“I brought a few things from London,” Lord Ethan said. “Brunswick will unpack and organize the books when he has time; in the meanwhile, clean around the trunks the best you can.”
“Not a problem, my lord.”
He either failed to notice her sarcasm or chose to ignore it. The tour continued to the row of rooms at the back of the manor, which included his lordship’s study, a billiards room, and a music room, all with views of an overgrown garden. Upstairs, Lord Ethan showed her the six bedchambers and master suite. Crumbling plaster, scratched wood, and moth-eaten upholstery appeared to be the decorating motif.
Finally, he led her to the servants’ wing. It occupied a separate building and was haphazardly attached to the main living area by an extension of the corridor that led to the study and music room. The kitchen was spacious and dirty, equipped with a large and rickety worktable, and the servants’ hall and stillroom were likewise in need of cleaning. Below the kitchen were quarters for male servants. Above, in the sloped attic, were a series of small garret rooms for the maids and a larger suite designated for the housekeeper.
The latter was well, if shabbily, furnished with what looked like a prior owner’s castoffs. Xenia discreetly pressed on the mattress, finding it surprisingly well stuffed. A faded chintz armchair sat by the small hearth, inviting one to curl up in it, and there was a small dressing table with a cracked looking glass. By some miracle, there was also an escritoire. One of the legs was wobbly, but she could fix it. She’d always wanted a writing desk and imagined herself outlining Sirena’s tales upon it…
“Do you cook?” Lord Ethan asked.
“Yes,” she said quickly.
He didn’t ask if she cookedwell, and there was no way she was losing the position now that he’d dangled this lovely room in front of her. At the Nunnery, she’d shared a tiny chamber with five prostitutes, and privacy had been a rare commodity. She couldn’t explain it, but from the moment she’d entered this chamber, it had felt like…home.
Or, at least, a good stopping place.
Besides, how hard could cooking be? If she could work at a seedy London bookshop specializing in pornographic goods and perform as an erotic storyteller at various brothels, surely she could throw together a meal.
“Then you will be in charge of the kitchen until I hire a cook at the mop fair,” he declared.
Although his expression remained brooding, she sensed he was pleased with the turn of events. Strangely, the feeling was mutual.
“Can you start tomorrow?” he asked.
With fluttering excitement, she nodded.
“Brunswick will show you the ropes and answer your questions.” He removed a ring of keys from his frock coat. “You will need these. You have the run of the house, with one exception.”
He pinched the last key on the ring. Smaller than the others, it had a patina of rust.
“This opens the room at the end of the corridor. Do not use it.”
“Why not?” she asked instantly.
“Because you won’t like what is inside. The door must remain locked. Surely you can follow a simple request?”
His grouchy countenance warned her not to argue. She nodded because she wanted the job. The keys clanged as he dropped them into her palm.
“Good day, Mrs. Wood.” With a stiff nod, he departed.
She resisted sticking her tongue out at him. Instead, she whirled around and giddily took in her new sanctuary. Her new home…for now.
ChapterFour
Walking up the oak-lined drive to Bottoms House the next morning, Xenia felt a renewed sense of optimism.
I’ve made the right choice.
Although this was only her second visit, there was a comforting familiarity to the surroundings. She guessed the manor was old, its limestone walls mellowed by the passing years. The gabled roof looked slightly newer, as did the three rows of sash windows. The size of the house was just right in her opinion: not too big or small. In Chuddums, people had spoken fearfully of the manor being haunted, but to her it seemed to offer shelter without pretension.
A sudden image flashed in her head: a traveler lost in a storm, whipped by rain and wind as lightning split the sky. Wet to the bone, she was out of options until she came upon this manor blazing in the darkness. Hope bloomed that it would offer temporary refuge, a respite from the evil that was pursuing her...
She blinked, and the image faded.
Your imagination is running wild. Focus, Xenia.
At the servants’ entrance, she was met by Brunswick. The butler reminded her of a mastiff with his wrinkled forehead and sagging jowls. Although he had a gruff manner, he was kind, insisting on carrying her sparse belongings to her new attic quarters despite the clumsily wrapped bandage on his hand. When she inquired about his injury, he admitted that he’d hurt himself preparing breakfast.
