Margaret swallowed. Realizing there was no longer any point in altering her voice with Helen, she said quietly, “I have wanted to write. But were I to post a letter from Maidstone, would not the postal markings divulge my whereabouts to—”
“To the evil stepfather?” Helen archly supplied. “I have thought of that. Hudson travels to London tomorrow to meet with a shipwright or some such. I will ask him to post the letter while he is there.”
Margaret marveled at her kindness. “Thank you.”
Helen gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Your mother deserves to know you are alive and well.”
“You are right.” Margaret sat down at Helen’s desk, picked up the quill, dipped it in the ink, and began her letter home.
My dear Mamma, Caroline, and Gilbert,
I am sorry I have not written sooner. I hope you have not been unduly concerned about me. I am fine and in good health.
Pray do not worry about me or try to find me. I am content where I am and do not wish to return home for reasons you, Mamma, as well as Mr. Benton, understand.
I trust Mr. Marcus Benton will be taking his leave of Berkeley Square very soon. Do bid him farewell for me.
Attend well to your studies, Caroline and Gilbert, know that I miss you, and never forget how much I love you.
Sincerely,
Margaret
Finishing her letter, she blotted the ink, read it over, and then folded it. She fleetingly wondered if the Turkey Mill watermark—paper milled right there in Maidstone—might give her away. Thankfully, it was the most popular paper the country over.
Helen came over and set a lit candle on the desk—Margaret had not even noticed her leave the room for one. Wordlessly, she handed Margaret a stick of sealing wax. Margaret softened the stick over the flame and then applied a circle of wax to the edge of the letter.
Helen gave her a handled seal stamp. “This one is only decorative, not the family crest or anything identifiable.”
“You’ve thought of everything,” Margaret murmured, pressing the stamp into the wax and lifting it, checking to make certain the seal held. She was glad Helen had thought of that. For though she had addressed the letter to her mother, she had no doubt Sterling would read it as well—and scour it for clues.
Two days later, on a rainy Sunday afternoon, Margaret found herself bored and with nothing to do. Her work was finished. The mending caught up. She had nothing new to read. She thought to have a chat with Betty, but when she paused outside her door, the sound of soft snoring told her the upper housemaid was enjoying a rare and well-deserved nap.
Feeling lonely, Margaret took herself belowstairs. The stillroom was empty—no sign of sweet Hester. She continued on. Entering the kitchen, she found the large room uncommonly quiet. She was surprised Monsieur Fournier and the kitchen maids were not scurrying about as usual, preparing the family’s dinner.
Instead she found the chef alone at the kitchen worktable, feet propped on a crate, eyes closed, listening to...? She paused to listen and heard the faint sound of the pianoforte being played.
“Good afternoon,” she whispered.
The man’s bushy eyebrows shot up as his eyes opened. “Ah, Nora.” He straightened.
She glanced around. “I haven’t seen the kitchen this quiet since we were all given a half day for Miss Upchurch’s birthday.”
He nodded. “The family is dining with an uncle zis evening. So, for a few hours, at least, I am a man of leisure.” He lifted a carefree gesture with both hands.
She smiled. “Something tells me you wouldn’t like being a man of leisure for long. You enjoy your work too much.”
He pursed his lip and pivoted his hand in a gesture ofcomme ci, commeça.
She cocked her head to the side, listening to the distant music. “Does Mrs. Budgeon play every Sunday?”
“Not every, but now and again.”
“Has she no family nearby to visit? I never hear her speak of children or a husband.”
He shook his head. “Mrs. Budgeon is not married. It is customary for housekeepers to be called Mrs., whether they are married or no. You know zis, yes?”
“Oh yes. I had heard that.” She regarded him a moment, then asked, “Do you ever think about working somewhere more grand? Where your skills might be better appreciated?”
