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Chapter Eleven

"The companions of our childhood always possess a certain power over our minds which hardly any later friend can obtain."

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

T he afternoon light shifted slowly across the room as Annabel rolled on her back and rubbed her eyes, groggy from the long hours in Philip’s arms. She stretched her body and reached out. Philip’s spot on the bed was still warm, indicating she had just missed him arising. She smiled in happiness.

She started when she heard a knock on the door. Then gasped in surprise when the door opened to reveal a familiar, round face peeking around it. Annabel grasped the counterpane and pulled it up to her chin.

“Mrs. Harris!”

“Aye, child. It is me.”

“How are you here?”

“Your new husband had a word with Lord Filminster before the two of you left yesterday. The baron was in the pouts. Apparently, my change in position is most inconvenient for him, but he released me last night and I arrived in the second carriage with your trunks. The baron said your husband will pay me an entire quarter’s wages on behalf of his lordship for letting me go without notice. And pay me for the quarter I am to work here. I’m to be rich with two quarters’ worth of wages!”

The housekeeper made her way into the room bearing a laden tray, which she balanced on the end of the bed.

“His Grace organized this before we even left yesterday?”

“Aye, something about his new bride getting her heart’s desire for her wedding day. His lordship complained at length about the duke’s ux—uxo—uxorious nature, whatever that means. I am sorry to say that I believe His Grace had to promise the two of you would visit soon to make it up to the baron for my leaving with no notice or replacement to take over my duties.”

Annabel winced at the idea of one of the baron’s infamous dinners, but quickly brightened and clapped her hands in delight. “I am so happy to see you, Mrs. Harris!” She grew embarrassed a moment later as she realized she was lying under her counterpane and sheets in the afternoon.

“My girl, the duke’s home is quite impressive. My new room is larger than I am used to, and there is a beautiful selection of fine silver to care for. I think I shall like it here. Although there is an ill-tempered butler I need to tame downstairs. He seems to think he knows more than me, but I will set him straight directly!”

“Clinton? He seemed most proper to me.”

Mrs. Harris snorted in dissent. “More like a proper stick up his bum.”

Annabel chuckled at her convivial attendant’s unusual display of ill humor. “Mrs. Harris, I don’t think you can say that. Besides, I thought he was a discreet man with exemplary composure. What did you do to cause his ire?”

Unexpectedly, the older woman colored with a ruddy blush. “Never you mind, duchess, never you mind. Now, what are your plans for the rest of this afternoon?”

Annabel noted the transparent attempt to change the subject, but let it pass. She had her own embarrassments to cover up, such as the evidence of their wedding night. “Will you request a bath be prepared while I rise?”

“Certainly, my girl. As soon as I set down this tray of tea and pastries that your husband ordered for you. You missed the morning meal. I guess you had better things to do this morning.”

Annabel’s abashed giggle was out before she could stop it. She shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance as Mrs. Harris brought the tray and set it on the table.

As soon as the door closed behind the housekeeper, Annabel shot out of bed, relieved to find her night rail lying in a heap under the bed, well out of sight. She hurriedly slipped it on and buttoned up before inspecting the room to ensure no more embarrassing details lay on display.

* * *

Annabel wandered along wide halls and down staircases until she eventually found her way to the first floor. Once on the main floor, she found she was more familiar with the layout of the palatial manor, and she located the dining room where she and Philip had dined hurriedly the night before. From there she explored the hall, attempting to find the door that led to the servant passages and kitchen. It took a little time roaming up and down, passing the front staircase repeatedly as she tried opening and closing doors. Finally, she stumbled upon a dark corridor behind a discreet, recessed door she thought might lead toward the kitchen, as she could hear the far-off sound of clanging.

As she entered the corridor, voices raised in anger startled her to a standstill. She paused just short of a turn in the hall to take stock.

“It is not how things are done in a Ducal Household !” Annabel could hear the capitalization in the loud, injured tones of the husky voice. She was uncertain, but it sounded like it might be Clinton, the butler, engaged in a surprising show of emotion.

“Well, it is how things are done in This Ducal Household now that I am the housekeeper !”

It nonplussed Annabel to hear Mrs. Harris, and she went racing around the corner, ready to defend her loyal friend against any attack. It amazed her to see both the butler and their new housekeeper flushed with high temper, standing toe to toe. Mrs. Harris’s round face stuck up in defiance, her chin squared at the taller man. Clinton looked belligerent, and he started to shout down at her, “Now look here …”

Both servants froze when they spotted her. Annabel stopped in place as the two older servants jumped apart, one bowing and the other curtsying. “Your Grace …” they chorused.

“What is happening here?” she demanded. “What are you quarreling about?”

“Quarreling? We have no argument with each other, Your Grace. Just coordinating our day. Can I have some tea brought to you?” The butler seemed, once again, unflappable. It was as if Annabel had imagined the argument she had interrupted, except for the flush receding from his cheeks.

Annabel frowned in confusion as Mrs. Harris stepped forward and ushered her back down the hall. “Come along, Your Grace. We will bring your tea to the drawing room directly. I will show you the way.”

Annabel wondered if she was going mad. The two servants were now the height of decorum and acting in unison to bustle her out of the servants’ hall. She shook her head in amazement and soon found herself deposited in a purple Trafalgar chair with a plump French stuffed cushion. “Now, see here, Mrs. Harris …” she protested.

“Time for tea, my girl. I will have it brought presently.” The housekeeper bustled out before Annabel could sputter a response, struggling to make sense of the past few moments. The two servants had been engaged in a heated discussion, that was clear, and there had been a strange undercurrent to the interaction she had observed—something she could not quite put her finger on. Perhaps they had a conflict of personalities? But there had been a strange tension to their argument she could not place, yet it reminded her of something.

Besides, she did not want tea. She had just drunk almost an entire pot of Twinings with her very late breakfast.

What on earth had the two been arguing about?