how special you were and kissed you until you melted like candle wax. And then he disappeared without a word for six months. So keep your skirts below your knees.
Dusting in one of the parlors, she reminded herself again that she was here for Nemesis, and Nemesis only. They had found her the job at the mercer’s shop on Westbourne Grove in Notting Hill—a shop whose owners had themselves turned to the secret group for help from thugs demanding protection money. So when Simon Addison-Shawe had asked her to assist on the mission, the shop owners were willing to let her take a brief leave of absence.
It felt good to her—felt right—to be here, doing this. Terrifying, but right.
A maid poked her head into the parlor. “The train from London’s just arrived,” she said, “and the carriages have gone out to retrieve the guests.”
“Who are they?” Ada asked.
“Mr. and Mrs. Herbert and their children, Colonel Braithwaite and his mother, Lady Paget and her daughters. And Lord and Lady Larkfield.”
Ada’s heart jumped up into her throat.
“Hurry and tidy up,” the maid said. “Mr. Keene says the master wants us all out to greet them.”
Ada put her cleaning supplies away. She then climbed the many narrow servants’ stairs to neaten up in preparation. A similar scene was likely being played out in the male servants’ quarters, which were over the stables. It would invite too much potential for impropriety if the male servants were housed beneath the same roof as the females.
Of course, a female servant might be able to meet a male halfway, if she so wanted. Which Ada didn’t. Not in the slightest.
But yesterday in the stillroom, he’d said that he had come straight from a mission just to see her again. She’d be a liar if she said that hadn’t made her stomach clench with exhilaration. Yet the pain of his leaving still echoed within her. A handful of explanations couldn’t take that away.
She and the other maids quickly went downstairs and silently lined up outside in two rows flanking the front door. The senior staff stood at the head of the lines, while Ada and the other lower servants were at the bottom. She caught a quick glimpse of Michael with the rest of the footmen. He wore the required impassive expression. They weren’t there to actually offer their greetings to the guests, just to display Lord Cowan’s wealth. A set of antique Chinese vases could’ve served the same purpose.
The first rattle of carriage wheels sounded on the gravel. Ada counted seven coaches in all, driven by liveried grooms, with footmen standing on the running boards. Luggage was heaped atop each carriage.
When the first vehicle came to a stop, Lord and Lady Cowan and their children came out of the house. They were ordinary in everything but clothing, none of which Ada would be able to afford with a full year’s salary. The Cowans were all smiles as the first of their guests were helped from the carriage by footmen.
Ada knew better than to ask who was who, but she burned with curiosity. Would the Larkfields be bent and crooked like pantomime villains, wearing greedy, shifty expressions? Likely not. The upper classes had their own rules, and seldom showed their emotions in public.
The first guests were a middle-aged woman and her two daughters, all in half mourning. They must be the Pagets. Lord and Lady Cowan greeted them heartily and welcomed them into their home. More guests followed. A heavily bearded man, with military bearing, and an elderly lady had to be Colonel Braithwaite and his mother. Another carriage with a couple and their assortment of children.
As everyone exited their carriages, their luggage was taken down by footmen, including Michael. Two coaches ejected a collection of men and women in plain but decently made clothing. The maids, valets, and nurses for the guests and their children.
The final coach pulled to a stop in front of the house and Michael was immediately there to open the door and hand down the people inside. Only two guests had yet to appear: Lord and Lady Larkfield.
A woman’s gloved hand took hold of Michael’s offered palm, then the woman herself glided down. Lady Larkfield appeared to be somewhere in her middle forties, her ash-blond hair fashionably arranged beneath an expensive hat. Her garments were naturally exquisite, and she wore them with the same cool elegance as her expression. Not a sign of any wrongdoing on her genteel face.
Lord Larkfield refused the offer of assistance out of the carriage. He seemed a decade older than his wife, his dark hair and mustache tastefully peppered with gray. His suit and traveling coat were tailored perfectly. Like his spouse, he seemed to exist in another world altogether—one where privilege sheltered him from the rough and ugly side of life.
They were like any aristocratic couple, the likes of which Ada had seen many times in her years of service. But she hated them. Knowing what she knew about their involvement with children’s forced labor, it was impossible to be neutral.
But Lord Cowan seemed delighted by their arrival. He rushed forward, arms open.
“Jerome! My dearest cousin! His lady wife! May I call you cousin, too?”
The embrace was returned with less enthusiasm. “Of course you may, Sinclair,” Lady Larkfield murmured.
Lady Cowan also stepped forward and offered a hand to shake. “I’m so pleased to meet you, at last.”
“It has been an age, hasn’t it?” Lord Larkfield drawled. He eyed Covington Hall. “The pile of stones looks much the same.”
“We’ve modernized it since I inherited the title,” Lord Cowan answered. “But I hope you’ll be as happy here as when we were children, getting into all sorts of scrapes and driving our nurse mad.” He chuckled, and Lord Larkfield joined him brittlely.
His laugh abruptly
died as he saw Michael and another footman unloading his luggage from the top of the carriage. “Careful! If anything gets damaged, I’ll have your hides!” He raised his ivory-tipped cane as if to strike the footmen. He looked as though he’d make good on that threat, too, his polished face suddenly twisting in anger. His well-tailored clothes seemed to hide a stocky but strong body—a blow from him wouldn’t be a simple tap.
“Jerome,” Lord Cowan said, shocked. “Threatening my servants is entirely unnecessary.”
His cousin lowered his cane and appeared only slightly chastened. “Of course. But I want everything taken directly up to our rooms.”
“Naturally,” Lord Cowan answered, since Michael and the other footman weren’t allowed to speak.
“Tell your housekeeper and butler that we’ll need someone to maid and valet for us,” Lady Larkfield added.
Ada and Michael exchanged a glance. The Larkfields hadn’t brought their own personal servants. Very strange. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for the gentry to travel without their valets or maids, but with a couple clearly as fashionable as the Larkfields, trusting their clothing and overall care to strangers was odd. It also meant that the best source of inside information about the couple was left behind in London. No gossip to be exchanged in the servants’ hall. They were blank slates. That couldn’t be a coincidence.
Hastily, plans were made to find servants to attend the Larkfields.
Lady Larkfield shuddered in her mink-trimmed coat. “It’s beastly out here. We’ll go up to our rooms now.”
If Lord Cowan was disappointed by the cool reception he received from his cousin and cousin’s wife, he was too well-bred to show it. Instead, he waved them inside. But Lord Larkfield kept his eye on his baggage as it was taken down from the carriage and carried inside by Michael and several other footmen.
Once the master and the guests were gone, Mr. Keene announced, “Everyone, back to your stations. This may be the holiday season, but our work is just beginning.”
The servants broke apart in clusters, murmuring quietly amongst themselves about the guests. Instead of joining in the chatter, Ada took advantage of the chaos of settling the visitors. Trunks and valises were being toted all over the house, and the guests’ servants were equally busy watching over everything.
