mocking grin. "What,
Madame Pester? You mean to say you are just now aware of my
arrival? Tch. Tch. Your prying little eyes must be wearing dim with
age."
"Don't bandy words with her, Gilly." Phaedra
stamped her foot. "Mrs. Searle, you will treat my cousin with
respect or I swear I shall send you packing."
But Gilly called out, "Now, Fae, Madame
Pester has reason to be shocked by my presence. A gentleman in your
private room, an Irishman and a Catholic to boot. Fie! For
shame."
"You are guilty on the last two counts,"
Phaedra retorted. "But upon my authority as a spoiled, highborn
beauty, let me tell you, sir, that you are no gentleman. Now be
off. I am certain you have a rather pressing errand to attend." She
glanced pointedly toward where her manuscript bulged in his
waistcoat pocket. "I can pack away these gowns for the almshouse
without your interference."
A smile of approval lit Gilly's face even.as
he swept an exaggerated bow, encompassing both Phaedra and Mrs.
Searle. "Oh, yes, your ladyship. Right away, your ladyship. And
Madame Pester, charmed as always to be making your acquaintance
again." Still bowing and scraping, Gilly backed out of the
room.
When his grinning countenance had disappeared
from view, Phaedra turned her attention back to Mrs. Searle. The
woman had successfully disguised any rage she felt at Gilly behind
her normally morose expression. Her hands folded before her, her
strangely wrought fingers peeked out of her black lace mittens,
crooked only at the first joint like the claws of a vulture.
"I regret having disturbed yer ladyship with
my error," she said. "If I am excused, I will be about my
work."
"Oh, yes. I am sure you are just dying to go
see my grandfather and tell him all about my having Gilly here.
"Phaedra was well aware that Sawyer Weylin despised her Irish
cousin nearly as much as her late husband had.
"Nay, I shouldn't dream of disturbing the
master when he's holding his levee," Hester said. Although she
lowered her lashes, her thin, blue-veined lids did not hood her
eyes enough to disguise a glint of malicious anticipation.
"Get along, then. And when Lucy has
recovered, send her up here to bundle these gowns. But if I ever
catch you striking her or prowling through my room again, I swear
I'll wring your scrawny neck with my own two hands. And not even my
grandfather will be able to stop me."
Her face emotionless, Hester nudged several
of the black gowns aside with her toe, uncovering a cloak.
Retrieving it from the pile, she prepared to slip out of the
room.
Phaedra sharply drew in her breath. "And
where do you think you are going with that?"
Hester shrugged, shooting Phaedra a sly
glance. "I only thought as ye be now giving these things away, I
would have it for myself. Being but a poor housekeeper with no
wealthy grandfather to ease my way."
"Oh, no, you don't. Give me that." Phaedra
wrenched the cloak from the older woman's grasp. "You think I'll
let you walk off with this, so I can find it turning up amongst my
things again one day? Don't think for a minute I don't know that it
is you who keeps slipping this back into my wardrobe."
"Why, ma'am, ye seemed to cherish it so,"
Hester purred. "I couldn't believe ye meant to discard it."
"Liar!" Phaedra's fingers tightened on the
soft folds. "I will tolerate no more of your tricks, do you hear
me? Now get out of here. Go make your report to my grandfather. And
keep your sneaking face out of my sight."
"Yes, my lady," Hester sneered, her stiff
skirts rustling as she glided out of the garret, the door clicking
shut behind her.
Phaedra trembled with anger. Meddlesome old
witch. She did not doubt for a moment that the housekeeper's true
purpose had been to snoop amongst Phaedra's most private
belongings.
Anxiously, Phaedra hastened toward a small
cabinet lodged in one corner of the room. One of the few pieces of
furniture she had brought with her from Ireland, the cabinet was
fashioned of blackened bog oak, the sides carved
Madame Pester? You mean to say you are just now aware of my
arrival? Tch. Tch. Your prying little eyes must be wearing dim with
age."
"Don't bandy words with her, Gilly." Phaedra
stamped her foot. "Mrs. Searle, you will treat my cousin with
respect or I swear I shall send you packing."
But Gilly called out, "Now, Fae, Madame
Pester has reason to be shocked by my presence. A gentleman in your
private room, an Irishman and a Catholic to boot. Fie! For
shame."
"You are guilty on the last two counts,"
Phaedra retorted. "But upon my authority as a spoiled, highborn
beauty, let me tell you, sir, that you are no gentleman. Now be
off. I am certain you have a rather pressing errand to attend." She
glanced pointedly toward where her manuscript bulged in his
waistcoat pocket. "I can pack away these gowns for the almshouse
without your interference."
A smile of approval lit Gilly's face even.as
he swept an exaggerated bow, encompassing both Phaedra and Mrs.
Searle. "Oh, yes, your ladyship. Right away, your ladyship. And
Madame Pester, charmed as always to be making your acquaintance
again." Still bowing and scraping, Gilly backed out of the
room.
When his grinning countenance had disappeared
from view, Phaedra turned her attention back to Mrs. Searle. The
woman had successfully disguised any rage she felt at Gilly behind
her normally morose expression. Her hands folded before her, her
strangely wrought fingers peeked out of her black lace mittens,
crooked only at the first joint like the claws of a vulture.
"I regret having disturbed yer ladyship with
my error," she said. "If I am excused, I will be about my
work."
"Oh, yes. I am sure you are just dying to go
see my grandfather and tell him all about my having Gilly here.
"Phaedra was well aware that Sawyer Weylin despised her Irish
cousin nearly as much as her late husband had.
"Nay, I shouldn't dream of disturbing the
master when he's holding his levee," Hester said. Although she
lowered her lashes, her thin, blue-veined lids did not hood her
eyes enough to disguise a glint of malicious anticipation.
"Get along, then. And when Lucy has
recovered, send her up here to bundle these gowns. But if I ever
catch you striking her or prowling through my room again, I swear
I'll wring your scrawny neck with my own two hands. And not even my
grandfather will be able to stop me."
Her face emotionless, Hester nudged several
of the black gowns aside with her toe, uncovering a cloak.
Retrieving it from the pile, she prepared to slip out of the
room.
Phaedra sharply drew in her breath. "And
where do you think you are going with that?"
Hester shrugged, shooting Phaedra a sly
glance. "I only thought as ye be now giving these things away, I
would have it for myself. Being but a poor housekeeper with no
wealthy grandfather to ease my way."
"Oh, no, you don't. Give me that." Phaedra
wrenched the cloak from the older woman's grasp. "You think I'll
let you walk off with this, so I can find it turning up amongst my
things again one day? Don't think for a minute I don't know that it
is you who keeps slipping this back into my wardrobe."
"Why, ma'am, ye seemed to cherish it so,"
Hester purred. "I couldn't believe ye meant to discard it."
"Liar!" Phaedra's fingers tightened on the
soft folds. "I will tolerate no more of your tricks, do you hear
me? Now get out of here. Go make your report to my grandfather. And
keep your sneaking face out of my sight."
"Yes, my lady," Hester sneered, her stiff
skirts rustling as she glided out of the garret, the door clicking
shut behind her.
Phaedra trembled with anger. Meddlesome old
witch. She did not doubt for a moment that the housekeeper's true
purpose had been to snoop amongst Phaedra's most private
belongings.
Anxiously, Phaedra hastened toward a small
cabinet lodged in one corner of the room. One of the few pieces of
furniture she had brought with her from Ireland, the cabinet was
fashioned of blackened bog oak, the sides carved
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