Mrs. Pembroke heaved a sigh. “After that, we prepare for a ball.”
Anna gave her a curt nod, tucked the pouch into the folded linen she carried, and slipped out through the servants’ hall. When she reached the stairs, she paused, listening.
Voices carried up from below. She heard Rothborne’s clipped orders and Elias’s anxious replies.
Then another voice sounded behind her. “Miss Turner…”
Anna jumped and spun at the same time. The folded linen nearly slid from her arms.
Nathaniel Reed stood in the hall, a sealed packet in one hand and his hat in the other. He glanced from her face to the linen she held. “Are you in a hurry?”
She drew in a breath. “I am not.”
“You nearly dropped your linen.”
“That would be because you startled me.” Her other hand slipped over the folded cloth as his gaze met hers for a moment.
“My apologies.”
Anna’s breath caught. From below, Rothborne called, “Reed!”
Nathaniel didn’t look away. Instead, he drew closer. “Crowded houses make poor hiding places, Miss Turner.”
Anna dared a defiant look. “Then it is fortunate I have nothing to hide.”
“Fortunate indeed,” he said, his face softening.
He turned and headed toward Rothborne’s voice. Anna remained where she was until he disappeared down the hall. Only then did she continue up the servants’ stair, the linen clutched tightly in her arms, the locket hidden inside it.
She’d thought the responsibility of the locket felt heavy before. Now it felt as though she carried the whole war inside it.
Seven
By the evening of Captain Whitby’s ball, the house looked as though it had finally surrendered to Mrs. Pembroke’s preparations.
Candles blazed in every room, the floors shone, and every piece of silver gleamed. The parlor had been cleared for dancing and the dining room dressed for supper. Every side table was burdened with bowls, cups, decanters, flowers, and objects Mrs. Pembroke declared necessary, all while wearing the expression of a woman who would rather have declared war.
Anna had been on her feet since before dawn. She’d carried linens, polished more spoons, fetched water, and helped Mercy rescue the custard. She’d also arranged cups, rearranged cups, and naturally been told to rearrange them back again. Goodness, she’d climbed the servants’ stairs so many times her legs wanted to file a formal complaint.
And all the while, the locket remained pinned inside her petticoat beneath the side seam. Every step she took reminded her it was there.
“Anna,” Mrs. Fenwick hissed from the dining room doorway. “Stop touching your skirt.”
Anna snatched her hand away from her side. “I was not.”
“You were. If you’ve torn a seam, please don’t tell me. I haven’t the strength. And I cannot have you running off to mend it.”
“It’s not torn,” Anna assured her.
“Then leave it be,” the housekeeper ordered.
Anna straightened. “Yes, Mrs. Fenwick.”
Mercy appeared carrying a tray of filled glasses, her face pale with concentration. “No one speak to me. I am responsible for the crystal.”
Mrs. Fenwick stepped aside. “Heaven preserve us.”
“I heard that,” Mercy said as she carefully walked past.
