Sinful Seduction (11 page)

‘As if I would, miss,' he said, with a look of injured innocence that Maggie didn't believe for a minute. He followed her through and stopped short, his eyes widening at the sight of the half-eaten food scraped onto an old tin plate beside the sink. His belly rumbled loudly.

‘Och, he's hungry, poor wee lamb,' said Mrs McAlister, glancing at Mr Harris for permission. ‘Can't he just finish off the scraps before he starts playing?'

‘That soft heart of yours'll be the ruin of you, someday,' he grumbled. ‘But all right then.' He glared at the urchin. ‘Just be smart about it, boy. I'm not paying you good money to eat.'

‘Cor, thanks guv,' he gasped. ‘You're a real gent.' Mrs McAlister placed the tin plate in front of him, along with a glass of milk and watched with satisfaction as everything was polished off in double quick time. He looked shyly at Mrs McAllister, gave an enormous belch and grinned. ‘Lovely grub! Cheers, missis.'

Mr Harris raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you quite finished, young man?' he demanded. He tapped his fingers impatiently. ‘Because, if so, we're waiting.'

‘Right guv, sorry guv,' he said. He scrambled to his feet, grabbed his fiddle and launched forth into a lively tune. Mr Harris gallantly held out his hand to Mrs Hardcastle and Maggie suppressed a giggle as they proceeded to do a stately jig the length of the kitchen and back. Who'd have thought they had it in them?

As the evening wore on and the level of the wine dropped, the fun grew fast and furious. Accompanied by the little fiddler, Mrs McAllister treated them to a heart-breaking Highland lament that would have brought tears to a glass eye. Thomas gave a lively rendition of the latest music hall song, with much winking and grinning at the saucy bits. Mr Harris and Mrs Hardcastle solemnly duetted on Mr Tennyson's Come into the Garden Maud, and even young Mary, blushing, giggling and forgetting half the words, attempted to recite The Wreck of the Hesperus.

‘Come on, Maggie, your turn,' said Mrs H, flushed and giggling like a young girl under Mr Harris' attentions. ‘You ain't done nothing yet.'

‘I couldn't,' protested Maggie. ‘I don't know anything.'

‘Course you do,' beamed Mrs H. ‘Come on, gel, it's me birthday. You don't get off that easy.'

‘Oh, all right then,' sighed Maggie. She drained the last of her wine and got rather unsteadily to her feet. ‘D'you know any Irish tunes?' she asked the young fiddler.

‘Course I do, miss,' he grinned. He played a few bars and Maggie smiled and tapped her foot to the familiar rhythm. Mrs O'Mally from upstairs, for all her bulk, had been a dab hand at an Irish jig when she had a few gins in her, and it was all coming back now.

‘Help us up,' Maggie ordered Thomas. Clutching his sweaty hand for balance, she climbed onto a stool, then onto the kitchen table. Hands on hips she nodded to the boy, and as the music began she let rip, feet stamping, hips swaying, breasts bouncing, her hair escaping from her neat bun and falling about her shoulders as everyone clapped in time. When she finished, flushed and panting, in a whirl of starched petticoats, there was a round of applause.

‘Cor, that was better than the pantomime!' chuckled Mrs H, wiping tears of enjoyment from her eyes. ‘You'll need another little drink to recover!'

‘Cheers, Mrs H,' Maggie said, reaching for the glass. She gulped it down and swayed. ‘Oooh, I'll need to have a sit down now. All that dancing's made me dizzy.'

All too soon the last glass was emptied, the last song sung and the clock on the kitchen mantelpiece chimed midnight. ‘Right,' said Mr Harris, clapping his hands. ‘Time for bed.' Groans of disappointment met his announcement, but he was adamant. ‘No arguing; there's work to be done tomorrow.'

He fished in his waistcoat pocket, produced the promised sixpence and handed it over. ‘There you are, young man. You deserve it.'

The urchin examined it, bit it, then tucked it away somewhere amongst his rags. ‘Thanks guv,' he grinned, touching a finger to his forehead. ‘And if you ever wants me services again, you knows where to find me. I'll be in me usual place, foot of Mile End Road.'

Maggie disappeared for a few moments then returned to lead him out. As they reached the door she reached under her apron and produced a greasy package, wrapped up in string and brown paper. ‘Here you go,' she whispered. ‘A bit of grub to take home with you.'

His eyes widened. ‘Thanks, miss,' he muttered. ‘You're a diamond, a proper diamond.' The parcel vanished into the same mysterious place as the sixpence, and he looked up at her and grinned. ‘You know what they says, miss: one good turn deserves another, so you ever need any help, you send the word. Eddie's me name.' His scrawny chest swelled with pride. ‘Me mum called me after the young prince. You just ask for Eddie the fiddler and I'll come running.'

‘Thank you, Eddie,' Maggie said solemnly. ‘That's very kind of you. I'll remember that.' She watched him strut off, fiddle tucked under his arm, and suppressed a giggle. Anything less like a prince was hard to imagine, and the chances of her ever needing to call on a guttersnipe for help were few and far between! She smiled indulgently. Still, his little heart was in the right place, God bless ‘im!' She was still smiling as she returned to the kitchen to begin helping tidy everything away.

‘Never mind them dishes, Mary,' yawned Mrs McAlister. ‘They'll still be there in the morning. Just you get yourself off to bed before you falls over.'

Once Mary had gone, Mrs Hardcastle fluttered her eyelashes at Mr Harris. ‘Can I tempt you to a nightcap, Mr Harris? Just a little one before bed?'

Mr Harris smiled. ‘That would be most acceptable, Mrs Hardcastle,' he agreed, and she fumbled with the keys at her waist, unlocked a cupboard and produced a half-full bottle of brandy.

‘There we go,' she beamed, pouring it into glasses and handing them round.

‘What, am I to have one too?' asked Maggie in surprise, as one was thrust into her hand.

‘Course you are,' said Mrs H, so Maggie sipped it and gasped as it burnt its way down her throat and the heat spread through her belly.

‘You'll have me drunk,' she protested.

‘Nonsense,' said Mrs H briskly. ‘You're a big girl now, and a little tot of brandy's good for you.'

‘That's right,' agreed Thomas, winking at her over the rim of his glass. ‘Medicinal, that is. Get it down yer.'

As the brandy hit the wine she'd already drunk, Maggie's head spun. ‘Oh dear,' she giggled. ‘I think I'd better get to me bed now too.' She got to her feet, staggered and giggled again. ‘Ooops! Think I'm a bit squiffy. Night all. See you in the morning.' Walking with exaggerated care, she headed towards the kitchen door, bumping off the jamb as she went through.

She had reached the landing where the green baize door led from the servants' quarters to the main house, when a pair of hands grabbed her round the waist and spun her round. She recoiled as Thomas' stale breath, smelling of wine and brandy gusted into her face.

‘Come on,' he panted, pulling her against him. ‘Give us a kiss. You know I fancy yer,' and before she had a chance to protest, his wet mouth came down on hers and his free hand tugged at her skirt. He pushed her against the wall and panted with excitement as he managed to wriggle his fingers beneath the heavy material to the silken flesh underneath.

‘Gerroff, you bastard!' she squawked, made even more furious by the fact that his probing fingers, combined with the effect of the alcohol, had triggered an unwanted response. But her struggles merely served to inflame him further as she squirmed against him, her firm breasts pushing against his chest. He grunted with satisfaction as he found the soft lips of her sex and he thrust first one finger, then two inside her, relishing the hot wetness that met his touch. Even through his breeches she could feel the massive swell of his cock.

‘You want it as much as I do,' he groaned, pushing his hips against her. Heat spread through her belly and she felt herself begin to weaken. Then there was a creak, a flicker of light, and they both froze.

‘What was that?' gasped Thomas, pulling away and trying to bring his breathing under control. ‘I heard something.'

‘It was the baize door,' she hissed, staring at him with frightened eyes. ‘The only one in the house is Lord Edward. It must have been him! What if he saw?'

Thomas forced a nervous laugh. ‘Course it wasn't Lord Edward,' he blustered, wilting rapidly. ‘He's asleep. It must have been a draft.' He turned to look and Maggie took her chance; picking up her skirts she ran for the stairs, and before he could recover and come after her she was safely in her own room with the door locked behind her.

Giggling tipsily over her narrow escape, Maggie flung off her clothes and snuggled down beside Emily's warm body, and her last triumphant thought before she fell asleep was that Thomas would never have her. Never!

 

There were a few heavy heads in the kitchen the following morning. Emily dropped a plate and promptly burst into tears when Mrs McAlister scolded her crossly and told her that it would be taken out of her wages. Mrs Hardcastle pleaded a migraine and didn't appear at all until ten. Thomas, white-faced and red-eyed, retreated to the butler's pantry, ostensibly to clean the silver but in reality to doze. As for Maggie, she found a pile of Lady Georgina's stockings that needed mending and kept her own aching head bent over it, vowing never to drink anything stronger than tea in future.

She was feeling better by the time luncheon was laid on the table in the servants' hall, and was just reaching for a second helping of potatoes when Mr Harris spoke.

‘Lord Edward wishes to see you in the drawing room, young lady.' He took his fob watch from his waistcoat pocket and consulted it. ‘In precisely one hour.' He put it back and looked at Thomas. ‘And you too, young man.'

Maggie's hand froze in mid-air and appetite deserted her. ‘B-but... why?' she stammered.

‘Lord Edward did not see fit to enlighten me as to the matter concerned,' he said stiffly, obviously aggrieved by this flouting of protocol. Matters of discipline were normally dealt with either by himself or Mrs Hardcastle, depending on the sex of the offender. For the master to involve himself personally was virtually unheard of. He glared at them both. ‘But I trust there is no reason for his lordship to reprimand either of you?'

They exchanged frightened glances and shook their heads.

‘Good,' he went on. ‘Then once you have finished eating, you may go and tidy yourselves up.' His stern gaze raked them from top to bottom. ‘You can change into clean breeches and polish those buttons for a start, young man. And as for you, miss, comb your hair and put on a clean apron and cap.'

Maggie gulped, her stomach churning. Pushing her plate away she got to her feet. ‘May I go now?' she asked; Mr Harris gave a curt nod and she hurried out.

In her bedroom she splashed cold water on her face and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Frightened eyes stared back from a white face as she remembered the incident the previous night. Had that been Lord Edward at the baize door? She shivered. He seemed to have a talent for creeping round spying, and even the most debauched employer expected his servants to be above reproach. If he had seen, she and Thomas could both be sacked on the spot - even though it hadn't been her fault. It wasn't fair!

With trembling hands she tied on a fresh starched apron, combed her hair back until her scalp ached and added her lace cap. From her room she could faintly hear the grandfather clock in the hall below, chiming the half hour.

Another thirty minutes to go. She sat on the bed to wait, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

The next fifteen minutes seemed to take years to pass, but when the clock chimed again she reluctantly got to her feet and made her way slowly down the stairs to the drawing room door; better not keep his lordship waiting. Thomas was there already, fidgeting from foot to foot and running his finger round his tight collar.

‘What does the old bastard want to see us for?' he hissed. ‘We ain't done nothing.'

‘I don't know, do I?' she muttered bitterly. ‘But we're going to find out soon enough.' As if on cue, the clock rang out the hour. Thomas cleared his throat and tapped gently on the door.

There was a grunt from inside. Thomas pushed the door open and ventured inside, with Maggie close behind. Lord Edward was sprawled in his armchair with a glass of brandy in his hand, and they stopped in front of him. Thomas bowed stiffly and Maggie bobbed a curtsey.

‘You wished to see us, my lord?' said Thomas, his voice cracking with nerves.

Lord Edward took a sip of his brandy and smiled genially at him, ignoring Maggie. ‘You've been with us quite some time now, haven't you, my boy?'

‘Erm... yes, my lord,' said a bewildered Thomas. ‘Since I was twelve. Eight years now.'

‘And you like it here?' he went on.

‘Of course, my lord,' Thomas said. ‘This is an excellent situation, sir. I...'

‘Good, good,' interrupted Lord Edward. ‘I like an ambitious young man. So you'd like to stay with us then? Perhaps take over Harris' position - in the fullness of time?'