Page 54 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

The cycle started with a low, steady churn.

As he reached the laundry room, Magnus heard the cheerful tune announcing the end of a washing cycle.

Valerie was beside the washing machine – good woman that, always where she needed to be, although laundry really was Miss Jenkins’s role. Valerie pulled out a sheet lifting it up with both hands. He thought she was smiling, before realising his mistake. She was frowning.

He stepped closer. Wrong colour – dull streaks of . . . pink? How? He took the corner of the sheet from her, feeling the fabric between his fingers.

‘This was the white load?’

‘Yes, Mr Magnus.’

He looked into the drum. The rest of it was the same – pillowcases, sheets, all carrying that same tint.

Valerie set the sheet aside. ‘It was a bit slapdash, if I’m honest,’ she said. ‘Miss Jenkins seemed in a hurry. I did suggest she check, but she was keen to go and get on with something else.’

Magnus’s expression did not change. ‘Indeed . . . Let’s identify the culprit.’

Valerie moved in front of the ruined linen. ‘Why not leave it to me.’

‘Where is Miss Jenkins?’

‘I heard the back door shutting.’

Magnus glanced out of the window. Nate. Miss Jenkins seemed remarkably keen on the outside portion of her responsibilities.

He turned back to the machine. ‘I will have to report this accident. It cannot happen again.’

Valerie was already lifting out another sheet, separating it with efficient hands. ‘No, Mr Magnus.’

This had never happened under previous housekeepers – nor when Valerie fulfilled the role. ‘You’ll take on the washing,’ he said. ‘For now.’

‘Of course.’

‘I’ll speak to Miss Jenkins.’

And to Nate. A quiet word would suffice. A reminder of professional distance.

Magnus left, closing the door behind him; the smell of damp linen and detergent followed him down the corridor to the silver room.

Sammy trotted across the lawn, spotting Magnus on the back doorstep; his stillness was the first thing that registered. What now?

‘Mr Magnus . . .’

‘Miss Jenkins.’

She recognised that tone. ‘What’s the problem?’ she said, aiming for light and missing it.

‘The linen.’

Her stomach gave a small, unwelcome drop. ‘What about it?’

‘The white linen has been compromised.’

She let out a quick breath. ‘That’s not possible. I did everything correctly.’

‘You can’t have. Standards must be maintained in this house. In my experience it is better to take time over tasks, less haste more speed. And fewer mistakes.’

‘I didn’t rush it,’ she said. ‘I took my time.’