doubts about the wisdom of this transfer, the scowl said, but he knew his place well enough not to mention them.
"Thank you." The keys were heavy, like the responsibility that went with them. She could have told William Holyoake his misgivings were no graver than her own, and completely justified. He sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms, his powerful legs stuck out before him and taking up most of the floor space. He was dressed for outdoor work, and rather roughly, she thought, for the agent of an estate as grand as Lynton. He wasn't a handsome man; his broad, strong, fleshy face might even have been called ugly. But something in his aspect was appealing, perhaps the intelligence in his mild blue eyes, or the bluff honesty in his features. She listened as he took the keys back and told her slowly and carefully what door each one opened. "Either me or one o' the maids, Susan most like, will take you round the house an' show you all the rooms an' what-not. I can't now, I've sommat t' do away from here, but mayhap later in the day."
She thanked him again. They sat without speaking for a few uncomfortable moments before she ventured to say, "Mr. Holyoake, I am new at my post, which would be clear to anyone, I'm sure, even if—even—" She stopped, tangled up in the sentence. "You must know how I've come to be here," she tried again. "That is, how it came about that Lord D'Aubrey offered me employment."
He nodded his big head slowly. "I've heard."
"Yes." She imagined the whole parish would hear soon enough. "And so, it won't surprise you to know that I'm not—I haven't the least—that is, I. .."
"You don't know what to do."
She nodded, relieved that it was out. He didn't say anything more, though, so she struggled on. "I can guess what many of the tasks must be, the cleaning and tidying and so on, which would be common to any household. But I don't know quite where to begin, what's to be done first, what his lordship is particular about, and—so on." How exhausting this communicating coherent thoughts was.
Another long silence, while Mr. Holyoake seemed to be gathering his own thoughts. He rubbed the top of his head, which was covered with short, sandy curls, as if trying to stimulate his brain. Then he proceeded to tell her what to do.
She was right: most of it was common sense, the things one would do in any house, only on a much larger scale. But it helped just to hear the duties enumerated, learn what was most important in this house and what less so. Susan, Violet, and another girl called Tess were the housemaids, and they did most of the general cleaning. They traded off as parlormaid when there was a need for it, which there wasn't much, his lordship being new to the neighborhood and not having many callers yet. He had a valet, Mr. Preest, who took care of his clothes and personal effects, and also supervised the cleaning of his bedroom and bathroom, about which his lordship was very particular. After his room, the maids started on the first floor with their sweeping, polishing, and dusting. Mr. Holyoake screwed up his face, thinking hard; this wasn't really his bailiwick. The char &A laid the fires and cleaned the grates first thing every morning, he knew that. The cook, a Frenchy fellow called Monsieur Judelet, told the kitchen and scullery maids what to do, and if Mrs. Wade was smart she'd stay out of his way, him not having what you'd call an even temper.
"Is there a butler?"
"No, ma'am, and never has been, I can't say why. Mrs. Fruit ran things for as long as I've been alive, and she done a good enough job until she went deaf. After that, the house begun to run itself, you might say, leastwise after a fashion. That's why Violet was insolent before; she bain't used to taking orders. But she's a slothful, rude girl, and so are some o' the others. They need guidance," he summed up with force, looking at her dubiously.
She shared his skepticism. For reasons known only to Lord D'Aubrey, she had
"Thank you." The keys were heavy, like the responsibility that went with them. She could have told William Holyoake his misgivings were no graver than her own, and completely justified. He sat on the edge of his desk and folded his arms, his powerful legs stuck out before him and taking up most of the floor space. He was dressed for outdoor work, and rather roughly, she thought, for the agent of an estate as grand as Lynton. He wasn't a handsome man; his broad, strong, fleshy face might even have been called ugly. But something in his aspect was appealing, perhaps the intelligence in his mild blue eyes, or the bluff honesty in his features. She listened as he took the keys back and told her slowly and carefully what door each one opened. "Either me or one o' the maids, Susan most like, will take you round the house an' show you all the rooms an' what-not. I can't now, I've sommat t' do away from here, but mayhap later in the day."
She thanked him again. They sat without speaking for a few uncomfortable moments before she ventured to say, "Mr. Holyoake, I am new at my post, which would be clear to anyone, I'm sure, even if—even—" She stopped, tangled up in the sentence. "You must know how I've come to be here," she tried again. "That is, how it came about that Lord D'Aubrey offered me employment."
He nodded his big head slowly. "I've heard."
"Yes." She imagined the whole parish would hear soon enough. "And so, it won't surprise you to know that I'm not—I haven't the least—that is, I. .."
"You don't know what to do."
She nodded, relieved that it was out. He didn't say anything more, though, so she struggled on. "I can guess what many of the tasks must be, the cleaning and tidying and so on, which would be common to any household. But I don't know quite where to begin, what's to be done first, what his lordship is particular about, and—so on." How exhausting this communicating coherent thoughts was.
Another long silence, while Mr. Holyoake seemed to be gathering his own thoughts. He rubbed the top of his head, which was covered with short, sandy curls, as if trying to stimulate his brain. Then he proceeded to tell her what to do.
She was right: most of it was common sense, the things one would do in any house, only on a much larger scale. But it helped just to hear the duties enumerated, learn what was most important in this house and what less so. Susan, Violet, and another girl called Tess were the housemaids, and they did most of the general cleaning. They traded off as parlormaid when there was a need for it, which there wasn't much, his lordship being new to the neighborhood and not having many callers yet. He had a valet, Mr. Preest, who took care of his clothes and personal effects, and also supervised the cleaning of his bedroom and bathroom, about which his lordship was very particular. After his room, the maids started on the first floor with their sweeping, polishing, and dusting. Mr. Holyoake screwed up his face, thinking hard; this wasn't really his bailiwick. The char &A laid the fires and cleaned the grates first thing every morning, he knew that. The cook, a Frenchy fellow called Monsieur Judelet, told the kitchen and scullery maids what to do, and if Mrs. Wade was smart she'd stay out of his way, him not having what you'd call an even temper.
"Is there a butler?"
"No, ma'am, and never has been, I can't say why. Mrs. Fruit ran things for as long as I've been alive, and she done a good enough job until she went deaf. After that, the house begun to run itself, you might say, leastwise after a fashion. That's why Violet was insolent before; she bain't used to taking orders. But she's a slothful, rude girl, and so are some o' the others. They need guidance," he summed up with force, looking at her dubiously.
She shared his skepticism. For reasons known only to Lord D'Aubrey, she had
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