She thought of Clara and Henry, who were probably even now devising new methods of destruction for the unsuspecting Miss Mercer.
She thought of herself, a duchess who was never meant to exist. Rising and smoothing her skirts, she went in search of the children.
Later in the day, Nancy set out to find Mrs. Tullock in the kitchen, mostly to ask why the nursery supplies had been replaced with lye-scented soap and a strange new brand of porridge. She did not expect to find the kitchen at full attention, every surface polished, the air brimming with the bright, metallic hush that follows a dropped pan.
She stepped through the door, and at once the sound died. The maids—three of them, all elbows and bonnets—stared at the floor as if expecting it to explain their presence. The cook, an ox of a woman with flour up her sleeves, bobbed a curtsy that threatened to suffocate her under her own bosom.
"Good morning," Nancy announced, pretending not to notice the hush. "Has anyone seen Mrs. Tullock?"
No one met her eye. The second scullery maid, a slip of a thing with mouse-brown braids, stammered, "She’s… in the cellars, Your Grace."
"Thank you." Nancy smiled, baring her teeth. "Carry on, then."
She withdrew, closing the door with a purposeful click, and lingered in the hallway to see if the conversation resumed. It did, but softer this time, each word tiptoeing like a thief down the stairs.
They’re talking about me, Nancy realized, and for once, the knowledge did not gall her. It was almost comforting. Let them speculate. She would not last three months in this house if she cared about the opinions of every woman who’d ever run a duster over her banisters.
She made her way upstairs, intent on reviewing the nursery, when the thud of small feet and a hiccupping sob drew her up short.
Clara rounded the corner, red-faced and bawling, her hair tangled as if she’d just done battle with a comb and lost. "Aunt Nancy!" she wailed, arms outstretched.
Nancy kneeled, catching the child and drawing her in, careful not to let the girl’s tears soak her good shawl. "What’s happened? Who’s hurt you?"
"Miss Mercer," Clara blubbered, but already the volume was subsiding as she pressed her face into Nancy’s shoulder.
"Did she scold you?" Nancy smoothed the child’s hair.
Clara nodded. "She says we have to read and read and read, and we can’t go outside, not even once. My eyes hurt. I want to see the sun again."
Nancy sighed, pulling the girl tighter. "That is a very grave injustice, indeed."
Henry came around the corner at a dead run, eyes huge and wild. "She said,"—he paused, catching his breath—"she said she decides what happens to us now, not you."
"Who said that?" Nancy kept her tone light, but a coldness crept along her spine.
"Miss Mercer," Henry said, as if the name were a curse.
Nancy stood, keeping a hand on each child. "Very well. Let’s all go upstairs and have a proper chat with Miss Mercer."
She led them up, Henry clinging to her skirt, Clara sniffling but already beginning to plot revenge.
The nursery was a study in order, every toy lined up along the wall, every book stacked in neat towers by the window. Edith Mercer sat at the table with a slate and a sheaf of writing paper, calmly writing something in her perfect, looping script.
"Miss Mercer," Nancy said, allowing only a hint of frost into her tone. "A word?"
Edith stood at once, smoothing her skirt. "Your Grace?"
"The children are distressed," Nancy said, blunt as always. "They believe they are being kept indoors against their will, and that you have declared yourself the sole arbiter of their time."
Edith’s brows went up, just a fraction. "I fear they have misunderstood me," she said. "I merely suggested that, as their governess, it is my duty to maintain a schedule. Miss Clara and Master Henry are intelligent, but perhaps they found my words…overly strict."
Henry muttered, "She said she’s in charge now."
Edith smiled at him. "I did say that, Master Henry, but only to impress upon you the importance of routine."
Clara opened her mouth to object, but Edith forestalled her with a glance. "It is not appropriate to speak over adults, Miss Clara. Especially not a lady."
Clara shut her mouth, lip trembling.
