Chapter Three

‘Good morning, my lord,’ Mr Brown said crisply, throwing open the curtains in Liam’s room and setting about his routine duties as though the master had never left. ‘May I say what a pleasure it is to have you back. Tim advised us of your arrival this morning, and I believe Mrs Murray is currently preparing quite a welcome feast.’

‘I admit I have sorely missed her cooking.’ Liam grinned, slipping out of bed and into the dressing gown the butler was holding out.

As apprehensive as he’d been about returning, somehow seeing the old butler puttering about his room felt...

Normal. Heartwarming. Like home should.

‘Travelled half the world and never met her match.’

‘Mind you don’t tell her so, my lord. There’ll be no calming her as it is.’

‘Aye. It’s good to see you, Thomas,’ he said seriously.

It was good to see his all too familiar face again. He and Mrs Murray, and Tim, and Hal...his sweet Hal... They were the only things that had ever made the place remotely bearable.

‘I know there is much to be said, but for now let me simply say, thank you. For staying. Despite everything.’

‘No thanks are necessary, my lord. I have served Thornhallow for nearly fifty years. I will continue to do so until I can no longer. It is an honour.’

‘Now,’ Liam said, clearing his throat and reminding himself that he was now master of the house. The Earl his father had longed for him to be, and that Thomas would expect him at least to pretend to be. ‘I suppose I must part with this, mustn’t I?’ he asked, rubbing the long beard he currently sported. ‘Though I am dreadfully loath to.’

‘Afraid so, my lord,’ Thomas said with the faintest of smiles. ‘You do look rather wild. Like a Pict, if I may be so bold.’

‘Where I have been it has suited perfectly. So, Thomas, tell me.’ He took a seat at the dressing table and leaned back, ready for the butler’s ministrations. ‘Mrs Hardwicke, what do you make of her? I fell upon her sleeping in the library last evening. Not what I expected, I dare say.’

‘I see. Yes, well, she asked, and I thought there would be no harm in her making use of the library... It seemed a shame... She must’ve—’

‘Come, Thomas, if that is the worst of her vices I think we are quite fortunate. What I wish to know is how she is managing, as housekeeper.’

‘Well, my lord,’ Mr Brown said slowly, pondering his words carefully whilst he undertook restoring his master to a gentleman. ‘She is certainly...unconventional. Then again, since your departure, conventional housekeepers seem to have...how shall I put it...’

‘Failed miserably, Thomas? Do not mince your words,’ Liam ordered, glancing at the man.

Thomas hesitated. He was a proper butler, through and through, and bleak, unrestrained honesty in the face of his lord was not something the man was built for.

‘Come, now, you’ve known me since I was a babe,’ Liam coaxed. ‘Tiptoeing around matters will not do. We are alone, Thomas, so out with it.’

‘My lord, since you departed, well, the situation has been...complicated.’

The old butler sighed and Liam winced. The overt diplomacy was an attempt to dissimulate how truly terrible things had been, and Liam cursed himself for having convinced himself they could ever be otherwise.

‘None of Mrs Hardwicke’s predecessors had the stomach, nor the prescience to understand what Thornhallow needed. Not only to survive, but to thrive, without your guiding hand. We all tried, best we could, my lord, however... Well... How to say this?’

‘Just say it, man!’

‘We are all loyal to you,’ he said, gently wiping off the last specks of shaving soap from Liam’s face. ‘And, as such, we have followed your orders.’

Liam straightened, studying the man intently as he attempted to decipher his meaning. As Thomas busied himself cleaning and stowing away the toilette instruments, unwilling to meet the master’s eye, understanding began to dawn.

‘Are you saying that Mrs Hardwicke has not, in fact, obeyed my orders?’

The butler’s silence and momentary pause were answer enough.

‘Where is she?’ he growled.

‘I believe Mrs Hardwicke is in the West Wing this morning, my lord,’ Thomas said sheepishly. ‘But I pray you to understand—’

He was stopped short by a raised hand. Without another word, Liam threw on his clothes, grabbed the cravat and jacket which had been laid out, and stormed off in search of his new, disobedient employee.

Though he would never admit it, Liam was more frustrated and angry with himself than with her. He had encouraged Thomas to speak freely, and so he had. And Liam had been forced to face his own inadequacy. Thornhallow needed a firm hand, and he had abandoned it. Mrs Hardwicke, on the other hand, was apparently more than happy to take the reins.

Who is she to disobey me? he raged silently, throwing on his jacket.

Who was she to know what was best for this house? The impudence! He couldn’t believe Thomas had been privy to—nay, nearly praised—such insolence! He cared not for the house—could no one understand that? He paid everyone handsomely to keep it as he commanded, without question. Their duties were minimal, compared to other estates, and they were handsomely rewarded. Was unfaltering loyalty too much to ask?

Liam cursed her as he angrily, and very messily, tied his cravat. He should have known she was trouble when he’d seen her last night, lounging in the library as though she belonged there, stirring appetites long dormant. And where was she now? The West Wing!

Doing God only knows what, he thought, marching through the corridors, searching for the traitor.

Then an unfamiliar sound caught his attention and he stopped.

Singing.

His hand clenched, and he stood there a moment, unable to move.

‘Ne pars donc pas, mon amour...’ the voice sang.

So don’t leave me, my love...

There had not been singing in this house for ten years, and even before then it had been a very rare occasion indeed. Was this yet another ghost sent to torment him?

No, this was no ghost, but a woman.

Mrs Hardwicke, I presume...

Sighing, Liam shook his head, straightened his back and followed the melody.

‘Trop longtemps j’ai attendu ton retour...’

For too long I’ve awaited your return...

It might not be the voice of a ghost, but Liam’s heart clenched nonetheless at the sound of it, for it was no less haunting, tormenting nor generally aggravating than a spectre’s might have been. Why had Leonards saddled him with such a perplexing and seditious housekeeper?

You know very well...

Even so, how could he? When he knew very well what Liam desired most? Peace, calm and a semblance of normality. Those were the things he longed for, which would already be nigh impossible to achieve here. He didn’t need Mrs Hardwicke and her siren songs, and her disobedience, to further add to it.

By the time he reached the door to one of the smaller guest rooms, Liam had managed to work himself into quite a state. When he opened the door to find his new housekeeper on her hands and knees scraping at the grate, still singing merrily, giving him a rather tantalising perspective of her generous charms, he nearly started shouting. All his repressed anger, grief and lust rising up like demons inside his breast.

Taking a breath, he reminded himself what his behaviour and thoughts should be, and strode in.

‘Ne reste pas sourd à mes prières...’

Don’t be deaf to my pleas...

‘You must be deaf, or blind, or dull, for it seems you have completely ignored your orders, Mrs Hardwicke,’ he barked, inwardly cursing himself for balking in his resolve.

The woman shrieked, surprised, toppling over as she swerved around to face him, her face red and her hair barely contained by what had once been a severe-looking bun. She stared up, mouth slightly gaping, blinking as she assessed him.

Brown, Liam noted despite himself. Her eyes are brown.

‘My lord,’ she said, half asking, half declaring. ‘I... That is, I hadn’t realised...’

‘That I had returned? Yes, quite. And do not fret,’ Liam said, before she could give voice to the words on her lips. ‘Thomas saw to all my needs this morning.’

‘My lord—’

‘Yes, Mrs Hardwicke, now that we have established that I am indeed your lord and master, will you give me your hand? I cannot continue to have a conversation thus,’ he said gruffly.

‘Of...of course,’ she stammered, bringing herself to her feet without aid.

Liam ignored the disappointment he felt at being denied the opportunity to sample her touch.

‘Thank you, but I fear I am rather a mess, and I would hate to give Gregory more work this evening with your clothes.’

‘How considerate, Mrs Hardwicke. If only you had been so considerate regarding your instructions for the house.’

To her credit, she did not flinch under his otherwise infallibly cold and shrinking look. Many a strong man had cowered beneath his gaze, but she had the audacity to stand taller, raise an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips, ready for a confrontation.

At the very least Liam had to admire her spunk, and somewhere in the back of his mind a voice whispered that he should admire how very fine indeed she was when ruffled.

‘You mean the instructions which dictated I should leave all but four rooms to ruin, my lord,’ she said calmly, though Liam could see the twinkle of outrage in her eyes. ‘Forgive me, then, for it is not in my nature to be complicit in such a crime. This house has been left to itself for too long, and had it been left so any longer, there would’ve been no home for us to meet in. I saw no harm in tidying beyond my original mandate. Or would you perhaps have preferred I sit and drink and play games? I have it on good authority that some of my predecessors did, so perhaps I should’ve followed their lead.’

‘Do you question all your employers thus, Mrs Hardwicke? Or is it I alone who am subject to such insubordination?’

‘You will forgive me for pointing this out, my lord, but you were not here to discuss such matters. After ten years you can hardly fault me for being stunned at your return.’

‘Well, I am here now, and here we are discussing it. I thank you for your initiative—however, such efforts will cease immediately,’ Liam said flatly, with the air of a petulant child.

‘I am a housekeeper, my lord, and that is what I shall do.’

‘Are you refusing to obey my orders even now, Mrs Hardwicke?’ he asked, both astonished and intrigued.

‘If an order is wrong, it is one’s duty to disobey.’

‘And why is it, may I ask, that you are cleaning grates, Mrs Hardwicke?’ Liam demanded, changing the subject as his ire rose again with the realisation of just how right she was. ‘That is what maids are for, Mrs Hardwicke, not housekeepers. How, I wonder, are you to be respected if you demean yourself thus?’

This time it was Liam who was graced with a look that might have felled Hannibal. He nearly cowered then, as she rose to her full height, eyes flashing with unrestrained anger, cheeks flushed and arms dropping as her fists clenched.

‘One gains the respect of those who work for them not by demanding it, my lord, but by earning it,’ she seethed. ‘I doubt anyone would reproach me for doing a job for which I am trained and have time. Particularly when the only two maids we have are well-enough occupied, and we cannot hire any more. For it seems, my lord, that no one will work in this accursed house. Besides, as you so aptly pointed out, I am the one who ignored the orders, therefore it is my responsibility.’

They stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills for a very long moment, during which time Liam noted several things.

First, he noted that she was likely one of the tallest women he’d ever met, with the tip of her head coming nearly to his nose. A very disconcerting fact indeed, as it undermined his ability to, quite literally, lord over her as he so wished to do just now.

Secondly, he noted that she had smudges of ash on her cheeks, which he decided added to her overall resemblance to some ancient Celtic warrior.

And finally, he noted that he was, as she had so adamantly pointed out, very wrong on all counts, and for the first time in many years he felt as though he were a boy again, being chastised for having caused trouble.

His anger, frustration and aggravation at this new housekeeper’s disregard for his orders, and indeed at the sheer insolence of her, had faded. Now he was simply standing there staring, unwilling to concede, but unable to find a way out of the argument.

So Liam crossed his arms and cocked his head, waiting for her to realise just how far out of bounds she was. It wasn’t much, and it wasn’t in the least fair play, but it was, at that moment, his only way to preserve some semblance of authority.

He saw the dawning in her eyes, the flicker of hesitation, the understanding of just how unseemly her behaviour had been, and he would even have sworn she muttered some very choice, and very unladylike, swear words under her breath before her eyes finally turned away. Bowing her head, she took a step back, and seemed then to shrivel into the role of lowly, dutiful, subservient employee, complete with hunched shoulders and downcast eyes.

Liam decided he didn’t like her this way at all, and chastised himself for having been such a proud and irrational boor.

‘You will continue to do as you please, won’t you, Mrs Hardwicke?’ Liam asked, unable to stop an amused smile from appearing on his lips.

‘I fear so, my lord,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I understand if you must dismiss me, particularly after that display. I have no excuses. I’m sure I don’t know what came over me.’

‘How long have you been here, Mrs Hardwicke?’

‘Three weeks, my lord.’

‘And do you recall, I wonder,’ Liam asked casually, ‘how many housekeepers have come to Thornhallow before you?’

‘Twenty-one, my lord.’

‘A rather impressive record, I think. Now, did Leonards tell you, perchance, how many applicants there were along with you?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘No, I don’t suppose he would. None,’ Liam mused, hoping she might dare look at him again, though sadly she did not, seemingly intent on playing her role to the letter now. ‘Only one applicant this time, Mrs Hardwicke. You. So, you see, I shall not dismiss you—for now. Though you are right in that you certainly deserve nothing less.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said softly. ‘It shall not happen again.’

‘Indeed, I should hope not,’ he lied. ‘Now, would you be so kind as to attend me in my study in half an hour? So that we might discuss the running of this accursed house civilly?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘And by the way, Mrs Hardwicke,’ he said nonchalantly, turning for the door again. ‘I tend to enjoy the library in the evening. Therefore if you could borrow any book you wish to, then sample it in your own quarters, I would appreciate it.’

Liam stopped to enjoy the embarrassed look that came upon her, rendering her speechless, but returning some of the life he’d so carelessly snuffed out to her eyes, and bringing a rather lovely flush to her cheeks.

‘Half an hour, Mrs Hardwicke.’

Liam left her thus and strode out victorious.

He had enjoyed that little encounter much more than he should have. Despite the fact the woman was irritating, infuriating and disrespectful in every possible way, at least she’d held her own. Though he might not agree with her, or her methods, he did have to admit—at least to himself—that she was right. Whatever his feelings about this place, ignoring it, and letting it fall into ruin, was not the answer.

Perhaps if he had the courage he would set a match to it, but then, he knew better than to think he ever could. Besides, if he was to rid himself of the place, one way or another, tidying it wouldn’t hurt. And, as she had pointed out, it was her time to do with as she pleased. If she was intent on cleaning, what business was it of his? As long as the rest of her duties were seen to, what did he care that she scraped at grates and scrubbed floors?

Except that, oddly, he did care. When he’d seen her hands last night, and then again today... The woman was quite literally working herself to the bone. No, that wouldn’t do. He would tell her so. Perhaps he would hire more staff to help...

They won’t come... Damn this house.

No one within fifty miles would set foot here, and that was being generous. No matter that none of the staff who actually lived and worked here were all alive, and had no ghastly tales to tell. No matter that the worst thing to happen here in ten years was a string of incapable housekeepers, who had most likely spread some tales themselves to excuse their ineptitude. No one would come. The house was cursed. Just as he was.

Haunted.

He was lucky Mrs Hardwicke had even applied at all. Even Leonards had advised him that, for all his money, should Mrs Hardwicke depart, there would likely never be a housekeeper at Thornhallow Hall again. So why had she come? When so many feared to even speak the name of the place?

It mattered not. She was here. And for now, Liam resolved, the quarrelsome Mrs Hardwicke could stay. Though for all her will and gumption, he doubted she would last long. Perhaps she would find a young fellow to marry. Or simply take fright, or succumb to what he suspected was an already growing hatred of him. Sooner or later, everyone left him.

Pushing open the door to his study, gazing out onto the grounds through the French doors behind his desk, he sighed, feeling the weight of it all crashing down again. Why the Devil indeed had he thought returning was a good idea? He should have left Thornhallow to the care of Mrs Hardwicke, and Thomas, and the others. Perhaps he should do so now, and return to his life of wandering beyond the horizon...

Yet even as he thought it he knew he could not.

The time had come to face the demons so that he might be free. Of this house and this land, which called him back even from the ends of the earth. Of this curse which gnawed at his soul, destroying him a little more with every passing day.

Oh, Hal...my darling, what have you done to me? Will we never have peace?

And in that moment of utter desolation, Liam bleakly registered that he was barefoot.

The flickering of the candle worsened as it neared its end, but Rebecca knew that if she intended to continue she would have to forgo lighting another. If she allowed herself to move but an inch, even if only to ease her hunched squinting with more light, she would never return and finish the task she’d set herself: reconciling ten years’ worth of accounting.

Come on, Rebecca, nearly there...

Three weeks she’d been studying ledgers, half-torn payment slips and smudged invoices, barely sleeping so that now numbers swirled before her eyes together in one great jumble. Perhaps if she changed the candle she would be able to see better...

No. You know you’ll find a way to distract yourself.

Rebecca desperately wanted to finish—needed to finish so that she could show the Earl. After this morning’s embarrassing display, she needed something to redeem herself and prove her worth. When she’d met him again in the study, no reference had been made to their discussion. He had behaved like the perfect gentleman, and she had been the most demure, contrite housekeeper the world had ever seen.

They had spoken of the arrangements made for Thornhallow, of the staff and of the weather. He had seemed content with what she’d told him, though he had offered no blatant opinion. He had asked nothing, demanded no changes, nor expressed any sort of interest whatsoever. Oddly, the only thing he had insisted on was that she take care of her hands. But even that had been said with such detachment. In other masters the coldness might have seemed natural, but with him it seemed...a rebuke? A reminder of his displeasure?

You really do read too much into things, you senseless ninny.

She had met the man this morning, and now she presumed to know his moods? Presumed to know the measure of his character because what? He was the sort of man to lay a blanket on a sleeping employee? At least she knew she wasn’t going mad.

I knew I hadn’t put the blanket on myself...

God, she was tired. It had been a trying day; surely that was why she was feeling so...out of sorts. She’d risen this morning expecting to fill the day with vigorous cleaning, to expend some of her overbrimming energy, and counter the effects of having spent too much time indoors over the past weeks. Instead, what had she done? Expended her energy shouting at the Earl. Of course she hadn’t meant to, but then he had appeared and begun admonishing her and, truth be told, she might have been less surprised if Lucifer himself had waltzed in.

‘Keep the house as if the master might return at any day,’ Leonards had said.

Easily said, and easily done.

But, considering the man hadn’t set foot here in a decade, it was no wonder she’d been so astonished to see him standing there. The man had given no notice of his arrival—indeed, he must have scarcely made a sound when he came in. And she had disappeared before dawn to set about her assault on the West Wing, before anyone who might have advised her of the miraculous arrival could do so.

What a hash she had made of it all.

What was truly miraculous was that she hadn’t been dismissed. But then, what had the man been expecting? For her to just sit and while away the hours in idle contemplation whilst the house disappeared as he had?

Apparently so...

And what business was it of hers to argue, if that was his wish?

He had just been so...

Argh!

No, she could not be like her predecessors, but she might have told him so calmly, coolly, with some semblance of professionalism. Not scolded him as if he were her equal.

Sighing, Rebecca set down her quill and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

A mess. Of truly epic proportions.

That was what she’d made and, worse, that was what she was.

Staring down at her hands—her bloody, ink-soaked hands that she could not get clean, no matter how hard she tried—she felt...dejected. Confused and lost. She had since this morning, when she’d tried to compose herself before meeting the master again. When she had seen the mass of unruly hair and the soot all over her reddened face... A wild, lowly creature. It was no wonder the man had a low opinion of her. Her inadequacy at being what a housekeeper should be was plain to see, without even taking into account her behaviour.

Unprofessional, unseemly and entirely condemnable. What is the matter with you?

What, indeed? she wondered, staring down at her hands, disheartened by the fact that no amount of cleaning, tidying or rearranging would ever be enough.

For what?

To be seen, she realised suddenly.

Rebecca laughed mirthlessly, her heart sore at the discovery that she could be such a vapid fool after all. That was what lay beneath her frustration and shame. That was what had really discountenanced her. Not his words, but him. Of all she might have expected, none of it had been what William Reid, the Right Honourable the Earl of Thornhallow, had turned out to be.

The fact that he’d been sporting masterfully tailored, albeit dishevelled clothes, whilst barefoot, had been the first thing to catch her attention. Then there was his age. Though she knew it approximately, her mind had crafted him into some old, dissolute wastrel.

The mystery surrounding him, Thornhallow, his disappearance—all had served to obfuscate any truth that might have lain in the rare, whispered descriptions of him. Anyone who knew him before he’d quit the country—if indeed he had—was unable to remember quite what he looked like. There were no names on the portraits in the gallery. And the speculatory tales of where he’d been these past ten years only served to lend credit to the idea that he was a dark man, capable of the greatest sins, who had let himself go to the Devil.

It was, in fact, no such man who had walked in this morning.

Handsome did not quite fit properly. Yes, he had sharp, fine features, a long, strong nose and straight brows, one of which was traversed by a thin white scar. Yes, he had the most inviting generous lips. Yes, he had an unmistakably fine figure. Narrow waist, broad shoulders—very broad, in fact—long limbs and elegant, strong hands. Yes, he was tall—very much so, to have towered over her. Yes, he had the swept-back, longer-than-fashionable golden hair that seemed to gleam in the sunlight. All of those things were, when brought together to form a complete sum, the markings of a handsome man. And yet...

When she recalled that image of him as he’d stood before her, it was not handsome that came to mind. She had met—known—very handsome men. But William Reid, Earl of Thornhallow, was not what she would call handsome. He was almost closer to...beautiful? Entrancing?

Then she remembered his eyes... What colour had they been?

Grey? No...

They had seemed so at first...so cold... But, no...

Hazel. With flecks of gold, grey and green.

Eyes that had seen too much, and still retained light. Enchanting, rapturous light...

Mrs Murray’s shouts echoing sharply down the corridor brought Rebecca back from her reverie. Cursing under her breath, she picked up her quill and returned to the ledger. It didn’t matter what she qualified his manner to be, or what precisely she thought of his eyes. Truly, it mattered not one bit that he would never see her. And she was glad of it, verily.

Over the years she’d been blessed with good masters who had treated her well. She had never suffered unwelcome advances, nor had she had the terrible misfortune of developing a fondness for any of her employers, nor anyone in their circles. She wasn’t about to jeopardise her position, her life, by becoming foolishly intrigued by this master.

The Earl of Thornhallow might be the most beautiful angel to descend from heaven; it would matter not one bit. She was his housekeeper. And she would do her duty. As she always had. Infallibly. Beginning with presenting him these accounts.

Rebecca smiled to herself, imagining his face when she did so.

The smile faded a moment later, when a knock sounded on the door. Finishing was becoming an increasingly elusive dream.

‘Yes,’ she sighed, rubbing her eyes so that she might focus on whoever it was needing her at this hour. ‘Come in.’

‘Working late again, I see, Mrs Hardwicke,’ Mr Brown said as he entered. ‘You will forgive me for the hour, but I wish to have a word, if I may.’

‘Of course, Mr Brown. Please, do have a seat,’ Rebecca said, before noticing the piles of papers strewn across the armchairs. She rose precipitately and cleared a space. ‘Tea?’

‘No, thank you. I will not keep you long.’

‘How can I—Oh, blast,’ she muttered as the candle flickered wildly. She rushed to find another, before settling down to face Mr Brown. ‘Apologies. How can I assist you?’

‘Nearly finished, I see. With the accounts, I mean.’

‘Oh, yes, won’t be long now, and I shan’t lie, I will be glad to see the end of them.’

‘Quite an achievement.’

‘Thank you, Mr Brown, very kind of you.’

‘I wish to apologise, Mrs Hardwicke,’ he said, after the moment of awkward silence which had followed his compliment. ‘About this morning.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t follow.’

‘His Lordship, you see, he asked for my thoughts. On you...’

‘I see. Mr Brown, please do not trouble yourself.’

‘On the contrary, Mrs Hardwicke,’ he said proudly. ‘I meant no trouble. You and I may not have begun well—however, the opinions I expressed to His Lordship were nothing but positive. I may not have agreed with your chosen course, but I’ve watched you put so much care and devotion into restoring Thornhallow. I’ve seen how proud the others are once again to be a part of this place. To be a part of what you have started. You have not balked at any point upon realising the Herculean nature of the task you set yourself—which, in all honesty, I believed you would. I, too, wish to be a part of your worthy endeavour. Any assistance I may provide you, please do tell me.’

‘I...I don’t quite know what to say, Mr Brown,’ Rebecca managed after a moment. The butler’s kind words and the loyalty he was demonstrating were rather unsettling.

You’ve won him over after all...

‘Thank you. I shall welcome your assistance. But, please, in regard to His Lordship, think no more of it. I could never believe you would intentionally cause trouble, whatever your opinions. I disregarded his orders knowingly; he had every right to upbraid me.’

‘You must not be too hard on him, Mrs Hardwicke,’ Mr Brown said with a faint smile. ‘He has a rather volatile temper, but beneath the overbearing exterior, despite any tales you might have heard... He is a good man.’

‘You have known him all his life, have you not, Mr Brown?’

The butler nodded, clearly slightly perplexed by the question.

‘As has Mrs Murray. Tim has known him since he was a boy. I like to think that a master capable of such things as I’ve heard would not inspire such devotion and loyalty.’ Rebecca smiled. ‘I do not set any score by gossip, Mr Brown. Or I wouldn’t be here.’

Any doubts she might have harboured in the darkest recesses of her soul regarding the truth of those rumours had been quashed when she’d first set eyes on the Earl. She knew evil, and there was none in that man.

‘Why are you here, Mrs Hardwicke?’

‘To do what any servant does. Set this house to rights, in any way I can.’

The old butler studied her thoughtfully for a long moment, his piercing grey eyes twinkling in the candlelight. Finally he inclined his head, ever so slightly, and rose.

‘You have my respect, Mrs Hardwicke, and my loyalty. Know that.’

‘Goodnight, Mr Brown,’ Rebecca said, swallowing the lump in her throat.

‘Goodnight, Mrs Hardwicke.’

His words, not spoken lightly, had touched her. It wasn’t so much that she felt she’d finally managed to pierce his thick armour of propriety, it was that she knew he respected her, and wanted to be a part of her plans. Throughout the years Rebecca had worked alongside many different people. She had served with eight butlers, most of whom had been professional and polite, but none of whom she’d felt proud to be respected by. It made her heart swell, and gave her a surge of courage. The courage to face anything.

Even these pesky numbers...

Feeling revived, and not wanting to waste the new candle, Rebecca turned her attention once again to the ledgers, the slight smile on her lips refusing to disappear.

Right, now, where was I?