glassware. Along one stone wall stood a hearth massive enough to accommodate a suckling pig.
A gray-haired woman with a white apron cinching her plump waist bent over the fire to stir the contents of an iron cauldron. In the center of the room, a pair of young kitchen maids in mobcaps chattered at a long worktable while they peeled a mountain of potatoes.
One of the maidservants glanced over at Annabelle in the doorway. The girl leaned forward to whisper to her companion; then they both fell silent and stared. Wooden spoon in hand, the cook turned around as if to chastise them.
The woman’s eyes widened at Annabelle, and she motioned to one of the maids. “Livvy, stop gawkin’ and come stir the kittle.”
The smaller of the two girls jumped up to take over the task. Wiping her knobby hands on her apron, the cook hurried forward. Her plain but pleasant features were flushed from the fire. “Mrs. Hodge, I am,” she said. “’Ee must be the new governess. Might I fetch ’ee some bruckfast?”
“A cup of tea with toast would be marvelous.”
Mrs. Hodge clucked her tongue. “A body needs more’n that t’ start the day. And ’ee shoulda rung the bell. Or sent Elowen t’ bring a tray.”
Annabelle had deliberately slipped out while the nursemaid was busy scrubbing the floor in the schoolroom. “I don’t mind coming down myself. Might I sit at the table here?”
The cook looked aghast. “In the kitchen? A lady like ’ee?”
Annabelle wanted to correct the woman. She might look the lady in the stylish bronze silk gown given to her by Lady Milford. She might speak and behave according to the posh manners she’d been obliged to teach at the academy. But she’d always felt most comfortable among the servants, for at least they did not look down their noses at her for having been born on the wrong side of the blanket. “I’m perfectly content staying right here, truly I am.”
“As ’ee wishes. These two hen wits are Livvy and Moira. They’ll fetch ’ee some fare.”
In short order, Annabelle sat sipping a hot cup of tea at one end of the worktable. Mrs. Hodge bustled around the kitchen, disappearing into the pantry for a sack of raisins and coming back out to prepare a tray of buns for baking.
With a shy smile, Livvy brought over a rasher of toast along with a dish of steaming porridge from the kettle and a small jug of cream. She bobbed a curtsy before hastening back to her potato peeling at the other end of the table.
Except for the girls at the academy who’d been practicing for their court debut, no one had ever genuflected to Annabelle before. The novel occurrence was a stark reminder of the gulf between her and the other servants. As governess, she occupied a place at the pinnacle of the hired staff. Her mission today, however, would be much easier if they viewed her as one of them.
While pouring a dollop of cream into her porridge, she noticed the two maidservants stealing curious glances at her. They had ceased their chatter and it was clear they felt constrained by the presence of a stranger. If ever she was to learn anything useful, Annabelle would have to extend the hand of friendship.
She caught the eye of the huskier of the two girls. “You’re Moira, aren’t you?” she said with a warm smile. “You delivered the tea tray yesterday to Lord Simon and his guests.”
A dull flush came over the girl’s broad features. “Beg pardon, miss, fer bumpin’ inta ’ee.”
“Nonsense, it was my fault, including the misfortune with the sugar. I’m afraid I was speaking to His Grace instead of watching where I was walking.”
Livvy clutched a half-peeled potato to the bib of her apron. “Oh, miss, I been thinkin’ ever since Moira told me wot happened. I’m wonderin’ if mayhap ’twas a pisky that tangled thy skirts.”
Annabelle held back a laugh just in time. The girl wasn’t jesting; she appeared utterly earnest, her eyes big and brown in her freckled face. Across from her,
A gray-haired woman with a white apron cinching her plump waist bent over the fire to stir the contents of an iron cauldron. In the center of the room, a pair of young kitchen maids in mobcaps chattered at a long worktable while they peeled a mountain of potatoes.
One of the maidservants glanced over at Annabelle in the doorway. The girl leaned forward to whisper to her companion; then they both fell silent and stared. Wooden spoon in hand, the cook turned around as if to chastise them.
The woman’s eyes widened at Annabelle, and she motioned to one of the maids. “Livvy, stop gawkin’ and come stir the kittle.”
The smaller of the two girls jumped up to take over the task. Wiping her knobby hands on her apron, the cook hurried forward. Her plain but pleasant features were flushed from the fire. “Mrs. Hodge, I am,” she said. “’Ee must be the new governess. Might I fetch ’ee some bruckfast?”
“A cup of tea with toast would be marvelous.”
Mrs. Hodge clucked her tongue. “A body needs more’n that t’ start the day. And ’ee shoulda rung the bell. Or sent Elowen t’ bring a tray.”
Annabelle had deliberately slipped out while the nursemaid was busy scrubbing the floor in the schoolroom. “I don’t mind coming down myself. Might I sit at the table here?”
The cook looked aghast. “In the kitchen? A lady like ’ee?”
Annabelle wanted to correct the woman. She might look the lady in the stylish bronze silk gown given to her by Lady Milford. She might speak and behave according to the posh manners she’d been obliged to teach at the academy. But she’d always felt most comfortable among the servants, for at least they did not look down their noses at her for having been born on the wrong side of the blanket. “I’m perfectly content staying right here, truly I am.”
“As ’ee wishes. These two hen wits are Livvy and Moira. They’ll fetch ’ee some fare.”
In short order, Annabelle sat sipping a hot cup of tea at one end of the worktable. Mrs. Hodge bustled around the kitchen, disappearing into the pantry for a sack of raisins and coming back out to prepare a tray of buns for baking.
With a shy smile, Livvy brought over a rasher of toast along with a dish of steaming porridge from the kettle and a small jug of cream. She bobbed a curtsy before hastening back to her potato peeling at the other end of the table.
Except for the girls at the academy who’d been practicing for their court debut, no one had ever genuflected to Annabelle before. The novel occurrence was a stark reminder of the gulf between her and the other servants. As governess, she occupied a place at the pinnacle of the hired staff. Her mission today, however, would be much easier if they viewed her as one of them.
While pouring a dollop of cream into her porridge, she noticed the two maidservants stealing curious glances at her. They had ceased their chatter and it was clear they felt constrained by the presence of a stranger. If ever she was to learn anything useful, Annabelle would have to extend the hand of friendship.
She caught the eye of the huskier of the two girls. “You’re Moira, aren’t you?” she said with a warm smile. “You delivered the tea tray yesterday to Lord Simon and his guests.”
A dull flush came over the girl’s broad features. “Beg pardon, miss, fer bumpin’ inta ’ee.”
“Nonsense, it was my fault, including the misfortune with the sugar. I’m afraid I was speaking to His Grace instead of watching where I was walking.”
Livvy clutched a half-peeled potato to the bib of her apron. “Oh, miss, I been thinkin’ ever since Moira told me wot happened. I’m wonderin’ if mayhap ’twas a pisky that tangled thy skirts.”
Annabelle held back a laugh just in time. The girl wasn’t jesting; she appeared utterly earnest, her eyes big and brown in her freckled face. Across from her,
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