Chapter 6 #2
She turned with a smile, expecting to see Martha again, but her smile quickly stiffened. Lady Belgrave stood in the doorway, watching the two of them with a calm but cold expression. There was a long silence as the duchess stared at them and Honora fumbled for words.
“Good afternoon, Your Grace,” she said at last, feeling as though her mouth was filled with cotton.
Cecily craned her head to look toward the door.
But when she saw the duchess, whom Honora knew Cecily had not seen much, if at all, the infant grunted sharply and buried her face in Honora’s shoulder.
The duchess looked at Cecily for so long that Honora began to feel the silence.
Cecily, warm against her shoulder, tucked her face closer into Honora’s neck.
Honora tried to keep herself calm, as much for the sake of appearances in front of the dowager as for Cecily’s sake.
But the intensity in Lady Belgrave’s gaze made Honora’s blood feel as though it had a direct link to pond water in winter.
Should she say something? Or should she wait for the dowager duchess to speak first?
“How long have you worked with children?” the dowager asked after what felt like hours of silence.
The question was delivered with a pointedness Honora did not like.
She kept her voice level. “Several years, Your Grace.”
The dowager did not look away from Cecily as she nodded ever so slowly. “Where?”
Honora had expected that question. She had already given Leopold an answer. She could give it again.
“In Wiltshire.”
The dowager turned her head just enough to look at her then. “Where in Wiltshire?”
Honora met her gaze and held it. “In several houses.”
Lady Belgrave’s eyes narrowed, but in a way that Honora was uncertain that it was meant to be noticed.
“I know some people from there,” the dowager said. “They would not have had children young enough to need a nursemaid. I was merely curious whether you might have met them.”
“I did not spend much time out of the homes of my employers,” Honora said, trying her best not to speak too quickly or nervously. “In fact, I never ran any errands, even for the children. That was the duty of the housekeeper and footmen.”
The dowager gave that slow nod again, and Honora was certain she did not believe her. She looked at Honora, then at Cecily once more, and left without another word.
Only then did Honora breathe out.
“She knows something,” Honora whispered once the door had closed.
Cecily only clutched her sleeve.
“Or she thinks she does. I cannot decide which is worse.” Cecily squirmed and fussed against her. Honora lowered her voice and murmured nonsense until the child settled again, but the alarm beneath her skin kept beating long after she ordered herself calm.
By evening, Honora was exhausted, and Cecily had worn herself out again. Honora changed her, soothed her through one last fit of chewing and tears, and waited beside the crib until the child’s breathing steadied.
When she finally went downstairs, she moved carefully, expecting at any turn to meet the dowager again. The house gave her only shadows, closed doors, and the faint clatter of the kitchen below.
The kitchen was warm and smelled faintly of bread, onions, and tea. Martha was at the table with a cup in front of her and a pile of folded cloths to one side. She looked up as Honora came in and gave a small nod, as if she had expected her.
“Sit,” Martha said.
Honora obeyed.
The table was scarred with use, the chairs did not match, and the fire burned low. The room felt less guarded than the rest of the house.
Honora wrapped her hands around the cup Martha set before her.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke.
It was not the silence of strangers. Martha’s hands continued their work among the cloths, folding and smoothing, folding and smoothing. Honora found that easier than direct kindness. It gave her leave to sit without being asked to confess why she needed the chair.
“It has been quiet since the old duke died,” Martha said, breaking the silence.
Honora looked up. “Was it different before?”
“The late duke kept to himself,” Martha said. “Her Grace filled every room he left empty. Our current duke is different from his father.” She stopped there, as if the rest was not hers to give.
“How?” Honora asked, despite Martha’s hesitation.
As expected, Martha merely shook her head. “In many ways.”
Honora nodded thoughtfully.
“There used to be fourteen staff in this house,” Martha said, as though she had just thought of something she did feel she could tell Honora. “Now there are seven, and nobody talks about why.”
“No one?” Honora asked.
“Not where I can hear them.” Martha’s mouth twisted into a dry smile.
Honora’s fingers moved once around the handle of her cup. “How long has the family lived here?”
Martha shrugged. “Long enough for the walls to be tired of them.” She took a sip of tea. “If you want a proper answer, ask someone who keeps records.”
“Like the late duke?”
Martha gave a dry laugh. “He kept records, all right. Things he wanted no one to see.”
Honora thought about her strained conversation with the dowager duchess that afternoon. She set her cup down. “Did the late duke have connections in Wiltshire?”
Martha’s eyes returned to her at once, sharp and measuring.
“Why do you ask?”
Honora kept her expression smooth. “I was curious.”
“I thought it was clear that curiosity is rarely satisfied in this house.”
Honora looked down at her hands.
“I simply wondered if he or the dowager duchess might know anyone I used to work for.”
The lie came easier now than it had before, which was not a comfort.
Martha studied her for a moment. “He had connections everywhere and kept most of them to himself.”
Honora held the cup tighter. “Everywhere is not much of an answer.”
Martha’s mouth twitched. “It is as much as this house usually gives.”
“Does everyone here speak in riddles?”
“Only when the plain truth would cause trouble.”
That did not comfort Honora. It made the house feel suddenly crowded with secrets, hers only one among many.
“What happened? With the servants just leaving that way, I mean.”
Martha’s expression closed with finality. “People leave when a house stops feeling like it has a future.”
The words alone were innocuous enough, yet Martha said them as if there was poisonous meaning behind them. Something told Honora that there was some real trouble with the duke and his family, and Martha did not seem to trust her enough to tell her exactly what.
Before she could ask more, Mrs. Pritchard appeared in the doorway.
“Miss Redmond,” she said. “His Grace asks to see you in the study after breakfast tomorrow.”
Martha did not move, but her face became closed off, as if she suddenly did not want anyone to read her. Honora set down her cup carefully.
The study, she thought. After breakfast tomorrow. Not tonight. Just soon enough to make sleep difficult.
Martha rose and gave her a long, knowing look.
“Rest tonight,” she said. “You do not want to go in to speak with His Grace looking as though you have not slept in months.”
Honora nodded, silently leaving the kitchen and heading down the corridors. She went back to her room after that and shut the door behind her.
Her bag was still packed by the bed. She stood and stared at it for a long time. Leaving would be easiest before the house had a chance to expose her secret. She put one hand on the door handle. Then, she crossed to the bag, picked it up, and slid it under the bed.