your heart’s content.”
The violet lifted its head to the sun, unfurling its radiance. Her mouth curved in that devastating smile as she propped her elbows on the edge of the window and settled down to observe the scene from shelter. Kincaid, completely bewitched, shook his head helplessly.
“Come, Susan, let us deal with this matter without delay.” He strode off with the maidservant in tow.
When they returned within half an hour, Susan was lost behind the number of packages heaped in her arms. But when the coachman relieved her of her burdens, thus revealing her face, her expression was one of shock. When the mistress shopped, particularly for her servants, every item was subject to careful consideration, a weighing up of necessity against cost. The materials were all to be sturdy and hard-wearing, coarse and without frills or furbelows, and only the strictest necessities were purchased. His lordship, while bearing in mind that a servant in his sister-in-law’s house must be clad only in the most sober, modest garments, had bought a petticoat and smock of the finest Holland, a kirtle of warm, fine wool, and a plain dark gown of a mixture of wool and silk. There was a thick serge cloak with a fur-trimmed hood, and a pair of leather gloves. Two pairs of woolen hose, a pair of leather pumps, and a pair of cork-soled pantofles to wear over the pumps in inclement weather completed a wardrobe that would enrage Lady Margaret by a quality and scope that was most definitely unsuited to the status of a kitchen maid.
“Lor!” murmured Susan, climbing back on the box. “There’ll be fireworks when the mistress sees that lot.” She regaled the fascinated coachman with a full account of the purchases as they bowled along to the hothouse.
Their arrival at this building caused Polly to assume the mien of one about to ascend the scaffold. She stepped hesitantly out of the coach into the courtyard and stood still,clinging to the door handle. The vehicle, bearing the Kincaid arms upon its panels, brought the establishment’s proprietor hustling across the cobbles, calling over his shoulder to have one of the privy chambers prepared for his lordship. When informed that his customer was not, on this occasion, to be his lordship, but, instead, the tumbled, begrimed girl at his lordship’s side, he rapidly revised these instructions. The common baths in the female wing would do perfectly well. Only the gentry were entitled to privacy.
He was required to revise his plans yet again when he received his lordship’s orders, and a more than generous payment. There was to be privacy, a limitless supply of hot water, plentiful towels, whatever assistance was requested for however long the ablutions should take.
The proprietor glanced at the wench again, deciding that it was going to be a long and tedious task. Why was his lordship concerning himself with the cleanliness of this street drab? Then the girl looked up at him, and he understood why. God’s grace! But where had he found such a pearl? She was in sore need of cleaning up, though, even if one was not particularly fastidious.
“It shall be exactly as you say, my lord,” he murmured, bowing low, rubbing his hands together. “My wife will attend to the girl personally.”
“Good. The wench there will help also.” Kincaid gestured toward Susan. “I will return in two hours. That should be sufficient.”
“Two hours!” Polly squawked. “I cannot spend two hours in water. I will dissolve.”
“Do you wish to learn to read and write?” His lordship fixed her with a gimlet eye. “And do all the other things we discussed?”
Polly put her chin up and turned resolutely toward the hothouse. “’Tis not so very unpleasant,” Susan reassured her, trotting along beside her. “We all comes every four weeks, even the mistress. Can’t abide dirt, she can’t. Says it aids the devil’s work. An’ lice!” Susan’s hands flew up in a gesture of exaggerated horror.
The violet lifted its head to the sun, unfurling its radiance. Her mouth curved in that devastating smile as she propped her elbows on the edge of the window and settled down to observe the scene from shelter. Kincaid, completely bewitched, shook his head helplessly.
“Come, Susan, let us deal with this matter without delay.” He strode off with the maidservant in tow.
When they returned within half an hour, Susan was lost behind the number of packages heaped in her arms. But when the coachman relieved her of her burdens, thus revealing her face, her expression was one of shock. When the mistress shopped, particularly for her servants, every item was subject to careful consideration, a weighing up of necessity against cost. The materials were all to be sturdy and hard-wearing, coarse and without frills or furbelows, and only the strictest necessities were purchased. His lordship, while bearing in mind that a servant in his sister-in-law’s house must be clad only in the most sober, modest garments, had bought a petticoat and smock of the finest Holland, a kirtle of warm, fine wool, and a plain dark gown of a mixture of wool and silk. There was a thick serge cloak with a fur-trimmed hood, and a pair of leather gloves. Two pairs of woolen hose, a pair of leather pumps, and a pair of cork-soled pantofles to wear over the pumps in inclement weather completed a wardrobe that would enrage Lady Margaret by a quality and scope that was most definitely unsuited to the status of a kitchen maid.
“Lor!” murmured Susan, climbing back on the box. “There’ll be fireworks when the mistress sees that lot.” She regaled the fascinated coachman with a full account of the purchases as they bowled along to the hothouse.
Their arrival at this building caused Polly to assume the mien of one about to ascend the scaffold. She stepped hesitantly out of the coach into the courtyard and stood still,clinging to the door handle. The vehicle, bearing the Kincaid arms upon its panels, brought the establishment’s proprietor hustling across the cobbles, calling over his shoulder to have one of the privy chambers prepared for his lordship. When informed that his customer was not, on this occasion, to be his lordship, but, instead, the tumbled, begrimed girl at his lordship’s side, he rapidly revised these instructions. The common baths in the female wing would do perfectly well. Only the gentry were entitled to privacy.
He was required to revise his plans yet again when he received his lordship’s orders, and a more than generous payment. There was to be privacy, a limitless supply of hot water, plentiful towels, whatever assistance was requested for however long the ablutions should take.
The proprietor glanced at the wench again, deciding that it was going to be a long and tedious task. Why was his lordship concerning himself with the cleanliness of this street drab? Then the girl looked up at him, and he understood why. God’s grace! But where had he found such a pearl? She was in sore need of cleaning up, though, even if one was not particularly fastidious.
“It shall be exactly as you say, my lord,” he murmured, bowing low, rubbing his hands together. “My wife will attend to the girl personally.”
“Good. The wench there will help also.” Kincaid gestured toward Susan. “I will return in two hours. That should be sufficient.”
“Two hours!” Polly squawked. “I cannot spend two hours in water. I will dissolve.”
“Do you wish to learn to read and write?” His lordship fixed her with a gimlet eye. “And do all the other things we discussed?”
Polly put her chin up and turned resolutely toward the hothouse. “’Tis not so very unpleasant,” Susan reassured her, trotting along beside her. “We all comes every four weeks, even the mistress. Can’t abide dirt, she can’t. Says it aids the devil’s work. An’ lice!” Susan’s hands flew up in a gesture of exaggerated horror.
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