and threw Anne through the door, barring her escape.
“Here she is, Sara. Tell her what you told me,” Mary said,
picking up a tartlet from the table and taking a large bite.
Sara sat on a stool near the fireplace, her face wet with tears.
“It wasn’t my fault! She tripped me! She tripped me, she did.
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She saw the young sir watching me, and she was jealous.”
Anne could barely comprehend what she was saying. “Who
tripped you, Sara?” she asked. “Tell me what happened.” Surely
it couldn’t be bad enough that it would prevent her from finishing the dinner service. Sara was far too sensitive to work as a maid, Anne thought irritably.
“Aye, I’ll tell you what happened. It was Miss Patience. She
isn’t as pretty as we thought. She’s ugly inside, and it shows.
The young sir winked at me. He winked at me, he did, and she didn’t like it.”
Although Anne had yet to see Miss Patience Hervey, she had met the young master of the house and could understand how
Sara would catch his eye. Mary, too, was pleasing, despite her
generous middle.
Sara sniffed and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “She
tripped me, and I dropped the soup onto the young master’s
lap. Master Drummond was furious! Oooh, I’ve never seen him
so furious before.”
In this house, people had been fired for less grievous
acts than pitching a bowl of soup into someone’s lap. Master
Drummond often let maids or butlers go without so much as
a warning if their collar wasn’t stiff enough or if their shoes
weren’t polished. It depended on his mood and if he was feeling charitable or not.
Anne patted Sara’s back in an attempt to calm her, just
as Margery flew in. She pointed at Anne, her hand shaking.
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Whether it was from rage or exertion, Anne could not tell. “Go and get changed. Quickly now. Wash up!”
“But I’ve never had to help with a meal. Surely you and
Mary—” Anne’s head snapped back from the impact of Margery’s
hand.
“I said now! Take a bucket, wash yourself, and be back
down here in two minutes. The young master has changed, and
the guests are ready for their next course.”
The appearance of Mr. Edward had turned the entire
household on its head.
Anne raced upstairs, her ear still ringing, and hastily tore
off her dress and shift. The water splashed onto the floor as she filled the washbasin and quickly cleaned herself. Moments later, as she retraced her steps wearing a fresh dress and apron, a pit settled in her stomach.
With one last look at Sara’s shaking form, Anne twisted her
unruly braid under her cap and followed Mary and Margery toward
the dining room, like a sacrificial lamb prepared for slaughter.
Even with her limp, Margery moved with amazing speed.
Anne was breathless by the time they reached their destination,
afraid she would be sick over the polished floor. With each footstep her anxiety rose, till it was all she could do to remain upright.
The sound of muted voices could be heard through the
door. Silverware clinked against the porcelain tableware, and a
woman’s shrill laugh pierced the air.
Margery turned to Anne and whispered, “All right, now. Look
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lively. You watch what Mary’s doing and simply do as she does.”
Anne nodded, her stomach twisting.
Straightening her shoulders, Margery turned and pushed
open the door. She became a different person entirely, at once
confident and discreet. Anne had a hard time reconciling the
image of this competent woman with the hissing witch who’d
slapped her not ten minutes ago.
Anne felt the young master’s eyes on her the moment she
walked in. A flush crept into her cheeks, and she kept her head
averted. The walls of the dining room were covered with lavish
frames filled with maps made by the most sought after cartog—
raphers. The charts marked the routes of Master Drummond’s
merchant fleet. Unlike in other prominent households, there
were no portraits of distinguished ancestors here, as the master himself was the son of a soap maker.
Mary stepped up to the table to clear away the soup bowls,
and Anne had no choice but to follow her example.
The conversation swirled around the room, and Anne took
surreptitious glances at the guests, noticing with irritation that Mary had left her to clear Miss Patience’s place. Miss Patience was quite the sight in her light blue dress, which boasted a
broad neckline and long sleeves. It was corseted so tightly that she seemed to have trouble handling her cutlery. Her blond hair was a mass of curls, cascading elegantly over one pale shoulder.
Despite her elegance, her features were pinched, like the sharp
pleats in Anne’s best dress.
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Curious about the young master’s appearance, Anne looked over, and gave a start when she saw his handsome face, now devoid of the shabby beard. His hair, too, had been trimmed