The Clockwork Wolf by Lynn Viehl Page A

told us about the master becoming a beast before he died.” The gel fiddled with the sides of her apron. “All the maids are gone, too. Still got a footman, but I think he’s only here ’cause he’s due wages.”
    Scandal turned servants into rats; they never stayed to sink with the ship. I went over and removed a smoking pan of charred sausages from the stove. “What’s your name, gel?”
    â€œAnnie.” She flapped her hands about trying to dispel the smoke. “Annie Hartley.”
    I put the lid back on the open burner. “Why didn’t you go with the others, Annie?”
    â€œAin’t been in service but two months. Got no references but what her ladyship might give me, but I didn’t want to ask. Seemed a bit mean-hearted.” She coughed into her sleeve and then gestured at the mess. “ ’Sides, someone’s got to look after herself, right?”
    â€œVery commendable of you,” I said. “I’ll go upstairs and wake her ladyship. You put on the kettle, see what’s in the cold pantry for tea, and set it up in whatever she uses as her morning room. And for God’s sake, don’t cook.”
    On my way to wake Lady Bestly I noticed other glaring signs of the staff’s negligence: vases of dead flowers, blackened lamp glasses, and doors standing ajar or open. None of the family portraits in the halls had been veiled yet, and as I passed the butler’s room I spotted unopened post and several packages sitting in several heaps on his writing table. I found her ladyship’s bedchamber by following the trail of footprints left on the unswept rugs.
    The neglect of the house should have made me feela bit smug; servants sneaking out in the middle of the night was only the opening ceremony of the ordeal yet to come. Lady Bestly had always been popular among the ton, for whom there could never be enough rules or kowtowing; to protect their own reputations they’d see to it that her fall from grace was immediate and ugly.
    In a week or less Lady Bestly would occupy hell on earth, or as close to it as her friends and neighbors could make it.
    I rapped on the door. “Milady, it’s Kittredge.” After hearing a muffled “Enter,” I walked in.
    Some sort of fruity cologne saturated the air but failed to disguise the sour scent of puke. A full blue-and-red-striped mourning gown stood at the foot of an unmade bed; something trapped inside it writhed before sighing.
    â€œIt seems my maid has chosen to pursue another position,” the gown said, “and I have never dressed myself. Would you be so kind, Kittredge, as to provide some assistance?”
    I set down my case and went to her, straightening the wadded bodice and sleeves. “Annie Hartley, your scullery gel, was playing at cook when I arrived. You might have her bathe and bring her upstairs before she sets fire to the place.” I glanced at the necessary pot sitting beside the bed and the dark, damp spots on the rug where she’d missed it. “Are you unwell, milady?”
    The face that popped through the high collar of the bodice looked pale and tired under the thick paint and powder. “I am grieving, Kittredge. It does not put roses in one’s cheeks. I can manage the sleeves, thank you.” She presented her back to me so I could button, andI frowned at a large bruise covering her shoulder. “So Cook has vacated her post? And without notice, like the others. How do they expect to find suitable employment without a reference, I wonder.”
    â€œThey’ll use whatever you accepted when you hired them.” I started at the top button and worked my way down. “Everyone will know they were working for you, but once word gets out they’ll all pretend it never happened.”
    â€œI should have suspected as much when Jarvis left last week.” She tugged at the scarlet lace of her cuffs. “Thirty-two years of