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Sarah stared at Mr. Selwood. Then again at the child. The girl’s frock was a creamy white, but not entirely clean. Her hair, though some attempt had been made for curls, mostly fell moppish around her pale cheeks. A light blue sash was fastened about her waist and tied in the back. Whoever had left her here had attempted to make a good impression but had fallen short.
“Sir, she is too young for a governess. She needs a nursemaid.”
“Nonsense,” he said.
“But I am not—”
“Who is the master of this house?”
“You, sir. But—”
“And do you wish to remain employed here?”
“I do, but—”
“Then it is settled.” He glared at her; his brows raised. Daring her to make another protestation.
But she could not narrow down the barrage of thoughts flooding her mind to articulate a coherent rebuttal. Not to mention the difficulty of being entreated by deep blue eyes framed in dark lashes. He could have anything he ever wanted if he glowered so beautifully at other women the way he was now doing at her.
Sarah shook her head. She must not get distracted by his beauty. This was about the child standing on the doorstep.
Who was this girl? Why had she been delivered so unceremoniously to Mr. Selwood’s care? And the concern which weighed heaviest: who was her father? Had Mr. Selwood left some poor woman in an unfortunate way and then shirked his duty?
His eyes narrowed at her as if he read her thoughts. Sarah quickly lowered her head. She would never dare ask him such a question.
“Good.” He turned to leave, but Sarah still had reservations.
“What about the letter?” she asked.
“What about it?”
“May I see it?” She held her hand out, realizing only after how completely inappropriate such a demand was.
“I don’t see how the contents are any matter of your concern.”
“How could it not be?” He treated this small human like he did his fancy clothing. Toss it here or there, someone else will take care of it. “Does she have a name? An age? Is she in health? How am I to care for her if I know nothing? What about a room for her? I don’t even know how long she’ll be here. Is someone coming back for her?”
He lifted the letter as if to hand it over, but then moved it behind his back instead. “Her name is Rosalina Basingstoke. You will have whatever funds you need to establish a room and any other requirements. I’ll instruct Mrs. Walker to help you.” He walked away, pausing only long enough to turn back and say, “No one will be coming for her.”
Then he disappeared around the corner, and the sharp slam of his library door echoed down the corridor.
Sarah turned to the girl still standing on the stoop, her hollow cheeks pink with cold and her nose running.
Sarah pulled a handkerchief from her apron pocket and wiped the child’s nose. “Well, I guess that’s that,” she told her.
The girl had not spoken a single word but watched the entire exchange barely moving a muscle. She seemed old enough to understand, but there was no way of knowing. Besides, what was done was done. No point causing the child even more distress with questions that might be painful for her to answer.
Sarah picked up the carpetbag with one hand and took the child’s hand with her other. It was icy cold but clung to hers with surprising strength. The poor thing must have been through quite an ordeal. Sarah couldn’t imagine the hurt on such a young and impressionable mind to be deposited unwanted at a stranger’s door.
“Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll take good care of you, yeh?” She gave the tiny hand a little squeeze. “Come along, then. First things first, let’s get you warmed and fed.” A child that age should have plump cheeks, not gaunt.
She led the child along the corridors until they reached the servant’s hall just off the kitchen. It was empty. Sarah seated the girl by the fire and added a few coals.
Trust Mrs. Walker to sense any unauthorized use of coal. She appeared as if she’d been summoned.
“What is the meaning of this?” Her eyes were like a falcon’s on its prey. “Do you have a child?”
If she did have a child out of wedlock, she’d be dismissed on the spot. No one with so much scandal attached would be allowed to work in a respectable house.
“No, ma’am. She’s Mr. Selwood’s.”
Mrs. Walker’s mouth dropped open.
Sarah found a shawl hanging on a hook and draped it over the girl’s shoulders and scooted her closer to the warmth. “Are you hungry?” she asked.
The child said nothing but gave the slightest nod of her head.
“Mrs. Walker, could you please ask the cook for a bowl of something warm and hearty?”
Mrs. Walker’s hands landed hard on her hips. “See here, Sarah Woolsey. Who are you to be ordering me about?”
“I beg your pardon, ma’am.” Sarah knelt beside the little girl. “I’ll get you something from the cook. You wait here, yeh?”
The girl reached out and grabbed onto Sarah’s apron.
“I’ll only be gone a moment. I promise I’ll be right back.”
The girl said nothing but did not loosen her grip.
“Would you like to come with me?”
She nodded her little head.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’ll go.” Mrs. Walker’s dress flared as she spun toward the door. “This is highly improper,” she muttered as she walked away. “Mr. Selwood’s child, my foot. No wonder the woman was so desperate for work.” Mrs. Walker disappeared.
Sarah smoothed the child’s hair. “Let’s not worry what she thinks. She’s got a few too many keys hanging from her belt, if you know what I mean.”
The child stared into the fire.
“Now then, Rosalina Basingstoke. That’s quite a mouthful for someone the size of a half pint. How about we find something that fits a little better. Just until you grow into it?”
The girl did not respond. Seemed Sarah would be having a lot of conversations with herself over the next few years.
Years? She glanced down at the girl. She could never stay here that long. She’d been grateful for work and took it only with thoughts of gaining funds to pay her way to America. It was the only way she could think of to escape her past. Mr. Selwood would have to find another governess, one that could settle in and stay. In the meantime, she’d do what she could for this small and frightened child.
“Perhaps Rose would suit you better?”
There was, of course, no response from the child whose fist still clenched Sarah’s apron front.
“Here you are, then,” said Mrs. Walker, returning with a bowl of warm porridge, bread, and a few slices of ham.
“Thank you, Mrs. Walker. I promise to never trouble you again.” Sarah set the food in front of Rose, buttering her bread and spreading a sweet layer of preserves across the top.
“I have grave doubts.” Mrs. Walker smoothed her dress front as if it would wipe away the lack of dignity she’d suffered in fetching food for a child of questionable origin. “Now. Explain to me who this child is.”
The bell on the wall jingled. The one summoning to the library. No one ever used the library besides Mr. Selwood, least as far as Sarah had ever seen. In fact, in all the time she’d been here, there’d not been a single visitor. But it was early yet, and most high-class folks were still in London finishing up the Season.
Mrs. Walker glanced at the bell. She usually left his summons to Rude Man.
“You could go and find out for yourself,” Sarah suggested. “In any case, Mr. Selwood knows far more than I do.”
Mrs. Walker considered Sarah’s words, then nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.” She vanished again, leaving the air turbulent in her wake.
“And good riddance,” Sarah whispered, then gave Rose a wink. “Now you can eat in peace.”
Which is exactly what the child did. She wasted no time in spooning the warm mush into her small mouth. Then she started on the bread. Sarah cut the ham into bite size pieces, then leaned back and watched her eat. For such a tiny thing, she had a hearty appetite. And absolutely no manners.
Sarah interrupted her several times, reminding her to use her napkin. Wiping the preserves from her mouth. Dabbing mush from her chin. Cautioning her only one piece of ham at a time. Soon enough, the food was gone. The cook had been good enough to send a glass of milk as well, and Rose drained it in one gulp.
“Well, done.” She gathered up the carpetbag and hooked the shawl back in its place. “Come along, then.” She once again took Rose’s hand, and the girl gripped her tightly.
Sarah led her through the house, up the stairs to the small servant’s quarters where Sarah had a tiny room. The roof slanted so sharply that in half the chamber she could not stand upright.
She sat Rose on the bed and opened the carpetbag. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
There was one dress, brown and much worn. A few stockings with holes in both heels and toes. What appeared to be an undergarment, but Sarah wasn’t sure she wanted to touch it. In the bottom she found a handkerchief. It was neatly folded and tied with a pink ribbon, much finer than anything else that had come out of the bag.
Sarah removed the ribbon and unfolded the handkerchief. Something was embroidered on the corner. She stepped toward her tiny window and held it to the light. It was the Selwood family crest. Same as the one above the fireplace in Mr. Selwood’s room. She’d seen it many times cleaning the messes he left behind.
She refolded it to put it back in the bag, but when she turned back, Rose had fallen asleep. Her chin rested on her chest and her little body swayed. Sarah scooted her toward the pillow and laid her down. She pulled off the worn-out shoes and tucked her legs under the blanket.
Sarah’s bed was not large by any means; still Rose looked even tinier in it, barely making a bump in the cover.
The door opened, and Mrs. Walker appeared.
“Shh.” Sarah pressed her finger to her lips before remembering she’d just promised not to give Mrs. Walker instructions ever again. “Sorry.”
“Governess?” Mrs. Walker sounded as though she’d just drank a quart of lye. “How a housemaid can suddenly become a governess, I should like to know.”
Sarah wondered the same thing. In fact, it had been less than an hour since she had spoken those same words to Mr. Selwood, with probably much the same tone.
“It wasn’t my idea. I was going about my work being as invisible as possible when the child appeared out of nowhere,” Sarah whispered. Then she stepped into the hallway, bringing Mrs. Walker with her so that Rose would not wake.
“I’m not entirely unqualified, ma’am,” she continued. “I have been well educated. I can read and write in English and French. I am good with numbers, have a strong penchant for history, can draw and paint with basic skill, and play the pianoforte well enough to not embarrass myself.”
Mrs. Walker had no reply beyond a series of rapid blinking.
“When Mr. Selwood found out that I had gone to Harleigh’s School for Girls, he gave me the job right then and there.”
“You told him about your education?”
Sarah kept proving and re-proving how unfit she was to be employed here at Banwick House. “It sort of slipped out. While I was collecting his soiled undergarments.” Perhaps knowing the compromised situation in which she’d been caught would soften her mistakes.
Or perhaps not.
A sort of burning color rose slowly from Mrs. Walker’s neck to her face, up through her forehead, finally settling on her ears, which now looked like they’d been in the oven about twenty minutes too long.
This was it. The end of her employment. She’d gone far, far beyond the boundaries of propriety first and always to survive here.
Mrs. Walker opened her mouth, but words did not come out. Sarah almost reached for her fan to keep the flies from rushing in, but of course she was a maid and did not have a fan. She did have some smelling salts in her room should the horror of her lack of propriety prove too much for Mrs. Walker to bear.
With her mouth still open, Mrs. Walker took a deep breath. “You cannot stay here.”