Honor's Players by Holly Newman

of cheese, is all.”
    Her deletion of a title of respect was quite obvious. “That will do. I shall request Atheridge to go down to the village to see if there are any people available for day labor.” She rooted through her portmanteau for a kerchief. “Some women and perhaps some young men for the heavy work, I think, if they can be spared from their normal labors. You will gather as many buckets, mops, rags, and assorted cleaning paraphernalia as may be had,” she said, draping the kerchief over her hair and tying it behind her head. “If necessary, we will also send Atheridge to buy or borrow additional supplies.”
    Mrs. Atheridge nodded sourly and turned to leave.
    “Mrs. Atheridge!”
    “Yes, my lady,” she said sullenly, turning back to Elizabeth.
    “I suggest you remove the silk petticoats.”
    Affronted, the housekeeper stood up straighter, clasping her hands crisply before her. “My lady?” she asked in feinted bewilderment.
    Elizabeth noted her eyes shifting slightly. “With all I have planned, they will become quite ruined, you know. That will be all.”

     
    “Oh, do be careful, Thomas.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    Elizabeth anxiously watched the young man standing on the tall ladder unhook the glass pendants from the chandelier. “Though it is a fright now, I daresay it will be lovely when properly cleaned. Can you get it down?”
    “I think so, ma’am, if we removes these bobbles first.”
    "My Lady, to you, young man,” screeched Atheridge, entering the dining room with more rags in hand.
    Elizabeth frowned, though she ignored Atheridge’s words. He dumped the rags at the foot of the ladder, scowled up at Thomas, and turned to shuffle out of the room.
    She and Thomas exchanged speaking glances. Throughout the morning, her doubts and concerns about the butler and housekeeper had magnified. She found them trying to hinder everything she desired to do. Atheridge only went to secure the help she needed to clean the manor after she threatened to go herself. Mrs. Atheridge tried to claim a lack of proper buckets and cleaning utensils until Elizabeth suggested she go to the stables, collect the unused buckets there, and proceed to scrub then until they were fit to carry clean water. Miraculously four buckets were found within the house. Though her blood boiled at the obvious duplicity, Elizabeth pretended a delighted surprise which she was far from feeling. What puzzled Elizabeth was the reason for their obstructive actions. Despite the lack of cooperation from the Atheridges, the work commenced.
    The shadows were lengthening, and it was near teatime. By this hour Elizabeth knew the shelves and cupboards in the kitchen and the fitted stone floor had been scrubbed, and all cobwebs swept away from dark corners. Fresh, simple foods had been fetched from the village and filled clean pantry shelves. The dining room, though not completely clean as yet, no longer revolted her appetite. The rotted drapes had been removed revealing beautiful mullioned windows. The furniture, while unfashionably heavy and dark, took on a rich warm hue when cleaned and oiled. Elizabeth was convinced that once cleaned, the chandelier above would sparkle and cast rainbow lights into the room. If the restoration of the master bedroom and the library were going half as well, she would be pleased. She should check on the workers’ progress since it was time to send them on their way. She hoped they would return on the morrow.
    Elizabeth drew the back of her hand across her forehead, brushing an escaping lock of dark hair out of her eyes. She was bone-tired, yet strangely it felt good. She had worked beside the village help, pulling down musty curtains and wall hangings, shifting furniture about, attacking cobwebs. She had been too busy to think about her marriage and St. Ryne’s actions, which suited her perfectly. A brief frown creased her brow. He would most likely be returning soon, if he hadn’t run from his mockery of a