With this in mind, Ida opened her satchel and pulled out a day dress cut from sage green muslin. Although it was slightly crumpled, it would have to do. The one she’d worn the day before had gotten a tear in the side while she’d struggled with her assailant.
Like the rest of the dresses she owned, the one she’d selected was made with practicality in mind. Easy to put on over her head, it contained a ribbon running beneath the breast which could be tied to cinch the back together in order to create an elegant pleat. Pleased with her appearance when she stepped before the cheval glass a few minutes later, Ida gave herself a satisfied nod and went to explore the rest of the house.
Behind the other upstairs doors she’d passed last night were stairs leading up to the servants’ quarters, an extra bedroom, and a small sitting room which had no doubt been intended as a private retreat where Fielding’s mother could take her tea in a less formal setting. An ache bloomed within Ida’s heart. She’d known a similar room once. Her mother had loved sitting near the bright sunny window it had contained, working away on her knitting while Ida’s father read a book. Everything had been perfect before the war. Ida’s world had been filled with happiness and love.
How swiftly life could change.
With a shake of her head she chastised herself for her maudlin thoughts and headed downstairs. It was pointless reflecting on something that would remain lost forever.
Better to look ahead.
She opened a door and surveyed the parlor. It was small, but comfortable. So were the dining room and the library. The study had been done up in a feminine style and fitted with an elegant escritoire that she immediately fell in love with. It made sense that the earl had meant for his mother to live here. The house was clearly intended to house a woman, not a man, and whoever had furnished it had done so sparingly, albeit with an eye for good taste.
Ida’s stomach grumbled, alerting her to her increasing hunger. It was time to locate the kitchen and find some food. But after rummaging through all the cabinets and inspecting the larder, the only edible items she came up with were some stale biscuits.
At least there was tea.
Grabbing a jug, Ida stepped out into the small back courtyard where the water pump stood. Within ten minutes she had the water she needed, had filled a kettle, and lit the stove. Fifteen minutes later, she perched herself on a stool and sampled her efforts while glancing around, wondering what to do next. Fielding hadn’t been very precise when he’d departed last night. He’d just told her they’d speak tomorrow, so it could be late afternoon before he decided to rise, finished conversing with the secretary he likely employed, and remembered to check on her. By which time she would likely have starved to death.
She reached for one of the stale biscuits, puffed out a breath, and took a bite. It tasted all right, but the texture was awful – like trying to chew through a stack of paper. Nevertheless, she finished it off and ate two more. It was either that or feel like her stomach was being ripped open from within.
Once done, she returned to the hallway, taking another cup of tea with her, and studied the clock. Her shoulders sagged. It was only a few minutes after nine – a measly hour since she’d woken. At this rate she’d soon be rearranging furniture out of sheer boredom.
Unless of course she used her time productively.
Turning her back on the odious clock, she went to the study and took a seat at the escritoire. It didn’t take long for her to locate the items required to pen a letter. All the necessary supplies were in a drawer.
With a quick inhale, she dipped her quill in the ink well.
Dear Philipa,
Upon reaching Windham House last night, I learned that Guthrie has travelled and will not return for the next three weeks, so I have sought help elsewhere. Please do not fret, for I am perfectly safe, though I prefer not to say where in writing.
Hopefully, I shall see you again soon.
With love,
Ida
Happy with the message, Ida blotted the ink, folded the paper, and sealed it with a blob of red wax. She’d have to ask Fielding to have it delivered, today if possible.
Refusing to look at the clock when she re-entered the hallway, Ida averted her gaze from it as she went to collect her knitting. There wasn’t much work left on the second half-glove she was making for herself, but the eyelet pattern had challenged her skill from the very beginning, and every once in a while she caught herself miscounting the stitches. Even so, she still managed to complete the accessory in just under an hour and proudly tried the pair on. She gave her hands a satisfied smile. The gloves would serve her well come winter.
Right. What next?
There was always the library.
Venturing into the neat room where four large bookcases stood against one wall with a loveseat opposite, Ida scanned the shelves and was happy to find a couple of cookbooks. They weren’t on prominent display but stuffed into a corner like surplus items from another household in hasty need of a new location.
To Ida, they were like gold, for she loved discovering new recipes. Her mother had been an excellent cook and she’d taught Ida everything she knew. After she died, Ida had cooked for herself and her father, then occasionally for Philipa and the rest of the girls at Amourette’s whenever the cook there was sick or needed a rest.
Leafing through the pages, Ida made a mental note of the recipes she’d like to try. She was especially fond of baking, so the tea buns and shortcakes tempted her most while the soups held less appeal. Recalling the escritoire, she pursed her lips and went to fetch some writing utensils. It was now just after eleven. By the time she’d finished jotting down all the ingredients she’d need for the buns and the stew she’d decided to try, it was half past twelve.
Returning to the foyer, Ida stared at the front door and willed Fielding to open it – to arrive so they could get on with the day. Instead, the clock kept ticking away the seconds at an infernally slow pace. To her annoyance, Ida realized she was starting to get hungry again. All that thinking about delicious food had not been the best idea after all. Reading something tedious like The Canterbury Tales might have been wiser. It would at the very least have put her straight back to sleep and saved her from standing here, hoping a man she barely knew would add some excitement to her day.
When he still hadn’t shown up half an hour later, she made her decision. With the money she’d brought along from Amourette’s stashed in her pocket, she exited through the back door and set off at a brisk pace. If Fielding showed up before she returned, then he could wait for her for a change.
Chapter Four
