At her request, the Earl’s solicitor, Mr Leonards, had provided her with the staff’s names; there was no better way to begin a relationship than by greeting a person properly.
‘Why, I didn’t even hear the creak of the door! How do you do?’
‘How do you do, Mrs Hardwicke?’ he drawled, clearly surprised by her informal greeting, but intently steadfast.
His handshake was strong, and assured, and Rebecca would’ve sworn his eyes warmed ever so slightly as she returned it with vigour.
‘Do come in.’
‘With pleasure, Mr Brown, for I fear I am otherwise in danger of becoming an ice sculpture,’ she jested, grabbing once again her portmanteau and moving to follow.
‘Mrs Hardwicke, do allow me to assist you.’
‘Oh, ’tis quite under control, Mr Brown, I assure you. Why, I’ve handled it thus far up the drive, and for longer journeys than this.’
Defeated, but obviously unwilling to make a scene, or manhandle the luggage from her grasp, the discombobulated butler simply stepped aside and ushered her in, before soundlessly closing the door.
It was certainly warmer and more inviting inside than out, the large fire set in a hearth taller than she doing a remarkable job of chasing the chill from an impressively grand atrium. Deep blue and green diamond-shaped tiles, slightly worn but clean, contrasted with and complemented the long, carved oak-panelled walls. Despite the dark colours, the hall seemed light, and airy—thanks, in part, to the row of windows directly behind her, which flooded what little sunlight this part of England offered into the monumental antechamber, its few rays reflecting against the whitewashed walls of the first floor above.
A solid, intricately carved staircase led there, lined with a disconcertingly plush and unworn Turkish-style carpet. Portraits of long-dead ancestors stared down disapprovingly, seemingly showing the way to more distinguished and fashionable rooms upstairs. To her left, beyond the stairs, was a series of doors carved in the same patterns as the wall, all neatly tucked in, shielding the inhabitants from accidental discovery.
Well. Not so very bad at all.
When she’d first heard of her orders concerning the house, of the tiny contingent of servants, she had been concerned as to what she might find. Seeing it now had defied her expectations, and she could only hope that everything else about Thornhallow—including the rest of its occupants—would do so as well.
Perhaps you will even be happy here. For a time.
‘Shall I show you to your quarters, Mrs Hardwicke?’ Mr Brown offered.
‘Yes, that would be delightful, thank you,’ Rebecca said, stripping off her other glove, her crocheted bonnet and scarf, and stuffing them into the pockets of her very aged coat. ‘And then I should like to meet everyone and tour the house.’
There were six more staff, along with the estate manager—a Mr Bradley, whom she would likely meet later, as he only occasionally visited the house.
A small contingent, indeed, but we shall ensure it is a mighty one.
‘Once I have shown you to your rooms I shall allow you time to...freshen up,’ he said, eyeing her bedraggled figure. ‘And then I shall summon the others.’
‘Excellent, Mr Brown...excellent.’
‘Do, however, leave your portmanteau. Gregory will fetch it down for you.’
Smiling her most winning smile, which had gained her quick and lasting loyalty over the years, Rebecca bowed her head in assent. She could tell Mr Brown already disapproved of her—many did at first. Young, brash and entirely too friendly, compared with everyone’s ideal notion of what aproperhousekeeper should be. Rebecca had, nonetheless, always managed to vanquish even her most resolute critics.
Smoothing her ever unruly wisps of auburn hair, she followed Mr Brown through the hall to the servants’ stairs.
‘You’ve come from Birmingham, is that correct?’
Rebecca was pleased that he would not be forcing her to continue the journey in silence.
Yes, I shall win you over soon enough, Mr Brown...
‘Indeed. The lady I served passed, and her children closed the house, so here I am.’
‘Quite a journey, Mrs Hardwicke. Pleasant, I trust?’
‘As pleasant as can be, Mr Brown,’ she said diplomatically, leaving out the details of the uncomfortable, mind-numbing hours she had spent in the post-chaise. ‘And I have arrived in one piece, which must be counted in my favour.’
‘You are unmarried, as I understand it, Mrs Hardwicke?’
