lightly and stepped away, smiling, the flash of anger gone as quick as it had come. “Consider my offer. There is much I can provide you, and I know girls like their trifles. Until, my dear, we meet again.”
* * *
Although it was nearly midnight, Lucy still had not gone to bed. Like most servants, she usually stayed up until the master and mistress had retired. She moved slowly about the house, blowing out candles and banking the coals in the hearths, readying the house for the morning. In the kitchen, she washed the cup and plate Lucas had used when he finally descended from his chamber, looking a little worse for wear. Lucy could not help teasing him about his absence at supper.
“Didn’t want to see Del Gado,” Lucas had confided. “He’s a cad, and a fraud at that. Posing as one of Van Dyck’s students, while he’s probably from the gutters of Seville. Don’t know why our good mistress is so taken with him!” Changing his tone he had added, “Get me a bite, would you, Lucy dear? I’m famished.”
Knowing that Lucas shared her poor opinion of the painter comforted her somewhat. Like the still-warm embers, her cheeks burned painfully whenever she thought about the painter. Lucy tried not to think of the mistress’s own pictures, or of the master, who might feel chagrined to find he had such a wayward wife. Or perhaps he knew? She put that thought from her mind. It wasn’t her place to question the doings of the master and mistress.
Mounting the stairs a short while later, Lucy decided to wake Bessie and ask her outright what in heaven’s name had possessed her to pose for Del Gado. The question died on her lips, though, when she found the tiny chamber she shared with Bessie to be completely silent.
Puzzled, Lucy crept back down to the mistress’s chamber and put her ear to the door. She heard the master say something in a low voice to the mistress, and the mistress laugh in response. Clearly, Bessie was not in there.
Making a face, she continued down the hall, putting her ear first to Lucas’s door and then to Adam’s. Surely, Bessie would not be the first comely maidservant to be led astray, but the thought made her sick. She was relieved, though, not to hear any movement behind either door.
Slipping back down the stairs, Lucy quickly looked in every room. She heard Cook and John snoring in their small room behind the kitchen. Peering out the kitchen shutters assured her that Bessie was not out in the courtyard. Bessie had been known to cull morning’s first dew from the leaves in the garden, rubbing it on her face, thinking it gave her skin a lustrous sheen. A light snow had begun to fall, but there was no sign of Bessie.
Lucy grew angry. Clearly, Bessie had left the house without permission sometime after the supper dishes had been cleared. “And left me to make her excuses again, I wager,” Lucy muttered. “She might have at least warned me.”
Four times that night, until the gray morning light finally began to seep through the house, Lucy tiptoed down the stairs and peered out the heavy oak windows. First angry, then alarmed, she became increasingly worried and desperate over Bessie’s absence. The magistrate would not take kindly to the disruption of his orderly household.
Finally, with a heavy spirit, Lucy opened Bessie’s chest. She stared down in growing dismay. It was completely empty. Everything Bessie owned was gone, including the mysterious box with the combs and brush. She had even taken Lucy’s stockings and petticoat. Lucy had thought Bessie was going to mend them, and instead she took them.
Lucy sank back, leaning against the bedpost. She looked up, her gaze falling on the shelves above. Bessie had left her jars and scents, and even more shockingly, her Bible. Lucy picked up the book and ran her finger along its spine. “Oh, Bessie!” She bit into her knuckles. “Don’t tell me you forsook God as well as family!”
8
By morning, it was impossible to hide
* * *
Although it was nearly midnight, Lucy still had not gone to bed. Like most servants, she usually stayed up until the master and mistress had retired. She moved slowly about the house, blowing out candles and banking the coals in the hearths, readying the house for the morning. In the kitchen, she washed the cup and plate Lucas had used when he finally descended from his chamber, looking a little worse for wear. Lucy could not help teasing him about his absence at supper.
“Didn’t want to see Del Gado,” Lucas had confided. “He’s a cad, and a fraud at that. Posing as one of Van Dyck’s students, while he’s probably from the gutters of Seville. Don’t know why our good mistress is so taken with him!” Changing his tone he had added, “Get me a bite, would you, Lucy dear? I’m famished.”
Knowing that Lucas shared her poor opinion of the painter comforted her somewhat. Like the still-warm embers, her cheeks burned painfully whenever she thought about the painter. Lucy tried not to think of the mistress’s own pictures, or of the master, who might feel chagrined to find he had such a wayward wife. Or perhaps he knew? She put that thought from her mind. It wasn’t her place to question the doings of the master and mistress.
Mounting the stairs a short while later, Lucy decided to wake Bessie and ask her outright what in heaven’s name had possessed her to pose for Del Gado. The question died on her lips, though, when she found the tiny chamber she shared with Bessie to be completely silent.
Puzzled, Lucy crept back down to the mistress’s chamber and put her ear to the door. She heard the master say something in a low voice to the mistress, and the mistress laugh in response. Clearly, Bessie was not in there.
Making a face, she continued down the hall, putting her ear first to Lucas’s door and then to Adam’s. Surely, Bessie would not be the first comely maidservant to be led astray, but the thought made her sick. She was relieved, though, not to hear any movement behind either door.
Slipping back down the stairs, Lucy quickly looked in every room. She heard Cook and John snoring in their small room behind the kitchen. Peering out the kitchen shutters assured her that Bessie was not out in the courtyard. Bessie had been known to cull morning’s first dew from the leaves in the garden, rubbing it on her face, thinking it gave her skin a lustrous sheen. A light snow had begun to fall, but there was no sign of Bessie.
Lucy grew angry. Clearly, Bessie had left the house without permission sometime after the supper dishes had been cleared. “And left me to make her excuses again, I wager,” Lucy muttered. “She might have at least warned me.”
Four times that night, until the gray morning light finally began to seep through the house, Lucy tiptoed down the stairs and peered out the heavy oak windows. First angry, then alarmed, she became increasingly worried and desperate over Bessie’s absence. The magistrate would not take kindly to the disruption of his orderly household.
Finally, with a heavy spirit, Lucy opened Bessie’s chest. She stared down in growing dismay. It was completely empty. Everything Bessie owned was gone, including the mysterious box with the combs and brush. She had even taken Lucy’s stockings and petticoat. Lucy had thought Bessie was going to mend them, and instead she took them.
Lucy sank back, leaning against the bedpost. She looked up, her gaze falling on the shelves above. Bessie had left her jars and scents, and even more shockingly, her Bible. Lucy picked up the book and ran her finger along its spine. “Oh, Bessie!” She bit into her knuckles. “Don’t tell me you forsook God as well as family!”
8
By morning, it was impossible to hide
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