Bishop tapped his fingers on his desktop. Why would a maid who began her day before the sun came up not relish an opportunity to retire as soon as possible? Perhaps she simply wanted to make a good impression. Yet still he found it peculiar, especially as she had to be aware of the supposed reason behind the lady’s visit. Was she merely curious? Or had she an interest in naughtiness? Was she not as innocent as he’d determined? Or could her reason for being here have something to do with his ladies? “I shan’t report to Perkins what occurred last night but do keep this conversation strictly between us.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Bishop picked up his cup of coffee. “Oh, and when you return downstairs, let Perkins know I need a word.”
“Yes, sir.”
He’d never known the footman to make such a hasty exit. By the time his butler arrived, Bishop had finished his breakfast and was standing by the window, gazing out on the gardens, drinking another cup of black coffee.
“You needed me, sir?” Perkins asked.
Bishop turned from the window. “How is it that you came to hire Daisy?”
“Have you found her unsatisfactory?”
“No, but I’m curious.”
“Well, sir, one of the maids, Annie, had given notice but coincidentally, and to my good fortune, she had a cousin looking for employment and she arrived the following day for an interview.”
“You didn’t go through an agency to hire her?”
“I didn’t see the point. She had a first-rate letter of reference from the Earl of Bellingham—”
“What sort of letter of reference?”
Perkins looked taken aback as though he’d asked him something everyone knew—like the color of the sun. “Regarding the duties she performed in his residence and how she excelled at them.”
When Bishop had spoken with her, he’d come away with the understanding that the position in his household was the first she’d ever held. Had she misled him? Had he misunderstood? Or had she lied to Perkins? “How long had she worked in his household?”
“Two years.”
My aunt gave me an ultimatum: marry or moveout. I chose to move out. I needed a position quickly, and, well, some household is always in need of a servant.
He supposed the ultimatum could have come two years ago. But during that time wouldn’t she have become moreservant-like? Had her words to him been a lie, conjured on the spur of the moment because he’d asked a question Perkins hadn’t? “Bellingham has a spinster sister, does he not?”
“I’ve no earthly idea.”
“Not important.” However, he would ask King as he would know for certain, might even be able to confirm if she’d raised an orphaned niece. If Bellingham was her uncle, had she coerced a false letter of reference out of him? For what purpose? Why did she want to work here? “But she came with a letter of reference.”
“Indeed. I was quite impressed with the praise showered upon her.”
“Did you ask why she gave up her position in the household of an earl to work in one of a rapscallion? Or had she been let go?”
“She left willingly, out of boredom apparently. The earl has so much staff that she seldom was occupied with chores as she was quite efficient at completing them. She was searching for a position that offered more of a challenge.”
“How is cleaning bedchambers more of a challenge? What did she do at Bellingham’s? Sweep steps?”
“Scullery maid. Apparently, she has designs on rising to the level of head housekeeper, so she wants to learn all positions.”
He could certainly envision Marguerite as being ambitious, yet still something didn’t quite add up. Inconsistences abounded, in her story, in her. “Have you found her to be quite efficient?”
“I have, sir. As well as being rather industrious. Never complains. She’s always offering to take on other duties. Tidying about in here, for example.”
He thought he’d detected a slight rearrangement of his appointment diary. But why would she care about his schedule? An unsettling yet welcome notion began to take hold. Was it possible Louisa Parker’s husband had indeed noticed her absence in the evenings and had hired Marguerite to gather proof of his wife’s infidelity? Or perhaps it was Mrs. Bowles’s spouse who’d become suspicious. Had Marguerite been anxious to bring up the tray last night because she’d needed to see exactly who was in his bedchamber? Was she an inquiry agent, here under false presences to gather evidence? He could certainly envision her in that role more easily than he could that of a servant. “Very good, then, Perkins. Carry on.”
He was halfway to facing the window when he spun back around. “Perkins.”
His butler halted near the doorway. “Sir.”
