Chapter 8 #2
Leopold looked down. “Is she refusing to sleep?”
“Only if she thinks the world is more interesting than it ought to be.”
Barnaby gave a quiet snort. “That seems a reasonable complaint.”
Cecily tugged at Leopold’s collar and then buried her face against his shoulder again.
“I should take her back,” Honora said.
Leopold hesitated only long enough to adjust his grip, then handed the baby back with care.
Honora pressed a kiss to her hair and looked down at her.
Leopold’s gaze lingered on the pair of them for a second longer than he likely intended.
With a silent nod, Honora cradled Cecily gently to her and took her swiftly up to the nursery.
Once she got Cecily inside and put her to bed, she started toward the kitchen for something to eat because she had not had enough breakfast and her stomach had begun to protest. She reached the side passage just as a knock sounded at the servants’ entrance.
Honora stopped. No one else seemed near. The kitchen maid had gone out to the yard. Martha was in the scullery, or so Honora believed. She hesitated, then crossed to the door and opened it.
A woman stood outside with a travel bag in one hand and a letter in the other. She squinted, noticing that the letterhead looked remarkably similar to that of the letter the duke received from the employment agency. Honora went cold.
The woman on the threshold was not dressed in service clothes.
She looked weary from travel, but composed, with the sort of plain competence that would have fit any number of households.
Her hair was neatly pinned. Her boots were dusty.
She held the agency letter as if it had brought her here and expected that to be enough.
She looked at Honora. Honora looked at her. For one breathless moment neither of them spoke.
“I believe my arrival is expected,” she said, far too loudly in Honora’s opinion. “My name is Phoebe Redmond, and I came to discuss the nursemaid position.”
Honora’s mind snapped into place with terrible speed.
She stepped outside at once and shut the door behind her before anyone inside the kitchen could hear. The woman’s gaze flicked to the door and then back to Honora’s face.
“You do not belong here,” she said too sharply. She cleared her throat and gave the woman a tense smile. “That is, I have taken the position.”
The woman frowned slightly. “The agency said I was to arrive a few days ago. I would have been, but it seems the letter got delayed. They said the Duke and Dowager Duchess of Belgrave were expecting me”
Her heart sank. The problem she had taught herself to believe would never arise stood before her, looking confused, tired, and determined to secure the position she had applied for. The position that is rightfully hers…Honora thought.
Honora kept her face still. She had approximately two minutes to resolve this.
“I am afraid there has been a mix-up,” she said.
The woman looked unconvinced. “A mix-up?”
“Yes.” Honora forced herself to keep her voice calm. “The position has already been filled.”
The woman’s mouth parted slightly. “But the letter…”
“I know,” Honora said quickly. “I am sorry. There must have been an error in the agency’s records. They ought not to have sent you.”
The other woman looked down at the letter in her hand and then back up again, clearly deciding whether she was being lied to, and if so, whether it mattered enough to insist on the truth.
Honora reached into her pocket.
It was not much, only what remained of her own wages, but she had no choice now. She drew out the money and held it out.
“This should cover your return trip,” she said.
The woman stared at the coins, then at Honora.
Honora kept her hand steady.
After a moment, the woman took the money, though not without surprise. “I suppose that will do.”
Honora nodded once. “I am very sorry.”
The woman slid the coins into her reticule. “I should think the agency ought to be sorry, not you.”
Honora did not answer.
The woman looked at her once more, then gave a small shrug of resignation. “Well. There is little to be done for it.”
“Yes.”
She turned, walked back down the path, and was gone before Honora could think of anything else to say.
Honora stood where she was for a second too long, the air cold on her face.
Then she went back inside and shut the door.
Martha found her in the kitchen not long after.
Honora had just set down the empty cup she had been holding without tasting the tea in it when Martha came in carrying a towel over one shoulder and looked at her with a long, unnerving gaze. Honora’s heart sank. Had she seen the woman at the door? Had she heard the conversation through the wall?
Martha set the towel down, crossed to the stove, and filled another cup from the pot without speaking.
Honora waited.
“Have you written to anyone since you arrived?” Martha asked.
Honora blinked. “Pardon me?” She winced immediately. The question was quite random. But her incredulous tone was completely unnecessary. If Martha did not know something had happened earlier, she would right then.
“Family,” Martha said after a moment. “A friend. Anyone.”
Honora looked at her. “No.”
Martha turned with the second cup and set it on the table in front of her.
Honora stared at it. For a moment, she could not tell if Martha had seen anything at all. If she had, she gave no sign. Her face was unreadable, her manner calm, and the cup beside Honora’s looked like an ordinary gesture.
If Martha had seen the woman at the entrance, she had chosen not to mention it. If she had heard the exchange through the wall, it was not her business.
Honora was not sure which possibility was more unsettling. Or perhaps, the cup of tea had been a warning, and Martha was trying to tell her that she was onto Honora. She wrapped both hands around her cup and sat very still while the kitchen settled around her. She could not tell the difference.
She did not know if her guilt and paranoia were making her crazy, or if her lie was slowly beginning to unravel. And suddenly, all Honora wanted to do was flee before anyone got the chance to find out.