“Completely outside my purview. You would add nothing to my studies. Nothing. Let Dr. Addington deal with you. I have an early start to my day.”
With that, he stalks from the room, shutting the door behind him. I wait until he’s gone. Then I wait a few more minutes. I’m in the next room when voices sound outside the door. McCreadie and Dr. Addington. I hesitate, feeling the urge to hide again and eavesdrop.
Completely outside my purview.
I give a rueful smile.You and me both, Dr. Gray. And I have an even earlier morning than you.Neither of us has time to pursue idle curiosity.
I tiptoe to the back door and creep out just as the front one opens, and McCreadie leads the doctor in.
The first thing I will do when I’m home is run to Nan’s bedside. The second? Sleep. So much sleep. As a cop, I’ve pulled double shifts, and none left me as exhausted as a single day being a housemaid. When Alice wakes me the next morning, I swear I only just drifted off.
Getting out of bed, I also know how Mom and Dad feel. Lately, they’ve started joking about their age and how it takes a few minutes to get going in the morning, like starting a car with a cold engine. My knees threaten to give way. My shoulders scream. I reach for the bottle of Tylenol I keep in my nightstand drawer. Yep, no nightstand, and no Tylenol.
I stump, stiff-legged, to the washbasin, only to discover it’s the dirty water from yesterday. Because I don’t have a maid to empty it for me.
I use the water anyway. Sure, since I hope to be gone today, I could say screw it, get clean water, and be late for my shift. Yet I’m well aware of Catriona, the girl who doesn’t have an escape hatch to another time. It’s like the old concept of a whipping boy. If I do anything wrong, she’ll suffer the punishment. Scummy, cold water it is, then.
I dress as quickly as I can, buttoning with numb fingers, shivering the whole time. Then I stagger downstairs, only to still get a lecture on tardiness. It’s been ten minutes since Alice came up. How fast am I supposed to dress with five layers of clothing and no zippers?
I suck it up, like I used to when I spent weekends with my paternal grandparents. They lived on a farm and were determined to teach me the value of hard work. What I learned instead was how to push through. Do what I’m told and remind myself that my dad had to do this every day of his life, and at least my term of servitude ended Sunday evening when he came to pick me up.
This term of servitude ends at two. Precisely two, as Mrs. Wallace tells metwicethat morning.
“Not one minute before. I know your tricks, and I’ll be having none of them today.”
So Catriona had tricks? Maybe she wasn’t quite the meek and guileless creature I imagine. I can’t blame her. I consider myself a hard worker, and I’d still be trying to sneak out of this job a few minutes early.
Catriona may leave early herself, but I will not do it on her behalf. Anyone doomed to this wretched life doesn’t deserve additional punishment. Yes, yes, I’m well aware that there are people in Victorian-era Scotland who’d have given their eyeteeth for her job, with plentiful food and a private bedroom. But there’s always someone worse off, and my very middle-class life back home makes me a grand duchess compared to poor Catriona.
I wait for the clock to strike two before I pack away my broom. By the time I arrive in the kitchen, it’s ten past, and when Mrs. Wallace glowers at me, I half expect her to give me crap for leavinglate.
“Did you scrub Dr. Gray’s hearth?” she asks.
I launch into a recital of everything I got done, and with each word, her eyes narrow. There’s no sarcasm in my tone, yet she acts as if I’m being a smart-ass.
“Iwillcheck it, you know,” she says.
“Feel free—” I swallow hard. “I mean, I understand, ma’am, and you are more than welcome to do so.”
“You’re up to something,” she says, setting down her wooden spoon. “Don’t think I cannot see that. Talking so prettily. Doing all your work.” She looks at the clock and sniffs. “I’ve never known you to linger when it’s your half day.”
“I know I have not been myself, ma’am,” I say. “It is the knock upon my head. I shall be right as rain soon enough.”
“You’d better be. I will not stand for these tricks once the mistress returns tomorrow.”
“I have no idea what you mean, ma’am.”I really don’t.“But I do hope to be back to myself tomorrow.”
She grumbles, turns, and hands me a tray with a pot of tea and a plate of coconut cake. “For the master in the funerary parlor.”
I make no move to take it. “My half day started at two.”
“Yes, and this was ready before two. The tea will be getting cold now. You’ll drop off the tray on your way out. The master had a busy morning—one funeral done and a second to arrange. He barely picked at his lunch. He’s overly fond of pastries and this might tempt him. Now off with you.”