Page 78 of Speculations in Sin

Mrs. Gibbons thought a moment, then nodded. “About that. I worked for the family here before Mr. Kearny leased the house.Theywere well-mannered and respectable. Mrs. Wheeler is a gentlewoman, not a tart from the streets, but she’s his ladybird all the same.”

“Good heavens.” I softened my tone into one of idle interest. “Who’d have thought, eh?”

“Those born better than us ain’t necessarily respectable, are they?” Mrs. Gibbons continued. “Mrs. Wheeler’s well-spoken enough and don’t make too many demands of us, but she runs through his money quick.”

“I hear them rowing about it,” Jane put in. “Sometimes in the middle of the night. He works in the City, makes plenty of coin, but she’ll beggar him in the long run, I’ll wager.”

The cook opened her mouth to continue but was interrupted by a bell clanging across the hall. “That’s you, Jane,” Mrs. Gibbons announced. “Best get them parcels up to her, right sharpish.”

Jane regarded the bundles in dismay and let out a sigh.

“I’ll help,” I said. “She’ll not notice me—she only wants the parcels, I’d guess.”

“I won’t refuse.” Jane lifted several bulky packages under her arms. “Come on, then. And thanks, love.”

“Think nothing of it, dear.” I seized two parcels and trotted up the back stairs after her, following her all the way to the second floor, where the largest bedchambers would be.

Below stairs had been little different than the kitchen, servants’ hall, and scullery at Mount Street—a bit smaller, but similarly fitted out. Upstairs was another matter. The house I worked in was grand, but had been furnished in light, airy colors by Cynthia’s sister, the interior harkening back to the simple elegance of a hundred years ago.

This upper hall smote me with a riot of colors. Blue and gold wallpaper adorned the walls above dark and heavily carved wainscoting, and a lavish rose-patterned rug covered the floor. A huge gas chandelier dripping with crystal bugles hung over the main staircase, which opened from the middle of the hall, its wide steps and polished wooden banister spiraling downward to an equally lush hall below.

Double doors to the main bedchamber stood open, revealing a lady who must be Mrs. Wheeler. She was draped in a gown of yellow silk, its skirts drawn back over the bustle, from which a froth of lace cascaded. The skirt’s hem was ruffled and trimmed with more lace, the bodice a slim creation fastened with pearl buttons.

The gown was exactly the sort that suited Lady Cynthia’s slender build and exactly the sort she hated.Can’t move in the wretched thing, she’d grumble.

The fresh-faced lady wearing it seemed to be happy to be an adornment. She lifted a string of glittering beads she’d removed from a parcel one of the other maids had already brought up, testing them against her fair hair. Her coiffure, on this dayof shopping, was intricately curled and coiled, attesting that her lady’s maid was quite good at her duties.

Mrs. Wheeler caught sight of Jane and me lugging in more of the packages. “Just put them there.” She waved a hand toward a cushioned bench inside the door, where other packages reposed.

This chamber was a massive suite, with a sitting and dressing room in front and an open door behind Mrs. Wheeler leading to a large bedchamber. A gracefully carved bedstead plumped high with pillows and invitingly draped coverlets waited within the bedroom.

Mrs. Wheeler did not seem to notice that a stranger in a brown gown had joined her black-clad maids. Likely, she assumed I was a delivery woman from one of the shops she’d just enriched.

The lady’s maid, glancing up from tidying away gloves she lifted from another parcel, sent me a puzzled look. I curtsied to Mrs. Wheeler in a deferential manner, as though I truly were a shop employee, and beat a hasty retreat.

As all attention was focused on the lady’s chamber, I took the opportunity to descend through the house by the main staircase. This led me to an even more opulent first-floor hall.

I peeked through the double door opposite the staircase and found a high-ceilinged drawing room full of well-cushioned furnishings, a table in the center bearing an arrangement of peacock feathers in a vase, velvet draperies covering the floor-to-ceiling windows, and paintings of beautiful landscapes adorning the walls. I was not expert enough to know if these were paintings by great artists or simply purchased for their pleasing colors, but there were many of them.

I withdrew and continued to the ground floor, where thewell-groomed footman who’d simply stared at us through the etched-glass front door turned to me with a haughty frown.

“All settled,” I said brightly. “I lost the way to the back stairs, love. Just point them out, will you? There’s a good lad.”

The footman, sneer in place, marched past me down the hall and wrenched opened the baize-lined door. I sent him an indulgent smile as I scuttled through and down the stairs. He slammed the door behind me.

“All done, Mrs. McAdam?” the cook asked as I breezed into the kitchen.

I started at the name before I recalled that I’d told it to her. “Yes, indeed. Quite a lot of shopping for one day, wasn’t it? I imagine she’s going to a ball or something of that sort.”

Mrs. Gibbons rolled her eyes. “Not that one. She buys things day after day. Can’t wear the same gown more than once, can she? Born with a silver spoon in her mouth, I hear. Husband overindulged her, and now that he’s gone, she has Mr. Kearny to spoil her like a lapdog. Supposewewere to behave that way, eh, Mrs. McAdam? We’d never live it down.”

“No, Mrs. Gibbons, we should remember who we are.” I did not simply mean our place in the social world, but who we were deep inside, regardless of what strata we’d been born into. “I’d rather work hard and earn an honest crust than live off a man’s whims.”

“Well, she’s got him wrapped around her fingers, no doubt.” Mrs. Gibbons moved to the table with the vegetables and lifted a paring knife. “It was good of you to help, Mrs. McAdam. You have a fine afternoon.”

She wanted me gone, and I did not blame her. I wondered if she was expected to prepare an elaborate supper for the lady and whatever guests she entertained tonight.

“And you, Mrs. Gibbons.” I paused on the threshold of theouter door. “If you save the juices of the roast hen, add some broth and pieces of all those vegetables, they’ll go together into a savory pie. A nice treat for you and the maids when the work’s done.”

---