Chapter 5

C HAPTER 5

It was late and the fire had burned down in the grate when the butler announced that their guests had arrived. Hester would normally have gone to bed by now, but her presentiment of Doom was so powerful that she doubted she'd sleep anyway. She had a cup of hot cocoa instead, and sat by the fire, pretending to read a book.

"By Jove, you made it! I was beginning to think you weren't coming." The Squire rose, beaming, and no one could have guessed that he had been snoring gently but a few moments earlier.

"And miss your company? Never!" said Evangeline. "But oh, what a terrible trip we have had. I cannot tell you how glad I am to be here at last." She smiled warmly at the Squire and held out both her hands. He took them, bowing over them, his smile even wider than hers.

"Misfortune on the road?" asked Hester. Her eyes picked out Doom's shadow behind her, a young woman who seemed to be trying to fade into the wallpaper.

"Everything that could go wrong went wrong," said Evangeline. "Our carriage threw a wheel in the rain and went over and half our luggage went flying into a field of mud and cabbages. Dresses everywhere, completely drenched, and the carriage horses panicking and trampling everything. Fortunately a friend happened by and loaned us his cabriolet to continue on, but our coachman had to stay with the carriage to try to soothe the horses." She spread her hands. "And though I am not a poor driver, I am not like you, Samuel, who can drive to an inch, so we went very slowly all the way here."

During this dramatic recitation, Hester kept her gaze on Doom's daughter. The girl was watching her mother, her eyes wide.

"So I fear that we must throw ourselves on your mercy, dear Samuel, Lady Hester. We have little more than a hatbox or two and what clothes we managed to salvage. Thank heavens we already have an appointment with the dressmaker, or we should look like proper vagabonds indeed."

The Squire began some nonsense about how Evangeline would look stunning even in rags. Hester broke in to say, "I shall have hot baths arranged in your rooms. But who is your young friend here?"

"This is my daughter, Cordelia," said Evangeline, beaming with precisely correct maternal devotion. "Cordelia, make your curtsy to the Squire and his sister. He's been so exceptionally kind, letting us stay with him."

The girl stepped forward and curtsied clumsily to her brother, her eyes on the ground at his feet. Hester was surprised to see that the girl was not a beauty. Her hair was more mouse than chestnut and her eyes more gray than blue. She looked like a badly washed-out copy of her mother, like a handbill that had been left to fade in the sun.

The Squire bowed to Cordelia. "Lady Evangeline, this cannot be your daughter. Your younger sister, surely?"

Good lord, he actually said it. Hester pinched the bridge of her nose. She loved Samuel and had resigned herself to his gallantry, but she did wish that he had more imagination.

All else aside, Evangeline was in her thirties and Cordelia, standing with her hands clasped tightly together, looked twelve. How old did Doom say she was? Seventeen?

Cordelia would certainly not be the first girl to look younger than her years, but Hester had her doubts.

Doom was flirting with the Squire again. Hester had missed the exact exchange, but that hardly mattered. It was unlikely that it would be either enlightening or original. "You must be exhausted after your journey," she broke in. She smiled warmly at Doom's daughter, just to see what would happen. The girl looked at her with wide, startled eyes. A pulse beat in her throat as she swallowed. She looked quickly to her mother, as if she needed guidance in how one responded to even so simple a statement.

"Oh yes," said Evangeline breezily. "After the misadventure we've had, I fear poor Cordelia is quite done in." Cordelia nodded agreement.

Hester wasted no time in ringing for the housekeeper. "Please see our guests to their rooms," she instructed. "And draw a hot bath for each." She smiled at Doom, digging her nails into her palm as she did so. "We won't dream of keeping you up after such an adventure. You must tell us all about it in the morning."

If Evangeline was put out by being deprived of the Squire's presence, she gave no sign. "Dear Lady Hester," she said warmly. Her blue eyes were almost painfully bright. "You are kindness itself."

"The very least I can do," said Hester, and felt intense relief when that blue gaze swept away and its owner went up the stairs after the housekeeper, trailing her daughter like a shadow in her wake.

There were so many closed doors! Cordelia could hardly imagine it. The hallways were lined with doors and every single one of them was closed. They can't all be closets. No one has that many closets!

It was an enormous house, bigger than anything in the village, bigger than the Parkers' manor house that Cordelia had glimpsed once or twice when out riding. Presumably such a house would have a great many closets, but some of those rooms had to be bedrooms and parlors and studies, and if so, the doors were closed.

For all the good that does me, given that I've managed to humiliate myself as soon as the front door was open .

It wasn't her fault. The door had opened and the man standing there had been so tall and lordly and aloof that he was obviously the Squire, and Cordelia knew her manners and curtsied immediately.

Except that the man had stood looking down at them, and one icy eyebrow had risen slightly in his icily correct face, and her mother had said, "Please inform the Squire we've arrived," and Cordelia realized that she had just curtsied to the butler.

Her mother hadn't seen her. That was the only saving grace in the matter. She would not have been pleased. But the footman behind Cordelia had and the butler definitely had, and her face went scarlet with embarrassment and then dead white, because what if he said something to Evangeline?

But he did not. Butlers, apparently, did not report such things to their guests. He had ushered them inside and led them, in icily correct fashion, to the sitting room where the Squire and his sister had been waiting.

And really, he looks so much more regal than the Squire does, how was I supposed to know the difference?

She'd been so flustered at that point that her mother had had to tell her to curtsy, a failing for which Cordelia would undoubtedly pay later. And the butler had witnessed all of it, which only added insult to injury.

But still, there were so many closed doors.

"This will be your room, miss," said the housekeeper, pushing one of the doors open. "We'll have a bath and a tray sent up for you. If you need anything else, just tell your maid and I'll see it taken care of directly."

She was a plump, motherly woman, and she smiled down at Cordelia, who gaped at her in astonishment. It had never occurred to her that she would not be sharing a room with her mother, and it was beyond the realm of her most fevered imagination that there would be a maid assigned to her. There must be some mistake. Or does she think that I'm going to be particularly messy? Do I need someone to follow me around to make certain I don't break anything?

That seemed distressingly plausible.

She tried to remember if The Ladies' Book of Etiquette had said anything about servants. She thought there was a whole chapter on it, but she'd never paid any attention to it, because there was simply no world in which Cordelia ordered anyone else around. Servants. Dear god.

The housekeeper was still smiling at her, although a line was forming between her eyes, and it occurred to Cordelia that she'd been standing there with her mouth hanging open. "Oh. Oh. Thank you. That is, I… I appreciate… thank you…"

Her mother nudged her in the back, not gently, and she stopped.

"You're very tired, dear," said her mother.

"Yes," said Cordelia. It was true, and even if it hadn't been, she knew better than to argue with that tone. "Thank you," she said to the housekeeper again, and stepped inside the door.

The room had wallpaper. Cordelia knew of the existence of wallpaper, but she'd only seen it once or twice. It was a soft green damask, and she had a strong urge to run her fingers over it to feel the texture, but she was afraid that she might get it dirty. There was no bed, but there was a little white dressing table with a mirror, several chairs, and another closed door on the other side of the room.

The door clicked behind her. Cordelia jumped, startled, and spun around to see another young woman standing there, who had just closed the door. She was dressed much the same as the housekeeper, with long dark sleeves and a bright white apron. She looked to be a few years older than Cordelia.

"You closed the door," Cordelia blurted.

"Yes, miss." She crossed the space between them and reached out her hand. "I'll take your things, miss."

"My… oh." Cordelia looked down at her battered bandbox. She held it out. It looked very grimy compared to the blinding white of the girl's apron.

"My lady said you've lost your luggage," said the girl. She finally looked up and met Cordelia's eyes, instead of keeping hers downcast. "I've laid out one of my lady's dressing gowns for you, while the housemaid brings the water up for your bath."

"Oh," said Cordelia. "I… uh… thank you?"

A slight smile crossed the girl's face. "Of course, miss. If you'll follow me?" She pushed open the far door, revealing a vast room with an equally vast bed. Cordelia froze on the threshold, staring. It was bigger than every room in her mother's house put together. The bed alone was almost the size of her bedroom, and it had curtains on it, like a little room all its own. There was a fireplace and a changing screen and a gigantic wardrobe and another small door.

My god, she thought, how can I possibly keep all this clean? No wonder there are servants, this is a two-person job. Oh dear! How does one wash bedcurtains?

By this point, the maid had clearly realized that Cordelia was in over her head and took charge of the situation. "The dressing gown is over here, miss," she said, herding Cordelia as efficiently as a hen with a rather slow chick. "If you'll just step behind the screen and take off those wet clothes, I'll see them cleaned and brushed properly."

"Oh," said Cordelia again, and allowed herself to be herded. She stripped off her gown, which was definitely travel-worn and looked absurdly shabby compared to the maid's outfit. She didn't dare think of how it had compared to the briefly glimpsed Lady Hester. Even the dressing gown (which was far too large for her) was magnificent, an enormous royal-blue confection with huge buttons and a lining as fine and silken as Falada's mane. Cordelia ran her fingers over it, wishing that she hadn't thought of Falada, trying not to picture him standing in the stable, a blazing white imposter among the mortal horses.

She sat in the dressing gown, fretfully doing nothing, and the maid, whose name was Alice, pressed a mug of tea into her hands. It was hot and sweet and drinking it seemed to take a great deal of energy. Cordelia thought she could fall asleep right here, but then the door opened and she snapped upright, expecting her mother to demand to know what she was doing.

But it was not her mother. It was two other maids, carrying a copper bathtub between them. They set it in front of the fire and went out again, then returned carrying steaming tins of water. The tub was huge compared to the one back home. "Oh…" said Cordelia, realizing how much work it would be, carrying all the water up the stairs. "Oh dear. I don't… it's so much trouble…"

"Not at all," said Alice firmly. "You're a guest at Chatham House."

"Yes, but…" She knew that she should offer to help, but she was so tired and carrying so much water would be exhausting. Perhaps she could convince them to put off the bath until later?

"Here, miss, let me show you the water closet." Alice led her to the small door that she had noticed earlier, opened it, and showed her how the levers worked. This was a revelation, and by the time she was done with the extraordinary novelty of it all, the bath was filled and steam was curling from the surface.

Alice went out again and Cordelia stripped and plunged into the water. She had barely settled in, however, when Alice came back into the room and Cordelia squeaked in alarm, sinking down and hugging her knees.

"Rose or lavender, miss?"

"Wha… what?"

"Soap, miss."

Cordelia must have looked panicked, because Alice said, very gently, "May I suggest the lavender, miss?"

"Yes, please," said Cordelia, almost inaudibly.

"I'll wash your hair for you," said Alice, "and you can dry it in front of the fire while you have a bite to eat. How does that sound?"

It sounded overwhelming, frankly, but Cordelia knew that if she burst into tears, her mother would hear of it and she would have words. She had to have her best manners. This was part of her mother's plan to marry the Squire, and if Cordelia messed that up by being Cordelia, being made obedient was probably the least of the punishments she could look forward to.

She nodded hopelessly and Alice took over. No one had washed her hair in years, and the maid was much gentler than Cordelia's mother had ever been, but the sheer strangeness of the situation kept trying to grab her by the throat. Calm, she told herself. Calm. Stay calm. Don't make a fuss. Do what is expected. Alice already told you what's expected. You'll go sit in front of the fire and eat whatever food they bring you. Calm.

But the lavender smelled good, and not at all like wormwood. Cordelia slowly let her shoulders relax, despite their desire to hunch up by her ears.

She had a bad moment when Alice held open a towel and said "If you're ready to get out, miss?" and she realized that the maid was going to see her naked. But it wasn't as if her mother didn't barge in whenever she was bathing anyway, and say "Oh, stop, I've seen it hundreds of times before" when Cordelia squawked, so she stared at the ceiling as she rose up out of the water and Alice wrapped the towel around her, and it was all over blessedly quickly.

Her nightdress was laid out on the bed, looking almost embarrassed by its fine surroundings. Cordelia managed to get into it while Alice's back was turned, and then the maid wrapped the dressing gown around her shoulders again and sat her down in front of the fire.

The food was the most delicious that she had ever eaten. There were little rolls and butter and a tiny pot of jam and a sliced pear, as well as a soft cheese that went well with the jam and the pear both. Cordelia ate every scrap.

"There you go, miss," said Alice. Cordelia flushed guiltily—was she supposed to share some with the maid? She hadn't thought— "Cook'll be pleased to see that you enjoyed it. Now the bed's ready and I've put a warm brick in for your feet."

"Thank you," said Cordelia. She swallowed. Thank you seemed inadequate for the food and the soap and the loan of the dressing gown. "Really, I… thank you."

"Of course, miss." Alice helped her to the bed. "If you need anything, I'll be sleeping just off the dressing room. Just pull this cord and I'll come at once."

Cordelia looked dutifully at the cord in question, nodded, and vowed that she would not pull it unless the house was on fire.

Alice pulled the curtains closed. Cordelia felt as if she was in a beautiful fabric cocoon. The bed was very soft, but more than that, there were two closed doors and the curtains between Cordelia and her mother, and she slept more deeply than she ever remembered doing in her life.