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At the thought of the gentleman from two days prior, Clara smiled to herself, crossing the chamber and setting the scuttle down before the hearth.

The cheek of some men. To think he could take advantage of a woman simply because she looked the part of a pauper.

Well, she’d certainly put him in his place. After her words, she’d seen that obnoxiously confident light dim in his dark eyes. She’d then walked the four miles back to Bellthorne with a satisfied lilt in her step.

Of course, she was slightly concerned that he was to attend the house party, but she had every intention and every confidence that she would be able to remain hidden from all the gentlemen, as was her duty. At any rate, Mr. Cole would not take a second glance at her now she was dressed in her apron, cap, and drab, grey dress. She was certain he drew the line at seducing a tradesman’s daughter, anyway. He appeared far too prideful to pursue a simple housemaid.

Moving as swiftly as her inexperienced hands allowed, she set about her task, removing the ashes from the fireplace, cleaning the grate, tidying the hearth and fire-irons, laying fresh kindling, arranging the coal, then lighting the fire.

Typically, the lower housemaids would be tasked with this type of work, but as Clara had yet to prove her worth to the housekeeper, Mrs. Wintle had tasked her to see fully to fifteen rooms on her own.

“Harriet or I will be sure to inspect each room. This way, I shall know if you may continue with this labor or if you shall be demoted to scrubbing pots with the scullery maids.”

Clara couldn’t imagine anything worse than having to work in the lower floors, under the constant watchful eye of Mrs. Wintle and Mrs. Jennet, the cook. Mrs. Jennet seemed kind enough, but moving about the house at least provided Clara with a few seconds of freedom she otherwise would not have.

And cleaning up rooms as grand and spacious as Bellthorne Hall was far more enjoyable than emptying the slops for the Kidwell family in their two-bedroom hovel in Nostell. Clara had been removed from her position specifically because she’d refused to empty the slops.

She had learned a thing or two since then—namely bribing the maids-of-all-work or other lower house maids to do the job for her while she did three of theirs.

Clara focused on finishing the work of setting up the fires in the four rooms, then opened the windows to air out the chambers before scurrying down the servants’ stairs. After washing her coal-covered hands in the basin in her room, she changed to a fresh apron, then returned upstairs to retrieve the linens from the linen room nearby for all four rooms. Then she raced back to the hall.

There, she took on one room at a time, closing the windows to allow the warmth to accumulate, replacing the bedding with fresh linens, and preparing the washstand with cold water—as the hot water would be brought up as soon as the guests arrived.

Mrs. Wintle would be up later to place the notice of events in the rooms today, as well. The housekeeper hadn’t expressed her approval of Clara’s work, but the fact that Clara was still at Bellthorne was evidence enough that Mrs. Wintle accepted the hours spent on the task.

Finally slipping into a rhythm, Clara finished two rooms with ease, but by the time she reached the third, she realized all too late she hadn’t properly started the fire, and the hearth was as cold as it was void of flames.

Thinking quickly through her options—though admittedly, her logic was altered due to her exhaustion over working the last couple of days—she settled on restarting the fire before finishing the bed, figuring warmth was more important for a traveling guest than anything.

After ensuring the fire had properly been started, she wiped her hands as best she could on her now-dirty apron, turned the soiled fabric inside out, then set about making the bed.

She wiped her fingers across her brow to remove her hair to one side, then smoothed out the sheet—only to leave behind a long, black smear of coal against the crisp, white linen.

“Blast,” she whispered to herself.

She peered down at her hand, seeing the stain she must have picked up from her wiping her brow. She tried to remove it on her apron, but only proceeded to make it worse, so she washed her hands in the water provided for the guest, emptied it into her slop bucket—which was, of course, empty due to having no guests to care for yet—then returned to the bed.

Blowing out a deep breath, she flipped the sheet back over, but the black streak had been so thick, it now shone through the other side, then when she made to put the sheet on the right way round, she realized all too late that the lower sheet had ultimately become tainted, as well.

Clara growled under her breath. “Of all the...”

She could go back and get another sheet, but Mrs. Wintle would know she’d sullied one if the count of linens was off for the bed chambers. The woman’s hawk-eyes were always on her, and she’d have no problem discovering that Clara was to blame.

At any rate, she was running out of time. At that precise moment, bright rays of sunshine poured into the windows of the third bed chamber, signaling the beginning of the arrivals.

Clara could not risk being spotted. That would be worse for Mrs. Wintle than anything, she was sure of it.

Tapping her chin, Clara shrugged, then twisted the sheet around again so the stain was on the lower end of the bed. Better to have a stain than risk being accused of overusing linens or being spotted by a woman who did not wish to know maids existed.

Hopefully whoever was in the room would sleep so very still, the coal would go unnoticed. Or perhaps she could blame the stain on the bedpan. Either way, she’d fix the problem as it came up.

Covering the stain with the large blanket, she cleaned up her area and finished the room before moving on to finish the final in the hall.

She was almost finished—and she’d remained unnoticed. Maybe she wasn’t a terrible maid after all.

Six

Just as the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, Oliver was shown through Bellthorne by a wide-eyed footman who was walking so swiftly, Oliver could barely keep up.