opened the door of the house at last and bobbed a curtsy when Chalmers revealed his master’s identity.
“Come straightaway in, m’lord,” the maid said. “Me mistress be expecting you, and I am to take you right up to her.”
The entry hall did nothing to raise Bridget’s spirits. It was small, drab, and carpetless; and the stairs at the back left side of it were plain dark wood and rather too narrow for modern hoops. A single closed door on the right apparently led to a room of one sort or other, and another door at the back next to the stairs suggested that another room might lie behind it. The hall contained only a single side table next to the door on the right, beneath a plain wood-framed looking glass.
“This way,” the maid said politely, leading them up the stairs, her shoes thumping on the wooden steps.
“Just one moment,” Michael said. “What about our people and the coach?”
The maid said in surprise, “They won’t drive away, will they, sir?”
“Nay, of course they will not, but neither do they know where to put up the coach and horses, or whereabouts to settle themselves.”
“Well, after I’ve taken you to mistress, I’ll send the kitchen boy to lead your coachman round to the coach house, won’t I? I’ll also show your servants where to put your things, and where they are to sleep. How many have you got, then, sir?”
“Three, plus the coachman,” Michael said.
Bridget said in astonishment, “You won’t expect our people to carry up all our things, I hope. Nan and Aunt Marsali’s Louise are not at all accustomed to such tasks. Surely you must have menservants to carry in the luggage, at least.”
“We keep but the one kitchen boy,” the maid said. “This is not a household of men, miss. As to your coachman, my lord, he must sleep in the coach house.”
“I am Lady Bridget,” Bridget said haughtily.
Bobbing another hasty curtsy, the maid said equably, “Yes, m’lady. I won’t be forgettin’ again. Now, come along, do.” With that, she spun around on the ball of one foot and clattered up the stairs, leaving them to follow her as they would.
Before doing so, Michael looked at Chalmers, who said, “Aye, then, I’ll see tae the luggage and tae the beasts, m’lord. Rankin will help,” he added, referring to Lady Marsali’s coachman.
Michael nodded, then followed the others.
The stairway made a right-angle turn before reaching the next floor, where the landing faced an open doorway with another to the right. The maid stood in the latter doorway, clearly waiting till all three of her charges had assembled.
As she stepped aside, she said over her shoulder to someone in the room beyond, “Here they be now, ma’am.”
Michael gestured for Lady Marsali to go in first. He and Bridget followed.
The room filled the entire width of the house and overlooked George Street. Blue curtains hung at the three windows, and a blue, yellow, and pink floral carpet covered the floor. A fireplace with a plain white marble mantel and a brick hearth filled the end wall to the left as they entered, and a shallow alcove to the left of it held shelves full of books and knickknacks. Other furnishings included side chairs, a game table, a spinet, and side tables bearing clusters of memorabilia. Their hostess, a thin little silver-haired woman in a dark green wool afternoon gown, sat on the edge of a claw-footed blue sofa against the wall to their right as they entered.
“Do come in and sit down, my dears,” she said without rising. “Sal shall bring you tea if you like.”
“Bella, this is my niece, Bridget,” Lady Marsali said, “and this, of course, is Kintyre. My dears, this is my cousin Arabella Thatcher.”
“How handsome he is,” Mrs. Thatcher said, more as if Lady Marsali had shown her a picture of Michael instead of the real thing. “He will set all the ladies in a twitter. But sit down, all of you, do. You are making me giddy. I have been so impatient for your
“Come straightaway in, m’lord,” the maid said. “Me mistress be expecting you, and I am to take you right up to her.”
The entry hall did nothing to raise Bridget’s spirits. It was small, drab, and carpetless; and the stairs at the back left side of it were plain dark wood and rather too narrow for modern hoops. A single closed door on the right apparently led to a room of one sort or other, and another door at the back next to the stairs suggested that another room might lie behind it. The hall contained only a single side table next to the door on the right, beneath a plain wood-framed looking glass.
“This way,” the maid said politely, leading them up the stairs, her shoes thumping on the wooden steps.
“Just one moment,” Michael said. “What about our people and the coach?”
The maid said in surprise, “They won’t drive away, will they, sir?”
“Nay, of course they will not, but neither do they know where to put up the coach and horses, or whereabouts to settle themselves.”
“Well, after I’ve taken you to mistress, I’ll send the kitchen boy to lead your coachman round to the coach house, won’t I? I’ll also show your servants where to put your things, and where they are to sleep. How many have you got, then, sir?”
“Three, plus the coachman,” Michael said.
Bridget said in astonishment, “You won’t expect our people to carry up all our things, I hope. Nan and Aunt Marsali’s Louise are not at all accustomed to such tasks. Surely you must have menservants to carry in the luggage, at least.”
“We keep but the one kitchen boy,” the maid said. “This is not a household of men, miss. As to your coachman, my lord, he must sleep in the coach house.”
“I am Lady Bridget,” Bridget said haughtily.
Bobbing another hasty curtsy, the maid said equably, “Yes, m’lady. I won’t be forgettin’ again. Now, come along, do.” With that, she spun around on the ball of one foot and clattered up the stairs, leaving them to follow her as they would.
Before doing so, Michael looked at Chalmers, who said, “Aye, then, I’ll see tae the luggage and tae the beasts, m’lord. Rankin will help,” he added, referring to Lady Marsali’s coachman.
Michael nodded, then followed the others.
The stairway made a right-angle turn before reaching the next floor, where the landing faced an open doorway with another to the right. The maid stood in the latter doorway, clearly waiting till all three of her charges had assembled.
As she stepped aside, she said over her shoulder to someone in the room beyond, “Here they be now, ma’am.”
Michael gestured for Lady Marsali to go in first. He and Bridget followed.
The room filled the entire width of the house and overlooked George Street. Blue curtains hung at the three windows, and a blue, yellow, and pink floral carpet covered the floor. A fireplace with a plain white marble mantel and a brick hearth filled the end wall to the left as they entered, and a shallow alcove to the left of it held shelves full of books and knickknacks. Other furnishings included side chairs, a game table, a spinet, and side tables bearing clusters of memorabilia. Their hostess, a thin little silver-haired woman in a dark green wool afternoon gown, sat on the edge of a claw-footed blue sofa against the wall to their right as they entered.
“Do come in and sit down, my dears,” she said without rising. “Sal shall bring you tea if you like.”
“Bella, this is my niece, Bridget,” Lady Marsali said, “and this, of course, is Kintyre. My dears, this is my cousin Arabella Thatcher.”
“How handsome he is,” Mrs. Thatcher said, more as if Lady Marsali had shown her a picture of Michael instead of the real thing. “He will set all the ladies in a twitter. But sit down, all of you, do. You are making me giddy. I have been so impatient for your
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