Page 16 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Sammy looked around at the acres of paintings, and polished wood. To her, it seemed the more obvious response was how could they possibly not.

‘We will establish your schedule,’ he said. ‘What days would you prefer to take off?’

She clattered up the stairs to the half landing. Days off. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I . . . haven’t really thought about it. Sorry.’ She scrambled for a practical response.

A single eyebrow lifted. Not sharply . . . just enough.

Ah. A mistake.

Magnus strode on upwards. They reached the upper landing.

‘What days do you take?’ she asked.

‘I do not have designated days off,’ he said.

She heard a fly buzzing at a window trying to get outside. ‘Right,’ Sammy said quickly. ‘Of course. Yes. Sorry.’

‘There are occasions when I attend to matters in the village,’ he continued. ‘Errands. Requirements. There is always something to be done to reinforce the family’s position in Brambleton.’

‘What would you like me to say?’ she asked. ‘About days off, I mean.’

A flash of genuine confusion crossed his face. ‘What would I like you to say?’

‘Yes,’ she said, immediately aware that this sounded wrong. ‘I mean . . . what’s the right answer?’

The fly batted against the window.

‘There is no “correct” answer,’ he said.

‘Right. Yes. Of course there isn’t.’ The words came out in a rush. ‘Sorry. That was . . . sorry.’

She dropped her gaze, then forced it back up again, and immediately wished she hadn’t. He stood straight, tie knotted perfectly, jacket smooth, as if someone might inspect him at any moment. There wasn’t anyone. Just her.

‘Take the time you require to maintain efficiency,’ Magnus said. He reached over and pushed up the sash window, releasing the fly. ‘Two days per week is standard.’

‘Two days,’ she repeated. ‘Yes. That sounds . . . sensible.’

‘Mrs Williams took a Monday and a Tuesday.’

‘Monday and Tuesday. Fine. Sorry,’ she said again, under her breath.

Magnus’s eyebrow lifted, decisive this time.

End of conversation?

‘Let us proceed, Miss Jenkins,’ he said.

‘Yes. Absolutely. Proceeding.’

‘We will go downstairs and go through the linen schedules. After which, you can make something for us to eat.’

Sammy pulled her attention back to him. Right. Focus. ‘No chickens involved.’

Magnus regarded her levelly ‘No chickens.’

Five

By lunchtime, Sammy had been given clear instructions: prepare a meal. Lay the table. Simple. In theory. She stood at the kitchen window, eyeing the garden as if it might offer answers.