Thea blinked at her. ‘What sort of peaky?’
‘Just pale and tired,’ said Frankie thoughtfully. ‘And she’s had to run off to the water closet a couple of times in our lessons.’
A horrible thought pricked at Thea’s brain. ‘Do you think,’ she asked, choosing her words carefully, ‘that there might ever be anything going between you and Annie?’
Frankie sputtered a laugh. ‘Goodness, no, Your Grace. She’s an excellent teacher and we have a laugh together, but nothing like that. Anyway, she’s a bit soft on Sanders, and I think he is a bit on her, too.’
‘Is he now?’ said Thea, gritting her teeth, but any further train of thought was interrupted by Fletcher’s entrance.
‘Fletcher,’ she said, ‘how lovely to see you.’
He bowed. ‘A pleasure, Your Grace. I simply came to let you know that another letter arrived from the Knatchbulls. About the shooting party.’
Thea’s insides dropped a little. ‘Thank you, Fletcher, I am sure the duke will me of any details later.’
Fletcher bowed again but hesitated. ‘I wonder if it might be prudent to see him before dinner, Your Grace?’
Thea sighed, knowing that her husband must therefore have some point to make. ‘I will, thank you, Fletcher.’
He shot her an understanding smile and then his eyes focused on the seed bed. ‘Is that?’
‘Rabbit droppings, yes,’ said Thea. Fletcher looked to Frankie.
‘Almost certain this one’s the one,’ she said, tapping her nose. Fletcher nodded again and left.
Thinking to visit Martha in the library before she saw George, Thea made her way there only to almost collide with a body storming down the east corridor. Musket skittered sideways, keeping out of the way.
‘Goodness me,’ she said, gathering herself. ‘Mrs Jenkins?’
Mrs Jenkins looked aghast. ‘I am very sorry, Your Grace, it is just that man. I simply cannot stand his lack of manners!’
‘Mr Crumpacker?’ asked Thea, suspecting she guessed correctly.
‘So rude,’ said Mrs Jenkins. ‘Always telling me what to do and what my lady will want next and all the rest of it. Just because he’s been on a ship or two with her. Like I haven’t been administering to her every need for the past twenty-five years.’
‘Twenty-five years, is it?’ said Thea, raising her brows. ‘Well, I know that Lady Foxmore values your assistance higher than any, Mrs Jenkins. I am sure she is merely humouring Mr Crumpacker.’
Mrs Jenkins fluffed herself up, a bit like a flummoxed chicken. ‘I know they have been through a lot, Your Grace, and I do respect that.’
Thea narrowed her eyes at Mrs Jenkins. There was something she wasn’t saying. ‘Mrs Jenkins, are you – jealous?’ Mrs Jenkins folded her arms and looked away. ‘Are you?’ asked Thea, a little quirk to her lips.
‘Well, it’s just that she’s been away so long and they did so many expeditions with one another and what do I do? I just sit around here and mend the stockings and make sure she has her right clothes and food and that. But they’re off trekking through the jungle and camping and fighting antelope or whatever those beasts are that he talks about.’ Thea understood. She felt it a little herself. That there was such a big, adventurous part of Marthas’ life that they weren’t a part of. Something that they would never fully understand, but that Crumpacker had experienced with her.
Thea took Mrs Jenkins’ arms and turned her round to face her. ‘Mrs Jenkins,’ she said calmly. ‘Do you have any idea what Lady Foxmore would have achieved without your presence in her life?’
‘What? asked the housekeeper, huffily.
‘Very little,’ said Thea. ‘She is absolutely indebted to you and is very aware of the fact. Twenty-five years is a lifetime! You have supported her over that time and tended to her every whim.’ Mrs Jenkins started to purse her lips, in a way that said Thea was right. ‘And Mr Crumpacker has come in here, and of course they have shared experiences, but you are the glue that holds it all together and makes all of that possible. I am sick and tired of us rolling over for men and not knowing our own worth.’
That made Mrs Jenkins grin. ‘You really think she is that fond of me?’
‘I know she is,’ said Thea kindly.
Mrs Jenkins seemed to inflate with pride. ‘It’s us that really runs the show, isn’t it, Your Grace?’
‘I am beginning to think so,’ said Thea. ‘Even if we do not think we do.’
‘That Frankie of yours is something else,’ said Mrs Jenkins. ‘Showed me around the glasshouses the other day.’
