Fiona rolled her eyes.
“These might do,” Betty said, plucking two buttons from the tin, neither the right size nor shade.
Margaret smiled politely. “I’ll keep looking, shall I? You two go on with what you’re doing. I know Mrs. Budgeon wants those new tablecloths soon.”
Fiona shook her head. “Why she has us making new cloths and table napkins, I’ll never know.”
Margaret asked, “Do you mean, because the Upchurches don’t often entertain?”
“Not for ages. They never even have anyone to dine, save that friend of Mr. Lewis’s.”
“A handsome devil he is,” Betty said.
“Devil is right.”
Were they referring to Mr. Saxby or to Lewis himself? Personally she had never thought Piers Saxby handsome. He was too much the dandy for her tastes. Lewis was undoubtedly handsome. But a devil? She didn’t think either man deserved that title.
Margaret sat down and sifted through the entire tin without finding a suitable match—or four buttons of any kind to replace the quartet of buttons running from high waist to neck.
Betty tied off her thread and sighed. “Time to fetch the clean sheets from the laundry.” She propped her hands on the arms of her chair and levered herself up.
Margaret rose. “Why don’t I go? You two are busy, and this gown can wait.”
“Would you? That’s kind of you, Nora.” Betty eased back into her chair.
Fiona’s eyes narrowed, no doubt questioning her motives.
The truth was, Margaret simply wanted an excuse to leave the house and walk into Weavering Street without Betty knowing Miss Upchurch had entrusted her with the errand. She dared not, however, go without informing Mrs. Budgeon.
Margaret retrieved the clean sheets from the laundry maid in the washhouse and carried them to the linen cupboard for the housekeeper to check in. Once there, she explained her errand.
“Very well, Nora.” Mrs. Budgeon surprised her by agreeing readily. “I take it I can trust you to return directly?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Margaret gestured with her hand. “There and back.”
The housekeeper nodded.
Margaret asked, “Would you mind keeping this between us?”
The housekeeper frowned. “Why should it be a secret?”
“It’s only that I don’t want Betty to feel slighted.”
Mrs. Budgeon studied her. Margaret was afraid she’d said too much, been too presumptuous—as though an upper housemaid could have anything to fear from a lowly newcomer like her.
“Very well, Nora. I take your meaning. No use in hurt feelings if they can be avoided. But should Miss Upchurch decide to make the situation of your helping her more... official... some hurt feelings will be inevitable.”
“I am not hoping or pushing for anything official... or permanent, Mrs. Budgeon. I only want to help where I am able.”
One brow quirked. “Well. We shall see.”
A few minutes later, reticule over her wrist and bonnet tied beneath her chin, Margaret let herself from the servants’ door, up the recessed stairs, and across the drive. She relished the rare bit of freedom, of solitude, of sunshine and fresh air. Of not having her hands in lye or polish or turpentine. Crunching along the gravel path between gardens and lawn, she inhaled deeply of roses and freshly scythed grass and strolled happily up the road. She didn’t see Jester and wondered where the dog was.
She had just reached the boardwalk fronting the row of Weavering Street shops when Nathaniel Upchurch stepped from the blacksmith’s stall across the road, Jester at his heel. Her stomach gave a little lurch. Nathaniel glanced over and frowned. He looked perplexed, perhaps even disapproving, at seeing one of his housemaids strolling through the hamlet. She ducked her head.
If they met on the street, would he greet her? She doubted it. She was only a servant, after all. He kept his distance from the servants, except for Mr. Hudson. He seemed to treat Mr. Hudson more like a friend than a steward.
Jester had no such reservations. The dog bounded across the road, tail wagging, tongue lolling. She patted his head in greeting and kept walking. As she approached the chandler’s, she saw, from the corner of her eye, Mr. Upchurch crossing the road in her direction. Her pulse pounded. She turned away, feigning interest in the display window. For a moment, in her self-conscious awareness of being watched, the contents of the display window remained a blur, but then she blinked them into focus. She scanned the items in the window yet again, heart sinking.
