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If only he were as obedient in practice as he was in theory. “The roof,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“It is untouched.”
“Yes,” Mr. Todd said, drawing out his response. “The arrival of the family has disrupted the schedule to some degree.”
“Has it? Have you inquired into workmen?” The prince’s factotum flushed and showed her his neck again. “Need I involve His Grace in the conversation?”
“You must do as you think best,” he murmured.
“I think it best, as I said, that you approach the village for workers.” She brushed her hands down her apron. “I could, of course, make my way to Arcadia Demesne myself.”
“Again, ma’am, you must do as you wish.” There was a twinkling look in his eye, bordering on sly.
The sound of bickering preceded the maids and Morag as they carried in a carpet they had taken for beating. Mr. Todd set down his hammer and came to their aid, which served to fluster the mice. Was he a cat himself? The four of them rolled it out to reveal a gorgeous Axminster, its colors reminiscent of a springtime field of wildflowers. It went nicely with the sofas she had admired in the attic, and the mirror that had come so close to smashing down around her hung in pride of place over the hearth. The room was only missing a few more homey pieces: an embroidery frame, a piano, a kitten to curl up on a lap.
As to that. Beatrice cleared her throat. “I came across a cat last night, and I wonder if it is…acatcat?”
“It is simply feline, ma’am,” Mr. Todd assured her. “I suspect it issues from the barn.”
“And it will only prey upon mice of its sort?” She glanced at the maids.
“Oh yes, ma’am,” Ciara piped up. “They know better, they do.”
“Don’t stop you running in the other direction,” Morag said. Beatrice caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. “Yes, ma’am, sorry, ma’am,” the hen muttered.
Beatrice took stock of the room, noting objects whose provenance she did not know; she turned a porcelain vase and wished for flowers to put in it, made an opening move on the draughts board set up on the games table. She straightened the andirons on the hearth and tugged the bell pull in the corner.
It fell out of the ceiling and nearly brained her. The mice gasped, and Morag emitted a guttural sound Beatrice was not certain should issue from a bird. She picked up the rope and held it out to Mr. Todd. “And this task remains on your schedule. Along with having the chimney swept. I shall assume you have not made your way here yet.”
He took the rope from her and collected his broom. “Leave it with me, ma’am,” he said as he slunk away.
Clattering and whooping erupted from above and swept past as the children raced one another to the ground floor. Ben followed, scolding them lightly as they went. Charlotte came in carrying a lap desk and looked around, approval writ on her features. “Ben is taking the young out to play. They are nearly able for the Change and have more than their fair share of energy.” She smiled and stood, expectant.
Did she desire an invitation to stay? Oh, how Beatrice had dreamed of receiving in her own home. Her mother had not socialized, given her delicate health; she and Eleanor used to pretend to call upon one another, complete with bonnets and pelisses and calling cards. Any hope of creating a circle of her own had died an immediate death once her journey to North Sunderland had been completed and Castleton’s true identity revealed. Lady Frost did not entertain.
“I was about to, to sit,” Beatrice said. “If you would care to join me.”
“This is the most comfortable place in the house, always was. You may have noticed I took the liberty of setting a few things about.” Charlotte plumped herself down on one of the sofas.
Beatrice sat with more decorum on the other. “What was the original use of this parlor?”
“It was the family reception room. It is nice to see some of our old things back in the house.”
“Had they been above in storage?”
“No, no, we had them in London, uh, when we moved there. I don’t suppose Arthur has…”
“Told me anything about his youth? He has not.”
“We grew up in Court, which is, of course, no place for children,” Charlotte said. Beatrice recalled Osborn’s anger at Georgie’s threat to take in the family. “When ours were infants, it made no odds, but as they are about to celebrate their seventh birthday—”
“Seven years of age? They are quite robust.” She had put them at half a score.
“Yes, this is typical of our kind. Even Ursella, who is smaller than usual.”
“She appears healthy.” The child was merely quiet, a respite when it came to the liveliness of her siblings.
