Even if she were innocent of all but eavesdropping, what was he to do with her? Let her go? Extract a promise of silence from her? Bribe her?
She bent over the paper and wrote again. As she did, twin coils of hair came loose and fell forward. When she looked up once more, with dark curls framing her pale face, he recognized her with a start as the girl from the hunt. He had been ready to believe her—that she had stumbled upon his estate with no ulterior motives. But this . . . To have her interrupt the hunt and then appear outside his very door? The names Brightwell and Bradley on her person? It was too much of a coincidence. He looked from her face to the final words she had written. Words that pricked his pride.
You have nothing to fear from me.
“I, fear you? You will find, Miss Keene, that you had better fear me. As acting magistrate, I hold the power to see you imprisoned, or worse. Do I make myself clear?”
She nodded, but did not look as frightened as he might have wished.
When the housekeeper knocked and tentatively stepped back into her own parlor, Edward straightened and announced, “Mrs. Hinkley, good. It seems Miss Keene would like nothing more than a trial post at Brightwell Court. Three months. Is that not so, Miss Keene?”
Again, that irksome hesitation. Did the chit think he was giving her any choice? He glared at her as a myriad of thoughts passed wordlessly behind those bright blue eyes. What he would give for a transcript.
Finally, she nodded. Almost meekly, he thought.
“What is she fit for?” the housekeeper asked, clearly dubious about the notion.
“Emptying chamber pots?” Edward offered helpfully. “Or scrubbing laundry, perhaps?” He liked the idea of assigning Miss Keene to the laundry. She would spend her time in the washhouse and have little contact with the other servants, and none at all with the family.
Miss Keene narrowed her eyes at him.
“Look at them hands, my lord. She has never seen the inside of a laundry, and that’s a fact.”
“Well, it is never too late to learn a new skill, is it?”
Mrs. Hinkley tapped her chin in thought. “With Miss Dowdle gone and Becky still hobbling about on that ankle, the nursery is shorthanded. We could use an under nurse. One of the housemaids has been lending a hand, but none too happily.”
“And what does an under nurse do, Mrs. Hinkley?” Though he addressed the housekeeper, his eyes held Miss Keene’s.
“Why, she bathes and dresses the children. Carries up the breakfast and dinner trays, and attends the older children. Nurse Peale, of course, is chiefly engaged with the infant.”
The idea of consigning Miss Keene to the nursery also appealed to him. High on the top floor, eating and sleeping separately from all the servants save a nurserymaid and old Nurse Peale, who had been his own nurse and was loyal to him to the last. And what of Judith? She went more rarely to the nursery than he privately thought she ought, but when she did, she was certainly not one to encourage the confidences of a servant.
Could he trust Miss Keene with the children? He believed so. He would have a word with Nurse Peale and ask her to keep a sharp eye on the new girl.
And when she did happen upon another servant or family member in the course of her duties, she was not likely to ask for a paper and quill, was she? Yes, the nursery seemed an excellent plan.
“Under nurse, it is, Mrs. Hinkley.” He turned to the girl. “You shall not leave the premises until I give you leave to do so. Nor post any letters without my consent. I trust I make myself clear?”
She opened her mouth as if to reply—or protest—but closed it again and nodded.
So until her voice returned, he should be safe enough. At least until he could figure out if he could trust this secretive, silent newcomer.
Chapter 6
A Young English Person wishes to obtain a SITUATION as
NURSE, Lady’s-maid, or Teacher in a school.
No objection to travel.
—ADVERTISEMENT IN THETIMES, 1853
When Lord Bradley had skewered her with his shrewd, icy-blue glare and pronounced that she would like a trial post at Brightwell Court—“Is that not so, Miss Keene?”—Olivia had known it was a command, not a question. Still, she had hesitated.
A part of her panicked at the thought of staying there. She had not gotten far enough away from Withington. Nor had she made it to St. Aldwyns as planned; her mother would not find her at Brightwell Court. But in truth, she needed a post and bore only the faintest hope of finding one at an unfamiliar girls’ school. With only a few coins left in her purse, and no character reference, she could ill afford to refuse a situation and a place to live. And really, had he given her any choice?
As soon as she was able, she would send word to the school, asking the proprietress to let her mother know where she was. What had she said? “I will come to you when I can. When it is safe.”
But would Olivia be any safer here? For she had overheard a good deal of the conversation between Lord Bradley and his father and could piece together the rest. Could not such knowledge put her in more danger than ever?
Mrs. Hinkley had allowed Olivia a few more hours’ rest, then removed the poultice. She gave Olivia a long white apron to wear over her gown—the sole dress in her possession. Only the footman and the coachman had livery, she explained. The female servants wore modest frocks and plain aprons.
Without ceremony, the housekeeper lifted Olivia’s frayed hem, took one look at the thin, stained slippers, and said, “It’ll have to be new half boots for you when you get your first wages. Eight guineas per annum, paid quarterly.”
Eight guineas? A trifling sum indeed.
“You’ll have your own small room off the nursery, once Doris moves her things out.”
Olivia nodded, taking it all in. The fact that the young lord had children surprised her. Was he the Lord Bradley mentioned in the marriage announcement Mother saved?
“Come along. I shall help you get your bearings and introduce you to Miss Peale.”
Olivia followed Mrs. Hinkley out of her parlor, where the woman paused. “To the left are the butler’s pantry and serving room, which supply the dining and breakfast rooms there ahead of us. Below us are the menservants’ quarters, kitchen, and servants’ hall. You shall see those another time.”
Mrs. Hinkley turned right, striding into the lofty central entry hall with its double front door, tall windows, and white-and-black marble floor. “On the other side of this hall are the library, billiards room, and drawing room. You’ll not need to see those.”
Olivia followed the housekeeper up the hall’s stone, cantilevered staircase, gripping the carved banister to steady herself. When they reached the first floor up, Mrs. Hinkley did not pause. “The family bedchambers and Lord Bradley’s study are on this floor.”
Olivia was huffing by the time she reached the top floor, but Mrs. Hinkley marched up the stairs and along the corridor with a soldier’s unaffected vigor. “And up here are the nursery, children’s sleeping chamber, and schoolroom. The nurse and housemaids have rooms up here as well.” She knocked on a pair of double doors and pushed both open without awaiting a reply from within. She gestured Olivia in beside her.
In the bright, cheery nursery, Olivia glimpsed a thin adolescent girl blackening the fireplace grate, and an elderly woman rocking a child. The woman rose gingerly at their entrance, the rocking chair still swaying behind her. The chubby baby in her arms sat upright of his own strength but was less than a year old. He wore a long white gown and had a halo of white-blond wisps about his head. The child did resemble his papa.
“Miss Peale. This is Olivia Keene, your new under nurse. She has not been in service before, so you will need to instruct her in her duties.”
The old nurse frowned. “Never been in service? At her age? What has she been about all this time?”
The housekeeper pursed her lips. “I am afraid I do not know. My Lord Bradley offered her the post.”
The grey eyebrows rose. “Did he indeed? Who recommended her?”
“No one that I am aware of. She presented no letter of character.”
Both women looked at her as though she were a freak of nature. Even the adolescent maid paused in her work to stare.
Olivia attempted an apologetic smile.
Nurse Peale narrowed her eyes. “And what have you to say for yourself, my girl?”
Mrs. Hinkley cleared her throat. “Nor has she the ability to speak, I am afraid.”
The old woman stared, incredulous. “What? A mute?”
“Only temporarily, or so Dr. Sutton says. She suffered an injury but should recover her voice in time.”
“And Master Edward offered her a post?”
“Yes, as I believe I said. So. I will leave the two of you to become acquainted. Olivia does read and write, should you want to communicate that way.”
The woman’s eyes clouded briefly, then sparked. “I shall make myself understood, Mrs. Hinkley. Never fear. But the care of Master Andrew and Miss Audrey . . . without sayin’ a word? What good she’ll be, I shudder to think. It’s children what is to be seen and not heard, not their nurses.”
Mrs. Hinkley smiled stiffly. “Yes, well. I trust the two of you will come to a suitable arrangement.”
Once Mrs. Hinkley left them, the old woman resumed rocking herself and the child, studying Olivia shrewdly. “I was Master Edward’s own nurse. Did he tell you?”