“She’s never said as much,” Kadida said.
“I wonder if she has children of her own,” Rose said.
“She does. Her son tends the gardens. And two of her daughters are maids. Maisie and Kirsty.”
Rose was stunned. “Truly?”
Kadida nodded, then looked up. “The tray is ready. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer I take it?”
“I’ll do it. Like I said, I should like to see Miss Lockhart settled.” Rose took the tray. “Thank you, Kadida. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Kadida dipped an awkward curtsy with her unnaturally large gait and slipped from the kitchen.
Rose took a set of back stairs to the floor above and listened for voices to navigate her way to Mrs. Kier and her new charge. Rather than Viola, however, Rose found Mrs. Kier in a small room, warm from embers in the grate, speaking with a maid. Rose stepped from sight but where she could study her more closely, and at once saw the resemblance between mother and daughter.
“She’s awful. She’s acts as if she’s lady of the ’ouse, she does,” the girl said, her voice rising before she caught herself. “Near snatched the towel right out o’ my hands and tol’ me I was slow. Then she says I don’t know the proper way to pour bathwater for a ‘gentlewoman.’”
Mrs. Kier patted her hand with calm deliberation. “She’s frightened, Maisie. And when some folk are frightened, they act mean to make themselves feel strong.”
Maisie’s lip trembled, though her glare held. “Well, she near made me cry.”
“I know, pet.” Mrs. Kier reached across and gave her a quick hug. “You did right comin’ to me instead of answering her back. Give ’er time. She’s been pulled from one world and dropped into another, and neither feels safe to her just now. But she’ll learn—because you’ll show her.”
Maisie frowned. “Me?”
“Aye, ye, lass.” Mrs. Kier’s smile softened. “You’ve been through worse, an’ you’re still standing, ain’t ye? Let ’er see how it’s done.”
Maisie muttered something unintelligible, but her shoulders loosened. Mrs. Kier pressed the matter no further, only handing her a folded towel. “Take this up to Miss Lockhart. Knock before ye enter, and let ’er know you’re there to help, not judge.”
Rose’s fingers tightened on the tray she carried. Something about the quiet exchange between Mrs. Kier and her daughter held her in place. She suspected the girl’s complaint had been justified—Rose had witnessed the wariness in Viola’s eyes curdle into hauteur more than once tonight. But Mrs. Kier’s steady, unflustered way of turning the moment into a lesson, not a quarrel, made Rose feel uncomfortably aware of her own shortcomings in such situations.
In her set, an insult was answered with snideness, a clever rejoinder, or outright ignored—never gently redirected.
Rose stepped from sight before Maisie noticed her, her thoughts prickling. Once the maid slipped by, she entered the bedchamber with a new determination. If Viola was to make a place here, it would not be because of her station in life, but because she learned—as Rose was learning—that dignity came from more than an accident of birth.
Mrs. Kier’s haggard face flew up. Pink dotted each cheek.
Rose smiled. “I’ve brought the tray for Miss Lockhart.” She set it on a small table near the fire.
Mrs. Kier’s mouth dropped, but quickly snapped shut. “Ye shouldn’t ’ave—”
“Oh, I didn’t. Kadida did the preparation. I simply carried it,” she said with another quick smile and a set to her jaw. “I’d like to speak to Miss Lockhart before I leave for home. I’ll just wait here for her.”
“But—”
“No buts, Mrs. Kier. I’ve put you to enough work this evening. Run along. Let Maisie know she needn’t accompany Miss Lockhart once her bath is complete, would you?”
Realization eased the older woman’s expression, and a slow smile tipped her lips. “Of course, milady.”
“One last thing, Mrs. Kier. Let the girls know I’ll be arriving early tomorrow for our trek to Amersham for tea with Mrs. Tatton.” She gave the housekeeper a wry smile. “I believe my sister is desperate for company.”
Mrs. Kier grinned back. “They’ll be glad to ’ear it, milady.” She slipped out the door.
Rose planted herself in one of the two worn chairs and set in for a lengthy wait.
But within moments, Viola entered wearing a serviceable wrap amid a cloud of lavender scent, her lips tightly compressed. She caught sight of Rose immediately and pulled up.
“Come in, dear. I’ve brought you something to eat.” Rose indicated the tray on the lone table. The meat pie’s savory aroma mingled with the sweetness of the warmed scone.
