Wentworth Hall by Abby Grahame

would be upsetting her needlessly. On the other hand, if she was about to get the sack, she should be warned.
    When Nora entered the kitchen, Therese was there, sitting at the table, yawning but awake. Her half-closed eyes widened at the sight of Nora. “What happened?” she asked, seeing Nora’s excited expression.
    “Oh…” Nora hesitated, making up her mind what to do. “Lady Darlington was having a heated discussion with his lordship,” she reported, gathering up the gown she’d been hemming.
    “So he was up,” Therese surmised. “That’s when he must have dropped this.” She took an opened envelope from the pocket of her robe and placed it on the table. It was addressed to Lord Arthur Darlington from his solicitor in London.
    “What is it?” Nora asked. “You didn’t read it, did you?”
    A mischievous sparkle came into Therese’s eyes. “Of course I did. Wouldn’t you?”
    Nora had to grin. “Naturally.”
    Therese took the paper from the envelope and handed it to Nora.
    Nora scanned the letter and quickly gleaned the meaning of its contents. Lord Darlington had contacted his lawyer in London about selling off not only large tracts of land on his estate—including the stable and its horses—but also many of the family’s most prized heirlooms.
    After reading the letter, Nora looked at Therese with a stunned expression. “I had no idea things were this bad,” she remarked honestly. “It’s worse than I thought.”
    “Do you think our positions here are at risk?” Therese asked in a worried tone.
    Nora nodded her head. There was no sense warning Therese about what she had just overheard. This was warning enough. And Therese might not be the only one who would soon be hunting for a position, it seemed. It was possible that before long the entire staff of Wentworth Hall might be seeking new employment.

Chapter Eleven
     
    The Sussex Courier
    THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF… THE WORTHLESS SAGA
    Presenting part two of the popular
    ongoing new series …
    “Pack My Jewels. We’re Moving to the Poorhouse.”
     
It was quite the scene at our favorite broken-down palace earlier this week.
     
“Sell! Sell! Sell!” cried Lord Worthless as he stood in the immense front foyer of Faded Glory Manor, his family’s once grand estate.“Everything must go!”
     
Moving men carried out furniture and racks of gowns, jewels, and fur coats, all to be sold at an auction in London. Lady Worthless hurried out with a wailing baby slung over her shoulder. Ignoring the baby’s cries, she tugged at a fox stole at the top of a pile the mover is carrying out. “Not Foxie!” she cried. As she pulled, dust rises in the air. “He once belonged to Mumsie and her Mumsie before her. You simply can’t take Foxie.”
     
“Sorry, lady. His Nibs over there told us to take everything,” the moving man said.
     
The baby crawled to the top of Lady Worthless’s upswept hair and sat there crying. Lady Worthless bawled just as loudly over the loss of her beloved Foxie. The baby finally stopped crying and sucked his thumb. Lady Worthless followed suit.
     
A mover came out with one of the maids slung over his shoulder. She beat on his shoulders, bellowing. “You can’t take me! I’m not a possession!”
     
“That’s not what Lord Worthless told us,” the mover replied. Accepting the truth of this, the maid drooped over the mover’s back, arms hanging limply, and allowed herself to be carried out.
     
Richie and Richina Sterling strolled in, glancing around dispassionately. “I told you this would happen,” Richie said to his sister. “I’m sure we could buy the place for a song but, frankly… who would want it?”
     
“The tennis court is nice,” Richina pointed out.
     
“That was built with our money,” Richie reminded her. “So that’s already ours.”
     
“So it is!” Richina said with a jaunty laugh. As she threw her head back to chortle, her earrings ring and her many bracelets tinkling like a