Lyddie
“I’d reckon your sister is lonesome, m’lady,” Mrs.Duncan said, her Scottish burr warm as she poured Eliza’s tea with a steady hand. “I’ve a sister meself, back in Aberdeenshire. Been a fair bit since I’ve seen her, my Maggie.”
“Well then, we must do something to remedy that,” Eliza said, offering a smile. “Say, I have a question for you. Last night, I heard a curious tapping inside my room. His lordship said it was the pipes. Have you ever heard such a thing, Mrs.Duncan?”
The housekeeper paused, lifting the spout of the teapot. It dribbled on the napkin below, spotting brown. “I wouldn’t ken any such thing, mum.”
“Are you sure?” Eliza prodded. “It’s all right, you know, talking to me. Despite what his lordship says. I spent the better part of my childhood belowstairs, and I much prefer the company of maids and cooks to lords and ladies.”
Mrs.Duncan gave a dry laugh. “Och, I’ll not tell his lordship a word. He’s gone to Winchester for the day, at any rate.”
“He’s always gone to Winchester. Please, sit.” Eliza patted the top of the counterpane. “And have a cookie while you’re at it so I won’t feel badly eating in front of you. You do make the very best shortbread.”
“Thank you, m’lady.” Mrs.Duncan made a little hop and perched on the edge of the bed, her toes barely touching the floor.
Eliza helped herself to the refreshments, her belly growling with hunger. “How long have you been on staff here? And what on earth is your first name? Malcolm hasn’t told me.”
“Shirley, mum. The last housekeeper, Mrs.Galbraith, hired me on as a chambermaid at sixteen and I’m now six-and-forty.”
“You knew my mother-in-law, then. Tell me about her.”
“Oh, dear Lady Havenwood—Ada, that is. She was from Scotland, too. We got on like a house afire.” A sheepish look passed across Shirley’s face at the gaffe. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be silly, I’m not easily offended. That explains why Malcolm sometimes whispers his endearments in Gaelic. I wondered where he learned it.”
“Aye. He loved his mum. My but she was bonny. So fair it’d make your eyes hurt to look upon her too long. The house was happier with her in it. But the old Lord Havenwood didnae treat her right. He took his moods.” Shirley looked down, picking at the lace tatting on her pinafore. “He struck me on occasion. ‘You make the beds all wrong, stupid girl,’ he’d say.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“’Tis the way of it with some masters. Your own husband is kinder. He’d do no such thing.”
“He’s a bit stiff and proper, my husband.” Eliza took a sip of her tea. “Until the lights go down, that is.”
“Aye, mum, but he cares for ye. I can see it. He’s not been happy in so long. He was an awkward lad. Quiet and studious—always in abook. He didnae deserve the way his father treated him.” Shirley shook her head. “Neither one of the lads did.”
“This tapping I heard last night ... did Lady Havenwood ever mention it? This was her room, wasn’t it?”
“It were, mum, yes.” Shirley shifted her bulk. “At least, until the years before the fire. She moved into the south wing then. As I recollect, she did mention the pipes creaking a time or two.” Shirley stood, shaking the crumbs of shortbread out of her apron and into her reddened hands. “Well, I’d best be minding the dishes before his lordship comes home. If there’s anything at all you’d like, m’lady, just ring.”
“Thank you, Shirley.”
“Only, please doona call me by my Christian name around your husband, mum. He’s keen on keeping things proper.”
Eliza winked. “It’ll be our secret, I promise.”
After the housekeeper left, Eliza pulled the diary from beneath her pillow. She’d thumbed through enough of the pages to know it was Ada’s diary. She’d been too afraid and exhausted to read it the night before, but now, in the light of day, her curiosity overrode her fear. “What secrets are you hiding, little book?” she asked, running her fingertips over the embossed cover.
One thing she knew for certain: pipes didn’t make walls shake. Pipes didn’t tap in patterns of three. Something was being kept from her, and she was going to find out what.
CHAPTER 17
Eliza sat tucked inside the bay window of the morning room as Shirley bustled about, clearing the breakfast dishes and doing the dusting. She’d concealed Ada’s diary between the covers of a dog-eared copy ofSense and Sensibility.It felt good having a secret—something decadent to keep for herself. If Malcolm was going to have secrets, she could have some too, after all. She opened the journal’s crinkled, fragile pages and read.
August 18th, 1873
Jennie adores parties. She pulls me out to every ball and soirée until my ears ring from the noise. I have been introduced to so many bachelors this Season I can no longer tell a duke from a baronet. They’re all ‘my lord’ or ‘your grace’ or sir this-or-that and I cannot keep up! Jennie is the most devoted of companions, and I am grateful. Being an American, she isn’t as stodgy as the sassenach girls, and she’s so lovely to look at, with flashing dark eyes.
I have been presented to the queen, and met the crown prince, Bertie. He’s quite a flirt. He wants to have me come to Marlborough House for one of his famous parties. I have heard they turn into bacchanals as the night creeps into the wee hours. It all sounds positively scandalous.
