‘Oh, carraway buns!’ exclaimed Harriet, standing and pulling at her layers of skirts. Thea stared at her, and then at the rapidly closing door. ‘Well go and get her,’ said Harriet, motioning to the retreating Joan. ‘I can hardly go out like this, but I could murder a coffee.’
More to intercept Joan than to fetch the buns, Thea turned and dashed to the door.
‘Joan,’ she shouted as her slippered feet slid a little on the floorboards in the cabinet corridor. Joan stopped by the glass case with the ancient amphora.
‘I am so sorry, Your Grace,’ she said, only turning halfway and seemingly unable to look at Thea. ‘I should have left longer after I knocked but I know Mrs Henry likes those rolls and I never imagined–’
‘You are quite without fault, Joan,’ said Thea. She knew she would have to elaborate a little if Joan wasn’t to wonder. Who would have thought that after all her dalliances with Martha she would be exposed for examining a friend’s boils? ‘I had not expected to see quite so much of Mrs Henry, but she has been having some trouble and wished to show me her buns.’ She stuttered. ‘Ah – I mean her boils.’
‘Oh,’ said Joan, finally turning to look at Thea. Understanding seemed to dawn on her face. ‘Oh,’ she said again, sounding a little relieved this time, but she didn’t move.
‘And she would like a boil,’ said Thea, pointing at the tray. ‘Ah – I mean a bun. I’ll take them.’
‘Are they bad?’ asked Joan, holding out the tray to Thea and allowing her to take it.
Thea peered down at the tray. ‘They look alright to me.’
‘The boils.’
‘Oh!’ Thea thought back to her brief glimpse and lowered her voice.
‘They didn’t look good.’
‘I’ll make her some cream.’
Thea smiled at her excellent lady’s maid. ‘I am sure she would appreciate that. Thank you, Joan.’
She turned back towards the door but heard no retreating footsteps behind her. As she pushed the door, Joan spoke again.
‘Your Grace?’ Thea turned back around and raised her head in question. Joan came towards her and lowered her voice. ‘If it wasn’t the boils,’ she said, nodding towards the door. ‘I wouldn’t have minded.’
Thea was so taken aback she didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth and then shut it again. Joan stepped closer.
‘I know it isn’t my place to say, but he does what he wants.’ She nodded in the direction of George’s wing of the house. ‘And whatever it is that you want, Your Grace, you should do. Not everybody has the chance.’ She smiled, bobbed, turned, and hurried off down the cabinet corridor to whatever task came next.
Thea watched her go, sliding her thumb thoughtfully along the smooth side of the silver tray. Joan was right. The harsh light of day had once again made her cautious and unsure, but she needed to rekindle the fear and resolve she had felt in that alleyway, at the barrel of a pistol. Thea didn’t have autonomy, but she had opportunity. Why was she dithering and feeling sorry for herself, when she had wealth and comfort and more chance to pursue her goals than everyone else who worked their fingers to the bone for a pittance? She might not be able to impress the men, but she could damn well please herself. She would ask Frankie to join her at Hawkdean and put their collective minds to growing. Her enthusiasm swelled and it felt like her vision cleared.
She burst back through the door, tray in hand.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘To the doctors.’
Harriet looked horrified and clutched her behind. ‘Are they so bad?’
The ride to Doctor Herbert’s, where Thea knew she would find Frankie and where she could pass off Harriet’s boils as an excuse for her presence, seemed long. She was worried about seeming too keen, and even more worried that Frankie would have reflected on the night before and find her foolish or weak, but she knew she had to go. Joan’s words had breathed life into a determination that she thought she might never feel again. It was almost heady.
‘So, you’re going to leave Speckle without a gardener?’ asked Harriet, enjoying herself.
‘Herbert,’ said Thea. ‘And he is a terrible employer. I will help Speckle to find another and train them up if he wishes.’
‘And George won’t mind?’
‘I’m sure he won’t notice. I manage most of the estate finances now and he’s off with Miss Bellegarde most of the time. Or another lady he picks up.’
‘Have you ever met her?’ Harriet pressed a hand to the carriage door to steady herself as they hit a pothole. ‘Miss Bellegarde?’
‘Once,’ said Thea. ‘She’s harder to avoid at Hawkdean when she’s on the estate. She has to venture outside sometimes and that’s usually where I am. Other than that, I see her occasionally, but she doesn’t take meals with us of course.’
‘And is she French?’
