she heard two voices echoing faintly beside her. They were coming from the dumbwaiter, which connected to one of the rooms upstairs—
“Is that how your new business associates spend their days?” Constance said. “Telling rude jokes in public houses?”
“Wh-wh-why, of course not all day, darling. B-b-but these gentlemen … you must understand they’re cut from a different cloth. They’re earthy blokes. Still! They’re top-notch speculators. They know their way around markets and—and speculation, and … you must believe me when I tell you that these men are the fastest way out of our trouble—perhaps the only way …”
At this point they must have moved away from their spot, because Molly could no longer hear their conversation. She felt an overwhelming desire to learn more about the nature of their disagreement, which she thought might shine some light on the reasons for their moving to this old house in the first place. She filled a pitcher with water and rushed from the kitchen up the main stairway. The pitcher was her excuse, in case she was discovered eavesdropping. She had already learned that, so long as she was doing housework, the members of the family treated her like she was invisible—which suited her just fine. She quietly walked to the sideboard at the far end of the hall and began watering some wildflowers Kip had brought in from the woods. Beside her was the drawing room, and through thegap where the door hinged, she could see the Windsors close to each other, deep in conversation.
Constance had her arms folded tight across her chest. “I feel as though I’m not even part of this marriage. I tell you I want nothing to do with this house, and you ignore me. I say I don’t want servants here, and what do you do? You send me a pair of children.
Children
, Bertie.”
“Well, they’re working for free,” he said brightly. “That’s something.” Bertrand rested a hand on her shoulder. “P-p-please trust me. This will work, but it will take time.”
“You told me there was no time.”
“You’re right. You’re right.” He moved closer, lowering his voice. “But there is, of course, a way to
buy
time.” He held out his hand.
Constance stiffened. Molly leaned close to the jamb, trying to read the expression on her face. The woman sighed and removed something from her dress pocket. “Promise me this will end,” she said.
Master Windsor did not answer but snatched the object, which was long and seemed to be made of metal, from her grasp. He clutched it in his fingers like a treasure. He turned around and marched into the hallway. Molly pressed herself against the wall, hoping the half-opened door might hide her. He walked right past her, and she caught a glimpse of the object gripped in his pale hand—
It was a key.
ll right. Into bed with you.”
Molly stood in Penny’s room, a battlefield littered with the corpses of dollies and wooden toys and stuffed animals. With all the additional work to prepare the house for Master Windsor’s return, Molly had not had time to clean it. Tomorrow, perhaps. The bed was covered in lace pillows and had a muslin canopy overhead. How was it fair that this family should have so much when she and her brother had so little? She pulled back the thick covers, and Penny—hair brushed and wearing a fresh nightgown—scrambled onto the feather mattress. She climbed to her knees. “What else can you tell me about Cleopatra?” she asked.
In the week since Molly’s arrival, bedtime stories had developed into something of a sacred ritual. Unlike most six-year-olds, Penny eagerly awaited the hour when she might run upstairs, put on her nightgown, and snuggle under the covers—because that meant she was about to hear another of Molly’s thrilling tales. (On Wednesday, she had been so keen to hear a story that she’d tried advancing thehands of the grandfather clock so that she might convince Molly to tuck her in just after tea.) Molly removed
“Is that how your new business associates spend their days?” Constance said. “Telling rude jokes in public houses?”
“Wh-wh-why, of course not all day, darling. B-b-but these gentlemen … you must understand they’re cut from a different cloth. They’re earthy blokes. Still! They’re top-notch speculators. They know their way around markets and—and speculation, and … you must believe me when I tell you that these men are the fastest way out of our trouble—perhaps the only way …”
At this point they must have moved away from their spot, because Molly could no longer hear their conversation. She felt an overwhelming desire to learn more about the nature of their disagreement, which she thought might shine some light on the reasons for their moving to this old house in the first place. She filled a pitcher with water and rushed from the kitchen up the main stairway. The pitcher was her excuse, in case she was discovered eavesdropping. She had already learned that, so long as she was doing housework, the members of the family treated her like she was invisible—which suited her just fine. She quietly walked to the sideboard at the far end of the hall and began watering some wildflowers Kip had brought in from the woods. Beside her was the drawing room, and through thegap where the door hinged, she could see the Windsors close to each other, deep in conversation.
Constance had her arms folded tight across her chest. “I feel as though I’m not even part of this marriage. I tell you I want nothing to do with this house, and you ignore me. I say I don’t want servants here, and what do you do? You send me a pair of children.
Children
, Bertie.”
“Well, they’re working for free,” he said brightly. “That’s something.” Bertrand rested a hand on her shoulder. “P-p-please trust me. This will work, but it will take time.”
“You told me there was no time.”
“You’re right. You’re right.” He moved closer, lowering his voice. “But there is, of course, a way to
buy
time.” He held out his hand.
Constance stiffened. Molly leaned close to the jamb, trying to read the expression on her face. The woman sighed and removed something from her dress pocket. “Promise me this will end,” she said.
Master Windsor did not answer but snatched the object, which was long and seemed to be made of metal, from her grasp. He clutched it in his fingers like a treasure. He turned around and marched into the hallway. Molly pressed herself against the wall, hoping the half-opened door might hide her. He walked right past her, and she caught a glimpse of the object gripped in his pale hand—
It was a key.
ll right. Into bed with you.”
Molly stood in Penny’s room, a battlefield littered with the corpses of dollies and wooden toys and stuffed animals. With all the additional work to prepare the house for Master Windsor’s return, Molly had not had time to clean it. Tomorrow, perhaps. The bed was covered in lace pillows and had a muslin canopy overhead. How was it fair that this family should have so much when she and her brother had so little? She pulled back the thick covers, and Penny—hair brushed and wearing a fresh nightgown—scrambled onto the feather mattress. She climbed to her knees. “What else can you tell me about Cleopatra?” she asked.
In the week since Molly’s arrival, bedtime stories had developed into something of a sacred ritual. Unlike most six-year-olds, Penny eagerly awaited the hour when she might run upstairs, put on her nightgown, and snuggle under the covers—because that meant she was about to hear another of Molly’s thrilling tales. (On Wednesday, she had been so keen to hear a story that she’d tried advancing thehands of the grandfather clock so that she might convince Molly to tuck her in just after tea.) Molly removed
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