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Pembroke went still and let out a controlled breath. “I was expressing my opinion, ma’am, about the next prime minister of England visiting a house full of paroled prisoners and rats.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to Mr. Gladstone here,” she protested, laughing. “It will be a perfectly nice interlude. We’ll serve tea, while I explain strategies for increasing economic growth and convince him of the imperative need for tariff reductions. I’ll finish with an analysis of what our military adventurism in Afghanistan and Africa has cost while our domestic infrastructure has fallen apart. England will be saved before dinnertime.” She dusted her hands in a tidy gesture. “Now, we’re expecting another visitor, who’s coming on Tuesday—”
“The queen?” he asked sarcastically.
“Mr. Farlow,” she corrected, her lips quirking. “He’ll stay for a few hours, as we’ll be negotiating a partnership agreement for the women’s bank. Whatever June decides to prepare for a light supper is fine with me—she knows all his favorites.” At his lack of reaction, she said, “I think you’ll like him quite well—he’s a charming gentleman.”
“Aye, ma’am.” Pembroke continued to write in the notebook, looking distinctly unenthused.
***
On Friday evening, just before they were to leave for the tertulia, John walked through the house to check the servants’ work. It was an improvement over last week—the cleaning was more thorough, the clocks were all set to the correct time, the ashes had been swept out properly from the hearth, and the tops of picture frames and doorways were free of dust.
The only unsatisfactory area he found was the upstairs sitting room, which was one of Enid’s responsibilities. A dusting rag had been left on the floor, the glass spills jar on the fireplace mantel hadn’t been refilled, and there were smudges on the pier glass mirror that hung over a demilune table.
Usually, Enid was meticulous about her work. Something was clearly amiss. Concerned, John began to leave the sitting room, when Belinda came charging in with a pail and a stack of clean rags tucked beneath one arm. Alan trotted after her, panting and wagging his tail.
“I know, I know, there’s smuts on the glass,” Belinda said, running to the hearth and setting down the pail. “Keep your hair on, I’m getting to ’em.”
“Is Enid all right?” John asked.
“Yeah, I’m helping with her work, while she puts Miss Martin’s hair up all fancy-like.” Belinda grasped a handful of paper spills from her apron pocket and stuffed them into the glass jar.
“Fancy-like?”
“Pinning it up in squiggles and curls and such.”
“Does Enid know what she’s doing?” John asked gingerly.
An emphatic nod. “Got a knack for it, she does. Learned when she was working for that no-good ratbag dressmaker what cheated her out of ’er wages.” Belinda continued to chat amiably as she went to the pier glass and cleaned it with a fresh cloth. “They had a big room, y’see, for when the fine ladies came to order theirselves a new dress and wanted to see what it looked like on girls walking around. So Enid, she helped the girls put on them fancy dresses and done their hair just like the magazine pictures.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Alan, who had picked up the discarded rag and was shaking it violently. “Good boy, Alan. Put it in the bucket. That one there.” She pointed to the metal pail, and the dachshund obligingly dropped the rag into it.
“You’re getting on with the dog, I see,” John remarked.
“We’re mates now, me and Alan,” Belinda surprised him by saying cheerfully. “A few nights ago I woke up hearing a rat scuttlin’ across the floor. ‘Od rot it,’ I says to meself, ‘now I ’as to drag me arse out of this nice warm bed to kill the bugger.’ But then Alan pops in and does it for me, quick as you like. Dog’s right useful, innit.”
“Aye, he is.” A smile began as John saw how clean the girl looked. Her complexion was smooth and almost clear, and her hair had been neatly plaited at the back and tied with a blue ribbon. “You’re well turned out today, Belinda.”
“You was right about the washin’,” Belinda admitted, squatting to pet Alan. “Ain’t hurt me none, I guess.”
The dachshund stood on his hind legs and braced his front paws against the girl’s shoulder as he tried to catch the end of the blue ribbon with his teeth. His playfulness drew a muffled laugh from her.
“Silly sausage,” Belinda crooned, scratching his little head. She glanced up at John with a grin. “Miss Martin give me one of her own ribbands for helping with Enid’s chores. ‘What am I s’posed to do with this?’ I asks her. ‘Ain’t got no one to pretty up for.’ And she says, ‘You can pretty up for yourself, is what.’ ” The girl shook her head. “Barmy. But June says that’s how genius brains work.”
John knew he should reprove her for referring to Reina as barmy, but he didn’t want to dampen her high spirits. He was struck by how relaxed and happy she appeared at that moment, like any fifteen-year-old girl petting a dog.
She’s changing, he thought. There was still a long path ahead, but no one could deny a transformation had begun when most people, himself included, would have doubted it was possible.
He needed to set aside some time to think about that. Somehow the world Reina had created within the parameters of this household was doing something for Belinda that prison hadn’t.
A movement at the doorway drew his attention, and every coherent thought collapsed as he saw Reina standing there in a red dress. Not the dark, subdued shades of wine or burgundy that women usually wore, but heart-blood red. It called to him, that color. It sank down to his marrow and spread through his veins . . . fueling every pulse . . . feeding anarchy.
It was a simple dress, embellished only with an edge of black lace at the neckline, and wisps of black tulle that served as a mere excuse for sleeves. The skin of her throat and shoulders looked smooth and plush, glowing as if she’d been steeped in sun. The upper swell of her breasts, and the enticing hint of a shadow between, were almost too much temptation to bear.
His gaze swept up to her pretty face, the smiling tip-tilted eyes, the hair arranged in a mass of twists and curls that begged to be invaded by his fingers.
He was vaguely aware that Enid had come into the room, and so had Tuppence, and Belinda was circling Reina to view her hair. The dog had caught their mood of excitement and was racing around the room.
