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“Six and ten,” Mrs Mouser replied. “Though some have thought her younger. In my experience, Lady Grace has not had many opportunities to experience being a young lady yet.”
“What of her mother?” Ophelia asked in interest. Mrs Mouser winced a little, fidgeting in the chair, before looking around as if she knew it was wrong to gossip so.
“The last duke and duchess preferred their own company to their children’s. I hope you know I do not gossip for gossip’s sake, Your Grace, but I thought it wise you should know,” she whispered hurriedly.
“Yes, you are right. Thank you.” Ophelia smiled, thinking hard of this fact. It made her realise that Elliot had not once spoken of his parents in the time she had known him.
“What of this one for your lady’s maid? Miss Ruth Barge.”
“Yes, she is a possibility.” Ophelia returned her mind to the matter at hand. “She comes with recommendations.” She looked over the name before her with the recommendations of her position listed below. “When is she coming to see us?”
“It should be any minute.” Mrs Mouser hadn’t finished speaking when there was a knock at the front door. “That must be her now.”
As Mrs Mouser went to open the door, Ophelia poured out another cup of tea for their visitor. She stood briefly to peer beyond the window, hoping to catch sight of Elliot. She had sat with him and Grace at breakfast that morning, but Elliot had not stayed long. He had gone for a walk with Harrison, but that was some hours ago, and he had still not returned.
“Your Grace? This is Miss Ruth Barge.” Mrs Mouser introduced the young woman beside her in the doorway.
“Ah, Miss Barge, welcome.” Ophelia turned to be a good hostess and greeted the young maid. The girl was not much older than Grace in age, though she had a much more subdued look about her. She smiled sweetly at Ophelia.
“Thank you for seeing me, Your Grace. I was very excited to hear that you were looking for more staff.” She stepped forward and curtsied a second time. Ophelia smiled at her eagerness and offered the cup of tea to Miss Barge.
“Here, have a drink and tell us all about yourself.” Ophelia urged the young woman to sit. “I long to know where you have been before, what duties you have experience of, and to know what you look for in a house to work in, too.” She could see these words surprised Miss Barge, who looked up from her teacup and nearly sloshed the tea over the edge. “I am a great believer in making a house a home, Miss Barge, not just for myself, but for my staff. So, I wish to know what will make this house your home.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She lowered the teacup to the saucer. “Well, I have experience as a lady’s maid for Lady Hampton, from Chelsea. I started as a scullery maid three years ago and after one year became her lady’s maid.”
At the maid went on, Ophelia couldn’t help feeling as if she had heard Lady Hampton’s name before. Was it possible she had met the lady somewhere at one of the London events? Yet each time she tried to conjure a face to her mind, nothing felt right. She supposed in the end she must have heard the name in passing, and that it meant nothing more.
As Ophelia sat with the maid, she encouraged her to speak of her life. She learnt much of Miss Ruth Barge. She was a quiet young woman, eager to work hard and find a new position. She winced every time the broken string was played on the harpsichord but was good enough not to question as to the cause, nor to comment on the sparseness of the house.
“Well, I thank you for coming, Miss Barge.” Ophelia stood to her feet and curtsied to the young woman. “You will hear from us soon.”
“Thank you so much.” Miss Barge bid them goodbye and hurried out of the door, with Mrs Mouser behind her.
Ophelia placed a tick beside Miss Barge’s name before she moved to the door of the music room, listening to Grace play. Grace paused long enough to offer a smile.
“Would you mind if I called you sister?” Grace asked, out of the blue.
Ophelia laughed softly at the idea. She’d never had any siblings. As a child, she had often wished for it, but she had also known that the one sibling she was destined to have was taken from the world.
When Ophelia was just a few years old, her mother had been with child. The day the baby boy had come to be born, he had lost his life, and Ophelia’s mother had lost her own.
“I’d like that,” Ophelia said, delighted when she saw Grace smile widely.
“Then sister you shall be to me.” Grace’s attention was divided as she looked out the window. “Is she to be a member of staff? It looks too fine a dress, really.”
“Who?” Ophelia stepped into the room and moved to the window, the better to see who Grace was pointing at.
The woman approaching the house had a fine dress on indeed, and a pelisse that was flapping behind her, thanks to the strong strides she made toward the house. Standing a short distance from her was a flustered footman. He must have tried to help her down from the carriage, but she had not waited for him.
“I know who that is.” Ophelia sighed, for she had been waiting for to happen. She had rather feared what she would say when the moment did arrive.
“Who is it?” Grace asked, moving to stand beside her. She squinted her eyes as she watched the woman approach the door.
As Mrs Mouser opened the door to let out Miss Barge, the woman pushed past them both, marching forward without hesitation into the house.
“She’s quite rude, isn’t she?” Grace whispered.
“Very much so.” Ophelia shook her head at the audacity of such an action. “My apologies, Grace, but you might be about to hear some rather loud voices in this house. For that woman, so boldly striding in here as if it were her own house, is my stepmother.”
