Chapter 3
March 25, 1822
Lord Montague’s Townhome
Dublin, Ireland
“What a wretched day to bring on new staff,” Mrs. Donahue grumbled as she passed through the kitchens on her way to bring Lady Montague her breakfast—two four-minute eggs, toasted bread, and a small jar of strawberry preserves from the estate’s own gardens. “Grace, be sure to fill the large teapot. With this cold she’ll be wanting extra tea.”
Outside, heavy raindrops just on the verge of snow spattered loudly on the stones, nearly, but not quite drowning out the slight note of condescension in the head housekeeper’s voice. Normally this would be the duty of her ladyship’s personal maid, but she was laid low with a fever and a cough the entire house prayed wasn’t catching. Perhaps Mrs. Gallagher could be forgiven on the grounds of extra work and pressure if this wasn’t the only incident, but I was beginning to believe she simply didn’t like me.
There was no way she could know, was there? No, Lord Montague was much too careful for that. Or at least that’s what I told myself as I filled the cream pitcher and set it next to the sugar so she could take the tray above stairs.
Though Lord Montague hadn’t been careful enough to prevent other things. I skimmed my hand across my still-flat belly. It would be another month or so before I would know for sure, but I was fairly certain I was with child by my master, and not by my own doing. It was an open secret among the younger servants that Lord Montague did what he willed with whom he willed. Those who couldn’t or wouldn’t stand for such behavior either fled, if they were lucky, or learned exactly how strong a hold Lord Montague held over those in his employ. I wasn’t sure if Lady Montague chose to turn a blind eye to our plight or had deluded herself into believing her husband wasn’t capable of such sins. Mrs. Donahue had to know, but her loyalty was that of a well-tended hound; her fealty was to her master through and through.
But I had not the time to think on such matters now. Soon enough I would be able to devise a plan for remedying my situation, but now I had to be certain all was in order to receive the new maids, footmen, and other estate servants who came to us at the beginning of each social season, a tradition that had been in place for centuries. I had signed my own contract at the beginning of such a season three years earlier, and I had only a two years remaining before I was free. Once I had earned my independence, I would …
“Watch out, you daft cow,” Deirdre, one of the servants filling in for Lady Montague’s personal maid, called as she descended the stairs carrying the night’s chamber pots for emptying. She nearly plowed right into me. Her determination forced me to flatten myself against the wall or be trampled.
I shook my head and forced my mind back to where it belonged—on my job.
Earlier this morning, a new maid named Margaret had come to us to begin her employ. She had proven herself nimble and obedient on the night of the Duke’s surprise visit, but she still had so much to learn. Surviving in a house this size took skill and fortitude she had not yet developed. It was up to me to show her how Lord and Lady Montague liked things to be done and train her up right. If I did, it was possible they would take a month off my contract or perhaps even give me a small bonus come Boxing Day.
The bells of St. Andrews tolled nine times. I slid into position behind Mrs. Donahue and the others who would be responsible for the new members of our household. As soon as the last vibration faded into in the sky, the housekeeper opened the door to the kitchen and beckoned to the small, wet group of men and women and two very young girls. “Come in now,” she called. “Madam and Sir wouldn’t take too kindly to a quarter of their staff catching their death on their first day.”
The newcomers happily flocked toward the kitchen’s warmth, created by a large oven, a fireplace with open flame, and an iron cookstove that had been installed some years before. As if in obeyance to some unspoken command, they stood in a row, eyes to the ground, ducklings differentiated only by their uniforms, which were already beginning to dry. Their small bags of clothing lay at their feet. Cook and Mrs. Donahue inspected them one by one, straightening a lapel here, tucking in a stray curl there.
Finally, Mrs. Donahue spoke. “Those of you who will be working in the front house are under my watch.” She gestured toward the door which led above stairs. “Come with me.” They followed her out of the kitchen, the established servants and butlers bringing up the rear.
“The rest of you will remain here until I give your first assignments,” Cook said.
Margaret watched both groups hesitantly, usure who to follow. I came to her rescue with a gentle tug on her arm. “You’re with me,” I whispered.
Picking up her bag, she followed me up the bare stone stairs. I walked slowly, hoping she could see well enough in the lantern light, although soon enough she wouldn’t need it. She’d know these stairs in complete darkness, having traversed them many times half asleep and having learned which one was shorter than the rest, which had a particular indent that might trip her, and how to use the wall to guide her when her eyes could not.
“First thing’s first, I’ll show you our room—you will be sharing it with me—and we’ll get you dried off.”
Margaret didn’t respond, but her hesitant footfalls told me she was still following me.
In no time, we reached the top of the stairs and turned into a hallway lined with six wooden doors. I opened the second from the left and bade Margaret to enter before me.
As she slowly took in the room, my mind drifted back to the first time I’d seen this tiny space. Was she seeing it as I had, as a blessing, for it meant a reliable place to sleep and relative safety? Or was she disappointed that it didn’t live up to the image in her mind? Surely, she understood that all servants lived in attic rooms with high ceilings, but cramped quarters. I, for one, was as grateful today as I was three years ago when I first beheld the small iron bedsteads against each wall and the wooden pegs protruding from the wall above. Between them was a small window about the length of my forearm and twice as high, the only source of light and cause of the shiver that fizzed down my spine. We had no heat beyond a small coal-fueled brazier and we had to use our own allowance to feed it, but it was better than completely freezing to death in these bitter months.
Margaret turned to me. “Which one is mine?” she asked, indicating the beds with a nod of her head.
“The one on the right.”
Margaret took a few hesitant steps toward her bed, placed her bag on it, and then opened the small wooden box sitting below the pillows. She peered to its depths and then back at me.
“It’s for your personal items. You may take it with you if you leave.” I gestured to mine, set along the opposite wall. My box was long and narrow, more like a toolbox than the chest in which Margaret was now placing her things.
I took a towel from the washstand and handed it to her. “Dry your hair as best you can. Then I will go over your duties with you.”
*****
“Well, if it isn’t just who I was looking for,” Lord Montague’s rich voice interrupted us. “Margaret, isn’t it?”
Startled, both Margaret and I whirled around to see him leaning against the doorframe, a partial smirk on his lips and a glint in his eye that made every instinct I had stand at attention. Without conscious thought, I stepped in front of my young charge, shielding her from him. I bowed my head, praying the girl remembered to stay silent until Lord Montague said something requiring a response. She had been here a fortnight now and was adjusting well, but this was an easy command to forget when you were addressed rhetorically.
He took a few slow steps toward us. “Grace, you may leave us.”
My head jerked up. No. I couldn’t leave her alone with him. It was inevitable this would happen eventually, but not today, not while she was still so new and vulnerable. My heart begged me to stay, to find an excuse to watch over her. Yet I couldn’t go against his wishes. What kind of example would that set for Margaret?
“Go on.” He shooed me away like a cat too long underfoot. “I’d like to get to know our newcomer here.” Far taller, he leaned forward to be level with her sightline.
She looked up and nodded. “Yes, sir.” Her voice was small, wavering. It betrayed her youth and innocence better than any direct questioning ever could.
“Don’t be afraid,” he put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Please, sit.” He guided her backward toward a chair. “I only want to talk with you.”
This time. But that was always how it began. This was how he gained your trust. It was not so long ago he said similar words to me. His eyes took on a glint that she would no doubt take as encouraging, but which really meant something very different.
He called over his shoulder to me, “Tell Mrs. Gallagher I have given this girl a task and she will be detained until luncheon.” Then, as though I was already a distant memory, he sat down opposite Margaret and began speaking with her.
“Well, Margaret, it is nice to finally meet you. My wife says kind things about you. I have no doubt you will soon find yourself at home here.”
Yes, open with a compliment. Just as you told me I came highly recommended by the vicar’s wife. It was a powerful antidote to my fear. As I watched her, Margaret relaxed incrementally, blood returning to her white knuckles and her grip loosening ever so slightly on the arms of the chair.
Lord Montague smiled, his expression guileless. “You are in good hands with Grace,” he glanced up, a grimace clouding his features for only a moment before the light returned. “She will teach you everything you need to know. But you must understand one thing—and normally this wouldn’t require speaking aloud, but I understand you are young and this is your first time serving a family like ours, so I will say it anyway.” He pinned Margaret with a solemn stare.
Yes, turn those paralyzing eyes on her. She may as well be a specimen pinned to a board in his study. At the memory of his expression when I sat before him, my own body grew heavy and force seemed to prevent me from even blinking.
With both of us in this thrall, he went on. “Though I am a generous master, I demand much from those in my employ. Foremost among these is obedience. You will do as I and Lady Montague say, whether we deliver our wishes through Mrs. Gallagher or Mrs. Donahue or speak to you directly.”
His voice was directed at Margaret, but his eyes were on me.
Very subtle. Yes, I know you told me to leave. I sighed inwardly, out of excuses to linger. With one last glance at my charge, I curtsied to my employer and turned toward the door.
I only made it a handful of steps before Mrs. Donahue appeared.
“Beg pardon, my Lord, but is that our new tweenie with you?”
The intensity dissolved from his face like a drop of ink in a pond, replaced by a mask of warm curiosity. “Indeed it is. However, I have need of her at present. I will send her to find you when we are through.” Without another word, he turned back to Margaret.
“Forgive me, sir,” Mrs. Donahue interjected. “But it is madam who requests her presence. The inspection…”
Oh yes, Lady Montague’s bi-annual assertion of dominance. I had forgotten that was today. She would be waiting in the parlor for all of the female servants to gather for her instruction. She would then critique our performance and release those who were not meeting her standards. I inwardly rolled my eyes. Anyone who had been here at least six months realized it was Mrs. Donahue who really wielded the power; this was a mere formally to make Madam feel it was she who held sway over her household.
Dread shot down my spine. No, that wasn’t the only reason, a little voice inside my mind reminded. It was also her chance to rid herself of anyone who displeased her. Rarely did a Lady Day or Michaelmas inspection go by when some poor girl wasn’t sacked. I desperately searched Mrs. Donahue’s eyes for a reason I hadn’t been requested as well. You know why, the voice goaded.
“Go on then,” Lord Montague said through gritted teeth. “Both of you.”
“Oh no, my Lord. Grace may stay with you. She was just promoted so Madam does not need to see her.”
I nearly sighed aloud with relief. But then I realized it meant I would not be there to support Margaret. Crossing to her, I took her hand and squeezed it. “You will be fine. You have done nothing to warrant any suspicion.” Her amber eyes flicked to mine. “I will see you at luncheon.”
When the two had left, Lord Montague returned to his work, completely ignoring me. After a few moments of silence, he looked up. “Why are you still here?”
“Don’t you think I should wait a bit to make it look like you had a reason for keeping me? Otherwise, why was I here in the first place? You could have sent for Margaret alone if she was all you wanted.”
He glowered at me. “That tongue of yours will be the death of you.”
“I don’t recall you saying such after the Duke’s dinner party,” I sneered back without thinking.
Lord Montague shot to his feet. “Speak to me like that one more time …” he warned.
“Or you’ll, what? Dismiss me without a reference?” I crossed to stare him down over the desk. My hands shook on the smooth, polished wood. “You’ve already gotten me with child! What more can you do?” The words slipped out on a tide of rage and frustration; I hadn’t meant to say them.
Lord Montague marched to the door and slammed it shut, growling as he returned to tower over me. “I said to guard your tongue!” He pulled back his arm and let his fist fly at my face. I tried to evade the blow, but it was too late; my vision shattered as his fist met my left eye and the side of my head exploded with searing pain. The force of the blow knocked me to the side and I stumbled, but Lord Montague caught me, his fingers digging painfully into my upper arms.
“You’d better thank God the women are off with my wife,” he thundered. “If someone had heard you …”
Caught in his grip, all I could do was roll my pounding head in his direction. “What if one of the men heard?”
“I will handle them. Unlike you, they know the meaning of the word obedience.” He shook me like a rag doll. “And as for your revelation, take care of it.”
“Take care of it?” I repeated dumbly. That was certainly not the reaction I had imagined.
“Or I will,” he added, tossing me away like an unwanted toy.
I knocked into the chair, sending it toppling and my hip banged the wooden slats of the floor, my head barely missing the damask-covered wall. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. As I struggled to take in air, my mind whirled. What did he mean? Was he going to let me go? If so, why not make up a lie and have his wife do it publicly today? He certainly wouldn’t send me to the country to give birth in private like his mistresses. But he was not remanding me to a workhouse to give birth or die from my travails. What was I to him?
Lungs working again, I struggled to my feet. “That is it? You command it, so this unwanted thing just disappears? Is that truly how you believe life works?” I knew I was overstepping now, but it no longer mattered. I had nothing left to lose.
He was nose to nose with me in the time it took me to blink. “In my position,” he growled, picking me up by my neck, “that is exactly how life works.”
He tossed me aside like a dirty handkerchief and stalked out, not even looking back when my skull cracked into the wall.