The Rise of Miss Notley (Tanglewood Book 2) Page 8

  Her eyes narrowed into a venomous rage. "'Tis all your doin'." She jabbed a finger at Cora. "You've wrecked everythin', and now me and me lad's ter be tossed ter the streets. I wish you'd never come ter Tanglewood!"

  Sally flung herself from the stool and ran up the stairs. A few moments later, a door slammed and Cora flinched at the coldness of it. She wrapped her arms to her chest and shivered.

  What have I done now? she thought as weariness took a vicious hold on her. She sank down on a stool and combed through her mind for anything she might have said or done to cause Sally harm—or her lad. What had she meant by that, anyway? Could Sally possibly be a mother? If so, where was the child, and why was Sally so worried about being tossed to the streets? If anyone should be concerned with such a fate, it was Cora.

  After all that had occurred, she was certain her next meeting with Mr. Ludlow would not go nearly as well as the others. In less than a day, she had spoiled whatever business prospects he might have had with his guests—or rather, former guests. Cora had not thought to check all the dampers, she had not considered looking under the bed sheets for slithering reptiles, and she still had no idea what had caused that dreadful odor. It had begun to dissipate as they searched the room, and they had not been able to locate the source. It seemed to come from everywhere and then nowhere. In the end, the fault for everything lay entirely at Cora's door. Coupled with all the days before, her list of blunders had grown to an overwhelming number—far too many for Mr. Ludlow to forgive any longer.

  Cora rested her arms on the table, wishing she could go off to bed and forget this day had ever happened, but sleep would undoubtedly elude her, and the view of the moon was so much nicer from here. So she remained perched on the stool, staring out the large window into the beautiful night. How serene and lovely it looked. If only she could borrow some of that peace and wrap it around her like a quilt. Perhaps then she could fall asleep and feel better equipped to face whatever the morning brought.

  Cora wasn't sure how long she sat in the dark. She only knew her eyelids were beginning to droop when a rustling sound stirred her awake once more. Something with tiny, prickly feet scampered over the tops of her slippers, causing the hairs on her arms to rise. With a squeal, she crawled onto the table and stood, stomping her feet while shaking out her dress. Years ago, a mouse ran up her skirts, and she had never been able to forget the awful sensation of it. The memory alone made her shake her skirts with even more vigor.

  "What the devil are you doing?" came Mr. Ludlow's deep voice from the doorway.

  Cora froze as her face grew very warm. Of all the people to happen by at such a moment, why did it have to be him? Was the dreadfulness of this night doomed to never end?

  The candle he held highlighted his handsome face in a mysterious, almost romantic way, and Cora shivered for completely different reasons. His hair appeared more unruly than usual, flying this way and that, and he no longer wore a jacket—merely an untucked shirt, trousers, and stockings. She had never seen him so unkempt, and she realized she probably didn't look much different. Worse actually, for she was standing on top of the table. Mrs. Caddy would undoubtedly swat her with a rolling pin if she caught her there.

  Cora cleared her throat and tried to regain some dignity by pointing at the floor. "There was a mouse, I believe. It ran across my foot, and I was afraid it had climbed up my skirts, so I…" He appeared to be fighting back a smile, so she finished her explanation with an annoyed, "Oh, never mind. It's obviously gone now, whatever it was."

  "Are you certain it is not hiding in your apron pocket, waiting for the dancing to stop so that it might make its escape?"

  Cora frowned at her apron, giving it one final shake just to be sure. When Mr. Ludlow began chuckling, she redirected her frown at him. "I was not dancing and do stop laughing. The creature gave me quite a fright, and it is unkind of you to find the situation humorous."

  "How can I not find it humorous when I so clearly witnessed you scuttle onto the table—you, who claims to never scuttle."

  "I don't," she defended. "I merely crawled… quickly."

  "I'm quite certain that you scuttled."

  "Truly, you must stop laughing at once. I have had a trying day, and this is not helping at all."

  Mr. Ludlow was good enough to mold his mouth into an obedient line, though his eyes still sparkled with mirth. He set down his candle and walked over to her, extending his hand. "Do you wish to join me on the floor, Mrs. Notley, or would you prefer to finish your dance?"

  She glared before taking his hand and stepping down. The moment her feet made contact with the floor, she withdrew her fingers and cast a wary glance around to make sure the mouse was nowhere to be seen. When she lifted her eyes to his and realized how close they stood to each other, she took a step back.

  "I, er… was just about to retire for the night." She paused. "That is, if I may have your leave to do so, sir?"

  He dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "Chance encounters do not require such formality, but now that I have caught you here, I wonder if I might have a word with you."

  Right now? Cora felt suddenly anxious. Why had she not gone to bed with the rest of the staff? Could this conversation not wait until morning, when Cora felt at least a little more rested and prepared? Or would she ever feel prepared? Cora frowned at the thought. Perhaps it would be better to be done with it now, when the darkness of night would help to stifle the awkward embarrassment of it all.

  She relaxed her shoulders and sighed, accepting the inevitable. "I know what you wish to say to me, sir, and I will not make you say it aloud. If you will allow me to stay the night, I promise to pack my things and be gone before you arise in the morning. You have put your trust in me, and I…" Her lips lifted into a sad, humorless smile. "Well, I have bungled things completely, haven't I? I do not know how else to make amends other than to tell you how truly sorry I am and show myself the door. I wish I knew of someone who could serve as a proper replacement, but I'm afraid I do not."

  He did not look at all saddened at the prospect of saying goodbye. If anything, he appeared entertained. It rankled her. Though she had not expected him to mourn her loss, a little sadness or concern would have been appreciated.

  "Where will you go?" he asked.

  "Somewhere other than here."

  "And where is that?" He brushed something off the front of his shirt as though he was only making polite conversation and did not care about her answer in the least.

  "Forgive my impertinence, sir, but I do not see how that information is any business of yours. I am no longer employed by you, after all."

  "Are you not?"

  Cora scowled at him. "Are you quite awake, sir? I have already explained to you that I will be leaving first thing in the morning. Were you not attending?"

  His lips twitched into a grin, and his eyes continued sparkling with mirth. "I find myself ravenous at the moment, so I'm afraid my stomach is claiming much of my attention. If I can scrounge up some bread and cheese, will you not join me for a midnight snack, Mrs. Notley?"

  Not waiting for a response, he walked into the larder and began rummaging around, leaving Cora to stare after him in stunned silence. He was acting quite addled.

  "My name is Miss Notley now, sir, and I'm afraid I cannot join you. I am going to bed."

  He continued with his search, opening a canister to sniff its contents, only to put it back on the counter with a grimace. "Does that particular bed happen to be in the servants' quarters in this house?"

  "Er… yes?"

  "Then it is still Mrs. Notley. Ah, here we are." He found a loaf of bread under a cloth napkin and a bottle of blackberry preserves on a shelf. "Please say you'll join me. It is bad manners to eat in front of another person and I would rather not have any more accusations thrown at me tonight."

  "I have no intention of accusing you of anything, sir, and you will not be eating in front of me if I go to bed."

  "I wish you would not." He m
oved past her and sat on one of the stools, cutting off two slices of bread and slathering preserves over the top of both. He held one out to her. "I have it on good authority that these preserves have been approved for human consumption. Would you care for a taste?"

  His hunger was obviously affecting his good sense. It would not be at all wise for her to eat with him, especially at this hour, and so she remained standing, determined to stand her ground even though the snack did tantalize her stomach. It had been hours since she'd partaken of food.

  "Mr. Ludlow, you know it would be improper for me to share an informal meal with you. I'm afraid I cannot."

  He took a bite of the bread and cocked his head, studying her as he chewed and swallowed. The dark depths of his eyes caused her stomach to rise and fall like waves in an ocean during a storm.

  "You are making me behave most ungentlemanly, Mrs. Notley, and I cannot understand it," he finally said. "We are in a public room and you are my servant. I share a drink with Watts on occasion, and I do not see how this is any different. That aside, our conversation is not yet finished. So if you have a care at all for my sensibilities, and I cannot believe you would be so callous as to not, will you do me the honor of taking a seat, eating a slice of bread, and listening to what I have to say?"

  Cora put a hand on her stomach to quiet it, but it continued to toss and turn. He had a way of unsettling her in a volatile way, and sitting next to him felt dangerous somehow. Perhaps it was not improper for a housekeeper to share a slice of bread in the kitchen with her employer, but when the housekeeper was young, vulnerable, and fiercely attracted to that particular employer, she'd be a fool to let him sway her.

  When she said nothing, he shook his head in capitulation. "If you will not sit, I suppose I must stand as well. How very cruel you are."

  Good gracious he was a stubborn man, Cora thought with annoyance.

  "Very well, sir, but only for a moment." She glanced around to make sure they were truly alone before taking a seat on the stool beside him and keeping as far to the left as possible. She shot him a glare as she snatched a slice of bread from his hand and popped it into her mouth. With any luck, the food would settle her stomach.

  He grinned. "Ah, see? I knew you could not be so cruel as that."

  Cora refused to be charmed by his dimple or the way his hair fell across his forehead. She turned her gaze out the window, forced the bread down her throat, and kept her voice as even as she could. "Sir, please tell me what it is you have to say."

  "Very well." He shifted towards her and his elbow brushed against her arm, causing it to erupt in gooseflesh. She slid a little more to the left and focused on the moonlit shrubs outside the window.

  "I have dismissed Sally," he said.

  Shrubs forgotten, Cora gaped at him in astonishment. "I beg your pardon?"

  "The missing thyme was found in her room, and once I questioned her further, I also discovered that she switched out the sugar with salt, added purple flowers to your wash basin, closed the damper in Mr. Thomas's bedchamber, and hid a snake under Mr. Hervey's bed sheets. The smell in Mr. Kent's room was a rotten egg that Sally covertly retrieved during your search and tossed out the window."

  Cora stared at Mr. Ludlow, disbelieving. Why would Sally do such things? The housemaid had made her dislike of the new housekeeper quite clear, but to go to such great lengths to see her gone? Cora could scarce believe it.

  "She wanted the housekeeper position," Mr. Ludlow went on to explain. "She thought that if she found a way to be rid of you, I would be desperate enough to offer her the job instead."

  "Oh," was all Cora could think to say. Her mind reeled with all these revelations. She thought of every cruel word Sally had ever said, every look of derision, and every mean prank she had played with the hope of seeing Cora sacked. In the end, it was all for naught. Mr. Ludlow had sacked Sally instead. No wonder she had been sobbing earlier. Her plan had backfired most abominably.

  Cora's initial instinct was to be glad of Sally's fate. The woman deserved what she got for being so unkind and manipulative. But the image of Sally crumpled over the table in such a wretched state made Cora pity her and her son, if she indeed had one.

  With so much to lose, why had Sally put her job at risk? Was it so detestable to answer to a younger, less experienced woman, or was there more to the equation? Had Sally also been thinking of her child and how a larger salary would ease the burden of providing for him? Or perhaps the "lad" she'd mentioned was a pet dog, and the woman was simply mean-spirited.

  Cora's head spun with questions. They poked and pestered, seeking answers and understanding but finding nothing. She peered at Mr. Ludlow. "Did she explain why becoming the housekeeper was so important to her?"

  "I did not ask," he answered. "Once she had revealed her actions to me, I informed her that I could not allow such deceit to go unpunished. She was dismissed immediately and will be leaving in the morning."

  "Without a reference, I suppose," Cora murmured, more to herself than to him.

  "Of course without a reference. She behaved deceitfully, and I could not, in good conscience, recommend her to anyone."

  "Of course not." Cora stared at her hands. Despite all that had happened, her heart mourned a little for Sally. If anyone knew what it felt like to face a bleak and uncertain future, it was Cora.

  "She readily admitted to everything?" she asked, not quite believing it.

  Mr. Ludlow glanced down at the remaining bread on the platter and pushed it away, as though he'd lost his appetite. "Not at first. It wasn't until I pointed out a few gaping holes in her denials that she crumbled and revealed all. But was it the entire truth? I cannot know because she has broken my trust, and a servant I cannot trust is a servant I cannot employ."

  It was an understandable sentiment, but it troubled Cora that he had come to that decision without attempting to understand the complexities of Sally's mind or circumstances. Was there a reason he had not involved his housekeeper in his decision? Surely, as the manager of the housemaids and the object of Sally's deceit, Cora ought to have been consulted, or at the very least informed, on what was to be done with Sally before it was done. Was that not the proper way of things?

  Cora bit down on her lower lip and chose her next words with caution. "As your housekeeper, is it not my responsibility to manage the housemaids?"

  "In most circumstances, yes."

  "Is there a reason why you did not discuss the matter with me before you dismissed Sally?" Cora asked, hoping he wouldn't find the question impertinent.

  He lifted a brow. "What would have been the point? Involving you would have only complicated matters, and I wanted it finished. A few hours ago, I was informed of Sally's trickery by another servant and took it upon myself to handle the situation, which I have done. And now you have been informed as well." He paused, scrutinizing her. "Your position is now secure and a certain housemaid who has brought you nothing but grief will no longer be employed here. I would have thought such news would be cause for celebration, and yet you do not strike me as relieved or happy by the turn of events tonight."

  Cora could understand his confusion. Even she did not comprehend her emotions at the moment. She only knew that something still troubled her, like a nagging, forgotten memory. It prodded and poked, pressing her to understand the situation better.

  She turned to face Mr. Ludlow, and in so doing pressed her knee against his. A jolt of something warm and sweet ran through her body, muddling her mind further. She drew back a little but held his gaze as she attempted to gather her loose thoughts and weave them together with a little more clarity.

  "I know how much you value honesty, Mr. Ludlow, and I hope you feel as though you can be equally honest with me as well." She paused, searching his face. "Did you not involve me in this decision because you thought me incapable of dealing with Sally on my own?"

  His mouth remained straight and his eyes guarded, giving away nothing. "I have had a great deal more experience in these
matters, Mrs. Notley. But pray tell, if I had passed the responsibility to you, how would you have handled the situation?"

  "I do not know," she answered. "I have never been faced with such a circumstance. But now that you have taken it upon yourself to set things to rights, I suppose I will never know, will I?" Cora's brow furrowed. He spoke so passionately about the importance of trust, and yet he did not trust her—at least not in the way she wanted him to. That knowledge hurt worse than any cruel comment Sally had ever made. Cora could not say why Mr. Ludlow's good opinion meant so much to her, only that it did, and she felt a great desire to prove her worthiness.

  As a housekeeper, she quickly amended, knowing she was coming dangerously close to forgetting the reason she should care.

  When Mr. Ludlow finally spoke, his voice was quiet and firm. "As your employer, I am not required to ask your permission or seek your advice as to whether or not I should dismiss a deceitful housemaid."

  Cora chilled and stiffened, telling herself she should be grateful for the set down. It put her firmly back in her place and reminded her that she had no right to question his decisions or ask anything of him. Would she never learn?

  Her gaze dropped to the floor and she nodded. "Pray forgive my impertinence, Mr. Ludlow, and accept my heartfelt gratitude for discovering what Sally was about. It is a great relief to know I am still employed."

  He sighed, slid off his stool, and stood, holding out his hand to her. She tentatively placed her fingers in his, and a delightful sensation bubbled up her arm and down her spine as he pulled her to her feet. He kept hold of her hand as he said, "There is nothing to forgive, Mrs. Notley. I suppose I should have discussed the matter with you before speaking with Sally, but I cannot turn the clock back now and alter the events of this night no matter how much you or I might wish it. I can, however, attempt to make amends by staying out of matters from this point on and allowing you to choose Sally's replacement. Does that sound like a fair compromise?"