“Yes, Miss. Of course, Miss,” they chorused, backing away with such haste that they collided with each other in the doorway.
Joan maintained her icy stare until both maids had disappeared down the corridor toward what she assumed were the servants’ quarters. Only when their footsteps had faded entirely did she allow herself to release the breath she had been holding.
“You are quite terrifying when you wish to be,” Victoria said softly.
“I have had considerable practice,” Joan replied. She pressed a kiss to Victoria’s temple. “Come. Let us find our rooms and get you settled.”
They made their way up the grand staircase, which creaked alarmingly with each step. Joan tried door after door along the corridor, finding each room in a worse state than the last. Furniture lay broken and scattered. Wallpaper peeled from the walls in long, curling strips.
Dear God, she thought.
Finally, at the very end of the corridor, Joan found a room that appeared to be at least partially habitable. It was smaller than the others likely intended as a guest chamber rather than one of the principal bedrooms but the furniture was intact and someone had made an effort to dust and air it. Two narrow beds stood against opposite walls, their mattresses lumpy but serviceable.
A washstand occupied one corner, and a small fireplace promised warmth once they could get a fire lit.
“Here,” Joan said, guiding Victoria inside. “This will serve us well enough.”
Victoria sank onto the nearest bed without protest, her earlier moment of levity already fading.She needs water,Joan thought.And time alone to compose herself.
“Let me fetch you some water,” Joan said, striving to keep her voice light. “You must be parched after our journey.”
Victoria nodded without looking up, and Joan slipped from the room before her sister could see the worry etched into her own features.
Joan made her way back down the stairs, one hand trailing along the banister for support. Her headache had finally begun to recede, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that made each step feel like wading through honey.
The kitchens lay at the back of the house, down a narrow servants’ corridor that Joan remembered from childhood visits. She pushed through the door to find the room empty save for the glow of a single lamp on the scarred wooden table.
Through the window above the sink, Joan could see movement in the yard beyond. She drew closer and peered out to find both maids frantically scrubbing their hands and arms in a bucket of water, their faces twisted with anxiety.
She found a pitcher on the shelf and filled it from the pump, then located two reasonably clean glasses. The water ran rust-colored at first, then cleared, and Joan allowed herself a small sigh of relief. At least they would not die of thirst in this forsaken place.
Pitcher and glasses in hand, she made her way back through the darkened corridors to the stairs.
She reached the top of the stairs and started down the corridor toward their room. The door stood slightly ajar, just as she had left it, a sliver of lamplight spilling across the worn carpet.
Joan was reaching for the handle when she heard it.
Sobbing.
“How could he?” Victoria sobbed. “How could he do this to me? How could he?”
Joan’s hand trembled on the pitcher handle.
It is all my fault,Joan thought. The tears she had been holding back all day suddenly burned behind her eyes.This is my fault. I failed to protect her.
CHAPTER TWO
“Good morning,” Joan said briskly to the two maids. “We have a great deal of work ahead of us. Sarah, I need you to begin in the drawing room. Remove all the holland covers and beat them outside. Then sweep and scrub the floors. Molly, you will help me in the entrance hall. We need to make at least the main rooms presentable.”
She found the two maids from yesterday, Sarah and Molly, huddled in the kitchen, whispering nervously over cups of weak tea. Both jumped to their feet when Joan entered, their faces flushing with guilt.
“Yes, Miss,” they chorused, setting down their cups with evident relief at having clear instructions.
Joan had woken before dawn, her body protesting the unfamiliar mattress and her mind racing with the day’s tasks. Beside her, Victoria slept fitfully, making small, distressed sounds that tugged at Joan’s heart.
She’d dressed quietly in one of her oldest day dresses, a simple cotton affair in pale blue that had seen better days, and twisted her dark hair into a practical knot at the nape of her neck.
Joan spent the next three hours on her hands and knees, scrubbing years of accumulated grime from the floors of the entrance hall. Her back ached, her hands were red, and several strands of hair had escaped her knot to hang limply around her face. But slowly, gradually, the house began to reveal hints of its former glory.
