Chapter 6 #2
Thelma looked at her. Patricia looked back, calm and steady. Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Finally, Thelma picked up her spoon and started on the soup.
Patricia sat down across from her. "The baby is sleeping?"
"She finally went down about an hour ago. The teething is worse today."
"Have you tried the cold cloth trick?" Patricia asked. "My mother used to wet a cloth and put it in the cold pantry for a few minutes. The baby would chew on it, and it helped numb the gums."
"I will try that. Thank you."
Patricia nodded. She did not leave. She simply sat in the chair and watched Thelma eat. Strangely, the silence between them felt comfortable in a way Thelma had not expected.
After a while, Patricia spoke again. "Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask."
"Where did you come from? Before this, I mean."
Thelma’s spoon paused halfway to her mouth. She set it down carefully. "A family in Somerset. I worked for them for several years."
"Somerset is a big place."
"Yes. It is."
Patricia studied her for a moment, then nodded as though Thelma had just confirmed something she already suspected.
Thelma felt the lie sit in her chest.
She was good at it, apparently. She had always assumed she would be terrible at lying. She had always assumed her face would give her away, that she would stumble over her own words, that honesty was not just a value she held but a reflex she couldn't suppress.
But there she was, lying to a kind woman who had brought her cake, and her voice had not shaken once.
Yvette would not recognize me, she thought. And that hurt more than anything else had.
"The duke’s mother was asking about you this morning," Patricia said. "She came down to the kitchen and asked Mrs. Ames where you were from, who had recommended you, and whether anyone had properly checked your references."
Thelma’s stomach tightened. "What did Mrs. Ames say?"
"She said the agency had sent a letter. Her Grace did not look satisfied." Patricia picked up her teacup. "She is going to keep asking. She is that kind of woman."
"I noticed."
"Do you have answers ready for her?"
Thelma met Patricia’s eyes. The cook’s face was neutral, her expression steady. She was not accusing her. She was not threatening. She was simply asking, the way one person asks another when they are trying to decide whether they can trust them.
"I have answers," Thelma said carefully. "Whether they will satisfy her is another question."
Patricia nodded slowly. "Fair enough." She stood up and gathered the empty dishes. "I will be back at supper. Try to eat the cake before then. It is better when it is fresh."
She left. The door closed softly behind her.
Thelma sat at the table and stared at the slice of cake. She wondered how much Patricia had already guessed and how much she was choosing to keep to herself.
The afternoon brought Her Grace to the nursery.
Thelma was sitting on the floor with Liliana, stacking wooden blocks into small towers, when she looked up and saw the dowager duchess standing in the doorway.
She was not sure how long she had been watching.
Long enough. Long enough to see Thelma stacking the blocks and Liliana happily knocking them down with chubby hands.
"Your Grace," Thelma said, rising quickly to her feet and giving a quick curtsy. "I did not hear you knock."
"I did not knock," the older woman replied.
Thelma waited. The dowager did not move. She stood in the doorway with her gray hair pinned in its usual severe knot and her cool gray eyes fixed on Liliana, who was now trying to put one of the blocks in her mouth.
"How long have you worked with children?" the dowager asked.
"Several years, my lady."
"Where?"
"A private family in Somerset."
"Which family?"
"The Hartcourts of Shepton, my lady."
The name came out evenly. It was a real family, or had been. They had moved to the continent two years ago, and she doubted anyone could reach them easily.
Her eyes narrowed. "And what was the nature of your role there? Who engaged you? Who can vouch for your character directly?" Thelma held her ground.
"The family valued their privacy very highly, Your Grace. I have always respected that."
The dowager looked at her for a long moment. Thelma could feel the full weight of the woman’s attention pressing down on her, searching for any cracks or inconsistencies.
"You are very guarded," she said finally.
“Guarded implies I have something to hide, Your Grace. I am simply private."
The dowager directed her gaze at Liliana, who had abandoned the blocks and was now trying to crawl toward the window. The baby’s small face was flushed, her gums red and swollen, and her eyes were bright with the particular misery of a child who did not understand why her mouth hurt so much.
"She is teething," the dowager observed.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Is she in pain?"
"She is uncomfortable," Thelma said. "I have been giving her a cold cloth to chew on. It seems to help a little."
The nodded slowly. She took one careful step into the nursery, then stopped, as though she had reached some invisible line she was not sure she should cross.
“Where did you learn to care for children?” she asked.
“I had a sister,” Thelma said. The words slipped out before she could stop them. Too much, she thought immediately. You are saying far too much.
The dowager’s eyes sharpened. “A sister?”
“A younger sister,” Thelma replied, keeping her voice as steady as she could. “I helped care for her when she was small.”
“And where is your sister now?”
“She is married. She lives far away.”
It was not a complete lie. Yvette had been married. Yvette had lived far away in many ways. And Yvette was dead, but the older woman did not need to know any of that.
The dowager studied her for a long moment. Then her gaze shifted to Liliana, who had given up on the window and was now sitting on the rug, staring up at the older woman with open, curious eyes.
The dowager watched Liliana for a long moment. The baby looked back at her with those clear gray eyes… unsettled, like she was trying to place something familiar in an unfamiliar face.
"She reaches for you," she eventually said.
"Babies often attach quickly to their caregivers, my lady."
"Not like that." Her voice was very quiet. "Not the way she reaches for you." She looked up from the baby to Thelma's face. Her expression was unreadable. "Where did you say you were from, Miss Hartley?"
"Somerset, Your Grace."
"Yes," she replied. "You did say that."
She left without another word.
Thelma stood frozen in the middle of the room. Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat. Her hands trembled at her sides. Liliana watched her from the rug with wide, trusting eyes.
She sank onto the floor before her knees could give out. Liliana crawled into her lap right away and pressed her small head against Thelma’s chest. Thelma wrapped her arms around the baby and held her close, trying to steady her breathing.
That evening, after Liliana had been fed, changed, and finally settled into bed, Thelma made her way down to the kitchen.