“That is very good.” The butler nodded approvingly as he poured wine for Mrs. Young and himself. “He’s had a trying time of it, but it seems he is out of danger at last.”
“Indeed he has.” The housekeeper glanced over everyone as she snatched up her brimming glass.
No one but the upper servants took wine so early in the day, and Matilda fumed. Such gluttony turned her stomach.
Mrs. Young’s eyes lingered on Matilda, and her glass twitched in her hand. “We will still endeavor to keep as quiet as possible so he is not disturbed and stay out of his way.”
The household was walking on eggshells around William Ford as they went about their duties. He’d been irritated for most of the week and usually scowled when he saw her working nearby.
“He has no plans to go out today,” Dawson remarked, casting a quick glance in Matilda’s direction. “He’s settled in the library and seems in exceptionally good spirits. He has asked to speak to you at eleven, Mrs. Young.”
There were a few among the servants who sighed with relief. The others glanced her way, no doubt wondering what she knew of the captain’s evening activities that might have attributed to his good mood.
The captain confused her. One moment speaking to her as an equal, touching her hair, and the next shoving her away and refusing to even acknowledge her existence. He’d been cold and abrupt all week, and he made her consider that running away might have been a better option than continuing to live another day under his roof.
Matilda held her breath, but Dawson never mentioned a similar summons for herself to see the captain. She was disappointed. Captain Ford had not recovered her letters from Mrs. Young yet nor had he passed them along. He had apparently forgotten his promise to retrieve them from the indolent housekeeper, if he ever intended to get them back for her at all.
Matilda lowered her eyes as the butler said grace, adding thanks for the captain’s continued good health while she gave thanks the man had finally ventured downstairs.
Amen.
She had to dust the first floor today, which contained the drawing room, his dressing room, and bedchamber. Those rooms needed a good airing too. She didn’t particularly want him anywhere close at hand to observe and comment on her efforts.
Heaped platters were passed around, starting at those servants of highest rank down to those far lower. When the first plate of meat landed next to Matilda, there was decidedly less to choose from than she’d hoped to find. She filled her plate sparingly, leaving enough to the young scullery maid and boot boy so they’d keep up their strength. A servant’s life was hard, and they were very young and still growing like weeds. The footmen always left everyone else too little to fill their bellies, and that made her angry. However, there was nothing she could do about it. She had absolutely no influence belowstairs.
“Want to wager we find her in the library later,” someone whispered.
Matilda made the mistake of looking up and discovered Jenny and Jane were smirking at her. The pair o
f maids laughed outright at her scowl. Matilda resumed her meal, annoyed by their continued speculation about her supposed affair with the captain.
They were convinced she’d bewitched him, if there was such a thing even possible.
She sipped the cup of tea that had been set before her plate, pushing Captain Ford and his critical gaze from her mind. Her easier duties were in the past. She must face the realities of life in service once more. Every brief moment of idleness at his side had been a precious respite, gone and soon to be forgotten.
She swallowed another mouthful, noticing absently her tea left a strange taste in her mouth. She took another sip and then spluttered as she realized the tea had been laced with salt rather than the usual single spoon of sugar she’d been granted.
Across the table, the other maids were struggling not to laugh. Matilda pushed to her feet, begged to be excused, and without waiting for a response fled for the kitchen to find fresh water to rinse her mouth out with.
She spat the disgusting taste out into the nearby washroom basin several times until the vile flavor was gone. She hated this place. No one was kind here.
Heavy treads approached. “Miss Winslow? Are you all right?”
Matilda hurried to pat her mouth with her only handkerchief before Mr. Dawson saw what she’d been doing. She could never be sure if Mr. Dawson should be considered her friend or not. He was the captain’s man and almost as critical as their employer. “The tea was too hot.”
He lifted his hand. He had her cup judging by the familiar chip next to the handle. He poked in one finger. “Lukewarm at best. Are you sure that’s all it was?”
“Yes, Mr. Dawson.” Matilda didn’t want trouble.
The way he’d been looking at her this past week made her suspect he’d seen her in the captain’s arms last week too. He’d been different toward her lately. Concerned for her welfare in a way he never had before, asking her opinion about everything she ought not to care about as a lowly maid. Almost to the point of embarrassing her even more in front of the other servants with his deference.
Dawson slowly lifted the cup to his nose and sniffed, and then, as if he intended to take a sip, he brought the cup to his mouth.
She stopped him before he was able to taste the evil brew. “You don’t want to drink that.”
Regardless of her warning, he took a sip and promptly spat it out into the basin. After he rinsed his mouth with fresh water, he asked, “Who did this?”
Matilda shrugged.