And that, sooner or later, her secrets would come to light.
Chapter Four
“This is the family wing,” Mrs. Dawson said, gesturing to a long corridor lined with doors. “You are not to enter unless explicitly instructed to do so. His Grace values his privacy, and he will not tolerate intrusions. His quarters are at the far end and completely off limits at all times.”
“Yes, Mrs. Dawson,” Eliza nodded, her arms already aching from carrying the stack of linens Mrs. Dawson had handed her ten minutes ago.
“The boys’ rooms are in the middle and next to Miss Winslow’s quarters in that wing. You may be called upon to assist with their care from time to time, though that is primarily Miss Winslow’s responsibility.”
“I understand.”
“You’re not what I expected, I’ll admit.” Mrs. Dawson’s sharp eyes swept over her. “His Grace doesn’t usually hire staff without proper references.”
“I’m very grateful for the opportunity, Mrs. Dawson. I promise I’ll work hard to prove myself,” Eliza said as her pulse quickened.
“See that you do,” Mrs. Dawson said, her tone softening just slightly. “Now, come along. The linen cupboard is this way.”
By the end of the first day, she was exhausted. Her hands were raw, her back ached, and she’d made at least three mistakes that Mrs. Dawson had corrected with varying degrees of patience. The first had been in the drawing room, where she’d attempted to dust a delicate porcelain figurine and nearly knocked it off its pedestal.
“Carefully, girl!” Mrs. Dawson had snapped, catching it just in time with catlike agility. “That piece is worth more than a year of your wages. Use two hands. Support the base.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Dawson,” Eliza had stammered, mortified. “Noted, Mrs. Dawson.”
“Apologies don’t mend broken China. Pay attention.”
The second mistake had been in the dining room, where she’d folded the napkins incorrectly before dinner.
“No, no, no,” Mrs. Dawson had sighed, unfolding one and demonstrating the proper technique. “Like this. See? The point faces left, the fold is crisp. Try again. It must be just right, or don’t do it at all. That’s what my mother taught me.”
Eliza had tried again. And again. By the fifth napkin, she’d got it right.
“Better,” Mrs. Dawson had said, though she hadn’t sounded particularly impressed.
The third mistake was the worst. Eliza had been tasked with polishing the silver in the butler’s pantry after dinner when she’d picked up an ornate serving spoon. A small part of her brain was triggered at the sight of the crest engraved on the handle. It was the same crest she’d seen before, in her past and not so distant former life. At balls. At dinners. In the homes of families her parents had courted for alliances. Her hands had started shaking. The spoon had slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the table.
“Miss Graham!” Mrs. Dawson had appeared in the doorway, her expression thunderous. “What on earth happened?”
“I’m so very sorry,” Eliza had said quickly, grabbing the spoon, as sweat prickled her brow. “It slipped. I’m so terribly sorry.”
Why am I so upset by a simple piece of silver? Get it together, Eliza!
Mrs. Dawson had studied her for a long moment, her gaze uncomfortably shrewd. “Are you unwell?”
“No, Mrs. Dawson. Just tired. From the travel, and learning so much, so far. But I’m happy to be here, and I’ll get used to the work… And I’ll be more careful!”
“See that you are.”
Now, as Eliza lay in her narrow bed in the servants’ quarters, staring at the ceiling, exhaustion warred with relief.
I am here in this room. Tomorrow is a new day, and I will excel at my work. I will give it my all. I am safe.
Her mind drifted then to her parents, who had no idea where she was. And even if they searched, they’d never think of looking for her among the staff of a duke’s country estate. But the thought of her parents brought another thought, sharp and painful.
Abigail.
Eliza closed her eyes, and immediately she was back on that cursed balcony, staring down at her friend’s broken, lifeless body. The pale blue dress. The red curls. The stillness. She pressed her hands to her face, fighting back tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into the darkness. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.”
