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Chapter Four
Few things fazed Chastity. She put it down to living with her late husband and his unpredictable ways until his death. Sitting in front of the housekeeper of the Earl of Kendall’s house, however, left her with at least a thousand butterflies in her stomach.
Perhaps it was the way the woman sat, as though she had a board propping up her back, or maybe it was the slight hook of her nose that reminded her of all the witch stories she had tried to frighten her younger sisters with when they were little.
Or most likely, it was the fact that Eleanor relied on her to find out who really killed Mr. Harper that left her stomach churning as though she had not eaten a generous breakfast this morning.
Chastity studied the room while the woman scanned the letter in her hand. Tucked not far from the kitchen, the housekeeper’s office housed a cozy chair with a carefully polished table covered in a circle of lace, a locked door which she assumed led to some of the valuables within the house, and a simple oak table and chairs. Chastity resisted the desire to tug at the itchy collar of her simple gown and fichu. She missed silk and soft, expensive lace already.
The housekeeper tugged her wireframed glasses from her nose and let them hang on a plain black cord tied around her neck, then gestured to the letter. “It seems you come highly recommended from the housekeeper at Guildbury.”
Chastity swallowed and nodded.
“You are quiet,” Mrs. Cooke murmured. “That would not go amiss. The earl prefers his solitude and silence.”
She nodded again. She’d opted for feigning a quiet disposition. Though she had practiced disguising her elegant accent, her sisters responded with fits of giggles. She would have to speak but she reckoned if she kept her words to a minimum her education would not be so obvious.
“It has been some time since you have worked in a large house, however.” The woman set down the note they’d persuaded her father’s housekeeper to write.
The disapproving look on Mrs. Lamb’s matronly face still lingered in her mind. Despite a soft appearance and a history of nursing bruised knees on little girls, Mrs. Lamb prided herself on her efficiency and honesty, especially given she ran one of the grandest houses in London. It had taken lots of promises and begging to get said letter of recommendation.
“My husband passed away recently and I have need of work once more.”
An easy lie and a good excuse as to why the housekeeper might not have heard of any maids leaving Guildbury Hall recently. Even though it had been many years since John died, she recalled the shock with which she received the news and the strange sense of loss and sudden freedom. She had been like a ship without an anchor. It did not take much to conjure those sensations again.
Thank goodness for the investigative society to give her life meaning. She doubted her mother ever intended it to become quite such an adventurous group—it had been started to offer aid to society ladies who could not go elsewhere—but over the years, they had embarked on quite a few intriguing investigations.
“I am sorry to hear that.” The tone suggested Mrs. Cooke did indeed feel sympathy.
Meeting her gaze, she wondered if she too had suffered a loss. Though Chastity did not believe she had suffered as such. Her married life had been far grimmer than her widowed one and she relished being free from John’s controlling hand.
She pressed her lips together to prevent a smile. Relish might be too mild a word. She had adored her widowhood in the end. Once she had come to terms with how suddenly her young husband had passed and no longer being answerable to him, she’d known one thing—she would never remarry again—most especially not for love.
“I only agreed to meet you because Mrs. Lamb asked,” the housekeeper continued. “The earl is a simple man and I do not anticipate him being in residence for much longer. He prefers to spend his time in the country.”
Well, that explained why none of them could recall who he was. If he did not spend much time in Society, they would not have paid him much attention, especially if he was old and ugly.
What other reason would he have to be a bachelor who never came to London? She could not think of many unless, of course, he just had a horrible personality which was certainly possible though, in her experience, men with grating personalities rarely realized it and usually quite delighted in inflicting their presence on Society, as though everyone should be grateful to spend time with them.
“I will be a hard worker,” Chastity said, keeping her tones low and bowing her head.
She had tried her best to appear less like a duchesses’ daughter and more like a widowed maid, even spending a full day in the sun yesterday and smearing a little charcoal under her eyes, and thus far, the housekeeper had not questioned her appearance. However, the butterflies still swarmed. It was, after all, about the maddest scheme she could summon but finding out anything about Mr. Harper seemed impossible without going to his place of work. No one knew anything, even her lady’s maid, who was friends with one of the laundry maids here.
“I believe you would be an asset here, Mrs. Wilding.” Mrs. Cooke pressed her lips together. “But I cannot simply hand out work that is not there.”
Chastity opened her mouth and then closed it, almost correcting Mrs. Cooke on her false name. Chosen mostly because a previous member of her father’s staff had been a Mrs. Wilding, she and her sisters had also concluded it might help to have a surname similar to her own so she would still respond to it.
Though all that had occurred to them so why had it not crossed their minds that she might not get the job? Here she was worrying about how she would continue to pass as a maid and query the other servants about Mr. Harper’s life, but she had not even secured the position.
Now it did not look like she would.
“Please—”
Mrs. Cooke offered a sympathetic smile and folded the letter carefully, running a finger along each of the seams until it formed a perfect little parcel. “There are plenty of households in need of maids, Mrs. Wilding. I have no doubt you will find work considering you have a recommendation from Guildbury.”
“I want to work here.” She struggled to keep the desperation from her voice. She needed to find out what had happened to Julian Harper and this was the quickest way. Much more of this, and she feared Eleanor would quit London altogether and the rumors would be sealed by her running away.
“I just do not have the work for you.” Mrs. Cooke rose and gestured to the door. “I am sorry. I would certainly appreciate a woman of your experience under me, but we run a quiet household. Should a position arise, I will certainly let you know.” She glanced at the letter before she handed it back. “Where are you currently lodging?”
