“Packing. Are you going to help?” She took an armful of clothing and dropped it in her case. She didn’t have much, but without the painstaking care packing required, the dresses took a lot of space.
Carla ran a finger along the edge of the case. “What’s his name?”
“His name is mind your manners.” Marietta grabbed another handful of undergarments from the linen press—an extra chemise and shift, two pairs of stockings. Jeanie wandered over, still looking dazed, but began helping her fold and place. Carla continued to watch her. Marietta was getting tired of people watching her.
“If you aren’t going to help, get out.”
Carla smirked and sashayed from the room.
“Sorry, miss, don’t know what’s been wrong with her,” Jeanie said after Carla’s skirt disappeared around the door frame.
“Thank you, Jeanie.” Marietta looked at the other maid, who had always been sweet. Daft, but sweet. “I appreciate the help.”
“Of course, miss. I can pack your essentials, if you’d like.”
“Yes, that would be wonderful.”
Jeanie went into the connected room where Marietta kept her perfume and pins, her toilette and jewelry.
A sibilant sound from the hallway made her head turn. She walked forward and peeked around the frame. The two male servants were loitering in the hall, trying to look busy.
“Isn’t there something you should be doing?”
They gave her varying stares. One smirking, one haughty. Gone was any authority she might have had. The Winters family was in deep trouble in all areas.
She drew herself up. “Go fetch an extra lamp and my parasol.”
They both stared at her for a moment and the moment stretched. Finally, they turned and walked down the steps, their eyes promising they would return. Marietta inhaled a shaky breath. Her old life was over. It had been over since her parents died, but now the door was completely shut. She was on par with one of the—allof the servants. Or she would be very, very soon.
She placed a hand over her heart, beating as if it would never slow again.
The sibilant sound issued once more. She crept down the hall until she stood just outside Kenny’s room.
“It’s as I said, sir, I’m here to serve you. I can help withanythingyou need.” The emphasis was hard to ignore. Carla lowered her voice, but Marietta could still hear her, as close as she was. “I know where all the treasures be. People paying prime money for the good items. I won’t charge you a penny.”
The implication of what the maid would give for free wasn’t lost on Marietta, nor was the fact that the servants had been searching through and selling Kenny’s belongings, as if he was a sideshow. The itch brimming under her skin, a slow anger and irritation, turned into a fire. She knew,knew,they were profiting from the scandal, but she had thought it only through gossip, not through thievery. She couldn’t pull a thought together out of the flames.
“How many things have you sold? And what were they?” Noble asked, his voice entrancing, coaxing for more.
“Small things, nothing as good as I could give you. A watch, a handkerchief, some cravats. There’s a journal hidden. All the deepest thoughts of the Middlesex murderer.”
She could feel the wetness on her cheeks, the impotent rage. She wanted to barge in, to grab the maid and shake her, squeeze her until her thieving hands popped off. To demand what right she had to do this.
Some last bit of sense held her in place. She didn’t know where Kenny’s journal was—barging in now would accomplish nothing. But as soon as the slovenly bitch produced it, she would shake her until there was nothing left to shake.
“I’d be interested in seeing that, and anything else he’s hidden. You are certainly a resourceful girl.” His voice was melodious and deep. Spellbinding. The words curled around the doorway and wrapped around her. She cut through them with a knife, her anger spilling over to him.
The maid giggled. Marietta could hear her awe and excitement. Couldfeelthe way the maid would be leaning toward him, enraptured and ready to do anything for more of his approval.
“It’s just over here.”
Something scraped across the floor, the night table most likely.
“He hides all of the things here that he doesn’t want his nosy sister to find.”
Marietta watched the pendulum in the hallway clock as if the continual motion would make things better; make her less likely to sob.
“What does he think of his sister?”
