5. A Housemaid Waits

CHAPTER 5

A HOUSEMAID WAITS

M eanwhile, down on the first floor in the Ritchfield Park library

Hurrying to complete her duties on the first floor, Anne Salisbury swept the ash from the library’s fireplace into a dustpan and dumped the contents into a can. She set several logs into place on the iron grate, knowing Graves would be up soon to light them.

The master was in residence for the first time in a long time, and Graves insisted the room be thoroughly dusted and ready for his visit. So far, the earl had kept to his study, but it was only a matter of time before Lord Ritchfield sought refuge in what was usually the warmest room of the house.

About to remind the butler she cleaned the library every day but Sunday, Anne had instead dipped a curtsy and went about her day in the usual manner. The parlor was always first followed by the gaming room, two enfilades, a drawing room, and then finally the library.

She had been in the middle of dusting one of the guest apartments when she heard the commotion of another arrival downstairs. For a moment, she thought she even felt the blast of cold air when the door was opened, but she had been standing near the fireplace and decided it was probably a gust of wind from the flue.

Moving to the window, she pulled back the drapes and angled her head in an effort to see if there was a coach in the drive. The vantage was wrong, though, for she couldn’t make out anything more than the tracks in the snow. Hurrying to the door, she was about to head down the corridor to another room when she spotted Perkins, the footman, hefting a trunk up the stairs. He didn’t pause in his climb, continuing to the second floor.

Not a guest, then, for a guest of the earl would have been assigned to stay in one of the enfilades on this floor. Which meant...

“Lady Ritchfield,” she breathed.

She had spent the day before in anticipation of the countess’ arrival. Or rather, the arrival of the man who would be driving Ivy Strathford, Countess of Ritchfield, to Ritchfield Park. For the entire time Anne had been a housemaid at the country estate, the countess came every Christmastide and always stayed until after the Twelfth Night festivities concluded. Every time, it was Tom Walker who drove her ladyship’s traveling coach, and he had been doing so ever since the earl had married Ivy Merriweather in 1785.

Thirty years , Anne thought on a sigh. He started driving her when I was but five years old. She tried to remember what she had been doing when she was five. Certainly not thinking she might someday feel affection for a man who was fifteen years her senior.

She quickly finished her duties in the apartment and moved on to the drawing room. Tom would have to unhitch the horses and put away the traveling coach before she could expect him to come up the back stairs.

Given the time of day, he would probably stop at the kitchens for a bite to eat, which meant Clara would demand news from London and it would be another half-hour or more before he could make his way upstairs.

She returned to the library and had just finished setting the logs when she heard someone on the servants’ stairs at the end of the hall.

Grabbing the can of ashes and her feather duster, she rushed from the library, nearly colliding with the groom, Bobby, as he carried a small trunk up the narrow stairway.

“Careful there,” he warned.

“Apologies,” she whispered. “Whose trunk do you carry?”

He paused on the stairs. “Belongs to Mr. Walker. He and her ladyship are back in residence,” he replied before resuming his climb.

Anne beamed in delight and then frowned when she realized she still needed to go downstairs to throw out the ashes. Despite Graves’ annoyance at the mess they made by the back door, the servants had been spreading them on the walkways from the kitchen to the stable to help with traction on the ice. They had been using sand earlier in the winter, but with the supply running low, Graves insisted it be kept for use on the kitchen floor and by the hearth.

“Is he all right?” she asked.

Bobby once again paused on the stairs and glanced down at her. “A bit frozen, but he’s thawing in the kitchen now,” he said. “Clara’s got his attention. Wants her report of gossip from London ’afore she’ll let him out.”

For a moment, Anne felt a pang of jealousy. The cook would probably spend more time in Tom Walker’s company than she would be allowed on this day.

“By the way, you have something on your face,” Bobby said, motioning with his free hand.

Anne inhaled sharply. “Soot, no doubt,” she said, lifting a hand to find her fingers black with it. When she glanced back up the stairs, Bobby had disappeared.

Although she wanted nothing more than to see Tom, she instead thought to wash her hands and face first. She left the ash can in the corner and made her way to her tiny room on the third floor.

Not bothering to shut her door once she was in her quarters—no other servants were about this time of the day—she lifted the looking glass her mother had given her from the washstand and regarded her reflection with a wince. The mirror wasn’t very large, but it was enough to show her face was indeed smudged with soot. She moved to the washstand and cleaned her hands before wiping her face with a cloth.

While she held the mirror in one hand, she used the fingers of the other to smooth over her skin, wincing at seeing how much she had aged since joining the staff at Ritchfield Park. Wrinkles extended from the sides of her eyes, and the lines around her mouth seemed to have deepened. Although the skin over her cheeks was still smooth, there were faint worry lines between her eyebrows.

Would he notice?

About to set the looking glass back on the washstand, Anne froze in place when she realized she wasn’t alone.

“Lady Ritchfield is asking for you,” Graves said from just outside her door. “She has asked that you be her lady’s maid whilst she’s in residence.”

A combination of excitement and disappointment had her hesitating as she stood to give the butler a curtsy. “Yes, Mr. Graves. I’ll be right there,” she said.

Finishing her ablutions, Anne made her way back down the servants’ stairs and to the mistress suite.

Perhaps she would see Tom at supper.