Betty slanted her a wry look and moved on to the fish forks.
Margaret said, “Honestly, I think you would be an excellent housekeeper, Betty Tidy.”
“Oh, I don’t know...”
“I for one would be proud to work for you,” Margaret insisted.
Betty’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You say that now. But Mrs. Budgeon is a pussycat compared to the housekeeper I’d be.” She tucked her chin and gave a decent impression of Mrs. Budgeon in high dudgeon, “Now get about your work, my girl. We’re not paying you to chat and idle!”
Margaret hauled yet another kettle of hot water from the kitchen into the servants’ bathing room belowstairs. The small, tiled room held a generous double slipper tub, chair, mirror, and a shelf and hooks for clothing and towels. She’d taken a few quick baths since she’d arrived but mostly made do with sponge baths—room temperature water from the basin in her room, a rough towel, and her weekly bar of soap. But she didn’t feel really clean, and her scalp was beginning to itch under the wig. She wanted a real bath. She could hardly wait to wash her hair again.
The kitchen had running water, piped in from a cistern outside. This she heated on the stove in large kettles. The house was quiet. Even the scullery maid had scrubbed her last pot and gone to bed. She ought to be sleeping too. But first, a bath.
How long it took to fill the tub! She had never given it a thought all those times she had told Joan to draw her a bath, regardless if she had just had one a day or two before. Baths relaxed her and helped her sleep, she had justified. How much extra work she had caused poor Joan, though the woman never complained. At least, not to Margaret directly.
Margaret carried her kettles back to the kitchen for one more refill. That should bring the water level up past her legs, she hoped. Then perhaps one more can to rinse her hair. Her arms began to tremble from the heavy load, her hand to feel permanently bent in a clutch. Ah, but the warm water would soon soothe her aches and pains.
She lugged the kettles down the long passage, past the housekeeper’s room, stillroom, storerooms, and around the corner to its end, only to find the bathroom door closed. She was sure she had left it open. She frowned. Surely not...
She knocked experimentally. “Hello? Is someone in there?”
No one answered. The door must have swung itself shut. Relieved, she pushed it open and shrieked. Thomas sat in the bathtub. In her bathwater.
He didn’t even have the shame to appear sheepish. In fact, he waggled his eyebrows at her by the light of a candle lamp—the one she had lit. Fortunately the tub hid all but his head and upper torso from her view. She was torn between the desire to flee, shielding her eyes, and the urge to throw him bodily from the tub.
“What do you think you are doing?” she fumed. “I hauled all that hot water for my own bath.”
He smirked. “I did wonder who left it. Awfully kind of you.”
“It was not kind,” she said between clenched teeth. “It was for my own bath. Why would you presume someone filled it foryou?”
His eyes narrowed. “How high and mighty you speak all of a sudden.”
She felt her cheeks burn. “Well, I’m angry!”
He gripped the sides of the tub and made as though to rise. “Then I shall get out straightaway if you like.”
“No! Not with me standing here. I shall wait outside.”
She stepped out and closed the door. Five or ten minutes later he finally emerged, hair slicked back, skin still glistening. “It’s all yours, love.”
“I trust you’re going to help me refill it?”
“No need. It’s perfectly good water. Still warm. I shall even come in and scrub your back, if you like.” He winked at her.
“Not on your life. How selfish you are.”
He lifted his square chin. “Well, I shall definitely not fetch and tote for you after that.” He turned away, whistling to himself as he walked jauntily down the passage, her towel around his neck.
Jackanapes!
The tub, at least, had a drain pipe, or she would have had to haul away the dirty water before she could refill it. While the tub drained, she began the whole process all over again, refusing to bathe in water used by the boorish Thomas. She retrieved a clean towel from the servants’ linen cupboard, and laid it over the chair. This time she closed the door when she returned to the kitchen, hoping to mark her territory.
Finally, an hour after she should have, she shut the bathroom door behind her, levered the chair beneath the latch, and disrobed. She removed her spectacles, extracted the anchoring pins, and peeled off the wig. Lifting a foot over the tub edge, she tested the water. Just right. She stepped in and sat down, knees bent. How good the hot steamy water felt on her back and bum. She released a long, satisfied sigh.
Reaching up, Margaret unpinned her hair from its tight knot, then leaned over to pile the pins on the shelf. She combed her fingers through her hair and massaged her scalp. Ahh... She sank lower in the tub.
Margaret washed her body and lathered her hair, relishing the relief and pleasure of the scrubbing. Then she poured the remaining water from the kettle over her head to rinse, careful not to spill any onto the floor, which she would have to clean up. She leaned back against the high back of the tub once more. Her eyes began to droop. If she wasn’t careful she would fall asleep.
