She slid the silver teapot across the table.
The silent footman picked it up. They disappeared through the servants’ door, returning a few minutes later with her steaming pot of tea.
“Ring when you’ve finished, miss.”
Alone again, Eliza nibbled her breakfast and enjoyed her tea. The house was silent. There were no fighting pimps and prostitutes, no drunkards sick on the steps. No crying children. No whistling coppers.
Nothing but peace and quiet.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Stuffed to bursting, Eliza abandoned the dining room. Sir Mark’s butler had hovered, eager for her to go so the staff could begin wiping, polishing, and tidying up.
He wanted her out of sight, she knew, so that she might not corrupt the footmen or maids with her loose morals and common ways.
But she’d taken her sweet time. Mark had given her the run of the house, and she wasn’t about to retreat to her room like a prisoner. She was a guest and could do as she pleased.
Itpleasedher to lie down. She had eaten herself nearly sick on bacon and eggs, and drank an entire pot of tea.
Eliza made it as far as the drawing room, sinking onto the leather Chesterfield. The room was cheerfully bright and warmed by sunlight. Civilized pedestrian traffic and the steady clop of carriages just outside drummed a pleasant rhythm.
She stretched and settled into the cushions. She lay on her back and studied the painted plaster ceiling and the electric lighting fixture overhead.
How long had it been since she’d lain idle?
On the streets, she rarely slept. When Eliza did find time to put her heels up, she kept one eye open for thieves, coppers, or murderers.
She was never safe…until now.
Eliza spent the day resting, relaxing, and trying to stay out of the way. She watched the shadows creep across the carpet as the hours stretched by. She napped through luncheon, though she doubted any food had been set aside for her anyway.
When the hall clock rang three, she dragged to her feet. Sir Mark would be home soon, and she could not greet him in her dressing gown. He’d told her to please herself—and shehad—but Eliza did not wish to seem lazy or ungrateful.
Yawning, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom.
Her sheets had been changed, the bed freshly made. The bathroom next door had been scrubbed, mopped, and scoured. Fresh towels hung on the rack. A spare toothbrush perched upon the edge of the basin.
Eliza washed her face and cleaned her teeth. She made use of the toilet, though she jumped when she pulled the chain. What noise! What a rush of water! Could the servants hear every time the cursed thing flushed?
She imagined them below stairs, tittering and gossiping, pausing to snicker whenever the pipeswhooshed.Shameful business. For all Sir Mark’s modern amenities, Eliza had no more privacy than if she’d hoofed it out to the privy.
Despite her bruised body and smarting hand, Eliza managed to dress in a soft, loose frock—a ‘tea gown’, Jenny had called it—which did not require a corset. It was what fashionable ladies wore to tea, but it was also pretty, feminine, and comfortable.
Eliza brushed her hair and knotted it atop her head. She pulled a few tendrils free to soften the look, as Jenny had done the night before. Satisfied, she walked downstairs to await her host.
The butler stood in the foyer. He checked his pocket watch, and then inspected the hall clock to ensure they were both synced and accurate.
Eliza lifted the hem of her tea gown so she did not trip over the trailing skirt. The man’s eyes flashed from her bared ankle to meet her gaze, disapprovingly.
She would not be insulted or cowed. “When is Sir Mark due home?”
“Typically between four o’clock and a quarter after.”
Rather specific. Eliza gathered this was a punctual household. She made a mental note never to be tardy. Clearly, Mark preferred his home life to be prompt, orderly, and managed with as little fuss as possible.
She nodded her thanks—refusing to appear uncomfortable in the old man’s presence—and crossed into the drawing room. It had been tidied since her nap. The cushions had been re-plumped. On a side table lay the day’s post and a clutch of periodicals.
Bored, Eliza plucked a paper from the pile. It was a fashionable gentleman’s magazine full of stories, articles, and advertisements. Mostly dull stuff—theatre reviews, society reports, general news of the world. Write-ups for invigorating tonics and male waist-reducers.
