Page 25 of The Lady's Companion
Although her own dresses were here now and hung in the dressing room, Susan wore Lady Elizabeth’s blue wool dress down to breakfast. I want her to see me in this, she thought as she opened the kitchen door and sniffed deep of bread baking. She needs to know that I am appreciative.
The bailiff was just taking his dishes to the sink when she sat down at the table and thanked Mrs. Skerlong for the porridge the housekeeper set in front of her. David passed her the cream as he came to the table again, and sat down beside her, straddling the chair so he could face her.
“Could you do me a favor when you finish breakfast?” he asked as she poured on the cream and sprinkled in some sugar.
Susan nodded as she took a bite. He indicated a ledger in the middle of the table. “Lady Bushnell and I go over the accounts atthe beginning of each month,” he explained. “Would you check my math? Sometimes it’s a bit creative.”
She took another bite, then glanced at him, unable to resist. “What? Not enough fingers and toes, David?”
Mrs. Skerlong laughed and quickly turned her attention to something bubbling on the range.
The bailiff grinned. “Now that you mention it, I am missing a couple of toes—that’s what happens when you try to stop a cannonball with your foot.” He leaned down as if to remove his boot. “Do you want to verify my more honorable scars?”
Susan blushed and applied herself to her porridge, after a warning look at Mrs. Skerlong’s back. “I have seen enough of your army trophies, sir! But yes, I will check your math.”
The porridge done, Susan sipped her tea and looked at the columns of figures under the January 1820 heading. She worked through the entries on a piece of scrap paper, mindful of the bailiff’s proximity as he leaned over the ledger, too. The hay fragrance was more prominent than the soap this morning. “See here,” she pointed out, “you forgot to borrow here on this hemp and cording entry, so all the rest of these entries are incorrect.” She ticked them off with the pencil.
“At least it was at the end of the month, so I don’t have to redo it all,” David temporized as he took a wad of rubber from his pocket and erased the faulty entries. “There.”
Susan smiled over the ledger as she inserted the correct figures. “Am I to gather that schools on the Welsh side of the border are less than effective, or that you were a truant?” she teased.
He shrugged. “I never saw the inside of one. Learned my ciphering in the army. And how to read and write.” He closed the ledger and stood up. “Thank you. It will be nice not to have Lady Bushnell twit me about my subtraction this once.”
“I can check your figures whenever you want,” Susan said,suddenly shy when he nodded in agreement and lightly touched her shoulder as he passed.
She waited in the kitchen all morning, polishing silverware for Mrs. Skerlong, but Lady Bushnell didn’t release the bailiff until luncheon. He took a cheese and bread sandwich from Mrs. Skerlong and worked into his coat, muttering something about cows and the trouble with under bailiffs who think they are lovers. He looked back at Susan before he left the kitchen.
“I think she’s in as sweet a mood as ever,” he informed her. “And by the way, she asked me what I thought of you.”
Susan put down the polishing cloth and held her breath. “Well, sir?” she asked finally, when he just grinned at her.
“I told her you were something out of the ordinary and that her apostle spoons were entirely safe.” He laughed and caught the polishing cloth that she wadded up and threw at him, and tossed it back. “Talley ho, Susan. It’s your turn.”
Chapter Eight
Courage, Susan, she told herself as she paused outside the sitting room door. She missed the security of the heavy tea tray, but it was too early after luncheon for tea. And whileEmmahad seemed such a brilliant idea in her bedroom, the book was small protection now, even hugged to her chest. As she raised her hand to knock, she thought about praying, then dismissed the idea. God had not heard from her lately; Susan chose not to add hypocrisy to her faults. She knocked.
“Come.”
Was there a longish pause between the knock and the acknowledgment? Was it too quick? Had she knocked firmly enough, or would Lady Bushnell think she was a forward piece? Susan took a deep breath. You are an idiot if you read malice in every word, she scolded herself. She opened the door and found herself immediately under Lady Bushnell’s scrutiny. She dropped what she hoped was a graceful curtsy and started on her journey across the room, which seemed miles wide. She thought briefly of Emily balancing books on her head in the hope of achieving some dignity, and thanked God for good posture and gentle bearing.
Then she stood in front of her employer, much closer than the day before. If she had not been so terrified, she would have taken a long look. As it was, she could only see those marvelous, hooded eyes and a firm mouth. Everything about the woman seated before her spoke of a person who did not suffer fools gladly. And she already knows I am a Hampton, a family name synonymous with fools, Susan thought in a panic. For one wild moment she considered picking up her borrowed skirt and running from the room. I could be in Quilling in an hour, shethought as she managed what must have looked like a ghastly smile and even bunched the material of the skirt in her hand.
She didn’t run. As she quaked inwardly before her employer, she pressed the book against her stomach to stop its quivering and released her death grip on her skirt. She knew her appearance was nothing to disgust her employer; now if only her voice would not tremble, or her words would not come out in a breathless rush.
“Good afternoon, Lady Bushnell.” That was easy enough. Her voice did not sound strange to her ears.
Lady Bushnell nodded, and her eyes went from Susan’s face to the dress. “It fits?” she asked.
“Pretty well, my lady,” Susan replied. “It is a trifle long, but then, I am a trifle short.”
It was the smallest of jokes. It may have been Susan’s imagination, but Lady Bushnell appeared to smile slightly in return. It came and went so quickly that Susan decided it must have been a trick of the light.
“You are more deep-breasted than my daughter,” Lady Bushnell commented, “so you may wish to set the buttons over to give yourself more room. Certainly you may hem the dress, if you think you will be around for at least the length of a probation.”
“I shall, my lady,” Susan replied, gratified.
Exhausted, the subject wilted. Silence settled around the room like dust motes in a shaft of sunlight. Lady Bushnell looked out the window for a lengthy time, sighed, and then turned to face Susan again. She seemed chagrined that Susan was still there.
