Chapter Six
By the next morning, a heavy downpour had descended over the Highlands. After a later start than Jane had anticipated, she and Cora stood outside on the drive of Lismore Hall beneath a pair of umbrellas to say their goodbyes. Arabella stood a few yards away, still in the doorway.
“Are you sure you will be well here?” Jane asked her sister as Mr. and Mrs. Milton climbed into a carriage behind her. “I think Mr. Milton would be more than willing to house the both of us—”
“I’ll be fine, Jane. I promise. Besides,” she said, “we’ve family here.”
Jane didn’t like the ease with which her sister had claimed the Harris clan as family. Yes, they all shared the same mother, but she and Cora also shared a father with Jeremy, and look at how that turned out.
“Do not…” she tried to warn. “Be wary, Cora. And if you need me, I won’t be far.”
“Just in a city four hours away by carriage,” Cora said, making a face. “I promise you, I’ll be much happier here than in some gilded manse in Glasgow. I prefer the country; you know that.”
“I do.”
Jane squeezed Cora’s hand as she tried to blink back the tears. She and Cora had never separated before, and it felt wholly unnatural to be separated from the one person she had always managed to protect.
But then, this job was going to afford Jane the ability to buy her own cottage, some place warm and clean and all their own. Perhaps they would be able to afford a cook.
“We will take great care of her, Jane,” Arabella said then, coming down the stone steps. She hugged her. “I promise.”
“Thank you,” Jane said, stepping back. Sir Logan and his wife, who were both watching them carefully, came out of the house then.
“Thank you both,” Jane said to them. “So much, for all your help.”
“Do not think anything of it,” Faith said immediately, likely because she didn’t want to give her husband the opportunity to say something rude. “You have only to call my sister Grace if you need or want anything. She doesn’t live very far from Mr. Milton’s estate.”
“I’m sure Dr. Hall would love that,” Logan murmured.
Faith’s skirts moved slightly and a gust of pained air escaped Sir Logan’s mouth.
“Safe travels, Jane,” Faith said brightly, ignoring the searing glare from her husband.
And it was a safe voyage, though it took a little longer than usual, according to the driver, who had to stop twice to avoid the worst of the rain.
Jane had been so sure that this idea of going to work for Mr. Milton’s mother would be a failure.
She didn’t have any experience in keeping lists or schedules.
She wasn’t exceptionally good with numbers, and she doubted she was as well read as the rest of them.
But if there was anything about Jane, it was her determination.
It had been a trait that her mother had nurtured in her young daughter.
Jane had always shown signs of having the same streak of survival her mother had possessed.
Even as a girl, Jane had been keenly observant.
The veiled comments between her mother and Jeremy, her father’s disappointed expression when he learned about one business failing after another.
Even the way her father had spoken to her had been drastically different from Cora.
Cora had been a constant joy and had been treated as such.
But Jane had only ever heard that she was much too frigid, and that her eyes were too inquisitive.
It wasn’t her fault, of course. She had inherited her mother’s expressive gray eyes, as well as her pale blonde hair.
But what had looked angelic on her mother, had come to appear sickly on Jane, particularly when she wore her mourning clothes.
The contrast with her face made her appear like some permanent ice queen.
The carriage careened on for hours, until blessedly, sometime after noon, it entered the city limits of Glasgow. The cobblestone streets were a welcome, familiar feeling that vibrated the plush seat beneath her.
But they did not stay in the city for long.
Instead, the carriage turned north and soon, there were fields on either side of them and a fairly wide river that followed the road north.
Jane, who had remained quiet for the last leg of their journey, glanced across the carriage and saw a faint smile on Mrs. Milton’s face as she peered out the window.
Jane cleared her throat and when Mrs. Milton turned, she spoke.
“I thought Milton House was within the city?”
“It’s just on the edge of the city limits. Samuel wanted something built in the center of Glasgow, but with all the dignitaries and guests we have to host, it was decided that a proper house was needed to host our guests.”
“So, Mr. Milton does not live here?”
“He does, but only occasionally. He’d rather sleep on the cot in his office most nights.”
Jane couldn’t believe that.
“Certainly not.”
“It’s true,” Mrs. Milton said with a weary nod. “I’ve told him to buy a terrace or townhome, but there’s only so much I can do to convince him.”
Jane peered out the window.
“Are we close?”
“Close to what?”
“The property.”
“My dear, we’ve been on the property for the last mile. Milton House is just around the bend.”
Just as her words ended, the carriage turned and a massive stone castle appeared.
Its white stone facade, its parapets and blue slate roof made it look almost French in design.
A dozen yew trees lined each side of the crushed stone drive as they pulled around a massive fountain that was placed directly in front of the entrance.
Never, in all her life, had she ever been to such a house. And the shock must have been evident.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Mrs. Milton chuckled. “I looked just like you when I first saw it. Mouth agape, eyes wide. It was too much, but then Samuel was determined.”
The carriage came to a stop, and a houseful of domestic servants greeted them on the wide front steps.
To Jane’s surprise, though, Mr. and Mrs. Milton greeted every single one, even the scullery maids.
And they introduced Jane to them individually.
At the end of the line was a tall, stern-faced woman with white hair wrapped tightly in a bun covered with a piece of lace.
Next to her was a younger man with light, though undistinguishable hair.
He did, however, have a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose.
“Jane, this is Mrs. Malcom, the housekeeper. And Mr. Fowler, the head butler. If you need anything, they will see to your every need.”
Jane nodded.
“A pleasure to meet you both.”
Jane followed Mrs. Milton into the house, and if she thought the exterior was impressive, the inside was doubly so.
The foyer had an atrium above it. Cherubs and angels laughing and lying on puffy white clouds had been painted on the ceiling.
The walls went on forever and the floors were polished with stone.
Yet, for the size of it, it was warm and bustling.
The entire household staff immediately returned to their work while Jane stood awestruck in her tracks.
“Come, Miss Atherton,” Mrs. Malcom said. “You’ll be on the second floor.”
“Yes, go with Mrs. Malcom. Then come to my office and we can get to work,” Mrs. Milton said.
“Yes,” Jane said as she followed Mrs. Malcom up the wide stone staircase.
The house was massive and surely Jane would need at least several months to learn every room and hallway. After a dizzying time turning down what felt like a dozen hallways, they came to a door that looked exactly like all the others.
Mrs. Malcom opened it and hurried inside. Jane’s mouth, which still hadn’t closed from the awe she felt in the foyer, was about to dry out. Yet she couldn’t close it. This room was gorgeous.
Pale-pink wallpaper decorated with white and gold floral prints covered the walls.
A white stone fireplace sat against the far wall, and a massive bay window framed what was likely the back gardens.
But Jane couldn’t pull her gaze away from the bed.
It was huge, with a cream-colored counterpane and a matching canopy.
It was beyond any bedroom she had seen at Atherton Hall.
“Though you’re technically part of the staff, you’ll be required to accompany Mrs. Milton on most days, thus you’ve been assigned a room on the family floor.”
“That’s very kind.”
“It is not a kindness. It’s a practicality,” Mrs. Malcom stated as she hurriedly gathered a copper teapot from over the fireplace.
She brought it over to an oak table with a porcelain water jug and bowl.
“Mrs. Milton insists on running this household much like the younger Mr. Milton runs his business.”
“Rather outside the norm?” Jane tried to tease.
But Mrs. Malcom wasn’t having it. She stopped what she was doing and glared at Jane.
“It’s meticulous. Mrs. Milton is from Gallowgate,” she said slowly, as though that were supposed to mean something.
Jane tilted her head.
“Is that important?”
The housemaid sneered.
“It is, actually. You see, even though the Miltons are exceedingly wealthy, they do not identify as most in their positions would. They are reformists.”
Jane’s brow lifted.
“Are they?”
“Yes. And everyone in their employ has a personal relationship with them.” Her gaze dropped down to Jane’s feet, before sweeping back up. “Everyone, except you.”
Ah. So that was it. Jane was not a personal acquaintance, nor was she from Scotland. In fact, she was a stranger, an outlier, and not for the first time did she wonder what exactly had brought her to this place.
And how strange it was to be talked to by a servant like that.
The servants at Atherton Hall had always been judged by how invisible they could be.
Her father had even forbidden her from talking to them too much when she and Cora were growing up.
But here, it seemed servants could say whatever they wanted, and with plenty of attitude to boot.