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“A moment,” John said brusquely. “Enid—when I told everyone to use the servants’ stairs, I wasn’t aware of the extra burden it would mean for you.”
She shot him a cold glance through spectacles with octagonal lenses. “The next time you start barkin’ out orders, you might stop to think about how everyone’s not the same.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Obviously you’ll use the main staircase.”
That didn’t seem to please her in the least. “I don’t want special favors.”
“It’s not a favor,” John replied. “I would never ask you to heed a rule that would prove both painful and dangerous.”
“Why not let everyone use the good stairs?” she asked. “Aren’t none of us fit to set our feet on the same steps as her ladyship?”
“The rule comes from me,” John said evenly, “not Miss Martin. This is our workplace, but it’s where she lives. She needs privacy to do as she pleases without having to worry about running into one of us wherever she goes. That’s the point of servants’ stairs.”
“She doesn’t mind,” Enid said.
“I mind. And so should you, if you’re wanting her to do the work that pays your wages.”
Enid met his gaze without blinking, not yielding an inch. Clearly the world had made few concessions for her, and she would make few concessions in turn. Her attitude was understandable. Probably justified. But the devil knew it didn’t make her any easier to get on with.
“Enid,” he said, “from now I’ll do my level best to consider your needs when I make decisions. But I want you to speak out whenever you feel it necessary, to help me understand your situation.”
“Why should I do your job for you?” she asked coolly, and turned away from him.
Mad Dog glanced over her head at John with a hint of something almost like sympathy before asking Enid, “Which way do you want facing out when I carry you?”
“Bad side.”
The coachman bent to hook his arms behind her knees and back and lifted her against his chest with great care.
John was struck by the sight of a man Ethan Ransom had described as a “vicious brute” treating the woman with such gentleness. “Mad Dog,” he said, “take her down the main staircase.”
“I can take her by way of the servants’ stairs.”
“No, those are too narrow. There’s far less risk of bumping Enid’s leg or tripping if you go on the main staircase.”
“I ain’t clumsy,” Mad Dog growled.
“I didn’t say you were,” John said in annoyance. “Bloody hell, can anyone in this house follow instructions without arguing?”
As Mad Dog opened his mouth to reply, John pointed in the direction of the main staircase. “Go.”
Mad Dog’s eyes narrowed, but he obeyed.
As the coachman descended the L-shaped staircase with Enid in his arms, their voices carried clearly through the main hall.
“How did you break your hip bone?” Mad Dog asked.
“I didn’t. I had tuberculosis.”
“That’s a disease of the chest, innit?”
“It started there, but it went from my lungs to my hip.”
“How?”
“Goes through the blood veins.”
“Oh. Them little tubes.”
