Drops of Gold(14)

“You wished to see me, sir?”

He recognized his housekeeper’s voice.

“Yes, Mrs. Sanders.” Layton walked back to his desk. “I would like to know what you think of our new Miss Wood?”

Mrs. Sanders looked understandably confused—they’d discussed Miss Wood only a half hour earlier, though not in detail. “She is . . . very cheerful.” Mrs. Sanders didn’t seem to approve of cheerful.

“I have noticed,” Layton said. “Is she competent?”

“I couldn’t really say.” Mrs. Sanders’s brows knit. “She is, perhaps, a little free with her speaking. Tends to ramble, she does. I believe she lets her mind wander a bit too often.”

“She’s young,” Layton offered as a reason.

“Twenty next month, I believe.”

She somehow seemed younger than that. Naiveté, maybe. The seven years’ difference between their ages felt more like decades.

Miss Wood returned, a little out of breath, her cheeks pink as though she’d run from the nursery wing, two stories above the library. Her eyes found Mrs. Sanders, and beneath the flush of exercise, she paled.

So she’d been fabricating. Why did that disappoint him?

Time to play the diplomat.

Layton held his hand out to Miss Wood. Her hand shook as she placed a piece of folded parchment in his hand. He was tempted not to open the blasted thing. Six nursemaids and now the governess. Why on earth couldn’t he find someone who met even the basic requirements?

Mary had seemed so promising. Caroline adored her. She was educated. When she wasn’t talking like a street urchin, she had the accent of the upper class. She’d already affected a positive change on Caroline—the girl had chattered that afternoon as though she hadn’t a shy bone in her body. But lying about the terms of her employment was inarguable grounds for dismissal. With Mrs. Sanders as witness, Layton had no idea how to avoid discharging her in spite of his promise to Caroline.

Managing to hold back a sigh of disappointment, Layton slowly unfolded the letter.

Miss Mary Wood,



I am pleased to offer you the position at Farland Meadows in Nottinghamshire. The position includes Sunday mornings free as well as one day off per month and one week per year. I am prepared to offer you a salary of thirty pounds per annum.



Layton stopped. “Thirty pounds per annum.” In his housekeeper’s handwriting. He felt his jaw clench, even as his stomach unknotted. Miss Wood had been telling the truth. But how, he wondered, would Mrs. Sanders explain her insistence that the salary was twenty per?

He hazarded a glance at the governess. She wrung her hands in front of her, still pale and unwilling to meet anyone’s gaze. It seemed she still expected to be found at fault, despite the evidence she’d produced.

And what servant wouldn’t? He himself had pointed out that her position did not hold the weight the housekeeper could claim.

He read on.

We are in immediate need of your services. If you reach Farland Meadows by Christmas Day, you will receive a full quarter’s salary upon arrival.



Yrs., etc.,



Mrs. Sanders



Housekeeper, Farland Meadows



“What day did you arrive at Farland Meadows, Miss Wood?” Layton kept his eyes on the letter in his hands.

“Christmas Eve, sir.”

“Good for you,” he replied, frantically thinking his way through the muddle around him. He didn’t want dissension among the staff, so he needed to tread lightly. He would not, however, tolerate a servant being cheated. “Seven pounds, ten. Worth the effort, I am sure.”

There was a heavy pause. Layton looked up at Miss Wood. She fidgeted, shifting on the spot as if reluctant to reply. Her eyes darted to Mrs. Sanders, and an unpleasant suspicion began sneaking through Layton’s mind.

He turned his eyes to Mrs. Sanders, who, though she maintained her unruffled exterior, seemed a touch uneasy.

“Miss Wood praised your generosity, Mrs. Sanders,” he finally said. “Bonus pay and thirty pounds per annum.” He held the letter up so the housekeeper would know she couldn’t deny it. “It would seem I have a most capable housekeeper. Considering the rate at which we went through nursemaids, I applaud your efforts.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mrs. Sanders replied, looking all boosted confidence. Something about that rubbed Layton wrong.

“And intuitive to hire a governess this time,” Layton added. He watched indecision flit across Mrs. Sanders’s face. He hadn’t failed to notice the vagueness of her offer of employment in Miss Wood’s letter. “Perhaps that will make the difference we have been looking for.”

“Yes, sir.” Mrs. Sanders apparently decided to take credit for a decision Miss Wood claimed she had denied previously.