Leading Lady by Lawana Blackwell Page B

motion to fill this need before she became even aware that there was a need?
    This was too radical to grasp in one sitting. But it brought on a sense of being special, almost privileged, and she resolved quietly to attend church more often.
    Her mind returning to the task of interviewing, she asked, “Why did you come here first?”
    “Mrs. Godfrey advised that I should.” The woman opened her mouth again as if to say more, but then closed it, the small eyes measuring Muriel as if wondering how much was safe to confide.
    This sparked a flicker of annoyance in Muriel. “Well, go on.”
    Again the hesitancy in the dark eyes. “I am glad yours was first, your Ladyship, for I prayed on the train that I would find a nursemaid position, as I’m very fond of children.”
    Muriel’s warm sense of entitlement evaporated, leaving an aftertaste of resentment. Was God instead answering the prayer of this pig farmer’s daughter? But only if I hire her, she reminded herself. She was tempted to dismiss her forthright, until the notion occurred to her that it may not be wise to defy God so directly. She had gotten away with a lot in her life, she realized, with no punishment. What if this was the final straw, in God’s eyes?
    Just wait, she said to herself. With a motion of the hand to include both women, she said, “Mrs. Burles has others to interview. If you wish, you may wait downstairs until she’s finished.”
    An hour and a half later, Mrs. Burles knocked softly on the sitting room door. Muriel put aside the October issue of Gardener’s Magazine she had been trying to read.
    “Are you finished?”
    “Yes, your Ladyship,” the housekeeper said.
    “And?”
    “Miss Prescott seems the most qualified, what with the recommendation from Mrs. Godfrey and all. While she’s had no experience as a nursemaid for hire, well, rearing all those children . . .”
    Muriel pursed her lips for a fraction. “She’s old. And homely.”
    “She’s but forty, your Ladyship,” Mrs. Burles said respectfully. “And aren’t those things in your favor? She’s not likely to go running off chasing some dream or to have suitors calling. And she doesn’t have to serve notice to another employer.”
    Those arguments made sense, and combined with the punishment-from-God factor, disposed Muriel to consider Leah Prescott more seriously. “Well, bring her up here again.”
    This time the applicant proved her homespun education by reading eloquently from an article on fertilizers in Muriel’smagazine and multiplying a pair of six-digit numbers in half the time it took Muriel to check the answer with pencil and paper.
    “You’ll be expected to wear uniforms,” Muriel said, just in case the woman planned to wear that rag of a gown every day. Mourning her father or not, this was a household where things were done certain ways.
    Leah Prescott blushed but did not lower her small dark eyes. “My father had debts, Lady Holt. I spent most of what was left to me on train fare.”
    Muriel looked at Mrs. Burles, wondering what that possibly would have to do with the uniform requirement.
    The housekeeper nodded knowingly. “ Lady Holt supplies the uniforms, Miss Prescott.”
    “Measure her and have Fenton’s send some over,” Muriel instructed. Fenton’s was where the servants’ uniforms had been purchased while Sidney was alive and pinching pennies to invest in the stock exchange. Now that he was gone, Muriel had one of her own dressmaker’s assistants sew their uniforms, for she was particular about even the most minute details of her house, and servants were as noticed as the furnishings. But this was an emergency. “And have Doctor Lear over to examine her before you send her up to the nursery.”
    Leah Prescott was staring at her with a bewildered expression.
    “Well . . ?” Muriel said, more than ready to get out to her garden.
    “I’ve been hired, then?”
    Muriel could not help but smile at the woman’s taut posture, a thin hand