How does it go, boy?”
“They are as you said, sir.”
“Are they not, though?”
“Indeed, and they are.”
“Tell me.”
Lucy regaled his superior with details of his experience up to that moment, leaving out his having a salami in his sleeve, for it was an unfortunate, even shameful fact; and beyond that, he had taken it from the larder without asking permission. Mr. Olderglough listened to the rest, his head down as he took it in. At tale’s end, he said, “Gluttons of the basest category.”
“Yes, sir,” said Lucy. “And what of the Duke and Duchess?” He had seen them only in passing, when they entered the castle some hours earlier. They appeared to be of a piece with the Count and Countess in terms of temperament, though were ever more stylish and healthful; the Duchess in particular was something of a pouty beauty, horse-limbed and taller than the Duke by a head.
Mr. Olderglough said, “My experience has been much like yours. I find it something like corralling children, wouldn’t you say?”
“It is.”
“But you are holding up, my boy?”
“Oh, I’m fine, sir.” Actually, Lucy found the task of tending to such people amusing; and this was reflected in his bearing. Now Mr. Olderglough had ceased speaking but was only watching Lucy, and with fondness.
“What is it, sir?”
Mr. Olderglough considered his answer. “Just to say that I’m glad you’re here with us, boy. Your very mettle has been tested within these walls, and for what it’s worth, you’ve impressed me, and you have my thanks.”
How curious for him to have spoken these heartfelt words, and seemingly out of the blue; and curiouser still, that Lucy should have found himself so touched by the sentiment. But there he was, swallowing a lump in his throat, and when he replied, it was with sincerity. “Thank you very much, sir. And I hope you know that I’m glad to be here with you all, also.”
“Good, then.” Mr. Olderglough patted Lucy’s back. They approached the scullery, and a mischievousness came into the older man’s voice: “Now, boy, I hope this doesn’t offend, but we’ve taken a liberty tonight.”
“Oh?” said Lucy. “And what do you mean, sir?”
“A liberty has been taken, is all. Blame Agnes. We needed the extra hand, and she believed it would please you.” Mr. Olderglough opened the door and bade Lucy enter first. Stepping into the scullery, he found Klara standing in the center of the room, wearing a maid’s uniform and a timorous look on her face. Her hair had been cleaned and combed and was pulled away and back; her forearms were bare; her white filigreed smock tied tight about her tiny waist. Here was Klara, only a wholly separate version of her, all the more elegant and feminine, and as Lucy absorbed this unpredicted dream of beauty, then did he feel himself falling in plummeting love a second time.