Page 70 of My Gentleman Spy
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hattie sleptin fits and starts. More than once she woke in the night and fumbled around for the candlestick she kept by her bedside. Instead she found only a solid brickwall.
Just before the dawn she woke and sat up. Squinting through sleep crusted eyes she could make out the shape of the kitchen window. The growing morning light through the window gave her a sharp reminder that she had spent the night downstairs in a makeshiftcot.
“Good morning Miss Hattie,” said Mrs.Little.
The family housekeeper placed a large kettle on the fireplace, while her husband stoked the stove with wood. Hattie poked a toe out from under the blankets but thought better of getting out ofbed.
“What time is it?” sheasked.
Mrs. Little chortled. “It's late. A little after five if you don't mind. All that cleaning and washing for Mr. Smith yesterday had me sleeping soundly. Mr. Little had to shake me something terrible to rouse me thismorning.”
Mr. Smith. Hattie had done her best to forget about the new master of the house, but visions of handsome dark-haired men chasing her through the streets of Gibraltar had filled herdreams.
“I was thinking. And I know you may think this rather strange, but what do you think about me pretending to be your daughter?” sheventured.
Mr. and Mrs. Little exchanged a knowing look. She was not the first to have considered thenotion.
“We are not opposed to the idea if it will buy you a little time,” replied Mrs. Little. Hattie knew what they really meant was that they still expected her to go and talk toEdgar.
“Thank you,” repliedHattie.
The arrival of the mysterious Mr. Smith had thrown all her plans intodisarray.
“Well then, you had better be up and about quickly, Mr. Smith will no doubt be looking for his breakfast within the hour,” Mr. Little added with awink.
Hattie dressed and set about helping Mrs. Little in the kitchen. She did not mind staying below stairs. The kitchen was warm and being kept busy stopped her from worrying about hersituation.
A little after seven Mr. Little came downstairs, the morning newspaper tucked under hisarm.
“Says he never takes breakfast earlier than just before nine. Also asked for coffee if you don't mind. Said if we didn't have any decent coffee beans, he knows an excellent shop up on Oxford Street which he could recommend. Bloody cheek. I’ve lived in this city all my life, I know where all the good shops are,” hegrumbled.
He caught sight of Hattie busily wiping down the table and sighed. Gentlemen who kept odd times was one thing, but the daughter of the family working as a housemaid was another thingentirely.
“Beg your pardon Miss Hattie, below stairs language can be a little more colorful than in your mother's sittingroom.
“Oh, and Mr. Smith is due to go out later this morning, so you will be able to go upstairs and collect yourthings.”
Relief flooded her mind. As she worked she had brooded over the question of being able to remove all evidence of her presence in the house. Upstairs in her old bedroom, her clothes and possessions lay in plain sight. Anyone who entered her bedroom would think the occupant had just stepped out for a moment. It most certainly did not look like the room of someone who had left a matter of weeks ago for a long stint inAfrica.
There was also the problem of getting a hold of the box under her bed and finally sending Will’s greatcoat ontohim.
As soon as Mr. Smith left the house this morning, she would clear out herroom.
