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I cut into a wedge of cheese.
We ate in silence for a while, and it was uncomfortable.
Lady Jane broke it by mystifyingly informing me, “Stevenson oversees the entirety of the staff.”
“Oh?” I asked, after swallowing some pâté covered in thinly sliced cornichon and minced red onion.
“The hiring, sacking, advancement. He keeps a very close log of our possessions, everything from the art and the china and crystal, to the wine in the cellar and spirits in the cabinets. He also sees to any maintenance. And you can imagine Duncroft constantly needs taken care of. He deals with the plumbers and electricians and roofers, and such. He further looks after Richard and myself. A secretary, if you will. Making certain we have all we need, from booking Richard’s train tickets and hotels when he travels, to seeing to our clothing.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Christine is more of a day-to-day person. Scheduling the cleaning so everything remains tidy. Working with Bonnie on menus and making certain the marketing is done. Her days off are the weekends, which is why you haven’t met her yet. Bonnie’s days are Monday and Tuesday. Christine and Laura will see to our meals while Bonnie has her time.”
“Right,” I muttered, interested, but still weirded out by her sharing this.
“It was another argument, that Ian won, the renovation of the top floor,” she stated. “We have less than half the staff that was needed in olden days to take care of the house. And the children raised here are no longer tutored here. But Richard prefers live-in staff, obviously. The comings and goings of bikes and vehicles is distracting. And due to our location, if they don’t stay onsite, it left the pool of possible help only to the village and the town, which isn’t optimal. They’re paid very well. Especially when they have no living expenses. It’s quite a coup to be employed at Duncroft.”
I didn’t believe that for a second.
I still nodded.
“We had loads of space on the top floor,” she continued. “Ian had it gutted, and he made suites for the staff. They now all have kitchenettes, sitting rooms, bedrooms and their own ensuite bathrooms. Little apartments, as it were. They get free, erm…internet and TV. And they’re allowed visitors, if they come in the servants’ entrances, promise not to access the main house and Stevenson has approved them, of course.”
“Of course,” I mumbled.
“I’ve been up there. Ian took me on a tour when it was done. These suites are quite roomy.”
“That’s nice.”
“Your sister is not appropriate for my son.”
Well, hell.
Sneak attack.
I stared at her and said nothing.
“You cannot strive to achieve class and refinement. You either have it, or you do not,” she proclaimed.
“And you don’t think my sister has it.”
“She’s flighty and spoiled.”
I couldn’t argue either, damn it.
“She’s also a schemer,” she went on.
All right, now I was getting mad.
Fortunately, before I could say something rude, she put her knife down, gave me her undivided attention, and continued.
“My first son needs a woman who knows her own worth, but especially has a pure heart. She cannot look to him to give her value. She has to understand herself. She needs to stand independent, even as she stands at his side. She needs to work with him to build the life Ian and she will share, holding up her end all the while. The same to create the family they’ll make when they have children. She’ll need to be confident and, there’s no other word for it, have grit as she plays host with him in this house. Duncroft has consumed many a Lady Alcott. Those who fell to her, they didn’t understand. It is not you pitted against this house. It is you and Lord Alcott who are this house.”
“We’re not talking about Ian,” I said carefully.
“Are we not?” she asked.
What on earth?
