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Chapter Two
The incessant tick-tock of the carved mahogany-encased clock on the mantle marked the seconds until the imminent appointment with the piano tuner.
A watched pot never boils!
Molly forced her gaze away from the clock and back to the task at hand. The ticking remained infernally loud as she adjusted the books on the shelf, angling her head every which way to ensure that the leather-bound spines lined up to her satisfaction. One tome defied her efforts, its binding protruding beyond the others’ with stubborn insistence.
Behind Molly, Lady Clara sat at her desk finishing a letter. She’d sat pensively for a bit but was penning in earnest now, and each of the nib’s scratches against the parchment might well have been drawn straight down Molly’s spine.
Breathing harder, she nudged the vellum that bubbled out from the book spine, urging it inwards a fraction.
Mercy!
The binding had indented too far, the results poorer than only seconds before. The pounding of her heart overtook thetick-tockin the room, and her peripheral vision blurred.
“Oh, Molly, I thank you for restoring order to the shelves! This morning, I created rather a mess searching for the right book, didn’t I?”
“Order has yet to be restored, my lady, I—“
“All is well. It looks impeccable. But I’m afraid I do require your assistance with something else while I finish this letter. My embroidery hamper is in dreadful shambles.”
Lady Clara’s hands were insistent but reassuring as they closed over Molly’s shoulders and guided her away from the bookshelf. With a last look behind her at the errant book, Molly forced her attention to her ladyship’s request.
“You’ll see straight away the disaster requiring your ministrations, Molly.”
The green thread is touching the pink!Her ladyship hadn’t exaggerated the extent of the disarray. Sinking to the floor next to the wingback chair where Lady Clara’s embroidery hoop lay on the arm, Molly catalogued the state of affairs.
Multiple skeins of embroidery floss were out of order!
The ornate sterling silver sewing scissors, a gift from her ladyship’s late mother, sat askew!
Lady Clara sat down in the silk brocade chair, the weight of her warm hand on Molly’s shoulder a welcome comfort. Within a few minutes, Molly’s breathing was deep and calm as she concentrated on setting things to rights. As the look of the basket improved, her pounding heart slowed.
When she looked up, satisfied that her work on the basket was complete. Lady Clara was back at her desk. The clock had quieted, and her ladyship’s pen flowed smoothly and soothingly across the parchment.
At precisely two o’clock in the afternoon, the bell at the front door jingled.
Molly stood expectantly, ready to accompany her ladyship to meet Mr. Vogel.
“Alas, it’s taking far longer than I expected to detail my instructions to Mrs. Watts,” announced Lady Clara without turning around, referring to the housekeeper at Anterleigh. “Please see Mr. Vogel in on my behalf. I shall join you when I finish here.”
“Very well, my lady.” Molly couldn’t help the knowing look she shot at her employer’s back, but a nervous smile tugged at her lips as well.
Pulley, the Robertsons’ butler, was opening the door to admit the piano tuner when Molly entered the foyer. Mr. Vogel’s occupation was considered a gentleman’s trade and held in high esteem, allowing the rarity of a tradesman being admitted through the front door.
One of the most beautiful experiences in the world for Molly occurred back in her village in autumn, when she used to stand outside her tiny family home around dusk. Those few minutes were hers, only hers, and the sole moments of peace in her day. Whatever was happening inside the house, she stepped out and everyone understood she was to be left alone as she waited for the starlings, who roosted in the woodlands nearby.
At rest, the speckled birds looked round and plump; in flight, a flock of acrobats moved as one. The Hawkinses’ house was on the edge of the village, and on autumn days, Molly would watch the starlings gather above a stand of trees in the distance, countless black shapes against the grey and pink sky. Like blobs of ink moving in water, their movements were at once unpredictable but flowing, saturating in spots before shifting again, their instantaneous cooperation breathtaking.
On the luckiest days, the flock passed over Molly, the murmuration moving closer with a whoosh. For a few seconds, she felt as though it lifted her up into the sky and carried her away from all the drudgery and pain.
Catching sight of Frederick Vogel made her feel like she was soaring with the starlings. Her breath caught in her throat, and a sense of excitement lifted her.
Few things brought delight to Molly like a reliable routine, and Mr. Vogel’s arrivals did not disappoint. Over the course of his visits these past two years, she came to count on his precise movements. Left-handed, he carried his satchel of tools in that hand and stepped over the threshold with the opposite foot.
“Good afternoon,” he always greeted the butler, his deep voice polite but brisk.
He removed his top hat and surrendered it to Pulley with efficient movement, lacking the flair so popular among dandies today. As soon as Pulley accepted it, Mr. Vogel completed the transaction with a single, rapid nod, sending a lock of almost black hair onto his forehead—and then his attention shifted to Molly.
