12
Cynthia released me as effusively, and I stepped back, struggling to keep my cap from sliding from my head.
“Mr. Thanos was a success?” I asked when I’d regained my balance.
“You know he was. Those two simpletons Uncle Neville invited to woo me were complete asses. Mr. Thanos did not have to say much to make them look like idiots; he just blinked behind those specs of his, surprised they’d never heard of the Elgin Marbles. He even made a jest of it because his Christian name is Elgin, but the joke not only sailed over the two gentlemen’s heads but bounced from the wall and careened into the backs of their skulls. Even Uncle Neville was trying not to laugh.”
I smiled in appreciation. “I have the impression that Mr. Bywater and Mr. Thanos have planned a museum outing?” I asked, recalling what I’d heard Mr. Bywater say when Elgin was departing.
“Indeed, Mr. Thanos and Uncle Neville became quite chummy. We will meet at the British Museum three days hence, and Mr. Thanos will tell us more about the antiquities there than the museum curators know. He didn’t exactly say that, but it’s what he meant.” Cynthia paused, rocking back on her heels in a mannish fashion. “I say, come with us.”
My curiosity was such that an acceptance was on my lips. Daniel had spoken of pieces going missing from the museum—what better excuse to poke around than a planned outing with the family?
I shook my head regretfully. “It is hardly my place, my lady . . .”
“Pish,” Cynthia said, waving her hand. “Anyone is allowed in the museum as long as one pays the fee. You’d enjoy it, and Mr. Thanos likes you. If you can’t bear to be seen with us, you may walk at a distance. But I’d prefer to have you at our side.”
Her expression remained neutral, but I saw the pleading in her eyes. Why she wanted me to accompany her on this outing, I couldn’t say, but I found myself nodding.
“Good, then.” Cynthia danced away, her boots scraping on the flagstone floor. “Keep the scullery door unbolted for me, will you, Mrs. H.? I’m off. Meeting Bobby.”
I’d been introduced to the woman she called Bobby—Lady Roberta Perry, who was a daughter of the Earl of Lockwood. She, like Cynthia, enjoyed dressing in male attire and smoking cigars, but Bobby apparently took things further, by preferring the company of women in all aspects. Cynthia had been uncomfortable being the object of Bobby’s desires, telling me she in no way reciprocated them. I wondered if the two had come to some agreement to remain friends.
Cynthia must have noted my look, because she sighed. “Bobby believes I will see her way in the end, but she’s ceased badgering me at least. We grew up together, Bobby and me.” She shrugged her slim shoulders then made for the scullery and outside with her usual energy.
I hurried after her to close the door she’d flung back. I stepped out into the stairwell as Cynthia rushed up the steps, and peered into the small space under the stairs, which smelled of the dustbins.
I saw no one there—Daniel had gone, probably long ago. I let out a breath, returned to the scullery, and closed the door. I left the bolt drawn back so Cynthia could slip in before dawn, her uncle and aunt none the wiser, and went to bed.
* * *
* * *
In the morning, I entered the kitchen to find Charlie blacking the stove. He rubbed the blacking stick into the metal with vigor, then polished it with a brush until it gleamed.
“Excellent, Charlie,” I told him. “Wash up your hands, and I’ll give you a scone.”
Charlie, who was far too young and thin for such labor, grinned at me and ran into the scullery.
He came dashing back a moment later, his hands still filthy. “Back door’s open, missus!” he yelled. “It weren’t me. Weren’t no one but me here when I came down, but I didn’t open that door, I swear to ya.”
“Yes, all right,” I said as I stepped past him, alarm rising. “I believe you. Do cease shouting and wash your hands as I told you to.”
Charlie snapped his mouth shut, climbed onto an upturned box by the sink, and turned the tap to let in water from the pumps below the house. Absolved of blame, he completely ignored me and the open door.
I stepped outside, finding nothing out of place but a stray cat who only stared at me in the imperious way of felines. I wished it could talk and tell me who had burst into the house and left the door wide open. Lady Cynthia returning in the night? A housebreaker? Someone looking for Daniel, knowing he’d come here for a meal?
“Go on,” I said impatiently to the cat. “I have nothing for you this morning.”
The cat only sat on its haunches and continued to gaze at me. It knew that I sometimes brought a scrap or two of bacon outside after breakfast for it. Not being a fool, it was going to wait and see if I’d do the same today.
I closed the door and turned around to find Mr. Davis directly behind me. I jumped and pressed my hand to my chest.
“Good heavens, Mr. Davis, you should not creep up on me so.”
“I wasn’t creeping.” Mr. Davis looked offended. “I heard Charlie yelling that the door was open. Have we been burgled?”
“I’ve found nothing amiss so far,” I said, trying to remain calm. “A footman or maid on an errand might have left the door ajar and the wind caught it.” I did not truly believe that, as I was usually one of the first downstairs in the morning, except for Charlie.
“No, ma’am,” Charlie said loudly. “No one went past me. Everyone’s still upstairs. Or was, until you came down.”
More of the staff poured into the kitchen, the maids, footmen, Tess, all accounted for, ready to begin their morning duties.
“You were down here late last night, Mrs. Holloway,” Mr. Davis pointed out. Oh so helpful was Mr. Davis. “Did you see whether the door was bolted before you went to bed?”
I struggled with my answer. I was glad he hadn’t asked point-blank whether I’d left it unbolted, because I’d have to lie, and I was not happy with lies. The way he posed the question, I could waffle around it, but before I could answer, I was saved from my dilemma by Tess.
“’Course she bolted it,” Tess said stoutly. “I saw her do it.”
She had, when I’d come in from giving Daniel the leavings of supper. She had no way of knowing I’d left the door unbolted for Cynthia after that, so she did not lie either. Tess had her chin up, triumphant that she could look Mr. Davis squarely in the eye and tell him the truth.
Sara was the last to join us, her eyes wide with worry. “Lady Cynthia isn’t in her bed,” she announced. “I mean, in her rooms at all. I went in to wake her, but the bed hasn’t been slept in. She’s gone.”
“Good Lord,” Mr. Davis said, his consternation rising.
Elsie, the scullery maid, let out a shriek. “Robbers came in and carried away Lady Cynthia!”
I opened my mouth to deny this, but I was drowned by a chorus of voices that began to babble about the burglaries on Park Lane, conviction they’d seen someone lurking, white slavers who carried off innocent ladies, and then accusations about who’d left the door unlocked followed by stout denials from those accused.
“Cease!” I shouted over the noise. Amazingly, they all fell silent and looked at me. “It is no good speculating until we know whether we have in fact been burgled. We might be shouting when it was only the wind blowing down the stairs.”
“I’ll check the silver.” Mr. Davis rushed away, touching the top of his head to make certain his hair stayed in place. The rest of the staff began to race for the stairs, oblivious to my admonishments, until I was left in the kitchen alone.
“Bloody hell,” I whispered.
A thief could very well have waltzed into the house and made off with valuables, and it would be my fault for not bolting the door. I ought to have tried to make Cynthia stay put instead of condoning her running about London and leaving the door unfastened for her. But I’d wanted to make cert
ain she could return safely without rousing the house. Cynthia’s key would not help her once the doors were bolted, because the bolts on the front and back doors were solid affairs that slid into iron straps affixed to the wall. No one could move them from outside.
The sounds of the staff shouting at one another floated down the stairs. The Bywaters would wake and emerge to see what was the matter. They’d find Lady Cynthia not in her room and demand Sara to tell them where she was. I should go upstairs, be there to claim I’d seen Cynthia leave the house early—to go riding perhaps.
The moment I made up my mind to do so, Lady Cynthia herself came down from the street and in through the scullery. She found me in the middle of the kitchen, ready to dash off as the shouting escalated above.
“Good God, what’s all the fuss?” she demanded.
I swung around to her, agonized. “Sara knows you’re gone. Better take yourself up the back stairs, try to slip into your chamber before you’re seen. Go.”
Worry flickered in Cynthia’s eyes, but she nodded and hastened toward the staircase. Before she could reach it, Mr. Davis came down, alone, thank heavens.
“Lady Cynthia!” he said in surprise.
Cynthia paused as though she’d explain, but I pushed at her to go on. “Not a word to her uncle and aunt,” I said to Mr. Davis. “Don’t you dare.”
Mr. Davis took in Cynthia’s paling face and my adamant expression, and his lips parted, but then he closed his mouth and stepped out of the way. Bless him. I shot him a grateful look as I hurried up the stairs after Cynthia.
She’d have to go out the green baize door at the top, which led into the main hall, and then duck around the corner through another door to the servants’ stairs, hopefully without anyone seeing her. This house had once been two before it had been made into one—the staircases of each house had run side by side. The second staircase had been walled off for the servants, but one had to walk a few feet through the main hall to reach it.
“Mrs. Holloway,” Mr. Davis called behind me. “Mrs. Bywater has sent for us. She wants to see us immediately.”
Botheration. I did not turn back but gathered my skirts and continued up the stairs. At the top, I moved past Cynthia and made her wait until I glanced out of the green baize door. Once I found the main hall clear, I beckoned her to follow me the few steps through the hall and around the corner. Then I more or less shoved her through the door of the next staircase.
“If any of the staff see you, tell them to hold their tongues,” I said in hushed tones. “Or they will answer to me. Now, hurry.”
“You’re a peach, Mrs. H.,” Cynthia whispered. “I’ve always said so.”
She gave me a parting smile and ran lightly up the stairs. I closed the door to the staircase, letting out a breath of relief.
Mr. Davis was behind me again—the man could move like a cat. “Upstairs, Mrs. Holloway. In the mistress’s morning room.”
I let out another sigh, heavier this time. Nothing for it. I followed Mr. Davis up the front stairs and to the sunny sitting room on the first floor, where Mrs. Bywater took her morning tea before joining her husband and Cynthia for breakfast.
Mrs. Bywater, a thin, almost bony woman, was seated on a soft chair drawn up to a table on which newspapers lay. She had no tea yet, as no one had had the opportunity to bring it. Mrs. Bywater had graying dark hair that she kept neatly in a bun, eschewing the excessive braids, padding, false hairpieces, or little curls painstakingly put into place with a crimping iron. She wore a simple gown of a rich chocolate color, again neat and not excessive, but I could tell that the material was well woven and expensive.
“Mrs. Holloway,” she greeted me, pinning me with a dark-eyed stare. “It appears we are at sixes and sevens this morning.”
She’d had time to rise from her bed and don a gown, however, and have her hair dressed, even as simple as it was. That meant she’d been awake at least an hour before Sara had come flying down to tell us Lady Cynthia was not in her room.
“I’m certain everything will sort itself out, madam,” I said, as she was clearly waiting for an answer.
“Sara came tearing in, shrieking about burglars,” she said. “And that we’d been robbed. What has been stolen, Davis?”
“Nothing, madam,” Mr. Davis answered with confidence. “I checked all the silver, both in my pantry and the dining room. All seems to be accounted for. I’ve set the maids and footmen to go through the other rooms, but so far, everything seems in order.”
I relaxed a fraction. “I’m sure the wind opened the door,” I said. “The draft down the scullery stairs can be unmerciful.”
Mrs. Bywater gave me another sharp look then shrugged. “I will have a workman come and repair it. Now—how is your new kitchen maid getting on, Mrs. Holloway? Tess, her name is?”
“Quite well, indeed,” I said, pleased to report it. “I believe I can train her to be an excellent help to me.”
“Good,” Mrs. Bywater said briskly. “If she can be trained to do many of the things you do in the kitchen, Mrs. Holloway, you will have more time for the housekeeping duties, which you and Mr. Davis are managing nicely. I am certain you understand that having no housekeeper for the moment is a savings. Tess’s wages will be far less than a housekeeper’s, of course.”
I recalled even Lady Cynthia telling me her aunt and uncle were penny-pinching. Lord Rankin paid our salaries, but Mrs. Bywater prided herself on frugality, and the hiring of the staff had been left to her.
Mr. Davis’s face was as blank as I’d ever seen it. He said politely, “Yes, madam.”
“I’ll leave Tess’s training to you, Mrs. Holloway. And I will send someone to look at the back door. It is probably, as you say, a faulty latch.” She lifted a magazine from her side. “Now, go about your business. Mr. Bywater will be wanting his breakfast soon—he’s cross as an old bear when he doesn’t get it.” Her thin mouth bent into a smile.
Davis bowed, I gave Mrs. Bywater my best deferential curtsy, and we made to depart.
“Oh, Mrs. Holloway,” Mrs. Bywater called behind me. When I turned, she beckoned me to her then waved Mr. Davis to go on. With a worried glance at me, Mr. Davis left us.
I curtsied again. My knees would begin to ache with all my ups and downs if I kept on.
“My niece is quite fond of you,” Mrs. Bywater said, fixing me with a patient look. “She praises you often.”
I made myself remain rigidly upright. “Her ladyship is too kind.”
“She had a miserable life at home. I would not gossip to servants about my husband’s family, of course, but I believe you should know. Her parents are not the wisest of people, and you will have heard of her brother and his sad end, as well as her poor sister’s.”
Indeed, I had, and I’d never forget it. I said, “Yes, madam.”
“It has made Lady Cynthia a bit . . . odd. I do not simply mean her enjoyment of wearing gentlemen’s suits. Ladies’ clothing I admit is restricting, especially the ridiculous fashions nowadays. Lady Cynthia goes too far, but I imagine she will tire of it one day.” Mrs. Bywater spoke with condescending surety. “But she does not always choose her friends wisely. Lady Roberta, for instance, was sent to a quiet house for a bit of rest a few years ago—so her family said, but we all know it was an asylum for the insane. A very expensive one.” She sent me a pointed look. “Lady Cynthia also has the habit of becoming too familiar with the staff.”
I stiffened. “I assure you, madam, she has shown me kindness only.”
“You are a very good cook,” Mrs. Bywater said. “I have no fault with anything you have prepared. But a friendship between a lady of the house and a servant can never come to any good. We have to be very careful with Lady Cynthia if she is to have a chance. If we all remember our place in this world, Mrs. Holloway, we will find happiness.”
I nodded. “I agree, madam. I would never dream of
not keeping to mine.”
Mrs. Bywater looked me up and down as though trying to decide whether I meant to be insolent. I only stood still, as blank faced as Mr. Davis.
Mrs. Bywater must have decided I meant well, because she gave me a nod and dismissed me. I bent my knees in yet another curtsy and scurried away, taking myself safely below stairs.
“Bloody miserly woman,” Mr. Davis snarled as I passed him on the way to the kitchen. “Having Tess instead of a housekeeper will be a savings? I ask you. We do extra work beyond our duties, and she rejoices in the economy. It’s enough to make me want to give notice.”
“Please do not, Mr. Davis,” I said in alarm. “Then I will be expected to cook and be butler at the dinner table as well. I’ll not fit into your kit.”
I was attempting to make him laugh, but unfortunately, my statement likely wasn’t far from the truth. Butlers, especially experienced ones like Davis, commanded a high salary. Mrs. Bywater might try to make do without one, or else hire an incompetent man for lesser pay.
Mr. Davis only growled. “I work for Lord Rankin,” he said. “And Lady Cynthia. I’ll stay for their sakes. And yours, Mrs. Holloway.”
I was surprised and touched by the compliment. Mr. Davis was not one to heap praise on a person, so the offhand comment warmed me.
“Thank you, Mr. Davis,” I said. “Perhaps there will be a few extra scones for you this morning.”
“That would be most welcome, Mrs. Holloway.”
His tone remained haughty, Mr. Davis not liking to be caught out in a kindness. I continued past him, saying no more, but as I did so, Tess came dashing out of the kitchen.
“Please don’t turn me out, Mrs. H.,” she babbled. “It ain’t my fault. I didn’t mean it, and I’ll never do it again.”
Scandal Above Stairs Page 13
