here.”
Emily relaxed visibly.
“Well, I can manage that much, I’m sure. Let me run down to the kitchen and ask Cook for a tray. I’ll bring back the hot water with me.”
Privacy had not been much available for Jenny either at boarding school or at home, so she found Emily’s chattering company very welcome. In short time, she had learned that Hawthorne House maintained a relatively small staff: housekeeper, butler, cook, footman, Emily herself, and a boy to do the boots and other such chores.
This seemed like a rather large number of people to tend to the comfort of one man, but Emily rapidly made clear there could have been more. Sir Neville did without a valet. He didn’t keep a driver or groom because his horses were stabled at a reliable livery establishment nearby, and he didn’t keep a coach. Between them the housekeeper and cook handled the shopping, and the butler minded the wine cellar. The butler was also in charge of household accounts.
“The staff will even be smaller when Sir Neville goes abroad,” Emily continued, returning to Jenny’s unpacking. “The house is going to be closed, but for the butler and housekeeper to take care of immediate needs. Sir Neville has found places for everyone else, and now he’s taking me and my man along with him.”
Jenny recalled that the footman, Albert, or Bert as Emily preferred to call him, was Emily’s husband of two years. They had no children, but Emily wasn’t distressed.
“We’re putting by for that day,” she said, “and don’t mind having a bit of time to do so, not that Sir Neville would dismiss me, but there’s no escaping that a child gets in the way of doing one’s job.”
Jenny wondered how old Emily might be, and finally decided on somewhere past twenty, but not yet twenty-five. Bert, as she recalled him from their brief meeting the night before, was probably five years older. Young enough, then, to relish an adventure, but mature enough that they could be left to their own devices when Uncle Neville went off wherever it was he was going.
She thought about what he’d said the night before concerning the make-up of that expedition. Three men only, and Bert hadn’t been one of them. She didn’t think Uncle Neville was such a snob as not to mention a servant in his count, but then she didn’t know. There was so much she didn’t know, including the most important thing—how to convince Uncle Neville to let her go with him to Egypt.
“Did Uncle Neville tell you where he was going?”
Emily looked puzzled.
“Why, to Egypt, Miss. Kay-ro or so such heathen place. At least that’s where Bert and I will be stopping. Sir Neville said he might need to go elsewhere, but that he’d make certain we had a respectable place to stay while we’re waiting for him.”
“I’m sure,” Jenny said.
She would have asked more, but she noticed that Emily had lifted a smaller box from inside one of the trunks and was shaking out a ring of keys, clearly looking for the one that would fit the lock.
“No need to unpack that one, Emily,” Jenny interjected with enough haste that Emily gave her a rather quizzical look. “I mean, I don’t think it’s anything I’ll need for a while.”
Emily set it back inside the trunk, though not without a questioning glance. Jenny, thinking of that ring of keys—keys she could certainly reclaim, since they were her own property, but which Emily in turn could easily reacquire for long enough to open the box—made a decision.
“Go ahead and open it,” she said, “but take care with the contents.”
Curiosity and apprehension warred for a moment on Emily’s face, but curiosity won—a thing Jenny wholly appreciated. Turning away to brush her hair, her hand never staying in its rhythmic stroke, she continued to watch through the mirror.
Emily set the black box on a chest of drawers, and unlatched the top. Opening it, she halted, her hand still resting on the lid, her mouth a round circle of
Emily relaxed visibly.
“Well, I can manage that much, I’m sure. Let me run down to the kitchen and ask Cook for a tray. I’ll bring back the hot water with me.”
Privacy had not been much available for Jenny either at boarding school or at home, so she found Emily’s chattering company very welcome. In short time, she had learned that Hawthorne House maintained a relatively small staff: housekeeper, butler, cook, footman, Emily herself, and a boy to do the boots and other such chores.
This seemed like a rather large number of people to tend to the comfort of one man, but Emily rapidly made clear there could have been more. Sir Neville did without a valet. He didn’t keep a driver or groom because his horses were stabled at a reliable livery establishment nearby, and he didn’t keep a coach. Between them the housekeeper and cook handled the shopping, and the butler minded the wine cellar. The butler was also in charge of household accounts.
“The staff will even be smaller when Sir Neville goes abroad,” Emily continued, returning to Jenny’s unpacking. “The house is going to be closed, but for the butler and housekeeper to take care of immediate needs. Sir Neville has found places for everyone else, and now he’s taking me and my man along with him.”
Jenny recalled that the footman, Albert, or Bert as Emily preferred to call him, was Emily’s husband of two years. They had no children, but Emily wasn’t distressed.
“We’re putting by for that day,” she said, “and don’t mind having a bit of time to do so, not that Sir Neville would dismiss me, but there’s no escaping that a child gets in the way of doing one’s job.”
Jenny wondered how old Emily might be, and finally decided on somewhere past twenty, but not yet twenty-five. Bert, as she recalled him from their brief meeting the night before, was probably five years older. Young enough, then, to relish an adventure, but mature enough that they could be left to their own devices when Uncle Neville went off wherever it was he was going.
She thought about what he’d said the night before concerning the make-up of that expedition. Three men only, and Bert hadn’t been one of them. She didn’t think Uncle Neville was such a snob as not to mention a servant in his count, but then she didn’t know. There was so much she didn’t know, including the most important thing—how to convince Uncle Neville to let her go with him to Egypt.
“Did Uncle Neville tell you where he was going?”
Emily looked puzzled.
“Why, to Egypt, Miss. Kay-ro or so such heathen place. At least that’s where Bert and I will be stopping. Sir Neville said he might need to go elsewhere, but that he’d make certain we had a respectable place to stay while we’re waiting for him.”
“I’m sure,” Jenny said.
She would have asked more, but she noticed that Emily had lifted a smaller box from inside one of the trunks and was shaking out a ring of keys, clearly looking for the one that would fit the lock.
“No need to unpack that one, Emily,” Jenny interjected with enough haste that Emily gave her a rather quizzical look. “I mean, I don’t think it’s anything I’ll need for a while.”
Emily set it back inside the trunk, though not without a questioning glance. Jenny, thinking of that ring of keys—keys she could certainly reclaim, since they were her own property, but which Emily in turn could easily reacquire for long enough to open the box—made a decision.
“Go ahead and open it,” she said, “but take care with the contents.”
Curiosity and apprehension warred for a moment on Emily’s face, but curiosity won—a thing Jenny wholly appreciated. Turning away to brush her hair, her hand never staying in its rhythmic stroke, she continued to watch through the mirror.
Emily set the black box on a chest of drawers, and unlatched the top. Opening it, she halted, her hand still resting on the lid, her mouth a round circle of
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