The Maid of Fairbourne Hall(44)

She stared at him a moment longer, then relaxed and returned her gaze to her embroidery. “I like her. I did not at first, I own. But she has proved most helpful to me.”

“Has she indeed? I am glad to hear it.” He paused. “So, how are plans progressing for the servants’ ball?”

Helen smiled. “Very well, I think.”

Knowing Helen had not initially approved of the new steward, he asked, “And how are you getting on with Hudson?”

She kept her eyes averted, but her needle stilled as she considered. Then her mouth crooked and a dimple appeared in one cheek. She echoed, “I like him. I did not at first, I own. But he has proved most helpful to me.”

Nathaniel grinned. “Shall I announce the ball soon?”

“Yes. Do.”





That night, Nathaniel was surprised to see “Nora” walking away from the house through the moonlit arcade. It was after ten. Why was she not in bed like every other no-doubt-exhausted maid? Was she leaving Fairbourne Hall? He followed her quietly but was relieved when she turned at the end of the arcade and started back at the same pace, apparently out for a simple stroll, like a lady of leisure. Seeing him, she started and looked about her for a place to disappear, but the narrow walkway offered little cover.

“Good evening, Nora.”

She flashed him a look of surprise and alarm, clearly not expecting nor wanting him to address her.

“Sir.” She dipped her head and made to skirt around him, but he halted before her.

“And what brings you outside this evening?”

“Em . . . just takin’ a bit of air, sir.”

He bit back a smile at her accent. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“That’s it, sir.” Reluctantly she turned toward him, head bowed.

“I am sorry to hear it. Do you not find your life here . . . comfortable?”

“I’m not complainin’, sir.”

“I am surprised.”

She darted a glance up at him, moonlight and confusion streaking her face.

“A life in service must be difficult,” he said gently. “I understand you have not been a housemaid before?”

“No, sir.”

“You had not long planned to enter service, I take it.”

She shook her head.

“May I ask what you had planned for your life?”

“I . . . don’t know, sir. Live independent-like, I suppose. Or marry.”

“Oh? And who might the lucky man be?”

She ducked her head once more, clearly uncomfortable. “I couldn’t say, sir.”

Did she think he was trying to seduce her? He was making a poor job of it if he was. Still, he hated the thought of her nurturing a low opinion of his character.

“You needn’t worry, Nora,” he said. “I have no ungentlemanly intentions in speaking to you. Now, I will bid you good-night and hope you sleep well.”

“Thank you, sir.” She scurried past him, back into the refuge of Fairbourne Hall.





During morning prayers the next day, Margaret watched Nathaniel Upchurch carefully, wondering about his strange behavior of the night before. She hoped he had spoken the truth—that he had no improper intentions toward her. Then why had he taken the time to speak with her when he had rarely done so before?

Across the hall, Nathaniel capped his prayer with his usual amen, then removed his spectacles and tucked them into his pocket. He regarded the assembled servants, but instead of dismissing them, he drew his shoulders back and began, “I have an announcement. It has come to my attention that over the last two years, the Christmas and Epiphany festivities here at Fairbourne Hall have been regretfully few. Therefore we have decided—Mr. Hudson, Miss Upchurch, and I—that it is long past time for a servants’ ball.”

Kitchen-maid Jenny let out a whoop, then quickly threw a hand over her mouth. Craig elbowed the hall boy, Freddy, beside him.

Mr. Upchurch allowed a small grin. “I take it the plan meets with your approbation?”

Freddy gushed, “Don’t know ’bout that, sir, but it sounds grand!”

Mr. Upchurch and his steward exchanged a look. Hudson chuckled. Mrs. Budgeon shook her head, but her stern expression was softened by the sparkle in her eyes.

“Miss Upchurch and Mr. Hudson are planning the affair and will no doubt keep you apprised of the details. But for now you are dismissed.”

Instantly the maids began whispering and giggling amongst themselves even as the footmen and grooms laughed and teased each other. Mrs. Budgeon didn’t even reprimand them, which was surprising. Margaret hoped the ball would be a success and they would all enjoy themselves. . . .

Wait. I am a servant, she thought. She would be attending. Her first servants’ ball as a servant.

She had attended several in her youth, as the daughter of the family. Her father had insisted upon allowing their small clutch of servants an evening of frivolity and pleasure on Twelfth Night. Lime Tree Lodge was too small to have a proper servants’ hall, and the basement kitchen and workrooms were too cramped for dancing. So Stephen Macy had given them use of the family dining room, pushing the table to the side to be laden with punch and victuals, and the rest of the furniture cleared away for the night. He’d hired several waiters to do the serving and cleaning up and brought in a fiddler to play the dances. When she was old enough to stay up late, she had joined in with the dancing, finding it amusing to put her small silken hands in the gardener’s rough paws and be led around the room in a jig. She had felt a princess among peasants. Now she wondered if they had really looked upon her with the fond benevolence she had imagined, or if they thought her condescending and spoiled. She would not blame them.





When Margaret went to Miss Upchurch’s room to dress her hair the next morning, Helen said, “I must ask you to hurry today, Nora. I’m meeting with Mr. Hudson before prayers to finalize arrangements for the ball.”

Margaret nodded. Gathering the brush and pins, she said, “Would you ever consider inviting the staff of another house to join us?”

Helen looked at her in the mirror. “I had not thought of it. Why?”

Margaret began brushing Helen’s hair. “I met a housemaid from Hayfield when I went to Weavering Street, and she mentioned the house has been in mourning and the servants haven’t had any privileges or entertainments for over a year.”

Helen pursued her lip, considering. “I like the idea. I shall see what Mr. Hudson thinks.”

Margaret bit back a smile. “You have been spending a great deal of time with Mr. Hudson of late.”

“Do you think so? It is only that there are so many details to attend to.”

Is that all? Margaret wondered. “Perhaps a little rouge today, Miss Helen?”

“I’m not sure there’s time.”

Margaret traded hair brush for cosmetic brush. “Won’t take a moment.”

“Oh . . . very well. Why not.”

Margaret deftly brushed subtle color to Helen’s cheeks and dabbed just a smidge of lip rouge to her mouth. The old rouge pot was nearly empty, she noticed. She would soon need to make more. She switched to fine talcum powder and dusted Helen’s nose, chin, and cheeks.

Helen said wryly, “You are skilled in altering a lady’s appearance, I see. You handle that brush like an artist.”

Margaret shrugged, eyes focused on Helen’s cheek. “It is very like painting, actually.”

“Do you enjoy painting?”

“I did, yes. Though I haven’t done so in ages.”

Margaret gathered Helen’s hair and began to pin it up. “Miss Upchurch, I wonder. Do you remember that trunk of old gowns and things I found when I cleaned the schoolroom?”

“Yes?”

“If you haven’t use for them, would you mind allowing the maids to wear them? For the servants’ ball, I mean. Perhaps I could make over a few of them for the girls who haven’t a stitch beyond their everyday frock to wear.”

“That would be very kind of you, Nora. I am surprised you want to.”

“I would enjoy it very much.”

“Very well. Only don’t fail in your other work. We don’t want Mrs. Budgeon to find reason to dismiss you.” Helen’s eyes twinkled, and Margaret grinned in return.

Margaret found it funny and perplexing that Helen Upchurch still carried on the pretense, addressing her as the maid Nora, while at other times it seemed clear she knew who she really was. Was it merely a game to her or was it to keep her from becoming confused—from calling her Margaret or Miss Macy at an inopportune moment? Or was she enjoying treating her as a subservient? Margaret sensed no malice in the woman’s demeanor, but there was still that reserve, that caution in her aspect, that made Margaret realize she not yet passed whatever test Nathaniel Upchurch’s sister was giving her.





With Mrs. Budgeon’s approval, Margaret asked several of the maids to join her in Miss Nash’s room late one afternoon when their duties were done. She had one gown hanging on the dress form, two laid out on the bed, and two others spread on the worktable. She had in mind which gown would suit each woman but wanted to give them a choice in the matter.

Hester and kitchen maids Jenny and Hannah bustled in first, all giggles and eagerness, while Betty and Fiona held back, lingering in the threshold.