Page 27 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘You will use this for all bed linen, and the drying up cloths.’ Magnus said. ‘It ensures consistency.’ He stepped forward, lifting a sheet from a plastic basket – not a trug, that one, still a basket. ‘Valerie will demonstrate.’

Valerie took the sheet. ‘You feed it in evenly,’ she said. ‘Maintain tension. Don’t let it bunch.’ The sheet disappeared, emerging seconds later crisp and flawless.

Magnus left.

Sammy swallowed. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Even. Tension. No bunching. Easy.’

Valerie vacated the seat. Sammy sat. Feeling something sharp digging uncomfortably into her bottom, she pulled her phone out of her pocket, placing it on her lap. She picked up the next sheet. It was heavier than she expected and shifted awkwardly in her hands, as if trying to escape. ‘Right,’ she muttered. ‘Come on sheet, let’s make this a team effort.’

She fed the edge in. Too much on one side. The sheet skewed immediately, dragging sideways. ‘Oh, hang on . . .’ It bunched. ‘No, no, get back you . . .’ The machine continued pulling the fabric through at its own steady pace while the rest of the sheet twisted and dipped dangerously close to the floor.

Sammy lunged to correct it. Too late. Half of it was dragging, gathering dust. ‘That’s not ideal.’

‘You’ll make a lot of additional work for yourself if you sweep the floor with the sheets. I only mop in here on a Friday,’ said Valerie.

Sammy tried to tug the sheet straight. There was a small, decisive rip. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I can fix that,’ she added quickly. ‘I mean, not now, obviously, but later, I could . . .’

‘I didn’t think you’d manage this,’ said Valerie. ‘That was an old sheet.’

Sammy blew out a breath. ‘Oh. That’s reassuring,’ she said, although it didn’t feel reassuring.

She reached for the fabric again, attempting a more careful feed. The sheet slipped. Her fingers followed too closely. ‘Ow!’ she jerked her hand back, licking her fingers then shaking them. ‘That’s hot that is.’

‘It is an iron.’

‘Yes. Of course it is.’

‘I’d better tell Mr Magnus so he can record it in the accident book. Honestly, you’re supposed to help, not create more work.’

‘No . . . please don’t. It’s nothing.’ Sammy blew on her hand. She tried again, slower this time, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. The sheet went in straighter. Better. Still not perfect . . . but not catastrophic. Progress.

Her phone rang. She ignored it.

Sammy peeked sideway, catching Valerie with her arms folded across her chest. ‘I hope that’s a work call.’

A ping. Sammy stole a quick glance down. Chloe:

Can you talk? Drama here.

Sammy’s stomach lurched. ‘I’m sorry . . . won’t take a minute,’ she said, standing.

The call connected immediately. ‘Clo are you okay? What’s happened?’

‘I’m going to lose my mind. I can’t take much more of this.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘Her.’

Sammy could almost see her friend hands on hips, shouting into her speaker phone.

‘Chloe . . . is this an actual emergency?’

‘It feels like one.’

Sammy closed her eyes. When she opened them, Valerie let out a small, theatrical sigh and checked her watch.

‘Feels like one or is one Clo?’