by Brenda Novak
“Will you be comfortable here at Blackmoor Hall?”
He seemed genuinely interested in hearing her answer, but she couldn’t imagine why. He’d saved her from those men in the mine and put a roof over her head. He’d even taken in her brother. His conscience should be clear.
“Yes, my lord,” she said and hurried away despite the fact that he might have wanted to ask her more.
Rachel didn’t see the earl again for three weeks. Word had it he and his man, Linley, had left for London on business, and it must be true. Otherwise, she couldn’t have avoided him. She didn’t have the energy to do anything so calculated. She was up, blacking fireplaces by five, and didn’t finish her work until eleven or later. She barely had time to eat—usually managed only two small meals a day. Rachel was certain the housekeeper was taking over where Wythe had left off. Poulson was trying to get her to quit so she could prove to Lord Druridge that he never should’ve hired her in the first place.
But Rachel had refused to let Wythe break her; she wouldn’t let Poulson either. She dragged herself out of bed before dawn each morning and performed every chore assigned to her—and she did it without complaint. Unfortunately, she also did it without so much as a smile or a kind word from anyone else. The other maids didn’t want to cross Mrs. Poulson. The housekeeper had made it very clear she found Rachel to be lacking in character and that her “moral corruption” might spread to others if they did not maintain a proper distance. So, isolated, hungry and tired, Rachel faced long, lonely days spent in an endless round of beating rugs and mattresses, spreading the carpets with damp tea leaves to remove the dust and sweeping and mopping and emptying chamber pots.
After what seemed like an eternity of Mrs. Poulson’s unrelenting hatred, she might’ve succumbed to the despair that threatened, especially in her most tired moments. But Geordie was so happy. She didn’t get to see him often, but the few brief encounters her job afforded her had convinced her that he was thriving under the tutelage of the stable master. Geordie claimed he was being treated like the man’s own son and talked on and on of all he was learning and how much he loved the horses. When he slipped her a peppermint drop the stable master had given him and thanked her for bringing him to Blackmoor Hall, she couldn’t let on that she was miserable. In her heart she knew she’d suffer anything to keep him in such a healthy situation. Even Mrs. Poulson’s spite. And Wythe’s occasional baiting. She’d bumped into Lord Druridge’s cousin at least four times since she started in service. As expected, he was determined to continue his persecution. But so far she’d survived their encounters by ignoring the ugly things he said, which always revolved around her lost virtue, even though he was the one who’d deposited her in the earl’s bed.
Late one night, when she dragged herself to the garret especially late, she found a book waiting for her—The Complete Servant by Sarah and Samuel Adams. No doubt Mrs. Poulson had left the tome on her pillow so that she could begin to cure her many shortcomings.
Barely able to lift her eyelids, she set the “rules” aside and crawled under the covers in her clothes. The housekeeper would surely chastise her for not taking a few minutes to undress and say her prayers. Such negligent behavior would be additional proof of her poor breeding. But the blanket she’d been given wasn’t enough to keep her warm. She huddled beneath its thin covering, shivering while she listened to the soft breathing of the other girls, who’d gone to bed at least two hours earlier.
Each night it seemed harder to get warm. She’d lost too much weight. But the cold wasn’t the worst of her worries. The cleaning solutions she used each day were so harsh they were destroying her hands. She feared the cracks that were starting to bleed would soon turn into open sores, and she didn’t know how she’d continue to clean if that happened.
Would the stable master keep Geordie if she was turned out? Her little brother was all the family she had left. She couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from him. If she was forced to leave, she might never see him again since she’d have to go to London or Manchester if she hoped to find work. Even then, her chances of securing a suitable position wouldn’t be good. It was winter, and she’d arrive without so much as a letter of character.…
It’ll get easier, she told herself. It had to. In ways, her work here was worse than what she’d endured at the mine because even her free time was spent beneath someone else’s roof and without the slightest comfort.
Someone touched her shoulder. Startled and a little frightened by the unexpected contact, she twisted around to see who had crept up behind her. But she’d already extinguished her candle and it was far too dark to make out a face.
“Don’t be frightened. ’Tis me.”
Mary. Another one of the maids. Rachel recognized her distinctive Scottish accent.
“Is something wrong?” she whispered back.
“No. Scoot ye over.”
“Excuse me?”
“Do ye want to get warm or not? Yer teeth are chatterin’ so loud yer likely to wake the dead.”
Rachel was miserable enough to accept any crumb of human kindness. But she knew what helping her could potentially cost Mary.
“Mrs. Poulson won’t like it if… if you talk to me.”
“Mrs. Poulson ain’t here, is she?”
“The others—”
“Are asleep,” she broke in. “Hurry. Scoot.”
Afraid they’d both be penalized for this fraternization, Rachel reluctantly slid to one side. She didn’t know this young woman, hadn’t exchanged more than a few words with her over the past weeks. But when Mary got in and drew Rachel up against her, the instant relief brought tears to Rachel’s eyes.
“It’s all right,” Mary whispered. “Sleep. That’s what ye need.”
The lump in Rachel’s throat made it impossible for her to answer. She nodded. Then she lay there, thinking she probably wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway. Her hands and her back hurt so terribly; it seemed like she ached everywhere. But before long she felt warm for the first time since she’d moved into the garret, and that was all it took. She drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep and was surprised in the morning to find Mary back in her own bed.
Hoping to offer her some form of thanks, Rachel took the rare and delicious peppermint drop that Geordie had passed along, which she’d been saving as a reminder of his love, from under the clothes in her chest. When she slipped it into Mary’s hand, Mary shook her head as if she’d refuse the gift. But the other girls were rousing at that moment, and neither one of them dared let on that anything had changed.
Lord Druridge was back. Rachel felt the excitement amongst the servants and heard the buzz of their voices in the kitchen as she put the teakettle on to boil for Cook.
A few minutes later, she saw him stride into the manse, looking slightly haggard—cold and tired. He must have been traveling all night to arrive so early in the morning.
Linley trudged in behind him and went straight to his bed while the earl climbed the staircase and disappeared into his study, where he remained all day. Rachel knew he was there because once it grew dark, she kept checking for light under the door. She was supposed to dust the bookshelves and was afraid Mrs. Poulson would find fault with her if she didn’t get it done, whether she’d had access to the room or not.
She went ahead with her other chores and kept returning, but it wasn’t until everyone else had gone to bed that she finally found the door ajar. Eager to finish so that she, too, could seek her rest, she slipped inside before realizing her mistake. The earl had not retired. He was standing in front of the fireplace, one hand on the mantel as he gazed into the flames.
At the sound of her entrance, he turned and ran a hand through his hair, which fell long and loose about his face. “Rachel.”
“I apologize for the intrusion, my lord. I thought… I will come back.” She pivoted, but he stopped her.
“No, it’s getting too late to put you off any longer. Go ahead and take care of whatever you have to d
o.”
While he was there with her?
Because he had told her to go about her business, she did, but she could feel his eyes following her every move.
“Am I… bothering you, my lord?”
His face creased into a disapproving frown. “You look thinner than when I saw you last. Are you not getting enough to eat?”
“I am fine, my lord.”
“And Geordie?”
She couldn’t resist the smile that tugged at her lips when she thought of her last visit with her brother. “He is very happy. I owe you my gratitude for that.”
It was easily the most effusive thing she’d ever said to him, but he didn’t return her smile. “Gratitude,” he mumbled, as if it was an odd word for her to use.
“Yes, my lord.”
“So… you like it here?”
She hesitated as she searched for the right words. “It is a… wonderful place for Geordie.”
“You like it about as much as facing a lynch mob, eh?” He chuckled dryly. “Enough said. Do you play chess, Rachel?”
Her eyes followed his to a table situated to one side of the fireplace. “Sir?”
“Chess. Surely, educated as you are, you know the game.”
“Of course. I-I have a real fondness for it.”
“As do I.” Straightening, he motioned toward the seat closest to the fire. “Perhaps you will indulge me.”
She blinked at him. “You want me to play? Tonight?”
“If you would be so kind.”
But… what if Mrs. Poulson found her ensconced in the earl’s study with him?
She checked over her shoulder as if the housekeeper might already be watching from the door. “Mrs. Poulson would most assuredly not approve.”
“As if I give a fig about Mrs. Poulson’s approval.”
He didn’t have to care; he didn’t work for her. Rachel almost said as much. But she was afraid that complaining would only make matters worse. If she couldn’t succeed in his household, maybe he would be left with no choice but to sack her. She couldn’t see one reason he wouldn’t.
He pulled out the chair. “If you please.”
She didn’t see how she could refuse him. So she put her feather duster aside, smoothed her uniform and took the seat he proffered.
“The first move will be yours,” he announced. “Or”—he seemed to consider—“maybe I should give you three or four.”
“You are so confident you can beat me?”
That she would question his assumption caused him to arch his eyebrows, as if it was inconceivable for him to think anything else. “I fear I can do it quite handily, but I am hoping for a challenge, a true diversion.”
Rachel had played many hours of chess with her mother during the long winter evenings when her father worked at the mine. Even Geordie knew how to play and was quite good. “Then I shall do my best to provide one.”
Intent on that, Rachel slid her pawn forward, but she hadn’t yet retracted her hand when he grabbed hold of it.
“What is this?”
When she winced at the pain his grip caused, he let go. “Nothing,” she said. “Your move.”
“Nothing?”
“They will heal. It’s the… the lye and other chemicals I clean with.”
She slipped her hands under the table. They were unsightly, apparently too unsightly for his view. Except for that one night in his bed, when she’d felt him touching her, he kept a glove on at all times to hide the damage the fire did. He had it on even now. If she hadn’t been so caught up in his odd request to give him a game she would’ve known better than to let him see.
“I have yet to notice another maid’s hands so cracked and sore.”
“I apologize. We don’t have to play.” She started to stand, but he got up and insisted she remain in her seat.
“Wait here.” He headed for the door.
“My lord, please. Say nothing to Mrs. Poulson.” Rachel couldn’t believe she’d uttered those words. She had no right to tell him what to do. But she could not afford to make Mrs. Poulson hate her any worse. “It will not help me,” she added more quietly.
“It absolutely will.” He ground out each word as if it were a separate sentence. He simply could not imagine that Mrs. Poulson would disobey him. But he had no idea the many petty reprisals the housekeeper would have in store. Rachel was so convinced that whatever he was about to do would prove her eventual ruin that she nearly fled. It was the thought that she’d never see Geordie again that stopped her—the same thought that had stopped her all along.
Her palms were sweating by the time the earl returned with Mrs. Poulson in tow. Although the housekeeper carried a tray of bread, cheese, nuts and apples, which she brought in and set on the desk, she’d obviously been in bed and was not pleased to have been summoned from sleep.
“What is it she’s told you, my lord?” she demanded as she turned to face Rachel. “It must be a lie. She has been nothing but trouble since she arrived—always up to the devil’s mischief.”
“I find it difficult to believe that she has been up to much of anything other than scrubbing night and day.” He strode over and held Rachel’s hands out as proof.
Mrs. Poulson’s lips pursed. “Such is the nature of the job.”
“It’s barbaric.”
“She must be allergic to the soap,” she said, trying a different tack. “I have barely had her do a thing since you brought her to me.”
“Which was why she was waiting for me to retire so that she could dust in here at”—he glanced at the clock—“midnight?”
Mrs. Poulson sent Rachel a withering glance. “Perhaps she was looking to achieve more than the completion of her chores.”
His jaw hardened. “If she wants that, she knows where my bed is.”
Rachel was embarrassed by his response, but she was glad he hadn’t let the housekeeper get the best of him when she resorted to that reminder.
“She never even mentioned that her hands were sore!” Poulson said. “I would have adjusted her duties if only I had known.”
It was far more likely she would’ve gloated, but Rachel kept her mouth shut.
“Well, now you know,” the earl said. “She will not be required to scrub anything until her hands have completely healed. Do you understand? No”—he shook his head, then pointed a finger at Mrs. Poulson as if she had better mark his words—“she will not be required to do any work that requires the kinds of chemicals that cause this ever again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Surely your favoritism extends too far, my lord. How will she be of any use to me? To this house?”
At first he didn’t seem to know how he wanted to answer. Rachel was afraid he’d decide there really was no use for her. She couldn’t go back to the shop; no one frequented it anymore. She couldn’t return to the mine. And now she couldn’t work as a maid?
At best Rachel felt she could expect him to offer her a few extra pounds and a reference so she could go elsewhere. But then his gaze landed on the chess set. “I require a chess partner. Nightly. It will be her job to entertain me.”
Mrs. Poulson’s nostrils flared with disapproval. “Might I caution you, my lord, that such an arrangement would be unseemly for a man of your station?”
“I doubt others could think any worse of me than to believe I murdered my wife, Mrs. Poulson. And Rachel’s reputation is already ruined. You alluded to that fact yourself—indelicately, I might add—so I can do no more damage there.”
“I was concerned about… that other matter.”
“What other matter?” he asked.
“Concerning the Duke of Pembroke.”
“I’m sure you were.”
“It’s true! We both know what is at stake, my lord. I care only for your ultimate well-being.”
Rachel could scarcely breathe as she listened. What were they talking about? From the look on the housekeeper’s face, the “matter” she’d mentioned was serious, even ominous, but the earl didn’t a
ddress whatever it was.
“Please have her moved into Lady Katherine’s chambers immediately. She will be sleeping there from now on.”
At this, Rachel almost objected herself. She could not trust such benevolence. How long would Lord Druridge be able to tolerate such an arrangement—a maid living in his late wife’s chambers?
“My lord—” she started, but he angled his head to indicate the game.
“Let us continue, Rachel,” he said. “Mrs. Poulson, you are excused.”
Chapter 12
The tick of the clock seemed overly loud. “Surely you didn’t mean it,” Rachel murmured, breaking the silence that had fallen in the wake of Poulson’s departure.
Instead of returning to the game, as he’d indicated, Lord Druridge had gone to the brandy decanter and poured himself a drink. She could see the starkness of his visage as he stared out the window. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”
It was a simple, imperious answer. He wasn’t used to having his commands questioned. But this was madness. “Lord Druridge, I cannot take Lady Katherine’s quarters. Imagine how far word of this… odd arrangement will spread.”
“Let people wag their tongues.” When he turned, there was a hint of defiance in his demeanor. “It wasn’t as if I didn’t try a more circumspect arrangement.” He lifted his glass. “I trusted you to the care of my staff, and look at you. After only three weeks, I return from London to find you about to faint from hunger and fatigue.”
“While you have come back so very well rested?”
His eyes narrowed at the tartness of her words. “You speak frankly.”
“I am who I am. Putting a uniform on me doesn’t change that.”
“Apparently not. Anyway, I sleep when I can.”
“Will you sleep any better by having me next door?” She had made it clear she would not be his whore, and he had said he didn’t expect it. Was he breaking that promise? Why else would he put her in Katherine’s rooms?
