The grizzled physician scanned Mia’s form too closely for comfort. “This ’un’s healthy enough,” he said, something in his eyes making her uncomfortable.
“John will show you down,” Mrs. Morrit said pointedly, drawing his eyes from Mia.
He glanced back.
“Now,” Mrs. Morrit said in a tone that brooked no argument.
“I can return in the morning,” Mia told Selina after the footman had led the doctor out.
Her cousin grabbed her hand and whined, “Don’t leave me here alone.”
“Stay? But surely Mrs. Morrit—”
“We do not have time to cater to an uninvited guest. You will nurse your cousin, Miss Selwyn. We will send word to your uncle.” Mrs. Morrit’s tone allowed no objection or opinion. “I will have a pallet brought up and order dinner on trays.” She paused as if weighing how little she could do. “You will fetch it, of course, Miss Selwyn. I will have someone show you the servants’ stair.” She turned on her heels and left.
At least I’ll get out of this room, Mia thought.
A footman and maid arrived soon after. The footman flopped a pallet on the floor, leered at Selina, and left. There would be no help from that quarter.
The maid put two tallow candles on the washstand and dropped a bundle of wood near the hearth. Mia recognized her as the little gossip she had encountered at the tearoom in Nether Abbas.
“Mrs. Morrit sez as how you’re to serve that ’un,” the girl said, indicating Selina with a movement of her head. “I heard she walked here in the rain wearing a gown you could see through after she got soaked. The footmen were all buzzing around,” she said. The maid picked up the water pitcher, a practical sort of vessel of thick white clay, and handed it to Mia before she could respond to the outrageous comment.
The maid paused, her avid eyes studying Selina, their cloaks, the bundle of clothing on the desk, and Mia. “I recognize you from the village. You’re that poor relation that was forced on Viscount Clavering,” she said.
Mia raised her chin and peered down her nose, grateful to be taller. “Miss Selwyn is a guest here. Dr. Gratis ordered her to stay over, and as her cousin, I’ve been asked to maintain propriety.” Mia tried to hand the pitcher back, but the girl ignored her.
“That’s the one I meant, the cousin.” The little gossip shrugged. “Best come, then. I ought to warn you anyways.”
“Warn me about what?” Mia said, following her down the hall.
The maid raised a hand to quiet her. As they neared the end of the passageway, she leaned toward the last door as if listening for something.
The corridor ended in a plain wooden door that led to a typical servants’ stairway—narrow, shadowed, and steep. Just enough light filtered in through a vent above them to see.
When the door closed behind them, the maid whispered, “That last room is his. You best avoid it.”
“Who?”
“The cripple, of course,” the girl said. “I heard no decent woman is safe around him. Keep your door locked, especially at night. I heard he done foul things to his own stepmother. Other wimmen, too, but I never heard who. Fillmore had him dragged out and beaten good. Maudy over at the general goods store told me she heard two girls left town right after he did, and Harry at the—”
“What’s your name?” Mia asked.
“I’m Mercy Miller,” the girl said.
World-class gossip.
They reached the bottom and turned down a similarly hidden passageway. “How long have you worked here?” Mia asked.
“On two years. I come from Dorchester when my brother…when I heard they were hiring. Great monster of a place is Woodglen. Takes a lot of folk to tend to it,” the maid said.
“So neither you nor your family lived near here when Mr. Kendrick left years ago,” Mia said.
“No, but people talk. I know what I’m saying,” the girl went on. “Here’s the kitchen. You kin find yer own way back.” She flounced off.
Mia found the pump and filled her pitcher with fresh water. Upon her asking, a kitchen maid gave her two mugs with a grudgeful sneer. It took more prodding to get the approximate time for dinner.
She approached a passing footman and asked her most burning question. “Where can I find the library?”
