“After we’ve finished the larder, let’s go into the south wing and freshen it up a bit. I’m sure it’s still a mess from when the workers were here. With winter coming on early, I’d like to at least cover the broken windows.”
Shirley stopped her scrubbing and slowly turned. “His lordship told me we weren’t to go into that part of the house, m’lady. He said it weren’t safe.”
“Malcolm doesn’t think my crossing a mud puddle is safe, Shirley. I’ve learned not to listen to my husband on every account, especially when he isn’t here.”
Eliza stood before the doors to the south wing, going through every key on Shirley’s chatelaine, twisting and turning from left to right. When she became frustrated, Shirley tried them herself, huffing and puffing with the effort. “I’m sorry, m’lady, but none of these are a fit.”
Eliza sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Do you think any of these would fit the downstairs entrance?”
“Nae, mum. The locks are cut just the same. We can ask Mr.Turner for his if it’s so important.”
The house keys were always in Turner’s possession, either buckled to his waistcoat or locked in the desk in his room. The loyal butler was kind and deferent, but Eliza had the sneaking suspicion he relayed all her activities to Malcolm. “No, no we can’t do that. I’ve another idea.”
“I’d figured as much, canny as ye are.”
Eliza gave a sly grin. “I know you’re sweet on Turner. I can see it when you look at him.”
“And here I thought I was doin’ a better job of hidin’ it. He’s right charming, after all.”
“I’ll tell you a little secret,” Eliza whispered, pulling Shirley down the hall. “I’ve caught him looking at you when you’re unaware. I’ve afeeling, with a little encouragement, he could be persuaded to confess his longing for you.”
Shirley’s round little cheeks turned scarlet beneath her curls. “And this late in life! The very thought of it.”
“Why not? You’re not too old, and neither is Turner. Now, I’ve found his lordship’s cache of Oban whisky, which I know you’re fond of.”
“Indeed, it sets the senses to tingling, doesn’t it?”
“I can certainly tell when his lordship has had it,” Eliza said, smiling slyly. “He paws at me like a jungle cat.”
“Goodness me.”
“After dinner, you and Turner can go into the library. You’ll put some music on—perhaps something French to set a mood—and I’ll pour the liquor.”
“Sounds lovely,” Shirley said. “I’ve not played the coy hen for many a year. I’ll have to practice.”
“The only thing I’ll ask is that you swap your keys for Mr.Turner’s. Do you think you can manage that?”
“That won’t be any problem at all, m’lady. They look exactly alike, apart from the one key. He won’t likely ken the difference.”
“And I can trust you never to breathe a word of this to his lordship, or Mr.Turner?”
“You can, mum.”
“Good. After you’ve finished with your little tryst, come upstairs and rap on my door. You can pass me the keys. That’s all you’ll need to do.”
“Aye, are ye sure, then? Rather late to be doin’ the dustin’ is all, m’lady.”
“Yes, but I’ve always been a bit of a night owl.”
Eliza poured the amber whisky into two glasses and handed one to Turner and the other to Shirley. Shirley had dressed for the occasion, wearing a purple silk kimono over a simple lavender dress, her auburn hair piled high. Turner, still in his livery, perched on the edge of his chair as if he’d soon be called into action. He was avoiding looking atShirley. Eliza was growing ever more confident his reticence was proof of his ardor.
As Jenny Lind crooned from the gramophone, Eliza poured herself a finger of whisky and knocked it back in one swallow. They obviously needed a bit more help. “Doesn’t Mrs.Duncan look fetching tonight, Turner?”
“I wouldn’t know, mum. Wouldn’t be polite to say so, even if I were to think it.”
“Turner, you’re certainly entitled to give your opinion. Besides, if we’re to run this household well while my husband is away, it starts with harmony between the two most important people in the house.”
“M’lady, I’m quite unsure what you’re talking about,” Turner said, fidgeting in his chair.
