which’ - again the round eyes twinkled - ‘I rather enjoy flouting convention.’
Sarah looked down at her in stupefied silence before managing to say, ‘Thank you, Lady Harris. I’d like that.’
‘Good.’ Once Peggy appeared in answer to the bell cord at the side of the fireplace, Lady Harris rose briskly to her feet, her thin tiny body in its starched black dress trimmed with white lace seeming to spring upwards with childlike vigour, and she was seated at the bureau again before Sarah had had time to leave the room.
Sarah had seen her accommodation three weeks before, but with no more than a cursory glance as Peggy had shown her round the enormous town house, which boasted six guest bedrooms, besides the servants’ quarters, and now, as she followed the young girl along the hall to the back staircase which led to the top floor and attics, she found herself marvelling at her good fortune. She doubted if there was another employer like Lady Harris in the whole of London, she thought bemusedly, Maggie’s last words to her suddenly clear in her mind.
‘You’re doin’ the right thing, lass. Never look a gift horse in the mouth ’cos sure as eggs are eggs you won’t get a second chance. Look how that Mrs Roberts went on an’ on about how good the old lady was an’ all, an’ she wouldn’t put you wrong - thought the world of you, she did. Have a go, lass, you can’t lose by it.’
‘Here we are.’ They had reached the top landing - the main staircase, with its thick red carpeting and open banisters some fifteen yards away - and now Peggy opened the first door on their right where Sarah saw her suitcase had already been placed in readiness for her arrival. ‘Lady Harris said to light the fire this morning so it should be nice and warm.’
‘Thank you.’ Sarah smiled at the maid, who couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen, before saying, ‘Did you carry my case up here? I’d have helped you if you’d waited.’
‘That’s all right, miss, I’m stronger than I look. Wiry, my mum says.’
‘Oh, call me Sarah.’
‘I can’t.’ Peggy looked askance at the suggestion. ‘Cook says for me to call you miss.’
‘Oh.’ Her first faux pas, Sarah thought wryly, but no doubt not her last. ‘Well thank you anyway, I know it weighs a ton.’
‘Cook said to ask if you want to come down to the kitchen when you’re ready and she’ll run through some things with you before she starts on the dinner.’
‘Yes, of course. In about twenty minutes?’
‘Right, miss, I’ll tell her.’
Left alone, Sarah glanced about her. The room she had had at the Robertses would have fitted into the space several times over, and she knew the door on the far left of this room led to her own private bathroom, and yet for all its largeness it wasn’t intimidating. Perhaps it was the fire? Lady Harris had already told her over their tea that the trees on the Fenwick estate provided much of their fuel, and that the rationing which affected most of the country wasn’t a problem, but she hadn’t expected to have such a splendid fire in her own room.
She glanced at the roaring blaze which was shedding a soft pink glow over the furnishings, the light from the large standard lamp in one corner and the muted glow from the darkening sky outside the window at the other end of the room casting grey shadows here and there.
Her bed, a small double with a brass headboard and a thick, tapestry-like woven bedcover, was at the far end near the window and bathroom, and where she was standing now was almost like a small sitting room, complete with two easy chairs, a small bookcase, a big fitted cupboard which she took to be the wardrobe, and a little occasional table. The furniture wasn’t new but it was highly polished, if a little battered, and the large square of carpet in the middle of the room, and the long drapes at the window, made it luxurious
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
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Jill Gregory
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