‘I was Mrs Fogarty’s maid, Mrs Halgate.’ The girl was thin, anxious, with a sharp nose and pale, darting eyes. ‘I did my best, ma’am.’
‘I am sure you did.’ Meg dredged into her memory and came up with a name. ‘And I am sure you deserve a change from those duties, Annie.’ The girl smiled, obviously relieved. Mrs Fogarty could not have been an easy mistress.
‘Now, Damaris. I am sure you would do admirably.’ The quiet redhead who had been trying to fade into invisibility behind a plump neighbour jumped. ‘Will you show me to my rooms, Damaris? And the rest of you, carry on as usual. Come to me if you are uncertain about anything.’ Please don’t!
Her one shabby bag was standing outside the door when the maid led her downstairs. ‘All the rest got lost in France,’ Meg explained, glossing over battles and baggage trains. ‘I must go shopping as soon as possible.’
It felt strange stepping into another woman’s rooms, especially one that she so disliked. The housekeeper had a good-sized parlour, easily capable of entertaining the other upper servants in, and a smaller bedroom, both with windows overlooking a paved yard with a herb garden at its centre. It was all very comfortable, somewhat dark and almost entirely lacking in personality. Meg supposed Mrs Fogarty had removed every item that gave the space any individuality.
‘We can unpack later,’ she decided. ‘First, I want you to show me round before dinner. I need to learn my way about this house.’
In the event they got no further than a tour of belowstair
s, ending up in the kitchen where Mrs Harris produced tea and a running stream of one-sided conversation while presiding over preparations for dinner.
‘The spitting image of his father, God rest his soul,’ Cook pronounced.
‘That isn’t likely to be God’s concern, the old so-and-so will have headed in the other direction.’ The gardener grinned at his own parting shot as he left a trug full of vegetables on the kitchen table.
‘And how did he come to employ you, Mrs Halgate?’ Cook asked. ‘He’s not been back in England any time to advertise, that’s for certain sure.’
‘Mr Empson’s agency. He came in to find a housekeeper and heard me explaining my Portuguese experience. After his long service in the Peninsula I suppose he thought I might suit.’ Best not to explain that it was temporary as well, she decided.
‘Portugal! Now there’s a thing,’ Cook marvelled. ‘Was it very different to here?’
‘You could not possibly imagine,’ Meg said with some feeling.
One of the underfootmen appeared: George, Peter or John—she had still not fixed all their names in her mind. ‘His lordship’s compliments, Mrs Halgate, and he says that he understands from the agency that you read aloud very well.’
‘Er…yes?’
‘And would you join him in the library after dinner and read to him.’
‘Please tell his lordship that I would be glad to.’
Meg waited until the footman had removed himself. She felt instinctively that it was important to get the female staff on her side, and to prevent the slightest suspicion of any impropriety. ‘My goodness! I told Mr Empson about reading aloud in case he could find me a place with an invalid, I never dreamed his lordship would require me to read to him. I do not like to refuse, although it seems a trifle unconventional.’
‘You keep the library door open, Mrs Halgate,’ said Cook with a knowing look. ‘You won’t come to any harm with the door open.’
‘That is very sound advice, Mrs Harris,’ Meg agreed fervently. It would protect her as much from herself as from Ross, she rather feared.
With no guests and no lady of the house the maidservants, and Meg, had a relatively easy time of it after dinner. There was his lordship’s bed for one of the upstairs maids to turn down, curtains to be drawn, hot water to be taken up later, but that was all. Meg apologised to Mrs Harris and Heneage that she could not entertain them to tea in her parlour and went up to the library.
The heavy oak door was shut. Meg stood regarding the panels, one hand raised to knock. Think like a servant. That’s what you are now. An upper servant. His servant from the moment you took those keys. No more confidences, no more intimacies. He is your master now. She shivered, despite the warmth of the spring evening air, and knocked.
‘Come!’
‘Good evening, my lord.’ Meg bobbed a curtsy and came into the library, leaving the door wide open behind her. It was a dark, oppressive room with bookshelves that ran from floor to ceiling, lined with leatherbound volumes. A big globe stood in the window bay and deep leather chairs with small tables at their side were set about the space. The pictures all seemed to be etchings of classical sites and the thick carpet smothered the sound of her footsteps.
Despite the temperature of the air and the richness of the materials it felt emotionally cool. The whole house did, she realised. Or all the rooms she had seen so far above stairs. Cool, clean, orderly, sterile.
‘Good evening.’ Ross laid down the book in his hand and frowned at her. ‘Close the door and come and sit down, Meg.’ She shook her head at him as one of the footmen went past in the hall. ‘Mrs Halgate, then.’
‘I think it best if I leave the door, my lord.’ Meg sat down in the chair opposite his. ‘You asked me to read aloud, I believe.’
‘Yes.’ The frown deepened at her defiance, but he passed her a familiar book. ‘Gulliver’s Travels. I have reached chapter two,’ he added with a pointed look at the open door, ‘if you will continue from there.’
Meg took it, avoiding touching his hand as she did so. ‘Certainly. But before I do, there are some things I must ask.’ She tried to frame all the questions that were tumbling through her head in a way that was concise and would not irritate him with detail.