CHAPTER TWELVE
A New Situation
“If wrong, it should not be done; if right, it should be done openly, and in the face of all her enemies.”
Bury, Charlotte, The Diary of a Lady-in-Waiting
The first thing Amelia noticed about Number 6 Tilney Street was the unusual number of windows, especially on the second floor, where a conservatory curved out over the garden.
The second thing she noticed was the pair of slouching men in dark coats and stovepipe trousers arguing with a third man, who held a stout staff in the crook of his arm and stood squarely in front of the gate.
Amelia gave the quarrelers a wide berth as she headed toward the area railing that surrounded the stairway to the servants’ entrance. Another man touched his wide, battered hat brim to her, all polite.
“Miss McGowan, is it?” he asked.
“That’s right. And you are . . . ?”
“Jim Geery, at your service.” He bowed. “Mr. Harkness said we was to keep an eye out for you, and to lend a hand if need be.”
“Well, thanks for that,” Amelia said, but she didn’t linger to talk. She had a job to get on with. Amelia took herself down the area stairs to the servants’ door. She tried not to think too much about being stuck in a house where she might need help from a man with a stout stick and a strong right arm.
When she knocked, the door was answered by a harried young woman with a grubby apron and her sleeves rolled up past her elbows. When Amelia gave her name and business, the girl rushed her inside with barely a word.
Something was definitely on. Miss Thorne had said one of the royal dukes was coming to dinner, and Amelia could believe it. The corridors were filled with all manner of persons—upper and lower servants both—all of them hurrying back and forth. An enormous banging and a string of shouts in several different languages emerged from the kitchen.
The girl left Amelia standing at the threshold of the servants’ hall and bolted back into the hurly-burly without a word.
There was, however, no time to think much about any of it. The door at the far side of the hall opened, and Amelia found herself face-to-face with a woman who was quite obviously the housekeeper for this establishment.
She did not look happy.
Best not waste her time then. “Amelia McGowan,” she said. “I’m here for the place of lady’s maid.”
“Hmph.” The housekeeper’s gaze raked her slowly up and down. Amelia stood still and let the other woman have her look, even though holding on to her valise was starting to make her hand ache. Entering into a new household meant putting oneself up for inspection. It might be the lady of the house who would hire her, but if the staff didn’t approve, the job would quickly become impossible. It all began with the housekeeper.
Amelia felt fairly confident in her appearance. Miss Thorne had brought out a sober blue silk gown that was exactly the sort of thing an upstanding lady’s maid would wear. She and Miss Thorne had spent several hours the night before taking up the hems and letting out the sides so it would fit. With the addition of her straw bonnet with the black ribbon and her best black gloves, she fancied she looked ready for anything. Her only visible jewelry was a silver chain with a small cross on it. Her other ornament, the ribbon with the gold heart that Alice had bought her, she wore beneath her gown, where no one could see it and ask questions.
“Young one, aren’t you?” said the housekeeper finally.
“Twenty-five next month,” said Amelia, which was stretching the truth only a little. “I hope that will be satisfactory.”
“Hmph.” The housekeeper was a sturdy woman with a broad face and sandy brown skin. Her dark hair had been ruthlessly tamed into a plait, which she wore as a coronet. Amelia tried not to take the sour face personally. According to Miss Thorne, Amelia was taking the place of someone who any number of the staff might say was fired under false pretenses. This was more than enough to account for the hostile glare. In addition, Amelia’s arrival was yet one more complication while there was a dinner party to get ready for.
“I’m Mrs. DeLupe,” the housekeeper offered finally. “I been with Mrs. Fitzherbert going on twenty years now.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. DeLupe.” Amelia made her best curtsy. She had no intention of leaving anyone with the impression she was one of those standoffish sorts who fancied themselves better than the rest of the staff.
“Madam asked to see you as soon as you arrived. You can leave your things by the door. Faller will take them to your room.”
“Thank you.”
Amelia hung her cloak and bonnet by the door and put the valise beneath them. Then she followed Mrs. DeLupe down the long central corridor between the workrooms and up the servants’ stairs. It was slow progress. Every few feet it seemed someone stopped the housekeeper to ask a question or she stopped them to rap out an order.
They had reached the foot of the stairs when Mrs. DeLupe finally decided to notice Amelia’s quizzical look.
“The Duke and Duchess of York are to dine with madam this evening. I trust you will be able to rise to this occasion.”
“Of course,” Amelia answered. Thank goodness Miss Thorne had tipped her off. Who would believe the king’s brother would be friends with his cast-off mistress? Wife, Amelia reminded herself. Not that it made things less surprising. “Although, I would have thought—”
Mrs. DeLupe cut her off. “We do not think, McGowan. We serve.”
And that tells me what I need to know about you, doesn’t it? Amelia kept the thought far away from her expression.
Not that Mrs. DeLupe was looking at her. She was climbing the stairs, and Amelia hurried to keep up.
“You will know that this is a very particular household, and madam has exacting requirements.” Mrs. DeLupe’s words stabbed through the air like a needle through stiff fabric. “Discretion is required from all of us, above anything. The first hint of gossip means dismissal. Mr. Holm”—that would be the butler, Amelia assumed—“and I have madam’s complete confidence. Neither one of us will hesitate when it comes to making that dismissal should there be any talking out of turn. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mrs. DeLupe.” Because what else would I say?
“Good.” They’d arrived at the door to upstairs. Mrs. DeLupe led her through to the second floor and the family rooms.
She looked Amelia up and down again, in case she’d become unacceptably disheveled during their journey from belowstairs. She then scratched at a door and opened it.
“The new lady’s maid is here, madam,” Mrs. DeLupe announced. She stepped back to give Amelia room to enter.
Amelia squared her shoulders and breezed past. She’d sort out Mrs. DeLupe later. Just now she needed to meet the king’s wife.
Mrs. Fitzherbert was exactly as Miss Thorne had described her. A surprisingly matronly woman who dressed conservatively but well. She definitely didn’t look like a temptress scheming to bring down the king. Or like a woman with money troubles. The good black satin that made up her dress had cost a pretty penny, even before you added in the antique lace trimming.
She did, however, look fair tired. But that didn’t dampen the sharp suspicion with which she looked Amelia up and down. She may have agreed to this business, but she was not entirely happy about it.
Going to have my work cut out for me.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Mrs. Fitzherbert said. “As you will have seen, we are going to be quite busy today. The Duke and Duchess of York are coming to dinner.”
“Never fear, madam.” Amelia drew herself up. “We’ll have you ready.”
“Thank you.” The relief in Mrs. Fitzherbert’s eyes was unmistakable. “Now, Mrs. DeLupe will show you to your room so you can have a little time to settle in.”
“Thank you, madam.” Amelia gave a small curtsy. “I shall be ready as soon as you have need of me.”
“Very good,” Mrs. Fitzherbert said. It was acknowledgment and dismissal.
Amelia turned and walked back out into the corridor, past Mrs. DeLupe. This time the housekeeper’s hard glance told her she might just be acceptable.
Amelia let out the breath she’d been holding.
* * *
Every other job she’d had, Amelia had slept in the maids’ quarters at the top of the house, right below whatever attics there might be. If the house was big enough, there would be a whole corridor of rooms for the various maids and a door at the end of it, which could be locked to deter any males of the species who might consider mischief. Sometimes it even worked.
But a lady’s maid didn’t sleep with the rest of the girls. She had her own room next to her lady’s, which allowed her to be there instantly anytime her employer called—day or night.
So, instead of going up the concealed servants’ stairs, Mrs. DeLupe took them up the broad stairway from the entrance and straight down the family corridor. But to Amelia’s surprise, the door to her room was already open when they reached it, and the room itself was occupied.
“Faller!” snapped Mrs. DeLupe at the young footman idling inside. “What are you doing there?”
“Just bringing up McGowan’s bag.” He gestured to Amelia’s valise, which was sitting on the trunk at the foot of the narrow bed.
The housekeeper frowned hard and narrowed her eyes. It was a look that said she would not be taken in this time.
“Well, now that you’ve done that, you can be about your business, before Mr. Holm starts bellowing for you.”
“Yes, Mrs. DeLupe,” Faller said, all polite and correct.
The housekeeper watched him go, shaking her head. “You look out for that one, McGowan.”
“Trouble?”
“Not as such,” said Mrs. DeLupe. “But he fancies himself God’s gift to women, doesn’t he? He’s had a look at you now, and you’re younger than some and pretty, for all that ginger hair of yours. Means he’s more than likely to come sniffing about.”
“Well, I’ll say thanks for the warning,” Amelia told her. “Nothing’s worse than backstairs romance when there’s a job to be done.”
“Quite right.” Mrs. DeLupe’s expression softened a bit more. “I’ll leave you to get settled. I’ve no doubt madam will have need of you soon enough.”
Left to her own devices, Amelia set about unpacking her small valise. Alice had promised to have her trunk sent over later today. This bag had just enough in it to get by for a day or two, in case there was any delay.
The room itself was scarcely bigger than the ones she’d had as a chambermaid, but it was furnished like one of the family rooms, with carpets and a mirror and a clothes press and even a vanity table. There wasn’t a window or a fireplace, but otherwise she looked to be more comfortable than she’d been anywhere except Miss Thorne’s.
Even as she was thinking this, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. In the next heartbeat, she was aware of a long, slow creaking. Amelia whirled around to find the door to the corridor hanging open and Faller standing at the threshold, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“It wasn’t shut properly,” he said.
“Liar,” Amelia shot back.
He ignored her. In fact, he took a step inside. “All right, then?”
Amelia gave him a look guaranteed to freeze a cheeky young man dead at twenty paces. “And what do you want?”
“Just to make sure you’ve got all you need.” He drew himself up, snapped his heels together, and bowed as if she was a visiting duchess. “Thomas Faller, at your service.”
Under other circumstances, Amelia would have sent him away with a flea in his ear. But she was here to make friends and hear all the gossip. Thomas Faller already looked to be a bit dodgy. Who better to tell her all the business of the house? Especially business some might want to keep hidden?
Amelia lifted her chin haughtily. “Well, I’ve no need of your service, thank you very much.” She turned away too quickly and picked up the shawl she’d been folding when he came in. “Not just yet, anyway.”
From the corner of her eye, Amelia saw that remark had earned her a saucy grin. “Well, you’ve only to say the word and I shall be right at your side.”
“I’ll remember that. But you’d best be getting on. That Mr. Holm sounds a right tartar.”
Faller shrugged. “Oh, he’s all right. I’ve seen worse.”
Amelia laid her folded shawl across the end of her new bed. “Been in service long?”
An expression she couldn’t read rippled across his face, but he answered easily. “Not as long as some. Wasn’t bred to it like most of the others here. You?”
“All my life.”
“Well, you know the way of things, then.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Faller shrugged again. “Lots of the quality come through here.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “They’re particular and confidential, and they sometimes expect a few extras.”
Amelia stiffened, and Faller laughed. “Oh, not that! This is a decent house, decent as they come, anyway. Just, sometimes a word here or there, a bit of keeping your eyes open . . .”
“Or keeping your mouth shut?” she put in dryly.
“That’s the way.” Faller nodded approvingly. “But careful like, you get me?”
Amelia locked eyes with him and let him see she understood. Plainly, he thought he could show her a thing or two about how to get on in the world, and she might as well just let him think that. Let him believe they were two of a kind, or that they could be.
“Is that what happened to the one that was here before me?” she ventured. “She wasn’t careful?”
Faller’s face fell. “She was turned off for a thief. They’re saying she robbed madam’s strongbox.”
“Did she?”
Faller glanced over his shoulder, for the first time showing a trace of concern. “Wouldn’t have believed it of her, but who knows?”
Amelia made a great show of arranging her brushes on the dressing table in a neat line. “There’s plenty that pay for all sorts of things,” she said. “Letters and such like.”
“What makes you say that?” Faller snapped.
Now Amelia shrugged. She nudged the tortoiseshell comb Alice had given her so it lay tidily next to the carved wooden brush she’d bought secondhand. “Lady I used to work for,” she said. She had worked out the story on the way here and was quietly pleased to get to use it so soon. “She had an outside gentleman friend. And then somebody got hold of her letters. Caused a huge ruckus, let me tell you.” She met Faller’s gaze again. “They said it was one of the footmen who stole them.”
“More fool him, then,” said Faller. “You got to keep in mind where your best interests really lie, that’s what I say.” His eyes went distant and more than a little worried.
What are you thinking of just now, Mr. Faller? Amelia wondered. But it was too soon to be asking such a question. “Well,” she said briskly, “I say you’d best get back to your work.” As much as she wanted to keep him talking, it wouldn’t do for her to be caught having one of the staff idling in her room, especially when it was one of the men.
Faller sighed. “Yeah, probably right. But I’ll be seeing you, Miss McGowan.” He winked.
She laughed and made a little shooing gesture. “Go on, Thomas Faller, and take your sauce with you.”
He bowed again, this time in a showy, mocking style. He also closed the door firmly behind him as he left.
For a time, Amelia stared thoughtfully at the place where he’d stood.
That, McGowan was either a good beginning or the start of some trouble. Amelia shivered. Because it just might be both.