Secrets of Sloane House(22)

Lolly groaned. “Ooh, but I hate starting the fires. I can never get the flame to catch.”

“I’ll do it then,” Rosalind soothed. She’d built many a fire at home. At least here she didn’t have to worry about fuel to feed it. At Sloane House, there was as much wood and coal as anyone could ever dream about.

While she removed the grate and began filling the coal bucket, Lolly scurried around the room like she was on fire herself.

While Rosalind continued to prepare the fireplace, Lolly picked up one of the three ornate clocks that were grouped on an occasional table. “Have you ever seen the like?” she asked as she fingered the dove carved at the top.

“You’d best put that down. And I already dusted that clock.”

Lolly set it down with a hasty thump, rattling the china, almost toppling the stack to the floor.

“Please be careful,” Rosalind warned.

“Oh, I am. It’s just . . . are you almost done? We need to finish, and quickly.”

Rosalind turned and stared at the tiny young housemaid. She didn’t look like her usual self at all. She looked pale and agitated. “Lolly, you are shaking like a leaf! What is wrong?”

“Since Nanci’s sick, I’m supposed to go up to help Mrs. Sloane dress. And she likes her hair real particular, you know. If Emma doesn’t get to her room on time, Mrs. Abrams said I’m supposed to try to help her!” A line formed between her brows. “Oh, I could wring that Nanci’s neck, I could! Why in heaven’s name did she have to pick today to be sick?”

That seemed to be the question of the day. Since she had no answer, Rosalind merely shooed her on her way. “Go on now. I’ve got things under control.”

“You sure?”

“Of course. As soon as I get the fire started, I’ll double check that everything’s set up perfectly, and then will be right behind you.”

Lolly sent her a grateful smile, then trotted out of the room.

Alone again, Rosalind breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment there, she’d been sure Lolly was going to upset the stack of china or knock over a lamp. She’d been very unlike herself—not only clumsy, but extremely nervous too.

After striking the match, Rosalind watched the flame take hold with a feeling of satisfaction. The heat emanating from it felt so comforting that she let herself relax some and watch the flames dance across the coals.

Kind of like how the staff all jumped and darted through the house, she mused.

It was amazing how everyone who raced to do the Sloane family’s bidding was in a constant state of panic. The slightest frown or admonition from a member of the family could set some maids to vapors.

Rosalind supposed the obligation to see to the family’s every whim came from a lifetime of being in service. Working all day at pleasing other people was still new to her since her father had always said there was only one being—the Lord—whom he needed to please.

Now that the fire was blazing, she efficiently replaced the grate and took one last turn around the room. It all looked to be in order. The china was neatly stacked; linen napkins were carefully folded. Trays were laid out for the tea sandwiches and cakes Cook would deliver shortly. Yes, it was all as perfect as it could be. So much so that even Mrs. Abrams would surely find no fault with her efforts.

“You are still here? This room should have been readied ten minutes ago!”

Startled to hear Veronica’s voice, Rosalind whirled and jostled three sets of cups and saucers close to the server’s edge. With a crash, they fell and broke at her feet. Letting out a cry, Rosalind quickly crouched down and scooped up two pieces. However, the clumsy movement only served to create more chaos. She gasped as a shard pierced her skin.

“What have you done?” Veronica yelled.

With a feeling of doom, Rosalind met her gaze. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know . . .”

Veronica’s stormy gray gaze eclipsed her beautiful sky-blue gown with its exquisitely designed leg-of-mutton sleeves—sleeves that Rosalind herself had pressed to perfection just that morning!

Pointing at the broken china littering the floor, Veronica glared. “Girl, don’t just sit there! My guests will be here any moment.”

Dutifully, Rosalind bent and grasped more of the broken shards. Another piece sliced her palm. As a thin trail of blood oozed from the cut, she clumsily curved her hand upward. What would she do if blood stained the expensive Persian carpet?

“Where is everyone? Abrams?” Veronica shouted. “Mother? Mother!”

Mrs. Abrams came running, followed by Mrs. Sloane herself, who had obviously not gotten her hair restyled by either Emma or Lolly. When they surveyed the scene, they stopped abruptly.