Page 55 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Magnus shot her a look that made argument feel like wasted effort. ‘It was not done correctly . . . Valerie will take over the laundry. For now.’

Sammy blinked back tears. ‘Of course.’

‘I expected better, Miss Jenkins.’ He went back into the house.

Sammy stayed where she was, the air suddenly feeling thinner. Then she plodded to the laundry room.

The basket of linen was on the folding table. Sammy lifted the top sheet.

White . . . mostly. With streaks of pink. ‘No,’ she said under her breath. Her gaze moved slowly, taking in the room piece by piece. She flicked her eyes up to the drying rack, where cleaning cloths hung. Cut from a towel the dog had chewed a corner off. A red towel. A new one. She stared at the cloths. A small, sharp thought slid into place. Sammy hadn’t put those in.

She replaced the sheet, smoothing it as if that might undo the damage. Sammy stared at the ruined linen, her thoughts churning. Valerie by the washing machine; Valerie offering to start the load. Accident or deliberate?

In the pantry – blissfully ‘Valerie free’ – Sammy ran the tap enough to fill a jug. Water struck the base in a clean, hollow rush. She turned it off and poured it into a tall vase.

Sammy rolled her shoulders once, twice, like tightening a bolt. Focus on the flowers.

Nate had left them on the marble counter. She let herself think of him instead of Valerie – not all her co-workers were unpleasant.

The flowers lay in willow trugs – stems uneven, leaves still slick with sap. She picked up the secateurs.

Snip. A stem angled and lowered into place.

She worked quickly but thoughtfully. There was a shape forming now – looser than the arrangements she’d seen before, softer. More like the ones she created for her cottage. She tweaked a few flowers, turned the vase an inch to the left and stepped away, assessing it, then reached for another stem to balance things.

Behind her, the door eased open, the bottom edge grating on the stone floor. Sammy smelled the chemical scent of hairspray, glanced over her shoulder, already knowing. Valerie came through as if she belonged there.

Sammy tensed. Valerie’s gaze moved over the arrangement, taking in the height, the shape, the mix, the informality.

Sammy set the secateurs down and picked up another snapdragon. ‘I thought something a bit . . . less rigid? For the morning room.’

Valerie reached in and lifted one of the taller stems, held it up, then placed it back on the counter. ‘It’s not correct,’ Valerie said. She plucked a stem from the centre. Another. The structure collapsed quickly under her hands.

‘I can redo it,’ Sammy said. ‘It’s . . .’

Valerie cut the stems shorter. Built back the arrangement tighter, more like a florist’s bouquet. She turned the vase once, then stopped. ‘That will do.’

Sammy swept the chopped stalks into her palm. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’ll remember that. I’ll get rid of these then take the vase through to the morning room.’

Valerie lifted the arrangement and walked out with it.

Later, carrying a tray down the corridor, Sammy saw Magnus and Valerie in the morning room, standing beside Valerie’s flower arrangement.

Valerie stepped back. ‘It’s correct for the room,’ she said.

Magnus studied the flowers. ‘I wonder,’ he said, ‘if the morning room might take something a little less formal.’

Valerie’s expression held for a moment. Her mouth pursed. ‘It’s that Miss Jenkins,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t yet have the experience to judge where it’s appropriate to be formal . . . where less so.’

Sammy slowed, ensuring she stayed out of sight.

Valerie’s hand hovered near the stems. ‘I can show her what you mean.’

‘Yes. Do that.’

The edge of the tray pressed harder into Sammy’s hands.

Valerie’s voice droned on, ‘You need to open the shape a little more. Give it air.’