A harrassed-looking housemaid opened the door. She skimmed Lucy from top to bottom. “Finally. We thought you'd never come. Mind your words, now, for Mrs Bates’s been in a temper the entire day.”
Before Lucy could put in a word, she was ushered into a dark-looking corridor that smelled of shoe polish, beeswax and lamp oil.
“Wait here.”
The girl left.
Lucy didn't think twice. As soon as the girl was out of sight, she hastened down the corridor, opening a door that she hoped would lead to the main rooms. It was the still room.
Lucy closed the door again, turned, and ran smack into a severe-looking woman dressed in funereal black, who, no doubt, was the housekeeper, Mrs Bates.
“And who do you think you are?” She inspected Lucy with a wrinkled nose. Before Lucy could answer “I am Miss Lucy Bell, a guest of Lady Arabella,” the housekeeper ranted on.
“Do you know you are late? What impertinence! We've waited for you an entire day! I’d send you back if we were not desperate for more help.”
“But—”
“Hush! No excuse can make up for your tardiness. Off to the linen room and fetch yourself a clean apron and cap. Your dress is a disgrace. Show me your hands.”
Lucy stretched out her hands. Mrs Bates inspected them through her spectacles, then slapped them. “For shame! There is earth under the fingernails. And the length! Meg!”
The housemaid, who'd opened the door, appeared. “Yes, Mrs Bates.”
“Take her to the slop room. Have her scrub her hands and pare her fingernails. Make sure she rubs lemon in them. Give her a new dress, take one of the hand-me-downs that we keep for the parish on the shelf in the laundry room. Fetch a clean apron and a cap. Off you go.”
Meg took Lucy's ellbow. “Come with me.”
Lucy was shown the scullery where she scrubbed her nails over the sink. It was curiosity, humour, and a perverted delight for mischief that prevented her from revealing her true identity. They thought she was a servant? Well then. A servant she would be! She pulled on a faded, but clean pale blue dress and put on the scratchy cap over her curls and tied a starchy apron around her waist.
“Arabella, here I come. Your very own housemaid.” She curtsied.
“Annie! To the front parlour! And bring the brushes!” Mrs Bates’ sharp voice rang out.
“She means you.” Meg popped her head into the room. “You better hurry.”
It looked like she was given a new name. And what brushes did Mrs Bates mean? Where could she find them? The black bucket in the corner with—ah yes, they looked like brushes. Lucy picked up the bucket and went out into the hall.
Together with Meg,she dusted and tidied two drawing rooms, the dining room, and the front parlour. She carried coals and linen, cleared, cleaned and polished and lit the grates. Her back hurt and her fingers blistered. She rubbed her aching shoulder. It had been a long day.
Mrs Bates came to inspect their work. She slid a finger over the fireplace mantle to inspect it for dust. Since Lucy had just scrubbed the marble with quicklime and soap until her fingers cracked, she found nothing to complain.
“We finished the rooms up here, ma’am,” Meg told her.
“Good. Then start airing the red dining room and help with the napkins. Fast, fast.” Mrs Bates clapped her hands. “We’re running out of time. They’re returning within the hour.”
Lucy repressed a groan. Meg pulled Lucy to another room, where another set of activities waited for them.
Meg talked almost as much as Lucy. After only an hour, she knew all of the servants’ names, ages, who they were, where they came from, along with some personal gossip. Meg also told that she had a sweetheart she hoped to marry but couldn’t, because she was tied down in service and needed to save money. That she was afraid of the duke, but even more so of his grandmother. That Lady Arabella was expected to get engaged soon and that they expected the duke's own engagement announcement any day as well.
Arabella, engaged? This was news to Lucy.
“A party of nearly twenty people. They’re to stay here for at least a fortnight,” Meg groaned. “It's going to be a double engagement and that’s so much work. With so many people in the house, it’s difficult to stay out of their way. ‘Tis hard. Once, I almost ran into the duke. He never noticed me, but I was terrified. Lady Augusta, the Dowager Duchess, is so odd. She insists I come when she rings the bell in the drawing room to do things that only footmen should do. Me! A mere housemaid! When we’ve got so many footmen about. I’m scared to make a mistake.”
Lucy sympathised. “You forget they’re just people too, Meg. Even the duke. Even the dowager.”
Meg shook her head. “No, they’re not. She ain't no normal person, neither is the duke. They're like gods they are.”
Funny, because a few hours ago Lucy had said the same thing to someone else. A hollow pain gnawed in her heart. Henry.
