“No, ma’am.” The housekeeper’s lined face beneath a cap of snowy white hair didn’t reveal concern over the question. “My daughter married a right proper gentleman with a big house up to Birmingham. I trained her staff when she was newly wed, but she don’t want the likes of me around when she entertains, so I came home.”
The daughter’s rudeness might be a boon to Grey’s household. El studied the crudely written letter in her hand, searching for a polite way to question.
Grey grabbed the references from El and shuffled impatiently, apparently not impressed with an inexperienced housekeeper.
Before he could shout next, El stayed his hand. “Can you read and write Mrs. Barton?”
“I can,” she affirmed. “I wrote that letter you’re looking at.”
That’s what she’d suspected. Grey snorted. El smacked his hand. He wasn’t wearing gloves again, but she was. The contact was still electrifying enough that he shut up long enough to allow her to finish speaking. She’d ponder their inexplicable electricity later. Right now, she concentrated on properly doing the job she’d been assigned.
“We don’t have room for a live-in housekeeper. This will only be daily work. Will that suit you?”
Mrs. Barton nodded eagerly. “I live down by the green, not far from the doctor’s place.”
Although the green was little more than a chicken-infested patch of weeds on the main road, it meant the housekeeper was in easy walking distance. Villages had definite advantages.
With that much verified, El continued, “We will be a very small household, too small to allow for a proper division of duties. Will you mind helping in the kitchen as needed?”
The old woman proved her intelligence by glancing in the direction the illiterate cook had taken. “I been working in my own kitchen all my life, bringing up five children and two husbands. I know my way around.’’
“Thank you. A wife and mother suits us better than a housekeeper.” El studied the rest of the remaining applicants. “Anyone else can read or write?” She’d just learned her first lesson in hiring staff. A household of scholars required literacy, which meant finding people who worked for Grey’s needs, not the requirements of the manor or a farmhouse.
“I can count and do sums, ma’am,” one of the young boys said eagerly.
“Most ambitious of you, but unless you’re a housekeeper, I’ll have to pass. We are only in need of a cook, housekeeper, and possibly a scullery maid and laundress.” When none of the other crestfallen women responded, El ignored Grey’s growl at her literacy requirement. “You’re hired, Miss Barton.”
One woman volunteered as laundress, if she worked once a week. El winced, knowing she had to wear the same gown all this week or buy more clothes that would eat into their savings.
Grey hired the boy who could count, just because it pleased him, she suspected. Mrs. Barton recommended one of the girls as a maid since she lived nearby and could go home at night too. The remainder were hired for a week to scrub the house from top to bottom and help arrange furniture once it arrived.
The nervous strain of performing as an authority over so many people left El exhausted. She sent Mrs. Barton to help the new cook write lists, then turned to creating her own lists of household necessities—a much easier task than hiring.
Grey prowled about and eventually disappeared, leaving her in charge of staff, who were already scrubbing and polishing. At this rate, she’d more than earn her elevated salary. She might ask for an increase.
Thank heavens they need only set up living quarters for one servant. Miss Fields had been rooming at the manor and had no means of traveling to her parents’ distant croft. With the aid of the very young scullery maid, they created a makeshift bed in the service room next to the kitchen.
“I thank you for taking me on, ma’am,” the new cook said as they examined the shelving and lack of serving pieces.
“Miss,” El corrected idly, taking notes. “I’m Miss Leonard. And you may not thank us once you understand the irregularity of our routines. We are accustomed to established staff. You will be in charge of bringing order out of chaos.”
“Yes, ma’am. Miss. I can do that. Before I went to the manor, I worked for five brothers. They was out all hours and expected me to have food on the table when they returned. Plain food, mind you, but it didn’t allow for much sleep.”
“Difficult,” El muttered, hunting in her pocket for a knife to sharpen her pencil. Once she had it sharp again, the conversation sank in. “All hours? What kind of work does one do at midnight?”
“Not sure, miss.” The petite cook folded the tablecloth the twins had brought with them from their former life. It had once been their mother’s. “One worked on boats, I think. Another sometimes delivered livestock what had trouble being born. This and that, like everyone. They was cousins of the ones what used to live here, long time ago.”
El had lived in a city all her life. She had very little notion of rural this and that. She supposed, with a population this small, it wasn’t unusual for half the villagers to be related. “Do they still live hereabouts? We might need to hire labor occasionally.”
“Oh, no, miss, that’s why I started as scullery at the manor. The bank took their farm.”
Oh dear. El imagined five big men with grievances set loose on the countryside. . . “Are they still around somewhere, do you think?”
“Don’t know, miss. Shall I make a pottage for this evening? We can’t keep the milk for long in this heat and that’s a good use for it. Do you suppose there’s a key to that door into the cellar? Dairy will keep better down there.”
“The cellar? The door all the way around to the side? I think they nailed that shut.”
“No, miss. The door behind the cupboard. I don’t know why anyone would set a cupboard in front of the cellar.”
