The steward supervised the duties of the entire
household, hiring and firing other servants, paying
their wages and controlling expenditure.
—Giles Waterfield and Anne French,Below Stairs
Chapter 22
In the morning, Nathaniel stopped by Hudson’s office to speak to him. “I have a project for you, Hudson. If you don’t mind another trip to London.”
“Not at all, sir.”
Nathaniel studied his friend. “That was quick. And eager. Find the life of a house steward confining, do you?”
“A bit of getting used to, sir,” he said diplomatically. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“I don’t blame you.” Nathaniel could have gone to London himself, but he was reluctant to leave Fairbourne Hall so soon after returning.Who am I fooling?he asked himself. It was perfectly obvious he was reluctant to leave Margaret. He pulled the door closed behind him and cleared his throat. “It’s a bit of a...privateproject.”
Hudson leaned forward, interlacing his fingers on the desk.
Nathaniel began, “I want you to find out everything you can about a Marcus Benton, and while you’re at it, Sterling Benton, of Berkeley Square, Mayfair.”
Hudson did not blink a lash. “The man who came here looking for his stepdaughter?”
Nathaniel nodded.
“What am I looking for, sir?”
Nathaniel inhaled deeply. “I don’t know exactly. Financial situation, family relations, unexplained absences, anything... unusual.” He took another deep breath, contemplating how much to tell the man. He trusted Hudson implicitly, but there was no reason he needed to know—not yet, at any rate—just whom he had hired in the position of housemaid.
Hudson considered the request. “Do I take it you believe the stepfather has something to do with this, em...?”
“Miss Macy.”
“Miss Macy’s disappearance?”
“It is only suspicion at present.”
“What about the girl? She may have run off of her own accord. Shall I investigate her whereabouts as well?”
“I don’t think that necessary.”
Hudson cocked his head to one side, studying him. “May I ask, sir, how you are acquainted with Miss Macy?”
“No, Hudson. You may not.”
Mrs. Budgeon kept a stack of writing paper in the servants’ hall, free for anyone who wished a piece or two to write home. Margaret wondered again if she ought to write to her friend Emily. A defensive measure. When she learned that evening that Mr. Hudson was returning to London once again, she saw it as a definite sign that she should.
My dear Emily,
You have no doubt heard that I have gone away. I know that you, my dearest friend, would never assume the worst. Still, I thought I should write to you, so you will not fret about me. I did send a letter to Mamma—did she tell you? If she has not, then I fear it may have gone astray and never made it into her hands. I hope this letter fares better.
Nothing dire has befallen me. I have not been kidnapped, nor have I eloped, nor have I been compromised—even if cruel gossips are tempted to bandy such nonsense about. (Not you, of course, dear Emily.)
The truth is that I no longer felt safe living under the same roof as Marcus Benton. You know his uncle had been pressuring us to marry, and Marcus had become quite desperate to convince me or compel me by any means necessary—with his uncle’s blessing, no less. Perhaps you will not believe me, or think my estimation of my charms puffed up and my worries foolish fancy. But trust me when I tell you my fears were very real and justified.
I don’t expect you to defend me to fickle society nor to the world at large, but I did want you to know, dear loyal friend, that I am well and safely hidden for now.
