“Mrs. Danbury told me to help with lunch, but apparently that requires a change in clothes.”
“Oh. Aye. Come along then.” Rose picked up the bowl, and brought it to another girl. “’Ere, Beth. Cook needs this for ’er tarts.”
Following Rose out of the kitchen, Kendra marveled again at the warren of rooms in the servants’ hall, and the vast number of employees. It was like a beehive: constant people, constant movement.
“How many work here at the castle, Rose?”
“Aldridge Castle’s one of the oldest an’ grandest ’ouseholds in these parts,” the maid said with unmistakable pride. “We ’ave round four thousand servants in and about the castle.”
“Four thousand?”
“Aye, miss. And that ain’t includin’ outside ’elp for the ’ouse party.”
“Good God.”
“’Ere we are.” Rose opened a door and entered a room that looked like a cross between an old-fashioned seamstress shop and a medieval laundry. On either side of the stone fireplace were walls lined with open cupboards containing neatly folded fabrics, spools of thread and trimmings. In the center of the room was a wooden counter with a thick blanket tossed over it, and a dress laid over that. It was, Kendra realized, a primitive version of an ironing board. An older, heavyset woman was running an iron that looked like it weighed a ton across a brown dress, while the younger maid helped by keeping the material smooth.
The older woman flashed them a hard look. “We’re a mite busy today, Rose,” she said, and handed the iron to her assistant, who immediately transferred it to the hearth to heat up again.
“Aye, Mrs. Beeton.” Rose nodded. “But miss ’ere needs a dress.”
Mrs. Beeton wiped the sweat from her brow. “What kinda dress?”
“Maid’s dress.”
“We don’t have time to sew a new dress.”
“She can ’ave Jenny’s old dress. Since she ran off to Bath with Mr. Kipper and all.”
“Ooh. And a right scandal that was. Not even a by-your-leave!” Mrs. Beeton sniffed, and gave Kendra a measuring look. “You part of the temporary help?”
“Well—”
“She’s been ’ired on,” Rose put in.
“What happened to your hair? You been ill?”
“I—”
“She’s better now,” said Rose.
“What’s your name?”
“Um—”
“Kendra Donovan. She’s an American.”
“You’re a right chatterbox, Miss Donovan, ain’t you?” Mrs. Beeton remarked.
Kendra smiled.
Mrs. Beeton went over to a drawer, shuffled around, and pulled out a pale blue dress. Holding it up, she surveyed both the dress and then Kendra with a sharp eye. “It’ll do,” she pronounced. “But it needs ironing.”
“Oh, but we’re in an ’urry, Mrs. Beeton,” Rose protested. “Mrs. Danbury—”
“Would want her staff to look respectable.”
Recognizing defeat, Rose let out a breath. “Oh, aye. But Mrs. Danbury says she’s to ’elp with the nuncheon. And Lady Atwood ’as a bee in her bonnet to set it up down by the lake. Monsieur Anton is anxious about the ’ole thing.”
“Monsieur Anton is usually anxious. He’s French.” Mrs. Beeton briskly exchanged the dress on the counter for the maid’s uniform. “You’ll find a cap and apron in the third drawer, Rose. Maggie, bring me the iron.”
Kendra didn’t know much about ironing—she’d always dropped her laundry off at the dry cleaner around the corner from her apartment—but she realized this was a far more laborious process. Without electricity, the iron had to be constantly reheated in the fireplace. Rose was beginning to look anxious by the time the uniform finally met Mrs. Beeton’s approval. She removed it from the counter and handed it to Kendra.
“You can come back for alterations when there’s time. You’re a mite smaller than Jenny, so we’ll need to nip in the waist. Jenny did love Cook’s cakes.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Rose was already at the door. “Come along, miss.”
In the bedchamber, Kendra changed into the new uniform. While Rose hung up her discarded gown, she put on the apron and mop cap. Unable to resist, she looked at herself in the small swivel mirror, and nearly sighed.
“You look a proper maid,” Rose said with an encouraging smile.
“My parents would be so proud.”
“W’ot?”
“Nothing.” She pressed her thumb and index finger to the bridge of her nose. Stay calm. Stay focused.
“How long have you been at Aldridge Castle, Rose?” she asked as they went back down the servants’ stairs.
“Ooh, since I was ten. Me sister worked as a scullery maid, and when she bettered ’erself, I got ’ired on by Mrs. Danbury.”
“Where’s your family?”
“They live down the road. Me pa has a field he tends for ‘Is Grace. Me brothers ’elp ’im. I miss me sister, who went off to London. I ’ave another sister that married an officer in the army, and lives in Colchester now. Then there’s the wee ones—”
“Good God. How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Fourteen. I ’ave six brothers and eight sisters. ’Ow many brothers and sisters do you ’ave, miss?”