“Are you not the young woman who helped me avoid a run-in with ne’er-do-wells only last night?”
Her mouth fell open. “Oh! I thought you looked familiar.”
“I confess myself stunned to see you here when I imagined our guardian angel still snug in London. I hope you did not have to leave on our account. Did that lot threaten you as well?”
“Well, yes...” It seemed the simplest explanation. “And as I was only a guestthere...” She let her words trail away.
“Well then. How fortunate that you were on hand when we wandered off course. Allow me to thank you.”
“It was nothing. I was happy to help.”
He inhaled through wide nostrils. “So... you are seeking a post?”
“Yes, it seems that I am.”
Dimples appeared in his round cheeks and amusement shone in his eyes. “Have you ever been in service before?”
“No... That is, well, in my last... place, I had the care of a young lady, helping her dress, arranging her hair, reading to her, escorting her on calls, hearing her prayers...” She was rambling, she realized. She had done all these things with Caroline. Still she hated to lie. Her father had taught her to prize honesty and shun falsehood. For one dark second she was almost relieved he was not alive to see her at that moment.
The man said, “The mistress isn’t convinced she needs another lady’s maid, though the last one has retired. So I cannot offer you a chance to put that fine hairbrush of yours to use. Still, one good turn deserves another. I can offer you a position as under housemaid, assuming you’re willing to learn.”
Margaret Macy—a housemaid? The thought was both mortifying and frightening. She would have no idea what to do.
But neither could she afford to pass up this opportunity, assuming the offer was legitimate and the man offering it trustworthy.
Tentatively she began, “May I ask why your wife doesn’t want a lady’s maid?”
His face colored. “She is not my wife. Nor I the master. You misunderstand me. I am the house steward. As to why the lady of the house wishes no maid of her own, it is not for me to say. I understand the upper housemaid helps her”—he colored all the more and faltered—“dress... and whatnot.”
“I see.”
He offered her ten pounds per annum—more, she realized with chagrin, than Joan had been offered, and she an experienced maid.
“Does that sound fair?” he asked.
She forced a smile. “Yes.”
“When can you start?”
“Right now, I suppose.”
“Do you need to let someone know, or gather your things, or...?”
“I have everything here.” She lifted her bag, thinking,And nowhere else to sleep.
“Very well. This way.”
She stepped over the rope and followed him down the High Street to a line of waiting carriages. She felt ill at ease, putting herself in the hands of this stranger, kind though he seemed on the surface.
As they walked, he said, “I forgot to introduce myself. I am Mr. Hudson. And may I know your name?”
She gave the name she and Joan had decided upon—Nora Garret.Norafrom her middle name, Elinor. AndGarretfrom Margaret.
“A pleasure to meet you, Nora.”
He paused before a stately old carriage, and she recognized it as the one she had seen from Peg’s window back in London. She was still stunned he had recognized her, stunned he should hire her because he did. This knowledge soothed the nagging worry that he had hired her with dishonorable intentions. He had not even asked for a character reference and could not in truth have hired her based on her qualifications. If he had hired her out of gratitude, she could live with that.
She hoped the other servants would be as understanding.
