didn’t seem right. “I’m going to need a few things,” she said slowly.
“I’m sure I can provide—”
“Could you hire me?” Christy broke across her words.
“Hire you? My dear, there is no need, not if the major wishes us to take you in.”
“I want to earn my keep. I’m going to need clothes, and—and a toothbrush. I don’t even have a hair brush.” Or her makeup, or cleanser or anything else she considered essential. The horror of her situation began to hit home: they didn’t have chocolate chips in this era. She was dead!
Mrs. Runcorn patted her hand. “I am sure we can come to some arrangement, my dear.”
Christy turned to the men. “Major Holborn? If I promise to stay here and work as a maid for at least the next week or two, do you think you could advance me a little money for wages?”
“A maid!” For a moment, astonishment flickered in his eyes, then disapproval settled over his strong features. “You are not to be thinking of going into service. That is not in the least suitable for a lady.”
“I’m not a—” She broke off. She wouldn’t try to argue with his notions of class system. At least not while she seemed to be on the winning end of it. “There is so much I need, and I won’t impose on everyone. Please, let me earn it.”
His chin jutted out in a stubborn manner.
She sighed, recognizing a brick wall when she ran into one. “All right, not a maid. But there are any number of things I can do to help around here. If you won’t let me clean, what about cooking?” She read the unyielding set of his jaw, and tried again. “How about if I help with the children? Perhaps I can teach them something?”
The Runcorns exchanged an arrested glance.
It did not escape the major’s notice. “Are you in need of instructors for the boys? Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.
“We didn’t want to bother you with unnecessary expense ” Mr. Runcorn admitted after a moment. “Elinor and I have been able to teach them well enough, though it has sometimes occurred to us they might respond to a—a younger person.”
Relief rushed through Christy. “It’s settled, then,” she announced before any of them could change their minds. Then the rashness of her offer dawned on her. “How old are they? And how many?”
“There are only eight,” Mrs. Runcorn assured her. “They range in age from nine to thirteen.”
“Nine to thirteen,” Christy repeated, trying to keep the dismay from her voice. Just what she needed, a pack of preteens. Well, it might be worse, though she was more experienced with younger children. Being an aunt came in useful.
“May I ask your salary requirements?” Amusement returned to the major’s dark eyes.
Christy blinked. “I have no idea. What’s the going rate?”
He burst out laughing. “I believe two hundred pounds is a reasonable figure.”
“A week?” she hazarded. That didn’t sound like much, but then she had no idea how much a pound was currently worth.
A puzzled frown creased his brow. “A year,” he corrected, gently.
“A—” She broke off, shocked. “Well, now I’ve got an idea about the exchange rate, at least.” She saw his frowning face, and grinned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you with an outrageous demand. From what I’ve seen of you, I’ll bet that’s a very generous salary.”
“I am sure you will do an admirable job.” The major turned back to the Reverend Mr. Runcorn, in the manner of one dismissing a matter now settled.
“Have things been quiet for you since we had the pleasure of seeing you last?” The clergyman helped himself to a thick slice of cake and fixed his concerned gaze on his visitor.
The major hesitated. “There has been another occurrence,” he admitted.
Mrs. Runcorn’s delicate hand fluttered at her breast. “How dreadful. What happened this time?”
The major glanced at Christy. “Someone threw a couple of knives at me while I was walking across a small
“I’m sure I can provide—”
“Could you hire me?” Christy broke across her words.
“Hire you? My dear, there is no need, not if the major wishes us to take you in.”
“I want to earn my keep. I’m going to need clothes, and—and a toothbrush. I don’t even have a hair brush.” Or her makeup, or cleanser or anything else she considered essential. The horror of her situation began to hit home: they didn’t have chocolate chips in this era. She was dead!
Mrs. Runcorn patted her hand. “I am sure we can come to some arrangement, my dear.”
Christy turned to the men. “Major Holborn? If I promise to stay here and work as a maid for at least the next week or two, do you think you could advance me a little money for wages?”
“A maid!” For a moment, astonishment flickered in his eyes, then disapproval settled over his strong features. “You are not to be thinking of going into service. That is not in the least suitable for a lady.”
“I’m not a—” She broke off. She wouldn’t try to argue with his notions of class system. At least not while she seemed to be on the winning end of it. “There is so much I need, and I won’t impose on everyone. Please, let me earn it.”
His chin jutted out in a stubborn manner.
She sighed, recognizing a brick wall when she ran into one. “All right, not a maid. But there are any number of things I can do to help around here. If you won’t let me clean, what about cooking?” She read the unyielding set of his jaw, and tried again. “How about if I help with the children? Perhaps I can teach them something?”
The Runcorns exchanged an arrested glance.
It did not escape the major’s notice. “Are you in need of instructors for the boys? Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.
“We didn’t want to bother you with unnecessary expense ” Mr. Runcorn admitted after a moment. “Elinor and I have been able to teach them well enough, though it has sometimes occurred to us they might respond to a—a younger person.”
Relief rushed through Christy. “It’s settled, then,” she announced before any of them could change their minds. Then the rashness of her offer dawned on her. “How old are they? And how many?”
“There are only eight,” Mrs. Runcorn assured her. “They range in age from nine to thirteen.”
“Nine to thirteen,” Christy repeated, trying to keep the dismay from her voice. Just what she needed, a pack of preteens. Well, it might be worse, though she was more experienced with younger children. Being an aunt came in useful.
“May I ask your salary requirements?” Amusement returned to the major’s dark eyes.
Christy blinked. “I have no idea. What’s the going rate?”
He burst out laughing. “I believe two hundred pounds is a reasonable figure.”
“A week?” she hazarded. That didn’t sound like much, but then she had no idea how much a pound was currently worth.
A puzzled frown creased his brow. “A year,” he corrected, gently.
“A—” She broke off, shocked. “Well, now I’ve got an idea about the exchange rate, at least.” She saw his frowning face, and grinned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you with an outrageous demand. From what I’ve seen of you, I’ll bet that’s a very generous salary.”
“I am sure you will do an admirable job.” The major turned back to the Reverend Mr. Runcorn, in the manner of one dismissing a matter now settled.
“Have things been quiet for you since we had the pleasure of seeing you last?” The clergyman helped himself to a thick slice of cake and fixed his concerned gaze on his visitor.
The major hesitated. “There has been another occurrence,” he admitted.
Mrs. Runcorn’s delicate hand fluttered at her breast. “How dreadful. What happened this time?”
The major glanced at Christy. “Someone threw a couple of knives at me while I was walking across a small
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