Lined along the carriageway stood a regiment of footmen in immaculate black-and-white livery, perfectly still, forming a living archway. At their head stood the butler, waiting to receive them.
Tom’s fatigue vanished at once. ‘Look, Miss Lucas! So many people!’
As the carriage halted, the butler, a tall man in formal attire, stepped forward to open the door. He was broad-shouldered, with sharp, angular features. Yet his expression was kind.
‘Welcome, ma'am,’ he said, his London accent sounding slightly incongruent with the surroundings.
He offered his hand. Charlotte descended. He lifted Tom next, swinging him lightly through the air.
‘What’s your name?’ Tom asked, intrigued.
‘Holden, Master Tom.’
‘Hol...den?’ Tom repeated, testing the syllables like a new toy.
Lord Stanley appeared upon the steps above, his figure a striking silhouette against the dark stone.
‘Ah, I see you have met my new butler,’ he said, taking Tom into his arms with effortless ease.
Without another glance, he turned towards the house. Upon noticing Tom’s apprehension at the sight of the mansion, he added, ‘How would you like to see the famous dagger gifted to me by the Ottoman Sultan?’
Tom’s fear vanished, replaced at once by boyish enthusiasm as he demanded to see it immediately.
‘Come to my study—I keep it in a case upon the mantelpiece, under lock and key. It is very valuable, you know.’
Charlotte and Sarah hesitated, unsure whether to follow, until he turned back.
‘Miss Lucas, Mrs Dent will show you to your rooms in the school wing.’
Then, to a nearby footman, ‘See that their luggage is taken up.’
Charlotte noted the housekeeper at once. Her grey hair was scraped into a severe bun, her posture ramrod straight.
When she spoke, her voice was as sharp as the morning air.
Mrs Dent appeared displeased—whether by the upheaval or by being required to assist, Charlotte could not tell.
‘How do you do?’ Charlotte ventured politely, endeavouring to make herself as agreeable as possible.
The woman’s lips thinned.
She did not return the greeting.
Instead, she looked Charlotte up and down with cool appraisal before turning on her heel. Extracting information from this woman was going to be harder than she had anticipated. Her shoulders sagged slightly.
‘Follow me,’ came Mrs Dent’s clipped voice.
Charlotte and Sarah hurried after her, struggling to match her brisk pace.
The efficiency of the household unsettled her. There was order here—too much of it.
The corridors of Alderley Park seemed endless—an elegant labyrinth of marble floors, gilt-framed portraits, and staircases twisting in disorienting directions. By the time they reached the nursery floor, she had entirely lost her bearings.
‘Here you are, Miss Lucas,’ Mrs Dent said shortly. ‘Send for a footman if you require anything.’
Charlotte seized the opportunity, though it might make her appear something of a gossip.
‘This seems a very comfortable room. I am surprised Mrs Wilberforce did not move back here once the refurbishments were completed.’
