Page 109 of The Maid's Secret

“I can’t offer you pay, but you said you can cook and clean. Listen, it would only be until the baby was born, but if I’ve offended you—”

“No,” I said. And knowing I had no other options I asked, “How soon can I start?”

—

So it was that I went from being to the manor born to serving as a maid for the new owners. I cleaned and cooked and laundered for the Petersons. And I hid myself in their home as my belly grew and grew.

I had my own room off the kitchen—a spartan chamber that used to be Penelope’s. My old wing upstairs now belonged to Percival, though I never did see him, as he was away at school. Papa’s beautiful library was entirely empty—every last bookshelf bare. Only the main floor of the manor was furnished, for the Brauns had auctioned off all of my parents’ things before selling the property. Mrs.Petersonexplained that my parents’ former friends and colleagues had snapped up their antiques and heirlooms, proudly displaying them in their stately homes and relishing telling the tale of how the Grays fell from their high perch and ended in penury.

“It seems the only heirloom left from this estate is the one item I took with me—the Fabergé,” I said.

“The Fabergé?” Mrs.Peterson repeated. “You have it? Your parents made a ruckus about it before leaving. They accused the Brauns of stealing that egg from the manor,” she revealed.

“It was mine. I took it with me when I left. I kept it hidden in the farmhouse.” I then explained about Algernon and our failed engagement and the gift I was left with in the end.

“Would you ever sell it?” Mrs.Peterson asked, her voice lilting on the last two words.

I saw my opportunity, and I took it.

“Of course I’d sell it,” I said. “For the right price.”

“Great,” said Mrs.Peterson. “Give the egg to me, and my husband will find a buyer.”

Molly, I put that egg into Mrs.Peterson’s hands, and a few weeks later, just as my feet began to swell and my back was in pain much of the time, she interrupted my dusting and drew me aside.

“We sold it,” she announced as she pressed an envelope into my hands, “to a writer my husband knows. We received a decent enough price, so the funds in the envelope are yours.”

It was an astonishing sum—a few thousand. I was so desperate that it didn’t even occur to me to ask how much the Petersons had kept for themselves, but I now suspect they made off with a fortune. At the time, it didn’t matter, because that envelope was my lifeline, an answer to my prayers.

My due date was a month away. There was still no sign of my parents. I announced I’d depart in a week’s time, and the Petersons did nothing to stop me. I filled my suitcase with my clothes and Mrs.Mead’s blank diary. I took my envelope of cash, and I left themanor for good. First, I went to town, and then I took a bus into the city, where I rented the cheapest apartment I could find, one that you know very well, Molly, for it is the one you call home to this very day. I deposited my money in a bank account I called the Fabergé for reasons that are probably now quite clear. And through the Petersons, I found a job in the city as a maid for the Astors, well-to-do friends of theirs who’d moved to the urban center.

I worked for a few short weeks; then one day, while I was scrubbing their marble floors, my water broke. They were good enough to take me to a hospital, where I gave birth in a room away from the other, married mothers. While birthing, I held the hand of a total stranger, a nurse who assured me everything would be okay, and in my delirium I would have sworn she was someone I knew.

And so it was that into the world came the most beautiful infant, with dark, tousled hair just like her father’s and porcelain skin much like yours, Molly. And unlike my mother when I was born, I was overjoyed to learn my child was a hale and hearty girl.

“What will you name her?” the kind nurse asked.

“Margaret,” I said. “Maggie for short.”

“A perfect name,” said the nurse, “for a perfect little girl.”

She placed the bundle against my chest, and for the second time in my life, I fell madly in love.

—

Chapter 33

Keep calm and carry on.

This is what I tell myself as I rush down the stairs with Angela by my side.

“Trust me!” I say. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

We run through the lobby, past hordes of guests, and when we arrive at the tearoom, I tell the officers at the threshold, “Let no one in unless I say so.”

“And you are?”

“Molly the Maid!” I bark.

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