*
Mrs. Right hadthought long and hard on how to outfox Lady Marchfield’s idea that the house required a butler. They’d all got along just fine without Mr. Herring for the last five years and there was no need to upset the equilibrium of the house.
The problem with a butler was that he was bound to be a bit too impressed with himself. Mr. Herring had made that clear enough. How many hours did he drone on about standards before she’d put a stop to it? The servants’ table back in those days had been a dreary place indeed.
Now, she sat at the servants’ table in Grosvenor Square and there was Mr. Joseph Sykes-Wycliff sitting inherrightful place at the head and droning on just the same as Mr. Herring had always done.
“Naturally,” Mr. Sykes-Wycliff said, stroking the rather ridiculous tuft of hair on his chin, “I must be concerned that there has been no butler to lead the staff forward for over fiveyears. I am certain there will be much work to do to reestablish standards.”
“In all fairness,” Mrs. Right said, “we did always hold out hope that Mr. Herring would be found and returned to us safe.”
“Found?” Mr. Sykes-Wycliff asked. “I understood that gentleman resigned his position.”
Mrs. Right covered her mouth and made a great show of looking as if she’d accidentally allowed a secret out. The rest of the staff, who’d been thoroughly briefed and did not want a butler any more than she did, all looked away from Mr. Sykes-Wycliff.
The butler began to look alarmed. “If you say you hoped he was found, do you then imply he was somehow lost?”
“The moors are a vast place, Mr. Sykes-Wycliff,” Mrs. Right said. “And the duke… well, less said the better about that.”
“What about the duke?” Mr. Sykes-Wycliff asked, a note of anxiety creeping into his voice. “I have not even met His Grace yet, Lady Marchfield is to introduce me when she arrives to the house.”
“All I say,” Mrs. Right said, glancing round the table, “is lock your bedchamber door at night and do not be fooled into opening it up by any soft knocking you hear.”
As Mr. Sykes-Wycliff stared at the rest of the servants, they all nodded sadly.
“Soft knocking,” he whispered. “Lady Marchfield said nothing about soft knocking.”
“No offense to Lady Marchfield,” Mrs. Right said, pleased with how worried the fellow was beginning to look, “but she don’t know the workings of the household. Just think, when we return home, we’ll be miles and miles from another human soul. A person might scream as loud as they liked on them moors with nobody but the circling buzzards to hear.”
“Why would someone scream? What buzzards?” Mr. Sykes-Wycliff said, his tone going up an octave.
Mrs. Right shrugged. “The Dales are not for everybody, alas.”
“I am not at all clear what you hint at, Mrs. Right, but I intend to demand answers!”
Everyone at the table lost their composure and guffawed into their tea.
“Demand from who, Mr. Sykes-Wycliff?” Mrs. Right said, shaking her head at the foolishness of the notion. “Demand answers from who?”
The butler did not look as if he knew.
Mrs. Right, rather a master at painting horrifying pictures in a person’s mind, was also rather good at the timing of the thing. She’d made a good start with Mr. Sykes-Wycliff. Now, she would let him stew in it for a while.
She rose and said to the rest of the staff. “We’d best get to our work. We all know the duke’s moods in the early evenings.”
Everybody hopped up and scattered. Mrs. Right left the butler to ponder precisely what the duke’s moods were in the early evenings.
If she knew anything about the Duke of Pelham, His Grace would assist in the effort to drive this new butler from the house. She could not guess what he’d say or do, nobody ever could, but whatever it was, it would be alarming to Mr. Sykes-Wycliff.
Chapter Five
Felicity had dressedcarefully for Lady Jellerbey’s candlelight picnic. As far as she understood it, the lady would have the lighting of her house rather low. Sideboards would be placed throughout the rooms, and one was to go staggering about in the dimness, filling their plate on their own.
Felicity had concluded that her crème silk was the best choice, as a darker color might cause her to fade into the woodwork under low light. To go with it, she had taken out her emerald necklace as it was large and would catch the light, further drawing attention to her location. She also thought the color was a subtle nod to her plan—green, the color of envy.
It would be crucial that the Earl of Rustmont observed that she was being trailed about by Mr. Stratton. It would do her no good at all if he could not make her out in the low light.
She hurried down the stairs to find her aunt introducing the new butler to her father.
