“You’re a writer.”
This amused or pleased him, and he gave a shrug, tucking his hand back into the flap of his coat. When he leaned away from me, the air in the room felt less close. “I dabble. Not a writer, really, more of a hobbyist. A naturalist. A historian. The little domestic details of running a boardinghouse never interested me. And perhaps that’s a shame. As the saying goes, idle hands are the devil’s playthings.”
“They are indeed. I believe they are also the privilege and provenance of the rich,” I said.
Disappear, Louisa. Stop speaking and making a nuisance of yourself.
“My mother always said some such, but no doubt she spoke from a place of envy,” I quickly amended.
But the young man—my employer—with the wild black hair and golden eyes immediately saw through the sloppy correction. I braced for censure or even for a firing. Even if he preferred “personalities” working at Coldthistle House, perhaps mine had proven overbold.
Instead of chiding me, he shook his head, slowly, and smiled. “I like you, Louisa Ditton. A feeling in my bones tells me we will get along just fine.”
Chapter Nine
“What did you say to him?”
Damn it all. And here the day had been going so well, too.
Mrs. Haylam was bearing down upon me, finding me kneeling next to the stove, where I was busy scouring the floor and tidying up after she had cooked the evening meals. My ears had been boxed in the past more times than I could count, but receiving as much on my first day would be new.
I stood before she could reach me and bowed my head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Haylam. I thought . . . He did not seem at all cross with me when I left his chambers.”
“Indeed.”
There was a world of painful promise in that one whispered word.
My shoulders hunched instinctively, anticipating the blow. But it never came. She stared down at me, and her gray, neat bun had come undone a little, wisps of silver hair floating about her face. “He says you are to serve evening tea to the guests who request it,” she said. The words themselves did not match her furious tone. “Serving tea. You. Already. Unheard of.”
She had been reduced to single words.
“Perhaps I made an impression,” I murmured, quickly adjusting my gaze to the floor.
“You obviously made an impression, girl.” Mrs. Haylam let out a long breath that fluttered the cap on my head. Even without looking, I felt the intensity of her gaze sharpen. “And he made an impression on you, too, I warrant. I wonder just what that was.”
I shifted. She wasn’t moving. It was a question, then. Curiously, honesty had gotten me further with both her and Mr. Morningside, so I tossed aside my previous plan and spoke my mind. It would make my mother and teachers recoil if they knew I was purposely giving cheek to my betters.
“He was younger than I expected. And . . . clever.”
This gave her pause. Mrs. Haylam relaxed slightly, settling her hands on her narrow hips. “I see. Young and clever.” Again she paused, as if digesting what ought to be self-evident information. Did she think him anything else? “Young and clever,” she repeated. “And, what, handsome?”
Without my wanting it to, my head snapped back, and I met her eye. Was this a trick? A trap? It had to be one or both. “Some would call him that, I’m sure.”
“But not you.”
“Did I say that?”
“Less cheek, girl, more information,” Mrs. Haylam snapped, and again I looked down at my feet. “Young, clever, and handsome. Well. You’re clever, too. I know you won’t get any strange ideas in your head. He is the master. Young and handsome he may seem, little Louisa, but Henry Ingram Morningside is dangerous indeed. More dangerous than you know. Now pick up that tray and serve tea and do not let me hear you were slow about it.”
The second floor of the manor was still as the grave as I carried the heavy silver tea tray to the parlor. Each level had its own small area for entertaining and light dining, though the grandest dining room was on the first floor toward the south side of the house.
Those ghastly painted birds stared down at me as I went, the sheer number of framed paintings on the walls making the corridor feel airless and narrow. I had thought the day a good one—a long rest, a decent meal, and what I assumed was a positive first meeting with my employer had all led into hard but honest work. Scrubbing floors. Washing pots. Slicing potatoes and boiling them. Learning where they kept the laundry and where the soaking vats were.
Idle hands are the devil’s playthings.
My hands would not be long idle here, but I welcomed the endless chores and duties. So far, as long as I did as instructed and with few mistakes, I was left to my own thoughts. Those thoughts wandered from the curious Mr. Morningside and his menagerie of birds to Lee Brimble, to Poppy and her hound, and finally to the greatest questions of all: How long would I remain here, and what, if anything, could I do with myself afterward?
Mrs. Haylam had said nothing of payment so far, though Chijioke mentioned having a few coins saved up. These first days might be a trial, just to prove that I could manage the work and take direction.
The Pitney teachers would choke on their biscuits with laughter if they could see me now, my prospects plummeting from governess to mere maid. How predictable! they would crow. All that pride and arrogance and Louisa Ditton made nothing of herself in the end!
No, I could not stay at Coldthistle House forever. Fortune waited on the edge of some horizon, and I would chase it. I thought again of the gold coin that had gotten me chased out of the Malton market, and that thought led me to consider the value of the silver tray in my hands. I began calculating the cost of the fine china set and the paintings on the walls, the Turkish rugs, the gilt cages for keeping birds. . . . There was wealth in this place and few people to look after it. I could pocket small treasures and sell them elsewhere, and see if that suited me better than bowing and scraping to guests.
It was a thought, anyway, and one I felt coalescing into a plan. Mr. Morningside could hardly notice a few tiny objects going missing, and the risk seemed worth it if the stolen goods bought me passage to America. To a new life.
But until then—tea.