They all laughed, darkly.
“We’re lucky Lucien wasn’t here, or there would be bloodshed,” she added, more morosely.
Lucien—Lord Bolt—and Captain Hardy were out at the ship. And they both knew that The Grand Palace on the Thames was the province oftheir wives. They did not involve themselves with the running of it unless specifically requested. But there had indeed been a few disconcerting occasions when a man on premises would have been useful for something other than heavy lifting or reaching the higher sconces. Ironically, this was one of the problems a footman was supposed to solve.
Captain Hardy had made certain everyone in the house knew how to shoot. Even Dot. But only Delilah and Angelique knew about the loaded pistol in the buttery. The “just in case” pistol.
“At least they’re weeding themselves out,” Delilah said. “Imagine if we’d hired him and he did that to any of the girls on staff.”
They shuddered.
Helga sighed heartily and returned to pummeling the bread while Delilah and Angelique settled back in at the table, chins in hands.
“Are you beginning to despair, Delilah?”
“Of course not,” Delilah said firmly. Although she’d hesitated just a little before she’d said that. “Perhaps we ought to advertise in the newspaper.”
“Perhaps,” she said, with less conviction. They hadn’t yet, as it was costly to advertise. “Speaking of the newspaper, where is Dot? She’s normally in with it by now.”
Dot liked to read the gossip aloud to everyone in the kitchen before breakfast. Newspapers being dear, it was then usually passed about and read by everyone who lived under the roof of The Grand Palace on the Thames until it was in tatters.
As if summoned, Dot drifted into the kitchenjust then. Her eyes, normally wide and round, seemed haunted.
They glanced down. Her hands were empty.
“Dot, is aught amiss?” Angelique said.
Dot turned her alarmed expression toward her.
“Didn’t you... go to fetch the newspaper, Dot?” Delilah asked gently.
“I did...” she began. Then she sighed and folded her hands like a penitent. “Well, I suppose I will just tell you. Today I read the gossip straight off! I couldn’t wait. You know I like to. I’m so sorry. I know I normally read it to everyone in the kitchen.”
She said this as though gossip was something that, once consumed, was then digested like a lemon seed cake, and could not be re-shared.
“Yes. Of course, understandable. No harm done.”
Dot took a breath. “There was a bit about Big Bartholomew Bellamy’s last words before he went to the gallows. ‘I will see this through!’ My heavens, so thrilling. So I read that. But then I read a lovely bit about Lady Lillias and how she was an... enchant... enchanter? Enchantress. And about Lord Bankham, of Heatherfield, who was an Adonis, and isn’t he a friend of their family’s? I thought she might like to read it, as she seems to be a bit out of sorts and I thought the pretty words might cheer her a little.”
Dot was kind. And she noticed a good deal more than most people suspected.
“So I brought it up to her and showed her and she was ever so kind. I stood by while she read it and . . .” She gulped. “She went white as a ghost!Oh my, she went so still! I thought it might be apoplexy. Cor, it gave me quite a fright.” She clapped her hand over her heart.
Delilah and Angelique exchanged baffled glances.
“And then Lady Lillias said”—and Dot adopted, amusingly, Lillias’s gilt-edged, dulcet aristocratic tones—“‘oh, dear, my hand slipped’—and she dropped the whole newspaper right into her fire. It was ashes in seconds.”
Angelique and Delilah absorbed this in amazement.
Something was indeed troubling the girl. What on earth could it be?
“I’m so sorry.” Dot raised her hands to her cheeks. “I didn’t know how she felt about Big Bartholomew.”
Angelique and Delilah had no idea what to think. “You were trying to do a kind thing, Dot, and you’re to be commended. Thank you,” Delilah said. “We’ll just have to fetch another newspaper. You might be able to find six pence in the epithet jar.”
“Thank you!” Dot was relieved.
She dutifully went off to have a look.
