After a long and tedious meeting with the church commissioners, Nathaniel felt like shooting something. He thought he might take himself grouse hunting before September got away from him. He looked about for Jester, who was always eager for a jaunt in the woods, but didn’t see the hound anywhere. He asked the footman on door duty, “Have you seen the dog?”
“Yes, sir. Just went up the stairs a bit ago.”
Likely on his way to my bedchamber, Nathaniel thought and headed for the stairs.
He had always been fond of the wolfhound and had missed him whilst he was away. He had thought of taking Jester along to Barbados, but it had made little sense to inflict such a long sea journey on an animal who loved nothing better than to run in the woods, chase down a fox, or stir a bevy of game birds. When Nathaniel was busy or away, he knew the hall boy or groom exercised the dog, but he preferred to do it himself.
In the old days, his mother hadn’t allowed dogs above the ground floor. But the rules had grown more lax since her death. He found he enjoyed Jester’s company and didn’t mind him sleeping on his floor near the hearth. Though the dog didn’t appear every night.
When Nathaniel reached the top of the main stairs, a thin, dark-haired housemaid staggered around the corner, arms full of linens.
“Have you seen the dog?” he asked.
“Aye, sir. Near about run me over. He’s gone up the back stairs.”
“Thank you.”That’s strange, Nathaniel thought.Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.A bit of exercise would do him good, he decided as he started up the stairs, especially after forgoing a fencing session with Hudson that morning.
Still, he hesitated to enter the attic, the domain of the female servants. He had rarely ventured there since boyhood, when his daily vigil to the schoolroom had brought him up those stairs nearly every day. But he had no real business there now.What could Jester be doing up here?
Nathaniel walked along the passage, but all the doors were closed. He turned the corner into a side passage. There, at its end, one door stood ajar.
Walking quietly, Nathaniel reached it and glanced in, surprised to see a figure lying atop the made bed, napping peacefully. Nora, or rather, Margaret. And curled on a rug before her bed and looking quite content, lay his wolfhound. Jester’s eyes opened, clearly aware of his presence, but the dog made no move to rise or join him.
Disloyal creature, Nathaniel thought, part amusement, part irritation. Yet he could not blame him for being drawn to that particular door.
Giving up his plans to go shooting, Nathaniel went back downstairs and found Helen in her favorite chair in the family sitting room, needlework on her lap and tea beside her.
“Well, Helen. What do you think of our new housemaid?”
She stilled, then looked up, studying him. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “A bit unusual, do you not think?”
Her eyes narrowed. “How so?”
Did she really not know, or was she hedging, as he was? If so, was Helen trying to protect Margaret... or him?
Nathaniel hesitated. He found he was not ready to burst the little bubble he was inhabiting. He was oddly enjoying the strange secret. He was not ready to share it, for then he would have to act differently with “Nora.” Guard himself. Helen would be watching. Wondering.
He feigned nonchalance. “A girl like her, clearly never in service before.”
She stared at him a moment longer, then relaxed and returned her gaze to her embroidery. “I like her. I did not at first, I own. But she has proved most helpful to me.”
“Has she indeed? I am glad to hear it.” He paused. “So, how are plans progressing for the servants’ ball?”
Helen smiled. “Very well, I think.”
Knowing Helen had not initially approved of the new steward, he asked, “And how are you getting on with Hudson?”
She kept her eyes averted, but her needle stilled as she considered. Then her mouth crooked and a dimple appeared in one cheek. She echoed, “I like him. I did not at first, I own. But he has proved most helpful to me.”
Nathaniel grinned. “Shall I announce the ball soon?”
“Yes. Do.”
That night, Nathaniel was surprised to see “Nora” walking away from the house through the moonlit arcade. It was after ten. Why was she not in bed like every other no-doubt-exhausted maid? Was she leaving Fairbourne Hall? He followed her quietly but was relieved when she turned at the end of the arcade and started back at the same pace, apparently out for a simple stroll, like a lady of leisure. Seeing him, she started and looked about her for a place to disappear, but the narrow walkway offered little cover.
“Good evening, Nora.”
