eyes of the Polite World, ergo, his mother. The place itself was charming, inviting. He mentally saluted Lady Rosalind’s taste. Only one thing bothered him: the housekeeper, Annie Lee, Mrs. Annie Lee, by George, was the ugliest female he had ever seen!
Chapter Seven
The Mrs. had to be a courtesy title. Love might be blind, Gard reasoned, but this was asking too much. The woman had jaundiced skin and a chest so flat you could iron a neckcloth on it. She wore a black dress obviously made for someone two sizes larger, and a grayish mobcap with lappets that covered whatever hair she might have, except the three long ones growing out of the mole on her cheek. Dark spectacles most likely hid an awful squint or worse, and, since she never smiled, the earl assumed her teeth were as bad as her eyes. She stood perfectly, rigidly erect, except for the one shoulder that was permanently higher than the other.
Love would have to be deaf and dumb besides to settle on Mrs. Annie Lee. The notion of an unfortunate Mr. Lee offended the earl’s sense of justice. The unfortunate notion of Mrs. Annie Lee in his cozy little love nest offended his aesthetic soul. There just had to be a way of getting the house without this housekeeper from hell.
“You seem young for such a responsible position,” he began with a lie, having no way to guess the woman’s age with so little of her showing. At least she had not gotten out of breath on the stairs.
“I have been holding house for years,” Annalise quickly replied, happy to be telling the truth. She’d been managing Thompson Hall since her mother’s death. “Hen—my aunt Henny trained me. That’s Mrs. Tuthill, in the kitchen,” she added. “Her, ah, rheumatics make it too hard for her to manage anything but the cooking.”
Blast, the witch was a relative to the Tuthills. That meant he’d have to give up the treasure in the kitchens and that man who was a dab hand with the horses, too, just to be rid of her ugly phiz. It was worth it.
“Have you been here long?’ he asked, preparatory to mentioning that he had an old family retainer in mind for the position.
Annalise knew she’d be found out as soon as he made inquiries, so she answered, “Not personally, but the family… ” She let her words trail off.
Ross knew all about lines of service passing from father to son, mother to daughter. Hell and tarnation. Well, if he had no grounds to dismiss her on issues of loyalty or longevity, he still had the matter of remuneration. He could just refuse to pay.
“The rental agent mentioned nothing about your salary being included in the terms. I am not prepared to—”
“Oh, but we have nothing to do with the land agent. It’s more a private arrangement with Lady Rosalind. Here.” She whipped a letter out of her pocket, held it under his nose for a moment, then snatched it back. As far as he could tell, Lady Rosalind had abominable handwriting, but her signature was there, all right, under a line that seemed to have read, Annie (something), Always welcome. Stay as long as you want. Fondly.
“Lady Rosalind took her butler and abigail along with her, of course,” Annalise went on, thinking that sounded likely, “but meant for us to stay with the house. She said any gentleman hiring the premises could be expected to honor her commitments.”
That tore it. Gard was trapped with the subtle emphasis on gentleman and honor , the hag’s intention, of course. He’d have to keep her on. At least his mistresses wouldn’t have any jealous complaints. And she seemed surprisingly well spoken for a servant. See, he congratulated himself, there was something to admire even in the homeliest woman. “Yes, yes, I’ll take the house.”
“Excellent. Our salaries amount to eighty pounds per annum. Thirty for myself, twenty for each of the Tuthills, ten for Lorna, the maid. That’s twenty pounds quarterly, payable in advance. Uniforms not included. Vacations and half days as per custom.
Chapter Seven
The Mrs. had to be a courtesy title. Love might be blind, Gard reasoned, but this was asking too much. The woman had jaundiced skin and a chest so flat you could iron a neckcloth on it. She wore a black dress obviously made for someone two sizes larger, and a grayish mobcap with lappets that covered whatever hair she might have, except the three long ones growing out of the mole on her cheek. Dark spectacles most likely hid an awful squint or worse, and, since she never smiled, the earl assumed her teeth were as bad as her eyes. She stood perfectly, rigidly erect, except for the one shoulder that was permanently higher than the other.
Love would have to be deaf and dumb besides to settle on Mrs. Annie Lee. The notion of an unfortunate Mr. Lee offended the earl’s sense of justice. The unfortunate notion of Mrs. Annie Lee in his cozy little love nest offended his aesthetic soul. There just had to be a way of getting the house without this housekeeper from hell.
“You seem young for such a responsible position,” he began with a lie, having no way to guess the woman’s age with so little of her showing. At least she had not gotten out of breath on the stairs.
“I have been holding house for years,” Annalise quickly replied, happy to be telling the truth. She’d been managing Thompson Hall since her mother’s death. “Hen—my aunt Henny trained me. That’s Mrs. Tuthill, in the kitchen,” she added. “Her, ah, rheumatics make it too hard for her to manage anything but the cooking.”
Blast, the witch was a relative to the Tuthills. That meant he’d have to give up the treasure in the kitchens and that man who was a dab hand with the horses, too, just to be rid of her ugly phiz. It was worth it.
“Have you been here long?’ he asked, preparatory to mentioning that he had an old family retainer in mind for the position.
Annalise knew she’d be found out as soon as he made inquiries, so she answered, “Not personally, but the family… ” She let her words trail off.
Ross knew all about lines of service passing from father to son, mother to daughter. Hell and tarnation. Well, if he had no grounds to dismiss her on issues of loyalty or longevity, he still had the matter of remuneration. He could just refuse to pay.
“The rental agent mentioned nothing about your salary being included in the terms. I am not prepared to—”
“Oh, but we have nothing to do with the land agent. It’s more a private arrangement with Lady Rosalind. Here.” She whipped a letter out of her pocket, held it under his nose for a moment, then snatched it back. As far as he could tell, Lady Rosalind had abominable handwriting, but her signature was there, all right, under a line that seemed to have read, Annie (something), Always welcome. Stay as long as you want. Fondly.
“Lady Rosalind took her butler and abigail along with her, of course,” Annalise went on, thinking that sounded likely, “but meant for us to stay with the house. She said any gentleman hiring the premises could be expected to honor her commitments.”
That tore it. Gard was trapped with the subtle emphasis on gentleman and honor , the hag’s intention, of course. He’d have to keep her on. At least his mistresses wouldn’t have any jealous complaints. And she seemed surprisingly well spoken for a servant. See, he congratulated himself, there was something to admire even in the homeliest woman. “Yes, yes, I’ll take the house.”
“Excellent. Our salaries amount to eighty pounds per annum. Thirty for myself, twenty for each of the Tuthills, ten for Lorna, the maid. That’s twenty pounds quarterly, payable in advance. Uniforms not included. Vacations and half days as per custom.
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