The Maid and the Mansion, page 6
“It was a good day otherwise. Tiring work though.” Now that she’d gotten everything bad off her chest, Mary could start to think about how hungry she was. “You said that different food gets served in the evenings? What’s it likely to be tonight, do you know?”
Hannah smiled, and the taut set of her shoulders eased. “The chef made a really tasty beef stew two nights ago, and with any luck, there’s still a little left, if we get there early. But if there isn’t…” she stared at Mary mischievously.
“If there isn’t?”
“Then we can raid the main larder,” Hannah whispered, her eyes twinkling.
“You think that’s a good idea?” Mary asked.
“Done it for years. Well, a year and a half, ever since I started working here,” Hannah said. “It’s dead easy, really. In fact, we’ll do it later tonight. That'll cheer you up after the nastiness today?" she said, sounding anxious again.
“And if we get caught?” Mary argued.
“There's no chance of discovery, and in any case, it's an open secret that the help raid the larder. The only people we might bump into are others doing the same. Let's do it tonight. At midnight," she said, eyes shining.
***
At midnight exactly, with her black dress on but no white apron, because that might stand out in the dark, Mary sneaked downstairs, staying close behind Hannah and trying her best to follow in her footsteps, since Hannah clearly knew exactly where she was going.
Mary didn’t. Hannah was taking a different route from the usual one, and as she crept along behind her, she felt that same sense of unease that she’d picked up the other day.
It was as if the house itself was watching and listening, and it made her feel spooked. Was it the right thing to do, to be coming down here after working hours and in the pitch dark?
Moving through the passages like a shadow, Hannah reached the main corridor and pushed the door open silently, checking left and right before stepping out.
They sneaked down the silent corridor, passing the smoking room, now dark and quiet, although a whiff of cigar smoke made Mary wrinkle her nose as she remembered Lord Farthing’s creepy advances.
Her heart accelerated as she saw a shadow ahead, and she shrank against the wall, worried about the prospect of getting into trouble – or worse, but Hannah didn’t falter. As the approaching person got closer, Mary saw it was one of the other housemaids, an older woman with a plump, pleasant face, who worked like a machine.
“Cake good?” Hannah whispered.
“Excellent,” the maid whispered back conspiratorially.
Amused and surprised, Mary continued on her silent way. That housemaid was the last person she’d expected to be sneaking cake at night. The absolute last one!
“We go in now,” Hannah hissed, tiptoeing into the kitchen. She detoured to a kitchen drawer, which she opened, and unerringly removed a key, as well as a cake slicer. With those in her hand, she snuck to the larder door, unlocked it quietly, and swung it open. Then, she and Hannah stepped inside.
“This is what we’re here for.”
Only once the door was closed did Hannah turn on the light, and Mary drew in an appreciative breath.
The smells emanating from the well-stocked shelves in every direction of this chilly room were intense – but the sights were better still.
Her mouth was already watering as she took a look at the selection of cakes that the upper class guests had enjoyed for their tea. There were chocolate cakes with thick, dark frosting layered inch-thick on top. The cherry cake was dense, and full of cherries, and beside it was a feather light sponge cakes with a thin layer of jam inside and heavy clotted cream on top.
This, Mary decided, as her unease dissolved, was worth the risk.
She chose a slice of the chocolate cake, and Hannah picked a portion of the cherry cake. Holding the slice in her hand, she devoured it right there in the larder, bite by delicious bite, until every crumb of the richly sumptuous cake, with its intensely chocolatey and incredibly smooth frosting, was gone.
What deliciousness!
“That was so good!” she whispered.
“Heaven, right?” Hannah rolled her eyes in bliss.
They tiptoed out of the larder, and Hannah replaced the key in the drawer. They washed the cake slicer, and their fingers, at the kitchen sink. When it was back where it belonged, there wasn’t a sign of their midnight raid.
Mary felt cheered as she tiptoed back to her room, hugging the wall once again.
But after she’d parted ways with Hannah, and just before she had reached the door that led to her own upstairs room, she saw something that made her heart accelerate all over again.
There was a flash of movement from the passage beyond.
Had she been discovered? Her hands turned cold at the thought, before she realized this person was not walking toward her, but had turned down a different corridor.
This unknown somebody was walking quickly and quietly, heading in a very purposeful way in a direction she knew well.
Toward Lord Farthing’s bedroom?
Mary froze, watching the retreating person, straining her eyes in the semi-darkness. It most definitely wasn’t one of the servants. The skirt of that gown was swishing in an expensive way. But nor was it Lady Farthing. Whoever this was, she was curvaceous, not tall and lean and domineering like Lady Farthing was. It must be one of the group of guests that had arrived in the late afternoon.
She simply couldn’t believe her eyes. Feeling stunned by this sight, she watched the woman until she’d disappeared from view. Even then, she could hear her footsteps, quick and light, and the knock at the door.
Tiptoeing down the passage a few steps, her ears straining, she heard the door open, and a woman’s soft giggle, and the deep chuckle of Lord Farthing himself.
Well, she thought, turning away. This was what this lascivious lord was doing? Under his own roof?
As she climbed the stairs to her attic room, Mary felt deeply troubled.
No good could come of this mischief, of that, she was utterly sure. Did Lady Farthing know about her husband's nighttime activities? Surely not?
But if she didn’t know, then what would she do when she found out?
Mary shivered, as she thought about her well-worn detective novels. Remembering the dark motives of the criminals that she’d read about in those dog-eared pages, she knew that anything was possible in such a situation – even murder.
CHAPTER NINE
Dusting the library shelf the next morning, with watery sunshine brightening the window, Mary couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d seen last night. There were guests circulating throughout the house this morning, and of them, three or four were single women.
Who had it been? Which of the well dressed, well spoken guests had sneaked off to that bedroom last night?
There was the woman she’d seen the night before, her sandy hair tumbling over her shoulders, wearing a perfectly tailored dress that brushed her knees, and high heeled boots. She was strolling through the library, looking at the shelves, and as Mary watched, she picked out a book and sat down. Naturally, she didn’t do so much as glance at Mary, which gave Mary the chance to discreetly observe the shape of her head.
Was it her?
Or was it the woman next to her, with honey blond waves, wearing a bright green jacket?
She was trying to compare her hazy memory of the glimpse she’d had the night before, with their appearance and demeanor, when a strong fingered hand closed on her backside, and gave it a hard pinch.
Her duster jerked so hard she almost knocked an ornament off the shelf. Spinning around, she was ready to give whoever it was a sharp telling off for doing something so rude.
But it was Lord Farthing himself, wearing a well-cut black suit that hid his belly and accentuated his shoulders.
Mary stared at him, outraged, but unable to do anything other than swallow her tongue, with so many guests circulating.
He gave her a lewd wink and then strode on as if nothing had happened, with an elderly spaniel shuffling along behind him.
“Good morning! Good morning!” he greeted the guests in the library heartily, as Mary seethed.
"Morning, Lord Farthing! You're looking smart!" the sandy-haired woman praised.
“With such beautiful company, I have to dress my best, ladies,” he purred.
With her dusting done, Mary left the dining room, now seriously angry that he’d been able to do such a sneaky trick. Gritting her teeth, she reminded herself that next time she was not going to keep quiet, and was going to tell him to stop his mischief. Even if it was in public.
After all, it wasn’t as if he was starved of female company. Clearly, he was getting more than enough of it!
It was almost eleven o'clock, which meant teatime would take place in the parlor. Perhaps that would give her a chance to observe more of the guests and work out who that mystery woman had been.
But, as she rushed downstairs to assemble the tray, she heard a familiar voice from the hallway.
"You've been so helpful. Yes, I'll take that road back if there are roadworks in progress."
That was Gilbert, she was sure of it. He was speaking to the butler, and he must be on his way to the covered shed where the cars were parked. Usually, only the chauffeurs and drivers went there, but Gilbert was driving himself.
Mary really wanted to see him again, if only to say goodbye. What reason could she possibly find that would get her out there?
It wasn't time to walk any of the dogs, but the herb garden was adjacent to the shed. She could go there and pick a few lavender blossoms to decorate the tray. That would give her an excuse.
She crossed the courtyard feeling self-conscious about being there at all, but knowing that disappointment was very likely to follow – that Gilbert had far more important things on his mind – like his hopefully valuable coins and his drive back to Scotland – and that most likely, he'd find her as invisible as the sandy-haired woman had done.
She crossed the courtyard, looking firmly ahead, trying to think of lavender and nothing else.
And then, his voice rang out.
“Mary! Mary Adams! I hope you’re not searching for a runaway dog!”
She turned, happiness welling inside her that he’d noticed her, realizing that her cheeks were starting to flush an unbecoming shade of crimson.
“Luckily, Mick is asleep upstairs,” she said. “He only likes to run after cars in the afternoon.”
“That’s a relief.”
For a moment, they stood, staring at each other. Now was the chance to note his freckles, Mary decided. They were very attractive, scattered over his cheeks, which were slightly tanned.
“Your coins. Was the expedition a success?” she asked.
He nodded. “Surprisingly, some of them are quite valuable. The ones I thought might be, weren’t, of course.”
Mary laughed. “Isn’t that the way life always goes? Expect the unexpected, I always say.”
“I would go further. Embrace the unexpected, because it might lead to adventure and opportunity.” He quirked an eyebrow.
“So, are you going to sell them or frame them or keep them?”
He gave a small shrug. “If it were up to me, I’d frame them, and then donate them to the local museum, because they’re part of the area’s history. I think my parents will feel the same way. They said it’s my decision, but it’s not really. It’s all of ours.”
“Framing them for a museum sounds like the best choice. It’ll be a talking point for everyone then, won’t it? I hope your parents agree,” she said. And then, remembering that teatime would now be late, and that she was out here, speaking to a guest, and would be yelled at if Lady Farthing happened to see her, she added, “I’d better go. Work to do.”
“It was lovely meeting you,” he said.
“Likewise, Mr. MacLeod,” she said, reddening all over again, because she’d come very close to saying Gilbert. That would have been a big societal faux pas in this strange world.
Warmed by the chance to speak to him again, she turned away and rushed to the herb garden. There, she picked a few lavender sprigs, headed back to place them on the tray, and carried it upstairs as fast and steadily as she could.
She headed inside, where the parlor was full of guests, all circulating and conversing.
"There's an orchestral performance in Coventry this afternoon, I hear," a gray-haired gentleman was saying to his black-skirted companion. "Do you think we should stop and take it in?"
“Perhaps that would be fun,” she agreed. “As long as we’re not too late in getting back.”
Mary headed over to the tea table, focusing carefully on carrying her tray.
And then, from behind her, so sudden and stealthily she didn’t have the chance to see it coming at all, she felt those same strong fingers grab her again – this time, clamping onto her leg, just above the knee.
Mary squeaked in horror, jerking away, but her instinctive action had devastating consequences.
The tray tipped sideways. A splash of steaming tea scalded her hand, teaspoons tinkled, and worst of all, three of the fine china cups with their floral pattern slipped from the tray and smashed down onto the floor.
Horrified, Mary righted the tray. There hadn’t even been time to accuse the lord of his misdoings – she knew it had been him, but she hadn’t even seen him and couldn’t risk more breakage by looking round now!
Her hand, and her face, were burning now from the shock and the embarrassment. Guests were noticing her at last, just at the moment when she didn’t want them to.
And worse still, like a jack in the box, Lady Farthing popped her head up from an armchair where, until now, it had been invisible.
“What clumsy stupidity is this?” she hissed, bearing down on Mary with a look that told her she was going to be punished for what she’d done.
CHAPTER TEN
Hastily, Mary stepped forward, scrunching over the detritus of broken china that now littered the floor, as she put the heavy tray on the table. Lady Farthing was bearing down on her with fury in her eyes.
“You are an exceptionally clumsy servant!” she declared.
"It's so hard to find good help," a gray-haired woman echoed. "Clumsy maids are simply the worst. They end up costing you double, with all the breakages."
“Were those cups Wedgwood?” the blond woman in the green jacket asked, from the side of the room, in horrified tones.
“They were. Part of a valuable, irreplaceable collection,” Lady Farthing seethed. “Family heirlooms, in fact, that have been handed down from my grandparents undamaged over all these decades! Treasured by guests and housemaids alike. Until now!”
“So shocking, a true tragedy that will haunt you for years to come,” somebody else said in quivering tones, while Mary pressed her lips together. Broken china was certainly an upsetting occurrence, but was there any need to behave as if somebody had actually died?
She didn’t know what to do in this situation. Cleaning up the mess seemed like a priority to her, but it wasn’t going to be possible to do that until Lady Farthing had finished berating her.
Finally, it seemed like the flood of words had abated, but they had been vicious and hurtful, and she felt small and shamed as she turned away.
“I’ll – I’ll get a broom,” she stammered as she hurried out.
Of course, now that she finally had the chance to look around, Lord Farthing was nowhere in sight. He must have pinched her leg and then scurried straight out of the parlor. Probably, she told herself angrily, he’d had a huge kick out of doing it knowing his wife was there. The fact she’d been so discombobulated – another word her mother would have liked her using, though not in those circumstances – was probably a source of wicked amusement to him.
Rushing down the corridor, not even taking the back route because cleaning up this china was an emergency, Mary couldn’t hold back the hot tears that filled her eyes and wet her cheeks as she rushed along.
It hadn’t been her fault. For the lady of the house to end up calling her clumsy, because the lord of the house had pinched her thigh, and for all the guests to join in the public bullying, seemed like a massive injustice. It was the unfairness of it more than anything else that was causing tears to well. She blinked them away, feeling doubly frustrated with herself now that Lord Farthing’s actions had made her cry.
The quickest route to one of the broom cupboards, she now remembered, was not all the way back to the kitchen, but along this level. There was a small storeroom halfway down where spare linen was kept, and she thought she remembered seeing a broom, dustpan and brush there too.
Veering right, she headed down the corridor.
But as she neared the half-open bedroom door to her left, Mary realized in surprise that she wasn’t the only one who’d ended up crying this morning.
Sobs were coming from inside the bedroom, and Mary stopped, glancing in through the doorway, her own problems temporarily forgotten, because whoever was inside here sounded heartbroken.
It was the sandy-haired woman who'd been in the library earlier. Now, she was standing by her dressing table, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief.
It seemed so wrong to just walk past without going in and seeing if she needed any help.
But Mary acknowledged that it wasn’t the right time and she wasn’t the right person. She couldn’t risk stepping out of line. Even though her heart went out to her predicament, she had no option but to turn away. It was probably just disappointment over a coin valuation, she reasoned.
In any case, if she didn’t get back with that broom in a minute, Lady Farthing would be as mad as a wet hen.
Opening the broom cupboard door, she found what she needed, and hurried back. But the first thing she heard, on approaching the parlor door, was Lord Farthing’s booming voice.
He was sitting in the center of the circle of chairs,
“The bronze Aes Signatum pieces are among the oldest coin currency of Rome,” he explained in his rich tones. “Today, we usually see only pieces of them – they were large and heavy, and they were replaced by the still heavy, though round, Aes Grave. Those are considered to be the first true Roman coins.”
