Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
The hackney wheels slowed, crunching over the gravel approach, and rolled to a stop. A faint light glowed in the front windows of Hope House, like a beacon against the cool night.
Mrs. Kier opened the door before they reached it, her wrap tucked into an apron, her braided hair topped by a sleeping cap. She took in the sight of Viola without comment, only stepping aside to usher them in.
“Best come in quickly. We’ll not have the cold undoing what we mean to mend,” she said briskly.
The welcoming warmth of the entry struck Rose at once: the scent of warm bread and something faintly floral. Viola hesitated just inside the threshold, clutching Rose’s cloak about her as if afraid it might be taken away.
Mrs. Kier bent slightly to meet the girl’s gaze. “We’ve a bed for you, deary. Warm water and a full plate besides. You’ll be safe here.”
Viola glanced up at Rose, and only when Rose nodded did she move to follow Mrs. Kier.
They hadn’t gone two steps before a door down the corridor opened and Miss Botha appeared.
Small, dark-eyed, and her rounded belly unmistakable beneath her loose night rail.
Her hair was parted neatly, the tight coils smoothed back with oil and bound with a narrow ribbon, the style simple but dignified.
Her bare feet padded silently over the polished floor. “What’s going on?”
“Kadida,” Mrs. Kier said without looking round, “back to bed, dear. It’s late.”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Kier. Good evening, Miss Botha. This is Miss Lockhart. Miss Lockhart, this is Miss Botha.”
The girl’s eyes flicked to Viola, to Rose, and then down to her own hands. “Hello, Miss Lockhart. Is there anything I can help with?”
Rose felt an unexpected prickle at the back of her neck. In the sconced lighting, Kadida’s youthful face was stark, far too young to carry the weight Rose saw in her eyes.
Viola turned shocked eyes on Rose. “But she’s Afr—”
“With child?” Rose interrupted quickly. “Yes. Miss Botha was attacked most violently.” She had come here thinking to rescue Viola, to keep her from harm.
Seeing the two young women together—Viola in her fine-boned prettiness and Kadida with her quiet strength—Rose realized with a small shock how easy it had once been for her to think of either of these girls as beneath her.
No longer. Rose let out the held breath, hoping against hope that Viola interpreted her silent message: This could be you.
Rose didn’t wish to discard Kadida’s offer of assistance, sensing her need to feel useful. “Perhaps you could pull together a small tray for Miss Lockhart? I expect she’s quite famished,” Rose said.
With an almost indiscernible nod, Kadida withdrew.
Rose followed Viola after Mrs. Kier, who ushered them toward the stairs, speaking low about warm baths and spare nightdresses.
Rose stopped, lingering in the hall, her gaze on Viola disappearing up the stairs, her mind uncomfortably full of memories of her come-out ball.
Her gown of ivory silk, the champagne that tickled her nose, the assurance of a path lined with privilege and possibilities as the eldest daughter of the Duke of Ryleigh.
It was shocking to find herself wondering, for the first time, how different life would have been had she been born in another house, under another name…
She glanced at the door where Kadida had disappeared.
Could she have survived a fate as unfortunate as Kadida or Inez had?
Swallowing hard, she turned for the kitchens—a place she rarely visited, even in her own home.
Upon entering, she was immediately hit with the warmth of steaming water on a stovetop and the scent of fresh bread. Her stomach let out an unladylike gurgle, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since luncheon. Or had it been breakfast?
Kadida glanced over her shoulder with a shy smile. “Do you think Miss Lockhart would care for scones or a meat pie?”
“There are meat pies?”
She nodded. “Mrs. Kier always keeps food prepared for any arising situation,” Rose was informed. “Sometimes a couple of us are hungry in the night. She’s accounted for that as well.” Kadida’s head tipped to one side as if considering this. “I am frequently hungry, day and night.”
Something Rose knew nothing of, as she’d never carried a child herself. She offered Kadida a quick smile. “I suspect we should send both. I don’t believe Miss Lockhart has eaten a decent meal in several days, though I couldn’t say for certain.”
“Would you care for tea?” Kadida asked her.
“No. I’ll assist Mrs. Kier in seeing Miss Lockhart settled, then return home. I can take the tray up, if you like. You should be in bed,” Rose told her gently. “You need your rest.”
Kadida shrugged, putting a hand to her lower back. “I don’t sleep all that well these days.”
Rose hesitated, then nodded. “I see.” Though she didn’t. Not really.
Kadida assembled the tray. “I spend many nights just roaming the halls,” she confided.
Frowning, Rose stepped forward, found a teacup and saucer to place on the tray. She didn’t dare attempt to pour hot water in the teapot itself. That way lay disaster.
As it turned out, Kadida was quite adept at the task.
“Does Mrs. Kier know you roam the halls?”
Again, the girl smiled, though she didn’t look up from setting a plate with a steaming meat pie next to the scone. “I believe she knows everything that goes on in this house. In a good way,” she was quick to reassure Rose.
“And she doesn’t mind?”
“She’s never said as much,” Kadida said.
“I wonder if she has children of her own,” Rose said.
“She does. Her son tends the gardens. And two of her daughters are maids. Maisie and Kirsty.”
Rose was stunned. “Truly?”
Kadida nodded, then looked up. “The tray is ready. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer I take it?”
“I’ll do it. Like I said, I should like to see Miss Lockhart settled.” Rose took the tray. “Thank you, Kadida. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Kadida dipped an awkward curtsy with her unnaturally large gait and slipped from the kitchen.
Rose took a set of back stairs to the floor above and listened for voices to navigate her way to Mrs. Kier and her new charge.
Rather than Viola, however, Rose found Mrs. Kier in a small room, warm from embers in the grate, speaking with a maid.
Rose stepped from sight but where she could study her more closely, and at once saw the resemblance between mother and daughter.
“She’s awful. She’s acts as if she’s lady of the ’ouse, she does,” the girl said, her voice rising before she caught herself. “Near snatched the towel right out o’ my hands and tol’ me I was slow. Then she says I don’t know the proper way to pour bathwater for a ‘gentlewoman.’”
Mrs. Kier patted her hand with calm deliberation. “She’s frightened, Maisie. And when some folk are frightened, they act mean to make themselves feel strong.”
Maisie’s lip trembled, though her glare held. “Well, she near made me cry.”
“I know, pet.” Mrs. Kier reached across and gave her a quick hug. “You did right comin’ to me instead of answering her back. Give ’er time. She’s been pulled from one world and dropped into another, and neither feels safe to her just now. But she’ll learn—because you’ll show her.”
Maisie frowned. “Me?”
“Aye, ye, lass.” Mrs. Kier’s smile softened. “You’ve been through worse, an’ you’re still standing, ain’t ye? Let ’er see how it’s done.”
Maisie muttered something unintelligible, but her shoulders loosened. Mrs. Kier pressed the matter no further, only handing her a folded towel. “Take this up to Miss Lockhart. Knock before ye enter, and let ’er know you’re there to help, not judge.”
Rose’s fingers tightened on the tray she carried.
Something about the quiet exchange between Mrs. Kier and her daughter held her in place.
She suspected the girl’s complaint had been justified—Rose had witnessed the wariness in Viola’s eyes curdle into hauteur more than once tonight.
But Mrs. Kier’s steady, unflustered way of turning the moment into a lesson, not a quarrel, made Rose feel uncomfortably aware of her own shortcomings in such situations.
In her set, an insult was answered with snideness, a clever rejoinder, or outright ignored—never gently redirected.
Rose stepped from sight before Maisie noticed her, her thoughts prickling.
Once the maid slipped by, she entered the bedchamber with a new determination.
If Viola was to make a place here, it would not be because of her station in life, but because she learned—as Rose was learning—that dignity came from more than an accident of birth.
Mrs. Kier’s haggard face flew up. Pink dotted each cheek.
Rose smiled. “I’ve brought the tray for Miss Lockhart.” She set it on a small table near the fire.
Mrs. Kier’s mouth dropped, but quickly snapped shut. “Ye shouldn’t ’ave—”
“Oh, I didn’t. Kadida did the preparation. I simply carried it,” she said with another quick smile and a set to her jaw. “I’d like to speak to Miss Lockhart before I leave for home. I’ll just wait here for her.”
“But—”
“No buts, Mrs. Kier. I’ve put you to enough work this evening. Run along. Let Maisie know she needn’t accompany Miss Lockhart once her bath is complete, would you?”
Realization eased the older woman’s expression, and a slow smile tipped her lips. “Of course, milady.”
“One last thing, Mrs. Kier. Let the girls know I’ll be arriving early tomorrow for our trek to Amersham for tea with Mrs. Tatton.” She gave the housekeeper a wry smile. “I believe my sister is desperate for company.”
Mrs. Kier grinned back. “They’ll be glad to ’ear it, milady.” She slipped out the door.
Rose planted herself in one of the two worn chairs and set in for a lengthy wait.
But within moments, Viola entered wearing a serviceable wrap amid a cloud of lavender scent, her lips tightly compressed. She caught sight of Rose immediately and pulled up.
“Come in, dear. I’ve brought you something to eat.” Rose indicated the tray on the lone table. The meat pie’s savory aroma mingled with the sweetness of the warmed scone.
Viola’s chin lifted in a haughty tilt. “About time,” she muttered, not quite under her breath.
The words hit Rose like a slap. She narrowed her gaze and forced her tone to remain even.
“You must eat while it’s hot,” she said, her pulse beating in her ears.
With a patience she didn’t know she possessed, Rose waited while Viola bit into the scone.
She poured the girl a bracing cup of tea and held out the cup.
“Oh, thank you.” Viola set the scone aside, accepted the cup, and brought it to her nose. She closed her eyes and breathed in the smell, then sipped. After drinking half the cup, she looked at Rose. “Are you staying here as well, Lady Stanford?”
“No, dear. I must return home.”
Viola’s shoulders fell. “Oh.” She lifted the scone again and took another delicate bite. “This is quite delicious. I wonder who their cook is?”
“I believe everyone chips in to do her part,” Rose said mildly.
The next bite paused inches from her mouth. “But…that’s the cook’s duty.”
Rose inhaled deeply, wondering how her own sisters had ever put up with her self-serving interests for as long as she could remember.
“Miss Lockhart, you have had a narrow escape. It was only by chance that I learned of your disappearance, and, I might add, at great peril to myself, risking my own life and ruin in finding you. Hope House is not your aunt’s drawing room. ”
Slowly, Viola lowered the scone to the plate. “Are you telling me I’m to be a…a servant?” Her statement ended on a high note short of a shrill.
That thin thread of Rose’s patience snapped. “Hope House is a place of refuge. A place for young women who have survived untold horrors, Miss Lockhart. Know this! You will not speak of the occupants of this house in such a manner.”
“But—”
Rose cut her off. “You are here to recover, not to reign. And if you cannot remember that, and treat these women with the respect and mercy they deserve, I will personally escort you back to Lady Lockhart this very night. Am I clear on this?”
Harsh red dots flagged Viola’s cheekbones, but there was fire in her eyes. She dropped her gaze quickly, veiling her disgust. “Yes, my lady,” she murmured.
“Then I shall bid you a good night.” With that, Rose stood and left the chamber, closing the door firmly behind her. Anger simmered through her, but she was oddly steadied by the fact that, for once, she’d said exactly what needed to be said.
After a quick farewell to Mrs. Kier, Rose retrieved her cloak and gloves and stepped out of the warmth of Hope House into the chilled night, only to find that her trials for the evening were far from over.