Historical Romance Boxed Set (32 page)

At the back door, she met two tradesmen carrying daily supplies. The butcher drove a high dogcart and was busily engaged with a woman Alexandra assumed, from her dress and manner, to be Greystone’s housekeeper. The baker was just leaving. Carrying bread in a large basket covered with a white cloth, he called, “See you Monday week, Mrs. Wright.”

Alexandra remained silent until they had concluded their business, then stepped forward when the butcher drove away.

“Who are you?” A hardy woman with shoulders the width of a man’s, and hands that were almost as callused, the housekeeper regarded her with frank appraisal.

“I’ve come to see Lady Anne,” Alexandra told her. “Has she returned from Scotland?”

The housekeeper’s brows rose as shrewd eyes swept over Alexandra’s plain dress and apron. “Aye, she’s back. But what business would she have with the likes of you?”

Alexandra cleared her throat. “It’s personal,” she said, trying to ignore the anxiety churning in her stomach. Afraid the housekeeper would dismiss her if she didn’t explain, she added, “I’ve come to replace something I took. Tell your mistress I’m the seamstress who was supposed to fix the dress her mother gave her. We met in Manchester. I’ll wait here until she wakes.”

Alexandra set her tin box on the ground and sat on top of it.

The look of skepticism didn’t change on Mrs. Wright’s face, but she said, “It’ll only be a minute. Lady Anne’s up already.”

She went inside, leaving Alexandra to chew her lip in agitation. How would Nathaniel’s half sister receive her? In light of their last meeting, Lady Anne could just as easily have her thrown into gaol as hire her as a maid. But Alexandra knew of no better way to find Nathaniel. She could only hope her and Trenton’s plan would work.

A moment later, Mrs. Wright poked her head through the door. “Come inside. Lady Anne will see you in the sitting room.”

Alexandra followed the housekeeper through the anteroom of a large kitchen and into the kitchen itself. A stove sat in one corner, flanked by a huge brick hearth. Utensils hung from pegs along the wall. Copper pots dangled above a large deal table. Several baskets littered the floor. One was filled with fresh eggs, another with carrots just out of the ground.

A green baize door separated the kitchen from the rest of the house. Mrs. Wright charged through it, and Alexandra hurried behind, amazed at the opulence that suddenly surrounded her: drawing rooms, parlors, sitting rooms, music rooms, and libraries furnished with silk and cashmere draperies that puddled on the floor; doors carved from exotic hardwoods; carpets from Smyrna and Madras. An impressive wide stairway wound its way up to the second floor, where several Aubusson tapestries hung on the wall.

They stopped at a set of double doors off a large, vaulted entry. Mrs. Wright knocked, then motioned for Alexandra to follow her inside.

Lady Anne sat at a desk, wearing a pale blue Louis XV-style dress with a jacket-bodice and tabbed skirt. A Bible was open in front of her. She looked up as they entered—and frowned.

“There you are,” she said, her voice indignant. “Where is my gown?”

Alexandra stared at her shoes. “I’m sorry, my lady. The dress is ruined.”

“Ruined! I should have guessed as much. Is that why you’re here? To tell me you ruined the gown my mother gave me?”

“No.” Alexandra glanced up. “I came to see if I could make up for its loss. You see, I never meant to steal it—”

Lady Anne waved her words away, the look on her face softening. “The fact that you’re here tells me that. Besides, I heard the fuss your stepfather made after you ran off. I can hardly blame you for leaving. Sometimes I wish I had as much nerve.” She glanced pensively back at the fire before a hesitant smile claimed her lips. “You caused quite an uproar. Mr. Calvert was beside himself. Really, between him and that father of yours, the entertainment was almost worth the loss of my dress.”

Alexandra nearly chuckled at the picture Lady Anne’s words created in her mind—a flustered Mr. Calvert, a duke’s daughter standing in her shift, her dress gone, and Willy raging about his money—only she feared Lady Anne might interpret her mirth as insincerity. “I’d like to repay you, my lady. I have no money, but I’ll work off whatever figure you deem fair.”

“As a housemaid?” Lady Anne’s voice rose in surprise as her eyes marked Alexandra’s attire. “But you’re a seamstress.”

“I realize I have no experience as a servant, but I’d like the chance to learn.” Alexandra swallowed, feeling a twinge of guilt at her duplicity. She had chosen the role of maid only because, should Lady Anne take her on, it would allow her access to the house and its staff, and bring her into frequent contact with the duke.

“How difficult can it be?” Lady Anne shrugged, glancing at Mrs. Wright. “Surely you can teach her.”

The housekeeper nodded. “If you’d like, m’lady.”

Nathaniel’s half sister glanced back at her Bible. “Yes, I’d like that. A woman with so much pluck would be an asset to any house, and the Good Book says we’re to forgive, doesn’t it? You’d have to work several years to pay for such a dress on a maid’s wages, but I’ll be content with one. Are you agreeable?”

Alexandra curtseyed. “Yes, my lady.”

“Good.” She turned to the housekeeper. “Make room for her in the attic.”

Mrs. Wright led Alexandra back to the kitchen and from there up a tall, narrow staircase to a small attic.

“You’ll sleep here,” the housekeeper informed her. “Put your trunk on that bed. You’ll have to unpack later.”

Alexandra deposited her box on a worn quilt thrown over the top of an iron bedstead. Hers was one of three beds that lined the wall; a fourth was next to the only window on the opposite side. A spotted mirror hung above each cot, and a chest of drawers sat between them on bare floorboards. A chipped washbasin occupied the end of the room; next to it sat a chamber pot.

“The position of housemaid normally pays eighteen pounds a year,” Mrs. Wright said as she turned back to the stairs and motioned for Alexandra to follow her. “Time off will consist of one full day each month and one afternoon a week, beginning at three p.m. You might be working for nothing, but at least you’ll have a roof over your head and food in your stomach.”

Alexandra nodded as Mrs. Wright glanced her way before continuing, “You’ll rise at five o’clock every morning and begin by lighting the fires. Then you’ll carry water up for the family’s baths. After your breakfast, you’ll sweep the carpets downstairs and dust the main entry hall.”

Mrs. Wright spoke quickly, sounding as though she were attempting to fit an hour’s worth of instruction into the time it took to reach the kitchen, and she seemed to remember more and more things as they went along.

Alexandra struggled to absorb the onslaught of information, listening to every word with rapt attention. Now that she had established herself in the duke’s household, the last thing she wanted was to lose her position before she found out what she had come to learn. Trenton and the others were counting on her. And no one wanted to find Nathaniel more than she did.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, another servant approached, looking more than a little distraught. “Mrs. Wright, the tweenie has run off. I guess Cook had a few harsh words for her yesterday, and she popped off in the middle of the night.”

The housekeeper groaned. “The girl was so homesick, she was no good to us anyway. Very well, Janet. Alexandra is here now. She can help out in the kitchen until we find someone to replace Ruth.”

“The stove has yet to be lit,” Janet complained. “And it needs to be black-leaded. At this rate, we won’t have hot water by the time Cook wakes.”

“Then get it done. Alexandra will help you in a moment.”

Janet frowned but went to work, and Mrs. Wright turned to face Alexandra. “His Grace demands a great deal from his servants,” she warned, lowering her voice, “so until you’re properly trained, try to remain as inconspicuous as possible. Lower your eyes and step out of the way if he should come upon you while you’re performing your duties.”

She raised her brows, as if questioning whether or not Alexandra understood her, and Alexandra nodded. “Your cleaning is to be done by noon each day,” she went on. “The afternoons are spent darning socks, mending clothes, or helping Cook. Now get along. Janet needs you. A good French cook is hard to come by, and Madame Plume is a fussy individual. I’d rather avoid a tirade this morning.”

So would I,
Alexandra thought. The last thing she wanted was to have someone in authority angry with her on her first day.

“Come to my quarters at bedtime for further instructions. Any of the other maids can tell you where to find me,” the housekeeper said as she moved away.

The kitchen was already a beehive of activity. Everyone had a purpose and knew exactly what it was and how to do it, except Alexandra. She looked for the girl Mrs. Wright had instructed her to join, and found Janet kneeling in front of a coal-fired range, busily polishing its steel bars with emery paper.

A pail of cinders at her feet indicated she had already swept out the inside.

Alexandra knelt next to her, overwhelmed by the myriad instructions Mrs. Wright had rattled off. She remembered well enough that the duke was someone to be feared, but she didn’t need the housekeeper to tell her that—she thought him dangerous already.

The morning meal was a brief affair of bread and milk, shared only with the other maids. They gathered around the large table in the kitchen shortly after eight o’clock and ate in silence, then scurried off to finish their work by noon.

The rest of the day revolved around work, work, and more work, interspersed with meals. Dinner lasted a mere twenty minutes, after which Alexandra spent the afternoon mending shirts and socks. Supper consisted of cold meat, bread, and cheese. Beer was served all around, and for the first time that day, Alexandra saw the other maids, fifteen of them total, talk and laugh.

At bedtime Alexandra visited Mrs. Wright’s room just off the large kitchen, as she had been told. It was after nine o’clock, but some emergency with Cook, over pan drippings no less, had kept the housekeeper late. When Mrs. Wright finally arrived, she sent Alexandra off to bed with the promise that they would talk the following evening.

Carrying a single tallow candle, Alexandra stumbled up the long flight of stairs to the attic. Fortunately, the girl with whom she shared a bed was already asleep and didn’t stir when Alexandra unpacked her box. She put her belongings in the two drawers allotted for her use in the chest next to the bed, and snuffed out the candle.

Six other girls shared the same small attic, but Alexandra gave them no mind. She slid into bed in her clothes and lay, tense and expectant and too preoccupied to worry about the lumps in the thin mattress or the chill of the unheated room.

For she was only biding her time, waiting until the entire house fell quiet.

Chapter 16

The boat jerked along as the oarsmen guided it toward a dozen mastless vessels sitting like huge ducks with heads buried in the shallow water. The hulks loomed before Nathaniel as he glanced wistfully back at the docks, envying the men who were busily engaged there, free to do as they wished.

A lavish carriage drew to a halt at the edge of the wharf, causing Nathaniel to clench his jaw. He had no doubt as to the owner of that conveyance. Though he could not make out the golden crest emblazoned on each door, he knew that the duke and Clifton had come to watch the final nail being driven into the coffin they had prepared for him.

“Is this yer first time in such a place?” asked another prisoner, a man with a black patch over one eye. Five convicts crowded the small boat, along with an armed guard and two oarsmen. The prisoners could overpower the three guards easily enough, Nathaniel knew, except they were double-ironed and unlikely to do anything to cause their own drowning.

When Nathaniel nodded, the stranger laughed. “If yer like most newcomers, ye’ll fall sick inside a year.”

Nathaniel was not impressed. He shrugged, but offered no retort.

“See this eye? I lost it in a fight aboard the
Warrior.
That’s ‘er, five hulls down. The fightin’ gets pretty rough.” He grinned. “A one-armed man would ‘ave reason ter fear.”

“Not if you were me.” Nathaniel gave him a scorching stare, refusing to be intimidated, and eventually the man turned to the prisoner on his other side.

“Ye ‘ave reason to fear, too. Ye look no older than a lad. Once it’s dark, the big men who’ve been around awhile prefer lads like you with fair ‘air and blue eyes.”

Nathaniel nearly laughed aloud at One-eye’s bully tactics, except that they weren’t funny. He was entering a whole new world, one less than a mile from the life he knew, yet oceans apart. No one escaped from the hulks, except through death. Whether that was because of the chains they wore, or the despair that weakened both mind and body, Nathaniel did not know.

He’d have to reserve his strength and be alert for any opportunity. Greystone and Clifton had not seen the last of him. Somehow he would survive.