Chapter 46
Fresh Employment
… she was extremely glad to be employed, and desired nothing in return but to be unobserved.
Jane Austen, Persuasion
Normally, one’s first day of work in a new house involved meeting the rest of the staff, settling into one’s room, and being shown one’s duties by the housekeeper.
“No time for that, I’m afraid, my girl,” Miss Smith’s cook told Amelia. “We need you to hop right to it. Now, no grumbling. It’s the mistress’s at home day, so we’ll need the front hall tidy and you’re going to be receiving the visitors.”
After that came a lot of instructions about where to take the hats and walking sticks, to make sure to admit no one without a card, no matter how many flowers they brought, and above all, to spread the gentlemen out as they were waiting.
“Put one in the blue room, one in the bookroom, one in the salon,” Cook puffed. “Put one in the garden if it comes to that. Just promise ’em she’ll be down soon and get yourself out of there.”
“And the ladies?” asked Amelia innocently.
“Bless me,” said Cook. “If a lady comes to call, show them right up. Miss’ll want to see such a rare bird.”
So it was that Amelia found herself in the town house’s foyer, straightening the flower arrangements and making sure that the table for hats—as well as the stand for umbrellas and sticks—was sheltered by the carved screen, so that no gentleman might know that others had proceeded him.
Wonder what Mrs. Black would have to say about all this? Miss Thorne’s sister, now Mrs. Black, had had a colorful career, to say the least, and like Miss Smith, she’d kept her own establishment for quite some time. I should ask her how she arranged things. Might come in handy to—
The door banged open. Amelia jumped and spun about in time to see a pink-faced gentleman in a black coat bolt across the entrance hall. He thrust his dripping umbrella at her. It was pure reflex that made her grab for it. Not that he looked. He just ran up the stairs.
“Sophia! Sophia!”
Well.
This was too much to miss. Amelia tossed the umbrella toward the waiting stand and charged up the stairs after the intruder.
“Sir!” she bleated weakly. “Sir!”
As she expected—indeed hoped—he paid her no attention at all.
“Sophia!”
He was puffing badly by the time he reached the second floor.
Micheals—Miss Smith’s formidable lady’s maid—stood in the corridor, her arms akimbo as if she might need to be ready to repel boarders.
As Amelia reached the top of the stairs, Miss Smith herself was coming out of her boudoir, tying the sash on her wrapper.
“Uncle!” she cried. “What is it?”
“Trouble, I’m afraid, my dear,” he wheezed. Exertion had changed his complexion from pink to scarlet. “I’ve just come from your mother. We need to be on our way. How soon can you be packed?”
“Come from Mother?” echoed Miss Smith. “Why isn’t she with you? I thought—”
“Not here, my girl.” The man grabbed her elbow, steered her back into the boudoir, and shut the door.
Amelia stared at Micheals. Micheals stared at the door, her mouth compressed into a thin line.
“Miss Smith is not at home to visitors today,” she announced.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Amelia.
“Well?” demanded Micheals in a tone that meant “why are you still here?”
“Sorry, ma’am.” Amelia bobbed a quick curtsy and hurried back down the stairs.
When she reached the foyer, she hesitated.
Then, she peeked out one of the sidelights.
A plain carriage—probably hired—stood in the street.
The driver was off the box, checking the harness and patting the horses.
All signs that he thought he was leaving in the next few minutes.
Amelia bit her lip, thinking fast. Then, she whisked around and trotted down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen.
“What was all that ruckus?” demanded Cook from her post at the kitchen counter where she was busy spreading butter on brown bread to make refreshments for the expected visitors.
“Miss Smith’s uncle’s arrived,” said Amelia. “Micheals said no other callers today.”
“Lord! What am I supposed to do with all these sandwiches!”
“I expect the gentleman will be very hungry. I’m to go out and speak to his driver.” She nicked out the kitchen door before Cook could ask what about.
Amelia ran up the area stairs and nipped across the street as quick as she could. She also noted that a lanky man in laborer’s clothes was strolling up the walk. He touched the brim of his cap to her, and walked straight past.
Amelia ignored him and instead went up to the driver. “Gentleman asked me to bring in his box,” she said.
She wasn’t exactly sure what she thought she’d find, or if she’d find anything at all, but she couldn’t think of any better excuse to talk to the driver.
He was a round man with a double chin and canny eyes.
But he took in her neat maid’s kit and made no protest, just opened the carriage door and pulled out two metal boxes.
Two cash boxes, in point of fact.
“Ta,” said Amelia. “I’ll take them.”
“All right,” said the driver. “And you might let Mr. Wallace know that if we’re off for Dover today, we’re going to need at least two changes of horses, and that’s not counting the change before we leave town.
These are run almost ragged, and I’m not injuring any animals just because he doesn’t want to wait another hour. ”
“I’ll tell him,” agreed Amelia, and took herself briskly toward the area stairs.
A glance over her shoulder showed that the driver had gone back to his horses. Instead of heading down the stairs, Amelia ducked down the walk between the houses and emerged into the kitchen garden.
Where George, in his workman’s dress, was waiting for her, behind the shed, and out of sight of the kitchen window.
“What’s the to-do?” he asked as Amelia dropped the boxes in front of him.
“Miss Smith’s uncle arrived out of the blue. He’s getting her packed. Driver says they’re to leave for Dover.” And doubtless for the Continent as soon as could be arranged after that.
George swore, and tried the box latches. “Locked.” He reached in his pocket and came up with a clasp knife. “Keep watch.”
Amelia peered out around the shed, watching for signs of movement in any of the windows that overlooked the garden.
A few frantic heartbeats later, she heard a click, and then heard George whistle. Amelia turned, and saw him staring at the open box, and then saw the piles of bank notes and coins.
“I think we’d better get word to Mrs. Black,” said George. “It seems to me something’s gone wrong in Bath.”