Page 150 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Valerie pulled out her menu folder – Mr and Mrs Hastings were returning soon. ‘Still,’ she went on, ‘at least things can return to normal now.’

Magnus looked at her, directly enough that some of her brightness faltered.

Valerie watched him, the folder in her hand. Magnus had spent his entire adult life in this house. Seen staff arrive hopeful and leave exhausted. Miss Jenkins’s dismissal sat badly with him. He had invested time in her. Seen potential that Valerie doubted existed. ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting me to step fully back into the house keeping role.’

Finally, he spoke. ‘Miss Jenkins’s departure is unfortunate.’

Valerie set the file on the desk, sat down slowly, thrown by the absence of agreement. ‘Well . . . yes. Of course . . . But perhaps inevitable.’

‘Inevitable things are not necessarily desirable.’

‘I know the systems already,’ she said smoothly. ‘There’d be no disruption.’

Magnus clasped his hands behind his back. ‘You performed adequately as acting housekeeper.’

Valerie’s smile tightened. ‘Adequately,’ she repeated.

‘Yes.’

She flipped the file open. ‘Well,’ she said, forcing her voice lighter, ‘I’m loyal if nothing else.’

‘Loyalty is valuable.’

‘And experienced.’

‘Also, a valuable quality.’

Valerie waited for more. When nothing came, she felt the first stab of disquiet.

Magnus turned as if to leave. Before he did, she spoke quickly. ‘You won’t need to advertise externally though, surely.’

The rain spat hard against the windows.

‘The housekeeper position remains vacant,’ he said.

Valerie stared at him; she couldn’t think of anything to say.

After opening the house, Magnus shut himself into the silver room.

Valerie had already mopped the floor – too much water – he must have a word. Not today, not after their recent exchange, after trampling on her ambitions. Her expression had soured, slowly – like milk beginning to turn.

Magnus moved to the polishing table where Valerie had laid out the cloths and the tins. Exactly as he liked it. Soon the comforting smell of silver polish filled the room. He selected a tray.

A knock at the door.

‘Enter.’ He tilted the tray to the light, noticing a spot of tarnish on the rim, scrubbing it with his fingernail.

‘Sir.’

He peered closely at the tarnish. ‘Miss Jenkins.’

‘Could I speak with you?’

‘You may.’ He said putting the tray down.

She shut the door behind her. ‘I know I made mistakes,’ she said. ‘But I think – if you could . . .’ She stopped, tried again. ‘I don’t think it needs to end like this.’

Magnus replaced the tray, upright, precisely where it belonged.