The door opened and Mr. Hudson appeared, grim-faced. “Mrs. Budgeon will see you now.” He added on a whisper, “Mind your p’s and q’s.”
———
The woman within was not what Margaret had expected. She supposed she’d imagined someone like the woman who had hired Joan—a gloomy-faced matron in a decorous high-necked gown and outmoded cap. The woman before her was only in her midforties. Her dress was black but fashionable, striped with grey and brightened by a pretty lace collar. No dowdy cap crowned her thick dark hair, which was neatly pinned back. Her eyes were brown, her face pleasant if a touch long, her complexion fair, her jawline just beginning to soften. She had been a beauty in her youth, Margaret thought. She was attractive still, except for the stern tightening of her mouth and wary light in her eyes.
“Nora, is it?”
“Yes, ma’am. Nora Garret.”
“Under servants use only Christian names here at Fairbourne Hall. Except when we have more than one Mary, for example.”
Margaret nodded.
“Mr. Hudson tells me you worked previously as a young lady’s maid. And that was where?”
“Lime Tree Lodge, in Summerfield.”
“And your employer?”
Margaret swallowed. “A Mrs. Haines.”
“Normally, I would write to your past employer to request a character reference be sent directly to me. But as Mr. Hudson has taken it upon himself to engage you, I have agreed to give you a month’s trial. Employment after that time will depend upon how well you perform your duties, follow house rules, and get on with other members of staff. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well. We shall see.” The woman rose. “From the looks of you, you’ve had a long day already. Let’s go up and get you settled.”
Taking a candlestick, Mrs. Budgeon led the way along the basement passage. Handing Margaret the lit candle, the woman unlocked a storeroom with one of the many keys hanging from her waist and extracted a set of bed linens and a hand towel. Carrying the candle in one hand and her carpetbag in the other, Margaret followed Mrs. Budgeon up a pair of narrow stairs, through a servery on the ground floor, then up two more flights of back stairs. Margaret was accustomed to climbing stairs in the Berkeley Square town house, but not at such a pace!
“You are to use the back stairs for all your comings and goings,” the housekeeper said. “You are only allowed on the main stairs for staff assemblies or if you are sweeping or polishing the railings.”
Margaret nodded, breathing too hard to answer.
Finally they reached the attic. “The servants’ rooms along this corridor are occupied or used for storage. But there is one small chamber you might use beyond the old schoolroom.” She turned the corner and added with pride, “Each of the female servants here at Fairbourne Hall has her own bedchamber. That is something you won’t find everywhere.”
Had Joan shared a room, perhaps even a bed, with one of the other maids in the Berkeley Square attic? Margaret had no idea.
Mrs. Budgeon opened the last door, and the musty chalk smell of disuse met Margaret’s nose. The chamber was small, narrow, and paneled in white. A cloudy window offered the faint glow of evening sunlight. A cast-iron bed with a bare mattress stood against one wall, a dressing chest and wooden slat chair against the other. Shifting the linens to one arm, Mrs. Budgeon laid the hand towel on the dressing chest, frowning at the empty basin where a pitcher should have been. “I shall send someone up with water.”
Margaret’s stomach grumbled a noisy complaint, and she felt her cheeks heat.
Mrs. Budgeon glanced at her. “When did you last eat?”
Margaret set down the candle and her carpetbag. “This morning.”
“You’ve missed dinner, and supper isn’t until nine.” She sighed. “I shall have something sent up to you. But don’t get used to being waited upon.”
Too late, Margaret thought.
The woman handed Margaret the armload of bed linens. “You are capable of making your own bed, I trust?”
“Of course,” Margaret murmured. But the truth was, she had never made a bed in her life.
“In the morning, Betty will show you what is expected here at Fairbourne Hall. I’ll hear no excuses of ‘but in my last situation things were done differently.’ Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Margaret said.No fear of that from me.
———
