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Alessa approached the villa with butterflies in her stomach. She could not remember feeling this nervous for years. Since she had taken charge of the household she had learned to stand up for herself, think through what she wanted, and work out how to set about achieving it. No one else was going to do it for her. For a woman alone that had meant nervous sensibilities were an impractical luxury, and maidenly dithering and indecision got her precisely nowhere.
The problem now was that she was not at all sure she knew what she wanted, nor how to behave while she was finding out. Uncertainty was a more trying state than she had expected. With a silent request to Saint Spyridhon to suppress any tempests in her vicinity, she led her borrowed mule into the courtyard.
Two grooms immediately hurried to her side, one to take the leading rein, the other to lift down her luggage. They were less skilled than the butler in concealing their surprise that a guest at the High Commission villa would arrive at the back door in peasant clothing and leading her own mule.
‘Thank you.’ Alessa nodded to them and turned to young Yanni, whose father had lent her the mule. ‘Efharisto, Yanni.’ She pressed a coin into his grubby fist and he grinned, took back the leading rein with a proprietorial air and marched away, his bare feet kicking up the dust. He would go straight off to Demetri and report, she knew. It was as if her last link with her little family was broken.
‘This way, if you please, Miss Alexandra.’ The groom gestured to the back door and Alessa preceded him into the gloomy corridor she remembered from the day before.
Miss Alexandra. That seemed belittling after the dignity of Kyria—Mistress. The title was given with respect, according her the status of a married woman, and an independent economic entity. And Alexandra. No one had called her that for years, not since they had settled on the island and her father had changed her name for something ‘more Greek’. At the time she had protested—no one she had met was called Alessa, and anyway, what about Alexander the Great?
He was a Macedonian, her father had said, brooking no argument. Only later she realised he was pained by recalling her mother saying her name, the French accent drawing out the four syllables luxuriously.
Now she was reduced to the status of an unmarried girl. Well, she must learn to bite her tongue and put up with it. To fall out with her newly discovered aunt was both ill mannered and unproductive.
Ushered briskly along the passage, she was past the storeroom where yesterday she had so shamelessly returned Chance’s passion, and through the door into the hall, before she realised it.
Wilkins the butler was waiting for her. ‘Your luggage has been taken up, Miss Alexandra, if you would please follow me. Miss Blackstone’s woman will be waiting upon you and has selected some gowns for your approval. Miss Trevick has lent some items as well, I understand. The sempstress from Corfu Town will be calling this afternoon with some samples.’
From Corfu Town? Already? Aunt must have sent for her as soon as I left. Something else struck her as an anomaly. ‘Wilkins.’
‘Yes, Miss Alexandra?’ He paused on the landing.
‘I would prefer it if you would address me as Miss Meredith. I have no elder sister.’
The butler paused, just long enough for her to be seized with doubt. That was correct, was it not? The elder daughter was addressed by the family surname, the younger ones by their first names?
‘Of course, Miss Meredith. My apologies. I will instruct the other staff.’
That was a relief. She had succeeded, perfectly politely, in putting the top-lofty butler in his place and asserting that she was not the poor relation. Now all she had to do was to deal as confidently with the residents of the villa.
Her bedchamber was a revelation. Wilkins opened the door, ushered her in and removed himself with a bow. Alessa found herself in a chamber as large as her entire apartment in the town, confronting a neatly turned out maid who was laying a bewildering array of clothing on the wide bed.
‘Miss Alexandra.’ The girl bobbed a curtsy. ‘I’m Peters, miss, and Lady Blackstone says I’m to look after you as well as Miss Blackstone.’
‘Thank you, Peters. I hope it will not make a great deal more wor
k for you,’ Alessa said pleasantly, closing the door behind her. ‘And it is Miss Meredith, by the way.’
‘Yes, Miss Meredith. I’m sorry, Miss Meredith.’
‘You were not to know.’ The girl shot her a grateful glance that gave Alessa a momentary qualm about the usual temper of Lady Blackstone if the maid was so nervous. ‘Now, what are all these clothes?’
‘What Miss Blackstone and Miss Trevick have lent, Miss Meredith.’ The girl hastened to display the best items. ‘Her ladyship said you were taller than Miss Blackstone, but she’s lent stockings and a shawl and such like.’ She eyed Alessa’s clothes warily. ‘That’s a very pretty outfit, miss.’
‘Yes. My Sunday best, but I will not wear it here. What would be suitable now, Peters?’ The maid’s eyes widened. ‘I have not worn anything but Greek costume since I was much younger, so I am relying on you to tell me how to go on.’
‘Yes’m.’ The concept seemed to have struck the maid dumb.
‘I think I would like a wash before I touch any of those lovely things,’ Alessa added with a smile. ‘I have walked two miles and I have been leading the mule, so I am a little dusty.’
‘Would you like a bath, Miss Meredith?’
Alessa was about to protest that it was far too much trouble to carry water up all those stairs, then caught herself just in time. At the top of her house it was hard labour to carry up water; now she was in a villa full of servants, and she would be expected to behave as though she was used to that.
‘Yes, thank you, that would be very welcome.’
‘If you go through to the dressing room and get undressed behind the screen, I’ll ring for the bath directly, miss.’
