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Mrs. Griffiths said nothing as she ran her dark, beady eyes down Sophie’s body, and her pursed mouth tightened. Sophie felt Dickens give her a surreptitious push, and she entered the room, deciding to give the woman her very best curtsey.
Those small eyes darkened further, and belatedly Sophie realized her mistake. She wasn’t familiar with the polite bob of a maidservant—she’d just given Mrs. Griffiths her elaborate, presented-at-court curtsey, only a shade less deferent than the curtain call of an opera dancer, and it must have looked overdone. “Mrs. Griffiths?” she asked in a polite little voice. This was not going to go well.
“Madame Camille,” Mrs. Griffiths said in a stiff tone, and it took Sophie a moment to remember that that was her purported name.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I trust you’ve brought at least a month’s worth of menus with you for my perusal?”
No mistress of the house would ask for a month of menus—too much depended on what might come in season, and whether there were last-minute visitors. The woman next to Mrs. Griffiths put out a hand.
“Adelia,” she said in a hushed voice, “a month is simply not done. Better you ask for a week at most.”
Mrs. Griffiths’s high color darkened, and Sophie immediately guessed what was going on. The companion, whose clothes were more tasteful and whose hair was more subdued, was clearly more conversant with polite society, and she was both a companion and a social tutor. And Mrs. Griffiths didn’t like it one tiny bit.
“Cousin Mary, I believe I am the lady of the house, and if I asked for a month of menus then I expect my expensive, highly recommended cook to provide them. I do not see any papers in your hands, Madame Camille.”
Sophie could feel Dickens about to speak, but she quickly stepped forward. She wasn’t going to let him fall on a sword for her like some Roman general. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Griffiths,” she said in her most humble voice, “but I already presented the menus to his lordship. You probably aren’t aware that he’s gone out, and for some reason he’s locked his study.” It was a shot in the dark, but a lucky one. Alexander didn’t trust his stepmother—it only made sense that he’d utilize locked doors to keep her out.
“Has he gone out?” Mrs. Griffiths said airily. “I hadn’t realized. Dickens, you must have a key for the study.”
“No, ma’am, I’m afraid I don’t,” Dickens said regretfully. “His lordship took the extras from me and the housekeeper’s chatelaine. Said he didn’t want anyone rummaging through his papers.”
Mrs. Griffiths’s teeth were large and rather terrifying. “Surely he didn’t mean his dear stepmama in that injunction.”
“Surely not, ma’am. But the fact remains that the doors are locked and I have no way of retrieving the menus.”
The mean little eyes, like raisins in the midst of a suet pudding, swung back to Sophie. “And you didn’t think to make a copy?” she demanded. “Most irresponsible of you.”
A month’s worth of menus consisting of innumerable courses would have taken more time than she’d been in residence, and a copy would have been impossible, as the old woman well knew.
Except that she wasn’t an old woman. She had to be somewhere in her fifties, an age when one could certainly look well preserved if one tried. She was a formidable woman, tall, sturdily built, but her taste was somehow off. The black dress showed far too much cleavage, her maquillage was overdone, and she wore far too many rings on her plump fingers.
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Griffiths,” Sophie said in her most humble voice, no matter how much it galled her. “I’m still learning my way around here.”
“It seems to me that you’re having trouble knowing your place,” she said. “If you think my stepson is a likely candidate for protector then you’re wrong. He’s a pinchpenny miser, with only a cursory interest in females. In truth, I believe he prefers males, but of course that is something we don’t discuss.”
Sophie blinked. It took all her concentration to keep her face entirely blank at the woman’s absurd statement. “Indeed, ma’am,” she murmured. She’d never seen a man less likely to prefer his own kind, though it would certainly make her life easier if he did. But why would Mrs. Griffiths lie about such a thing?
Clearly the woman had been looking for a more dramatic reaction. “Yes, well, I’m not convinced that you will suit us here. Your reputation led me to believe we’d be fed something quite extraordinary, but so far it’s only been . . . adequate.”
Well, that was undoubtedly a lie. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she murmured. “Perhaps you could provide me with some direction.” Women like Mrs. Griffiths liked to control things—Sophie could see it in her hard little eyes. Resistance would be a waste of time.
“I shouldn’t have to provide you direction,” the woman snapped. “You were hired for that purpose. If you cannot fulfill your position then you’d be better off departing before you make a shambles of things. In fact, my stepson was most displeased with you, and let me warn you that he is a difficult, no, a dangerous man when he’s angry. You would be wise to leave here before he returns, or I can’t answer for your safety. He has a history of brutality against women, you know.”
Sophie blinked again. She and her sisters had often played cards, betting their pin money, and she’d always won, due to her enigmatic expression. Dealing with this woman’s outrageousness was harder than she would have thought.
“I never listen to rumors, madame,” she murmured politely. She could try calling her “my lady,” but instead of stoking her vanity, it might anger the woman. “And his lordship has yet to express any displeasure with the meals I’ve prepared. I would hardly think he’d be so unfair as to dismiss me without giving me a full chance.”
Impossibly, the old woman’s eyes narrowed further. “I cannot speak for your safety if you insist on staying.”
Sophie said nothing. It was clear that the woman didn’t have the power to dismiss her, but she was doing everything she could, short of saying so. Mrs. Griffiths fixed her with a dark look. “You’d best be very careful, Madame Camille. Even if my stepson is generally uninterested in females, he will occasionally lapse, and I tell you, in great confidence, that there have been severe injuries with the women he’s . . . he’s been intimate with.”
At this the companion made a noise. It wa
s a small, strangled sound of protest, as if this was too far even for her.
Sophie nodded politely. “Then I will ensure that his lordship keeps his hands off the kitchen staff. Good servants are so hard to find.”
