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Caroline choked in shock at the suggestion that she might wish to remain in the brothel and firmly declined. Again, the Madam had laughed, the garish sound going through to Caroline’s bones.
Her own hair had been brushed out and tied in a neat chignon at the base of her neck. A mobcap was snapped over top before Caroline was bodily spun to look at herself in the mirror. She was unrecognizable. Caroline had never stopped to consider how one’s clothing could alter one’s entire appearance. Gone was the highborn, independent lady. Gone was her poise and the elegant, feminine shape that her gowns had done well to accentuate. The glossy shimmer of her beautiful blonde tresses, of which she had always received ample compliments, was hidden beneath ruffles of the hideous cap.
“Don’t make me regret not killing you,” the sensual voice whispered into Caroline’s ear. Her tone, smooth and friendly, belied the wicked words.
With that, Caroline had been thrust back out into the midnight alley, loaded into the back of a grimy milk cart, and hauled off toward whatever new horrors might await.
She had arrived,again, in the dead of night. The housekeeper, a fractious Mrs. Reilly, had greeted her at the door with a sharp, “get inside before you let in the cold!”
Caroline could not tell if the woman was naturally irritable, put off by being awakened in the middle of the night to fill an empty position of employ, or was disturbed and angry about the risks of her involvement in this treachery. The first two options, Caroline mused, might mean that Mrs. Reilly was an innocent bystander who had no knowledge of her real identity. The last, would mean she was a ruthless and dangerous criminal who had taken advantage of her position in a noble house to aid in the trafficking of impoverished women. Caroline could not make a determination and it was far too dangerous to ask. It would be best to bide her time.
“I’ve been short a girl for two weeks,” Mrs. Reilly had said as she turned on her heel and made for a narrow staircase at the back of the house. Caroline stared after the woman, in shock that she had simply walked away from a lady mid-conversation. For a moment she had forgotten that she was meant to play a lowly maid. “Well, have you grown roots?” the housekeeper had turned at the base of the stairs and called out. Too late Caroline realized that she had been expected to follow. “I’d better not catch you standing around like that when there is work to be done,” Mrs. Reilly had continued as they climbed up and up and up. The staircase was so narrow that Caroline was not sure how the plump woman managed to squeeze herself through. “If I find you dawdling, I’ll take the switch to you myself.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Caroline whispered in response. She was too afraid to say anything else that might be interpreted as insubordinate. Mrs. Reilly’s grunt of approval was the only response.
“You’ll sleep on the palette in Lizzy’s room,” the housekeeper said as she opened a door to what amounted to nothing more than a broom closet in Caroline’s mind. Inside was a single bed with a dark form curled up in the center. On the floor, was a lumpy looking straw palette with what appeared to be a scratchy wool blanket. She had never fully appreciated the indulgent down mattress and layers upon layers of soft blankets that had covered her bed at Gravesend Manor. Caroline grimaced but schooled her features before the older woman could take note. It would have to do. Just until the ransom is offered and father can purchase my freedom. “Now,” Mrs. Reilly pulled a letter out of her pocket and squinted at the words by the light of the lone candle that had been lit in the servant’s hall, “Emily Baker, is it?”
Caroline swallowed and gave one curt nod.
“You have two hours to rest. I need you up and lighting fires before the rest of the house wakes. Rise at five and you shall thrive, I’ve always said.” The woman had said the rhyme in a sing-song voice as if proud of the common adage. Caroline had heard it used before but had certainly never awoken at five in the morning in her lifetime. “None of the family is in residence and there are no guests at the moment so you can forego the bedrooms.” Caroline could hardly stand on her feet after the emotional toll of the past few days. How could she possibly be expected to wake in a mere two hours? “Afterward, come find me. I want this house in tip-top shape by the time the house is to be used by the family.”
Caroline nodded once more.
“Good,” Mrs. Reilly dusted her hands off as if she were ridding herself of a nuisance. Without another word she disappeared down the hall. Caroline was left standing in the open doorway to the servant’s quarter, the straw mat not looking so terrible now that she had let her exhaustion take hold. She sank down onto the palette, not bothering to remove her clothes or her shoes, not even to pull the coarse wool blanket over her weary form, and she slept.
CHAPTER8
The next morning, Caroline was roused by the previously sleeping Lizzy, but they had no time to talk.
Caroline had just finished lighting the last fire when she started to see signs of the other members of staff moving about. She was glad that her first assignment had occurred before anyone else had awoken because it had taken her nearly a quarter hour to figure out how to use the fire striker. She had witnessed hundreds of fires being lit in her lifetime, but had never truly understood how difficult a task it could be.
By midday, she was dead on her feet. Her fingers ached and her dress had been ruined by soot, further complicated when she had spilled a jar of leather grease down her front. Mrs. Reilly, who had already had more than enough of Caroline’s failures at that point, had thrown her hands in the air and demanded of the heavens why she was being tested so. Once the head housekeeper had gathered her wits, she had taken Caroline to the linen closet, instructed her to disrobe, threw the soiled dress in a bin, and tossed her a new one. Then, she had handed over a neatly folded pile that contained two more uniforms and three aprons and threatened that the next one she ruined she would pay for with extra chamber pot duty. Caroline was much more careful after that.
Lunch was a blissful reprieve and although the meal was bland, consisting of a large piece of crusty bread, a hunk of cheese, and a bowl of spare vegetable soup, she could not even find it within herself to care. She downed two cups of the weakest tea that she had ever tasted. Black, no cream or sugar to be added. She vowed that if she ever returned to the luxury of her previous life that she would push her nose into every corner of her own household’s dealings to make sure that her own servants had better care than this. She did not think that her father treated theirs badly. They had certainly all seemed happy and Marilee had never complained, but now she needed to be absolutely certain.
She had been instructed to dust the parlor from floor to ceiling and, “if I find one speck upon inspection then you can forget about supper.”
Caroline had taken the threat to heart and been dusting for two hours when she decided to open the long draperies so that the incoming light would reveal any hidden surfaces that she might have missed. She flung them wide and gasped.
Hyde Park sat only a stone’s throw away, across the cobbled lane. She dug back into her memories for the layout of London’s most fashionable areas. It had been so long. Park Lane, the words suddenly sprang to mind. She was on Park Lane in the center of London! Her father’s townhouse was on Grosvenor. If she could just manage to get to it, she would be saved! Even though her father was not there, servants kept the townhouse. They would send word to her father.
Her heart sank. She could not leave. Not only would it put Marilee in direct danger but there was not a single chance that she would ever be allowed to venture out of the house. Perhaps she could convince one of the runners to get a letter out, she thought. But determining who, if anyone at all, was trustworthy in this house was going to be a task in itself. Still, she was emboldened by her proximity to safety. She knew her father’s townhouse was closed until Lords, but there had to be at least one or two of the staff manning the house.
She dusted with new vigor, even passing Mrs. Reilly’s inspection with aplomb.
“It’s a good thing you are finally taking your duties to heart,” the housekeeper said. “I’ve just had a note from His Grace that he is to stay at Heatherton Hall for a fortnight before returning to us with a new bride! Who would have guessed? His Grace, married!”
The room spun and Caroline felt so suddenly as if the floor had fallen from beneath her that she had to grab on to a nearby table to keep from fainting.
“His Grace?” she said breathily. Heatherton Hall? She felt ill. Heatherton hall… where she had been heading just a few days prior.
“Lord Bennington,” Mrs. Reilly said as if she had expected the matter to have been obvious. “The Duke of Manchester.”
Caroline recalled that the duke had sent a letter from her father’s house just before they had begun their journey. He had said he was to inform his son of his nuptials and to tell the staff to prepare a jolly feast for their reception. She had not dwelled on it at the time, only thinking that the last thing she would want to do was celebrate.
They did not even know, she realized. They did not even know that their master was dead, that she, the new duchess, for all they might guess, was likewise deceased. They did not yet know that the carriage had never arrived at Heatherton Hall. They didn’t know that their lady, Caroline herself, was standing in the very house where she had been meant to become mistress. The thugs could not have known to avoid such a thing because she had claimed no association to the duke. She had merely said that he was escorting her to her own location. Lud, she thought, she was a prisoner in what amounted to be her own home.
She almost blurted all of the facts to Mrs. Reilly, almost claimed her position and demanded to be set free from her bondage. But she stopped when she realized that the older lady was staring at her as if she had lost her senses. Either the housekeeper truly had no idea that the men that had brought Caroline to this house had been involved in the duke’s murder or she was an excellent actress.
